The Ones Who Get It

Here's to the crazy ones....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4oAB83Z1ydE

I'd like to believe and truly do so that my friends fall in this category. Each and everyone of them has their unique spirit, dreams, possibilities, quirks and individualities that make a greater contribution to the world.

And so does everyone obviously, but there's those that get it, that get me and I get their mission, their purpose, their laughter and vice versa. And together, we have magical moments that no one else can even try to duplicate, places and activities will NEVER replace people and their unlimited whims and wonders.

So, on this fine night when dreaming, I will go to that place, a new heaven, where all my friends are there, as we listen to classic rock, eat divine food and are surrounded by a canopy of green with occasional gentle rains. The room will be filled with laughter and stories of old, new from around the world, adventures that came and go, but moments that each of them can relate to because "they get it."

I miss you all more than I could ever say and just hope that we share more moments in this lifetime and pronto..

Intoxicating dance moves

We have been off for the last few days and as I sit down in my colorful apartment, with fresh flowers and a glass of red wine next to, through the many thoughts, talks with the other Heather, work, runs, agony with the shipment, I feel somewhat at peace.

That and this afternoon, I got to be a part of something else quite amazing here. There's something about dance that gets me going, makes me feel alive, exhilarates and intoxicates me. I have a total guilty pleasure for dance movies. Dirty Dancing was and still is a huge favorite even with its agonizingly painful script. Nowadays, the Step-Ups and Centerstages, remakes of Fame, I will sit through the excrutiatingly awful writing just to replay the dance scenes again and again and pretty much dance around my apartment doing, while attempting to do what the pros are.

So, when I saw the show "Lo Bailao" today, I was rejuvenated and uplifted and reenergized even though the rain has resurfaced. A flamenco show with women spanned across at least 5 generations with enough energy to awaken a sleepy caveman.. It made the call and drive to take Tango classes more necessary. It made me secretly long to come back as a Spanish women and revive this beautiful dance movement on an international level. I came home and tried to find some music to stomp around and create beats. I became obsessed for a bit, enough so that I want to write about how intoxicated I feel about dance. Perhaps in a past life, I was a dancer, but I don't think so, I am definitely baby giraffish when it comes to busting a move. Perfect for house, 80s and electro bouncy music and modern dance perhaps, there is some hope with flamenco to as it combines hips and arms, which could be to my advantage. Nonetheless, salsa, waltzing, etc, I can do it all, but not naturally. I took ballet and tap as a kid and disliked my teacher which caused me to drop out. Nonetheless, in high school, I returned and took modern dance for 3 years, and while I was never the star of the show, it was a perfect way for me to get the creative performance artist inside of me out and playing. That and dancing next to the inspiration of green fuzzy pants' boys at 80s' nights at Cains ballroom. In college, I busted one too many flip-flops on dance floors bouncing around or outside on big beach parties or fields or whatever it may have been. Since then, I continue to bust a move, but not enough and one weekend in with too many dance movies on hand, caused a sudden motivation to learn tango. That and I think it's a kinda sexy dance to learn when you're 30. You can still pull it off, if I can get rid of my silly demeanor for two seconds and apply the other far too 90% serious about life part to my dancing. This might be somewhat impossible given that dancing is such a release for me and I enjoy it because I don't take myself too seriously.

Anywise, the groove is in my heart, I gotta get my dance shoes on and get on the floor.

xo

Cooking a turkey and getting your hands dirty...

Yesterday, I completed another one of my 101 things to do in life, cooking a turkey alone. It turned out gorgeous.. I was compulsively nervous that it would take hours more to cook then anticipated or that it was not defrosted enough.

Preparing it was more fun than I would have imagined. I made a melted herb butter and got my hands right into the turkey by rubbing it under the skin and ontop. Before the wonders of Williams and Sonoma, where cooks were raw and real, we got our hands dirty. In fact, this is a metaphor for my current dilemma with life right now, that I am not getting my hands dirty enough.

As someone who trained as an artist for 4 years in university and spent 4-8 hours a day living in a studio, basking in the stiff clay chafing off my jeans or finding serenity in the darkness of the dark room, working with my hands is something that is an essential part of me. Perhaps, this is where my adoration for cooking comes for, much like the groove I would get into throwing pots for 6 hours listening to Bob Dylan or sculpting away to Macy Gray on my giant tables, making clay over a 6 pack of beer and Taj Mahal tapes.. Perhaps, this is why painting my apartment last week was therapeutic. Music and moments that went with them that made college and art combine together in a delicious combination. Having a physical product to enjoy, whether to eat or sit still and remind you of the process and the time in your life that helped/ caused you to generate such art.

It all goes back to balance and making sure that you are supporting those realms; the artistic, the monetary; the physical; the friends; the wanderer; the lover; the sister/ daughter; I guess ideally your work should really be about all those things. Finding that perfect balance is difficult and of course takes time, and just because you are good at something doesn't necessarily mean you should be doing it forever..

Mas, mas tarde... Buenas noches..

Wandering, wondering and wanting a home.

I just finished reading one of my favorite blogs "www.farbeyondthestars.com." This man writes about maintaining a minimal lifestyle, one that after the shipping debaucle, many hours and $1000 of taxes later, I began seeing his side and theory. Yet, today on Thanksgiving, he wrote about how the minimalist lifestyle somehow does not give one the sense of having a home. How right he his, particularly, when I can tell you that painting my apartment the last week was one of the things that has made my apartment appealing and enjoyable, livable since I have been here. That and finally, somewhat embracing my life here. Those things that we might not consider necessary, like sparkly golden candles or a duvet, are things that make us feel warm and cozy and remind us of the simple things that we grew up with all around us.

The green and gold walls that were quite the task with a primary paintbrush and without a ladder give my apartment a warmth that I have missed since being here. When I moved into my second apartment in Dubai, I felt as if I would have stayed, simply because the entire place matched my personality's needs. Having my computer, so that I can keep in contact with those I love around the world is an essential tool, especially when you are in a new place and can't help but feel left out of it all.

So the blogger's argument of how being a minimalist and moving around the world can't really go together if you are looking to create a sense of comfort, home, etc. in the places you go is quite on the ball. Unfortunately, right now, especially after the shipping drama, I am pretty sure I can happily and gratefully declare that my friends are my most favorite possession and they are inevitably what help me to love a place and bring out the best in me. Too bad, I can't ship them everywhere with me. Something to consider on a future move. I am definitely coming back as a physicist in my next life to work on the whole teleporting thing. I smell international celebrityhood and nobel prize for shizzle.

Nonetheless, on this Thanksgiving, when it is time to say thank you for everything. I'd like to thank god for my ableness, my long legs to run, my health. I'd like to thank my family for being there, for supporting me through good times and bad. I'd like to thank my friends for listening. I'd like to thank my colleagues for being patient and bold and fighting for what they believe in, no matter how hard it is. And, I'd like to thank the earth for enveloping me in these green, lush hills and foggy clouds...

30 is the New 13

A few days ago on the salon chair impatiently tapping my foot, trying to meditate and reflect on something to find inner peace or the meaning of my existence. And in this reflection, I looked at myself and was reminded of a mere 17 years back, sitting on the salon chair, having a blow out, trying to make sense of my adolescence, my acne, my friends getting boobs before me or being over it because they had them at the ripe old age of 9, the point of my education, me being a baby awkward giraffe, having horribly anxious and annoyed feeling about boys. The moment of reflection I was having on reflecting I realized was not far from my current reality.

While, I have aged 17 years, not much has changed. I still have the occasional acne flare up that stresses me out. My friends are getting married or having children nowadays instead of getting larger boobs. Then again, I am sure there are some getting boobs too for the second time, especially in Venezuela. There are others like myself, who've been there done that with the wedding and divorce and wonder what's next? Can we be reborn in such a short time? Do you get to be the bridegroom married to amazement more than once in your life? God, I hope so. In addition, it's no longer education but trying to figure out exactly how to use all my education. In doing so, I am trying to determine the best and appropriate and inspiring direction of my professional career.

I still often feel anxious and horribly annoyed by boys actions. Perhaps now more than ever because I didn't really have any expectations of them back then. Well, I am sure I did but I wasn't nearly as self aware of them all. Still, this is a tricky area where rebirth is needed. Sometimes, I feel like the walls of toughness I build around me are too complex and difficult for me to understand how they got built and why?

In saying all this, the rebirth question resurfaces, and with all the comments of 30s is the new 20s, and 40s the new 30s, those cliche statements that make us hopeful about our next decade of life.. Truth is, one has to be hopeful and believe that if you're still here it can only get better in one realm or more. And 13 being the next 30, I really could run with this, I mean my 20s were pretty fun, if somehow I can inspire myself and my body to live through this "take 2" who knows what adventures lie down the road.

Smiles abound. X

Just a spoonful of peanut butter and a glass of vino blanco make the medecine go down..

What? You are probably wondering what on earth is this chick on about? I mean, how do those things go together in any way, shape or form?

It's been a good 3 months since I have had raw, straight from the jar, protein pumped spoons of peanut butter. It used to be a popular hunger stopper in Dubai, so you can only imagine when my generally smoke free self and all of the sudden having a few more food craving self, felt when it was impossible to get.

So after a New York Times "Eat your heart out in Trinidad and Tobago in 36 hours" stop, I picked up some necessities that are of course easier to get on a small island in the middle of the Caribbean than in a socialist country in the middle of South America.

To spice up my life, I got about 10 packets of spices from Masala, to Saffron, to Celery Salt and more fun.. For the slight health nut within, some Chocolate Soy Milk and Peanut Butter. For the Thai cook in me, some lime tortilla chips and finally, for the must eat breakfast since it's approximately 6 hours between meals on work days, some gourmet granola bars. It's been nearly 6 years since I felt the restraints of culinary pleasures. After being able to eat essentially whatever I wanted throughout college and then, head off to South Korea where a small block of cheddar hit you $7 usd, I learned quickly, everything you need is often not right here in your hands. Nevertheless, after a myriad of moves getting progressively easier and easier and adoring the fruits and vegetables of tropical Thailand, my hopes for Venezuela's culinary delights have been flushed down the toilet.

I suppose I never realized the importance of cooking in keeping me sane. The things that balance us our inevitably our passions and so, for me, that equals: Running, yoga, some kind of artistic expression (writing, throwing pots, painting or whatever) travel, food and the art of making it, tasting it, buying it and more, and diving into new lessons and researching them and making them absolutely wonderful..

So, tonight, as I sit down at the computer to get it all out, the writing, the frustration, the torment over the lack of quality produce, my simple pleasures seem extravagant requests in the country to which I have returned. So, of course, it's completely rational to have a glass of wine and 2 spoonfuls of peanut butter and consider that an acceptable dinner.

There is some reason I am here. There always is, in the meantime, laugh, pray, smile and explore cause the three you thrived for this year have dwindled to one over the last few months. Maintain what you can and set new goals. Be realistic.

Hearts...

Some things I realized

As I finish off a book entitled the "Happiness project," I feel the need to write down some thoughts. It's taken me 6 months to get through this somewhat uplifting, somewhat preachy, somewhat annoying text. I don't know if I like that the author is constantly compromising herself for other people. I mean life is obviously a series of compromises, but should we not win some as well. Maybe the small wins are the ones we take for granted, who knows.

Things I realized in the past 6 months.

-Sticking my head under hot water or the back of my neck, is pretty much as exhilarating as going out into a field and screaming loudly. It seems to release almost everything.

-This has been a roller-coaster of a year. Relationships, moves, health issues, etc.

-Having said that, my family still is around to support me. My heart is still beating strongly. My eyes are generally clear. My friends surround me with warm wishes. Someone is looking out for me.

-Venezuela has probably been the toughest country I have ever moved to and stayed.

-Music can parallel my moods, can help them shift into positive or sad ones, but mostly is something that is extremely medicinal to me.

-Interval running isn't as bad as everyone thinks.

-I love my job and learn more every week but I still am not sure it's what I am supposed to do forever.

-My current before I die I want to status still stands at flash mob dancing.

-If something is easy or somewhat easy, let it be, develop comfort to a certain level before you rush out to change anything drastic.

-I miss my wine buddies, my runs to yoga, my dancing Champagne nights with Egyptian women, inspiring chats with bald men, getting 3 new outfits each month at H and M, morning cappucinos and the shagging wagon more than I ever thought I would.

-The shipping debaucle is making me absolutely neurotic and is trickling down into family, work, friends. When do you let go and admit defeat?

-Blogging is my new form of journalling, sadly, after tons and tons of journals before I was married to now. The words on a computer screen just can't emit as much emotion; no matter how powerful they are.