I was there.

I collect souvenir glasses. I have a few from wineries or breweries I have toured, a few that I acquired (ahem) from bars or pubs, and a set of Hard Rock Cafe shot glasses that belonged to my dad. I have no real interest in the Hard Rock Cafe, or in shot glasses, but my dad thought it was neat to collect them. A few months after he died, I traveled to London and made a point to buy one to add to the collection. Keeping that going helped me feel like dad was still around, in a way.

Years ago, I went to see a good friend who lived in Gernany. We went to a little pub in the small town of Bann (not to be confused with the larger, more well known town of Bonn), and the waitress did not speak English. I spoke a small handful of German words. I managed to order a beer, and I really liked the Pilsner glass in which it was served. I wondered if she would sell it to me, even though it technically was not for sale.

"Ich mochte gern das glas kaufen, bitte," I stumbled through, pointing at the glass with a hopeful look on my face. My grammar was awkward, but she understood. She gestured to the kitchen and stepped away to consult with the owner in the back, returning a few minutes later with the verdict: "funf euro." Five euros. Done!

I carefully carried that glass back on the plane, and displayed it on a bookshelf, where it lived for years. I was touched when, at my new apartment, my dear friend who helped me unpack after a recent move, instinctively chose that piece to display in my kitchen, on top of the fridge. I liked it there. It was set apart and I saw it every day.

What I didn't realize was that every time I shut the freezer door, the refrigerator vibrated and the glass moved, just a bit.

Last night, I closed the freezer door with a firm thunk and heard the crash as the glass hit the floor. 

I had to take a moment to process what had just happened, and to accept that I would not be able to take the moment back. The glass was irreplaceable. And it was gone.

I took a deep breath and with a sigh texted a friend about what had just happened. I told her I felt silly for being upset about it, that I was trying to shake it off.

"Don't shake it off," she said. 

"It meant a lot."

And, "impermanence sucks."

She went on to say, "that is always a part of your tapestry, the glass was a reminder, but you still did that. You were there."

Where it started.

Where it lays.

Introverted Tendencies

I was discussing temperament with a colleague recently and we talked about the difference between a person who is shy and a person who is an introvert. Many people think that they are one and the same. They are not.

I, for example, am not shy yet I am definitely an introvert.

People who are shy have difficulty being in social situations. That difficulty can be painfully crippling, to the point where it can negatively affect a person's life.

Introverts have no problem being social; we can just only take so much of it, and are quite happy spending time by ourselves, thank you very much.

In my last job, as a visitor services manager for a large cultural institution, I couldn't figure out why I was so emotionally wiped out every night when I got home. Then, one day, it hit me: my job required that I act as an extrovert all day long, starting with the morning meeting I led with my staff, and continuing throughout the day, where my job involved talking to people (both staff and guests), resolving problems, and having conversations, constantly. For someone who is happy sitting by herself in a quiet corner and reading a book, this type of job takes a lot out of you.

I started a new job recently, one in an office, with a lot of very social, friendly colleagues. They are lovely people who have gone out of their way to try to make me feel welcome. I went out to happy hour with them last week because I was invited to join two coworkers for a drink before they went on to another engagement. Perfect, I thought. I can chat with them and there is an end time on it, so I can still head home to my peace and quiet. Then, the quick happy hour turned into a good dozen or more coworkers all at the same bar; it was a little like a college party, only with grown-ups in business clothes. There was a lot of energy, a lot of noise. A lot of friendly people, to be sure, but I just didn't have it in me. It's not them, it's me. Really. But I don't come across as an introvert, because I have no problem holding my own in conversation in a group setting such as that. It just wears me out. But that's what the others don't see.

I write about this on my travel-themed blog because travel can at times force you out of your comfort zone. I've been to foreign countries by myself, I've been in situations where I did not speak the local language (Icelandic, anyone?), and I have certainly been in places where I did not know my way around (like when I picked a metro stop at random in Prague and found myself walking for twenty minutes until I realized I was not in the best part of town and really needed to get back to that train). I have purchased a beer glass in German and a bus ticket in Czech, even though I barely speak a handful of words in either language. I have gone hiking in the Blue Mountains (Australia) and eaten buffalo in Banff (Canada). Yet, at the end of the day, I really, really, really need that quiet room to go back to, either alone or with a travel buddy who really gets me. It's no great surprise that my best friends all love reading as much as I do. We can sit together and break out a book or go for a walk and be quite happy.

Hopefully, I will find my way with my extroverted colleagues in a way that shows my genuine gratitude for their kindness and outreach but that doesn't make me feel like I need to run and hide just to get a break from all the talking, already.

Watch your worries fly away...

I went to Naples, FL for New Year's. My dear friend Lisa lives there. I think it is important to have friends who live in fabulous places to visit.

I try to go down at least once a year, though thankfully, it has averaged more like twice a year over the past two. Last year I saw her for New Year's, again in April, when she came north for Thanksgiving, and then again for this New Year's. It is definitely possible, and really quite easy, to see the people you love and go to the places you want to go. All you have to do is make up your mind to make traveling to see them a priority.

I was determined to see Lisa for New Year's, because now that we have done this two years running, it feels like sort of a tradition, but a good tradition, not the kind like when you were a kid and everyone has to sit through the entire Thanksgiving Day Macy's parade while making antipasto, even when you think the parade is the most boring thing ever to air on television, and you don't eat antipasto.

I was also determined to have real, bona fide, plans for the built in four day weekend that I got at my new job. I had a four day weekend built in for Christmas, too, and luckily, was able to visit my sister in Dallas for that holiday, and also worked in some time with another of my best friends, who lives a town or two over from the city.

So, south I flew, sucking it up and flying out of Boston Logan instead of the much more convenient Manchester-Boston Regional airport, thanks to ridiculously expensive holiday tickets. I was slightly out of my comfort zone going to an airport that I didn't really know, which surprised me. I found a decent lot for parking that was only somewhat exorbitantly expensive, as opposed to Logan's ridiculously expensive long term parking. Then I flew on an airline I have never flown before and will never fly again: Spirit Air.

Spirit touts itself as a "budget" airline, and boy, do they mean it. They charge you $40 per carry on, but only if you're lucky enough to see the fine print on your reservation before you get to the airport. Otherwise, it's $100 a bag. To carry on.

If you have a question, either their website is down, or you can call their customer service line, sit on hold for more than an hour (no joke), and then speak with a nice person in a call center in India.

Once on board, there is advertising on the walls, and the flight attendants do their version of the Southwest "ha ha we're going to tell jokes so you pay attention" spiel, only when Southwest does it, it's funny. When Spirit does it, it's sad and depressing. They harp on how "budget" they are, that if the oxygen mask comes down in flight, after you swipe your credit card, oxygen will start to flow, that the only thing on the plane that is free is the seatbelt, and yes, they charge for water.

Luckily, the flight was nonstop and we made good time to Florida. Once in the airport, there was sunshine everywhere, I changed into shorts, put on my sunglasses, and stepped out into it.

The sun sets an hour later in western Florida than in New Hampshire. I would stand outside, starting at the mysterious bright round yellow thing in the sky at 5:30pm. Talk about good for my soul.

Lisa and I picked up some things for dinner, and then decided to go see the fireworks at Naples pier. The show is at 7, so we got to the beach around 6:30. We knew it would be crowded, but it was a special kind of crowded. You had to step very carefully to navigate around the many, many people who had set up camp with beach chairs and coolers. Despite being very crowded, the beach was incredibly civilized. People were (mostly) quiet, and very respectful of one another.

Lisa and I noticed what appeared to be luminaries floating by in the sky, a whole long line of them floating up the beach. It was magical and breathtaking and we had no idea what was going on.

We started to look around and saw a man and his son working on launching one. Sure enough, these were paper lanterns with a sparkler in the bottom. Once the sparkler gets going, you release the whole thing and let the wind and laws of physics do what they do.

This dad worked with his son for a bit and was struggling, so another person came to help. Other beach-goers called out advice as well. Finally, finally, the dad got it lit and was ready to launch it. He grabbed his son, told him to hold the bottom of the lantern so they could release it together over the water. "You take all of your worries, light them on fire, and then watch them float away," the dad said to his son, as the luminary began to float away overhead, followed by a long line of other luminaries, each carrying the worries of the day with them as they floated on by.

Good grief...

Apparently, I don't know how to use a regular phone anymore. Roughly twenty years ago, my home state of Maryland started running out of area codes and instituted new ones. From then on, Marylanders had to dial the full ten digits even for local calls. (http://articles.baltimoresun.com/1995-11-23/news/1995327031_1_area-codes-codes-in-maryland-two-new-area)

It has been common, for who knows how long, to dial "9" to get an external line when placing a call on site at a business, you used to have to also dial a 1, then the area, code, then the number. Except, once we started using ten digit numbers, the need for the 1 went away because you were always going to use the area code no matter what. 

Then, introduce my last place of business, which implemented a phone system that didn't require the "9." You just dialed ten digits and boom, you could reach anybody.

With cell phones, it has been the same thing, especially once unlimited nationwide calling became a thing and essentially did away with anything you might consider "long distance" calling.

Enter my new job. This position requires me to make a fair number of phone calls. I've been there more than a month and I'm still struggling to use a dang phone. More than once I have struggled to get an external line, because my business uses "8" to make an outside call, not "9."! Then today, again, I couldn't place a call! Well, I could, except it was to the wrong person even though I was certain I had the right number.

Get this: I had to ask for help *to make a phone call.* 

It turns out I still wasn't dialing the 1! Argh. 

I can't believe I have had to relearn how to use a phone.

I'm not in Kansas anymore...

Yesterday is the last Saturday before Christmas, and I had a few gifts that I was hoping to get into the mail to arrive in time for the holiday. This was an especially fun challenge because my printer is nowhere near ready to be set up, so I couldn't print postage at home, and needed to find a post office. The good news was that there was a post office in my town that was open until 1pm. Plenty of time!

I got my gifts wrapped and packed and ready to go with half an hour to spare. As the post office was only twenty minutes away, that meant I could make it. I used the GPS on my phone and off I went. The drive was uneventful, until I was told I had reached my destination and saw this:

I was pretty sure that wasn't a post office, only I saw no signs of a post office anywhere in that little shopping area, or nearby areas. Confused and pressed for time, I tried looking across the street. I saw a white building up on a hill, with a full size American flag on a flag pole out front, and lots of cars in the parking lot. That's it, I thought! I head that way, and successfully maneuvered my car into a makeshift parking lot. I saw other people hurriedly heading inside.

I admit to being a little confused, because as I got closer to the front of the building, I didn't see any signage at all indicating this was a post office, or business of any kind. I still walked up to the front door, and before I could open it, a man and woman opened it from within and asked if they could help me. Suddenly, it was very clear that this was not a post office at all. I was about to walk into someone's home and private party.

I apologized for disturbing them and explained my confusion. Here's the kicker: rather than acting like I was some sort of crazy person, they couldn't have been nicer! They said that the post office is actually inside the Harvest Market store across the street, and jokingly invited me in for lunch. I again apologized, jumped in my car, and headed back to the market. 

When I walked inside, I was still confused, because I was clearly in a grocery store and not a post office. I asked the wine tasting lady if there might be a post office nearby. She pointed me to the customer service desk. 

That's the post office. I'm not kidding.

While waiting in the surprisingly short line, the lady in line in front of me struck up a conversation. We stood there having a nice chat about her love of sending new year's cards instead of Christmas cards and how she has family in Virginia down near where I'm from (except they're from western Virginia, which is nowhere near where I'm from, but I digress). She was as friendly as can be, and then it was my turn, and the customer service rep/post office guy was polite, efficient, and had me out of there in minutes. 

I'm still so confused. At home, I would be standing in line for probably half an hour at least just to get to the counter (and had brought my kindle with me in anticipation of this), and no one in line would have talked to me!

After my very pleasant pre-Christmas post office experience, I then went back to the wine tasting lady and enjoyed some samples of free wine. In the grocery store. Which, where I'm from, isn't a thing.

Enjoy Every Day

People always say they would like to do this more, or that more, but then complain about their boring lives and how nothing ever changes. Folks, the universal truth is this: you have to make things happen for yourself. Decide what is important to you, and do it. 

Years ago, my dad got word that his cancer was terminal. I didn't know what to say. I asked if there was anything I could do. "Well," he said, "enjoy every day." I have heard those words in my head and in my heart every day since. A lifelong smoker, my dad had finally quit smoking several years before getting sick. He used the money he saved from buying cigarettes to buy a a really nice road bike, and he started taking bike rides on evenings after work, and on the weekends. He began preparing his own meals, healthy things like lentil soup. He started doing everything right. He still got sick. He still died young.

When he was dying, my dad told me about some of the things he had planned to do once he retired. On his list: conduct his own, personal comparison of world religions; travel to Italy; cure me of my tomato "phobia." He regretted putting off these pursuits. 

It took me some years between then and now to really internalize the life lesson, but I know now how important it is not to put off doing the things that matter most.

It helps greatly when one of your important pursuits is travel, and you find a friend with a similar love for and commitment to making trips happen, not to mention a similar mindset as to budget and type of travel experience. But regardless, I am not waiting any longer to make travel a priority.

I have my dad to thank for that. 

Closet Under the Stairs

Thirty-something years ago, my family took a road trip to New Hampshire. I was not yet ten years old. My parents bundled me, my older sister, and my grandparents into the station wagon, and we drove north.

We rented a house in the mountains somewhere. I was young, and have vague recollections of this trip, but a few things in particular stand out: I distinctly remember that our rental was in the woods, among the trees. The scenery was different than the familiar landscape of Maryland. The house was tall, with a third floor loft that I thought was the coolest. You had to climb a ladder to get all the way up to the top. I don't really like ladders, though, so while interesting, that was not the most intriguing part of the property for me.

My favorite part of this house was a small closet on the main floor. It was the type of walk-in closet that you typically find built in underneath a staircase. The only thing in the closet was a vacuum cleaner, so there was plenty of space for me. Whenever the grown-ups spent too much time talking about grown-up things, or my sister didn't want her kid sister tagging along, I would hide in the closet under the stairs, happily sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor, reading my book.

If memory serves, my parents thought that was weird, and kept trying to draw me out of what they viewed as my anti-social hideaway. What I now realize, with the wisdom of many years between my adult self now and my child self then, is that I am a natural introvert, and while not shy, at times I do need my secret lair in which to retreat from conversation and company. I crave alone time, and more than that, I need the space, quiet and unbothered, in which to be on my own.

I still need that type of space to this day. In an interesting twist of fate, I have recently moved from my home state of Maryland to New Hampshire, just a short half hour's drive north of where we rented that house many years ago. Moving was a difficult endeavor, fraught with stress and emotion. Many times, I needed that small space in which to retreat and be still. The demands of moving did not allow for much time for reflection, however. The stress began to mount.

Once in New Hampshire, a good friend came with me for the drive and for moral support. At one point during our weekend of exploring the neighboring towns, we were discussing whether or not to go out and find another fun thing to do, or just go home. "Let's go back to your little cocoon," she said, referring to my new apartment. I knew immediately that I could weather the change in circumstance from the comfortable familiarity of my home state to the new beginning I had before me. I knew I would be okay, because I have in my apartment, another little closet under the stairs. I had been worried that apartment living would be noisy and stressful, when in reality, I chose a quiet place, where I don't hear much except for the occasional plane flying overhead, reminding me of all of the possibilities for travel that are right here at my fingertips.

I am grateful to have found another little place to call home, even if for a short time.