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Lives Lived

Gabrielle set her sights high and her bar higher. She craved the feeling/sense of accomplishment that came with professional accolades and she sacrificed too much to attain them for fear that if she did not continue her progress, she would be stripped of her legitimacy, left naked, exposed, and vulnerable in a climate she could not control or adequately prepare for. The idea of success was her armor, the path to it her charge, and the praise she received from her missions only reinforced its utility and value. She carried with her a zeal and inner strength informed by the trauma, fortitude, sacrifice, and achievements of her predecessors. Along the way she lost her innate sense of self and connection to simple joys; her energy focused on serving others and driving forward at all costs. The costs were great. We honor her memory and mark her steps as lessons learned.

She is survived by her light. Her words and truths hold and share her legacy. Her shell has been renewed, refilled by a core motivation toward knowledge and experiences. She wears her fear openly now, she leans into her curiosity, and basks in her wonder. She moves slower, not out of frailty, but intention. She ponders longer and lets the universe lead her to decisions. She connects to others and maintains roles in supporting those who need it, but she sacrifices less. There is no need. There is no journey for the approval or acclaim she has already earned and awarded to herself. Her ambitions have changed. She’s driven towards the sun and wind. She’s at home at sea. She seeks and finds solace in the quiet and the colorful. She’s defined not by labor but by breath and intersection, by ideas and pen strokes.

We’re all made of many versions of ourselves; nourish the elements that fuel your core.

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On the road with the boys

My brother and I are 5.5 years apart in age. As adults, when people started asking which one of us was older upon meeting us, I felt like I was starting to win back some time lost to bickering and little brother taunts. Even though we spent much of childhood fighting to the death, we bonded as adults. There is no one on this Earth I would do more to protect, even in the days we battled as video game characters (on-screen and in reality).

Just a year and one week before I was born, my cousin Joe entered the world and we were destined to be BFF. He was the “brother” I voluntarily spent my childhood with.  While Joe and I were much closer in age and interests, he was also a boy who liked video games and sports, so my brother looked up to him, and as a result, he played a great middle man. Because Joe spent so much of his childhood as an only child (and because of his magical ability to make both my brother and myself happy), he often accompanied our family on vacations growing up, much to the delight of literally everyone involved. It didn’t take long for Joe to become essentially our other sibling.

It dawned on me that I couldn’t remember the last time the three of us had done something together. I decided to recreate our family vacations for the first time as adults, so in January, we got on a plane for Costa Rica. I can’t tell you how excited I was to take this trip with them, and it was also just nice to have some travel companions for once. As much as I enjoy the solo life and have done the vast majority of my life’s travel on my own, there’s a lot to be said for good company!

Because I was traveling with other people, this was the most planning I did for any trip. Typically, I plan my flights, accommodations, and any pre-departure COVID procedures about a month at a time, but that’s it. After that, I feel things out on the ground and decide what I’d like to do. I also usually have a little bit more time to work with in a location and we were doing one week in Costa Rica and then one week in Peru, just Joe and I. In order to make the most of our time together, I organized a detailed itinerary and consulted them on their preferences. We stayed in one Airbnb apartment, with a great view, in San José and took day trips out to different areas to explore, focused on the beaches and national parks on the Pacific side of the country. The trip started with mimosas in the airport lounge using Joe’s membership (but that’s not why I invited him mwahaha). From the moment we landed, we ate and explored well! From trying the local fare, to learning how to distinguish between three- and two-toed sloths (at least for five minutes), to beach-bumming, we had a fabulous time. Even when we just hung out in the Airbnb talking trash or watching football with Spanish commentary, it was a win. We didn’t hit a single hiccup in Costa Rica; something I’ve been so lucky to say for most of my travels thus far. 

When we parted ways for the US and Peru, Joe and I found ourselves in a much more interesting predicament. We spent the first two days in Lima and found the Barranco area beautiful and easy to navigate. It wasn’t until the day before our scheduled flight to Cusco that we learned there had been a mudslide at Machu Picchu, requiring the rescue of over 800 people. The incident took out access to the famed site for the week and nullified our tickets. Going to Machu Picchu was the main reason for our trip so we were extremely disappointed, though grateful we hadn’t been caught in the disaster ourselves. We headed to Cusco anyway, prepared to enjoy what we could of the Sacred Valley and spend some time in the city before heading back to Lima. When we landed in Cusco, we were in for another surprise: a strike was blocking the only road into the Sacred Valley and to our hotel! I called the hotel, all but expecting to have to find somewhere else to sleep that night on our own, but this is when it pays off to have been a little bougie in booking your accommodations. Luckily, our hotel had a partner hotel in Cusco and were able to make arrangements for us to stay there for the night, and even potentially our entire reservation should the strike continue. Relieved, we got an Uber and made our way to the Palacio Nazarenas as hail began to pelt down from the sky. I’m not usually one to make such an entrance, but here we are.

When I tell you I was woefully unprepared for what awaited us at this stunning former palace and cathedral, I would still be downplaying it. The staff was extremely accommodating, especially our personal butler, Edgar (I swear we didn’t spend a ton of money y’all!). Exhausted and still too early to check into our room, Joe and I planted ourselves in the restaurant to get something to eat. Everything was perfect! As the altitude started to weigh heavy on our systems, we just stayed there, drinking Andean tea, enjoying more food and just talking with a view of the pool. When our room was ready, we could not believe how amazing it was and I was impressed with all of the small details in our room and around the property. We agreed that as much as we would hate to miss the Sacred Valley, we could certainly do worse than being “trapped” in this paradise. The next morning we ate breakfast and checked on the status of the strike – it had concluded! We decided to spend time exploring Cusco before heading up to the Sacred Valley. I loved leaning into the history of the city from the museums to the shops and cathedrals. That afternoon, we made our way to our original hotel, Rio Sagrado, which was equally stunning as the first hotel with the added benefit of a backyard patio for our room and playtime with llamas! Our most striking experience was walking the ancient city of Ollantaytambo, also known as the “Living Inca City.” Such a unique experience and a way to travel through time. 

I was not prepared to love Peru as much as I did. I was relieved to find the Peruvian accent in Spanish is very easy to understand and I probably did the most successful practicing there. I can’t even cover all of the little things, but I think Joe and I ended the trip in the most perfect way: dinner at Maido, one of the top 50 restaurants in the world. Book early, bring a friend, and hopefully, they’ll install a ramp to make it easier to roll yourself out of there at the end. Exquisite! Clearly, we’ll be back to finally experience Machu Picchu, but in the end, the only real downside was I don’t think either one of us ever actually acclimatized to the crazy altitude. Though the light-headedness dissipated after the first day, anything more than one flight of steps felt like an oxygen tank would imminently be required, and wearing masks on top of that – Sweet Lord Jesus. And to think people complain at home where oxygen in the air is plentiful. I’d almost be generous enough to fly some of these anti-mask clowns down there just so they can understand what true asphyxia feels like, but it’s cheaper to just call them stupid. At some point, oxygen probably was indeed withheld from their delicate brain cells. 

In any event, my first foray into Central and South America was nothing short of memorable, and I’m grateful I have done something new with two guys who know me too well. 

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Catch me on NBC

When I moved to LA in 2017, the last thing I thought about was “the industry.” I was moving there as a civilian, so-to-speak, a regular person on a comparatively mundane career path. In my early days in the city, I was having drinks at a bar with a friend along Melrose. While chatting with some folks in another group, I had just shared my recent move when one of them asked me, “So what dream are you chasing?” I laughed, a bit caught off guard but quickly understood why he asked. One of them was interested in a music career, another something industry related that I don’t recall; such paths were the norm for folks who moved to the city in their 20s. 

I already shared my affinity for LA in Wheels Up, a city I’ve grown to love. Even in my previous job where I worked with many students and parents who were tied to a variety of roles in “the industry,” (as the world of Hollywood is known) some quite powerfully, I didn’t really give it too much thought. I was even teased by a colleague or two for being so gloriously terrible at recognizing what were apparently very notable names and faces. The awe of show-business has just never been all that alluring to me, though it’s certainly interesting. 

What has always captured my fascination is understanding my own history. Like many Black Americans, I’ve always wondered about my people, my earliest ancestors – what countries did they originate from? What cultures were they stripped of during enslavement? I took the Ancestry DNA test back in 2015 and found the myriad of percentages intoxicating. I purchased a membership so I could dig into the depths of discovering my more recent ancestors and found the process incredibly cumbersome albeit addicting. It’s a deep rabbit hole to fall into, so when I saw an ad on Ancestry a couple of years ago asking about interest in getting help with the search, I quickly completed the application. I don’t remember much of what it said or how I found it, but I do remember the description explaining that a TV show was being created around the mysteries of the family tree. After a while of not hearing anything, I completely forgot that I had applied, so when I received a call from a casting director a full two years later, at first there was some initial shock. Not one to turn down a unique opportunity (as you’ve probably gathered on your own), I recovered quickly to accept the offer to complete a casting interview, volunteering my mother as tribute- I mean my partner- for the NBC show, “Roots Less Traveled,” sponsored by Ancestry.

Despite my preamble, I am in no way a part of “the industry” now, lest you misunderstand where this is going. If you’ve never seen the show, the premise is that two relatives take a journey together to unlock unknown information from their family tree. It’s like “Finding Your Roots,” with Henry Louis Gates, Jr., but for regular people (lol) and more streamlined for accessibility in NBC’s #TheMoreYouKnow programming.

Because I was partnering with my mom, I knew we’d be discovering something along the maternal line of my ancestry, but that is literally all we knew when we began. Production told us where we would check-in the first night, but otherwise we had no details and no idea where the journey would lead us. What followed included the fun of gathering old family photos (even raiding my grandmother’s house) and making selfie videos on the road, ultimately leading up to an intense week of filming and learning, meeting some incredible people, and hanging out with a pretty cool (and presumably perpetually exhausted) production team. The days were very long, but I was motivated by knowing each scene would provide new information. We were never told where we were going, just given an address shortly before we were to drive ourselves there. Mom and I were tired a lot; however, we had fun together, our never-ending banter probably being what helped us get cast in the first place. Mom was a great sport because she wasn’t nearly as curious as I was, but she knew what it meant to me to be able to learn whatever we could. The production team, led by the amazing production manager, Sandra, quickly learned some key tools in getting the most out of us: Dunkin’ in the morning for me, Peanut M&M’s anytime for mom (the amount of times someone not-so-subtly slid a few small packages into her hand throughout the day was nothing short of hilarious), and Pepsi at lunch for both of us (Coke drinkers can FIGHT ME).

During the production, each day I came back to a hotel room fully overwhelmed from exhaustion and reeling with new information. From new historical locations and data previously unknown to us, to documents revealing both familiar and completely surprising details about our ancestors, to meeting historical experts, it felt like we covered so much in a short period of time. I didn’t really have time to process it all until it was over. And yet, I would still love more! In the grand scheme of things, the information probably means more to me than anyone else even in my own family, as certainly the experience does. When I think about the path I’m on, a path informed by ancestors far more strong and undaunted than I, I feel only joy and gratitude. The rare look of intrigue and amusement on my 89-year-old grandfather’s face when we shared the what we learned about our family was absolutely the cherry on top.

Catch “Roots Less Traveled” on NBC on Saturday, November 27 at 11am Eastern or online any time after! Follow @nbcroots on Instagram for more info.

Behind the Scenes:

Photo Credits: NBC Studios, Litton Entertainment & Faruq Tauheed Jenkins

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España, corazón

Early January of 2006, a 20-year-old me stepped off of the longest solo journey of my life to begin a 6-month stint in Alicante, Spain. In some ways, I think I was much bolder and more courageous then. It was my third time beyond the borders of the U.S.; the first two times being school trips: one to Canada in 8th grade with our French class, and the second an EF tour trip to Greece with much of my 10th grade class. Both times surrounded by friends and trusted adults. I don’t recall my parents thinking twice about the trip to Canada; it wasn’t too far (though we took a bus! That’s right, imagine God knows how many middle-schoolers on a bus for 14 hours and when the chills cease, keep reading), but when the opportunity for the Greece trip arose, both my interest and anxiety were piqued. The price tag was significant and I, so accustomed to hearing “No,” generally dared not ask for much. The trip was limited to a certain number of students, so I knew I did not have a lot of time to negotiate lest I miss out on the opportunity entirely. I sat in my room, feverishly preparing a full speech and presentation for my mom on why I should be able to go. To my surprise, she quickly agreed.

I had dreamt of circumnavigating the planet since I knew there were places to go beyond the 45-minute radius of my entire extended family. Ask my grandmother about me, and it’s almost a guarantee that she’ll tell you about how she would gather us grandchildren on the porch with some regularity when we were young to take turns telling stories. She says mine always started in Rockville and sometimes went as far as Japan, a country I knew next to nothing about, before she had to wrangle me back home. I never lost that dreamer spirit, but a combination of things that I’m still working out has always kept me on the ground instead of somewhere in flight. Dreamers can get a bad rap, as if one can’t land between trips, as if you always stay lost in space, as if there can only be one version of reality.

At 18-years-old, I tried out my wings for the first time, heading to college over one thousand miles from home. It would have been further if I could haha. They opened quickly, eagerly, but learning to fly was another matter. Two years later, finding myself in another country, I was instantly overwhelmed. I had taken Spanish 101 as a first-year after taking French all through middle and high school because I wanted to try something different, and because I was in Miami so do as the Romans do as they say. Besides initially struggling in an intro class where our professor only spoke Spanish and Japanese and where I was the only student who hadn’t even been exposed to Spanish courses before, I was surprised at how much I enjoyed it. I even took Spanish over the summer at a local community college so that by spring semester of junior year, I had made the minimum coursework requirements to head abroad, but that didn’t mean I was ready. Thank God for a friend of a friend, Tiara, who was also studying abroad in Alicante and had been there a semester already. She came to the airport to retrieve me and help me connect with my landlady to get into my apartment. The first month was hard and I don’t say that lightly. I really struggled. If you know anything about Spain, you know that their Spanish and the Spanish I was used to hearing in the streets of Miami weren’t exactly the same. It was a steep learning curve. But I survived it. I enjoyed it a lot of the time (after that first month). I leaned into the challenge; I saw no other direction and I was determined to experience, simply experience. I was lucky enough to secure a good host family, also after the first month, who were sweet, caring, and excellent cooks – I gained 20lbs! From Spain, I was able to see England, France, and Morocco on trips with other broke college students, crashing wherever, (sometimes precariously), but we were living, if not on the edge. All that being said, as the end of my six months neared, I was ready to come home. Studying abroad was full of firsts, good and bad – I even managed to fail a class.

Despite the struggles I wrestled with there, Spain has always held a special place in my heart and the memories that pop up most easily are the positive, if not more unique, ones. In 2016, I planned an elaborate two-week European vacation with my mom and brother in celebration of my mother’s 60th birthday and her newly earned Ed.D. Her dream had always been to live in Paris, but of course, I couldn’t stop there. During the course of our 5-country tour, I included my old stomping ground, Alicante, a full decade after leaving it. Arriving in Spain felt like home. I remember landing and hearing Spanish all around me and feeling relieved (partially because we had just left France and my French leaves a lot to be desired). I wanted my mom to see the place for which she had sacrificed so that I could experience a dream, one that changed my outlook on my future and my simple plans for a simple life. Because that was when I learned I could fly and I didn’t have to just dream. There was a sense of calm as I navigated the streets and people like old times, even though I was no longer as conversant in the language as I once was. Only 5 years later, I expected our romance to continue with this year’s adventure too, if not forever.

So I think I averaged at least one thoroughly embarrassing moment per day in Spain. My Spanish has deteriorated far more than I arrogantly thought despite months of successful Duolingo practice to try to dust off the cobwebs. But everyday I went out and tried. I always did my best to communicate in Spanish, not English. I grew frustrated with myself; I should have kept it up better. But something else was different too. Maybe because I chose to visit a different region this time. I loved Málaga, and Sevilla even more, and I would go back again, but something wasn’t there that was before. I was just a tourist this time, even though I intentionally gave myself a slow pace and stayed in homes not hotels to try to settle in. We’re not lovers anymore, Spain, just good friends, but I’ll see you again. 

A few highlights in the things-to-do column & restaurant recs:

Málaga

  • Malagueta Beach – you rent beach chairs & umbrellas or just bring a towel
  • Castillo de Gibralfaro – bring your walking shoes for the hike up or take the bus, but you don’t want to miss these views. You can buy a day pass for this and the Alcazaba onsite.
  • Alcazaba de Málaga
  • Málaga Cathedral
  • Picasso Museum – museums in Málaga are often free all or part of the day on Sundays. His birthplace museum is also here though very small.
  • Andino Gastrobar
  • Casa Aranda – churros con chocolate!

Sevilla (I can’t say “Seville” y’all, it’s so hideous)

  • Sangria Tasting – I booked a class on a rooftop through Airbnb for about $20 – well worth it. 
  • Flamenco shows – they’re everywhere! I saw a formal show at Baraka in Triana and had a front row seat.
  • Torre del Oro – free Mondays
  • Plaza de España – the place to be and always live flamenco
  • Real Alcázar – you could spend hours here!
  • Sevilla Cathedral – mostly to climb the bell tower, La Giralda. Christopher Columbus is also entombed here in case you had words for him.
  • Museo de Bellas Artes
  • Las Setas – odd but beautiful, go at night for the aurora experience.
  • Vuela Tapas & Cocktails 
  • Bar Alfalfa
  • Mano de Santo 

Photos – Top: First day in Spain (Málaga), Bottom from left: Sevilla Cathedral, outside the cathedral, Plaza de España, half-way through a sangria tasting, my pisco sour at Andino Gastrobar and my view from the apartment in Málaga.

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Play it back

I was bothered recently by the lack of documentation I’ve done of my trips thus far. I’ve written a lot about my feelings, contemplative thoughts and ideas, but I don’t want to forget the individual moments and adventures that led to them, and I (really) don’t want to have to rely on social media for memories. Sometimes I write in my journal, but most days I don’t. As much as I appreciate the interest others have in reading, at the end of the day, I have to do this for me.

The month I spent in Hawaii was transformative – not in a dramatic sense, if there’s another way, but it was peaceful, luxurious, and low-key. It wasn’t always actively happy as no month-long stint really could be the entire time (at least for me), but it took me somewhere mentally that I needed to go. 

Hawaii was grounding. I was able to move slowly and take my time. I had booked an amazing Airbnb, like THE most beautiful – and the price was reflective, definitely a splurge. It was a peaceful retreat with scenic views and an ocean breeze. The bonus was how friendly my host, Lauren, was. At first I thought it was a normal level of hospitality, but I soon realized that she was genuinely interested. She treated me to wine and food on more than one occasion. I got to know her and her “was”-band, who was visiting for a time and somehow went to the same local HBCU as my father, uncle, and many of my family members as an Iranian immigrant *mindblown* In any event, it was a nice connection and Lauren and I have kept in touch. We share interest in the same guilty pleasure trash TV series, “90 Day Fiancé” and its all of its iterations. 

Most days, despite my nature, I was up by 8 or 9am. The brightness of the Airbnb – the literal amount of sunlight was astounding, but I had a good eye mask and it didn’t really seem like the sunlight was waking me up. I don’t know, maybe I was just more at peace there, so my body just didn’t need as much sleep, or as much as I’m accustomed to. 

I tried to explore as much of Oahu as possible, piece by piece. I found some amazing beaches: Kailua being the closest and most crowded of those I visited; Lanikai, stunning and a bit further walk. I tried Haleiwa to see the sea turtles/honu, planning around traffic and parking precariously. I spent almost two hours there with little luck. Plenty of tourists though, a common issue plaguing the island as I grew to understand – I have to own my contribution to that. I was disappointed, but pressed on. I went into town and was further disappointed with how crowded it was too. The restaurant I had planned to visit was basically out of food so to make the long trip worth it, I stood in line forever for the famed shaved ice only for half of it to be mediocre at best. I left dejected, but remembered that a friend had suggested coconut peanut butter from a specialty store in the area. It was on the edge of town, a little less busy so I went and bought an overpriced jar – it’s good, but $9? Ma’am. On my way out, I noticed a sign for wine next door at what appeared to be a small cafe and a girl knows what she deserves. I sat down for a tasting and inhaled a sandwich as I hadn’t eaten all day. I was the only one in there for a while, so I had a nice chat with the young sommelier. That made the day worth it and I even considered driving back up there just for that place, though I ultimately didn’t. I had gotten so sucked into that mess of an adventure that I had forgotten about a virtual cousin gathering we were having that evening until a reminder buzzed on my phone. I had to get myself together and hurry to the car to do the Zoom from there, while 6 roosters congregated for their own discussion in front of me under a mango tree, in case I had forgotten I was in Hawaii. Can I pause for a moment to say how much I hated that rental car? It thought it was smarter than me. I was lucky to have a car considering the rental market at the time, but nah miss me with some of this technology <insert geriatric finger-wagging here>. It wouldn’t sync with my phone and still allow me to Zoom like my own VW baby back home, so I had to sit there in the parking lot for the whole meeting and then drive home. It was a day. 

One of the most memorable experiences was Queen Emma’s Summer Palace, a last-minute venture at almost the end of my trip that was actually a suggestion from Lauren. When I went online to buy tickets, I saw that they also offered hula classes on the grounds for only $5. I eagerly signed up. The class was taught by an authentic Kumu, not just some white lady from the resort like I had experienced in Maui years earlier. He shared his family’s long legacy of teaching hula on the island, sang and played the drum while we learned our choreography that I vowed I wouldn’t forget and promptly did, unfortunately. It was a beautiful experience despite how out of place I felt in a small group of mostly senior ladies who were from the island (the class was for ages 35+). In my ignorance, I also had no skirt; hopefully, it wasn’t disrespectful, but it’s a class that will stick with me for some time. 

Most of the rest of the trip were beaches – Makapu’u, Waimanalo – and scenic drives and vistas. There were rum tastings at Ko Hana with great company, history lessons at Iolani Palace and so much delicious food. I couldn’t make much of a dent in the many lists of recommended restaurants shared with me. I learned to love more coconut things, that 7 Eleven is way better there (you can even trust it for lunch) and fell in love with a new slurpee flavor: Ube. The beauty of the island was astounding. I got to see one of my beloved friends who just moved back, the island being where she grew up. Despite living in the same city for several years, we had seen each other only rarely so having concentrated time to catch up and just exist together again was the ultimate treat. 

As I sit here outside of the Málaga Cathedral on a bench in the garden, listening to the fountain gently splashing water into the pond, I prepare for new beauty and new connections. There is much yet to come.

Rooster meeting, Location: Mango Tree, Haleiwa

Top Photo: Sunset in Honolulu

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Shifting Tides & Open Seas

When I decided on this current chapter of life I was filled with excitement. O how change can fuel me. That excitement propelled me into planning and o how satisfying planning and organizing can be. In my mind, once the journey/travel began, some of my perpetual anxiety would end or at least I’d put it aside for a time so I could focus on the present and allow exploration, knowledge, decisions, and new interests to grab hold and release me at will. In many ways, that has been true, and yet some old habits die hard. Though typically calm, I am generally impatient, particularly with myself. So far, I have developed many more questions than answers as it relates to my next steps, much to the confoundment of my desire for decisiveness, and even some of the plans I thought I had already made. 

I always find myself on a beach to decipher my thoughts and as I write this, it is no different. It’s windy and partly cloudy, which is perfect, allowing for full immersion into the ambience without actually baking in the sun. The combined sound of the winds and waves is almost deafening, but in a way that also feels like being wrapped safely in a cocoon or the soothing effect of a cool blanket. If I let it all run through me, perhaps some clarity will remain or form.

What feels different about Hawaii beaches is the rich history and culture in which they are steeped. Something I am conscious of and curious about with every step I take around this island. Nearly all of my own ancestral homelands are along a coast. I hadn’t given much thought to that before and perhaps it holds no bearing on my affinity for the ocean shores, but who knows, maybe it does. Maybe I’m eager to find connection to people and cultures I will never know. Maybe my whole life’s path has been about filling various voids. I daresay they are not fillable. Ever-hungry thoughts race through my mind constantly while I watch other people seemingly find contentment. But I don’t really want to be “content.” Contentment to me feels synonymous with settling. Not necessarily a bad thing, settling could be settling down, a steadiness, calm seas. Yet, it’s waves that always draw me in and thus, their ups and downs. Hunger means you’re still alive; it means you must move; it means you still have things to do; things you must do. It’s the most motivating force. I already see my motivations shifting though, be it emotional exhaustion, growth, questioning, or just change.

As I prepare to end the first major trip of this multi-leg journey, my take-aways are sobering:

  • I still need to give myself more grace. As a new wave of the pandemic rages on, all of us have changed and will have to continue to bend with each new twist and turn. What I envisioned for this journey originally will have to change too, as will my own goals for its outcomes.
  • Embrace the questions. It seems like eons ago, but just a couple of years back, I stood in front the entire school community where I worked at the time to give a graduation speech, an experience of which I could never have dreamt, and gave some of best and most authentic advice I’ve ever shared: lean into the discomfort. It’s not the questions themselves that unnerve me or even the change (we all know I have a natural affinity for that), but I suppose it’s the lack of tangibility in this particular change that for the highly rational side of my brain is causing the impatience. Even some of the things I thought I knew about this path I now question, but that’s okay too.
  • Keep enjoying the minutes and moments. Living in the present has always been challenging for someone who is always planning and looking forward to the next thing. It’s the type of challenge I need in order to avoid getting sucked into something I don’t.

In the end, I’m still excited. I’m still confident that listening in for my own inner rhythms and seeking the opportunities that align with them is the best choice I can make for myself. And I’m still grateful that I have the time, means, and opportunity to take care of myself. Taking my time and soaking it all in feels right even when the world around me is less certain; especially when the world around me is less certain. Absorbing the current of the vibes on this island, as I’ve wandered through most of it now, adds new thoughts to a new future. Hawaii has been good to this girl and it’s not an experience I’m likely to forget.

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Wondering

When I first booked this trip to Hawaii, I could hardly imagine what August would bring on the world stage. It was an act floating on fresh fumes of hope and an eagerness to begin anew. It was February, nearly a full year after the beginning of this strange nightmare otherwise known as “COVID,” though barely a couple of months into crafting my plans and steeling my nerves to go through with them, but for this trip, I was beyond ready.

The journey to Oahu felt like the longest one of my life after that time I had to fly to China in a middle seat and promptly begin work after landing on no sleep. Despite the cost, I’m grateful I splurged on first class seats, which significantly mitigated the challenge. I was a bit on the brink mentally leaving my mom’s house. One month had already done a number on my sanity. The noise from the upstairs neighbors (and their dying air conditioning unit) felt endless; my delicate sleep patterns, though fickle anyway, were nearly completely lost. The combination eroded my joy and patience. On top of that, I was forced to face the very real mortality of my grandparents. No amount of logic or rationalization could have prepared me to see the slow shuffle of my grandfather’s feet, the progression of dementia in one of my grandmothers, and the physical challenges of the other. Personality-wise, they really haven’t changed, especially my grandmothers. They are both still particular, decisive, and powerful even if only in their own minds, but my childhood memories of them as these all-mighty beings came to a crashing and abrupt halt in their meeting with reality. The result was a blow to my psyche and energy that I did not expect despite watching my mother struggle with caring for hers from afar, and of course, simply knowing that such a time would eventually come. I do not wish to see such days for myself, but I also know I do not wish for the alternative. In some ways my current adventuring will allow me the flexibility to see my grandparents more in the waning window of time I have left with them and for that, I’m grateful. Grad school afforded me that same such luck with one grandfather, getting some long overdue face-time before the end came all too soon. 

As I sit on a lanai overlooking an exquisite beach landscape, I realize even paradise isn’t enough to quiet my mind. I still worry and wonder about the things I may never know or have the chance to ask. I would like to hope that in death, one gains all the answers to all life’s questions, but I also know how ridiculous that sounds. My curiosity is sometimes taxing. What seems like the infinite vessels of a soul is soothing in that one may live yet again, though I’ve technically won the lottery in some ways so pushing my luck seems rather bold. But ever since a strange déjà vu experience I had in Delphi, Greece as a teen, I’ve felt my soul must have lived before. In some ways it seems travelers by nature are likely souls who have lived many times and so, are naturally drawn to places from their past lives as well as new paths for their next one to find. It all comes into great conflict with my Catholic upbringing, but frankly so does most of what I’ve come to believe and even what I believed as a child. I’ve been skeptical of organized religion for most of my life, mostly because it seems to protect more evil than good on a grand scale, and while it provides solace and direction for some, it supports complacency, blindness, hate, and even violence too. Do you really need a book of instructions to endeavor to be “good”? The threat of hellfire? I guess some people do. Then again, some only use it as it suits them anyway. I digress and in any case I’m in no position to lecture. I just wonder. I wonder and I wonder because even if I’m right, the end of one life is still the end. So we have to make the most of what we have.

My first summer living in NorCal, my mom and brother came to visit me. It was July in the Bay Area and my mom’s reaction to my warning to bring a jacket and scarf was met with a choking sound and apt confusion. Though I was living in Marin County at the time and enjoyed the warm summer weather afforded to that particular micro-climate, I had already figured out, quite painfully, that “summer” did not exactly apply the same way across the region. Sausalito was a great example, but after a day of exploring in our layers we landed in a restaurant near the water for dinner. The food was delicious and we all scoured our plates. I watched with curiosity as my brother inspected what was clearly an inedible garnish on his plate, the last remaining item. Cautiously, he bit into it at which my head cocked pointedly in reaction. He immediately placed it back down on his plate without eating it, but still seemed satisfied. I asked him why he decided to bite it when it quite obviously wasn’t food. He replied, “I just didn’t want to look back and wonder if I could’ve eaten that.” My mom and I nearly died laughing, but it’s probably one of my favorite things that anyone has ever said. Both because of my affinity for (and mildly unhealthy obsession with) eating and because it’s actually rather profound if you think about it. No regrets. Let me wonder now and try what I can so maybe later I can wander more and wonder less.

Some of Oahu’s Wonders

Photos: Top: Airbnb lanai in Kailua, Bottom collage features shots from (from bottom) Byodo-In Temple, Waimānalo Beach, Iolani Palace, Haleiwa Beach, Hālona Blowhole, and Pali Lookout.

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Hometown Rounds

Coming back to the DC area always feels a bit routine. Typically, each year I return twice – summer and around Christmas time for the holiday season. DC summers are hot and humid, but it’s crab season! If you haven’t eaten blue crab, you haven’t yet lived. Go ahead, tell me I’m exaggerating and I’ll tell you what you don’t know about seafood, tradition, and the power of nostalgia.

Growing up, food was the language of love in my extended family. Not so abnormal I’m sure, but influential nonetheless. One of the first short stories I wrote in college was entitled “Grandma’s Kitchen.” The story was a recollection and appreciation of the love and community produced in that space more than the food shared there, but both of my grandmothers created essentially a home within a home where memories abound. The good, the bad, the joyous, and sometimes sad times have often centered in that room over food and drink, shared amongst young and weathered hands. 

I don’t have a single negative memory associated with eating crabs. We didn’t eat them all the time and perhaps that’s what made the times we did so much more magical. It was a badge of honor to grow from being handed the meat plucked by your parents as a young child to being able to dissect the shellfish yourself. It is, in fact, a good bit of work! A slow and methodical ritual that promotes good conversation and time to savor both the food and your company. Only recently, on this trip actually, did I discover a video online of a more efficient way to take apart the crabs and was relieved in my shock to see that many of my Maryland-born friends were also finding this out at the same time. At first, I was a bit outraged to think about how much time and effort I had wasted over the years, but then again, perhaps it had a purpose. It’s one of the few memories I have of my dad teaching me something, showing me where to place my small fingers as I dutifully tried to follow his every instruction. Even though I have no intention of producing offspring, I’ve always oddly imagined teaching someone else with great pride how to enjoy a Maryland crab, passing along a tradition generations-old and the joy that comes with the result. 

Perhaps blue crabs are an odd thing to feel such joy and pride about for a girl who couldn’t wait to leave Maryland. There were, though, plenty of positives about where I grew up; the proximity to the capital afforded us tons of (free) learning opportunities (museums should be free everywhere by the way – who do I need to write to?), exposure to a variety of industries, and normalized diversity in such a way that both expanded my understanding of cultures as well as muted it – because we didn’t really dig in either. Like most kids, I still had to have my bubble burst when I went to college and have continued to learn much about the plethora of peoples and perspectives on this planet with flubs and milestones along the way. But it was good preparation to be sure. Though I only have a few remaining close friendships with folks from my childhood and most of my time here is spent with family, there are always far more friends in the DC area than I ever have time to see in one trip – or even two! 

Coming of age within such a large family who saw each other often had its pros and cons. I used to only halfway joke that I’m probably related to 86% of Black people in Maryland and an absolute lack of privacy in simply going down the street fueled my calculations. As an adult, though, the close relationships I formed with my family, particularly with my cousins, are the ones I most cherish. I’ve been blessed to know my grandparents in a way that so many people never get the chance. I have plenty of people that I can count on and I don’t take that lightly. For someone who has only progressively moved further away from nearly all of my brethren, I probably wouldn’t strike most as a “family” person. And maybe I’m not, at least in a traditional sense, but I definitely believe that knowing where you’ve come from is an integral part of knowing who you are and where you’re going. Family connections are unique in that shared history and understanding. In some weird roundabout way, that’s what blue crabs taste like to me. To be clear, they’re just plain good and better than that mess they try to feed me in Cali, but they are so much more than a fleeting meal. They reinforce for me where I’m standing and where I’ve stood even as I look ahead. No matter how far I travel or for how long, some things will never change. 

Photos – Top: AYCE Crab Feast @ Avery’s Maryland Grille. Bottom: Mural wall in “downtown Crown” aka the new Rio for us lapsed locals.

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Wheels Up

It’s weird to think about now, but the first time the idea of moving to LA entered my mind was in high school. Amongst my ever-changing list of college aspirations, including NYU and Tulane, USC had appeared. I knew little about it at the time except that it was a large school with a lot of school spirit and it was in a warm city – all boxes I wanted to check off in my search. California seemed a bit like a mystical place of sun and beauty, one I had only ever seen on TV. The allure was short-lived though as my mom quickly assured me I would not be allowed to go to school so far away. I don’t remember being too upset about it; even then I seemed to know someday, I would see for myself. 

As I moved through my life and began my career, California remained on my list of places I would one day live. In 2014, an opportunity finally arose, though in NorCal, a job I was really excited about. Despite not being as sure about the northern region as I was of the sunny south, I thought, “What’s not to like about California?” As it turns out, there are a number of things! So, I found myself once again drawn to a life in the Southland, where I had also begun to amass quite a few friends. I spent much of my time living in NorCal driving down to LA to visit them; the trek down the 5 freeway became a familiar jaunt. While I met some amazing people in the Bay Area, overall it was quite a difficult experience. Trials and tribulations to review another day, but it ultimately became desperately clear that I was not in the right place. The sheer number of cars that hit me (both my vehicle and my person) seemed to be messages from the universe telling me to “Get out!” Who am I to not heed such an ardent, if not life-threatening, warning?

In 2017, I came to the decision that I was moving to LA. Period. I did not wait to secure a new job before turning in my notice to my old one, after several spreadsheets and calculations, of course. I knew it was a risk, but I also knew it was the right one. Many people speak with amazement at the finality of my decision-making. My “no” is categorical, but so too is my “yes.” Sure enough, about a month before my move, job offers were plentiful and I started a new chapter with gusto. 

Four years is the longest I’ve lived in any one place since the five I spent in Miami, if we include my college years. I always called Miami “home” when I was there and frankly, for a while after. “Miami” even became my nickname with some family members for a time (now it’s California). This indescribable feeling of relief and joy would wash over me as the plane prepared to touch down and I saw the first tips of palm trees appear through the window. As much as I loved my time in Miami, it pales in comparison really to what I’ve lived in Los Angeles. It may be due to a combination of where I am in my life and what I have been able to build over time: skills and accomplishments professionally, maturity and wisdom, along with the sheer power of community I’m lucky enough to call mine. Despite the traffic and the high costs, you can’t put a price on sun, beaches, humidity-free warmth and a group of people who challenge, inspire and support you all in one place.  

When I think of what I would miss most about LA, the top of the list consists generally of humans. The indescribable feeling I get when I’m in Los Angeles is one of belonging. (And let’s be clear, that definitely doesn’t hit until after I’ve cleared out of LAX – insert eye roll here).

But you can’t cage a wandering spirit, one hungry to see and explore. So I had to make a choice because nothing lasts forever anyway. My friends are making their own decisions in support of their journeys too, so the garden of the “before time” will never again be the same. The pandemic took so much from so many of us; yet, it’s also giving us an opportunity to rebuild and renew. After darkness, there is light; after winter, there is always spring. My spring consists of growing seeds old and new, tending to those that sprout, and feeding the blossoms waiting for “home” to strike me again. Unlike lightning, it may strike in the same place twice. Watching the clouds become shrouded in pink with the sunrise as I glide out of town, I say “Until then, see you later, LA.”

Photos: Top – sunset on Venice beach when I arrived in LA in 2017. Bottom – Fresh-faced in my first days in LA.

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Fever Dream

What did I know about Palm Springs before wandering out there? People seem to like going there and it’s the desert. Done, that’s it. There are a lot of places in California I still have yet to see, but with just a two-hour drive, it seemed pretty easy to squeeze in some time to relax in the desert. A five-day jaunt into the unknown turned into something quite memorable.

Looking at the forecast leading up to my trip felt a bit surreal. What does 117 degrees even feel like? 

  • The Bath & Body Works hand sanitizer I usually keep in my car morphed into a bloated contortion of plastic overnight. 
  • Some lucky person may have witnessed the dance I did when I got into my car after forgetting to put the sun shield up. Thighs, hands, shoulders, *bumps head*… It was the rhythmic moves of burning new parts of your body with each breath. F*ck leather seats.
  • Dry heat is misleading. Everything seemed rather bearable at first as I roamed downtown well-hydrated, when suddenly my body was very clear that we were overheating… right now.
  • I chose to ride the aerial tramway over 8,000 ft into the air and up a damn mountain, despite a fear of heights, for a reprieve (well worth it).
  • My car’s highest reported thermostat reading: 124 degrees

To those itching to point out that it is, in fact, a desert, I remind you that even so, this was a heat wave for this time of year! Climate change is real. Furthermore, those who know me also know that I would choose a hot climate over a cold one ANY DAY. So, in summary, I was far from deterred in finding joy amidst the rays of death. 

  • It was my first time seeing an interstate sign that said we were going towards “Other Desert Cities” instead of a specific metropolitan area. (Confusion and generally “tickled”, probably a better summary than joy here.)
  • Date shakes taste like any other fruit shakes, aka delicious.
  • Beautiful scenery – mountains, fruit trees, hummingbirds and even lizards – always puts me in a good mood.
  • Unexpectedly awesome ribs for the win on a lazy evening.
  • A hammock and a good book can cure most things.
  • Frozen cocktails from Tommy Bahama will cure everything else.

As much as I don’t like people, generally speaking, this trip was a good reminder that humans are fascinating and if I set everyone’s bullshit aside, I’m always interested in a good laugh and a good story. I stayed at Les Cactus, a cute adults-only, boutique hotel, just a few minutes away from downtown, discovered by a friend. I was a bit weary of their many rules, but the hotel was extremely well-kept. The decor was gorgeous and inviting, and each room was unique – confirmed by a tour offered generously by one of the staff members. With the exception of Saturday when it seemed completely overrun by white people desperately baking beneath the sun as I peered with curiosity through the blinds of my window, it was usually very quiet and low-key. I kept to myself for the most part except for chatting with the staff, who were very friendly, until towards the end of my stay when I also connected with two different groups of ladies by the pool.  

Before I go further, I should introduce “Vacation Gabrielle;” she’s a different chick. I’ve known her most of my adult life and when she’s in charge, you can not ruin her good time. She’s friendly, playful, patient if not unbothered, and she does whatever she feels like doing whenever a mood should strike her. My new goal is to just be “Vacation Gabrielle” all the time. Not only is she well-liked, but she FEELS great. Challenges seem small and/or hilarious, time and other restrictions become light suggestions to a Queen who has the final say. Be like “Vacation Gabrielle.” 

A friend suggested that Tommy Bahama was an excellent place for frozen drinks and people-watching. I already trusted said friend, but it would be an understatement to say that this recommendation did not disappoint. I am unashamed to share that I went to Tommy Bahama during their daily happy hour every day of my trip save one. Not only are the drinks delicious, but the food was surprisingly very good! To top things off, Vacation Gabrielle became friends with everyone who worked there, quite unintentionally, but it made future visits incredibly fun complete with warm welcomes and free things, which makes even regular Gabrielle a happy-ass camper. 

As I prepared to check-out from Les Cactus on my last day in Palm Springs, I had a final chat with Camila, who worked there and had endured my miscellaneous questions & prodding on a regular basis for days now. She was super young, I think 20, and I was impressed with her strength. Forever a college counselor, I asked her what she wanted to accomplish in her future. She seemed touched that I asked and shared that she wanted to run her own hotel or hotels in Mexico one day. I’ve never felt so sure someone was going to be so kick-ass at something until that moment and I told her so, along with my plans to be a future guest. As we exchanged our goodbyes and I shared how I had enjoyed my stay and the wonderful people I met, she told me how other guests had told her how much they loved me and that she thought I was the most popular person at the hotel. It all seemed so touching and so ridiculous at the same time, I actually doubled over from both shock and overwhelm! I thought about the deep conversations of the night before with ladies I had just met over glasses of smuggled-in tequila (against one of the many hotel rules I referenced earlier) by the pool, well past closing time (another rule). A good reminder that you don’t always know, let alone control, the impact you have on others.

It was a trip full of the unexpected, and I loved it. Be like Vacation Gabrielle.

Photos: Top – view from near the top of San Jacinto Peak, Gallery – various sights from Les Cactus and the view from the Aerial Tramway on it’s way up.

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“Welcome to Your New Life”

“Welcome to your new life.” That’s how I started my first journal entry on the road up the Pacific Coast Highway (or PCH as we say on the west coast). I chose a brief stop at a beach in Malibu on the first day, which had become my second home. Quiet and unassuming, I retreated here often during the pandemic to collect my thoughts and soothe my nerves the way only the sun and waves can. It seemed only appropriate to begin my trip, and essentially this entire new journey, with such a grounding location. 

For those hungry for the itinerary “deets,” you’ll find them at the bottom of this post, complete with suggestions should you find yourself wandering along the 1 someday soon.

It wasn’t long into the road trip before I found myself at a peaceful winery somewhere in the rolling hills outside of San Luis Obispo on a sunny day. Wineries became synonymous with time for reflection amongst my adventuring and this coastal venture was among the most relaxing and joyous I’ve taken yet. For the first time since college, my journal lives in my purse. I pull it out to document whatever thoughts may formulate while I move through the world with eyes wide for discovery. I already see myself in a new light.

Blackness has long been synonymous with chains in this country, real and metaphorical. Restrictions, assumptions, accusations, the list goes on. I found that pushing against them still allowed their weight to bounce back upon me, whether it grabbed on abruptly or slowly crawled. I allowed myself to live within the confines of expectations even while I rejected them. I had to really; I wasn’t born into wealth so some practicality had to come into play. Now, I feel blessed that that hard work has led to the ability to taste life as if it were truly mine to shape. I don’t need to actively fight as much but rather choose myself – my health, my joy, my dreams. 

For all my ideas, once I launched this site and finally launched the physical portion of my journey, I had to step back and reevaluate what I wanted this blog to truly be about. The travel, yes, but it’s more isn’t it? It’s time alone to ruminate on experience, thoughts and embrace the lightness that comes with that space. It’s the independence, the sharing, the inspiration I’ve been told I’m already giving. Ultimately, I want to find my home. Home isn’t where you lay your head necessarily. It’s where your thoughts rest, where your worries dissipate, where you can set aside assigned identities and simply exist as you. “Home” can move. Though I didn’t really know how to articulate it until now, I’ve always found it curious to believe that home is just one place – or even necessarily a place at all versus simply a state of being, a state of unapologetic existence. I promise to balance my existential thoughts, life conclusions, and the like with actual trip details and my usual unsolicited observations of course (sorry and you’re welcome).

As I prepare to turn 36 tomorrow, I know this next lap around the sun will be unlike any other. I want to see what I can discover in my own skin, own my joy, discover what I really need, what I can leave behind, and build a future of my own design. As humans, I think we often look for a place to fit into the world instead of creating or building a space for ourselves. We accept what we believe we have to. I once thought it took courage to break out of that cycle and it does, because it’s certainly a risk, but more importantly, it takes bold and radical self-acceptance. It takes an unwillingness to sacrifice all of you for something that doesn’t serve you. It takes moving through anger and frustration; it takes feeling rejected, disrespected and ignored. It takes failure and it takes intention. Intention is what I’m leading with now and it’s intention that will guide and ground me through new challenges and be my compass to navigate my own course. People will want you to stay in your lane, but for marginalized groups in particular, those lanes are often assigned to you and usually rooted in complete bullshit. Reject it. Build a new road in the direction you want to go, for now (I know mine will be a windy one), and get going. Add a little *toot toot* on that horn for them haters! 

PCH Route & Standout Recs:

  • Carpinteria
  • Pismo Beach
  • San Luis Obispo
  • Cambria
    • Elephant seals – what a funny bunch they are
    • The locals swore me to secrecy but if you can get to Sea Chest Oyster Bar, you won’t regret it! Beware: Dinner only, cash only and limited days open
  • San Simeon
  • Big Sur
    • McWay Falls
    • Nepenthe to nosh – try the Elderflower Spritz and of course, the burger
  • Carmel
  • Monterey
  • Santa Cruz
  • Half Moon Bay
  • Marin County with a Berkeley detour
  • Paso Robles
    • San Antonio Winery – tasty tacos and a delicious “Afternoon Delight” flight hit the spot for lunch

PS – If you’re looking for a way to help me celebrate my birthday this year, please consider a donation to the non-profit, Shero’s Rise – the next generation of girls deserves to discover their worth sooner and reach greater heights. Let’s lift them up together – thank you for spreading the word!

Photos: Top – Room view at Inn at the Cove, Bottom – Random road stop near Cambria

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How did we get here?

There have been a few times in my adult life when I had to ask myself, “How did I get here?” Some of those were immediately followed by the more important, “How do I get away from here?” Sometimes, you’re led down a path that works and other times, you have to intentionally choose and chart a new course. The journey that I begin now is a representation of the latter.

We’ve all found ourselves in a space in which we did not wish to be at one time or another. Not necessarily because we had done something wrong, though sometimes it was in fact a faulty decision, but ultimately, sometimes life/the universe/God (whatever you believe) has different plans for us than those we may have carefully laid. In truth, I’ve reached these crossroads several times and I’ll be the first to admit that it’s scary every time. This time felt different. I saw myself sacrificing my health, dignity, and soul, and I recognized a pattern. A pattern of my own habits as well as the environments I allowed myself to attempt to carve a space within. Spaces that were never designed to support or nourish me no matter how much I gave. At the time of this recognition, I likened it to being shoved from a precipice that I had long been pushed towards. From the bottom, looking up, I realized I had no desire to reach the summit. I realized that this was not my mountain to climb; it was the one I was told to climb, the only one I had been able to see, and being someone driven to achieve, I had therefore dedicated all of my effort and energy, planning and strategizing and more to ascend its steep face. What I realize now is that the mountain I’m supposed to climb is a little to the left. It won’t necessarily be easier or take less time to reach great heights, though it might. I just know the air there won’t choke me when I try to breathe, I can stop to make camp wherever I choose, the wind carries my voice when I speak instead of drowning it out, and the prize for reaching the peak isn’t something that someone else awards to me – it’s something I claim for myself.

I’ll stop the outdoorsy metaphors now because those who know me know I’m not exactly one to commune with “The nature,” but I hope you see it too. And I hope you see it for yourself. I hope every person who reads this takes a moment to pause right now. Look right, left, up, and down. Are you on the right trail, the right ridge? Whose mountain are you climbing?

I have no special gifts or crystal ball so I don’t know how or when I will reach my destination, whatever that may look like. I know sometimes life is just hard, but I also know there’s something to be said for making peace within and making my own joy. Luckily, my hard work for that first mountain put me in a position to be able to take a detour, to take my job to a remote space, and wander. Maps no longer suit me – they were made by someone else, with their biases and beliefs. Maps are just suggestions now. With every intention of returning to home to Los Angeles, I’m also letting my roots fall where they may and digging in as I go. At the end of all this, date undetermined, I hope to publish a book of corresponding poetry. Until then, I aim for bi-weekly, if not weekly, updates on where I am in this journey – physically and metaphorically.

Thanks for tagging along!

Photo taken @ Descanso Gardens, La Cañada Flintridge, CA

Up, up, and away

Exactly three months ago, I was sitting on a beach in St. Lucia pondering my wandering. It struck me that I was entering the final quarter of the game, or rather I was nearing the end of the time period I had allotted for this initial trip around the planet. With 2022 quickly approaching, I reviewed the journey so far… so many destinations, some I have yet to write about (Portugal, Puerto Rico, St. Lucia). So many new experiences, new and rekindled bonds, and SO. MUCH. GOOD. FOOD. Frankly, I’ve been surprised every time I step on the scale between trips and find that the results have remained relatively consistent. It’s amazing what joy can do and words cannot truly express the joy I feel about each and every moment, nor the pride I feel for stepping out of my comfort zone, freeing myself from what doesn’t serve me, and committing to discovering more than I ever could have imagined. But there I was on the sand with only a few months left of international travel and I had no idea what was next.

The pandemic has brought us many unknowns, as well as a new level of adaptability, a new acceptance for the unexpected if you will. I was looking ahead to a question mark, very much unlike me, or at least the old me.  Also unlike the old me, I felt no anxiety about that at all. It was a renewed sense of possibility. Do I want to continue the wander, perhaps playing with how that looked, maybe a mix of domestic and international destinations, and settling for longer stretches in each place? None of my ideas felt quite right. I was happy generally and excited for the adventures to come, but something was missing that I couldn’t put my finger on. The thought of returning to LA had always been the back-up plan and seemed acceptable at that moment, but the idea of permanently resettling there did not. I just didn’t feel done yet (and of course, I wasn’t), but it felt like I was waiting/looking for a sense of closure for this chapter and I wasn’t sure what would give me that. Now, I look back and realize I was waiting for that feeling again; the one that’s always driven me in my choices, but especially the one that has guided me this past year. The one that is confident in the choice that needs to be made; call it gut or intuition. I knew the feeling would eventually strike again – she can be quiet, but when she has something to say, she makes herself heard (very much like me, ahem). While I was comfortable with my faith in her, I’m also just generally impatient and I guess I thought it should have hit me by then. By January, I was periodically checking around corners and listening to the silence of my innermost thoughts each morning, waiting for the sign, that indescribable knowledge. I didn’t even realize it had already been set in motion. 

In February, as my plane landed in Singapore, I felt an odd sense of excitement, different from what I had felt on any trip prior. I remember actually smiling to myself and it caught me off guard given that I had just been in transit for nearly 40 damn hours. The “taxi uncle” who picked me up from the airport to take me to my hotel was energetic and kind. He asked me where I was from and when I told him, he asked, “You live here now, right?” I told him no, but shared that I had a job interview that Friday. “O ma’am, I hope you get it!” He seemed so genuinely excited and I really took his enthusiasm to heart. When my friend and former colleague first mentioned months ago that there would be an opening for a University Advisor at the school where she worked in Singapore, I thought little of it. I wasn’t particularly interested in returning to a school setting and I wasn’t ready to process through those feelings yet either. But admittedly, it hung out in the back of my mind, and she was persistent in her periodic reminders. By the time we had the opportunity to reunite in LA in December, I had my list of questions prepared, her answers to which would determine whether or not I would seriously consider exploring my candidacy for the position. We went through each of my questions in detail from the office vibes and school culture to living in Singapore and living there as a Black woman. By the end, it really seemed like there weren’t too many downsides.

If you’ve known me for any amount of time, it won’t surprise you that I’ve always considered the idea of living abroad. So many options I had seen early on in my career just hadn’t seemed worth it to pursue or just weren’t the right fit. Then, somewhere in the grind of building a career and establishing myself as an adult and professional, I lost the impetus to seriously look for international job opportunities. I started to hone in on opportunities for international travel instead. But this one… I was still unsure when I chatted about it with another friend, who asked me simply, “What’s really holding you back?” I had to think about it. The reality was, I was hesitant to re-enter a general structure that had been toxic for me in the past, so I really needed to feel good about not only the institutional philosophy, but how it’s put into practice, as well as the support and balance within the community. Additionally, from a practical perspective, with the new rule changes for the Public Service Loan Forgiveness (PSLF) program, it sounded like I would finally have an opportunity to get rid of a huge amount of student loan debt (like they originally promised us) and I wasn’t sure how many months of eligible payments the recalculation would say I still owed. Given the government’s track record, I also wasn’t expecting an update from them any time soon. Employment at an international school would not qualify for the program and I did not want to lose my chance. Despite all of this, just before I left for DC for the holidays, I felt good enough about what I’d learned that I decided I would submit an application for the job when it opened. 

It was perhaps my first night at home with my mom ahead of Christmas when we sat chatting at the dining room table. She mentioned she had been talking to a friend about my travels and had concluded that I would probably end up in Singapore. I was dumbstruck. I hadn’t told my mom about the position or that I had decided to apply. I asked her, “What makes you say that? I haven’t even been there yet.” Of course, I had been planning to visit my friend there in February for many months, but that’s all. She said she wasn’t sure, she just saw me ending up there, which is when I awkwardly dropped the, “Well, it’s funny you should say that… because I just decided to apply for a job there.” Has anyone studied how many senses moms get or we’re just going with it?

In January, a few weeks after I submitted my application for the position, I got an email from my student loan provider saying that I had a new document to review online. Assuming it was a tax document, I signed into my account and absent-mindedly went to open the new document. I had to read it four times before I understood it was telling me that the re-review of my previous payments made under the PSLF program had been completed and I had, in fact, made all necessary payments, resulting in a zero balance. Staring back at my account home page, I noticed that the debt was completely gone. I rarely cry, nor am I someone who becomes overwhelmed with emotion, but I have never been overcome with joy before in my life. I don’t know the last time I cried that hard. When I ran downstairs bawling, haphazardly carrying my laptop to show her the letter, I scared my mother into thinking something terrible had happened. She had to read the letter a few times herself before she looked at me and cautiously asked, “This is good, right?” I can not wait to find just the right frame for that bad boy! 

And just like that, a major barrier I had been bending around like a pretzel to still accomplish much of what I wanted in life was removed. I could only laugh at the serendipity when I got the notification of becoming a short-listed candidate just days before my flight to Singapore and my interviews beginning a few days after I landed. I had the opportunity to tour the campus and meet many of my future colleagues in person. Sometimes you think you control your life and sometimes you’re reminded that your power is quite finite. With an offer I couldn’t refuse, I will make my way to Singapore this summer to see what else is in store for me and what else I can make for myself.

The reality is, moving abroad is complex and I know the learning curve for my first year on the job will be a steep one, but the pros far outweigh the challenges. Singapore is an incredibly unique place and I was surprised by how easily I felt comfortable. Of course it helps that it’s one of the safest countries in the world. It’s also situated such that exploration is far more practical and affordable than it would ever be in the States. The school’s mission is one that speaks to how I’ve always chosen to engage in education; I’m thrilled to work alongside international staff and with students whose perspectives and experiences I have yet to come across. O and breaks are actually a real thing – I checked. Pretty much every couple of months, we have a couple of weeks off (truly); a perfect time to catch up, reset and/or jet set, and that’s the type of work/life balance I need.

So, I’ll be wandering a bit longer after all and in a different way. I can’t believe my luck, but I also know as much as the timing worked out well, it’s also about the years of building expertise, experiences, and connections that have culminated in opportunity. The lesson keeps repeating itself and the reminder is probably necessary: You are more than enough; embrace growth, embrace change, embrace others, embrace you. (Start with the last one first.) It’s almost unbelievable just how much good has made its way into my life since I decided to intentionally move through the world to my own rhythm. I will not sacrifice what I have learned even as I return to a more traditional job setting.

People always say they don’t regret the challenges they faced because it made them who they are. I feel similarly, but at the same time, I wonder how many routes might have led to a similar point or opportunity, a similar peace, if I had just chosen myself a little sooner.


Glide
sometimes you look up at the clouds,
and they seem to stand still.
other times,
it’s like they’re flying by.
that’s how life feels.
sometimes you just can’t get the speed you want,
but we don’t control that anyway.
you just have to hang on,
buckle up,
or put your hands up,
and enjoy the ride.