kalimera, thirties

Of the few Greek words I adopted over the five day-stay, kalimera was likely the first. Locals exchanged good mornings at all opportunities; on the island of Sifnos especially. And being tourists didn't exempt us. We were welcomed into the singsong-y custom. How could we resist! Why would we want to. 

Earlier this summer (Labor Day, what?!), I declared that Greek island life beats most other scenarios. It does. Thanks to jet lag, we awoke each morning around 7am. We made coffee and had a light breakfast of toasted bread with local jam and the best Greek yogurt I have ever had. Perched above the ocean, we leisurely read books and caught up on the news. We hiked to beaches, rode our Vespa across the island's winding roads, ate our weight in Greek salad and Sifnian cheeses and seemingly all the local specialties.

On my 30th birthday, I set out on my own. I descended the stairs to the Church of the Seven Martyrs and prayed to a God who hasn't heard from me in quite some time. The church bells, tied up so as not to ring in the voracious winds, chimed steadily, three times.

It was all so perfect and special, and aside from those solo moments above, shared with one person with whom I no longer speak.

I neither dreaded nor was I thrilled about turning 30. It just felt fitting, in that ordinary no-frills "ah but of course" kind of way. All those little changes and shifts I'd made consciously (and not) in accepting who I was and what I wanted and how I needed, without apology... 30 suddenly made sense; a milestone of adulthood in and of itself as opposed to the reasons I'd been told.

A lot can happen in three decades lived: Multiple degrees and passport stamps. Stints/lifetimes in cities like New York and Paris and Los Angeles. Collections of passion-fueled and need-based jobs. Romantic love found and lost and sought after, juxtaposed with the evolution of familial bonds (once humanness is fully seen, to the extent that it can be). Friends that stick. Real life evidence that another good morning can be found in each ebb and flow, as perhaps the only thing that's truly "meant to be", for every one of us.

eventually

As we near the end of January, I have a confession to make: I think better-in-2014 declarations are silly. Not because research has proven only 8% of people ever achieve their resolutions (that's actually a bummer), but rather because an enthusiastic post or tweet is hardly an effort towards the progress we're already capable of making. Plus, if we are to dig deep into those souls of ours, we know the most valuable resolutions aren't accomplished in measurable successes. Take these brilliant intentions:

"This year, mend a quarrel. Seek out a forgotten friend. Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a letter. Give a soft answer. Encourage youth. Keep a promise. Forgo a grudge. Forgive an enemy. Apologize. Try to understand. Examine your demands on others. Think first of someone else. Be kind. Be gentle. Laugh a little more. Express your gratitude. Welcome a stranger. Gladden the heart of a child. Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth. Speak your love and then speak it again." -Howard W. Hunter

I've decided to strive for each and every one this year. As for those epic, seemingly unattainable goals? I'll take them on, too, but quietly. We can want and work with all our might. We most definitely should. And yet the biggest and best, who and what we actually need most, oftentimes without even being aware of it, tend to happen outside the realms of our control. Opportunities have a way of creeping up on us once we've cleared the space for them. Go on... be and do, hope and dream, create and trust.

bk twenty fourteen

Remember when it was New Year's Eve and I told you I'd "see you tomorrow"? I meant to check in with snapshots of low-key festivities, and then reflect on my Mom's birthday. Clearly nothing went as planned. Neither did the way I spent December 31st. But, I'm here now and woke up in an extra good mood and loved how my least favorite holiday's celebration turned out... so, yay.

Earlier that day, I sat down for lunch with my family: Italian wedding soup. According to my mom, it inspires good luck in the New Year. Cooked greens are said to resemble folded money and pork symbolizes progress and prosperity. With that said, there's not an ounce of Italian in our blood, so who knows whether or not we're accurate. Here's to hoping the placebo effect proves true anyway.

Later that evening, Debra and I drove into Brooklyn. First, I sipped wine as she and her friends got ready to go to a nearby party. Then I strolled over to Anna's with champagne and Buzzword in tow. Her, Leslie, and I watched midnight fireworks from the roof.

I'd hardly had expectations for kicking off 2014, yet it was perfect. Good food (homemade pizza!), good wine, great friends.

So much so, that I woke up extra-inspired on January 1st. Not in the "ohmygoshthisisgoingtobemybestyearever" kind of way, but in a significantly more realistic acknowledgement of lasting love and good fortune. I'm really enjoying being home right now, and I'm excited to delve further into thesis research, and I'm looking forward to discovering what else 2014 will contribute to my story.

The optimism spilled over into brunch at Kiwiana Restaurant--at which point I ordered lobster eggs benedict. Apparently having lobster on New Year's Day is "bad luck" because their backward movement signifies setbacks. I only recently found this one out. Let's hope it doesn't end up to be true for any of us this year :).

racines

It's been... being home these past two weeks. I feel like a familiar stranger. Whereas I've accumulated stories, they've acquired more furniture, higher paychecks, exciting engagements. And as much as I'm genuinely happy to revel in it with them, I can't shake my unsettling worry. Because I want all of that, too. Mundane may not appeal, but, my gosh, how I crave a little comforting stability...

Thankfully, I usually catch myself before getting too carried away with that thought. I have so freaking much to appreciate now.

As we prepare to celebrate Christmas Eve and Day, I'm thinking about how silly it is that I have presents to look forward to as well. There are so few things I need. And what I seem to want--the eventual home, career, beloved--cannot be wrapped up with a bow.

In Portugal, Lara, Lorelei, and I had a conversation about manifestations, or rather, French words we can't ever remember the English equivalents to. In this case, I blame our lapses in memory on the fact that strikes don't take place in the U.S. as often as they do in France. Plus, "manifestation" is already a word in English. "An event, action, or object that clearly shows or embodies something, especially a theory or an abstract idea." Why not make this coming year the one that I allow these racines to take root?

I think it needs to begin with faith. I've gotten really good at wholeheartedly believing the best of other people, but I struggle with having genuine faith in my own choices, abilities, and limitations; not to mention the truth a sweet, wise friend once told me: "You are in the process of building a life with an amazing career, a good marriage, a beautiful family, and wonderful warm relationships all around. Consider those yours already." I have to trust, too, that God/the Universe is on my side. Recently, and more than once, Conan O'Brien's, "If you work really hard, and you're kind, amazing things will happen," adage has proven to be incredibly true.

So, there you have it: my excuse for the radio silence as of late. I've also had my fair share of my family and friend time. Wishing you and your loved ones the happiest and healthiest holiday! I'll check in before the New Year. This should entertain until then :).

“If you let your mind talk you out of things that aren’t logical, you’re going to have a very boring life. Because grace isn’t logical. Love isn’t logical. Miracles aren’t logical.” -Barbra DeAngelis

what paris taught me

I'm watching the most beautiful snow fall outside my window right now. Most of my family is still sleeping. I am happy to be home. And before I thought I would be, Paris and I spent a really nice week enjoying each other. I finally had the time to do so.

And reflect, too, on all the ways I've grown. I don't doubt that some of it has to do with unavoidable maturity, but other aspects feel as if they've resulted from my circumstances--an unattached American graduate student living in the City of Lights. In particular...

It's not all about me. I didn't consider myself self-centered before, but my gosh, how leaving the land of convenience is humbling. Most processes, critical and not, require ample paperwork and wait time. Very few to-dos are simple and quick, and almost none can be taken care of on a Sunday. Customer service is rarely of utmost important, at varying degrees. The city just does not function in every which way to make life easier for its residents or visitors. But, maybe that's okay. It keeps me on my toes, "suffering" through it like everyone else. I'm reminded how much of a privilege it is to do life there for a while. And it truly is.

Rest is a given, pleasure is a necessity. My modest self is letting go of indulgence-guilt. (1) Dessert is a staple. It might be as simple as fruit at home, but when eating out, it's silly not to partake in something sweet and special when it's already incorporated into the menu (2/3-course, prix-fixe). (2) Strolling is not a crime. The New Yorker in me may get frustrated with a slow pace, but walking without worry about time or destination is such a luxury. (3) Though I haven't experienced them myself, those generous vacation times really do exist. The French use them, too, and without any remorse. I wish the U.S. would follow suit.

I don't know it all. As much as I dislike the "what don't you like about the French?" question, my go-to answer is related to how often I've been lectured by strangers. It's one of the most frustrating frequencies. Should've, could've, would've is hardly productive to begin with. When paired with needless advice from adults I'll never see again, patience as a virtue reaches a whole new level.

Less is usually more. Already an observer, living abroad has encouraged me to be more so as I take note of foreign norms. One of which I've embraced gladly? The au natural look. I've been out and about virtually makeup-free countless times in the past year and a half; infinitely more often than I ever before. It's felt good to have developed more self-assured confidence in my appearance. Not to mention... a quicker morning routine! This is also true in shopping. For example, I've come to love how a tiny fridge calls for daily trips to the grocery store. It's encouraged mindfulness and creativity with meals and all around better budgeting.

As I figure out a new academic routine in an all too familiar home, there's no avoiding contemplation on these internal changes that don't quite fit into my native structure. And yet, I'm optimistic I'll be okay. It's not like c'est pas possible is an American phrase :).

last but not least

Thanksgiving is, quite literally, a foreign concept to the French. The same goes for most Europeans and the British. So, this past week has been spent explaining the holiday to my colleagues :) and I really hope I did it justice. Not just the mythical story per se—Pilgrims, poor harvest, generous Native Americans, and a idyllic shared feast—but what Thanksgiving is really all about.

{Belleville street art - Paris, France}

Though shamelessly commercialized, each year I am still touched at how much my favorite holiday encourages giving and gratitude as it should. And as I pondered my “thankful list” yesterday, it occurred to me I may never understand its breadth. I’ve had my fair share of struggles and setbacks, but in the grand scheme of life, I've suffered very little. Then I read this New York Times article:

“While we celebrate Thanksgiving, let’s remember that the difference between being surrounded by a loving family or being homeless on the street is determined not just by our own level of virtue or self-discipline, but also by an inextricable mix of luck, biography, brain chemistry and genetics.”

This compassion (or lack thereof) Nicholas Kristof describes is “a mark of civilization” unfortunately being lost in the States. On a policy level, it’s a concept we could borrow from our European neighbors; Scandinavian countries especially: "modern social democratic states where wealth is more evenly distributed, education is typically free up through university, and the social safety net allows women to comfortably work and raise a family.” As individuals, we could afford to be kinder, too. I urge you to read this viral essay. So much of the reality she speaks of is chilling, but “we will never feel hopeful," struck me especially. I immediately and without intention thought to the plague of endless possibilities that too often keep me up at night with anxiety. Are they not what lets me be grateful and give? They should be. If nothing else then for the fact that expressions of gratitude make us feel socially valued. And everyone deserves at least that much. Post-Thanksgiving food for thought, I suppose. Hope your holiday was happy and full :).

bad day remedies

Who said "a bad day in Paris is better than a good day anywhere else”? After a bleak morning for reasons beyond the ever-gray sky, having half your lunch (an overpriced butternut squash soup from the café across the street) spill in its entirety just five minutes before it had the chance to redeem your afternoon... still sucks. Feelings are only so affected by the places they're experienced in.

But, this isn’t meant to be a pity party. I recognize there are a few distinctly Parisian ways to add optimistic sparkle to each day.

Take the “Champagne Social”. Lisa organized the event to celebrate Cara’s first visit and the City of Lights itself. Habitat Parisien provided the gorgeous loft space. Lauren brought her creative talent to the fabulous decor. It was an evening of inspiring conversation, amazing home videos, and one incredible sing-along dance party. Oh, there was champagne, too. Obviously...

{Photo credit: Tricia Rosas}

{Photo credit: Tricia Rosas}

{Photo credit: Tricia Rosas}

{Photo credit: Tricia Rosas}

Remember: research has proven that the bubbles in champagne really do go "straight to your head." Thanks to Tricia for the photographic evidence of Daisy and I's tipsy fun in le gran bain. And merci, Lisa for the great night ! Also, I brought lunch today.

holybelly café

In times of hardship, it's important to remind ourselves that the pain and struggle is only temporary. Each coming day will not seem so dark nor so cold. The same is true of the sunnier periods, too, though. Saying so may seem pessimistic, but I think it's an important prerequisite to genuine gratitude. I've been concentrating on counting my present-day blessings now that I'm on the brink of another transition (internship --> thesis research). Let's begin with my first chocolat chaud of the season á la Holybelly, shall we?

To me, hot chocolate is cozy comfort materialized and sweetly made edible. I'm thankful, too, for evergreen-cool road trip stories, the daily possibility of stovetop apple-banana oatmeal, email reminders to download the latest New Girl or Grey's Anatomy episode, catch-up cocktails with girlfriends, falling asleep to really hard rain (an upside to Parisian autumns), unexpectedly good hair days, flirting while my heart flutters, clean clothes straight from the dryer, lazy Sunday mornings, countless inside jokes with coworkers, thoughtful packages from my parents, la chance to explore a new city for the first time (more details to come), and wine tasting, beer tasting, and chocolate tasting... all in the same week. I musn't forget to express my gratitude for Kinfolk gatherings either:

(Photo Credit: Hebe Wilson)

(Photo Credit: Hebe Wilson)

Photo Credit: Hebe Wilson

Photo Credit: Hebe Wilson

The Friday before last, I ventured to Holybelly for the first time. Lauren warmly welcomed me out of the humid-chill (a downside to Parisian autumns) with a cocktail of gin, cider, and, pear. I mingled with other friendly diners as I sipped. On the menu that evening: kale salad with hazelnut, fig, and fourme d'amberte, osso bucco served with wild rice aux trompettes de la mort, fruit pavlova, and apple tart. Multiple glasses of wine from Nico's family vineyard were enjoyed throughout. From these photos and description alone, you can probably sense how wonderful it was. What may not translate, however, is the very particular feeling borne from sharing a locally- and family-tradition-sourced meal with kind strangers just as passionate about these experiences as I am. The setting and atmosphere couldn't have been more perfect either. Lauren, Lise, Sarah, and Nico's talents converged beautifully at the latter two's café, now earnestly serving Melbournesque "delicious food & coffee" by the canal. After last Sunday's coffee date with Lorelei there, I'm looking forward to making even more convivial memories. So, so thankful. What's on your gratitude list?