A New Adventure Takes Place...(or "Has she lost her every-loving mind?")

     Over three years ago when I started my new job at the Marriott, I thought I had the coolest job in the world. I remember walking the back hallways where only employees could go and seeing how everything runs behind the scenes. To me, this was an amazing place to be. I loved my job. It was actually fun to go to work and be around happy, fun people. Those were the people I worked with! We were friends! We would laugh over things we dealt with that only we understood, what we experienced. Non-hotel people just didn't get it.  I was excited to go to work more days than not. Even the cranky, entitled guests didn't phase me. It was their issues and had nothing to do with me. Work became my escape from a scary, depressing home life.

     And then I was promoted last December to restaurant supervisor. I was so proud of my new position and the fact that someone thought I could handle a position I'd never even considered taking on. The job was exhausting but I loved it. Loved my co-workers and my employees. I felt like I had a purpose, like I was making a difference. I was proud of my work. I was proud of me. Loved making guests happy when they came into my restaurant, bar, ordered from room service, bought a coffee at Starbucks. I was proud to be in the position I was in.

      I was never bored at work. We welcomed the days or a week of lulls between busy conventions and meetings, because when we were busy, we were really slammed. It was exhausting. Until three months ago, the exhaustion wasn't a bad thing. Have a couple of days off, or a couple quiet, low occupancy days at work, and you recover and were ready for the next slam. We were a team. We worked together, especially during hard times, or when we were short-staffed and made it all work. Those were fulfilling days. I loved being part of a team. Somewhere in the last few months, that opinion, that pride shifted. Going to work was no longer fun. At least more times than not, I didn't want to be there. School was suffering. Creativity was gone. I know, isn't that normal for a "job'? Who really wants to work? Isn't that why it's called "work" and not play? But that wasn't it. That shouldn't be it.

     I was in New York visiting my oldest son and his family for my 53rd (yes, I said it. I'm 53!) birthday last June and somehow it became a time of reevaluation of my current life. I had ten days where I had stepped away from my home, my job. I'm not sure what triggered it. Maybe because it was time. Maybe it was because I was another year older and I was stuck. I felt stuck. I always said that I felt like I was standing on a cliff waiting for someone to build a bridge to the other side. Even before getting this position. Somewhere after my divorce. I didn't know what I was doing or where I was going. I'd lived in Utah for three years, not the place I ever thought I'd spend a year of my life, let alone three. I was planning on moving into a new place because the old place seemed to have become a dark spot in my life and Luke's. Bad ju-ju so to speak. I didn't want to be at work and I didn't want to be at home. I felt like I was lost. I felt like I was just hanging there, with no where to land. It was time. Major changes had to be made.

     I came home from New York and decided that I would be making a pilgrimage next May to Spain. One more thing that I wasn't sure how it had come into my life plan, but it had. I had watched a movie last year called "The Way," about a man who goes to Spain to pick up the dead body of his son who had been walking the Camino de Santiago, but that's a whole 'nother story for another blog post. I knew it was something I absolutely would be doing. I had to do it. Until then, I knew I would stay at my job until next May to save up money and then I would quit to walk the Camino de Santiago for 45 days (because I figured they'd probably never give me a month and a half off for "vacation"). After that, I'd figure it out. Wherever life led me. Or Heavenly Father. You know.

     Then about 5 weeks ago, after an altercation with an employee that was so out of the blue, so unneeded, so ridiculous, it hit me. I couldn't do it anymore. There wasn't one more day, one more hour that I could continue as restaurant supervisor. Funny thing is, I had been warned by this same employee last November that taking this job would be a mistake. She said it was a hard job, one with very little satisfaction and even less pay. She was telling me as a friend, because we were friends at the time. Anyway, this altercation sent me home that night to make a very hard decision. After 9 months of no respect, hearing "You're working alone tonight?", or "Do you know what you're doing?" I couldn't do it anymore. I was exhausted, both mentally and physically. An ulcer that had been long dormant and caused as a result of the ex-boyfriend, was flaring up again. I spent many nights crying after work, during work. Not because of angry guests or problems at home. It was because of what I was experiencing right in my own office, my place of work. 75% of the time, depending on whom you were working with, it was a very hostile work environment. Being me, I was taking it personally, and I was taking it home with me.

     I'm pretty laid back. Really. I feel I expect very little from my employees other than doing the job you're paid to do. Work ethic. Most of the time, I prefer laughing with my employees and co-workers, even when we're busy. Especially when we're busy. I feel that part of gaining respect from your employees is that they like you a little bit too. Having fun at work, even while doing your job, makes it easier to clock in. Even when we're slammed from a convention, we could still have fun. That was part of being a team. I saw a sign once: "Being part of a team means making sure everyone is on the bus, not being thrown under it." I was being thrown under the bus way too often.

     That night after the altercation, I laid awake until 5:30 in the morning. I was upset. I was physically sick. I cried off and on for hours. I really didn't take what she said personally. It was that she had cornered me in my office and yelled at me, not over work related things. She was angry over personal things. She said I had changed since getting this position. It was about un-friending her on Facebook, telling her what to do at work (essentially asking her to do her job), "dating" her ex-husband (three dates...over a year ago). Nothing to do with work. Absolutely nothing to do with work. What got me was that it was SO personal. The last straw. I couldn't trust the people I worked with. Backstabbing, gossipy, under-the-bus throwing, lack of respect. Things that had been happening for so long, long before I was hired, that it had become acceptable behavior. Not just to me but other departments as well. This wasn't a job I could stay at. Not even until my trek across Spain. Not even until my one year mark in December. Realization hit. It hit hard. I was done.

     Two days later I was back at work. The two days off had given me time to think and time to talk to Luke to make sure he was okay with my decision. This was his future also. I was quitting a job that helped me contribute to the household. I was still getting spousal support but, without a full time job, things would be really tight. Strangely enough, neither of us were worried about it. We weren't stressed about it. We both knew it was the right decision. Just in case, so I wasn't rushing into anything that I would regret later, I waited two more days of work before sending my boss an email that would end my job as the restaurant supervisor. I told no one. Didn't tell my family, didn't post the announcement on Facebook, didn't hint at it to anyone, didn't tell my co-workers. I kept it quiet. I wanted to make sure it was the right decision. And I cried as I typed up my resignation letter. It wasn't an easy decision to make. Not at all. I loved working for the Marriott. My boss had planned an important trip to North Carolina mid-August. I told him I would wait until he got back from vacation. Then a few days later, when word was out, my co-supervisor mentioned that she had a family vacation that she had planned and she was afraid that she wouldn't be able to do it. I said I would wait until she got back. Essentially I gave a five week notice. I am that nice. It's what I do.

     I realized throughout all of this that my true passion, writing, was something I hadn't done since last November. I had stopped feeling the joy. Stopped feeling inspired. Was there a correlation? Probably. That's when I decided that what I really wanted to do was find a job I could do from home. With that, I could finish college, pursue my writing goals, and even have time for much-needed creative pursuits. With that, I could also avoid the back-stabbing, screaming, angry, rude, drama-filled, throw her under the bus, gossipy co-workers. I could sit at home and do what I had always intended to do: Do your job and go home. No drama. Nothing more than a job. I would figure out how much work I needed to do, how much income I needed to have to be able to pay the bills, and find that job. Every Facebook meme that passed my way mentioning making that risky step, pursuing the dream, or being fearless spoke to me. And I felt at peace. I knew I was making the right decision.

      So, without fanfare, after five weeks of knowing I was leaving, yesterday was my last day as restaurant supervisor at the Marriott. Those that liked me told me how much they would miss me and how much they wished I wasn't leaving. One of my employees bought me lunch, another bought me a Starbucks lemonade as a way of saying goodbye. I was hugged, told I was loved, and wished well by so many. Those that didn't like me never said a word. Just asked when my last day was. Luckily, those employees/co-workers were the minority. Four, maybe five people. That said a lot about who I was. Because a part of me really still loves that place, I went on "pool status," meaning that if they need me in the restaurant department, whether running trays in room service, covering a hostess shift when they are short-staffed, or filling in as "lead" when a supervisor or manager needs time off, I would be there. The fact that they would rather put me on pool status than lose me completely also said a lot about who I am. And I took great pleasure in telling those four/maybe five people who didn't like me that I was going on pool status. (insert evil grin here)

      So, today is more than just another day off. I am officially unemployed. I haven't really had time to fully pursue a new job. I've applied at a few places, even have a virtual interview with one at-home job (that I'm not sure I really want). I still have my painting instruction classes at Michael's and I can increase my schedule there. I haven't fully unpacked my boxes since moving into my new apartment almost a month ago. Today I have cleaned, listened to inspiring podcasts by my favorite author, Elizabeth Gilbert, relaxed, and hung out here on Blogger for the first time since last November, writing my heart out. I don't think that it has completely hit me that I don't have a job. Give me a few more days. Right now it feels like another day off from work. Except that I'm not dreading clocking in tomorrow. Tomorrow is kind of another day off, I guess. It is finals week in my Spanish class so I have that. I still have unpacking. And so many creative things I am going to do. The weight has lifted.

      Look out world, here I come.

Attraversiamo

 


One of my favorite authors is Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of Eat, Pray, Love. I've always felt a connection with her books. She sometimes writes as though she is in my head, and sometimes she says exactly what I need to hear. This was one of those days (I stole it off of Facebook).

Word of the day...

Oops, I mean: WORD OF THE LIFETIME.

Dear Ones,

A sweet reader named Jackie painted this for me, gave it to me the other night at my event in Cleveland. I love it and I will keep it always.

Readers of EAT PRAY LOVE will remember this as the last word in the book. Italian for "let's cross over" — the most elegant way I can imagine to remind myself to let it go, to put it all behind you, to face the future rather than dwelling in the past, to stand up and try again.

Another way to say it, I just realized, could be: ONWARD — my other favorite word.

Today, let's share some stories of crossing over.

I will start with one from me. Lately I've been really showing up for my work on processing forgiveness. Much of this is inspired by having met Iyanla Vanzant, whose e-course on forgiveness I've been taking all month. 

I had no idea how much work I had to do on this subject, y'all. I mean, I knew I had some garbage in my heart and mind, but I hadn't realized just how MUCH resentment I was carrying around still. As I've done my work on this, I've discovered that what lurks at the very deepest bottom of all my old resentments is usually nothing but a pile of my own shame. (Shame for my own failed relationships, shame for having been stupid or a sucker, shame for my own inadequacies and mediocrity, shame for not having handled things better, shame for still holding on to ancient anger, etc.) 

And instead of trying to force all of those negative feelings out of me (I've never had any luck forcing negative feelings out of me...How 'bout you?)I've been making all kinds of interior space to allow those feelings to be revealed, to give them space to breathe, to accept them as human, and to forgive myself for all my own perceived faults and shortcomings. 

In other words, all my work on forgiving others has unexpectedly turned into a giant exercise of self-empathy. 

Which has, by accidental extension, turned into an exercise in feeling greater empathy for everybody else, as well...stuck as we all are in these crazy-town human minds. 

Which has, ultimately, led to a great and sudden diminishing of old resentments.

Which does, in fact, feel like crossing over.

So that's been nice. (TO SAY THE LEAST.) And I'm grateful. Because, like you, all I ever want is to be more free.

So what about you?

How have you been crossing over lately? Let's share some stories of liberation and its rewards.

And, of course, ATTRAVERSIAMO!
LG

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Does Dating Need to be THAT Complicated? (or Why I'm Taking A Break) (...and yes, I'm rambling again)

     

     Seriously. Does dating need to be that hard? Shouldn't it just be effortless? I know marriage and relationships can be tricky but should it start out that way when you first start talking to someone? I really don't think so. 

    I like witty banter as much as the next person. I practice it every time I work at the hotel. Some people get it, some don't. And that's okay! But, in relationships and dating (or vice versa) I'm looking for someone that GETS it. GETS ME. And that is hard to find. Really. It is. There are a lot of people like me, and most of my friends are exactly like me when it comes to having sarcasm just roll off of the tongue naturally, like a second language. In fact, I tell people that I speak sarcasm as a second language, and those that understand it are thrilled to find someone else who does also. People like us are hard to find. We come from our own little island. We enjoy life. We laugh at our own jokes. We find ourselves extremely funny. And we are really disappointed when we talk to someone and they don't see the humor in whatever we said.

    The other night I was particularly snarky at work. Luckily, everyone else I worked with was feeling the exact same way. Maybe it was something in the air, or maybe it was our negative (yet extremely humorous) attitude was being piped in thru the air conditioning vent above our heads and spreading to everyone at the front desk. Either way, it was really a fun night to be working at the Marriott. We all spoke the same language. Sometimes the guest we checked in or spoke to was speaking it also. Those that weren't came under our scrutiny after they walked away. We have our own little island of Sarcasmics and if you don't speak the language, you aren't allowed off of the boat onto the dock. 

      The reason I bring this up, and remember I always have a point, is a conversation I had the other night with a prospective date. I've never met the guy in person. We have only ever chatted on a dating site and then it moved to texting. He lives in another state so the chances of us ever actually meeting in person are pretty slim. 

      I got home from work the other night and he began texting me, asking how work was. I had gotten off work early and I was ready to call it a night. He decided he "wanted to hear my voice." We had been texting. I really don't like talking on the phone. Too many variables. In texting you can just stop texting and then say you fell asleep, or your phone died, or you had something you had to do. In talking on the phone, you are pretty trapped. PLUS, when you text, you can get other stuff done at the same time because that person isn't expecting you to respond immediately after they ask you a question. It's a sad state of affairs, where our communication has gone, but I prefer to just text. Sometimes I don't have time to actually talk. It means sitting down and focusing only on the conversation. Multi-tasking is really hard to do when you are trying to carry on a conversation. 

     Aaaaaanyway, he called. 10pm. He called. Ugh. I was tired. It had been a really long day. I just wanted to settle down with a good e-book or phone game and fall asleep. We'd been texting. He knew I was there. I couldn't NOT answer. I had to. SIX HOURS LATER....you get the picture. We talked for six hours. Seriously. Now, that should say something right? Who talks to a complete stranger for six hours? I guess I do. Once again, this is what dating is about: Getting to know someone. Deciding if you want to keep "wearing those shoes." This is where my complaint about dating being so complicated comes in. He didn't always GET me. Throughout the six hours of chatting, he didn't always speak the same language I did.

     I'm not a fan of texting or emailing sarcasm. You need the tone of voice, right? You need to HEAR the sarcasm dripping off of the tongue. It gets lost in translation in the written word unless the person you're talking (texting, writing) to speaks the same language, then it's hysterical. RIGHT? I guess not. He spoke sarcasm. He didn't understand it though. There is a difference. You can speak Italian (or Spanish or Chinese or whatever foreign language you like to think you can speak). You know a few words so you know when to ask for the bathroom, or say hello and goodbye, or when you need them to bring you the check after a meal. But if an Italian suddenly decides to carry on a conversation with you in full-blown Italian, you can get lost. You can take it wrong. Phone call guy got lost. He sometimes took what I said wrong. I spent so much time explaining what I was saying. "No, I didn't mean that." No, I wasn't serious." "No, I wasn't saying you were boring. I was kidding. If I really thought you were boring, I wouldn't have said anything at all." Oh. My. Gosh. So exhausting. 

     And he was a self-admitted Type A personality. I know I'm not. Not even close. I sometimes have control issues. I've been told I would have made a great lawyer even. But, for the most part I am a follower, not a leader. Being in charge makes me a little nervous. When he told me he was, I laughed because I wasn't surprised. At all. He had a tendency to argue, calling it "clarifying" himself. Even when I wasn't saying anything worth arguing about, he had to argue. I almost felt sometimes like he was picking a fight. Like he thrived on arguing. And then he called it "witty banter." "You said on your profile that you like witty banter." I do. I did say that. Witty banter isn't arguing. Not in my book. Is it in anyone else's book? Witty banter is talking humorously back and forth, with barely a pause in conversation. I've had that. Recently even. It never involved arguing. It's fun, not stressful. It's what makes for great conversation if you aren't looking to be serious. And, after living with someone for three years who thrived on arguing, I can't do arguing anymore. Not even when they think it's witty banter. 

      AND it getting to know each other, I hate this question: "What do you do for fun?" Oh, shoot. Fun? Define fun. I am far from being a boring person, and I can have fun in anything I am doing. That's pretty easy, as far as I am concerned. But, I never define my fun. Ummmm, hmmmm. Yeah. That. I....read. I....I paint. I....I like to write. I....don't know how to answer that. I don't ski. I don't play a sport. Of any kind. I like to watch sports. Does that count? I like movies. And...spending time with my kids. And...

    Second question that I discovered I am not fond of: "What do you do to stay in shape?" *Insert hysterical laughter here* I then had to explain that I don't work out. I don't run. He asked, "Do you walk?" Huh? Yeah....every day. "Do you at least go for walks to exercise?" Hmmm, no. "Then how do you stay in shape? How is your stamina?" Um, EXCUSE ME? "If you had to run around the block, would you be out of breath?" *insert hysterical laughter here too*  Well, I see no reason to run around the block...but if I had to run from zombies, or a guy with a knife, I think I could do it. I'm not just going to walk outside and say, "HEY! I think I'll go run around the block!" And I told him all of that. He laughed. Don't think he was impressed. 

     He didn't believe me when I said I could determine within the first five minutes whether or not a date was going to lead to more than one date. I can. It's true. I haven't been wrong yet. If I don't feel that "click" (you know) instantly, I probably won't go out with them again. It doesn't mean they aren't really nice guys. It doesn't mean they won't make some woman really happy. I can just tell it won't be me. Within the first five minutes. Really. 

     I like to sit across from my date and think, "Do I really want to look at this face every day for the rest of my life?" If the answer is no then there is really no point. But, it's not just the face. More importantly, it's the conversation. Are there the uncomfortable pauses in conversation? Yes? You have your answer. 

     I couldn't even tell you what we talked about for six hours. It was a long enough conversation that we decided it was our second date (the first date was texting for a long period of time). The first hour he pummeled me with interview questions. Then suddenly he's telling me that I wasn't talking. Wait... What? I just spent the last hour answering your questions. How wasn't I talking? sigh So, I started coming up with interview questions for him. AND he kept complaining how my phone kept cutting out or getting so quiet he couldn't hear me. The entire six hours. Oh. My. Gosh. Exhausting. I didn't call you, bud. You called me. I was perfectly happy with texting. sigh But, yes, the conversation lasted over 6 hours. 

       He even browsed through my Facebook photos while we were talking. (Are we friends on Facebook? Nope. That made me a little nervous. So much so that last night I went through most of my photos and made them really REALLY private.) He never ended up friend requesting me, and I don't know his last name so I can't locate him. Kind of creepy.

     Finally, at almost 4:30am, I HAD to get off of the phone. It was my call. He had work in two hours and he didn't care (of course, he works from home. He can nap). I had work the next afternoon. I didn't want to waste the day sleeping. Still felt pretty groggy the next day, even after 6 hours of sleep. I'm too old for slumber parties, I guess. 

     I think the hardest part was that it just seemed so hard to carry on a conversation because he didn't always understand my language. Yes, even after 6 hours on the phone. I've had conversations with recent dates where it was simply effortless the entire time, from beginning to end, filled with sarcasm because we both spoke the exact same language. I wasn't exhausted after those conversations. It was easy. I was left wanting more. Whomever I was talking to got me. I have to have that. It's a requirement for me. 

     I'm sure this six-hour-phone-call-guy is a really great guy. I talked to him for six hours. I got the impression he was. But was he MY great guy? He lives in another state. It's really doubtful. I'm willing to keep trying on those shoes until I know for sure but I am paying full attention to his insistence on "clarifying" himself, and the fact that he just didn't speak my language. It's part of shoe shopping. It's what you do. 

     On a side note, after thirty days of trying out dating sites, I'm taking a break. It's time. Two dating sites (the other two didn't last long enough to count) for thirty days equalled about six actual first dates. And a few that said we'd go out and then kind of disappeared. Funny men. Zoosk was shut down three days before the actual deadline. I think I got both bored and annoyed. It's like going into the same shoe store every day and seeing the exact same shoes every single time. And those shoes just don't ever fit right. Even after thirty days. 

     Don't worry, though. I DID find one pair that I really like. Witty banter included. He gets me. No "clarifying." No having to defend myself or explain what I meant. No uncomfortable pauses in conversation. Five minute rule achieved and I really knew for sure that there was going to be a second date. I'm not saying that I want to marry him or even make a commitment to him. It's waaaay too soon to ever say that. There is still so much that I don't know about him yet. But I am willing to find out. I want to take these shiny, comfy new shoes and walk around the store for a little while to see how they fit before I buy them and take them home. And that says a lot.  

     Yes, relationships can complicate your life. They can make life pretty messy. But, really, life would be so dull if there were no complications. Do you want a dull life? I know I don't. A good relationship adds a little spark to your day. It's that person who makes you laugh even when you aren't in the mood. Who makes you smile with just a simple random text. It's someone to talk to when life is tough. They listen to you when you need to talk. And love you even when you don't feel lovable.  When you're mad, or sad, or blue, or messy, or stinky, or fat, or thin, or bald, or wrinkly, they are still there. It's that person that is there when you are so old you can barely walk, or feed yourself, or remember their name. They love you anyway. They tie your shoes, button your collar, push your wheelchair, hold your hand when it's trembling. It's reality. It's knowing that even when you don't look like a model when you wake up in the morning, before you put on your makeup or style your hair, even then they are still there, loving you even more than they did the day before. That's a relationship worth waiting for. We're not getting any younger, kids. I'd say if you found her then it's worth the complication, don't you? 

     

Sometimes you just have to...

     I believe I am in the "What the hell?" phase in my life. Not "What the hell was that?" but, "Why the hell not?" Sometimes I just think, "What is the worst that can happen?" Well, obviously, I'm not going to die. Well, okay. I could actually die, but not if I don't do things that will put my life at risk.

     A year and a half ago I jumped out of a plane. On purpose. I put my life at risk. At that time, though, I remember thinking, "If I am supposed to die, I will. If I am not, I won't." So I wasn't scared. It wasn't going to be my time. It was pretty freaky how UN-scared I was. I remember standing on the edge of the doorway, about to leap out into space with only some guy I had known for about thirty minutes (and I can't even remember his name) strapped to my back. The guy was even shorter than me and, at the time, probably weighed less than I did. Seriously. How could he save me if we fell? 

     I stared down at the earth waaaay below me and for a brief moment I remember thinking, "What am I doing?" Then the thought was gone. I knew that whatever was going to happen was going to happen and it would be okay. Of course, I could have been crippled for life instead of dying but neither of these things happened. I did toss my huevos rancheros breakfast all over the poor little guy strapped to my back, but I never died. And I would do it again. (Not the barfing part. That's okay, I can skip that step.) But the jumping. The complete and utter silence of the sky above the earth. The peace. The world below. The spinning? Once again, I can skip that part. Happily. But I loved it. And I was never afraid. Not at any moment. 

     So, why be afraid now? WHY? I'm not going to die. I might be briefly heart-broken, disappointed, or even a little humiliated, but I'm not going to die. What am I giving up by taking any chance? I am not a tree. I. Can. Move. I can even fly. What am I afraid of? 

     And do ALL people my age go through this phase? It's not a mid-life crisis. I'm not going to live to be 104. It's not even a 3/4 life crisis. It's me deciding that I don't want a life just spent strolling through casually. I want to end up in my death bed (in about 40 years), telling my grandchildren and great-grandchildren about my epic adventures. How much I lived. And how much I loved. 

     I don't want to reach the end of my life and wish I had done all of the things I always dreamed of doing. I once told someone I was afraid of moving to Italy and they told me that if it doesn't work, you move back. As simple as that. 
     

     Now I don't know if I still want to move to Italy. Okay, fine. I do. Someday. Not right now. Someday. I guess because it doesn't feel like it's time right now. And financially, I am not prepared. When I go, I want to be able to stay as long as my little passport or visa allows. And not starve. So, it's not now. But someday.

    


    Either way, I want to live. I want to be surrounded by family, laugh with my friends, love until I die. And live every single stinking minute as though it is my last day on earth. 
     
     Who's with me? What are YOU afraid of? 

Monday Blues...

   

     Ever have one of those days? You know, the ones where you wish you could have a do-over. Today is my only day off this week. It's finals day for my creative writing class. Group paper/power point final, so no pressure to get things done by myself. Keeping up, cruising along.

    I woke up fine, I think. Not feeling bleh. Did my usual "morning paper" reading: emails, Facebook, etc. No problems there. Even started a 21 day Meditation program offered by Oprah (yes, Oprah), and Deepak. 

    But for some reason, right before noon, the blues hit. Maybe I'm hungry. Maybe I didn't get enough sleep. I don't know. I suddenly just started feeling bleh.  That feeling where music can make you cry. I hate days like this. 

     And I have the travel bug. I have "magic money" dropping in any day and I'm plotting my escape. I love the option of trying to figure out where to go, but then comes the horrible decision making process. And I don't want to travel alone anymore. I mean, I LOVE traveling alone and I have no problem doing it, I love the adventure of it. But for some reason this time I don't want to. Maybe that's what my problem is today. 

     I would love to just be able to say, "Come on. Let's go," and it would happen. Someone with the same adventurous qualities that I have. Not someone who just talks about going, but actually does it. I've known too many talkers and very few doers. There must be someone out there like me. I can't be an actual original, can I? Is everyone else just going thru life like a zombie? Isn't there anyone else who feels a strong urge to see what is beyond their front yard? 

    I'd love to sit on a beach for a few days. Or investigate a place in a foreign country I've never been before. Even sit on a cruise ship, reading a good book and watching the ocean flow by. It all sounds magical. Perfect and magical. 

     But I don't want to go alone. Not this time.