25 Lessons I've Learned at 25

Three years ago, I sat at a desk in a hotel group sales office in Asheville, North Carolina and wrote a list of 22 lessons I had learned at 22.  I was young.  I was fresh into the world of post-grad life.  I was enthusiastic.  And, in that moment, I unknowingly began what was to become a bit of an annual tradition.

The writing of "23" took place on a sunny, spring day on my parents' porch in rural Vermont and "24" took place at a desk on the other side of the world in Siem Reap, Cambodia where I was living (and sweating) at the time.

With just over a fortnight to go before my 26th birthday, I decided it was time to starting thinking of my "25 Lessons".

First, I decided to take a walk down memory lane as I re-read all of the "lessons I have learned" over the course of the last three years.  There were a few repeats, a lot of yoga references, a lot of tequila wisdom, and I won't lie, there were a few lessons that were more than worthy of a dramatic eye-roll.

It was also kind of sweet in a way to look back and remember how various tidbits reflected different things that were going on in my life as I was writing those lists and there were certainly a few moments that had me saying to myself - "Shit, I really should have taken my own advice on that one."

As lists are so regimented and as I have far, far too many different lists in my head, on my phone, and in various journals lying around my apartment at the moment (hello, chaos old friend), I've decided to take a different spin on "25" and approach it more as a reflection on the last year of my life rather than a list of 25 goofy, half-true lessons I've learned.  Maybe there will be 25 lessons woven in, maybe not.

But I digress.

Upon re-reading "24", I couldn't help but linger for a moment on my final words:

"You are the only person that can create change in your life.  Create it.  Change is good."

I think, at the time, I was referencing moving to foreign countries, having life-changing experiences, and I think (a little bit) I was trying to convince myself of something (but I won't get into that here).

The funny thing is that I don't really feel like I did much to create those changes.

Sure, I decided to move to Turkey.

Sure, I bought plane tickets.

But, aside from those very direct decisions, purchases, and actions, I was really at the mercy of the situations around me and I let those circumstances sweep me along until I reached a point where I felt totally adrift in the world.  I felt alone, disconnected, and totally lost.

So, I came home.

And ironically, coming back to the house I grew up in and opening my noisy bedroom door and hugging my family and walking my dog down Chelsea Road and driving on Eagle Hollow and eating my Mom's salsa was the catalyst for the change that I actually needed.

And I was able to start to take control of my life again.

I'm definitely not trying to say that everything is hunky-dory and perfect.  Of course it's not. 

I am a human being and the world is a really fucked up place.

But I've been laughing a lot more. 

And I've been doing a lot more of the things that I really love to do.

And I think there's something to be said for that...

And sometimes I feel like, in such a fucked up world, I'm able to find some solace in taking control of my life and who I am and taking steps towards making myself a better person (whatever that may mean).

Anyway, I'm pretty sure that this has all been a massively boring overshare.

But these are thoughts (lessons, if you will) that have been drifting around in my head for the last couple of months and it's been really therapeutic to put them into words.

So thank you to anyone who stuck with this one through to the finish, y'all are the REALEST and *hopefully* this is the beginning of me posting more than bi-annually (if I keep saying it, then it will happen, right?).

For the sake of tradition, I'll close with two distinct lessons that I have learned -

One being not to regret things and to find value in all of your experiences.

The second being that drinking half a bottle of wine and two vodka martinis the night before you open at 6:30am is still a terrible idea at *nearly* 26.

There are some things that you can change and some things that just probably never will.  

Lots of love.

-K

But first, Coffee.

The main issue I have with maintaining a blog is... just that - the maintenance thing.

I really only like to post new pieces when something truly inspires me and, while I have been doing lots of interesting things since August, nothing has really sparked that inspiration that I have been looking for.

My mother's friends are so encouraging: "we love your blog!" "we want to hear about your travels!"

And while, I know it seems like writing about my experiences abroad would make for a much more interesting reading experience, the last thing that I want is for this to turn into another generic travel blog.

So instead of writing about studying yoga in India or climbing Table Mountain, I'm going to write about another topic, one that often leads to some of my best ideas: Coffee.

Since I've been back in the states, I have been picking up some work teaching yoga and to supplement my yoga income, I've been working a few days a week as a barista at a local coffee shop.

Spending three days a week surrounded by coffee and fellow coffee-lovers has, no doubt, influenced this emergence of mine back into the blogging world.

I love coffee.

It goes right up there on my list of top 5 favorite things, tying with theatre for a close 4th place behind my family and friends, my dog, and yoga.

There is absolutely nothing else in this world that compares to that first cup of coffee in the morning.

Rolling out of bed, sleepy-eyed and groggy, and making your way to the coffee pot (or french-press if you're fancy), grinding the beans, pouring the water, listening to that percolaaaation, and then finally taking your first sip of scalding hot, ass-kicking, perk-up, nectar of the gods.  (This is a silent call to all my fellow dark roast lovers, you all know what. is. up.)

Call it caffeine dependency, call it placebo effect, call it what you want.  I'll call it my own personal slice of heaven.

I love my mornings, and my mornings would not be the same without coffee.

I also think you can tell a lot about a person by their coffee order.  Which people are in it for the coffee vs. which people are just in it for the caffeine.  Which people drink their coffee black, which add cream, which add cream and sugar.

I admire the people that order their coffee to go: they mean business.  But I have an equal amount of admiration (if not more) for those that sit and take the time to enjoy their coffee, whether alone or with a friend.

Drinking your coffee black gives you an edge.

Drinking your coffee with almond, coconut, or soy milk shows that you're making a conscious effort to maintain a healthy lifestyle, despite the caffeine intake.  Either that, or you're lactose-intolerant.  Or vegan...

You get the occasional super-human tea-drinkers.

And those that drink their coffee with whole milk, half and half, or cream are shameless. And, damn it, they know what tastes good.

Just don't get me started on decaf drinkers.

**please hold while I go get a refill**

I am experiencing pure bliss at the moment.  Sitting outside in the sun (with a double americano), people-watching, and enjoying the 52 degree day after several months of long, cold Vermont winter.

I like the way that the enjoyment of coffee can be fluid.

E.g. I enjoy my coffee alone or with people, I enjoy my coffee in my travel mug on my way to work and I enjoy my coffee in a ceramic mug, sitting on my front porch or at the kitchen table.  Sometimes I just want straight black coffee, sometimes I want a triple-shot mocha - and I enjoy both equally.

Coffee is coffee is coffee.

Or something poetic like that.

Being a barista is easily the best food service job that I have ever had.

I'm not entirely sure why I enjoy it so much, but I think it has a lot to do with coffee-culture and the bond that coffee-drinkers share.  (I know it sounds ridiculous, but I'm being 95% serious and 5% ironic.)

It's like this silent acknowledgement, this mutual understanding - "Oh, coffee helps you through the day too? Great."

We all have our vices.

I like being the person that can provide that vice for people.

I do it with a smile and a nod and then proceed back behind the counter to drink some coffee of my own.

And I'm sorry if reading this post was a waste of your time.

But like I said, I love coffee.

Have a great weekend and thank you, as always, for reading.

24 Lessons I've Learned at 24

I'd like to start by formally apologizing (to anyone who cares) for not updating "This is Life" in so long.   A lot has happened since April and hopefully I'll start updating "regularly" again soon.  But now I'm here to continue an annual tradition started in 2014 --

One year ago today, I sat on my parents' porch in beautiful Vermont and wrote a list of 23 lessons I had learned at 23.

I ended by saying: "Stay tuned for 24 -- a lot can change in a year."

Insightful, considering I had no idea exactly how much was about to change...

Coming up on my 25th birthday (don't even get me started...) I only have about a week left for this installment.  So here goes, 24 lessons I've learned at 24.  Bear with me...

1. Having an oven is underrated.

2.  Count your blessings.

3.  Just going to go ahead and state it for the record -- yoga always helps.

4.  Try new things.

5.  Go to Turkey for the food, South Africa for the landscapes, India for the sheer experience, and Cambodia if you want to drink cheap beer, see lots of temples, and... melt.

6. You do you.

7.  Read the news.

8.  Anyone who speaks English as a first language is blessed beyond belief.

9.  Modern communication is a revelation.

10.  Just do it.

11.  Respect your teachers.

12.  Something cliche about how money is a necessary evil.

13.  Treat yourself.

14.  When beers cost 50 cents you tend to drink a lot more of them.

15.  Haters gonna hate.

16.  Freelance = Free food.

17.  Put lime on your omelettes!

18.  As they say, distance does make the heart grow fonder.

19.  Take big chances.

20.  Being selfish is not always a bad thing.

21.  Move to Southeast Asia for the cheap massages alone.

22.  Put yourself in other peoples' shoes.

23.  For the love of all that is good -- do not, I repeat: do not overstay your tourist visa in India.

And last but not least...

24.  You are the only person that can create change in your life -- create it.  Change is good.

~ Stay tuned.  At this rate, 25 could be a doozy! ~

The Road is Closed

So I want to preface this post by telling you that Cape Town is amazing, as are six week vacations.

And after drowning in Turkey for six months, those weeks in South Africa were the breath of fresh air that I needed.

Lots of family time (Ryan's family are just the loveliest people), beer, good food, yoga, hiking, tourism, wine, sleeping, and playing with Jake, the huge, cuddly, lovey, sugarplum, fluff-ball, German Shepard.

And on Wednesday morning, overwhelmed with sadness, we departed.

-- Cape Town > Johannesburg > 9 hour layover (hello, Airport Craft Brewers) > Abu Dhabi > another (shorter) layover > Mumbai --

We spent 1.5 glorious days in beautiful Bombay and booked a flight to Delhi.

This morning we took a cab at 4:45 to the Mumbai airport, which happens to be one of the most beautiful works of architecture that I have ever seen -- not that I'm any kind of expert.

We took our flight, collected our checked bags, and hopped on the metro to the city center.

That was when disaster struck.

Let me paint a little picture for you:

The two of us freshly off the air-conditioned subway, hot, sweating through our clothes, carrying our heavy backpacks, nearly gagging on the smell of stale urine, desperate for a bottle of water, etc.

You have that in your head?

So we had made a booking at a hostel that was allegedly near the train station, but the screenshot of the location that Ryan had taken on his phone was kind of confusing and we were slightly disoriented.

So, in a foreign country with no data plan, the next best option was to ask someone.

We asked one man who gave a somewhat vague answer that implied that the area our hostel was in was a private area and that we would have to obtain some form of permission from a tourist office to get to the place.

Sounded like bullshit.

Then we asked another man who, essentially, told us the same thing in many more words and in a much more convoluted manner.

When we finally escaped from him, Ryan said, "Jesus, what was his angle?"

Finally, we left the train station and chatted with a couple of Belgian backpackers who seemed to be having the same problem as us.

One of them, who had been in India for awhile, negotiated a rickshaw price and, as there's barely enough room for two people in the rickshaws, we were forced to part ways.

Possibly mistake number one.

Mistake number two:

We took the advice of the second man in the train station and went to a "government tourist office" to obtain the necessary permission to enter the alleged "private area".

Upon entering the office we were led into a back room where we sat at a desk and explained our problem and our confusion.

The man we were speaking to confirmed that the area was indeed private, but offered to call our hostel for us.

Ryan gave him the number and we watched him dial.

The man handed the phone to Ryan who spoke to one of the employees that told him that the hostel was closed due to a demonstration that had happened the previous day.  The man behind the desk didn't seem surprised and reassured us that it was only because "The safety of tourists comes first."

He told us that the only other hotel options were in the center of the city and would probably cost $300-$400/night -- which is obviously not in our budget.

We then explained to him that we have a private taxi coming to fetch us tomorrow to take us to Rishikesh, where I will be doing my yoga course.

He then offered to call the ashram where I will be doing said course.

I gave him the number and watched him dial.

He handed the phone to me and I struggled to explain my situation to a mumbling man on the other end of the line who said that all of the ashram's taxis that were coming from Delhi were full and that the next available car would be some time tomorrow evening (after I am meant to arrive).  He also said that staying in Delhi at this time would not be safe.

After explaining this sketchy phone call to the man behind the desk he told me that our only other option was to, instead, take a taxi this afternoon.

However, he said, it would probably cost 16,000 rupees ($300) -- again, not in our budget.

So we left.

Immediately upon exiting the building, another rickshaw driver pulled up and somewhat sincerely told us that the office we had just exited was a "fake office" and that the area we needed to go to was, indeed, open.  He seemed genuine enough and he offered us a good price to drive us there, so, against our better judgement, we got in.

He chatted quite jovially to us as we drove, telling us about his two sons, asking if we had rickshaws in our countries, etc.

At one point he stopped the rickshaw for a moment to answer a call from his "family".

We continued to drive and, about two minutes later, as we approached the area we needed to be in, a man flagged us down to tell us that the area was closed and that we needed to go to another tourist office to sort our problem out.

Very fishy.

Without missing a beat (not to mention, without us asking him to), the rickshaw driver sped off to the "actual" government tourist office.  Upon arrival, he demanded an extra 20 rupees because it was "...not his fault that the area was closed and he has driven us further than expected."

Begrudgingly, we gave him the extra money and entered the office.

It was like déjà vu.

As soon as we walked in, we were taken into a back room where we sat at a desk and told a different man the same dilemma and were met with the same response.

Twice was enough, we left the office determined to find a place where we could call the hostel or the ashram on our own.

After walking for about 45 minutes in the blistering heat, suffering from near dehydration (okay, maybe I'm exaggerating, but I was definitely parched and feeling like shit), we found a coffee shop and entered.

We were able to use a phone and Ryan called the hostel and asked if they were open.

The woman on the other end gave us an affirmative and Ryan quickly explained what had just happened.  She tried not to laugh as she said, "Sir, that's a scam."

As soon as he hung up the phone, a man at the table next to us confirmed that she was right and that it's very common in Delhi.  We explained to him in more detail what had happened and he told us that these were in no way government offices and that they were tourism agencies trying to make a quick buck.

They work with the rickshaw drivers and apparently the man who stopped us on the road as well.

When the man at the first office called the hostel and the ashram, he was merely pressing the buttons while his friend or coworker waited on the other line.

So, feeling a bit like stupid tourists, we sheepishly found another rickshaw who took us to our hostel where we checked in, bought water, and were brought back to life by the AC.

Although it was insanely frustrating, I kind of can't help but be impressed by how elaborate the scam was.

Touché, my friends.  See you in hell.

Reflection and Vision

A few months ago, just before our winter break, on a day when I was feeling kind of bummed and unhappy with my present situation, Ryan and I were having a conversation.

He asked - "Are you proud of yourself for moving to Turkey?"

At the time, I wasn't really sure how to answer the question, I was too immersed in self-pity to try and put a positive spin on things.

So it goes.

But now, as my months in Bursa are coming to an end, I find myself evaluating my time here.

Am I "proud" of myself?

To a certain extent, yes.

I am proud of myself for leaving my comfort zone.

For going somewhere so far from what was familiar to me.

For embracing a new and different culture.

I loved our Christmas vacation.

Our day trips.

And I loved nearly every moment spent on Uludağ.

But, at the same time -- there are things I wish I had done differently.

I wish I had reached out more.

I am absurdly self-conscious about speaking Turkish.

I understand the language to a certain extent and my vocabulary is enough that I can communicate (however limited that communication may be) in most situations, but if I can avoid speaking it at any length, I do.

Probably because I am afraid that I will sound stupid, which is ridiculous and hypocritical coming from someone who has been teaching English to foreigners for the last (nearly) 6 months.

I should be the first to advocate for practicing foreign languages when you have the opportunity.

This silly insecurity of mine will help me to segue into my next "coulda, woulda, shoulda".

I wish I had been more independent.

I've relied on Ryan a lot since I've been in Turkey (bless his heart a thousand times over).

I don't know if it was because of my aforementioned self-consciousness when it came to the language or because of the way the culture treated me as a foreign woman or because I felt uncomfortable in my own skin.

Anyway, I feel like a lot of my free time in Bursa has been spent stressing (about work or money or work or my future... or work) and/or binge-watching my way through various TV series.

To be fair to myself, I would probably be doing a lot of the same things if I was working in America. But there is something about watching episode after episode of Game of Thrones on your couch half-way across the world that seems like more of a waste of time.

I also feel that I have been far too conscious, since the beginning, that my time in Turkey was limited. A fact that, I think, has negatively impacted my time here.

I didn't need to learn anything more than basic Turkish because when would I use Turkish again?

I didn't need to make friends because when would I see them again?

I didn't need to establish much of a routine here because I would be leaving in a few short months.

Etc, etc.

But, had  I done all of these things, would I have been doing myself a favor?

Probably.

I know that you don't have to like every place you travel to.

And I will just say it -- Bursa, while probably a very nice place to visit for a few days (especially if you have friends or family here), is not the most interesting or international city to live in.

As is wont to happen, I fell into a bit of a routine here (regardless of whether it was the one that I would have chosen for myself, normally).

Work, eat, work, do yoga, work, watch an HBO series, work, go for a hike, drink tea, work, etc.

Today, as we finished up our second cup of coffee and made a plan for the day, Ryan and I looked at a list of good places to eat in Bursa on Trip Advisor.

Feeling tired of Pideli Köfte (crazy, I know), we found a cafe that sounded interesting and ventured out to a part of the city neither of us had been to before, only to have a really lovely afternoon eating pizza and drinking freshly pressed juices.

So, contrary to my previous statement, maybe Bursa does have some long-term charm, if you look for it.  There's got to be a reason that it's the fourth biggest city in the country.

With each trip that I take, I learn something new about traveling. Something new about myself.  And I am greatly looking forward to the next couple of legs of my journey that are uniquely mine to mold into whatever shape I want them to be.

My Two Cents & Misconceptions

Per usual, this post is long overdue.

I'll start by saying things have been going well here in Bursa.

Lots of work, lots of shitty beer, lots of food, lots of exploring.

Content for now, but also looking forward to my next adventure (I'm looking at you, Cape Town).

Funnily enough, the bulk of this post will actually have very little to do with Turkey and more to do with my own country.

When I arrived in Turkey, I was a little nervous about being an American.  Considering the somewhat perpetual state of unrest in this area of the world that America has greatly contributed to as well as the anti-Muslim sentiments projected by certain members of our society, I thought that I might experience some long-harbored resentment from people.  Much to my surprise and delight, Turks welcomed me with open arms.

Everyone was very curious about America.  They had many questions about life in the United States and they loved hearing the American accent.

However, as time went on, my initial excitement at their enthusiasm for my country began to wear thin.

I began to realize that the idea of the "American Dream" that has disillusioned so many people in my own country, with the help of all forms of media, has managed to spread around the world.

So, when I tell people about the healthcare system in the United States or the absurd growth rate of college tuition, or the fact that, 150 years after the end of the American Civil War, racism continues to be a prevalent issue in American society, they are left slack-jawed and astonished.

You see, when they watch American movies or TV series, they believe that the physical America, 6500 miles away, is the same place that is shown to them on the screen.

Full of equality, happiness, and beautiful people who like to party.

If only.

Naturally, as a concerned citizen, I have been following the news in the US especially that surrounding the 2016 presidential election and I am struggling to find the words to describe how utterly sickened I am by this new wave of aforementioned anti-Muslim sentiments.

I realize that it is only a percentage of the population that supports the ridiculous idea that Islam = terrorism.  However, I do encourage all Americans, myself included, to take a step back and actually ask yourself how much you know about the religion.

What do you think of when you think of Islam?

Women in veils and men in turbans?

Honestly, before I came here, I'll admit that my knowledge of the religion didn't extend much further than these stereotypes.

But they are just that -

Stereotypes.

For example, turbans are generally not worn in Islamic culture and, when you see someone walking down the street wearing a turban, it is, most likely, not a Muslim man but a practicing Sikh.  Sikhism is a monotheistic religion that originated in South Asia in the 15th century.

As far as the veil (or the hijab) goes, I know a lot of western women that get up in arms about women's rights, etc, etc.  However, depending on the country (from what I understand), the wearing of the hijab by women is a choice based on interpretation of the teachings of Islam.  When women do choose to wear a veil, it is not seen as oppressive or detrimental to women's equality.  Rather, a practice of modesty and a means to desexualize women and protect them from harassment or unwanted sexual advances thus allowing them to enjoy equal rights in the public sphere. (I would again like to emphasize the fact that these customs and beliefs can change depending on the country.)

**takes a breath**

My students are Muslims.

And they are some of the kindest, most compassionate, and entertaining people that I have had the pleasure to meet.

There are misconceptions and stereotypes everywhere.

It is the nature of the world we live in.

But, if we can take the time to educate ourselves and learn the truth about these issues, it will be a step in the right direction.

And, of course there's nothing that I can say here that hasn't already been written about by some online publication or someone on social media, so I guess, as usual, I'm using my blog as a kind of outlet for my own feelings and frustrations.

Am I proud to be an American?

Not always.

That being said I do think our country has a great deal of potential and that we should not waste it by giving attention to fools and bigots like Donald Trump.

I do think we can "make America great again", but the answer is not extreme nationalism with bad hair.

The Myth vs. The Man

Everyone has those few television programs that they can watch over and over again.

Mine include: Friends, How I Met Your Mother, Desperate Housewives, and I'm sure I could think of a few more.

I am currently involved in a close and personal relationship with the four main characters from Sex and the City, as I binge watch my way (for the second or third time) through the 6 seasons.

I don't put a lot of stock in the life lessons that Carrie Bradshaw attempts to convey through her newspaper column that goes by the same name as the series.  The show has elements of sexism, misogyny, classism, and ageism.  In addition, it often shows both women and men in a really terrible light and it paints a very unrealistic view of life in New York City (since when can a writer of a weekly column about sex and romantic relationships afford 100+ pairs of Manolo Blahniks and a studio apartment on the Upper East Side?).

That being said, I am pretty easily sucked into the exciting lives of the four fabulous 30-something friends that drink cosmopolitans, go out to brunch, and complain about their various dating escapades and sexcapades.

I will also give credit where credit is due.

Sure, the show is full of terrible stereotypes.  But stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason -- they happen.  And, for better or for worse, they will probably continue to happen.

I don't necessarily agree with a popular TV show perpetuating these stereotypes for six seasons, but I digress.

Carrie Bradshaw is the somewhat air-headed and scatter-brained protagonist in the show and over the course of the 6 seasons, she blindly plows her way through a series of relationships.

(WARNING: SPOILERS BELOW)

A pretty common, however trivial, debate when it comes to the show --

Aidan Shaw vs. Mr. Big.

Aidan -- the husky, furniture designer/builder, with a house in the country and a heart of gold.

Mr. Big -- the typical arrogant asshole that we all kind of love to hate.

I was always an Aidan fan.

I loved the whole "business in the city, heart in the country", ruggedly handsome, dog-owning, non-smoking vibe.

And he really loved Carrie.  He even gave her another chance after she cheated on him with a married Mr. Big!

He was so totally my type.

I mean what's not to love?

But this time around, I, like Carrie, gave Mr. Big yet another chance.

And I think I may finally understand.

Mr. Big, with all of his commitment issues and his betrayals of trust, is only human.

He made some mistakes.

But ultimately he was able to pull his head out of his ass in time to track down Carrie in Paris to tell her that she was "the one".  And that's what really counts, right?

It just took him a little longer to realize than it took the rest of us.

No matter how good someone is on paper or whether they are "so totally your type", if you don't have the zsa zsa zu (refer to season 5, episode 8), then they're not "the one".

Tell me I'm wrong.

Katie Cawley channelling a little Carrie Bradshaw for a change.

I have been watching too much SATC.