The Chill.

I arrived in Istanbul on September 1, at the end of the summer, in the middle of a massive heat wave.

Or maybe that's just normal for Turkey....

Thank goodness, the place we where we were staying in Taksim was well-equipped. By which I mean... it had air conditioning.

However, after the few days in Istanbul, I returned with Ryan to Bursa -- the first major capital of the Ottoman Empire, the fourth largest city in Turkey, home to the mountain Uludağ and the Iskender Kebap -- my new home.

My new home is also on the top floor of a five story apartment building and... wait for it.... has no AC.

Boo.

So, it's been pretty hot.

After the first few 100º days, the temperatures began to drop slightly and I began to get used to the heat (as much as I could, being from Vermont).

But I've been a little jealous of all of my friends posting pictures of apple-picking and pumpkin spice lattes (which they actually have in Turkey, strangely enough).  I guess it's made me kind of nostalgic for autumn on the East Coast, especially in New England.

Then, yesterday, it rained.

All day.

Halle-fucking-lujah.

Because right now it's 63º.

Ryan is wearing a sweatshirt.

I didn't wake up in a pool of sweat at all last night.

I went for a run this morning and had to wear a long-sleeved shirt.

And, right now, I am happily (not to mention comfortably) curled up on the couch, with a hot cup of coffee, wearing long pants, and not positively dreading the idea of going to stand over the hot stove to cook breakfast (brunch?).

So, happy fall from a happy girl.

Endless love.

This is life.... in Turkey.

In the 3 weeks that I have been in Turkey, I have been told that I am beautiful, quite possibly, more than I have been told so in my entire life.

Great.

Who doesn't like being told they're beautiful?

I'm just not always sure it's genuine.

Not to say that people are secretly calling me hideous behind my back, rather that Turkish culture seems to be kind of obsessed with the idea of beauty.

Like, of all compliments, the one a woman would most like to hear is that she is beautiful.

Not intelligent or charming or charismatic.

Just beautiful.

I have been introduced to new students as the "new teacher who is also very beautiful".

I have been told by my students that I "have a great accent", that I am "energetic and fun", but these compliments are always followed by "....and of course you are so beautiful."

People also like commenting on my beauty to Ryan.

Again, it's not like I hate being called beautiful.  It's always a nice thing to hear. 

However, I don't think my physical appearance really has much to do with my teaching abilities.

And I like to think that my boyfriend is with me for at least a few reasons other than how pretty I am. 

It's a different culture.

And I knew going into it, that being a woman would be a very different experience in Turkey than it is in other areas of the world where I have lived and travelled.

And for the most part, Turkey has surprised me.

Before I left home, I did quite a bit of reading up on what it was like to travel and live in Turkey as a woman --

A lot of people warned against it.

A lot of people gave strict lists of what women can and cannot wear.

And a lot of people gave advice as to how a woman should act towards men.

Apparently all of these people need to chill the fuck out.

I'm sure it helps that Ryan and I are usually together, but I never feel unsafe here.

I can wear a tank top or a dress that shows my knees and... drumroll... no one cares.

And, while our interactions are limited due to the language barrier, the people here have been so kind and hospitable.

I guess it's just little differences that I notice.

I get a lot of strange stares when I am running in the park.

Maybe it's because I'm the only person running.

The number of strange stares escalated the day I wore shorts.

So now I wear pants.

And the one night that I went out to run errands while Ryan was at school, people seemed very skeptical of the fact that I was out alone at that time of night (approx. 8pm).

So maybe, from now on, I run my errands during the day.

And the "you are so beautiful" thing.

Worse things have happened.

Pideli Köfte

Greetings from Bursa.

I'm not here to write something profound about cultural differences or personal fulfillment, so if that's what you're expecting, I suggest you stop reading now -- but, I think this will be worth your while.

Bear with me.

For months now, Ryan has been telling me about Pideli Köfte -- a local dish here in Bursa.

Bread, meat, tomato, yogurt, butter.

Sure, sounds good. Sounds fattening. Sounds... dare I say it?... Sounds Ryan.

One thing's for damn sure, doesn't sound like anything I would eat with any degree of frequency.

(Um, hi, where is the spinach?)

But, after a few exciting (albeit exhausting) days in Istanbul, we arrived in Bursa and I decided to humor him.

So, after walking around Bursa a bit, we reached the Pideli Köfte street.

Yes, a street full of restaurants that serve... wait for it... Pideli Köfte.

So we're peacefully walking along, when out of nowhere, all of the employees standing in front of one restaurant start loudly greeting Ryan -- shaking his hand, patting him on the back, and talking animatedly.

Clearly he's a regular.

...Not too shocking.

They herded us over to a table and hospitably pulled out the chairs for us.  One man brought over another chair and gestured for me to put my bags in it.

They automatically knew what we were there for.

They brought us a dish of pickles, dried cherries, and hot peppers and left us to wait for our food.

Very shortly, they brought us each a plate and set them in front of us.

A layer of bread, a side of delicious yogurt, a couple slices of tomato, all topped with eight (or so) meatballs.

Sounds good, right?

Wait! There's more.

This first server was directly followed by a second, carrying a pan of sizzling hot, melted butter which he proceeded to (generously) pour over each of our plates.

Sure, I cringed a little bit, but I also know that melted butter is delicious.

So I dove right in.

The verdict?

It was worth the hype.

I think the Turks just know how to make food taste good.

Add butter.

Always add butter.

So cheers to them for doing what everyone else is too timid to do.

Pideli Köfte is delicious.

What's in store.

So remember a few months back when I was leaving for South America and I was stressed and crazy and crying and bullet-pointing all over the place?

Well, I like to think that I learn from my mistakes.

Tomorrow, I'm going to Turkey.

To live.

For awhile.

*gasp*

***

I got home from camp on Monday night.

I took the rest of that night and the following day to decompress and, promptly, set to unpacking and repacking on Wednesday.

Initially, I meant to unpack from camp and repack for Turkey.

However, it turned into unpacking from camp, packing for Turkey, unpacking for Turkey, repacking for Turkey, etc.

The fact of the matter being that, a process that could have taken an afternoon, ended up taking four days.

But I'm done! (For the most part)

***

When I say that I learn from my mistakes, I am mostly referencing the fact that I left all of my packing for South America until the very last minute.

This time, giving myself a full week, allowed for the peace of mind that came from unpacking and repacking so many times.

It has also given me time to relax and come to terms with what I am about to do.

In the spirit for "pre-travel bulletpoints", here are some of the things (apart from packing and unpacking and repacking) that I have done in my week at home.

• I've eaten really good food.
• Washed the "camp" off all of my clothes.
• I've spent quality time with my parents.
• I've consumed a collective seven beers.
• I've run a collective 12 miles.
• I've done some yoga.
• I've watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Scream, Seeking a Friend for the End of the World, Searching for Sugar Man, and Bridget Jones' Diary -- all interspersed with episodes of Friends.
• I listened to nearly the entire Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince audiobook.
• I made a trip to Burlington to spend some time with some quality humans.
• And I've said my "see you soons".

***

Similar to my trip to South America, there has been a lot of build up leading to this adventure.  However, unlike  my trip to South America, on the night before my departure, rather than feeling anxious and sad, I feel strangely at peace with the idea.

That being said, I still have over 24 hours until my flight leaves, I'm sure I'll have my moments.

But it's nice, after so much build up, to still know that I'm doing the right thing.

***

Faithful readers might also recall that I was very sad when I was getting ready to leave for my trip this past January.

I had just said goodbye to my boyfriend, Ryan, as he left the United States after a month of Vermont winter shenanigans.

This time, he will be waiting for me at the airport in Istanbul.

So that's that.

I'll see you all soon.

Plates and Glue

As fate would have it - I have returned to summer camp in Connecticut for the third summer in a row.

Amid stifling heatwaves, ever-growing fatigue, lousy food, and an overwhelming sense of anticipation, I have found solace in spending time with close friends, making jewelry, planning my next adventure, and batiking a wall-hanging (my left and right hand are green and blue, respectively).

And as always, I find solace at camp in the little moments that are somehow not so little.

There have been a few.

Here is one of them.

About a month ago, I was on the main porch one night; the kids had gone to bed, the mosquitoes had come out, and the air felt slightly cool and damp.

I saw a friend sitting on the edge of the porch, in the shadows, looking a little sad.

So I walked up to her and asked her how she was doing.

She replied that everything was okay, but I remained unconvinced.

So I asked again.

Her response was roughly as follows -

"In my country, we have a saying:

When you drop a plate, it breaks.

You can pick up all of the pieces.

You can glue it back together meticulously.

But it will never be the same again.

The cracks will always be there."

We continued talking and she further explained the situation that she was applying this metaphor to.  Without really knowing whether what I was saying had any semblance of truth to it, I reassured her that I was sure that everything would be fine.

It may seem an anti-climactic anecdote, I just think there is a kind of melancholy truth to the plate metaphor.

Despite the somewhat gloomy undertones of the saying, one must think about what the cracks mean. The plate may be marred, but do the cracks make it more interesting? Do they give the plate a story?

Maybe I'm being too optimistic.

The cracks would make the plate more fragile; if it were to be dropped again, it would certainly break even more easily than the first time.

Maybe I'm thinking too much about the durability of plates.

Regardless, it was high time for a check-in.  I'll leave the plate analysis up to you.

Big things coming, folks.

Rainy Day Woman.

Sitting on my couch this morning, I cried for what I can only assume was the better part of an hour.

The past few weeks have been pretty emotionally, physically, and mentally draining.

Finally, on my rainy day off, with no concrete plans until 6:30pm, in the throws of menstruation, it seems to have all caught up with me.

I wouldn't even say that I'm sad per say; frustrated might be a better word.

Frustrated, anxious, tired, stir-crazy, emotional, self-pitying.

Not sad.

As I looked around, nursing a big cup of lukewarm coffee, I couldn't help but look at my old school pictures that line our living room.

The one from first grade really caught my eye.

I'm wearing this royal blue turtleneck dress, a black headband, and what can only be described as a dollar-store pearl necklace -- cheap, fake... first-grade chic?

Anyway, I am mid-giggle, looking a little goofy, but it's fine because I was six and it was cute.

I actually remember having that picture taken.

I sat down in the seat, the photographer positioned me correctly and told me where to look and then instead of doing the usual - "Smile for the camera!" - or - "Say cheese!" - he said --

"Say pickle!"

And my little six-year-old self thought it was the just funniest thing.

And that youthful moment of utter joy was captured forever -- developed, printed, purchased, framed, and placed on top of a tall white cabinet in my living room.

Immortalized innocence.

Talk about nostalgia.

I guess it's kind of cliche, but I kind of can't help looking at that little six-year-old and thinking - "If she only knew."

People let you down.  The world is one big crapshoot.  Money controls everything. You lose touch with people you love.  The American healthcare system is FUCKED.  You will absolutely have your heart broken.  That knot in your stomach?  There are times when it might feel like it will never go away.  People will lie to you over and over again.  No one is perfect.  Time doesn't slow down for you.  Death is a very real thing.  At some point you will know what pure hatred feels like.  Politics are not just about the president and which country is fighting with which country - politics are everywhere.  And on a related note... Peace on Earth?  Wishful thinking.

But I digress.

Of course no six-year-old has lived long enough to be aware of all of these things.

And I am glad that I was able to be so blissfully ignorant for such a long time.

This. Is. Life.

(inhale/exhale)

It can be so overwhelming.

But the silver lining is everywhere, you just have to look for it.

And sometimes it is harder to find than others.

Chocolate helps.

So does yoga.

Count your blessings.

Be mindful.

Pet your dog.

Go for a walk.

Hug your parents.

Talk to someone you love.

A couple of weeks ago, on a day when every muscle in my body ached with tension and every step I took was full of trepidation, someone I love very much told me to write about it.

I kind of brushed the idea away -- "I don't want to burden everyone with my problems."

But here I am, writing about it.

And I'm not crying anymore, so that's a step in the right direction.

In one of my favorite movies of all time, Kevin Spacey said:

"Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst... And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid life..."

Life is stupid and amazing.

You are experiencing life.

Take the bullshit in stride and always appreciate these moments of gratitude.

As always, thank you all for reading.

(Truly.)

23 Lessons I've Learned at 23

About a year ago, I sat at my desk in the Group Sales office at the Crowne Plaza Tennis and Golf Resort in Asheville, NC and made a list of 22 lessons I had learned at the age of 22.

Now I am sitting on my porch in Vermont on a beautiful day and feeling inspired to keep the tradition going.

So... here goes.


1. For better or for worse, people will always surprise you.

2. Yoga still helps.

3. Work to live, don't live to work.

4. Don't second guess yourself -- trust your intuition.

5. Live a little.

6. Stop searching for your "purpose".

7. Optimism is key.

8. Salt, tequila, lime -- repeat -- switch back to beer.

9. Take advantage of being young.

10. Baths are important.

11. Having hairy armpits is strangely satisfying.

12. Money sucks.

13. It's a small world --

14. --the world is also really fucking big.

15. There is an art to efficient sandwich making.

16. Find ways to do the things that you love.

17. Everything in moderation.

18. Vitamin D. That is all.

19. Find balance in your life.

20. Perspective matters.

21. All those people that told you about how much worse your hangovers become as you get older? They weren't kidding.

22. You can turn any day of the week into Sunday Funday.

23. Strive to be happy. Always.


Stay tuned for 24 -- a lot can change in a year.