Archive

Self-Care on the Road

posted 4th December 2011    Written by: Kat    CATEGORY: All Posts, Kat, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 5, Travel, Travel/Adventure

It’s been over two months since I left New York and a “normal” daily life behind. When I was there, I dealt every day with the stresses of my job and commuting – the high level of hostility emanating from people on the subway and the streets really got to me sometimes – and so I had particular self-care tactics that I used regularly to keep myself sane.

Now that I’m living one of my dreams, traveling Europe, and spending my time doing things that I love, my self-care system – and any routines, really – have fallen by the wayside. I eat my meals according to what’s typical in the countries that I visit, and it’s not necessarily the most balanced diet. I occasionally take yoga classes, but haven’t been practicing at home. I don’t talk to – or email – my friends and my family with any regularity. And sleep schedule? What sleep schedule?

I hadn’t thought much about it for my first six or so weeks; it didn’t really bother me. And then, I visited Fes. I loved Morocco, Fes, and the medina. Loved. The medina – or old, walled city – in Fes is the largest contiguous car-free area in the world, and it’s a giant maze of trinkets, delicious food, and stunning handicrafts. My friends and I spent two days exploring, bargaining, taking photos, and eating. It was a beautiful and fascinating sensory experience.

And that’s when it all caught up with me.

We stopped at a shop to buy scarves, and after a long sales pitch from the proprietor, my friends picked theirs out. I, on the other hand, froze. I couldn’t choose. The owner of the shop was saying how sad he was that I didn’t see anything I liked, and he kept putting different scarves around my neck. It took everything I had left not to burst into tears on the spot. (As a side note, if you want the price of two silk scarves to drop by 100 Moroccan dirhams – the equivalent of about $12 or 10 euros – look like you’re going to cry.)

All I could think about for the next few days was escaping. I was desperate to find a city where I could go and get a reasonably-priced hotel room with free wifi. My idea was that I would go to that place and camp out in the hotel bed for a few days, leaving only to find delicious, inexpensive food. I even asked facebook and twitter for suggestions about what that city would be.

Then I realized: I didn’t need to go somewhere special. Sure, I might miss some of the sights in my next stop, Barcelona, but who cares? Isn’t my health and sanity more important?

I spent the morning before I left Madrid looking for yoga studios and nail salons in Barcelona. I found a few different studios with reasonable prices and good class times, as well as a place to get a pedicure. I did some yoga before breakfast. I picked up some healthy snacks at the Mercado San Miguel later that day, so that I wouldn’t be tempted by gluten-filled train station food the next morning.

And you know what? Just the action of recognizing that I didn’t have to run around trying to do Barcelona made me feel a little better. That acknowledgment helped remind me that this – exploring and experiencing Europe – is my life now, and that I get to choose how I do that, and when to take a step back.

Look, I’m not saying that having shiny purple polish on my toenails fixed everything in my life, but it sure as hell reminds me every time I see them that this is fun – and that taking care of myself wins over seeing all of the sights.

[photo credit: me!]

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The Kindness of Strangers

posted 27th November 2011    Written by: Kat    CATEGORY: All Posts, Kat, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 5, Travel, Travel/Adventure

The day that my friend Emily and I left Morocco, we were on a very tight schedule. We had 3:05 p.m. train tickets from Algeciras in southern Spain to Madrid, so we had to plan the Morocco end of our travel around that. Missing that train wasn’t an option: if we weren’t on it, Emily wouldn’t make it back to Madrid in time for her flight the following day. We opted to depart from Rabat at 6:42 a.m. on a train that would put us in Tangier around 10:30 a.m., leaving us with merely half an hour to catch our 11:00 a.m. ferry to Spain. (Is this starting to feel like a strange math problem to anyone else?)

We had settled on this plan simply because the alternative was a 2:00 a.m. train from Rabat, and arriving in Tangier at 6:30 a.m. seemed…unappealing. We already knew that the train station there was far from welcoming, and getting a bit of sleep seemed like a good idea. Perhaps our initial priority of maximizing our time in Morocco hadn’t been the best one, but there was no way to change that now. We needed to make the best of this new, rigid schedule.

When we boarded our train in Rabat, our assigned carriage had the lights off and a man sleeping, so we decided to sit in the next carriage that had open seats. We passed the first few hours of the ride napping and chatting with each other. About an hour before our arrival, the older Moroccan woman sitting across from us asked us about the henna designs on our hands. So began a conversation with her – in French – about our time in Morocco, her experiences in France, and politics. With the help of the other girl in our carriage, who spoke both French and English, we carried on a lovely and lively multilingual dialogue.

As our train pulled into the station in Tangier, Emily and I nervously eyed the time on our cell phones. We had under 30 minutes to get to the port, purchase our tickets, and board the ferry. Things didn’t seem promising, and if we missed that boat, there was no way we could make our train. Our new Moroccan friend saw our concerned looks and asked about our ferry. As we climbed down the stairs of the train, she signaled for us to follow her. My hopeful assumption was that she was going to help us get a taxi, and I knew that transaction would go much more smoothly – and be less expensive – with her assistance.

When we exited the station, she led us through the hoard of taxi drivers trying to get fares and found us one off to the side. She told us to get in the back, and she hopped into the front seat. I heard a flurry of Darija (Moroccan Arabic), and we were off. She asked which ferry company we were using, and we told her the name – and also that we still needed to buy tickets. More conversation in Darija followed.

Ten minutes before our ferry’s departure time, we pulled up to the ticket seller, thanked her profusely, and hurried up to the counter. She watched until we were in the process of purchasing our tickets before the cab drove off.

Every day of this trip, I am thankful for the kindness of strangers. Without this woman’s help, we never would have managed to find the ticket counter and make it to our ferry in time. I wake up every day full of gratitude for the life I’m leading right now, for the amazing people I’ve met and the experiences I’ve had. I hope that someday, I’ll be able to offer the same generosity to others that I’ve received: the places to stay, the rides, the shared meals, the companionship.

For now, I’ll continue giving thanks and not taking all of this for granted.

[photo credit: me!]

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Is Home Where the Heart Is?

posted 20th November 2011    Written by: Kat    CATEGORY: All Posts, Kat, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 5, Travel, Travel/Adventure

When I arrived in Paris, the acquaintance with whom I was staying apologized for his sparse apartment; he’s going through a transition and doesn’t have very much stuff right now. I pointed at the bags I’d placed on the floor a few minutes earlier and said that I understood. He replied, knowingly, “That’s your home.”

I’ve been thinking about the concept of home quite a bit recently; it was hard not to after I closed the door to my Brooklyn apartment one final time. I hadn’t – and still haven’t – signed a lease on a new flat; all I’ve got for the foreseeable future are friends’ couches, hostel beds, and the two carry-on bags referenced in my bio below. It’s an interesting place to be.

For years, I’ve been the type of person who will refer to wherever I’m sleeping that night as home. I remember being on a trip – to Paris, in fact – in high school, and when other people would say something about returning to the hotel, it was just “going home” in my mind. At the time, I thought that I phrased things that way for the sake of being concise; however, as I look back, I think there’s more to it than that.

That trip to France at age 15 marked my first time on an airplane, as well as my first trip abroad. (Other than to Canada. And actually, when my family visited Ontario, we didn’t need passports to go. In other words, it doesn’t count.) I knew from the moment I set foot on the streets of Paris – well, except for an unfortunate incident involving a croque monsieur, which did not taste delicious when I was feeling nauseated and jetlagged – that I wanted to visit more places. A lot more. In fact, I wanted to be a fancy international businesswoman so that I could traipse all of the world and get paid to do it.

I’d caught the travel bug.

Though that initial dream of corporate-funded globetrotting never really materialized, I became a traveler. My mom even started calling me her little nomad. Since that first time in another country in 1997, I’ve lived* in 16 places and crashed in countless others – hotel rooms, hostels, friends’ apartments, camps, farms, etc. Each of those has been home in my mind, even if only for a night. I’m happy that I developed that perspective, because without it, I think it would be very difficult to take this trip.

We all hear from a young age that “home is where the heart is.” I wasn’t sure until now whether that was true for me. I mean, if that quote is correct, shouldn’t my heart be with my family, or best friends, or…something invariable?

And then it hit me this morning: that is exactly where my heart is. It’s on the road, with my loved ones scattered around the globe. It’s in cities where I found inspiration and new life. It’s in experiences shared with friends and family, in meals and memories. Home is transient because I am, and my heart is with me as I go.

What makes somewhere home for you?

*In this instance, I’m defining places I’ve lived as anywhere I’ve paid rent (dorm rooms included) or houses where I’ve stayed rent-free for more than one month.

[photo credit: me!]

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I Feel Like a Zombie Come Back to Life.

posted 17th October 2011    Written by: Hannah    CATEGORY: All Posts, Hannah, Job/Career/Work, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 5

 

“There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy. By being happy we sow anonymous benefits upon the world. ” -Robert Louis Stevenson

As I write this I sit on the beach in Monterosso in the Cinque Terre in Italy.  Kids squeal as they dunk each other in the deep blue green waters of the Mediterranean.  Couples cuddle on beach towels giggling and whispering to each other in Italian.  German tourists bare more than some of us want to see while trying to catch some sun.  I sip cold, cheap beer and listen to the waves pound the sand near my feet.  I’m trying to read my book like Mister who is sitting next to me, but I’m too caught up.  This is a beautiful moment.  People all around me are loving life.  And so am I.

And I wonder, “What would it be like if most days we all loved life?”

“The idea that you have the right to a good job that you enjoy and pays well has got to be an almost entirely unique concept in the history of the human race that only my generation could assume.”  This bold statement on my 30 year old friend’s Facebook page caught me totally off guard and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

There were lots of comments, but this one got me the most, “I will concede the part about liking your job.  That is something that our generation was spoon-fed along with our attendance and participation trophies.”  I don’t know if it was that everyone agreed with him or that no one felt it worth their time to comment, but not a single person spoke up in disagreement.  Is it just me?  It made me so sad.

Kahlil Gibran wrote, “Work is love made visible.  And if you cannot work with love but only with distaste, it is better that you should leave your work.”

At home I look around me and see people in every direction who are bored, complacent, or just plain miserable in their work.  Most spend 40+ hours a week at their jobs for at least 45 years of their lives (if they don’t start working until after college and actually retire at 65).  After subtracting vacation and sick days, that’s a total of 84,600 hours of something that makes at least some of us feel like uninspired, unsatisfied (dare I say?) robots. Are you depressed yet?

I am. And apparently so are a lot of others.

Katy Perry’s song “Last Friday Night (TGIF)” has been on the Billboard Top 100 chart for the last 20 weeks.
Rebecca Black’s song “Friday” has almost 31 million views on YouTube.

Take Usher’s stance on the matter:
“Thank God the week is done.
I feel like a zombie come back to life.
(Back back to life.)”

I don’t believe in working for the weekend.

It never once in my whole life crossed my mind that I might settle for a career that didn’t thrill me (AND pay the bills).  My parents were supportive in whatever venture I took on.   I felt that the expectation from them was not that I make a lot of money and “be successful”, but that I find something I genuinely love that makes me really happy and actually be successful.

It is so sad to me that in our day and age someone young, smart, and talented does not believe he deserves happiness, success, and yes, money to live to a certain standard.  And I’m sure he’s not the only one which fires me up even more.  I know I talk about this a lot, but it is so close to my heart.  We deserve happiness.  Every last one of us.  We deserve to feel inspired, to love our lives, to learn and grown on a daily basis.  We deserve to wake up every morning without the dread of the day’s tasks weighing on our hearts like a bully sitting on our chests.

And I get it.  I’ve heard and used every excuse in the book.  It sounds silly, but it’s HARD to do what you love!  It’s hard to take risks.  It’s hard to let go of expectations.  It’s hard to be weird.  It’s hard!  But I’m willing to work hard.

“The heights by great men reached and kept.
Were not obtained by sudden flight,
But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the night.”
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I’m not trying to preach to you, but rather to preach to myself. Find something you love and explore it with everything you’ve got. Embrace your form (or forms?) of genius.

You are deserving of a life that you love. A new mantra, maybe?

I AM DESERVING OF A LIFE THAT I LOVE!  (Attendance and participation trophies optional.)

[Photo Credit: Brad Coy]

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Picking a Path

posted 24th September 2011    Written by: Elyse    CATEGORY: Elyse, Job/Career/Work, Life Lesson, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 5, What I've Learned

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both…”

I think the biggest contributing factor to my Quarter Life Crisis may be my inability to really latch on to one specific passion and follow it.  Life has always been extremely interesting to me, and when I learn about new things and new adventures, I sometimes veer off the current path and follow this new, shiny thing.  It is NEW! And INTERESTING! Thus a procession of interesting activities, hobbies and possible careers have paraded by me, sometimes me ditching one for another or just piling them on. My mentor in high school suggested if I kept up this current pace, I would be a “jack-of-all-trades, master of none”, but I’ve just never been able to make anything really stick.

I went through a variety of majors in college that included anthropology, theater production and design, general English and finally, settled on high school English education. I always saw myself as a teacher when I was little girl, so why not? I had a lot of incredible teachers during my younger years in school and was excited at the thought of making an impact on them the way they made an impact on me. My teaching program was filled with amazing peers and some really great professors. I was achieving at high levels, and there was no denying I was good at teaching English. The great flaw in the program at the time, however, was that we weren’t in an actual classroom until senior year. Even then, our main student teaching experience didn’t occur until post-graduation. I had no idea what I was getting myself into until after I had completed my degree.

I lost a lot of myself during student teaching. I did everything correctly and received a lot of praise from my mentors, but it just didn’t feel right to me. My passion for the language arts classroom was quickly slipping away. I finally accepted that my life as a school teacher was not going to make me fulfilled and joyful. Instead, it was currently making me feel angry and empty.

After my student teaching experience was over in December of 2009, I was at a complete and total loss what to do next. I had extensive student loan debt, was facing an on-going battle with Seasonal Affective Disorder and anxiety, and for lack of a better word, felt dumb that I didn’t know the next step. All of my friends were moving on in life. They were getting married, finding 9 to 5 jobs, having happy hour cocktails and buying houses.  None of those things interested me (except the cocktails, of course), but what was the alternative? What was wrong with me that I didn’t want those things, too? I never felt comfortable being normal but didn’t know how to be an un-normal, authentic me.

Finding Stratejoy was an accident that became something like fate. I was moved by the struggles of other 20-somethings and found comfort and meaning in the message Molly was sharing.  When Molly offered a discount on the Joy Equation, I jumped at the chance to focus on myself rather than worrying about what others thought I should be. For the first time in a long time, I felt brave enough (or perhaps just desperate enough…) to try things I never imagined I would do. I’m a lot more accepting of the journey I’m on and living in the present.

Those changes in my attitude and my current position at the zoo are definitely a start, but I know I’m a long way from finding my way. I peer into the future and see nothing but haze. Doing writing exercises that ask me to write about my ideal day make me squirm because I feel so lost, I don’t even know what type of jam would be on my toast in the morning. I’m so afraid that I’ll miss out or choose the wrong thing that I haven’t chosen anything. If there was a goal I would want to meet through this Stratejoy blogging experience, it would be to gain some insight into my future. Even if it means being brave enough to just pick a path.

 

{Poem Credit: Frost, Robert. “The Road Not Taken”}

{Photo Credit: Ryan B Schultz}

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