Serendipity

The train stopped on the tracks 200 yards past a rural station.

We were about an hour into a Praha to Vienna trip and as my computer clocked continued increasing I ticked down to 0 from the 7 minutes I had to make my connection back home – the last one for the night. I glanced out of the window and saw conductors and then passengers start to meander past.

My tummy rumbled and I thought again of the somewhat-past-prime vegetables I had removed from my bag in the morning. At the time I thought “I’m going to regret this later.” Indeed. An announcement in German was of little assistance and so I turned to my fellow cabin mates.
Waiting for the Train

“I’m sorry but do you know what is going on?”

“Something on the track ahead… we have to wait.”

“Did they say how long?”

“No.”

Over the course of the next hour plus, between getting fresh air, stretching on the segmented gravel, and a few picture opportunities, I learned of the accident at a crossroad on our track. I said a silent prayer for the person, family and friends who were all having a much worse day than I. An 140 minute delay is naught compared to life’s other wreckage.

Sitting back in my computer as we slowly made our way down the tracks I mentally prepared for changing arrangements. Again, glancing out of the window I breathed deep for the beautiful sunset over russet trees and fields of green.

My inner voice sighed contentedly, “relax, appreciate what you have and enjoy the journey.”

[Read more…]

Time to Paint

Van Gogh didn’t start painting until he was 27.

Artist StudioAfter three fantastic days in Amsterdam, including perhaps the best day ever complete with finding amazing boots just my size in a vintage shop when I had worn a hole in my old shoes (talk about the Universe rising up to meet your feet), it is my time in the temporary home of the Van Gogh collection that is still swirling in my brain.

Vincent didn’t start thinking about creating a life as a painter until he was 27. I have a particular affinity for this factoid as I had my own little life revolution at the same age. Yet, more largely, it says: It is never too late to start.

Perhaps it screams it.

It is never too late to start on your path to greatness.

Don’t think you have time? Vincent’s entire oeuvre? 10 years. And he considered most of that “practice.”

What is your soul screaming out to do?

Don’t know? That is ok. Painting was Van Gogh’s 3rd attempt at a life.

Try.

The important part is the starting.

I’ve met so many who have expressed regret at not studying abroad, not traveling, not switching careers, not moving to a new town, not trying that unknown place (even the one down the street!), not reinventing into a different path. They are seeped in regret and sadness. Lett ing “not” to rule is the the surest way to unhappiness.

I’m also loving this quotation these days: If you want what you’ve never had, try what you’ve never done.

Why not pull a Vincent and dare to do differently?

Pick up your proverbial brush and begin.

Be IN always,

Jo

 

PS – I’m writing between catnaps on a train from Berlin to Prague. Perhaps it is my belly happy with fantastic Tibetan food, but train travel seems to suit my go-go soul. Undaunted by a much improved but still healing smile , I took off from Florence for the fall break with my EuroRail pass and only a vague plan for the week. It has been a pleasant blur of perfection. 

Fallen Caryatid

I sit at my computer and the words just will not come.

Shine onI don’t want to talk about it.

I don’t want to think about it.

I don’t want to explain it.

I don’t want to tell the story one more damn time.

I just want it to go away.

My emotions, you might have guessed, are running pretty high.

I took a tumble during the GoRuck Challenge in Munich over the weekend. Somewhere between renditions of the Spongebob Squarepants theme song you see in this highlight reel, I tripped over a manhole cover while carrying the flag and fell on my face. I broke off half a front tooth and busted up my lip pretty good.

Stubborn chick I am, I finished the challenge and earned my 3rd GRT patch.

That was the easy part.

[Read more…]

150 Blank Pages to Fill

It was an emotional challenge to fill the last page of my old journal/planner/notebook.scrapbook.

It covered just under a year. Such varying events and moments condensed into less than 100 scrawled pages of ramblings and lists.

ParisI spent an hour flipping back through every page and copying over notes and writings that I couldn’t help but carry forward from my old tome.

After a year of weekly posts, one might think that this blogging thing would be easier. One would be quite wrong.

I still struggle to find the words to encapsulate my experiences. I’m battling the balance of living and writing especially during these full weeks. I want to be out doing, seeing, engaging, connecting, opening, expanding, loving my life with ferocity and consumptive fire.

There are rare times that I have the compulsion to write at length. Most often, however, it is a passing thought of “I should write about…” or a catchy title or sentence that I have repeating over and over in my brain.

I have pages of “starts” but few “finishes” in the banks.

When the muse visits for a long chat, I relish the words forming under my pen. I cherish the missives after the moments have passed.

It was with heavy heart that I faced the replacement my old notebook. Yet, as she often does, the Universe provided a perfect new one to purchase in Paris. And, to ease the ache, I was gifted with a glorious afternoon to first scrawl upon the pages.

On the banks of the Seine 9/29

My only regret is that my legs do not feel strong enough to run… that and that I not a poet nor a painter. Throwing gratitude by the fistful that I am here.

[Read more…]

A Lover in Firenze

Arno Sunset 2Those first days of being smitten are intoxicating.

A little extra jiggle in your step, hint of smile at the corners of your mouth, mind abuzz with the possibilities.

This is how Florence has been making me feel.

I was on the hunt for a “secret” late-night bakery a few mornings ago with a student-friend. We wandered over cobblestones and through a few wrong alleys before we discovered the correct back door — no “hot doughnuts now” announcement here and so much better for it.

Walking away from the unmarked door, under an ink sky punctuated with barks of laughter and hum of activity even at 3am, we enjoyed the most fresh, warm, delicious chocolate-filled doughnuts ever made. No guilt, just pure unadulterated pleasure.

This nicely sums Florence for me.

What is the word?

AlleyIt was on the purposeful wander that my companion asked what I thought of Florence so far. More specifically he asked what I thought the feeling or mode of the place and it’s citizens are? Does the city agree with me.

I related that my initial impression still held but my experience was deepening and expanding. Somehow it feels more exciting then even during those first days.

I paraphrased Elizabeth Gilbert’s idea of “one word” for a city and searched for the right one to describe Firenze.

It is fitting that I could only come up with French. I still struggle to overcome my default pronunciation and responses en Francais.

The feeling I get from fair Firenze and Florentines is: Bon Vivant

The city, she is a playgirl. She is a muse, a pixie, a lounging nymph of Baccus… perhaps even a succubus.

Florence, she calls in the night, luring you out when you should know better. She makes you feel young, spontaneous, and carefree. “There are possibilities here” she whispers.

Minx-like, she makes you work for it — just enough so that you enjoy the chase.

There are so many pleasures to be shared, secrets to be unlocked, delicious morsels to be devoured. Perche non?

“But relax Cara,” she coos, “all in good time…”

The sweetness of doing nothing

Florentine Locks Il dolce far niente

This is an actual phrase to be found in my Rick Steves guide. These Florentines, they enjoy their expansive time.

See you cannot force Florence (and Italia) to present her best to you. You simply must allow for kismet to happen on her timetable. Not to be rushed, she is worth the wait.

It is quite surprising that this NYC Gal embraces the relaxed flow of lingers and wanders. But alas, love makes us do crazy things.

On one of my first days, I overheard one of the professors tell a student, “anyone can find and fall in love in Florence.” It is true.

If you don’t find a person to fall for, Firenze will be your lover instead.

I understand why people lock themselves here.

I’m enjoying the discovery phase. Learning the history, topography, and secret spots with hidden meanings while creating new inside jokes and special places.

I have the spark in my eye, bounce in my step and sly smirk of pleasures recalled of a girl newly in love.

It isn’t a flesh and blood lover that has me so smitten, tis the bon vivant lover of fresh flesh that is this city. She who infuses her energy into our blood and beckons us into the night.

Go.

 

Always BeIN,

Jo