Never Never Land

A few days ago, I was talking to an old friend from back east.  During the conversation, I mentioned that I had seen her Halloween photos on Facebook, and that I thought they were such great shots of her, her husband, and her kids.   I even told her that I felt a little envious of the happy family she had built.  I expected her to say something like "Well thank you!" or "I know, I'm really lucky." 

But she didn't.  

Instead, she said something else.  Something that I didn't expect to hear.  

"Well Dara, maybe it's time for you to finally grow up too."

I sat there in silence, dumbfounded at what I had just heard.  I wasn't positive, but I was pretty sure that I had just been insulted.  Too stunned to come up with a witty or smart response, I just stuttered. 

"Yeah, well ya know.. anyway… so the photo was great. How's the weather been back east?"

I didn't even have the strength to defend myself.   

So we moved on from the subject, not returning to it for the rest of the conversation except for one reference she made about my boyfriend asking if he was "the one."

Afterwards, I hung up the phone still perplexed.    I had been friends with this girl for years and I was pretty sure that she didn't mean anything malicious by her comment.

There are many times when my married friends who have children send me messages telling me how envious the are of my responsibility-free-and-seemingly-glamorous life.   And then there are other days when I tell them how envious I am of their stable jobs, happy marriages, and sweet kids.

But don't get me wrong; there are also days when I don't envy them… days when I dread the idea of having their responsibilities; the anchor of a family, mortgage, and spouse.  And I'm sure they sometimes look at me and think, "Gosh she's crazy… I could never be so flighty and not have any consistent stability."   

But it's kind of an unwritten rule that we keep those thoughts to ourselves.  

So a few days later, I started to get more and more angry about her reaction to my compliment.   Just because I wasn't married and with children certainly didn't mean that I wasn't a grown up.

I haven't lived home since I was 18 years old (Ok, ok, aside from that ONE summer…).  I support myself by working in a career that I absolutely love.  I have fantastic friends with whom I have a blast, and romantic relationships that keep me entertained.  I enjoy impromptu trips around the world; vacations spent sunbathing and partying on the French Riviera, romantic rendezvous in Italy, and electric summers dancing in Spain.   I take random trips to Hawaii, Napa, San Diego, and New York City for both work and pleasure that usually end up with me canceling my return plans and staying longer…. until whenever I so desire.  I have an IRA, health insurance, and a recently purchased new car.  I pay my bills on time, and I still have money left over to treat myself to materialistic designer accessories and fancy dinners out on the town whenever I want to.  I live hard, but I also work hard.  Very hard.  

And ok, maybe I don't have a husband yet, but that doesn't mean my dance card isn't filled.   And my sex life is more than satisfying, thank you very much.  

So seriously.  What the hell?

I get it.  I'm not 22 anymore.  I realize that many people, society included, think that maybe it's time for me to "settle down", get married and pop out a few kids before my "ticking biological clock" runs out….  Before my youth is gone, and I look back on my life with great regret that I never had kids or married when I was "young".  

But apparently, I'm the only one who doesn't hear that clock ticking.  

And in my defense there was a time when I thought I was on that "conventional road to happiness".  

Once upon a time, in a land 3,000 miles away, I was on a very different life path.  A path that was supposed to lead me to an alter, with a set of rings, a couple of vows, and a Happily Ever After.  

But along that path, I hit an unexpected detour... And I truly believe that without that roadblock, my happily ever after would have probably turned into a messy divorce and thousands of dollars worth of therapy.   

And so, as I diverged from that socially expected path of life for women in their mid twenties, I looked forward through the tears, and reluctantly walked down a new path.  One that I wasn't expecting to take, and one that hadn't been paved yet.  One of uncertainly, adventure, and most of all self awakening and growth.  

It was then that "life" began.   I completed a Masters degree at Columbia University.  I started dancing on television and film.  I was given a second chance at my career; the career I had dreamed of throughout all my childhood, and the one which I had given up for the man I loved.  I started attending lavish parties, galas, events, and made incredible new friends.  I began to experience new relationships, passionate love affairs, and tenacity for life that I had never before felt.  

Then I made an even crazier decision.  I decided to move across the country.  To a place I had spent a collective five days, and where I only knew a few people.  A place where I had no job, no car, and nothing really secure lined up.  

I took a chance that I never could have taken if I had been married with children.  

And it turned out to be the greatest adventure of all.  

I didn't really realize it when I was blinded by my love for my ex, but there were a lot of things that I wanted to accomplish before I settled down and had a family.  Places to see, things to do, experiences to have.  And that's what I've done.  I've done almost everything on my "30 Things to do Before I Turn 30" List.   And you know what the only thing I didn't do was?

Get married.  

(Well that and "Visit Egypt.")

This is not to say that I'm against marriage, nor am I against the path that all my married friends took.  There are people in this world who want to start a family while they are young.  And I think that's great! One of my best friends is that kind of person; she believes in consistency, marriage, family, etc.  We always laugh about how different we are, but how each of our lifestyles work for us.  I have nothing but respect for her and all my other friends who have beautiful children, cozy homes, and loving spouses; I think it's wonderful.  And if I had someone in my life who I truly felt the desire to settle down with, I would. 

But it will happen when it is supposed to happen.  Not everyone is on the same time schedule.  I think Thoreau said it best when he said "If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer."

So in the in the meantime, I will continue to dance to my own beat.   

And I would never, EVER have a phone conversation with one of my married friends and say something like "Wow, if you didn't have those damn kids, you could come visit me in LA, travel the world, or buy those Pradas." 

No I would never say that, because not only is it untrue, it's stupid.  Everyone has their own timeline, their own path, and that is what makes the world so beautiful… that diversity of lifestyle, and desire.  Different strokes for different folks.  

And while I sometimes do feel that I have approached the foreign crossroad of what I want, what is expected, and what I should be doing,  I usually just keep on keeping on.  Confident with whatever path I choose; whether it's with a family, a child, or with a dog named Bella.  

And if there's one thing in life that I've learned, it's that no matter how hard as you try, sometimes, you just can't hold back the river.  

And so, since I am in this position, there is no reason I shouldn't take advantage of it.  I can do anything I want, go anywhere, and be anything.  I can move to any place in the world. Thanks to a trade that travels, I've become pretty mobile;  I am not bogged down to a particular city, job, or even relationship.  

I am sure that eventually, I will settle down and start the process of "growing up".  But for now, until that opportunity presents itself, I'm going to keep on living my life, and playing the hand I was dealt.  And I will NOT feel inferior to those who have reached that point before I have.  I will eventually marry a man who I am crazy about…. I will have children that I will love more than anything in the world, and when that happens, I will be ready for it… Ready to stop being selfish and start a new chapter of dreams.   I've already done so much of what I've wanted to accomplish.  I have no regrets nor any excuses for never doing something that I wanted to do.  So maybe I am a little slower than everyone else… But hey, when I finally close my eyes for the last time, and when I draw in my final breath, I will be able to say, "I did it all, and I did it my way."

So don't pity me… don't feel bad for me.  And certainly don't insult me because I didn't follow the same path that you did.  

I am doing just fine where I'm at.

Even if that place is Never Never Land.  

From A Distance

It's been said that “Love, having no geography, knows no boundaries.”

But anyone who's been in a long distance relationship would probably respond to this quote with the same words:

Bull Shit.  

It’s no secret that long distance relationships are challenging.  Relationships are difficult enough, so when you factor in the added challenges of physical absence, not to mention all the little issues that eventually come up such as trust, communication, and the inevitable “drift”... well it’s no wonder that most LDR’s don’t work out.  Of course there are exceptions to the rule and I have no doubt that there are some relationships that can withstand the barriers of distance and time.  But more often than not, they usually fall apart.  

However sometimes, it’s not just physical distance that can affect what would normally be a healthy and happy relationship.  

Emotional distance can be just as toxic.  

Physical and emotional distance were two things that I never really understood in love.  Until about 10 months ago, I was skipping through life with an open heart, having faith in love, and believing that pure matter would never spoil.

God, I was so naive.

After a torrid love affair with a man who was separated from me by an ocean, I had my first experience with "long distance." During our rendezvous, I uncharacteristically allowed myself to get caught up in the romance; I fell hard and fast.  I became more open than I had ever been, and I allowed myself to become entangled in the fairy tale that was unfolding around me.  It was all so exciting;  The romance, the passion and the thrill of free falling.  I never once thought about the consequences, only the incredible high of each moment. So when it was time to leave, instead of just ending things (which, in hindsight, should have been the proper course of action), we decided to take the future one day at a time and see what would happen.  He had been burned not once, but twice in previous long distance relationships so I didn't blame him for wanting to avoid it again.  But that didn’t kill my spirit or my optimism; I truly believed in both him and "the relationship".  To me, the distance was just a minor detail; it didn't really bother me because I knew I was willing to wait for him... After all, he was worth it.

And so, we credulously tried to hold on to what we had while we were together in the same time zone.  We looked forward to seeing each other over the holidays, and in the meantime, we would try make it work by talking every day and skyping often as possible.  Those solutions seemed to suffice for awhile, but although we had always treaded carefully and slowly with what we were doing, the inevitable drift began to develop, and eventually things became complicated when I wanted more than he could to give.  

So I fought… and I pushed.... And to his credit, he tried to keep up.  

But of course, the inevitable happened, and things ridiculously blew up in my face… The “relationship”, despite all my efforts to keep it alive, had crashed and burned.  

My reaction was instantaneous:  For as open as my heart had always been, it immediately shut down and closed off.   

I felt all my faith dissolve from my spirit, and I vowed to never again "fall" the way I did, nor would I ever get involved with someone who was so both physically and emotionally distant.    

It was simple. I would no longer trust my intuition since it had been so wrong:  I would become the emotionally distant and closed off one.  

And for a long time, I really was.  

A few months later, I successfully sabotaged a potentially wonderful relationship with a man who offered me the world, and to whom I would just not open up.  I kept my wall high and strong.

The poor guy never had a chance.  

And of course he finally broke it off, tired of trying to break me down.  

Looking back, I don’t think I shed a single tear over it (which was so uncharacteristic of me).  

After that, I constantly turned down anyone who showed an interest in me, blaming any stupid excuse I could think of.  But the truth was, I felt numb.  

But then a month later, something changed.    

I call him “The Patriot”.   And he was the first man, in a long time, who could crack my wall.  

Of course, it wasn't that easy... 

He first started talking to me after seeing me in a Giants sweatshirt.  As a Patriots fan, he felt the need to say something snarky (of course because my team had beat his in two different Superbowls... Those Pats fans are so bitter...).  I shot right back at him, and we started up a conversation.  Eventually, it somehow came out that he lived up in Ventura County (about an hour and a half north of LA).  So I asked him why he lived up there because I was under the impression that no one lived in Ventura except for old people and strawberry farmers.  

“I’m in the Navy, stationed at Port Hueneme.". 

Great.

And just like that, his stock plummeted.  

Having sworn off soldiers back in January, this was the last thing I wanted to hear.  Not only was this guy “long distance”, but he was also in the military, a.k.a My Kryptonite.  I decided to tread very carefully... But there was something about him that seemed warm and genuine.  So not wanting to give him the boot before we even began, I decided to do something I almost never do:  Give him a chance.

So after about a week of “getting to know you” conversations on the phone, I finally accepted his invitation to go out, and n a warm Friday night in early September, he drove down to LA, and The Patriot and I went out on our first date.  I promised myself that I would remain cool, distant, and removed.  I would not let it go any further than that.  

My reasoning derived from a sad statistic: Over the past five years, I had only really been involved in powerful love affairs… not substantial relationships.   These magical, passionate, and intense affairs were indeed incredible experiences, but they usually ended just as quickly as they began.   And before that, I had been involved in a long term relationship for seven years.... As a result, I didn't really know how to "go slow" and "date" someone.  I only knew the extremes of "relationship" or "affair".  Casual dating was never something I had really experienced before.... and frankly I had no idea how to do it. 

But I was determined to make it happen.  

Well wouldn’t you know, that particular Friday night, I ended up having a great time with The Patriot. An east coaster from New England, he was fun, interesting, and extremely down to earth.  Aside from his poor taste in Boston sports teams, he was pretty great.  He made me laugh and could carry on an intellectual conversation.  He had bright blue eyes and a warm touch.  The chemistry between us was pretty good, and of course the fact that he was 6’4 also didn’t hurt.  We ended up having a fantastic night together, and I decided that I wanted to see him again, even if he was "long distance."

But after a few weeks in, I noticed something.  For as much as I liked him,  there were definitive moments where I was ridiculously closed off and cold.  The old "free falling Dara" was seemingly gone.  Whenever he would try to hold my hand, I would pull it back… And when he would try to cuddle up next to me in bed, I would roll over and turn away.  It got so bad, that one morning when we were at the beach surfing together, I finally told him that I needed to go get something, and went off on a long walk, just needing some time by myself.  I kept warning myself not to fall too hard, too fast.  I liked him, but I didn't want to care too much about him.  So "Keep the distance" became my mantra.  

What the hell was wrong with me?  I was once again sabotaging something with so much potential. 

Why was I being so closed off? Why was I being so cold? It was so unlike me, and I was frustrated by my behavior.  I knew that if I didn’t get it together, I would push him away, just like I pushed away the last one.  

And I really didn’t want to do that this time.  

To his credit, The Patriot was very patient with me.  He never prodded me when I got moody, nor did he probe me with questions when I got quiet.  He just let me feel my way around my emotions, never pressuring or pushing me.   I don't even think he took it personally.  I began to recognize that this could actually be the start of something good… as long as I didn't sabotage it.  And I hoped that it wasn't too late. 

So I started to open up slowly…. 

That next weekend we hit the phase of the relationship where we had the inevitable discussion about "our past".  We shared some deep secrets, and for the first time in a long time, probably thanks to the help of a little Prosecco, I opened up to someone.  

It was unfamiliar territory… and terribly uncomfortable.  

The whole thing left me feeling vulnerable and exposed…. which I really really hate.  

I could feel myself retracting back into my shell... But I tried to stay calm and not let it cause me to shut down.  

When I left his house the next day, a few hours later I sent him a text to which he didn’t respond right away.   

Of course, I started to panic.  

It was then, in that moment, that I realized how much I actually did like The Patriot.  And how much I wanted to make this work.

It was one of those realizations that made me want to crawl into a hole, hide out, and vomit. 

But I decided to prove that I wasn't in fact emotionally barren, and that there was still some romance left in me.  So when Friday rolled around, I spent my entire hour and a half drive up to Ventura listening to sappy love songs, trying to pump myself up for a little romance.    

It worked;  We ended up having a wonderful weekend together.  I let him hold my hand. I let him hold on to me tightly while we slept.  And I even allowed myself to get caught up in the little romantic moments that we shared throughout the evening.  

And after awhile, it started to feel more natural.  And I could feel the emotional distance between us  start to decrease... slowly but surely.  

It’s never easy to let someone see your weak side.. To let them see your naked vulnerability and not be afraid that they will turn around and walk away.   It's much easier to keep a good amount of distance between ourselves and others....  Especially when you've been burned before.  

But sometimes, it’s worth it.    

Don't get me wrong, I'm still not 100% there yet... but I'm trying my best to prevent myself from shutting down and closing off. 

And so far, it's working.   

Of course I still have the moments when I want to retract… when I worry…. or my mind wanders to that dangerous “What is he doing?” chamber… you know, that dark place that only breeds fear and distrust.  But then I try to wipe those thoughts away and put some faith into the relationship…  Because I decided that if it doesn't work out,  I don't want it to be because I didn’t try hard enough,  or because I shut down and pushed him away.   I would rather that it didn’t work out because we weren’t right for each other, not due to my lack of effort and vulnerability.  

And so at least for now, it seems that “like” knows no geographic boundaries….. nor does vulnerability no longer know any fear.  

So maybe long distance can work…  Maybe it just took a warrior to break through my wall.  

Because as it stands right now, The Patriot seems to liberating my heart out from its shell… one weekend at a time....

.... Even from a distance.

We Are Never, Ever, Ever Getting Back Together

Last week, I received something in the mail.  Inside of a plain white envelope was half of a dollar bill with the word "NTURE" written on it.  It was sent by itself and without any explanation.  

But it didn't need any explanation.  I knew exactly what it was: It was the second half of a dollar bill whose mate sits inside my own wallet, given to me as a gift a few months ago by one of the most thoughtful men I ever knew.  And this wasn't the usual run of the mill half dollars that I give out to special people (for further explanation, see the Tradition of the Half Dollar).   This dollar was even more special; It was the first dollar that was ever separated and given *to* me; a touching gesture which at the time, melted my heart. My half was sent to me back in May with a beautifully written letter and some optimistic words to kick off the summer since he and I would be separated due to extensive travel plans.  But as summer drew to a close, and some unpleasant realizations were made, even with the most valiant effort, the relationship, like so many other good things, came to an end.   We left on good terms and agreed to be friends.  

Then last week, I received the other half of the dollar in the mail; the half in which he had been holding onto.  It seemed childish, extremely passive aggressive, and a bit of a slap across the face.  I toyed with the idea of calling him and demanding an explanation.  But I decided that I wouldn't dignify his actions with an angry phone call call.  Furthermore, calling would just make things worse and reopen old wounds that still needed to heal.

Besides, no explanation was needed because the action was loud and clear: After all the back and forth of the past few years, all the break ups and the makeups, it was finally and truly over.

It was a somber realization. 

So this morning, as I got ready for the day, I caught a glimpse of the dollar on my desk.  

It stung a little.  

I thought back to the day I first told him about the dollar tradition.  We had spent the day on the beach; surfing, laughing, and talking for hours.  It was the first time, in a long time, that I had really started to feel my wall come down..  I allowed him to romance me, and while I was certainly taking my time to truly open up, his actions had started to make me believe that maybe, something between us could really work out.  I had been denying it for so long, and for all his flaws, he was a good guy who sure seemed to like me.  He was my Aidan;  a man who offered me the world, not once, but twice, and tried his best to tear down my wall and fill my heart with love.    

Yet I still was on the fence about things. He was a great guy; he had an incredible sense of adventure, was intelligent, educated, and kind. He was also a bit of a romantic.  He was tall, handsome, and strong.  He was the kind of guy any girl would love to have.

And yet for some reason, I still couldn't open up my heart to him, for reasons I'm still trying to figure out.  Since my devastatingly earth shattering break up about five years ago, I had only truly put my heart on the line twice.   Those two men were the only ones who I had fully opened up my heart to... and to whom I offered it point blank.

Neither situation worked out too well.  Needless to say, the experiences succeeded in strengthening my wall, and making me a bit more closed off.

This time, there would be no love, no romance, and certainly no going all in.  All I wanted was to have a casual relationship... I wanted to "date" him.  Don't get me wrong, I liked him a lot, but that's as far as I would let it go.  I learned my lessons from the last relationship I was in, and I wasn't about to make the same mistakes with this one.  In hindsight, this was probably this reason that he liked me so much.. I wasn't the usual lovey-dovey, clingy, romantic sap I usually am in relationships.  I was cool, calculated, closed off, and distant.  I wouldn't give my heart to him.

No wonder he tried so hard. 

We had been singing the same song for the last few years; this was not our first rodeo.  It was in fact, the third time that we had attempted "a relationship".   Every time we "broke up", we would take a break from each other for awhile but then somehow, he would find his way back into my life, and we would pick up where we left off.  

And this last time, it had been complicated.  There was a lot of back and forth for about six months., and it had been a slow process.  We started spending a lot of time together which I was fine with, but I didn't want an exclusive relationship.  He wanted to make it official.  He gave me an ultimatum, I inadvertently failed to comply, and he ended it.  He told me he deserved better.

I agreed.   

Yet about a week later, we were back hanging out, and having a blast per usual.  He was showing up at my apartment with my favorite pizza when I had a bad day.  We acted like nothing had changed.

For the record, I really did like him. He was so fun, and I loved spending time with him.  I really was trying to make it work; trying to look past the "flaws" and remember that no one could ever fit the standard I had built up in my head.  I tried to stop comparing him to the last man who stole my heart. I tried to not be so picky, and turn a blind eye to any red flags I saw.  I really tried to give it a chance.  

But I just wasn't completely sold. It wasn't enough. There was something missing; that X Factor… That "je ne sais quoi".  My friends wondered what was wrong with me.  I even wondered what was wrong with me.  This guy was great.  Why was I so blocked off from him?

I blamed my past relationships.  I blamed the fact that I still wasn't over my last love.  I blamed our "mediocre chemistry", and I blamed my indifference on the fact that he was "too nice".  He never challenged me, always agreed with whatever I said, and did whatever he thought I wanted.  I even blamed my crazy job and inconsistent schedule for my inability to "commit".  

Still he persisted.  

And after a very tenacious courtship, I started to submit.  Maybe I was being too picky.  Maybe he was actually quite perfect for me.  I did like him, so why was I being so hesitant?  I tried to breathe and go with the flow. 

Then it came time for me to leave town for the summer.  We had a long talk about it and decided to keep things casual and open.  No promises, no commitments, and no games.

It was two days before I left town when I received his sweet letter and half dollar (the first half) in the mail. The word he wrote on it was "Adventure", and in his letter, he eloquently spoke about our past, present, and future.  He wished me well and I was truly touched.  He was playing it right; letting me go, and not holding on too tightly.  I safely placed the dollar in my wallet and off I went.

Throughout the summer we stayed in contact; not too often, but often enough.  He was careful not to ask what I had been doing, and I did the same.  I thought to myself, this is the perfect relationship; long distance can work…. the key is to have distance and space.  I was so happy with the arrangement:  I could still talk to him once in awhile (like I said, I really did enjoy his company), but I didn't have to deal with the whole "exclusive" element.  The space allowed me to "miss" him, and I was able to maintain my independence and my own life, something I had learned was extremely important in any relationship.   

We even planned a trip together for the fall.  He was working out of town for a few months, and asked me to come visit.  

It seemed like things were coming together. 

But while yes, I had certainly softened up a bit, my strong wall was still up.  I hadn't yet entered into the whole "in love" and "romantic" world I usually do when I become really interested in someone.    But I couldn't decipher whether it was because I had become a little jaded, or if I just wasn't interested in him enough.  The thought made me very uneasy.

But I decided to plan the trip, go visit him, and see what would transpire.  After all, I've always prided myself on my ability to blindly take risks.  Why was I stopping now?

Then one afternoon, while I was playing cards with my 88 year old neighbor, the old man called something to my attention, and the realization hit me like a ton of bricks.  I wasn't going to visit him for the right reasons.  There was another very specific reason; And it was both manipulative and unfair.   

But instead of just coming up with a kind excuse, like "I can't, I have to work", I told him the truth. At first, he said he understood, and kept his offer on the table.  "Just come here, and let's have a great time.  Whatever happens, happens."

A few days later, he changed his mind.  

And with one phone call, it was over.  

I had successfully sabotaged the relationship… I pushed him to end it, just like I always do, because I couldn't do it myself.  

It was a Friday night.  I didn't cry.  I didn't feel devastated.  I felt a little sad, but due to to a crazy schedule, I was distracted from any pain that should have been there.  

I chalked it up to "not meant to be", shoved down any emotion I felt, and moved myself forward.  

But that doesn't mean there isn't a part of me that misses him a little... He's a great guy who deserves someone who can give him everything he wants; someone who can open her heart up and welcome him in.  But the truth remains, I have only done that for three men in my whole life... And he just wasn't one of them.  

Maybe my faith is too broken at this point. Maybe my aged cynicism has taken over my youthful romantic belief system.  Maybe I'm still not truly over my last love, or maybe I'm just more closed off than I used to be.

Or maybe he really was the right guy for me, but I am so jaded at this point that I couldn't see it.   Maybe it was just bad timing.  Maybe in a month, I will wake up and feel great regret for what happened.  I don't know. Maybe I'll never know.

But this morning, as I stared at the dollar on my desk, another unpleasant realization hit me: 

In his mind, we are never, ever, ever getting back together.    

I'd even put money on it - a whole dollar bill.

New York State of Mind or California Dreaming?

Five years ago this summer, I went to see a physic.  I was going through a tremendous change in my life;  I had a lot of difficult decisions to make about my future, and I was desperate for some guidance.  The woman I met with was a family friend who had a great reputation.  So on a hot and steamy afternoon down the Jersey shore, I grabbed my tape recorder, and off I went.  She read my cards from a regular 52 card deck and halfway through the session, she stopped short and stared at the cards for awhile.  

After what felt like a pregnant pause, she finally spoke.   "What does California mean to you?"

I frowned.  California meant absolutely nothing to me.  I didn't know a soul there, nor did I even really associate with anyone who was from the west coast..  

"California is in your future.  I'm not sure why you are going, but I promise you, California will most definitely play an important role in your future.." 

Puzzled, I looked at her like she had ten heads.  I never, ever had any desire to move to California.  She might as well have said, "Missouri".  My entire life was on the east coast and I had no intention of ever leaving.   So I just shrugged and the session continued on.  

If you told me back then that five years later I would be in possession of a California ID, I would have laughed in your face.  

It's blasphemy on so many levels.  

Nevertheless, in November of 2010, I boarded a plane at Newark International Airport with two suitcases and a one way ticket to LAX in my hand.  I left my fabulous life in New York City for the unknown Wild West.  And three years later, I lived happily ever after in Los Angeles, complete with amazing friends, a dog, a convertible, and a surfboard.  

But it wasn't always so…. Like so many great love stories, my relationship with California was quite tumultuous from the start. If you ask anyone I knew during my first year out in LA how I felt about California, they would all roll their eyes and say the same thing:

"She misses NYC. "

And I really did.  My new residence in Los Angeles seemed more like a "vacation house" than a permanent home.  I ended up traveling back to New York about five times that first year, mostly to work and make money since I was having hard time finding work in LA.   I missed the food, the subway, my friends, my family, and my life there.  My roommate had to hide my "Sex and the City" DVD collection because watching just one scene would cause my eyes to fill with tears and send me into a depressing downward spiral.   

New Yorkers are trained to hate Los Angeles, and I was no exception.  LA didn't even stand a chance nor did I care to even give it one.  The whole city seemed so stupid.  How could they not have a subway system?? Or yellow cabs available 24 hours a day? Or parks? Or happy hour? Or bagels??

I grew up rooting for the Yankees, Giants, and Knicks.  I saw almost every Broadway show.  I pronounced the word "water", "wuh-ter".   I ate bagel, egg, and cheese sandwiches, and I knew what good pizza tasted like. 

None of that existed in Los Angeles.  

My goal was simple: Give myself six months, earn some television or film credit and get the hell back to New York City by the following summer. 

And here we are three years later, and I still live in LA.

But like I said, it wasn't an overnight success story… It took a long time. That first year, I still "officially" (in both heart and address) was in NYC. I refused to give up my lease at West 81st street (So I sublet it out) and I refused to buy a car or anything that would "anchor" me in LA.   I continued my life and relationships with everyone in NYC like I still lived there, but was just doing a lot of traveling.  

The second year in LA, I started to live a "double life".  I ended up getting a car and started to get more comfortable on the west coast, however I still maintained my "NYC life".  I spent about six months in LA, and six months in NYC - working in both cities pretty actively.  I was living the bi-coastal life, not really committing to any coast permanently.

However, my third year in LA was when things really started to change, and it became a very definitive year for me.  I started to realize that so much of my NYC life was fading… friends were getting married and moving to the suburbs, and a new generation was moving up.  Life there was going on… without me.  And crazily enough, a new life for me started to blossom in California.  I had amazing friends in LA, I was working more than ever, and really enjoying "the Cali life".  I took up surfing, got a dog, and started to love sushi.  Drives up the PCH and spectacular sunsets, not all night bing drinking, became my adventures; and I was truly happy.  

Furthermore, I didn't have that usual pang of desire to go back east for a visit for almost six months… In fact, this is my first time back since Christmas vacation…  It's been the longest stretch I've ever gone without visiting since I moved to California.  

And the day before I left LA, I was truly sad… I was sad to leave my friends, my apartment, my dog, my car, my life…. I was in the Cali groove and was afraid about how I would feel being back in NYC… would it be the same? 

Well needless to say, I've fallen back in love with this city the same way I did when I was five years old.   

It's the best city in the world.  

That's the thing about New York City…  It's my pure matter.  It always welcomes me back with open arms and endless adventure, no matter how badly we left off.  It's been the most successful relationship I've ever had..   Neither distance nor time seems to affect it.  Sometimes, it keeps me in line and/or kicks my ass, but it will always be my favorite love affair.  

And the whole thing got me thinking… I've always identified myself with New York City; I'm loud, abrasive, full of candor and energy.  I move fast, and I don't take crap from anyone..  

You know, I'm a typical New Yorker.  

But in the last year, something has changed within me…. I've calmed down a lot.  I've started to enjoy Friday nights at home curled up on the couch with wine and a movie.  I don't stay out until 6 am anymore., and rarely wake up with painful hangovers or the "fill in the blank moments of the night" game leading to concerns about the "bad choices" I might have made the night before.  I speak slower, fight less, and have even become more easy going and (gasp!) less angry.  I've definitely lost a bit of my edge, but sometimes I feel it's for the better.   

California certainly agrees with me.  

And it's definitely causing an identity crisis in my heart.  

They say that home is where the heart is.   So where is my heart? And more importantly, where is my true home?  

Living in Los Angeles certainly has a lot of benefits.  The weather rarely changes from being 75 and sunny (although this is a characteristic that I could certainly put in the "con" category as well - I really miss a good thunder or snowstorm… and I really miss the autumn..).  The landscape is beautiful - California has everything, beaches, mountains, and a plethora of physical things to do.  I love going out for an evening surf, watching the sun set over the Pacific, and then driving my car (top down of course) up the Pacific Coast Highway and through Malibu Canyon where I am provided spectacular views of an exquisite sky filled with pink, orange, purple, and red light.  I love shopping in Beverly Hills in sweats, and then to the horror of the sales people, buying nice items.  I love horseback riding at the ranch with my friends through the mountains.  I love the movie nights at home,  and the brunches at Crave Cafe; our favorite spot.   Southern California is the only place you can go skiing in the morning and surfing in the evening, all in the same day.  I love taking my dog hiking in the mountains, hanging on the beach with my friends, and our dinner parties in our extremely large-by-nyc-comparison apartments.  The night life may end at 2 am, but I won't complain about it; it's led to a much healthier lifestyle.  I drink less because I have to drive everywhere, and I don't stay up so late anymore.  I've become an "early to bed, early to rise" person.  The sushi is fresh, the mexican is spicy, and the avocados are delicious (and cheap).   

But what I think I love most about living in Los Angeles, is the life I've created there.  I have some incredible friends who have become my sisters; they are truly exceptional women and I can't imagine my life without them.  I love my work, my dog, my students, and the opportunities I've been blessed with; I've gotten to do some incredible things out in LA.  I've worked hard, and it's payed off.  I truly love living in California… it's a beautiful place, and I feel so lucky to live there and be able to discover all of its treasures (and there really are so many).  More times than not, I've experienced so many moments that have taken my breath away.. And when I finally stopped comparing LA to NYC, I truly started to appreciate it as its own entity.  I could finally see all it has to offer.   

But on the other hand, the traffic is a bitch, it's a very anti-social city where people never interact with each other, and it NEVER RAINS.   You can't just wander around the city aimlessly; You have to drive everywhere because public transportation is a joke (trust me,  I know this first hand).  It's very hard to "stumble" upon cool places, shops, and restaurants.. You have to actively seek them out. You can't get any good bread or bagels, and unless you're a Lakers fan,  there's not a lot of "sports spirit".  It's not as convenient as New York; things close early (both stores and restaurants), and if you want a cab, you have to call one.  There's NO parking, and going out sometimes feels more like an unnecessary production that is worth it.  There isn't really a "bar scene" so you have to map out the entire night beforehand, and unless you're going to a private house party or industry event, it's probably not going to be a crazy night.  

People say that LA is "fake", and ok, yes that's partly true… there is certainly such a thing as "the LA Spin" (I mean, let's be honest - it's Hollywood: The Land of Make Believe), and people can definitely be phony and plastic… but most of it's inhabitants are transplants from other regions of the country, so if you surround yourself with good people, you can handle the bullshit just fine (and you usually end up laughing about it).  I was once at a party where a woman who more or less looked like me, actually came up to me and told me that we couldn't stand near each other because we were the "same type".  True story.  And of course, people are always looking for someone to help them out… If they think you're "nobody", they'll ignore you and move on, but the second they hear that you are an agent, producer, writer, or someone "important", they will put on their LA face, and schmooze the hell out of you.  It seems gratuitous, but in truth, this is what we call "The Hustle" which is unfortunately necessary in the entertainment industry... And only those who perfect it will succeed.  I usually roll my eyes at it, but as much as I hate to admit it, I've done it myself… I'd be lying if I said I didn't have my own "LA Face" that I put on from time to time... All of us in the industry do; in LA it's called "Schmoozing."  New Yorkers call it "Networking."  

But like I said before, it's so much more low key and chill on the west coast….  Such a stark contrast from the hustle and bustle of the north eastern tri-state area, where I spent my entire life., and especially from the city I've always identified with since I was a little girl with big dreams of becoming a professional dancer on Broadway….

It's no secret that I love New York City.  It is loud, obnoxious, hard edged, and crowded.  It moves at a unnaturally fast pace, and it never sleeps.  It's expensive, it's cramped, and it's ruthless. 

Oh yes.... I really love this city.

There is something about the energy of NYC.  I can't really explain it, but it anyone who's spent time here can tell you that it most certainly exists.  New York City is a metropolis of adventure.  You can get any and every thing you want, any time of the day.  It's a jungle of diversity, concrete, natural wonder, and opportunity.  

I can't say enough about NYC.  My mother calls it my "Tara" (another reason I'm called Scarlet).  It's always been my sanctuary… Whenever I was having a bad day, I would just leave my apartment and wander around aimlessly, exploring the city's many hidden gems and jewels (and there are too many to even count).  I would just walk for hours, meeting new people, discovering new stores, and witnessing some of the strangest things I've ever seen.  I love this city with all my heart and soul.  It has been the most consistent and long term relationship I've ever had.  It can knock you down and it can kick your ass, but my God, it's so worth it.  

I love how Yellow Cabs freckle the streets, and how people are constantly moving around.  I love the men in suits, the kids on the playground, the elderly on park benches, the in-love embraced on the grass, and the angry on their cell phones.  There are tons of hidden gems all around the island.  Like I said, you can wander around and stumble upon the most fabulous stores and restaurants… Just today, I was walking to the studio when I stopped in a little vintage store on West 75th street.. I ended up buying a Vintage Dior dress for an obscenely low price (negotiated, of course).  That could never happen in LA… You can't just discover places via exploration.. You have to use Google.   

You can get any type of food from any place in the world here.  Every time I travel, all I think about it, "I can get this back in New York City and it will be just as good".   Of course, this is the best place for bread, pizza, bagels, and breakfast sandwiches.   You can get a newspaper in any language (not to mention, probably even hear that language on the street as well), and you can experience any culture from any part of the world.  It's a city of convenience: you can get anything, any time, any day.  You want pizza at 4 am?  Walk forty five feet outside your door (I just did it on Saturday).  Sure the weather can be brutal in the winter, but it's par for the course..  The city looks good in any season - Fall, Winter, Spring, Summer.   The spectacular skyscrapers not only kiss the sky, but they brilliantly sparkle anytime of the day or night, thanks to sunshine or interior lighting.  The architecture of the buildings is awesome - apartments usually lie above bars, and each neighborhood has a unique look and feel to it.

Professionally, you can be anything here - a butcher, baker, dancer, banker, bartender, mom, corporate tycoon, lawyer, doctor, actor, teacher.  You don't need a car - the city offers an abundance of public transportation options (24 hours a day, I might add).  It might not have mountains, but walking through Central Park feels like you've entered another region of the state - it has an abundance of natural beauty… tall trees, placid lakes, and meadowy grass (not to mention some beautiful fountains, baseball fields, and complex hiking trails…I mean, honestly, hasn't anybody else ever gotten lost on the Ramble??)

Everything is in one condensed area… It's not spread out like LA..  Each neighborhood offers something different, and it's possible to hit each place on foot in one day.  It costs nothing to window shop (and you can get exercise while doing it).  There's always something to do, somewhere to go, something to see.  You can see a baseball game, explore a museum, see a broadway show, opera, or sit in on a concert in the park.  The cultural opportunities are endless.

They say that NYC can be a very lonely place, but trust me, so can LA. People leave their homes, get in their cars and go directly to their destinations; there's not a lot of interaction with other people along the way.  New Yorkers are forced to interact with others everywhere; the streets, the trains, restaurants, bars…. Social interaction is not only abundant, it's contagious.  

New Yorkers are a rare breed of people… not unfriendly, but extraordinarily real.  They are filled with an inexplicable amount of candor; They tell it like it is, and never sugarcoat anything.  I love how everyone loves the Yankees, Mets, Giants, or Jets;  there is just so much city pride...

But most of all I love that my family is here.  I can run myself into the ground with the ten million things that the city offers, then jump a train back to the farm for some R&R and a good home cooked meal to recharge my batteries.   

But don't get me wrong, I've also had some not-so-good times here in this city.  For as many times as I've fallen in love and found success, I've also had my heart broken too.  I've fallen down, I've failed, and I've lost.. Like I said, the city can truly kick your ass.  

But still no matter what… how long I leave, or how far I go, NYC always welcomes me back with open arms and enormous opportunity.   I become intoxicated by the energy here… the diversity of people, the level of convenience.. and the incredible force that the city has on it's inhabitants, both residents, and visitors.  

It's so hard to decide which city is really my home… or which city I love more.  

New York City will always be my roots… I have so many truly incredible memories here.… Epic nights out, torrid and long term love affairs, tears, laughs, success and failure…. It is the place I spent most of my 20s… the city where I learned how to live,  how to love, and where so many of my dreams came true.    

But I think that LA has become my wings.  It's where I learned how to start over, and to survive…. It's where I learned how strong I really am (and trust me, it wasn't an easy road…).  I grew so much as a person by moving out there.  I've learned a tremendous amount about myself; what I can accomplish, and how adaptable I can be.  

And now, it seems that I'm once again living a double life; I have amazing friends and work in both cities, and whenever I'm in either place, I truly feel at home.  I always just pick up where I left off and continue on like I never left.. And when all is said and done, I think this has been the best thing that could have happened to me.    

Since being in LA, I've become a strange hybrid.   In truth, I partly left New York City because I was becoming so jaded and hard edged.  I didn't like who I had become.  I had forgotten why I was there, and what I loved about the city.  So I decided to take a little break from it.  They say that the best way to appreciate New York City is to leave it… and it's absolutely true.  

I like the person I've become.  Yes, I have relaxed a lot, and now have a much better check on my temper, but I still have my city swagger, thanks to multiple trips here during the year.  It now takes a lot more to really get my temper flared, but when it does I still have my ruthless attitude;  It's just more hidden these days.  Sure I've gone a little soft, but I can still handle myself when I need to.  Overall, I've definitely slowed down and learned how to enjoy life, not just rush from one adventure to the next.  I've become a better person who is more patient, calm, and relaxed.  I'm not as aggressive as I used to be, I don't cop an attitude within ten minutes of meeting someone, and I've learned how to hold back my impulsive  knee-jerk reactions, but I can pull out the sass if I need to (which I most certainly do… after all, that's who I am.).  Moving to Los Angeles was one of the best decisions I ever made.

I probably saved me from becoming a true cynic.   

And as much as I love New York City and would love to move back here full time, it seems that for now (or at least until the signs point otherwise) my address will continue to be in Los Angeles for fall, winter, and spring, and New York City for the summer.  Besides, I don't think I'm finished out on the west coast just yet… I believe that there's still more adventure to be had, and more I wish to accomplish.

I'm really lucky... I have a job that offers total flexibility.  I can work from either coast, both dancing and tutoring and the opportunity on each coast for these vocations is endless. This, coupled with a strong foundation of friends and family in both places, has enabled me to truly exist on both coasts; financially, emotionally, and geographically.  

How lucky for me; I've discovered a way to have the best of both worlds… A way to truly benefit from each city, and all of the splendors they have to offer. 

I guess that you really can have it all.  

Don't get me wrong, it's hard to come back to NYC for visits… I always get the itch to move back; It's certainly the love of my life.

But like a wise Jersey Boy once said, "Who says, 'You can't go home?"

After all, there's no place like home…. even if "home" has two addresses.

By the Waters of San Sebastian

2012 was arguably the best year of my life.

The Giants won the Super Bowl.  I went to the Grammys (along with several other award shows).  I booked one of my dream jobs.  I traveled all over the world.  I fell in love.

It was a remarkable year, filled with unexpected blessings.   

In May of that year, I boarded a plane to Europe, not even beginning to imagine what extraordinary adventures lay before me.  Luckily, I documented most of them in a tiny journal that I bought at quaint little bookshop in Paris.

The other day, while cleaning out some old suitcases, I found that old travel journal.  And when I started to look through it, I sat there with a smile on my face, remembering every euphoric feeling that passed through me that summer. 

There are a thousand and one incredible moments from that trip (and of course, a few not so good ones too).  But there was one story in particular from that trip, which will always hold a special place in my heart.  And it was, of course, due to an unexpected turn of events that led to some of the most memorable 48 hours of my life.  

And of course, it all started with a little divine intervention.  

I had been staying in Naples with a friend and was trying to figure out where to go next.  I had a few days to kill before I had to be back in Madrid, so I thought I would head up to Berlin to visit a friend of mine from NYC.  But for some reason, I was unsuccessful in booking the flight to Germany.  After the third attempt, I decided to just wait until the next day to try again.  Well wouldn't you know, the next morning, I received an email from my friend telling me that she wouldn't be able to meet up after all.  So since Germany was out, I tried to decide where I wanted to go next.  While I was in Barcelona, I had met a nice old man on a train who suggested that I eventually check out San Sebastian on the northern coast of Spain.

That sounded as good of a place to go to as any.  

Up to this point on the trip, I had been extremely busy.  I was working constantly, and the all night partying was starting to take its toll on my body.  I needed a break.  So I figured that a few days relaxing in the sun would be just what I needed.  

Besides, I loved Spain;  I spoke the language, enjoyed the food, and appreciated the culture.  So the next thing I knew, I hopped a plane back to Madrid from Naples, and was walking over to the bus station to see when the next bus to San Sebastian was leaving.  

As luck would have it, there was a bus leaving Madrid in about a half an hour.  I hadn't anticipated that.  I had expected to travel throughout the night, which would eliminate the need for accommodations.  I know people in almost every corner of the world.. but I didn't know a soul in San Sebastian.  I was flying blind.  Very blind.  

But never one to turn down some good fortune, I jumped on the bus and off I went.  Besides, I had six hours on the bus to figure out where I would be staying that night in San Sebastian.

The first hostel that showed up on google was a place called Olga's Place.  

That sounded nothing Spanish.  But the address was Calle de Zabaleta 21.  That to me was a sign, so I booked my room about one hour before we got to San Sebastian.  Then I sat back in my seat, watched "Street Dance2" dubbed in Spanish, and started to dream about the Sangria I would be drinking as soon as I reached my destination..... 

Two days later, I sat on the rocks of the beautiful cliffs of San Sebastian, overlooking the sea and feeling extraordinarily moved.   And I recalled the events of the previous 48 hours.. Here are my words from that day:

June 19, 2012

What an incredible world we live in.  I don't know why things happen the way they do… but I will never again question them.  I am always so humbled by how certain people come into our lives at such calculated times for the most enigmatic reasons... It's truly remarkable.  

Right now, I can't stop smiling.  I am writing this from the jetty about to witness a spectacular thunderstorm, and where so much has happened in the past two days.  I am watching the ocean and feeling overwhelmingly grateful.

When I arrived to San Sebastian, I never thought I would feel so alive here.  Spain is electric;  It's a place where they celebrate passion... They also revere music, food, wine, and dance (especially how the human body moves).  

It's my kind of place.  

And I couldn't wait to come back here.  

But when I first got to the hostel, I was exhausted.  The front desk had messed up my room assignment so they stuck me in the only other room that was available.  I didn't even care at that point. I knew I needed some sleep, so since it was only about 10 pm, I figured that I would take a little disco nap then wake up around 1am to go hit the salsa club down the street.  I mean, Spain doesn't get started until 2 am anyway, right? 

So I set my alarm for 1 am, and hit the sheets.  When I awoke, I opened my eyes to see a man in the bed across from me, looking at me with big blue green eyes.  I jumped up, confused. When I looked at my phone, it read 8 am.  

What?? I had completely overslept.  

He spoke to me in broken Spanish.  

I groggily answered in Italian, having just come from Naples 12 hours earlier.  

The whole thing was so confusing.  Apparently, when he had come in the night earlier, I woke up (though I don't remember it) and snapped at him in Spanish.  I laughed and asked if he spoke English.  He did.  

We started with the usual, "What's your name," "Where are you from", etc.  His name was Bernard and he was from South Africa. He was very handsome; tall, with blonde hair and blue green eyes.  He had a darling little South African accent.  So when I asked him what he was doing that day, he told me that he was planning on going surfing (which SS is apparently known for).  

I told him that I had never been surfing before, and he offered to let me join him.  I said yes, and off we went.  

This was the first day in my life that I had ever surfed.  And it was the most physically demanding thing I have ever done.  It was so damn difficult!

But it was so fun. He tried to teach me, but I wasn't very good at getting out past the breakers.  My arms are apparently very weak, and although I did get up a few times and held onto my balance (thanks to 20 years of dance training), I couldn't get out far enough to hit the really big waves.  But it was so much fun trying.  And it was REALLY fun riding the board into the beach... (boogie board style of course).  

After we got back to the beach, we sat around and talked for awhile.  When we got hot, we swam, when we got hungry, we ate.  We ended up finding a cute little tapas bar to grab lunch.  He had never eaten tapas or drank sangria before (two of my favorites) so we got a pitcher and had a great chat.  He told me about Capetown and engineering, and I told him about LA and dance.  We got a little drunk and decided to go back to the beach for the afternoon, sleep off the buzz, and check out a different side of the peninsula.  We swam in the ocean, basked in the sun, and got to know each other.  

We ended up having such a great afternoon.  I had no idea that we would end up spending the whole day together.  As the afternoon turned to the early evening, he told me that the only thing that would make the day better was if we got a bottle of wine and watched the sunset.  

I couldn't agree more. 

But as we discovered  there are no "liquor stores" in San Sebastain.  So we walked into a bar and using my Spanish, I was able to talk the bartender into selling us a bottle of wine (which he did, and even threw in some cups and opened the damn thing for us).  We took our bottle and walked along the coast all the way to the end of the peninsula, along with a ton of other people.  We were all ready for the sunset.  

But, as we learned, in Spain, the sun sets much much later, and we had a lot of time left before its grand exit.  So we decided to use the time wisely, walk around some more, and find the perfect quiet spot to watch the sunset.

While wandering around, we discovered a hidden little path that ended up leading us up to a mountain.  We ended up finding the most amazing spot... There was even a little patio, like a dance floor, overlooking the sea.  Because we had reached the top, we were able to see 360 degrees around, from the coasts of the beach to the horizon of the ocean.  We sat on the the ledge, and just talked and talked.  About both everything and nothing.  

We had talked about maybe going salsa dancing that night - the San Sebastian clubs were legit and I was anxious to get my body on the dance floor.  He told me that he had never salsa danced before, but he really wanted to learn.  So I, understanding that there was no time like the present, said to him, "let's have a lesson now."

And right there at the top of a mountain, overlooking the sea and golden sunset, we had our first salsa lesson together.  It was so fun, dancing under the setting sun with the silver ocean in the background.  I showed him a bunch of steps, and we just danced along to my iPod music until we realized that we had almost missed the sunset. 

As it went down, we went back to our ledge, finished the bottle of wine, and sat there watching the golden rays reflect across the sky and the sea.  

It was ridiculously romantic.  He looked at me, I looked at him....

Nothing happened.  

… the sunset, the wine, the cliffs, the dancing….

What the hell?

I couldn't understand it.  That was the perfect moment for him to make a move.  

I had thought about being bold, but it just didn't feel right.  So I didn't.  We sat there in silence for a few minutes, watching the sky change shades, then decided to leave to go back, get changed, grab some dinner and then head out to the salsa club.  

That night, I wore my favorite black salsa dress with my favorite dancing shoes that had been worn down to the nubs from all the dancing I had been doing on the trip.  And off we went.  

It was around midnight.  When we left, the wind had really picked up. It was so windy, in fact, that I could barely stand up straight against it.  A storm was coming.  

Since all the restaurants were closed by the time we got out, we ended up finding an Irish pub that served "American food" and of course Jameson.  

Jameson: My secret weapon.  

We did a few shots.  He drank a Heineken.  I drank cheap proseco.  

We played the question game.  And I found out a lot about my friend Bernard.  

We talked for what felt like hours.  

We ended up closing down the bar but decided that we didn't want the night to end.  So instead of heading to the salsa club, we opted to take a stroll on the beach.  The wind was still blowing hard and the clouds had rolled in; it looked like the sky would give us a spectacular light show.  But right before we reached the beach, my poor, old, faithful shoe finally bit the big one; my heel cracked right in half.  So I walked along the sand, sans shoes.      

We just walked in silence, listening to the sound of the wind and waves crashing.   The rain started to fall softly.  

Suddenly, he tripped over what looked like a flip flop.  We looked down - there sitting on the sand were two flip flops, Havaianas, looking brand spanking new.  

And so like Prince Charming, he bent over, grabbed one of the flip flops and slid the glass slipper - er I mean rubber sandal on my foot… I felt like Cinderella.  

No joke - It fit perfectly.

The rain began to fall harder.  I started to joke to him about being my Prince Charming. 

It was that moment that he stood up, took my head in his hands, and kissed me.  

And there we were.  On the beach of Saint Sebastian…. rain pouring down, waves crashing, wind blowing, and me with my one flip-flop on my foot, being kissed by Prince Charming.  

The whole thing was so romantic.

A real Disney moment.  

We never did go salsa dancing -  We stayed out on that beach for a long time.  He held me in his arms while we watched the storm and talked about life.    

It was one of those nights I never wanted to end.  

Bernard came into my life at a time when I really needed it.  Before I left LA, I had experienced some rocky times; a of a heartbreak and had been starting to lose my faith in kind men and romance.. I was was truly becoming cynical and jaded.  But Bernard reminded me that romance does exist... you just have to be patient - it can't be rushed... and it's always worth the wait.

The next morning, he was gone and off to his new destination.  But he left me a very sweet note that I will carry with me in my wallet from now on...

And every time I look at it, it will remind me that when we first make a decision, we are really diving into a strong current that will carry us to places we had never dreamed of when we first made the decision... even if that decision was the result of a last minute change of plans.  

But the story didn't end there…. Not 12 hours later, I had another extraordinary encounter.  

Since it is my last night in Spain, I decided to get one last gelato.  I grabbed some and ended up walking toward the sea, just reflecting on the last 24 hours, and enjoying the beauty here before I have to leave. 

I suddenly noticed an old man standing about ten feet away from me.  When I looked at him, he spoke in Spanish and it seemed that he wanted to talk.  

He walked over and asked me my name.  

I told him.  

He then asked me what I thought was important about life.  

What a strange question...

I thought about it for a moment, then answered: "Amor, familia, y amigos"  (Love, family, and friends.)

He  nodded and then added his own thoughts.  He told me that it was important to take pride in your work.  He was a carpenter who grew up on the island across from the jetty, and he loved what he did.

But he also told me that while work is important, it's also to remember to have faith.  

Looking back, the whole thing felt very surreal.  He seemed to come out of nowhere, and sometimes he spoke as if I really wasn't there.  I never felt in danger or anything, but it just felt... surreal. 

But my parents always taught me to be respectful to old people, so not wanting to be rude,we continued to talk for a few more minutes.  My gelato had completely melted.  When I decided that the time had come for me to go, I started to say goodbye to him.  

As I started to walk away, he quickly grabbed my hand and looked me dead in the eyes.  He told me to remember that life was short and that it was so important to keep in mind what is really important… yes, family, friends, and love were all important things, but faith, above all else, was essential to our existence. 

He also told me to never forget to look for the beautify in the world.  That it was abundant and always around us… even if we didn't think we could see any.  He made me promise to always search for the beauty in things, and to always have faith.  

I promised I would.  But before I walked away, I asked him his name.

His name was Santiago.  

We said goodbye and I left. 

It wasn't until a few minutes later, when I was walking over the same bridge that brought me to San Sebastian in the first place, that I realized something.... I instantly made the connection.  

Santiago was my favorite character in my favorite book… a story about a journey… and adventure... and faith.  A book that is sitting on my bed at the hostel as I write this…. The Alchemist.  

I stopped dead in my tracks.  I looked up at the sky, closed my eyes, and instantly felt flooded with faith. 

I once again became a believer.  

I think there is a fine line between fate and self determination...  Who knows, maybe we all have a certain destination that we're meant to reach, but we are able to choose the path to get there... All I know is that most of the choices I've made have led me to places I never thought I would end up in when I first made those choices.  And on many occasions, I've tried very unsuccessfully to force square pegs into round holes. 

I guess it comes down to this: You can't force things.  You just have to let them happen.  You have to make your choices, and hope for the best.  And it always works out… it truly does.  You just have to be patient, and open to the possibility that anything can happen.. things might not work out the way you expected them to, but that's not always a bad thing.  

I was never supposed to go to San Sebastien, I was supposed to go to Berlin.  I was never supposed to be in the room I ended up being in, but then I met Bernard.  I was never supposed to be wandering around on my own the night I went to the Jetty; I had plans with some friends but decided to get gelato at the last minute...

It's funny how one detour can change the entire course.  

I don't know if I will ever see Bernard again… and I am sure I will never see Santiago again, but they were there… they existed, and they each left a handprint on my heart.

I guess there really is truth to how the stars align, how timing is everything, and how things really do always work out.  And maybe thats the real secret… 

Maktub.  Está escrito.  It is written.  

San Sebastian Sunset

And it really is.

Where we had our sunset salsa lesson

Bernard walking up to the cliffs before sunset

The sunset bottle of wine