why I like voicemail.

Today I got reemed out on the phone by an athiest woman. Afterwards, I hung up and attempted to hold it together for the UPS man waiting in front of my desk but I was losing it fast, so quickly tried to avoid eye contact, sign the bill and make him go away so I could cry. And cry I did. I don't know what upset me the most. Maybe it was the pure animosity that resounded from her words. Never have I been so forwardly mocked. I was personally mocked. My church and place of work were mocked. And my God. But I think, more than anything, it was the hatred I felt from her. Conflicts in relationships, especially ones of betrayal can be incomprehensibly painful, but this was different. This woman did not know me, nor did she care to. I was just her target of hatred. It was a knife being flung at me through the phone...or at least thats what it felt like. I was stumbling over my words and saying "excuse me" over and over again to try to remain calm but get through the phone call with a little bit of dignity, to try to make her stop raging at me. I would volley between bouts of defensiveness and peace-offerings. It was horrible. I wonder why that woman hates Christians so much and the church. I know sometimes we are terrible faces to this whole thing. But thats whats beautiful about it...is the grace thats involved. If I could go back in the conversation I would apologize to her and tell her that it was a shame that our church has not, in her eyes and probably many others been an asset to the community regardless of our weekend meetings. I would tell her that if we have not reached out enough to the poor or the oppressed that we have not done our part. That I personally have not done my part. And for that I am sorry.

I guess for thousands of years there have always been people who downright hate Jesus, the peace-maker, justice-seeker, social worker, radical, anti-religion and anti-routines leader who taught messages of love and hope and redemption. How does the church represent him? I know that I am much more drawn to the man than the institution, but in the latter lies community, the ugly and the thick, thin, skinny, tall and beauty wrapped up into one..

brushstroke

Like a canvas waiting to be painted, with the painter staring at the ticking clock, worried about running out of time, but ever anxious to pick up the paintbrush again. Unsure how. Unsure of the means, but ready for the painting to begin. Masterpiece detail or jackson polluck freedom, it did not matter. Created to paint. But didn't know how.

Thus is the state I am in.

Always in a waiting state, going all the while, and always glancing at the clock.

The quiet is coveted. The noise is everywhere, and the art is untouched. Such is life.

But I can't help but think, there must be another option. And I wonder how. where. and when will I grasp and not come up empty-handed. And I realize I'm not talking about painting anymore.

gelato

Who knew that gelato could have such an effect on a person? Tonight as I was walking through the mall, I walked by a little gelato stand and scanned the titles to see if there was stratiacello, my favorite flavor in Europe. It is similar to cookies and cream, but much richer. Suddenly, and deeply, I had a pang of..."travel sickness"....? I missed Italy. I missed Spain. I missed the many times we ate the deliciously creamy gelato and also just strolling down the streets passing gelato cafes down every turn and twist. I missed everything about my trip. The sitting and soaking in. The running around from place to place. The observing and drinking in of experience. The wonderful people we met. The ones I fell in love with. And the ones who might not have been lovable but were still memorable. And now I'm back home. And I don't know what to do with that. I don't know how to quench my restlessness. Maybe I need to sit a while longer and process. My dad said its like I'm thirsty and trying to drink out of a fire hydrant. From California to Pennsylvania to London and the Mediterranean, this has been a summer of wandering, and I have fallen in love with adventure and beauty in landscapes and roadtrips and new places. And that gelato was a reminder of everything, and I miss it so deeply.

tired in rome.

Yesterday we arrived into Civitavecchia, a port closest to la city of Roma! After starting off the day with a small cappucinno, we hopped on the hour long train ride to Rome, enjoying the scenery of Italian countryside in the morning. Our day consisted of heat, sweat, crowds, pushiness and sun. Get the picture? We visited St. Peter's Basilica which is in Vatican City. Artists like Michaelangelo, Raphael and Bernini decorated the adorned walls with their paintings and sculptures. Michaelangelo's sculpture of Mary holding Jesus' limp body was incredible moving. It is amazing, how an image can evoke so much feeling. I felt the same kind of pull that I experienced at the La Sagradia in Barcelona looking at the chiseled face of Peter after he had denyed Jesus three times. They have a way of connecting with the onlooker. The sculptors have a vivid perception of how to take a chunk of marble or stone and create a story from it. Although the tossing and weaving through masses of tourists had a way of lessening the grandeur experience, the church was still fantastic.

Trevi Fountain was our next destination, so we wandered through streets until we found ourselves before the Spanish Steps which lead us down towards the Trevi Fountain. Rumor has it that those who throw a coin into the fountain are sure to return to Rome. I closed my eyes and made a wish, which I cannot reveal, and can also hope I will return someday. We feasted our eyes on the Colosseum for a total of five minutes tops before practically collapsing back onto the train. We were fed up with crowds and heat, and worried about our all aboard at 6:45 pm. I did not hate Rome but I did not love it either. I am willing to give it another chance though, even if only for the gelato!

Today we are headed to Pisa to gaze upon the leaning tower. Our bus leaves in 10 minutes so Ciao for now!

the amalfi coast.

Yesterday was our last day at sea. We have four more days at ports including today and then our cruise will come to an end. Although I knew it would be shortlived, 12 days has given me just enough time to get used to the routine of cruise ship living. I will be sad to go. The family we eat dinner with have become our cruise family, and they are our constant entertainment. All of the music groups on the ship, ranging from the Stingrays to the Acappella Group to Carl, the guitar soloist, constantly fill my time with their tunes. I have befriended one of the photographers, and have loved getting to know him and learn about the life of a cruise ship photographer. It definitely intrigues me, life on a cruise ship.

Although we have no luck in the jewelry raffles, more importantly, we have been lucky/blessed by the opportunities we encounter when we disembark at ports. When we arrived in Athens we were wary, after the many warnings we received about the dangers involving the government, theft or worse. So we were suspicious of the taxi driver with his plump tummy popping out under his shirt who bustled over to us trying to coax us into a trip to the acropolis over the half hour walk to the train station en route to the acropolis or a taxi tour for the day. The three of us would look at each other, discuss until we reached a price that appeased us all. We agreed on the ride to the Acropolis only, but not the tour for the day.

As we entered into small talk on the ride over he would point out parts of the city and share pieces of history. He told us about his family and his two girls about our age, and how he was thinking as he approached us, how can I get these girls to trust me like Im their father, because they look clueless and I want to help them. He was a chattery man with a sarcastic sense of humor and a genuinely caring persona; we started to like him. For an incredible price (about a quarter of what an excursion would have costed) we decided to have him serve as our escort for the day. He was incredible! George would tell us how to carry our purses and cameras, the type of people to avoid. He bought us water bottles for when we arrived back from our sightseeing to keep us hydrated. He gave us options to fit our time and interests, and lots of freedom. What was priceless though was how he gave us so many experiences we would have never known about on our own. George took us to the Greek palace to see the changing of the guards, arriving exactly on time for when it started, and after, he made sure we got a picture with the soldiers. For lunch he told us we could go to a restaurant in Plaka, the shopping tourist area, or he could take us to his uncles restaurant in a more local area. We chose the family restaurant where (for a huge discount) they practically fed us a buffet of greek food at our table with gyro meats, pitas, fries, kebabs, cucumber salad, etc! George let us by tickets for the acropolis and then took us to several other places where the tickets served for multiple admissions, like Zeus temple and the Bath houses in the middle of the city. The acropolis was unbelievable, as we circled the Pantheum and saw more ancient ruins. Since we did not have a tour guide and George waited at the taxi, we would shuffle up to other tour groups to catch pieces of information from their guides! George even took us to the stadium where the 1890 Olympics took place! Thank God for George! He kept saying how he was our father for the day, and he really did treat us like his princesses, or fittingly, like Greek goddesses!

Today, once again, we had no plans because the excursions with the cruise ship are very expensive. Our port was in Salerno, Italy which is Italian looking, but nothing extraordinary. However Jamie has been to the Amalfi Coast once before, and claimed it was her favorite spot in the world. We wanted to get there. Unfortunately, after taking the shuttle which was a half hour farther than the cruise director told us, we discovered the ferry to the Amalfi Coast was sold out. We were stuck, with very few options and another language barrier.

Fortunately there were other people in the same boat, or in other words, also in search of a boat so we collaborated efforts. The father of a family of five searched for a private boat to take us to the coast. He was determined. And just when we were losing hope, he approached us and said he had found a speed boat. The most unlikely crew, including us three, two honeymooners, a couple who was traveling the world not even from our ship, and the family of five decided to take the risk and go for the speedboat. It was the trip of a lifetime!!! We flew across the blue mediterranean waters, hair blowing everywhere, and the odd crew all glancing at each other occasionally with a knowing look, a bright sparkle in our eyes and a smile of unbelief. We all knew innately that the situation we had found and this place we were in was unexplainably special and magical. The cliffs and mountains edged with fog were majestic. Our boat driver took several stops, the first to Fiordo di Furope, a high bridge that we went under, leading us to a hidden alcove. It felt like another land, another world. We all stared around us in awe, snapping pictures and smiling. Our next exploration was a water cave. It was brilliant!! When we arrived to Positano, our destination, it was literally like reaching paradise. Our speedboat ride that took us to paradise. Thats what it felt like! We agreed that it is probably the most beautiful place in the whole world, and possibly one of the best moments of our life. A bold statement. I know.

greetings from turkey.

I'm sitting at a little internet cafe in Turkey before boarding back on the cruise and cannot possibly email and blog in the 20 minute allotment given to me. I haven't written since Barcelona! Since then we have visited Mykonos, a small island in Greece and Sicily, Italy, with a couple days at sea situated in between, and then today, Turkey. For a quick summary which will not even adequately broadly touch on our journeys, the cruise has been extraordinary! The food has allowed us to eat our way through every food group imaginable, such as the barbequed frog legs or the escargot appetizers followed by course after course of exquisite delicacies. I am truly spoiled by the delicious and ample amount of food, and the beautiful people I have met on the ship. The workers on the ship, in total, come from a range of 52 nations, and their service is kind, prompt, and sociable. Our waiter's name is Joey, and he always takes our order asking enthusiastically, "My lady?" and then Ayhan, our busboy, is from Turkey and finally gets to see his wife and son this afternoon! I'm so happy for him. Today, we spent the hot morning strolling through the ruins of Ephesus. We stood in the theatre where lions executed prisoners and Christians as onlookers cheered, at the same place where gladiators fought. We walked through the excavated houses of councils and governments, learning about the history of the people and the gems that architects have uncovered. Also we visited the Virgin Mary's House which was such a unique experience; it was even difficult to grasp where we were. It is hard to soak in so much history and begin to fathom the events and the people that walked where I walked this morning.

I'm out of time at my internet cafe so this is all I have time for!!

hola amigos

The language barrier began as soon as we stepped off the airplane. I wasn't immediately fond of Spain as I was with England. The train ride was through grungy areas characterized by rags and graffiti. The poverty is evident through the glassy windows, passing by shacks for houses among run down streets and sad plots of land. The smell of urination surrounding the metro was putrid, and we got lost several times on the train and metro systems which is frustrating when it is difficult to even ask for help. I concluded that my two semesters of Spanish in college were worth squat, to say the least. Exhausted from transporting our heavy bags on and off trains and up and down stairs, we were relieved to step out of the underground and into the streets of Barcelona. The city quickly started to dissipate my dislike of Spain as we walked past markets, crowded streets mixed with entertainers, locals and tourists, and the little European alleyways. Tables chairs, and umbrellas spot the wide walkway in the middle of the street giving the area a largely street-cafe look. A big smile spread across my face! I'm learning that places have personalities, and Barcelona has a very loud personality! I like it's bohemian, artistic flair, and how it's teeming with diversity. Walking through the streets is like a swirl of languages and accents, and it is similar in other regards, with French boutiques beside Indian tourist shops or English pubs. It is difficult to even pinpoint what is Spanish. It is like the city of the world, or so it seems. Our hostel is right off of the main strip Las Ramblas, which is a straight shot to the ocean, several blocks down, the port city where our cruise ship sets off later today!

Our first night in Barcelona we met many interesting characters. Do you know those facebook ads that pop up on the right side of the screen? Well the British millionare who runs the small company in charge of the advertisements was hosting a fun holiday weekend in Barcelona for his employees, and we befriended him and almost the entire company. So we had a wonderful night of conversing with more British. They asked us about ourselves and America and vice versa; we learned a lot from each other I think. From the British perspective, we discovered that the majority of the Europe finds the American accent to be annoying, like we just took their language and tried to make it our own. It was humorous hearing them attempt to mimic us by accentuating long "e" sounds and giving us extremely whiney tones. Also, they mentioned how the tv series Friends revolutionized their speech by sprinkling in the word, "like" into every sentence. It was an amusing conversation. I received several Maggie Gyllenhaal comments, and one guy said they he literally thought I was her, which isn't the first time I've heard that. The curse even follows me to Europe!

At night it becomes quite the party city, where morals seems to go out the window, and the three of us have wondered about what it would be like to live in a place like this as a Christian. "Make friends for Jesus;" that's our commission. But what does that look like? Probably pretty simply, like love, and grace too. There were several signs in the city about not defecating or urinating in public, and it said " In Barcelona everyone is welcome but not everything is welcome." Sounds a lot like "love the sinner, hate the sin." So often I think I do away with both to make it easier, but in that way, I too would for sure be a goner.

Yesterday, I thoroughly enjoyed walking through the market boqueria, known as one of the best markets in Europe. The seafood stands had live lobsters and crabs still shifting around in the ice. The meat markets displayed entire heads of lambs and pigs, at points making us weak in the stomach. The colorful display of fruits and vegetables accentuated the lively bustle of the market place. Our hands were swatted if we tried to touch anything. Later by the ocean we weaved through Spanish antique markets where I was scolded for taking a picture without permission. Barcelona is full of bartering and pushiness. We spent the rest of the day sitting, browsing, walking and enjoying the people, the sea and the swirling metal designs accenting the sides of buildings.

When we had first arrived into the city it was the same time as Spain's FIFA game in the world cup, so you can imagine the hype and energy among the people. There is no comparison to the enthusiasm of Europeans when it comes to soccer. We made it a point to watch the USA game last night against Gana, which we watched at a restaurant among a few other cheering Americans. We ordered Paella, an odd tasting Spanish rice mixture with mussels, prawns, chicken, vegetables. We disliked the results of the game and the Paella; we just hoped that US would win to encourage Americans to care more about the World Cup. The energy of the game in Europe is contagious; every time their country's team plays its like the Super Bowl where whole cities pause, taking extra long lunch breaks and packing out bars or anyplace with a tv screen. Flags adorn cities, scores are posted everywhere. And they mock our American football.

Today we are renting bicycles to visit some of the sights out of walking distance, and then later we will be boarding our ship and heading out to sea.

missed westminster

Friday was our last day in London, regrettably. Earlier in the week, we stood outside, gaping at the intricate walls of Westminster Abbey. Stunning architecturally, the outside was beautiful, but I wanted so badly to go in. There is a tangible holiness to the inside of a church like that, especially one that was designed with such precision, and served through so many periods of history. T.S. Eliot, Charles Dickens, and even Issac Newton were buried in the Abbey. More than anything I wanted to attend the daily Evensong's chorale singing. My imagination ran wild thinking about how the acoustics would sound from the depths of the cathedral of Westminster. Unfortunately, we planned to fit it in on Thursday, before we discovered that everything is cancelled on John the Baptist's Day of Birth, which happened to be on Thursday. Shouldn't that be the time to celebrate!? So foolish, in my opinion, but selfishly I was just disappointed. (Happy Birthday John.) Plan B was created. We were to rise early for the service of prayer at 7:30 am, waking up to the sound of Brittney's mp3 alarm, which we fittingly set to London Bells. This was not too bright in retrospect since the sound of London bells blends in with the varying noises of everything else in London right outside our window. Collectively it is like a soundtrack, the Sounds of London, and we slept right through it. Sadly, no Westminster. Our bodies were probably craving the sleep anyways, and now I have an easy excuse to go back to London. I miss it already, but on with Barcelona! Much to say already, the good, the bad, and unexpected....always the unexpected in traveling. First, I must sleep.

hello london.

After departing the Heathrow airport, our first task: to purchase our Oyster cards. Although they are merely for transit, it felt like the world was now our oyster! We encountered a near death experienced by escalator when the woman far ahead of me knocked over her hefty three bags. I abandoned mine and bounded down the steps to help her, which inevitably did not work out, as my bag tumbled into me with Jamie and Britt directly behind. It was quite the hysterical mess. Jumping onto the tube, the whole journey into London, we heard, “This is the Picadilly line, service to Cockfoster,” and giggled almost every single time at the silly names. (Boy, were we sleepy!) In my sleepy state, I verbalized the stupid thought that time zones should not exist, and each place should just adapt to their own times for morning and lunch, etc, this was my thinking at one in the morn, when I translated it to work to my advantage. Anyways, everybody reads the news during transit. Not one person was without a newspaper. No wonder they come off as such intellectuals; they all read the news, even the younger school kids, decked out like they were headed to Hogwarts.

I was in a miserable sort yesterday. We all were, but I was the worst company, in my opinion. I was grumpy and groggy-a very unpleasant combination. My first day in England was not the lovely experience I imagined it to be, no fault on the city of London. Brilliant were we to think “let’s just stay awake , even though we slept hardly a wink on the plane, and then just pull in early.” Impossible! I sat on the Double Decker bus, our “overview” of London, and fought to keep my eyes open. It went much like this: there’s the London Eye, nodding off to sleep, Jamie wakes me up to point out Big Ben, there it is, asleep again, listen to a fun fact about the lion sculptures in Trafalger Square, snoozing some more. The lady’s British voice over my tour headphones must have been awfully amiable because it served as my lullaby all afternoon. As we were walking, we most likely searched down every last street in London by making wrong turn after wrong turn. The entire day was a hazy blur. We returned to our hostel, the Travel Joy, and finally made it up to our room, which was surprisingly very nice, with its large windows, Ikea-esque furniture and picnic-table furnished balcony looking over the Thames. We turned into bed around 7pm, what we had dreamed of doing all day and finally crashed.

Today was fresh, and we certainly felt refreshed. Although my body felt sick and slightly queasy, I was lucid which was minor progress from the previous day. We woke up slowly, the long white curtains billowing in with the cool Britain air, inviting us to give the city another chance. From the Changing of the Guards in front of Buckingham Palace to the Thames River Cruise to the Tower of London, we started taking in the sights and history of London. It is a remarkable city, relating it to what I know, like throwing together NYC and Washington DC (the British versions.) All of the sights are drenched in history; we pass hotels where Winston Churchill and Ghandi stayed or the restaurant where tickets for the Titanic were sold or Princes that were murdered within the Tower walls, or stories of Kings, Queens, and those beheaded for sorcery and such. We peered into cases holding the crown of jewels, protected by 2000 kg vault doors. The stories of royalty are fascinating, thick in power and prestige. World Cup madness is advertised outside of every pub. Brick buildings, flower boxes, and parks adorn the city. The British accents enchant me, and I get accent envy each time I hear it.

Tonight I ventured out on my own for the showing of Les Miserables. The last I had seen it was on Broadway, and I was young and unable to fully grasp the storyline. I grabbed some English sushi before the show, then rushed to my Upper Circle level seat in the Queen’s Theatre. When I went to purchase tickets, to my happy surprise, Nick Jonas was playing the part of Marius on London's Broadway, during their three week celebration of the show’s 25th anniversary. What are the chances?! Other than the giddy whispers behind me during the first few minutes of the show (probably Americans) I was so engrossed into his character that I mostly forgot about the teen idol he is, proving his talent in both acting and singing. He is a natural at Broadway; well, Broadway is where he started, even before pop music! Overall, it was a phenomenal performance, with songs that tug at the heart, musically and lyrically. The storyline is a poignant image of grace, redemption and forgiveness. Jean’s character and the grace extended to him have such a strong parallel to the grace God extends to us. And it depicts the constant struggle between justice and grace. After just finishing the book by Phillip Yancey, “What’s So Amazing About Grace,” it was just an overflowing summary of everything I have been learning. Pretty amazing.

nearing.

Praying for first class! Hoping to be in London by 8:30 tomorrow morning!

time to dance

Three eager girls, myself included, almost hopped onto the LAX to London Heathrow flight tonight to arrive in England tomorrow afternoon, but the flight's availability was not promising. After waffling back and forth we decided to leave from San Diego, Chicago serving as our overnight pit stop before reaching our British destination on Tuesday. Our itinerary is full once we arrive in London, and I worry that it will be a lot of running around like the hurried blokes we will be, more than soaking in the surroundings. As long as I can sit with a cup of tea, English Breakfast perhaps, and read a few pages of Jack Kerouac on the grassy lawn of Hampton Court, I will be content. Contentment is an art that I continually strive to master. But the key of contentment is to stop striving, so therein lies the predicament! Maneuvering ourselves around the city will be a feat on its own. Earlier, one of the girls asked if the Louvre was a highway; oh my, how much we have to learn.

The last time I flew from San Diego was back when I was still a kid in high school itching for a new adventure, as Dad and I visited the school that became home to me. I remember how mesmerized I was peering out of the window at the coastline, fearful and dreamy about California posing as the backdrop for my future. The relationships and learnings that followed suit took center stage before that backdrop. The golf club in Rancho Santa Fe over on the ritzy side of San Diego served as an impeccable backdrop for the wedding of two dear friends yesterday. The bride looked stunning. And the faces of Warren and Emily as she graced down the aisle were full of the journey and the arrival and the promise they share. It was the idyllic photography moment, and I was positioned perfectly, but it was a sacred moment. I did not want to maime it with even the click of a camera. Besides, it would have taken my focus towards the camera rather than heaven at work. When a couple has been together for five years and is still so smitten and committed to each other, their love speaks volumes, and I think it's just a small shimmering glimpse of Christ's love for us.

I also have a piece to say about dancing. Dancing, I'm convinced, is an outward liberation of the soul. There is something incredibly free and beautiful about it. With that said, I have never liked dancing much. I enjoyed the watching of it, but I always felt uncomfortable and stiff, the slightest bit like my hips didn't move in the right manner to look cohesive. Last night, with the dance floor bursting, and the tunes ranging from Michael Jackson to Miley Cyrus, I danced. Barefoot and brazen. I danced so much that my calves are sorry for it today, and I probably looked more ridiculous than ever; it was glorious. The way I see it, if I can dance, then I should, because opportunities are worthy of being seized!

So we are situated in Chicago, in the inbetweenness which currently seems to define my life. However, we are not in downtown Chicago; we are in the podunk outskirts of Chicago. Our excitement extends as far as the greasy food from the DQ across the street where they proclaim their abilities to both "grill and chill." O'Hare is a maze of an airport and I am pretty sure that we weaved through the underground of the entire state of Illinois to get to the Shuttle area. Arrival is a relative term, but we made it. Relatively.

chapter one.

The "blog" is a new concept to me, so forgive me for the times when I over or under-indulge. I envision the blog to be a public journal entry, where I share my adventures and learnings with you, my friends, whom in turn should feel like you are right alongside the journey with me! Unlike a journal entry, I will need to find a balance between my thoughts and your reading. So I welcome you to join me in the middle of what I've labeled as my "traveling summer." Some might think it redundant of me to drive cross country only to fly back to where I started a week after my arrival. And then to fly back towards home and leave for a new unexplored continent. But I have a wedding, a reception and a month long Europe trip ahead of me.

Yesterday I was so close to Tijuana, Mexico that, as Jamie's gramps put it, I could've thrown a rock over the border. It left my palette with a deep craving for authentic mexican food; we settled on chinese at the Rising Dragon back in Chula Vista. The day before yesterday was Emily's Bachelorette Party. Getting there was quite the ordeal, and I can confidently say that I have been inducted/initiated into the D3 Flyers Club. I fly "company" now with American Airlines, with much gratitude towards Mrs. Hartson, one of their employees. Getting stood up is never a pleasant experience, and luckily I have never experienced it in my dating life, but in flying, on Wednesday I was stood up six times! Surely a blow to the self esteem, you would think? In an odd way, flying standby suits me. The flexibility and freedom in it is enjoyable, taking off some of the edge of flying with rigid timelines. It's like a game show, "Even though she is at the end of the list EVERYTIME, will she make it on that plane??!" Well indeed, I finally did, after a very long day, bouncing from Dallas Fort Worth (making it my 14th state of the month!) and then home sweet home, Santa Ana, I had been in limbo for about 24 hours between the airport and the blue skies.

The sweetest man sat next to me on my flight from Texas. He is a Canadian bloke who looked to be dwelling in his seventies. Either a tree lobbyist or tree hobbyist, he loves trees and their beauty, and he raved about our trees in Pennsylvania, especially the ones at Valley Forge National Park, with which I heartily agreed. I came to find out that (probably centuries ago!) he had graduated with an English degree and then taught ESL in China. With his slightly lilting accent, he described his adventures as an ESL teacher and declared that as a "blue-eyed Californian" I would be ideal. I am convinced that old people are the most fascinating of them all. It's too bad we overlook them so often.

I arrived at Emily's beach house in Dana Point late into the evening. It was cute, a nice space, nothing to write home about (which I am technically doing right now.) But how wrongly mistaken I was! When I awoke the next morning I entered the glass paneled living room and was amazed at the glorious sight! Crystal blue water shimmered under the morning sun, and for all I could have known, we might have been aboard a sailing house out at sea. Sauntering out to the porch, my morning slowed down even slower than usual, as I drank my coffee listening and watching the water splashing and drenching the cliffs in its saltiness. The rhythmic anthem of the ocean was urging us to come and play like calling us back to nature. A few of us girls sat, chatting and taking in the general splendor. I hope I never get desensitized to the awesomeness found in the ocean. And by "awesome" I mean it in the grandest sense of the word! We'll see if this is still my thinking after 12 days on a cruise ship, but I have a strong hunch, that my opinion could only grow stronger! I heard a quote once, "It's ourselves we find in the sea." Maybe because of the vastness of the ocean and our smallness, it puts everything in perspective. I am learning that traveling has the same effect. "It's ourselves we find in our travels." We believe we are learning about other people, cultures, towns, stories, and general otherness, which all of the above is true, but essentially, it is a process of the discovery of ourselves, slowly ripping down layers of familiarities and comforts. So I ponder at what I have already found in Tennessee, Nevada, Colorado, Yosemite, and what I will continue to find in England, Greece, Turkey, Italy, and France over the next month.

For now, I have a wedding to attend today! So let's start with love! That sounds like a romantic way to begin my journeys!