I have always know that I am a blessed/lucky woman. For the most part, I have my act together. I can dress myself, have a good eye for color, know what looks best on my curvy figure. There is a brain ticking away upstairs and I possess a good sense of humor. However, what I view as the most important facet of being me is that I am humble.
Life-sucking vampire project is complete. I successfully finished it, even though there were moments I thought it might slay me. I won the well-deserved laurel wreath. As a result of my success, I was given a new position, which was a promotion (although I did not receive any monetary raise that one would think normally comes with a promotion). I was completely thrilled to receive this new opportunity and there are times I catch myself thinking it is dream. However, until this week, I did not realize the colossalness of my new job. It is an entry level executive position of sorts. People have been congratulating me with caveats along the lines of "I have to be super nice to you now because you're important". Me? Little old me. I continue to have a difficult time with those comments.
Every day I pull on my spanks to keep everything in place and slip my dress on over my head, the same as everyone else. The learning curve is significantly steeper than I anticipated. Frustration is running deep and fast because I feel lost. I am constantly reminding myself that I felt the exact same frustration when I started the life-sucking vampire project. This too shall pass, Patsy. I want to be stellar, have happy customers.
I am no one special. I am simply a girl with an unwavering drive to succeed. High hopes for making the new gig as shining super star success like the life-sucking vampire project (with no life sucking this time!).
10 December 2010
29 November 2010
you say 'esparagus', i hit the delete key
Oh the humanity!
Why such a claim, you may ask?
Online dating. Otherwise known as "the attempt to".
Profile after profile, I become more disheartened. I have come to accept decade old photographs, run-on sentences, and violent misuse and comprehension of the dear little apostrophe. However, the list of things that drive me batty is growing. Two items have particularly spun me up lately - the clear avoidance of SPELL CHECK and the Holy Rollers.
While not all of us are editors, maybe slept through basic high school English class, we all have that little red squiggly line that alerts us when a word is misspelled on our computer screen. Even if you are color blind and cannot see the flaming red color, we all know the simple visual cue for a possible spelling error. So when writing to attract a potential mate, why do these men fail to right-click and correct the error? Case in point - when answering a question about food that was despised as a child but enjoyed now, the answer was "esparagus" (sic). Just typing that word hurts. Asparagus! Asparagus!
If dreadful spelling weren't enough, there has been a rising in the number of Holy Roller profiles. I cannot read another sentence stating, "I am a God-fearing man who wants to meet a God-fearing woman", I may very well become a nun. It is great that these men believe or even claim to believe, but that is their sole defining attribute and there has got to be more than that to a man I want to meet. I certainly don't believe these men would be rather open to my belief system that is a beautiful mosaic of truths I have found throughout my life. These Holy Rolling men's profiles are very black and white on the religious stuff and while many facets of my life contain black and white views, my religious side is many different shades of gray.
So I continue to read a handful of profiles daily. I have shifted my focus on the entertainment value and attempting to remain hopeful that one day soon, I will go out on a date or two. Not a lifetime commitment, but a spark of jolly good fun for a little while.
Why such a claim, you may ask?
Online dating. Otherwise known as "the attempt to".
Profile after profile, I become more disheartened. I have come to accept decade old photographs, run-on sentences, and violent misuse and comprehension of the dear little apostrophe. However, the list of things that drive me batty is growing. Two items have particularly spun me up lately - the clear avoidance of SPELL CHECK and the Holy Rollers.
While not all of us are editors, maybe slept through basic high school English class, we all have that little red squiggly line that alerts us when a word is misspelled on our computer screen. Even if you are color blind and cannot see the flaming red color, we all know the simple visual cue for a possible spelling error. So when writing to attract a potential mate, why do these men fail to right-click and correct the error? Case in point - when answering a question about food that was despised as a child but enjoyed now, the answer was "esparagus" (sic). Just typing that word hurts. Asparagus! Asparagus!
If dreadful spelling weren't enough, there has been a rising in the number of Holy Roller profiles. I cannot read another sentence stating, "I am a God-fearing man who wants to meet a God-fearing woman", I may very well become a nun. It is great that these men believe or even claim to believe, but that is their sole defining attribute and there has got to be more than that to a man I want to meet. I certainly don't believe these men would be rather open to my belief system that is a beautiful mosaic of truths I have found throughout my life. These Holy Rolling men's profiles are very black and white on the religious stuff and while many facets of my life contain black and white views, my religious side is many different shades of gray.
So I continue to read a handful of profiles daily. I have shifted my focus on the entertainment value and attempting to remain hopeful that one day soon, I will go out on a date or two. Not a lifetime commitment, but a spark of jolly good fun for a little while.
16 November 2010
a new season
It is almost a week since I have returned from my North Africa adventure. I celebrated my 36th birthday in Djerba, Tunisia. The Med, the Sahara, and everything in between. It was a magnificent country and yet another experience that left a long-last mark on my being.
The people, the landscape, the way of life, it all captivated me to a level I did not anticipate. The more I travel, the more I see (and I have seen an awful lot for my age), the more the world make sense in some weird way. We, as humans, are all alike, regardless of our race, creed, religion, or sex. Language doesn't serve as a barrier to communication; a smile does more than words.
During this trip, I thought about my old traveling companion (now dead), Helen constantly. I was reminded of our last trip to Cambodia. During that time, American travellers were a rarity but the few small lessons Helen taught me were like a tape on repeat in my mind during Tunisia. Things I learned from Helen:
The people, the landscape, the way of life, it all captivated me to a level I did not anticipate. The more I travel, the more I see (and I have seen an awful lot for my age), the more the world make sense in some weird way. We, as humans, are all alike, regardless of our race, creed, religion, or sex. Language doesn't serve as a barrier to communication; a smile does more than words.
During this trip, I thought about my old traveling companion (now dead), Helen constantly. I was reminded of our last trip to Cambodia. During that time, American travellers were a rarity but the few small lessons Helen taught me were like a tape on repeat in my mind during Tunisia. Things I learned from Helen:
- Smile. Always smile.
- Wave, especially at children as they need to know that travellers are capable of kindness.
- Always, always say hello; preferable in their language, but when in doubt a good old fashioned 'hello' works.
17 October 2010
click
Cherry left today. She has been my house guest for a week and a half. I miss her already and Cherry has only been out of my presence since 1 PM. Sometimes, there is simply that 'click' between friends; regardless of how long our last conversation has been, we simply pick up like it hasn't been more than a day since we last spoke. I love friendships like that.
12 October 2010
warning: october ice storm
A silly little drunk text on Saturday evening led to Super Dad sending me a whopper of a nasty text on Sunday afternoon. A nasty text that cut through me. Ah! The infinite power of words.
I haven't spoken to him since; however, I decided to overlook my stubborn scorpio ways and place a call to Super Dad a few minutes ago.
His voice. The lightness, the happiness was gone. He only asked a few questions about work and quickly ended the call.
His voice is still ringing through my mind. It was so completely different, so completely dead.
I find myself much sadder than I anticipated I would be at this very moment.
I knew Super Dad could be cold but I honestly thought he would never show me the full wrath of his ice storm.
While I may be strong on the outside, I truly am a very sensitive person. I am extraordinarily protective of who and what I let in. I don't know what hurts worse - the written words or the cold tone.
I wish there was some way I could tie this up with a pretty little bow, singing that the sun will come out tomorrow, and onward ho! And, yes, the warm Texas sun will be in full force tomorrow and the day after that too. I simply wish that I could face the world with such perennial optimism again, but I feel myself growing jaded and I don't want to be.
I haven't spoken to him since; however, I decided to overlook my stubborn scorpio ways and place a call to Super Dad a few minutes ago.
His voice. The lightness, the happiness was gone. He only asked a few questions about work and quickly ended the call.
His voice is still ringing through my mind. It was so completely different, so completely dead.
I find myself much sadder than I anticipated I would be at this very moment.
I knew Super Dad could be cold but I honestly thought he would never show me the full wrath of his ice storm.
While I may be strong on the outside, I truly am a very sensitive person. I am extraordinarily protective of who and what I let in. I don't know what hurts worse - the written words or the cold tone.
I wish there was some way I could tie this up with a pretty little bow, singing that the sun will come out tomorrow, and onward ho! And, yes, the warm Texas sun will be in full force tomorrow and the day after that too. I simply wish that I could face the world with such perennial optimism again, but I feel myself growing jaded and I don't want to be.
05 October 2010
love, hate, and the real english patient
Holiday preparation is in full swing here. I have been eating up history in the form of books, documentaries, and films to educate myself about the destination. Saturday evening's education was a critically acclaimed film, The English Patient.
Yes, I live in a bubble because prior to Saturday night, I had never seen the film. Once I started university, my movie watching plummeted and really never recovered from the fall. I watched intently for both storyline and locations; feeling the swell of excitement as the realization struck that yes, I will be there and maybe Ralph Fiennes will be waiting in the Sahara Desert to take me away from this dreary place. I'd even be happy for Colin Firth or Naveen Andrews to ride up on a camel with an outstretched hand to whisk me away.
The line that struck a chord with me was when Count Laszlo de Almasy asked Katharine Clifton, "What do you love.... say everything". She answered with a myriad of loved objects. I have found that question bopping around in my head since. What do I love?
Almasy then inquired, "What do you hate most?"
Now, it's your turn. What do you love? Say everything.
Yes, I live in a bubble because prior to Saturday night, I had never seen the film. Once I started university, my movie watching plummeted and really never recovered from the fall. I watched intently for both storyline and locations; feeling the swell of excitement as the realization struck that yes, I will be there and maybe Ralph Fiennes will be waiting in the Sahara Desert to take me away from this dreary place. I'd even be happy for Colin Firth or Naveen Andrews to ride up on a camel with an outstretched hand to whisk me away.
The line that struck a chord with me was when Count Laszlo de Almasy asked Katharine Clifton, "What do you love.... say everything". She answered with a myriad of loved objects. I have found that question bopping around in my head since. What do I love?
- I love my hounds - seeing the brightness in their eyes, the delightful smile emanating from their entire beings.
- I love the spark of happiness that dances across the eyes of someone (friend, lover, or acquaintance) I am meeting. To see the moment of genuine happiness is bliss.
- Hearing a man say my name. Bonus points for an accent - quite frankly, any accent.
- I love roller coasters and potato chips.
- I love vodka, coffee, salsa, a good pair of shoes, and fabulously unusual jewelry.
- That I am comfortable with my own style and love expressing it. I have always followed my own drummer and the bravery to be true to myself.
- I can take care of myself; the double edged sword of self-reliance.
- Flowers blooming in the garden.
- Being surrounded by the various little reminders of holidays.
- I love the airport and the giddy feeling that anything is possible and within reach when a boarding pass is in my hand.
- I love that I am willing to try new things, go places, and experience the many facets of this wonderful life.
Almasy then inquired, "What do you hate most?"
- Jealousy. Jealousy and the negative things it makes people do. I absolutely hate jealousy.
Now, it's your turn. What do you love? Say everything.
26 September 2010
living a lie, southern style
In a little over a month, I will turn 36 years old. That particular number is quite ghastly to me. I remember being a wee yipper-snapper thinking 36 was old. Now, it is on my door step.
But while the entire upcoming birthday saga will surely be discussed at length (I am certain), today's topic is the simple fact that while I was in Peru, I learned that I have been living a lie for the past almost 36 years.
Yes. A. Lie.
While on holiday over dinner at a five-star restaurant, I learned that I have been living a lie; deceived since childhood by a woman I call "mother".
No, I am not adopted nor is my real daddy the mailman; I am a south paw!
Picture it: Lima - on a cool spring evening enjoying a truly South American culinary masterpiece dinner when the conversation somehow moves from the guinea pig entree description to my noticing how my father crosses his fingers.
Traveling back in time.... several years ago I went to a palm reader who had me cross my fingers. She asked my hand orientation, to which I replied I am right handed. She noted that my left thumb sat dominant atop my right thumb. I never thought about it but when she asked me to reverse my thumbs, it did feel awfully odd. This palm reader informed me I was left handed. Quite frankly, I never dwelled upon this fact until a few weeks ago seated at dinner when I noticed the positioning of my father's fingers.
Back to dinner in Lima: I ask my father if he is left or right handed. While I remember him as right handed, I asked because at that moment I noticed that his left thumb was placed atop is right. His response shocked me. He is left handed but his mother forced him to be right handed. Growing up, whenever he grabbed anything with his left hand, his dominant hand, his mother forced him to use his right hand.
Then he turned the questioning on to me, why had I asked? I explained that I too crossed my fingers like him and looking at my mother asked if she had done like my father's mother and forced me to be right handed. The woman looked like a trapped rat stating she remembered forcing me use my right hand but at the time it didn't dawn on her that I was left handed. Of course, that is the important caveat she would reiterate the entire night. Then she went on say that she did me a favor because the world is built for righties, not lefties.
I don't care about what she did; however, my mother ostensibly defended her decision to "make" me right handed for my own good. It certainly explains a lot about my ambidextrous tendencies. While I use my right hand, my immediate impulse always triggers left. The subtle undercurrent that my mother could not rid me of.
Funny, the little things one learns about herself in a brief moment in a strange land. Travelling reveals so much more than the differences that lie above the surface.
But while the entire upcoming birthday saga will surely be discussed at length (I am certain), today's topic is the simple fact that while I was in Peru, I learned that I have been living a lie for the past almost 36 years.
Yes. A. Lie.
While on holiday over dinner at a five-star restaurant, I learned that I have been living a lie; deceived since childhood by a woman I call "mother".
No, I am not adopted nor is my real daddy the mailman; I am a south paw!
Picture it: Lima - on a cool spring evening enjoying a truly South American culinary masterpiece dinner when the conversation somehow moves from the guinea pig entree description to my noticing how my father crosses his fingers.
Traveling back in time.... several years ago I went to a palm reader who had me cross my fingers. She asked my hand orientation, to which I replied I am right handed. She noted that my left thumb sat dominant atop my right thumb. I never thought about it but when she asked me to reverse my thumbs, it did feel awfully odd. This palm reader informed me I was left handed. Quite frankly, I never dwelled upon this fact until a few weeks ago seated at dinner when I noticed the positioning of my father's fingers.
Back to dinner in Lima: I ask my father if he is left or right handed. While I remember him as right handed, I asked because at that moment I noticed that his left thumb was placed atop is right. His response shocked me. He is left handed but his mother forced him to be right handed. Growing up, whenever he grabbed anything with his left hand, his dominant hand, his mother forced him to use his right hand.
Then he turned the questioning on to me, why had I asked? I explained that I too crossed my fingers like him and looking at my mother asked if she had done like my father's mother and forced me to be right handed. The woman looked like a trapped rat stating she remembered forcing me use my right hand but at the time it didn't dawn on her that I was left handed. Of course, that is the important caveat she would reiterate the entire night. Then she went on say that she did me a favor because the world is built for righties, not lefties.
I don't care about what she did; however, my mother ostensibly defended her decision to "make" me right handed for my own good. It certainly explains a lot about my ambidextrous tendencies. While I use my right hand, my immediate impulse always triggers left. The subtle undercurrent that my mother could not rid me of.
Funny, the little things one learns about herself in a brief moment in a strange land. Travelling reveals so much more than the differences that lie above the surface.
25 September 2010
clocks
this particular coldplay song has been everywhere in my life lately... wonder what it means....
The lights go out and I can't be saved
Tides that I tried to swim against
Have brought me down upon my knees
Oh I beg, I beg and plead singing
Come out of things unsaid
Shoot an apple off my head
And a trouble that can't be named
A tiger's waiting to be tamed singing
You are
You are
Confusion never stops
Closing walls and ticking clocks
Gonna come back and take you home
I could not stop that you now know singing
Come out upon my seas
Cursed missed opportunities
Am I a part of the cure?
Or am I part of the disease? Singing
You are
You are
You are
You are
You are
You are
And nothing else compares
And nothing else compares
And nothing else compares
You are
You are
Home, home where I wanted to go
Home, home where I wanted to go
Home, home where I wanted to go
Home, home where I wanted to go
The lights go out and I can't be saved
Tides that I tried to swim against
Have brought me down upon my knees
Oh I beg, I beg and plead singing
Come out of things unsaid
Shoot an apple off my head
And a trouble that can't be named
A tiger's waiting to be tamed singing
You are
You are
Confusion never stops
Closing walls and ticking clocks
Gonna come back and take you home
I could not stop that you now know singing
Come out upon my seas
Cursed missed opportunities
Am I a part of the cure?
Or am I part of the disease? Singing
You are
You are
You are
You are
You are
You are
And nothing else compares
And nothing else compares
And nothing else compares
You are
You are
Home, home where I wanted to go
Home, home where I wanted to go
Home, home where I wanted to go
Home, home where I wanted to go
20 September 2010
lessons learned applied
The most important lessons I learned during my marriage and subsequent divorce are to never say never and never make any assumptions or judgements. I never thought I'd be deceived and led to the path of divorced. I never thought that my divorce would be judged so harshly by bystanders assuming that I was the problem and The Leech was innocent. No one outside our failed marriage truly knows the hell I endured; hence, I make no assumptions because unless I am in your kitchen night after night, I don't know what truly goes on behind your closed door. After all, we can all be Oscar caliber actresses, if we really try to play our societal role with passion.
About a year after my divorce, a few girlfriends harassed me into trying on-line dating. Fearlessly I put myself out there meeting frog after frog, until I met Montana Man and I thought I truly found bliss. The Montana Man story played out it's sad song and I swore off internet dating. I said never again.
Never again turned into trying it again briefly last fall. I hadn't been on a date in forever and thought maybe it would be different in Texas. I had to recant my already learned lesson of never saying never because I gave online dating another go. I hate being a hypocrite and had to fess up to a few friends that I had recanted my moratorium on this arena; which was another marriage and divorce lesson: happily owning my share of the responsibility in failure (or in this case, recanting my "never" statement).
The internet dating fiasco is referred to as such because it was a fiasco. While I did not quoteth nevermore, I haven't pursued it until recently when I simply trolled around a little bit. Sadly though, my heart simply is not in it. I look because I am know I am ready for something but I don't want to put the effort into meeting someone (no matter what the ad or photos say) that has misrepresented himself. I am tired of the weeding process. I am tired of panning for gold because I only find a pile of dirty old rocks.
Of course, you may be confused because Super Dad is in the tapestry of my life. He is and he isn't. I have not seen the man otherwise known as Super Dad since the end of May. We are now entering what I can officially deem as the END. OF. SEPTEMBER.
Sure Super Dad has been battling his physical aliments. He's spent quality time at the Mayo Clinic day spa; not to mention plenty of money for that Mayo visit. But absence can only make the Patsy heart grow fonder for so long. We are officially entering the out-of-sight-out-of-mind phase. Yes, he calls me several times a day. But phone calls cannot make up for staring at each other's eyeballs. To be honest, I am not even concerned with the concept of sex. I miss simply seeing him. I miss hearing "you look beautiful today". I miss spending time with him. I miss running to Starbucks with him. I miss him and the basic daily human interaction piece of the love equation that has been missing for four months.
There are a few things I know for sure along with my previously mentioned marriage/divorce lessons and another insight I gained is that a telephone does not replace or equate to spending time with a potential mate-like person. Yes, Super Dad's lapse in physical health has become a big factor and maybe it will be a deciding factor. But I haven't seen him in four months. I asked him to come out here to spend some time with me and away from his house as I truly feeling the change of scenery will do wonders for him. To date, he has made zero progress in securing a ticket. All I get is lip service.
Another thing I learned from my marriage that was a leading factor in the divorce decision - words are meaningless; actions are everything. It is all about the follow through. If Super Dad doesn't feel well enough, then come clean with me - be honest - be truthful - but don't string me along because you "still haven't gotten your colonoscopy scheduled". Seriously?! This girl starts smelling rats when the words and actions go in paths that run counter to each other. Honesty goes much further with me than telling me what you think I want to hear. I am too smart, no matter what your motive is (i.e., to protect me), to fall for pretty words strung together with catch phrases like "I miss you", "Don't mesmerize any Peruvian men", and "Come home to Atlanta". Statements like that need to followed up with "When exactly do you want me to come out to see you" or "I would prefer to stay in Atlanta near my doctors but you come out here instead".
Maybe men don't work like that though. Maybe it is a Mars versus Venus thing. Maybe I am too much of a straight shooter - direct, to the point. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. A whole lot of maybes. A whole lot of rationalizations. A bunch of excuses. But at the end of the day, I see the outcome, regardless of the words, is the same: no plans to see each other in the month of September. As a extension of September, my October was basically booked before we got together. The honest answer is that our next real opportunity to spend time together is mid-November. At that point, it will be six months since we will have seen each other and honestly I don't know that I can build a relationship on that.
I suppose the old saying is correct - hope for the best and prepare for the worst. Or more importantly, I am applying my lessons learned - the words and the actions are not adding up which leads to serious speculation. When is Prince Charming going to knock on my door?
About a year after my divorce, a few girlfriends harassed me into trying on-line dating. Fearlessly I put myself out there meeting frog after frog, until I met Montana Man and I thought I truly found bliss. The Montana Man story played out it's sad song and I swore off internet dating. I said never again.
Never again turned into trying it again briefly last fall. I hadn't been on a date in forever and thought maybe it would be different in Texas. I had to recant my already learned lesson of never saying never because I gave online dating another go. I hate being a hypocrite and had to fess up to a few friends that I had recanted my moratorium on this arena; which was another marriage and divorce lesson: happily owning my share of the responsibility in failure (or in this case, recanting my "never" statement).
The internet dating fiasco is referred to as such because it was a fiasco. While I did not quoteth nevermore, I haven't pursued it until recently when I simply trolled around a little bit. Sadly though, my heart simply is not in it. I look because I am know I am ready for something but I don't want to put the effort into meeting someone (no matter what the ad or photos say) that has misrepresented himself. I am tired of the weeding process. I am tired of panning for gold because I only find a pile of dirty old rocks.
Of course, you may be confused because Super Dad is in the tapestry of my life. He is and he isn't. I have not seen the man otherwise known as Super Dad since the end of May. We are now entering what I can officially deem as the END. OF. SEPTEMBER.
Sure Super Dad has been battling his physical aliments. He's spent quality time at the Mayo Clinic day spa; not to mention plenty of money for that Mayo visit. But absence can only make the Patsy heart grow fonder for so long. We are officially entering the out-of-sight-out-of-mind phase. Yes, he calls me several times a day. But phone calls cannot make up for staring at each other's eyeballs. To be honest, I am not even concerned with the concept of sex. I miss simply seeing him. I miss hearing "you look beautiful today". I miss spending time with him. I miss running to Starbucks with him. I miss him and the basic daily human interaction piece of the love equation that has been missing for four months.
There are a few things I know for sure along with my previously mentioned marriage/divorce lessons and another insight I gained is that a telephone does not replace or equate to spending time with a potential mate-like person. Yes, Super Dad's lapse in physical health has become a big factor and maybe it will be a deciding factor. But I haven't seen him in four months. I asked him to come out here to spend some time with me and away from his house as I truly feeling the change of scenery will do wonders for him. To date, he has made zero progress in securing a ticket. All I get is lip service.
Another thing I learned from my marriage that was a leading factor in the divorce decision - words are meaningless; actions are everything. It is all about the follow through. If Super Dad doesn't feel well enough, then come clean with me - be honest - be truthful - but don't string me along because you "still haven't gotten your colonoscopy scheduled". Seriously?! This girl starts smelling rats when the words and actions go in paths that run counter to each other. Honesty goes much further with me than telling me what you think I want to hear. I am too smart, no matter what your motive is (i.e., to protect me), to fall for pretty words strung together with catch phrases like "I miss you", "Don't mesmerize any Peruvian men", and "Come home to Atlanta". Statements like that need to followed up with "When exactly do you want me to come out to see you" or "I would prefer to stay in Atlanta near my doctors but you come out here instead".
Maybe men don't work like that though. Maybe it is a Mars versus Venus thing. Maybe I am too much of a straight shooter - direct, to the point. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. A whole lot of maybes. A whole lot of rationalizations. A bunch of excuses. But at the end of the day, I see the outcome, regardless of the words, is the same: no plans to see each other in the month of September. As a extension of September, my October was basically booked before we got together. The honest answer is that our next real opportunity to spend time together is mid-November. At that point, it will be six months since we will have seen each other and honestly I don't know that I can build a relationship on that.
I suppose the old saying is correct - hope for the best and prepare for the worst. Or more importantly, I am applying my lessons learned - the words and the actions are not adding up which leads to serious speculation. When is Prince Charming going to knock on my door?
19 September 2010
back on the air
While I am delighted to be back home, I thoroughly enjoyed my Peruvian adventure. The country, the people were so much more than I had expected and anticipated. Being able to speak broken Spanish made the adventure all the more enjoyable, especially when bargaining for costume jewelry at the ferias.
I returned home to Texas realizing all that I take for granted on a daily basis; all the creature comforts that surround me. But then I look at life in the Sacred Valley; a simple life devoid of the manufactured stressors that give me gray hairs. Maslow's hierarchy in motion before my eyes. Which is better? From the smiles on the locals faces and the warmth of heart that emanated from them, I think they may have an advantage.
I am slowing slipping back into every day life; however, I am attempting to keep a reign on the work-life balance stuff. The work will always be there; other fleeting life moments may not. Luckily I have several hundred memories to transport me back.
I returned home to Texas realizing all that I take for granted on a daily basis; all the creature comforts that surround me. But then I look at life in the Sacred Valley; a simple life devoid of the manufactured stressors that give me gray hairs. Maslow's hierarchy in motion before my eyes. Which is better? From the smiles on the locals faces and the warmth of heart that emanated from them, I think they may have an advantage.
I am slowing slipping back into every day life; however, I am attempting to keep a reign on the work-life balance stuff. The work will always be there; other fleeting life moments may not. Luckily I have several hundred memories to transport me back.
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