Buyer’s Market

They’re baaaaaaaack.

And you thought Halloween was over. Silly. Because I am once again getting besieged by real estate flyers, phone calls, emails, and drive-bys, wondering if I want to sell my house.

Wah?

Um, I’m not selling my house. Not ever. Not ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever. Not ever. Was that enough evers? If anything, I’m closer to buying something (elsewhere) than selling.

But the most insidious thing to me is where agents get their information. As in, why would dozens of local real estate agents all think collectively that I’m selling my house? Because I blog about hating Jersey weather?

Er, that’s not a lot to go on. What else ya got?

So it would seem that despite my making my point clear, there is still some confusion as to my intentions. How’s about we settle the confusion with a quiz. Enjoy.

True or False: Mary hates Jersey weather.

Answer: True. God, is that true. Hate isn’t strong enough of a word.

True or False: Mary has spent enough time in New Jersey.

Answer: True. It’s a big, beautiful, wide-world out there, folks, and I’m leaving soon to see it.

True or False: Mary will be living elsewhere one day.

Answer: Absolutely true.

True or False: It is possible, contrary to local small-minded popular belief, to keep a house in one place, and have another somewhere else, too.

Answer: True. Lotsa people do it.

True or False: Mary intends to keep her house, but live elsewhere also.

Answer: True.

True or False: Mary is keeping her Jersey house.

Answer: True.

I’m not selling my house. You picked your career, now you have to lie in it. And remember my personal mantra:

I can usually tell how dumb someone is by how stupid they think I am.

Recalibrate

I rented a house in the woods this past weekend, you know, to recalibrate. On the first day, after I returned from shopping for provisions, I was putting my few measly groceries away and heard a knock at the door. When I opened it, there, standing in the doorway of this remote cabin, was this gorgeous guy. He went on to tell me he was the brother of the owner of the house and was stopping by to check on me and see if I needed anything.

“Actually,” I said, “I can’t get the fireplace going.”

“Let me take a look at it,” he said, entering the cabin, “it can get glitchy.”

Listen, without divulging too many details, he got the fireplace going, and accepted my offer of a glass of brandy. Turned out he was a widower and a book editor, and after a few drinks, one thing led to another, and…

Yeah, that’s the plot of the movie “The Holiday” with Cameron Diaz.

See, in the movies, when Cameron Diaz goes away alone for peace and quiet, a widowed and horny Jude Law shows up drunk at her door. In real life, when a woman goes away alone for peace and quiet, she gets…

Peace and quiet.

My old classroom used to have this whiteboard that once in a while would glitch out. I would stand there in front of my students, stewing in frustration, until they reminded me that it simply needed to be recalibrated. There was always a student that enjoyed grabbing the pointer, and tapping on the “X’s” until the screen functioned smoothly again.

Recalibration.

We all have different kinds of getaways. Luxury getaways, family getaways, girl or boy getaways. My favorite are writing/work getaways.

When I start feeling anxious and overworked, I pick something far out in the boonies, something in the woods with a fireplace. I pack minimally and for a few days experience stillness and silence. I meditate and work and think far away from nonsense, pettiness, people and distractions, and ostensibly return home recalibrated, calmer and happier. I try not to watch television on these trips, but on this past weekend, I binge-watched some “Seinfeld.” I love writing dialogue, and “Seinfeld” is a great thing to watch for timing and pithy.

(Jerry and George in L.A. looking for Kramer. Jerry is on pay phone, trying to tell the L.A. police where they are.

George asks a passerby: “Excuse me, where are we?”

Passerby: “Earth.”)

I make sure not to pack much on recalibration trips. Minimalism is key. Sweatpants and a pair of hiking tights. A couple of t-shirts and a hoodie. Fleece-lined clogs. Eggs, salad makings. and blueberries. Yogurt, and a bottle Mark West. One jug filtered water. My French press (which goes with me everywhere), and a bag of high-quality ground coffee. I throw in my small speaker, laptop, notebooks, pens, books and toiletries.

Voila.

On my last day, it brings me great satisfaction to see that all of my clothes are dirty, the food gone, wine consumed, and work completed. No superfluous food or clothing goes back with me, if possible. Upon my return, there is a feeling of completeness. Anxiety gone, irritation dissipated.

Recalibration. Try it, you might like it.

‘Cation Fams

There was a Pool Family at the resort where I stayed this past week. There’s always at least one Pool Family at any resort.

Pool Families go on vacation just to sit by the resort pool and swim. They set up their spots at 7:30 a.m. so as to get the chairs they want, and by 9:00 a.m., they are Pool Royalty. They wield things like swan-shaped floaties and donut-encrusted tubes into the water, and by the second or third day, they are so experienced that they are informing other pool guests where they can get smoothies, how cold the water is, and whether the hot tub is working. Kids of Pool Families always wear neon green and goggles, brandish pool noodles, and scream. A lot. Siblings play pool games, and say things to each other like, “Eva, you have to watch me swim to the ladder, and if I don’t make it in thirty seconds, make me swim twenty laps! Eva! Eva! EVA!!!!!!!” Pool Family eats lunch under a table with an umbrella, usually things like Uncrustables and Cheez Doodles and apple slices. Mom never goes into the water because she is busy ignoring her kids and playing on her phone for eight hours straight, and doesn’t want to mess up her blow-out. When Dad goes into the water, he is fun at first and acts like a sea monster until Cody starts playing too rough. Then he yells something like, “Too rough, Cody, too rough, ow!!!! Stop!!! I mean it, stop!!!!”

(I liked this pool family, even though the kids were loud and dressed like Kermit the Frog. Best line I overhead from Mom:

Eva: C’mon Cody, let’s have a diving contest, Mom is going to be the judge!”

Mom: (Swigging her drink and not missing a beat): “No, she’s not.”

I laughed out loud because it sounded like something I would say.

Best line from Dad:

(Dad floating around the pool with Eva and Cody all over him, and kids start calling him Daddy Sea Monster. He capsizes his floatie, gets out of the pool, and says):

“Yeah, well, Daddy Sea Monster needs to make reservations for dinner and drinks, because his Sea Children are annoying as hell, and ate all of his sandwiches.”

Beach families: They are the same as Pool families, just better dressed, and instead of pool noodles, they have boogie boards and snorkel masks. Beach families, like Pool families, go on vacation to sit on the beach, and do nothing else.

Resort families: These families are super fun, and work hard to utilize every single amenity at the resort. At any given time, you can see them doing the Hokey-Pokey at the activity center, playing with the oversized chess set, going to Family Game Night, and making S’mores at the firepit after dinner. They join every contest, and work really hard to win. Their kids are eternally walking around with Virgin Coladas, oblivious to the scowling bartenders who are forced to blend them.

Boat families: Everything must take place on a boat. Boat Families snorkel, scuba dive, fish, wakeboard, and whale-watch off of boats. Dad makes sure everyone within hearing distance hears him say he owns his own boat, so he doesn’t need a Captain. After they return from their day of boating activities, everyone must hear about what they did, because boat activities are so much more fun than other activities.

Park families: Mom and Dad have been planning this trip to Disney their entire lives. They have taken classes to learn how to get around long lines and extra expenses. They stay at hotels where they are picked up at 7:00 a.m., and dropped off at 10:00 p.m. They are all dressed thematically, and Dad doesn’t care how tired anyone is, or how nice sitting by the pool sounds, because “we are getting our money’s worth. Besides, fireworks don’t go off until 10:00.” When the kids complain, he suggests they take a quick nap in the street.

And finally:

Off-the-Grid families: The only time you see them is in the morning when they are talking to the concierge. They look very intense, the children included, and do things like zip-lining, swimming with the dolphins, Moto-cross, go-karts, and survival mazes. The children are always clutching on-the-go food like drinkable yogurt and granola bars, and they are all wearing expensive active wear and treaded sneakers. Mom and Dad have daypacks over their shoulders, and each kid has his own hydroflask with cool stickers that announce all of the places they have been.

I suggest a reality television show where families arrive at a resort, and get a colored-card that indicates what kind of family they will be. Throughout the week, scores are given based on the amount of whining the kids did, the number of times Dad lost his temper, and how much Mom drank. The family with the lowest score wins.

Peace out, have a great weekend!

Hey Boo

sea plane wing in Alaska

One thing I seem to have forgotten in my time away is how to avoid the knob that protrudes from the vanity in the bathroom. I gave myself a nice thigh bruise on that a few minutes ago.

I’m thinking I’ll have to relearn some things that used to make sense to the old Me but no longer make sense to the new Me. If you have ever been on a life-changing journey with life-changing people, you may get this. I refer here not to a trip to the Disney parks or one spent sitting on the beach, but one in which the experience caused your cells to rearrange and form a different You. And it is up to this new You to figure out how to fit comfortably into your old life.

Not an easy task.

I love the travel metaphor of rearranging cells to form a new person, but I’m not feeling literary quite yet. I have about 100 pages of notes to transcribe, and domestic mundanity to address. The most immediate things that occur to me right now, my first full day back from Alaska, are:

  • It is raining out, and I don’t have to stand in it, walk in it, or plan what to wear in it.
  • I have errands to run, and I don’t have to board a bush plane to get there.
  • I don’t have to wear hiking boots.
  • I don’t have to eat a sandwich in the dirt.
  • I don’t have to ride on a van.
  • I don’t have to eat dinner at 9:00 p.m.
  • It gets dark at night.
  • I can buy a bottle of water in Wawa.

Don’t misunderstand. I’d move to Alaska in a hot second. I’d move there tomorrow. I mean, the vistas. The animals. The air. The men. Yeah, I could live there. More on that.

For now, I’m just glad to be home. When you travel with a company, you do what you’re told, and I’m really glad to be done with 9 p.m. dinners. Then we’d go to bed right after, the food just sort of hanging around in my core until the next morning, when I would be forced to eat again. Yeah, I said forced, and I’m sticking with it. When you adventure travel, you damn well better eat what they’re giving you when they give it to you, or you will get hungry at a time no one else is and when no food is available. And if the activity is strenuous, now you have no fuel in your body.

If they tell you to eat, you eat.

This stuck with us even on the flight(s) home. Since we had lost all track of time as a concept, when we were handed a taco salad at 2:00 a.m., we looked at each other and just sort of nodded. Sure, what the hell, we thought. Makes sense. Bring it on.

I have some work to do. I have to get back to my former state of hydration. My travel friends and I like to call what happens during adventure travel “wheat head.” No matter what lengths you take to stay hydrated, by the end of the week your face looks like you’ve been sucking on a helium tank. The pictures taken of me boarding the bush plane for camp compared to the ones taken of me on the glacier hike looks like before and after pictures of someone on prednisone.

Yep, lots of work to do.

I’m especially looking forward to grocery shopping today. Silly, right? Picking out fresh vegetables, taking my time poring over water cracker flavors, buying milk. It’s going to be the highlight of my day. Let me get to it.

Yeah. It’s nice to be home. For now.

Homer

Visiting Homer, Alaska today. Homer is known for its Spit (not the gross kind) and its halibut. The fog that prevented us from departing Bear Camp earlier this week has drastically reduced the time we can spend in Homer, which is a bummer because Homer is also known for its cool restaurants, breweries and shops, most of which we won’t get to visit. But we have a plan of attack, and hope to get a small taste.

My flight is late tonight, readers, so a post tomorrow will not be logistically possible. Around the time you usually read my blog, I will be searching for my car in the Philadelphia Airport Marriott parking lot. I have an idea of where it is, and I took a picture of the space. I was informed, however, that what I took a picture of wasn’t the space number, but the beam number from the steel factory.

“Excuse me, can you help me find my car? It’s steel beam number A17.”

Dear lord.

Me and Alaska ain’t over. When I left the Canadian Rockies, I knew we would never see each other again. I leave some places, and know I’ve seen enough. But not Alaska. I’ve only scratched the surface. I still have to see Juneau, Sitka, Nome, and Fairbanks. I want to see the Northern Lights from here, and the start of the Iditarod.

Farewell, Alaska, I’ll be back. And readers, if you haven’t grown impatient with my lack of posting, and will be kind enough to pick it up where we left off come this Wednesday, you have my undying gratitude.

Healy

Healy

(Readers, I will be off the grid from Wednesday-Friday with no WIFI or cell phone range. I will be posting on Saturday and Sunday briefly, if you’re interested. No blog on Memorial Day Monday and back to well, normal, on Tuesday).

About 11 miles north of Denali National Park, there is a respite. A breather.

Healy is a small year-round town that sponsors many of the tours offered in Denali- ATV adventures, rafting adventures, and flying adventures among many others. What drew us to Healy, however, was something quite different.

(Beer. She probably means beer)

Fine, we wanted to go have a drink after our eight-hour sojourn into Denali National Park, but not a drink just anywhere. Our Denali guide Justin recommended highly The 49th State Brewing Company, not only for its funky cool vibe, awesome menu and great location, but also because it houses on its grounds the iconic Into the Wild bus where Christopher McCandless died in 1992.

Now, I’ve read and taught this book by Jon Krakhauer dozens of times and can recite the dialogue from the movie. Jon Krakhauer is one of my favorite adventure writers, and I’ve always dreamed of walking the muddy 20-mile Stampede Trail that McCandless so famously put on the map. So you can imagine my excitement that I was about to not only see the bus, but to also be given permission to walk around in it and take pictures in front of it.

Be warned: This bus is only a replica, not the actual bus McCandless used. That bus was removed and airlifted by a Chinook helicopter onto a flatbed truck last year, and delivered to the University of Alaska so it can be preserved and refurbished and one day placed in a museum. Let us never forget that it is where McCandless died, so the bus itself is sacred to his family, especially to his sister Carine. It turns out people were making pilgrimages to the bus to pay their respects to McCandless, and were drowning and dying in their attempts to reach it. In a museum, it can be visited respectfully and safely by all.

Justin was right, dinner and drinks were awesome. We sat on a packed deck listening to good music in blazing 80-degree sunshine, drinking mojitos and eating chopped salads- we could have been in Key West except for the serious looking groups shedding crampons while waiting in line at the hostess station.

The place does McCandless proud. The people visiting it were his kind of people- kind, strong, down-to-earth. I posed for a picture in front of the bus in the same pose he used for his last self-portrait before he perished. It seemed cheesy, maybe even disrespectful, but Chris had a great sense of humor, so I don’t think he would have minded. The inside looks just like it is described in the book, and the replica bus even has a line of printed journal entries McCandless made in his last weeks.

Healy. Worth the trip.

Talkeetna

(The immensity of Alaska prevents me from thinking about anything other than the immensity of Alaska. My musings on Alaska this week will be brief, since magazines do not accept published archived blog posts as submissions. Thanks for your patience this week).

I was digging through a small bowl of stickers in an quirky little souvenir shop in Talkeetna, Alaska, and I had five stickers in my hand to buy. All the stickers announced the greatness of Talkeetna, Denali, the wild, or Alaska. I came to the bottom of this big white bowl and picked up a small white sticker. I turned it over, and hand to God, as I stood in this obscure little shop in a town that voted a cat in as their mayor, in my hand was a sticker of a lifeguard boat and the words “Ocean City, New Jersey.”

I traveled 5,000 miles. I boarded four planes, two cars, one shuttle, a boat and a bus to get here. And there was OC, staring me in the face. You can’t make this stuff up.

You can read about Talkeetna, but if you want to understand it, you have to go there. It has one of the best views of Denali in the area. It’s a “grab a beer” spot for serious mountaineers returning from “the high one.” You can spot these dudes easily, they’re the really tan intense-looking ones. No trip to Alaska is complete without a visit to Talkeetna. Here are five highlights:

  1. Nagley’s Store. Novelties, toiletries. It’s iconic, and a must-see.
  2. Shirley’s Homemade Ice Cream. Toasted Coconut. Two scoops.
  3. Denali view. Walk to the end of Main Street, look to the right, and if it’s clear enough, there will be Denali Mountain in all its glory.
  4. Talkeetna Gifts and Collectibles. Three floors of everything your heart desires. We spent an hour in there.
  5. Denali Brewpub. We had blueberry mojitos and the best fish and chips ever. Great deck to sit and bask in the sun and watch the mountaineers, guides and climbers come down from the mountain and the rivers.

Hard Corners

“What guided me there was a deep, unreasoning love of an idea, a place I’d never seen; a land far beyond roads…don’t ask me where it came from. I suppose I was born with the notion and honed it as I went. I didn’t want to just live in such a place; I wanted to meet and know it on its own inscrutable, uncaring terms.” –Nick Jans, June 2021 edition of Alaska magazine

Watching and critiquing surfing documentaries is a long standing family tradition.

When the boys were young, everything was sports and surfing, and in the summer, mostly surfing. After their day’s surfing, they would settle in with snacks and juice, and watch documentaries featuring famed surf spots they dreamed of seeing: Waimea. Pipeline. Mavericks. Teahupo’o (CHO’ Poo). Cortes Bank. Dungeons. Ghost Tree. Pe’ahi. They watched these films, over and over, until they could recite the dialogue.

Bruce Brown’s “Endless Summer,” of course.

“Stepping into Liquid,” directed by Bruce Brown’s son, Dana.

2002’s “Dark Fall,” featuring their beloved Jersey waves.

“Bustin’ Down the Door,” with a cameo by John John, who along with Kelly and Rob was our in-house surfing celebrity since the first day they saw his ten-year old tow head in Surfer magazine.

They just recently vegged out in front of “Momentum Generation,” featuring all of their childhood favorites: Kelly Slater, Rob Machado, Shane Dorian, Taylor Knox, Kalani Robb, Ross Williams, Taylor Steele and Pat O’Connell. They let me join them for the viewing, and it was an honor. I mean, surfing has always been their thing with their father, something I have never “understood,” although as little boys they “let” me drive them to surf competitions. They just spent the fall semester of 2020 at the North Shore, also an experience I will obviously never truly “understand.” And that’s fine.

Man, I’m digressing. Let me get to my point: Alaska. But one more surfing reference first.

The documentary “Riding Giants” was another favorite of ours, although it has been said by surfing purists that being towed into big waves is not real surfing. It looks like surfing to me, but what do I know? The boys remind me all the time: Nothing.

So there is this scene at the end of “Riding Giants” where Laird Hamilton gets this big ride at Teahupo’o, this epic life-changing ride. And at the end of the scene he describes how the magnanimity of the ride, the significance of it, softened some hard corners in his life. Aw hell, here’s the dang video:

Greg Noll. Gulp.

I know this is what Alaska will do for me. I know it just like I know the sun will come up tomorrow. I know it the way I know Alaska has a civil twilight, bears and salmon. I have been waiting to immerse myself in the Alaskan wilderness ever since I was a little girl flipping through National Geographic magazines and Sierra Club books.

“One day that will be me,” I vowed.

That day is tomorrow. I haven’t even been able to sleep.

I know that Alaska is going to soften the remainder of my hard corners, whichever ones Iceland missed. The thought is terrifying, because hard corners protect one from getting knocked around, for goodness sakes. I’m not sure I’m ready to be that vulnerable. But hey, I’m in for whatever Alaska has in store for me. Wish me luck.

Note: I don’t know the WIFI situation yet where I am going. If I can post, I will post. If you don’t see a post, you’ll know I’m so far off the grid that I can’t. But part of my trip is glamping, so I’m sure I’ll be able to post most days. I’m going to take the next two Mondays off, if you don’t mind, to acclimate and appreciate. So no posts this Monday or Memorial Day Monday. Enjoy your holidays, your families and your newfound freedom, in whatever form it takes. Celebrate your life, you deserve it.

Vacation You

(Getting ready for a biiiiiiiiig trip next week, and while perusing my travel journal for packing lists, I found some old notes I had intended to use for a future blog. Here it is).

Who you are as a person before and after a vacation are two very different people. Let’s break it down.

FOOD AND DRINK:

Vacation You, Waiting for Your Flight at the Airport:

  • “$12.00 pina coladas at 9:00 a.m.? YES! And keep ‘em coming!”
  • “We’ll take four orders of the dim sum, please, at 50 bucks a pop.”
  • “This Voss water is so worth the eight bucks, the mouthfeel is amazing!”
  • (To kids, who cheer): “MORE OF EVERYTHING!”

Going Home You, in the Airport:

  • “I’m gonna fill this empty Voss bottle at the water fountain, hon, brb.”
  • “$1.20 for a piece of pizza and a drink? Highway robbery. Our flight is only 12 hours, there’s food at home.”
  • (To kids, who boo): “You’ll get nothing and like it.”

Vacation You, at the Resort:

  • “Order anything you want off the menu, folks!”
  • “We’re on vacation, you only live once!”
  • “Charge those $12 bar smoothies to the room, kids!”

Going Home You, Last Day at the Resort:

  • “Breakfast for dinner tonight!!” (Throws a box of Poptarts at children)
  • “The next thing you miscreants charge onto the room, it’s coming out of your college fund. You think money grows on trees just because we’re on vacation?”

TIPPING:

Vacation You:

  • Throws out five-dollar bills to shuttle drivers, bartenders and concierges, like Lloyd and Harry in “Dumb and Dumber”- “Here ya go. Here ya go. Here ya go.”
  • Leaves 40% tip at dinner, says quietly to spouse: “The waitress was good. Attentive.”

Going Home You:

  • “She kind of had an attitude when I was joking around with her, and she was slow with dessert. No way I’m leaving 20%.”
  • “I mean, did he really do that much to deserve five bucks a bag?”

ACTIVITY:

Vacation You:

  • (Kids and spouse wake at 9:00 a.m.): “Hey, good afternoon, I’ve been up since 5. I already got a workout in, had breakfast, took a hike, went fishing, wrestled a crocodile, grabbed a shower, and booked three tours.”
  • “Hey, there’s a Tabata class at dawn!”
  • “Ziplining at sunset, anyone?”
  • “No, let’s leave the car and walk, that’s what we’re here for, to enjoy the scenery and fresh air!”
  • “Hey, there’s a quarter mile hiking loop that goes around the resort!”
  • “The snowmobile tour is only $300 bucks a person!”

Going Home You:

  • “I’ll be at the pool, drinking early.”
  • “Want to start drinking early?”
  • “Interested in sunset cocktails on the patio tonight? Early?”
  • “Let’s Uber and do a bar crawl.”
  • “The clubhouse is HOW far? Oh, HELL naw.”
  • “$300.00??? To go snowmobiling? Do I get to take the snowmobile home for that price???”

One Little Bench

empty bench overlooking water

At the writing of this, I am sitting on my lanai drinking an espresso, and I’m staring at a bench.

It’s a sweet little metal bench in a patch of shade, overlooking the stables and sitting alongside the heated spa pool. As far as I can tell no one has sat in it during my entire stay, and unlike the garden lunch tables, the pool loungers and the deck chaises, this little bench doesn’t seem to be up for grabs. No one is vying for it, there’s no line to wait in to sit in it, and you don’t have to put your name on a list to experience what it’s like.

My kind of bench.

I intend to sit in it before I leave, just to see what the property looks like from the perspective of that little unassuming bench.  

(Note: That little bench allowed me to see the equestrian staff grooming the horses. The spa guests lolling by the outdoor pool. The bridesmaid party enjoying lunch.)

On Friday morning, I’ll be lolling around the mahogany-paneled library in one of the overstuffed leather chairs in front of the fireplace. I want to sit in the library before I get on the road. The library has been, believe it or not, filled since my arrival with heads of state and owners of major corporations. Serious brandy-nursing gray-haired older men in expensive riding boots have been commandeering it all week, discussing hedge funds and illiquid assets in their serious voices. But I’m hoping that at 7:00 a.m. it will be relatively empty, and I can enjoy that room.

I want to see what they see.

I have sat in many chairs during my week here- backyard deck chairs, kitchen counter stools, a leather sectional. A heated stone chair in the spa, a pool lounger, and so many Adirondack chairs at so many wineries and breweries that I’ve lost count. Metal chairs surrounding a trattoria table, linen-covered chairs in an upscale lunch spot, and tree-stump chairs at an outside wine-tasting venue.

But it has been the out of the way chairs scattered about the property that have piqued my interest the most. When I travel, I don’t scout out these sitting areas on properties and in airports for comfort, I scout them out for perspective. To see if they offer a view of the property I may not have enjoyed yet. I bring my writing notebook, sit in those areas, and jot down things that occur to me as I consider the view.

Just like chairs, travel allows me to see a view of the world outside my own familiar line of sight. By Friday I will have been here for only five days, but I have reached peace and closure on things that were troubling me. Things that seemed so important to me on Monday don’t now. Issues that were keeping me from falling asleep easily aren’t now. Because the perspective of travel has once again solved my problems. And even if the perceived solution is only temporary, it doesn’t matter. Even if the same problems smack me in the face the second I walk in the door, the perspective I bring back will not leave me. Much like the French lavender soap I purchased from the spa will upon arrival home remind me of my enjoyable spa treatment, so will the perspective I gained from my different seating areas stay with me as well.

I try not to always travel to destinations where people are similar to me, because I like to see myself through different eyes. It’s like always looking in the same mirrors at home. You look in the bathroom mirror, then the full-length mirror in your room. Not bad, you think. You look in the gym mirror, the one in your favorite pub, and think, Not bad. You end the day and go to bed thinking you know what you look like. But when you travel, there is a whole new set of mirrors in which your reflection reminds you:

You’re not who you think you are, honey. Especially not in this light.

It can be tricky to deliberately choose to see yourself differently. But it’s important to remember what a small part of this vast world one person is. What we do matters, and the space we take up is significant, yes. But in the scheme of things, travel reminds us that we have many different reflections, and that there are so many different views.

Sometimes all it takes is one little bench. So see you on the flip side.