Why I'm Quitting My Job

1.  I feel like it!  I'm doing this all on intuition and from a place of pure joy.

Joy!

2.  One day I will die.  I intend to live the life I want to live.  Fully.

3.  Funny how I never thought I'd leave when I was digging my job, which I am for the most part.  I love my students.  I like the vibrancy of the campus.  I enjoy the classes I teach.  It just feels like time.  And how fabulous to be leaving not out of rejecting the old but through embracing the new!

4.  Maybe it feels like time because I have been in academia for 46 years doing thus in this order: Preschool, elementary, middle school, high school, B.A., teaching credential, student teacher, high school teacher, learning center tutor and administrator, M.A., Teaching Assistant, Lecturer in English and Education, student teaching mentor, English teacher in Japan, instructor at two community colleges, Ph.D., educational researcher, Assistant Professor in Education, MFA in creative writing, lecturer of English and Creative Writing.  It's been a beautiful ride.

What retirement can look like...when you're on Jam Cruise.

5.  Technically, I'm retiring.  I became eligible when I hit 50 last November.  Although I've never made much money as a teacher, I've had excellent medical benefits that will continue on in retirement. I can make money doing other things without losing those benefits.

6.  Of course I'm not retiring in the classic sense.  I'm moving onto the next part of the journey.  By opening up the space and time, all other kinds of fabulous possibilities will flow my way.  I'm already exploring some ideas--such as creating yoga and writing retreats in Maui and Santa Cruz.

Going with the flow...and enjoying anticipating what'll come 'round the next bend.

7.   I want to read every winner and finalist of the National Book Award, the Pulitzer, the Orange Prize, and the Nobel Prize. I've always read a lot, and most of my life I've read with this in mind:  how will we discuss this book in class?  It will be quite the experiment to read extensively without that disposition constantly churning in the back of my mind.

8.  I want to write.  I want to finish a book I've been working on for a while, and begin several others.  I want to expand this blog, my website, and my "Ask Dr. Kate" column.

Getting crazy with friends on the streets of New Orleans during winter break this year.

9.  I want to travel any time of the year.  I haven't gone on a long trip in fall or spring my whole life!  I want to continue to explore new places with Dave.  He'll take pictures, and I'll write.  We started journeying together more than three years ago--and in our new life configuration, the world is the limit. 


10.  But first, as soon as I've turned in the last grades of the semester--and perhaps ever--I'm going to open myself up to deep listening.  I'll put my ear to the shell of the world, to drink in the new, sweet sounds.  Sounds of being.  Sounds of possibility.

Other Mother

I was a deer-in-the-headlights graduate student in my late twenties when I first met Gabriele Rico.  She walked into the classroom the epitome of grace.  And then, over the course of that semester and years to come, she became my mentor, my friend, and my other-mother.

Gabriele when I first met her--in her early 50s (about the age I am now)

Her work on creativity was intellectual and profoundly intuitive.  She seduced me!  Because of her, I fell in love with literature, language, writing, and teaching.  She prompted me to honor--and really see--the amazement of my own creative possibilities.

Gabriele developed "clustering."  This book changed lives.

Gabriele invited me into her home to work with her on writing projects.  I remember looking at her life and thinking, this is what I want.  A life filled with people who thrived on creativity.  A home inspired by art, and infused with books and plants and love.  And flexibility of time:  to teach, to mentor, to write, to travel, to exercise the body and mind. 

And truly:  this is who I've become.  Gabriele is woven into the fabric of my life.

Gabriele has always been open to change and growth.  In her 50s and 60s, she learned to wind surf, to rock climb, to snorkel--and she became a true yogini.  She stretched herself physically, mentally, emotionally.  She led creativity workshops all over the world.  She traveled to more and more exotic places.  And when she was diagnosed with life-threatening cancer eight months ago--at the age of 75--she dubbed the experience an adventure.

With Simone, Gabriele's youngest daughter; check out the bracelets!

When I visited with her today, in spite of the pain medications she's on, she was still her loving, funny, astute self.  Two of her three daughters were there.  In the midst of a hug, she called me her "sixth daughter."  I said, "Wait a minute, I thought I was the fourth!"  And she laughed.  Her daughter Suzanne (who has written a lot about about her family's journeys) said, "There are at least a hundred daughters."  Now there's a legacy. 

One thing I come to expect being around Gabriele is that nothing is a surprise.  There are always serendipities that arise--"coincidences" that are a given when Gabriele is around.  Today's was this:  I was wearing a bracelet my long-time friend gave me last year on my wedding day.  It has a bead on it that looks like a blue eye.  Simone was wearing a bracelet also given to her by an old friend; it incorporated the exact same bead.  Simone said the bead wards off the evil eye.

 

Today I realized that Gabriele is the one person in my life who has always seen most clearly the veil between this world and the next. In fact, it's not even a veil for her.  It's a continuum.  As she once wrote:

"When human beings grow creatively, they learn to  step out of categories such as 'either/or' and begin to see the world in terms of 'both/and.'"

Here's the both/and of the situation:  Gabriele is dying, and Gabriele is living. Gabriele will be gone but she'll always be here. I know I will continue to learn from her throughout the rest of my days.

First Love

When I was little, my mom used to read to me at night.  Teeth brushed, pjs on, I’d nestle in, sitting up under the covers, leaning against pillows.  She’d sit next to me on my bed holding the left side of the book, and I’d hold the right.  When she paused, I knew it was time to turn the page.

Mother and Child Reading (Frederick Warren Freer, ca. 1896)

One night, when I was four, she sat next to me as usual, but this time I began to read to her.  She said it was like that:  suddenly, I was reading.  She thought maybe my older sister taught me.  Or that I picked it up by osmosis as she read to me each night.

I don't remember being suddenly able to read—nor do I remember not knowing how to read.  I do recall trying to sound out words I didn’t recognize.  I have a vivid memory of staring at all the board games stacked at the top of my parents’ closet trying to sound out a very long word printed in bold red:  “Mo-no.  Po-ly.” 

My out-of-the-blue literacy delighted my mom.  She loved books, and she believed in the power of an education.  She took my sister and me to the library every week, where we could choose whatever books we wanted to check out.  It was miraculous being able to take all those books home.  The heavy stacks fatigued my arms on the way out to the car and impressed dents in my hands and forearms.  Those books had a musty smell that somehow made me feel like they held magic spells.  I remember wondering how all those words and pictures got put onto the paper, how the thick paper used for the covers was made, and how someone devised a story that made me want to turn the page. 

At age three, I started preschool.  This was the early 1960s when free preschools were proliferating all over the nation.  I remember nap time on the floor with a scratchy wool blanket (like the dark grey Navy blankets of my dad’s from the mysterious pre-me years he was a sailor).  I remember the teacher handing me a graham cracker, and wishing for two—so I broke it in half along the seam and forced myself to eat more slowly than I wanted to.  I didn’t like having no more graham cracker while other kids were still crunching away.  

popsicle art

I remember aromatic, chunky paste and how unwieldy certain art projects could be, especially ones involving popsicle sticks, construction paper, and glitter.  I always rushed through those and other tasks so I could go over to the bookshelves and grab some books or a fat crayon and sturdy paper.  I’d print out words, using the help of the alphabet displayed over the blackboard.

before computers

In third grade, my teacher—Mrs. Broadwell—wrote a six-page report card to my parents, rhapsodizing about how one day I was sure to be a writer.  I was so proud to bring home such a long report card, written in Mrs. Broadwell’s  loopy cursive, redolent of the acrid smell of ditto ink.  In the living room, my mom read it aloud to my dad.  They both expressed approval of me as such a good student.  But I could tell Mrs. Broadwell’s passion was a little embarrassing for my mom.  With a half-smile, she said, “Well, I could certainly imagine her being able to say the same thing in fewer pages.”  Dad laughed.  Deep down, I was shocked.  Why did my parents think they had the authority to question or make fun of a teacher?

I adored Mrs. Broadwell.  Although at first, I’d been scared of her.  She was a large woman—as “broad as a well.”  With her patterned dresses and big dark hairdo, she vaguely reminded me of an imposing couch, or maybe a rhinoceros.  The first day of class, she held up a red apple for us to see.  She then proceeded to twist it until it broke in half, like an apple cut by a knife.

Yes, bare-handed.

When we came in from recess, she’d inspect our ears and neck for dirt.  The offending children—almost always boys—she’d scrub with such vigour that their skin would turn red.  I had a crush on Joey, one boy who cowered under Mrs. Broadwell’s bruising washcloth at least once a week.  He had freckles and ears that stuck out (thus probably good dirt-catchers).  He would pull out his teeth before they were loose enough so that he’d have to hold a paper towel up to his mouth all day to stop the bleeding.  I got a little zip up my body every time I’d sit next to him, and the attraction made no sense at all.  Especially since he’d really bug me during reading time because he’d squirm or bang his legs against his desk until Mrs. Broadwell would bark out his name.  

I loved when Mrs. Broadwell would read to us.  She’d perch on a stool next to her desk in front of the class.  Her thighs spread out on the round seat, hitching her skirt up enough so that we could see a hint of girdle.  When she read, the story lived in my head like a movie.  She was always done too soon.

One day she wrote this word on the board:

level  

Just that single word.  Then she said to us, “What do you notice about this word?”

magic words

We looked at the word.  We looked at her.  She stood there, her dress like a brocade sofa cover.  No one said anything.

“Lisa,” she said to a girl in the front row, “spell ‘level’ for us.”

As Lisa said L-E-V-E-L, Mrs. Broadwell tapped each letter with her ruler.

“Now, Nancy, spell it backwards.”

As Nancy did, it dawned on all of us:  This word was spelled the same forward as backward!

“Can you think of any other words that are spelled the same forward and backward?” asked Mrs. Broadwell.

“Mom!”  shouted someone.  She wrote it on the board.  “Dad!”  She wrote that.  Students shouted out a few more easy ones:  “Eye.”  “Bob.”  “Gag.”  “Pep.”  “Tot.”

Then she wrote on the board with the flair of squeaky chalk:  

Racecar

awesome

I had to spell it backward in my mind to make sure it was right.  All the straight “l’s” in level made that one more obvious.  But yes!  “Racecar” was the same each direction.  I already knew words were amazing.  I loved the sound of certain words even if I didn’t know or care about the meaning.  Or sometimes the word sounded like its meaning:  “luscious,” “precious,” “invisible.”  “beautiful.”  But words spelled the same forward and backward?  This opened up a whole new world of possibilities.

Mrs. Broadwell wasn’t done.  Next she wrote:  

A man, a plan, a canal—Panama.  

It took our eyes a moment.  A chirp emanated throughout the desk rows:  Wow!  A whole SENTENCE could be a palindrome.

She still wasn’t finished:

Don’t nod.

Do geese see God?

Never odd or even.

A thrill trilled from my toes up my back, tickling my skin all over.  A rush that felt like the sensation of sitting next to Joey.  Desire.  Bodies and language.  Even at age eight, I felt the possibilities sing.

A True Freedom

Look what I have:  A set of great new CDs to listen to as our friend Craig chauffeurs us on a wine-tasting adventure. 

Live Tedeschi Trucks Band...a GREAT CD!

This was the start of my 50th birthday celebration in November--four days secretly planned out by Dave.

What a great tradition that's taken hold in our three years together:  We create a birthday adventure for the other person. An adventure that we enjoy together.

First stop.

This year's was not only a celebration of my entering a new decade but also of the Mother Lode region of our beloved California.  We started by going to seven (yes, seven!) wineries in Amador County, east of Sacramento.

It's like old Napa there--mainly small, independent wineries; lots of personal attention from the staff; and no charge for wine tasting.

 And, oh yeah, it's beautiful.

Lookin' cool in hard hats.  The equipment is half the fun of ziplining.

Who knew there was a zipline in the middle of the state?  In three years we've ziplined in Alaska, the Santa Cruz mountains, and in Hawaii.  So why not another?  This is just one line, but fast and long--quite impressive!

Mother-Daughter masseuse team

After ziplining, we had a couples massage in the Gold Rush town of Murphy's. 

We spent that night in another Gold Rush town:  Angel's Camp.  I hadn't been there since I was a 17-year-old boogeying to the Doobie Brothers, Toto, and Huey Lewis at Mountain Aire Music Festival.

Moutain Aire 1980, with my friend Nancy

Angel's Camp is a charming one-strip Gold Rush town with a fantastic B&B called Cooper House.

Super Duper Cooper House

Cooper House used to be the home and medical practice of a Gold Rush-era doctor.  It's now owned by Rob and Tey who, in Rob's words, "want it to feel like the home of a relative you've never met before."

Cozy at Cooper House

I'd say it feels like the home of a relative who has great taste.  Tey used to work for Gumps in San Francisco.  He spent years collecting the furnishings that B&B guests now enjoy.  The breakfast was yummy, and round-the-clock you can help yourself to coffee, tea, and wine in the shared living space--where we also enjoyed relaxation and conversation with a Danish family. 

The next day we went here:

Yosemite Valley, with Half Dome in the distance.

Yosemite.  Jewel of California.  It'd been years since I'd been there, but it holds a special place in my heart because it's where my parents met.

Mom and Dad in the late 1970s/early 1980s.

In the 1950s, my mom (who died this year) was a nurse there.  Dad worked there as a tour bus driver one summer during his break from Chico State.  They loved Yosemite.  We spent several vacations there, and once they took us for dinner at the Ahwahnee.

That's where Dave and I had dinner that night, in the stunning Ahwahnee dining room.  Our server told us she's worked at the park for 30 years...and she's only 15th in seniority.  Sounds like some people visit Yosemite and never leave.  I get it.  There's a mystic pull to the place, with its ancient granitic presence.

View of Upper Yosemite Falls from the window of our Ahwahnee suite.

I can't describe Yosemite any better than did Ansel Adams when he said: “Yosemite Valley, to me, is always a sunrise, a glitter of green and golden wonder in a vast edifice of stone and space.”

We discovered that Thanksgiving weekend is a great place to visit Yosemite.  The air is crystalline, and the people spare.  Few tourists:  that's rare in Yosemite.  So not only do you get to take popular hikes in virtual solitude, but the staff has time to give you special attention.  In our case, that mean a free upgrade to a suite!

The Library Suite:  Suh-weet!

The morning of my birthday, I luxuriated in opening presents before the fire and eating the most delicious room service breakfast we'd ever had.

View from living room window of the suite.

The Library Suite offers an old-fashioned sense of luxury, with leaded glass windows, golden wood paneling, and books galore.

On our hike that day we saw dozens of nearly-tame deer who all but posed for pictures.

I kept thinking about how grateful I am that our government has protected some of the most life-giving, eternal features of our country.

My 50th year is a hallmark in my life, but a drop in the stream of eternity.  On this trip, my past ghosted through my present.  I stared at Half Dome and thought of my parents, and of the man in my life who loves this world, and me.

I felt both the grandness and the infinitesimal qualities of being human.   As John Muir once wrote, in nature "life seems neither long nor short, and we take no more heed to save time or make haste than do the trees and stars. This is true freedom, a good practical sort of immortality."

A Year to Remember

Hawaiian sunset vows

This has been a watershed year, my 50th. I'm grateful I was able to spend hours with Mom--snuggling with her, listening to Hawaiian music, and telling her funny and loving stories--before she released into the great beyond. 

Looking very Brady:  Mom, sister Ann, me, sister Crystal, early 1970s.  (Mom made all these clothes.)

I'm grateful for the communal rituals that celebrate love and human connection: from Mom's Celebration of Life, to live concerts and birthday parties, to weddings. I was the bride at one wedding this year, and the officiant at another.

Dave with women of the wedding, an impromptu bachelor party (albeit a few hours late).

I'm grateful I married Dave, a true partner in life. I'm grateful for all of our incredible adventures with family and friends throughout California, Mexico, and Hawaii. (A shout-out to my sisters: you're the best!)

Atop the Pyramid of the Sun in Mexico, with Paul.

It was one year ago this month that we moved to Santa Cruz. Living in this jewel of a place has added extra sparkle to our lives.

With friends a few blocks from our house.

I'm grateful for my colleagues and my students, from whom I learn so much. I'm grateful for art, literature, and writing. This year I joined a fantastic writing group that's supporting my efforts at my next book, and I started my "Ask Dr. Kate" column.
 

Skiing last week with good friends Matt, Stacey and twins Cole & Wyatt.  (Stacey and I have been buds for 20 years.)

My New Year's Resolution last year was to do something new every day. As of today I have fulfilled that resolution. In fact, it's become so second nature to say YES that most days I do a bunch of new things. 

Zip-lining on my 50th birthday extravaganza.

I feel like I'm finally getting the hang of embracing life. Here's to relishing the moment and being excited for the future. Happy Holidays, everyone!

Fountain of Youth

Dear Dr. Kate,

I would like to know where you found the fountain of youth!  Also:  Are you a vegetarian and do you stick to a specific diet?

-Donna

Hi Donna,

What a timely question since I just turned 50.  I feel younger and more vibrant now than I did ten years ago.  In my humble opinion, this is because I’m happier. 

That said, I don’t look younger.  Well, maybe my body does, but my face doesn’t. I’m okay, though, with having a “complicated” face.  It’s a map of my life.  I’m not someone to fiddle with my face, but I’m not for or against face-fiddling.  I’m not into judging what others choose to do.  And I think this is part of my fountain of youth:  keeping out of others people’s business.  I don’t have any interest in convincing people of things, of pushing against stuff.  I’d rather go with my flow.  I’d rather be happy.  And happiness is the best face-lift. 

Just as there is no formula for happiness, there isn’t a one-size-fits-all fountain of youth.  There are as many fountains as there are people to skinny dip. 

Since you asked, here is my recipe for capturing the energy, joy, and creativity associated with youthfulness:

1.  Be your own soul mate.  I don’t look to anyone else’s behavior or thoughts to make me happy.  Not even (or perhaps, especially) my spouse!  As Oscar Wilde said, “To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.”  This frees me up to love (or ignore!) people as they are.  This frees me up to allow, rather than try to control others’ thoughts and actions.  This frees me up to love the freedom that is the birth right of us all.

2.  Try new stuff.  For a long time, I was stuck in my ways—convinced that I didn’t like X, Y & Z and had no interest in trying them.  It’s okay to have preferences—but my disposition went way beyond predilections.  I was spending precious living energy justifying my ways. It’s funny how we feel we must explain to our friends, our family, and strangers (and to ourselves) why we make the choices we do.   Once I stopped arguing for my limitations, I found myself less judgmental of myself and others.  And I began to open about trying new things.  Also, I suddenly had more energy because instead of using my power to justify, I was using it to live!  (I’ve also written about this here and here and here.)

3.  Move for fun.  Exercise as punishment isn’t my thing.  I like to move in a variety of fun ways rather than try to stick to some rigorous workout schedule that I’ll eventually come to resent.  Resentment is bad for any relationship!  I do like to run, but when I set out, I don’t force it.  I don’t say, “I must run X miles.”  Instead, I smell the salt air, watch the trees and people and pelicans go by, and use movement as a way to appreciate my body, my breath, and my world.  Some of the other ways I like to move include beach Frisbee, strolling to my favorite cafe, dancing in clubs and in my living room, yoga, random moments of stretching, skiing, hiking, snow-shoeing, swimming, sex, and taking the stairs instead of the elevator.  But if you like the elevator, take it and enjoy the ride, rather than thinking the whole time you “should” be on the stairs.  Being in the groove of whatever I’m doing rather than thinking I “should” be doing something else is the key the pleasurable movement.  The grass is greener where you stand.  Or hop, stretch or boogie.

4.  Eat what you love, with appreciation.  No, I’m not a vegetarian.  I used to be one.  In fact, I was a vegetarian for about twenty years.  I was the shittiest vegetarian because I filled up on huge portions of breads and pastas and beer and pie while secretly craving chicken and bacon and hamburgers.  I wasn’t eating what I really wanted, and so I compensated in unhealthy ways.  My energy was low.  I often felt lethargic.  Now I eat whatever I want.  How do I know what I reallywant?  I check in with myself (my clear, quiet, wise self—aka, my Inner Being) and say, “What sounds good?”  Almost always my wise IB wants something healthy and in medium portions.

Whenever I’m craving something, I also check in with my Inner Being.  I say, “Hey, IB, how ya feeling about those nachos?”  And I kid you not, when I pause and ask, sometimes the desire for those nachos just disappears.  Other times, my IB gives the nachos the thumbs-up.  And then I look closely at the melting cheese (so pretty how it glistens!) and olives (thank you olive tree, and the person who picked them!)—in other words, I appreciate whatever is in front of me.  Then, with thoughtful awareness, I eat, savoring every bite.  When I eat in that mode, I always eat less than if I dive in without centering myself first.  Sometimes even one bite of a dessert is all I “need.” And while I’m no Skinny Minnie, my body is happy.  There’s nothing like eating informed by my body’s wisdom.

5.  Focus on solutions not problems.  The problem, the complaint, is usually very clear.  Why linger there?  Why not turn toward all the possibility the problem has created?  Why not face the sun?  In this way we serve ourselves—and the world—better.  What does this have to do with your question?  I think anger, fear, worry, resentment, and pushing against the world make us old.  So what makes us young?   Living your purpose with joy, creativity, appreciation, and a rich connection to your true self and others.

"Nothing remains as it was. If you know this, you can begin again, with pure joy in the uprooting." - Judith Minty

Yesterday as Dave and I took a walk on the beach, luxuriating in the glistening beauty of October in Santa Cruz, we marveled at how much we appreciate our lives.  And this marveling was made even more striking when our conversation wandered into the territory of the dark times of our lives.

I took this picture of Santa Cruz magical opalesence

During my darkest time, it crossed my mind whether continuing to live was worth it.  Fortunately, I learned from a great therapist that those passing thoughts were my mind's logical way of striving to relieve some of the intense pain.  I learned that there were other ways to reach for relief:  hanging out in my sister's living room, communing with trees and loving friends, watching the sky, going on road trips, dancing to live music, trying new foods, and breathing through a bad minute knowing that the next one or the next one or the next one might ease up a tiny bit.  Oh, and wine.  Wine helped a lot.  Little moments of relief gave me hope that with time, I'd heal.

And indeed I did.  But more than that happened.  I came to realize that I am the creator of my life.  I had a choice:  I could become bitter about the past, or see it as a chance to grow.  Bitterness, to me, felt like facing in the wrong direction.  Bitterness is an anchor to the past that keeps you from moving forward.  I wanted to hoist my sail and cruise into all the possibilities of my future.

And now, all these years later, so many incredible things have come to pass.  Dave and I talked about how our three years together have felt like fifty.  That's not because time is dragging!  It's because, filled with the joy of creating together, we dove into a fast-moving energy stream where so much happens in such a short time.  It's not a frantic feeling.  It's a feeling of abundance and fun and celebration.

Celebration of love, aloha style!

In fact, when I think of all we've experienced in the past years, I realize this:  For the most part, we have been going with the flow.  "Going with the flow" used to conjure up images in my mind of kicking back--like perpetually hanging out in a hammock.  But now I see that going with the flow might mean hanging out in a hammock--but it can mean so much more.  It doesn't have to mean standing still.  It means fostering a disposition of chillin' so that you can relax even in a fast-moving stream! 

Even when I'm doing all the things I do in my life of loving and teaching and travel and writing and family and mentoring--for the most part, I don't feel overwhelmed.  For the most part, it feels like time has stretched out.  Like I'm learning the knack for living not only in every second but in the spaces between seconds.  In fact, it amazes me that so much has happened--and that in spite of all the activity, I have a lot of "down time."  I guess that's because I don't worry about being "productive."  Going with the flow allows me to enjoy the moment no matter what I'm doing--or not doing.

And if overwhelment does creep up, I tell myself that nothing is an emergency.  That I don't have to fix anything.  That everything is fine just the way it is.  That worry and fear and anxiety are just thoughts. That I can have any thoughts I want!  That there's no one right way to do this life.

So here's the thing:  I see now that those dark, dark times created the light.  Everything is productive--even, or perhaps especially, life's dramatic events.  Having lived through an extremely dark time, it's so clear to me how much I've grown.  And how I can see possibilities emerging in the midst of difficulty.

I'm not saying I need to go out of my way to find trouble in order to grow.  Since change is constant, life is filled with opportunities to expand my awareness, my compassion, my potential.  Every small moment in life is a chance to once again hoist the anchor and sail with the wind.  The horizons are vast and ever-expanding.

What to Know About Travel

What I’ve Learned Lately About Travel:

1.  Mexico City is awesome–not horrifically dirty or unsafe as rumor might have you believe.  Do you love walkable cities, art, great food, cafe culture, music, and dance?  Then you’ll probably love Mexico City.

Check out my Mexico City visual diary here.

Check out what I have to say about one truly wonderful Mexico City neighborhood.

And who knew Mexico City has Venice-like canals?

And of course there’s a fabulous history of art that’s kept alive in many ways.

2.  Saying YES to life puts me in a traveling mindset no matter where I am.

3.  No matter your circumstances, if you want to travel there are ways to afford it.

4.  Destination weddings rock!  We had one in Hawaii, and we went to one on Catalina.  And I hope we’ll be going to more!  Here are three reasons why I love them:

- Destination weddings provide people with an “excuse” to travel somewhere.  Even though we are California natives, we’d never before been to Catalina.  It reminded me of a sweet Mediterranean village.

- The wedding becomes about more than spending a day with family and friends.  We spent days before and after our wedding hanging out with our loved ones on the beach, eating meals together, and doing all kinds of fun activities (such as ziplining, swimming with dolphins, and snorkeling).  The wedding, then, is an opportunity to spend some living time together outside of the usual demands of everyday life.

- A destination wedding can be fun to plan.  It doesn’t have to be stressful.  When you relax into it, all kinds of serendipity abounds.  I recommend deciding where you want it to be and when without worrying in advance who will or won’t be able to come.  People’s schedules and lives are always in flux.  If they are meant to be there, it’ll happen.  We thought we’d have only 4 or 5 people attending, and we ended up with 40!  Also:  network and explore.  Contact people to let them know what you are doing.  Next thing you know, all kinds of possibilities will float your way.  We had one friend living in Hawaii who ended up helping us find a brand-new venue that didn’t even open until a few weeks before we got married.  We found our officiant online–and she has ended up becoming a good friend. There were many other amazing aspects of ourfree-floating planning that you can read about here.

Five Things I Believe About Travel

1.  “All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.” — Martin Buber

2.  Travel teaches us to see life and ourselves anew.

3.  Travel teaches us flexibility of mind, body and spirit.

4.  Wander nearly rhymes with wonder.

5.  The traveling mindset can be cultivated anywhere.