-I really enjoy Fall. It’s my favorite season and the weather is perfect.

-Houston Fall = San Diego all the time. I miss living in San Diego, but my friendships are far deeper and more edifying here in Houston.

-I’m over living in the US. I love being an American. I hate how angry this country is. I look forward to being an American in an adopted country.

-I’m so tired of defending Texas. Yes, stupid things happen here. But, awesome things happen, too. Every state has its stupidity, its prejudice, its issues. Every time a non-Texan talks to me about how bad or stupid Texas is, my desire to talk to him/her is permanently diminished.

-My “I don’t care about your opinion” issue (otherwise known as “Life Afer 40”) is at an all-time high as evidenced by the previous statement.

-Traveling isn’t only about relationships and education for me–it’s about escaping the consumerist, heteronormative, angry, ignorant arrogance that I encounter in an almost daily basis in this country.

-The most progressive parts of the US are often the whitest, so I still am a token in those places. Being a token is REALLY annoying… except in Buenos Aires and Lisbon. Being one there was quite fun, actually.

-If I could live anywhere in the world, it would be a three-way tie between Vancouver, Bocas Town, Panama and Granada or Sevilla, Spain.

-I hate traveling to shop unless it’s shopping while traveling. If I have to go more than metro/bike distance, I prefer to just buy online. I’ve become the consummate inner city girl.

-I love the inner city but hate the crime. I long to live in a place in which I don’t feel like I need to have a home alarm. This brings me back to living somewhere where they love their guns a helluva lot less.

-I am truly afraid of the prospect of Dan Patrick and Greg Abbott winning Lieutenant Governor and Governor seats. I cannot stand either one of them, but my fear of their politics far exceeds my loathe for them.

-Being a fan of information but a critic of media is hugely problematic.

-Seriously, gardening is a lot of work for this old broad. I love seeing the results, but I feel like I need to be hospitalized afterward!

-My wee family is my life! I love my wife so much!!! She is awesome, beautiful, talented and funny. Days are so much better with her in it. I miss my daughter so much it hurts! BUT, I’m so happy the inquisitive kid that she was has evolved into the conscious, spiritual woman she is becoming.

I’d love to hear your thoughts, confessions or self-realizations! Please comment!

Phase 1 begins with gusto. The urge to purge is profound. I don latex cleaning gloves (a diva can never be too careful around Texas spiders and other tiny crawly things), head straight for the closet, and begin tossing things into three piles: wash (aka: OMG, that’s where that was!) pile, donate (wow, I actually have 15 tank tops & other repetitive items I haven’t worn in over a year), bin.

Phase 1, part 2 = Bedroom in mayhem and sneezing fits while wondering why I don’t dust. This is right around the time I start wondering why I’ve kept so much stuff and why I continue to buy. It’s also when I wonder if I’ll ever wear the unicorns in my closet. (Unicorns: the dresses/outfits purchased for your intended goal weight)

Phase 1, part 3 = wine + chocolate & LONG break (mini-defeat) It is at this moment when I consider sleeping under the mountain of crappola I’ve amassed.

Phase 1, part 4 = getting off of bum after a movie or a break for binge-watching episodes of Game of Thrones (which I buy for the occasion of forcing a long break) to finish.

I can’t help but laugh through the purging process. I’ve moved about 16 times since I was 18. I’ve gotten really good at leaving things behind. I find that, at the tender age of 40, this has bled over into my personal life, too.

When I moved into the home I am about to vacate, I was leaving behind relationship ghosts, a forgotten sense of self and a time of rebuilding. I quickly purged those things, and life was immediately better. I had a TON of fun in this house–there were many gatherings, cocktail parties and game nights. I experienced how awesome it is to be 10 minutes from downtown and 10 minutes from work. Being close to downtown–Montrose, in particular–has become important to me. I want to be near my center of social life. This was the house that saw the unloading of suitcases with exotic things from faraway places. This is where my baby girl turned 18. And, this is the house that brought an end to 12 years of happy single life. This is the house in which I attempted to carried my love over the threshold. It’s been a good house (when not suffering leaking faucets and plumbing, or dealing with the worst landlord EVER).

And, now, I enter Phase 1, part 3. Time for a break before finishing The Purge and walking away into our new, shiny life behind brick walls that are our own.

After being inspired by a speech given about beauty by Lupita Nyong’o, what I should take on for this 40 day period became clear. I am committing to loving myself better, being more compassionate with myself and taking care of myself as God would have me do. This means that I have to love myself more than sugar, I have to be more compassionate with myself than I am critical of my waistline, and I must take care of myself with meditation, food, sleep and exercise more so than manicures and pedicures. It may sound selfish or self-serving, but, indeed I have neglected taking care of the Divine in me, which means that I’ve been less capable of being compassionate with others. And so the first step begins with the woman in the mirror. Step 2: Pay it forward.

I’ve been put in the precarious position of having to defend Texas on many occasions while having my own complicated love-hate relationship with it. While I hate much of the politics that finds its way into the news, I love the desire that it creates in me to be an agent of cultural change. In fact, many of the most intellectual and culturally aware people I know are from here–I suspect that they’ve been seekers of knowledge and The Truth, as well.

The beautiful thing about being from a state whose outwardly visible politics do not reflect one’s personal beliefs is that it challenges its progressives to research, eruditely defend, and engage in revolutionary discourse regarding their political positions. In a nutshell, we don’t have time to become intellectually or politically lazy, nor do we waste time complaining about first world problems in states that are different than ours. We recognize our issues, then seek to improve them.

I’m actually tired of hearing people talk negatively about Texas who have never lived here. It’s like expertly opining about Chile’s fjords and seafood when you’ve never seen or experienced them. I’m equally tired of hearing Texas residents complain about Texas when they have full capacity to a) be change agents or b) leave.

Perhaps it’s my walking around in “shitkickers” (boots) or just feeling extra Texan on Go Texan Day, but I’m happy to be from this giant state where South meets Southwest, street signs are in Vietnamese, Chinese, German, Spanish and English, and where there is actual purple mountain majesty, sea and fruited plain.

I’ve had a love-hate relationship with jeans, my hips, my knees and my waistline. I realize now that “love-hate” has nothing to do with real love. It’s far more appropriate to call it “acceptance-contempt.”

In the last decade, I’ve encircled myself with people who love fiercely. They’ve taught me how to love better, harder, softly. I’ve had those use the word love to me who didn’t really love me–perhaps an aspect of me–but not ME. And, real love hasn’t always been perfect, perceptible love. I’ve had an experience of a father loving quietly, yet diligently. His love has stretched him beyond his limits in extending love and welcome, albeit strained, to his new daughter-in-law. Only love can compel a person to accept beyond his frame of reference. I’ve really enjoyed watching my dad don love on my daughter in a way that I know is easier than what he had to do with me. It’s so sweet, I can’t taint it with jealously. I can only imagine how wonderful it must be to love without having to be Family Commander in Chief at the same time.

I recognize that I’ve loved some people hard enough to look past things that I have been able to forgive. I believe that the ability to forgive maximizes one’s capacity to love. The ability to forget maximizes one’s ability to be a pretender.

My mother taught me from a young age to love myself unabashedly; the standard of treatment should be set by oneself… And I believe it is. Loving myself uncompromisingly has brought me into a new space in which the love I receive daily from my wife feels magical. I guess when love is quantified by more than one person, it feels otherworldly… Probably because it is. Two (or more) people loving each other without reservations, judgment or conditions is as close as I believe the human gets to an experience of God.

Today, I celebrate love in all of its expressions. I invite you to experience the Divine with someone else. I send love to you. Pay it forward.

David and I go way back–we go back to the Myspace days. Back in those days, I used to blog daily to process all of the thoughts and information that I had in my overactive brain. Also, back then, I acted as Chief Advisor to many friends and Life Coach to several clients. I’m beyond the days of wanting to give counsel to everyone–perhaps the 30’s are about wisdom sharing. Today, I just want to live my life surrounded by people who are as, or more, knowledgeable than myself; they are my co-conspirators in the attainment of our wildest dreams. I want to be around great–not just good–people. I want to be motivated and encouraged by my inner circle. I want to meet and exceed a very high standard set by very wise friends. Perhaps the 40’s are about being around people as bad ass as yourself or being left behind by those who are willing to regress. Next week, I step into the 40’s, so bring on the badassery.

I had an incredible moment yesterday. I realized that all that I’ve been through has led me to this moment. Now, that seems overly simple and vague, but allow me to explain. I had a 60 second flashback on every previous relationship, every time I cried over someone, every empty tête-à-tête, every personified approximation of ‘what I want’, every fool I ever dated, every amazing person that slipped through my fingers, every moment of relationship insecurity, every moment of relationship hubris. I remembered the idocies and the lessons. I remembered the blessings and the curses. And then, I saw it all weave into one cobblestone path upon which I walked into my present. I didn’t know I was here until I arrived–that’s how it is when you have found yourself inside of  a blessing. This life, this moment, this existence is a blessing. I arrived at this moment over what now seems to be a relatively short, yet meandering road. I’ve stumbled, fallen and stood up many times. Each time, though, the process of getting up was shorter, because I learned how to fall. Now I am skipping joyously along this path.

In 2013, after a rocky final year at home (in theory), I watched my daughter graduate and move into a dorm at an amazing university. That year almost killed our relationship with all of its arguments, plays for power and disagreements. At my core, I knew my daughter and I loved each other fiercely–we were just having issues redefining who we were at that moment. I had survived 12 years of being a single parent–it showed in every grey hair. Yet, when I exhaled as I let her move on to fulfill her life’s greatness, I wanted to hold on to the child-version of herself for just one more moment.

In March of 2012, I met my soulmate. After getting to know each other as friends, this unlikely pair–a 20-something conservative war veteran and a 30-something liberal public school teacher–became a couple. Six months later we were engaged. On our anniversary, we married. I didn’t plan for perfection, but hoped for it and was unwilling to commit to anything less. I didn’t think I’d ever be monogamous again; I doubted I’d ever remarry; and I certainly never thought I’d date–much less, seriously date–someone under 30. It just goes to show that all of our ‘rules’ are really guidelines that help us preserve what we think is best for us. The reality can be quite different. Remaining closed to the opportunity of being wrong about what we think closes us off to some amazing blessings and what is really right.

I can say, without hesitation, that I am in an AMAZING marriage. Every day truly is better than the last. I, literally, give thanks for every day that I have with my beautiful family. Were I to die today, I can say that I have lived the dream. That said, I hope that I am blessed with many more years (59, to be exact) to continue enjoying the company of my love and the new joys brought to me by my daughter.

I am motivated to write now not only because David suggested it, but also because some things need to be written. There is someone out there who will read this who is not happy–who is stumbling through his or her own personal hell with a child, a lover, academia, an employer, a break up, his- or herself without understanding why it is happening. I am here to tell you that we walk through fire to get to the other side. The journey is not always fun, but the destination… It is worth it. IT IS ALL WORTH IT!

I hope that you will remain open–open heart, open mind, open hands–and willing to receive the beauty that life has in store for you. Understand that trials and tribulations are a part of it. But, if you’re willing to learn, grow, change and be changed, you will find yourself in a blissful existence. I hope you never stop until you find bliss. BLISS is the dream. Live it.

Dancing down the aisle

My smiling soulmate

Happy happy joy joy

My beautiful family

One of the bad things about living with a washer and dryer is missing that college-era experience of being sequestered at the laundry center while waiting on loads of clothes to clean. As I sit here in the laundromat above my friend’s apartment washing laundry, I am made to wait. Have we underestimated the power of waiting? I think so.

I am currently in one of the busiest cities in America–Los Angeles. It’s easy to see how hard people work to establish and maintain a lifestyle that is important to them. Good on them. They’ve chosen to live in mountainous surroundings, with beaches that are a short bus/train/car ride away. I get it. One of the lovely people I know who is “on her hustle” here crafted some time to lunch with me today. Somehow she has managed to keep a sense of peace in this bustling pace. She’s found balance and looks utterly radiant. As we dined, we talked about many things, caught up on life and talked about life goals and wishes. Sharing many “aha!” moments, one of them came as we talked about how people are in a rat race to live. She said, “there is something wrong with the statement “cost of living.” It’s just wrong.” AHA! MOMENT!

The Cost of Living…

Our typical American definition: The price associated with living in a certain area or maintaining a certain lifestyle. Example: monthly payments, rent/mortgage, price of groceries, gas, etc.

What is the cost, though, of the life you are living? I know so many people who complain about where they live and their lifestyles. I hate my job. I can’t stand my boss. I hate living in this city. I wish I could travel. I need a vacation. I actually tune them out because they are usually living the lives they want to live–otherwise, they’d change their lives. Is the price you pay to live your life the sacrifice of authenticity? Of happiness? Of tranquility? That sounds like an awfully high price to pay.

Let’s consider a few among us paying a high price just to be authentic: lesbians in South Africa who live in fear of corrective rape; queer youth being kicked out of their homes because their parents have given too much credence to fear-mongering psychologists (who are likely struggling with their own homosexuality); Christians attempting to celebrate their faith in areas where that practice deadly; women struggling to leave abusive husbands in misogynistic societies; American Muslims working to be seen as loving people–not potential threats; survivors of rape, incest and abuse; undocumented immigrant youth endeavoring to live a normal life in the only country they’ve known amid fear of being outed…

As I watch the sunset while waiting for my laundry to dry, I ask again: What is your cost of living? Anyone reading this likely is in a better situation than those in the above-referenced scenarios. If that price is too high, perhaps it’s time for a move.

I remember the first time I heard women described as “females”–it was in a rap. I remember it rubbing me the wrong way, but brushing it off as another symptom of a diminishing art form. And then, I remember hearing it from a young woman–a teenager. I thought, oh, this is just music doing what it does to a culture. Kids. But, then, I heard it from a woman–an adult, female human. She referred to herself as a “female,” and I said out loud “When did this happen??” Kind of like “conversate” shamefully becoming a natural part of the dumbed down American lexicon, people have embraced this term as acceptable.

It is not acceptable.

I’ve been a part of several conversations on women and our behavior lately.  As we set new intentions and commitments in a new year, as well as focus on personal responsibility, I’ve found that discourses on behavior become a common theme of the first quarter. This week, I’ve had at least 3 conversations on what women give up in relationships.

In reality, it’s not only women who do this, but I will not speak on behalf of men. From my observations and experiences, I’m dismayed by many of our behaviors. We give up so much of ourselves to be in relationships with people. This isn’t just about romantic relationships, but in all relationships. We give up our emotional, spiritual and mental health, which also affects our physical health. We give up our power. We give up who we are. We give up our personal space. We give up our hopes and dreams. We do all of this for the sake of obtaining or saving something that, in all likelihood, no longer serves us, never served us or was never meant for us but we pushed into our lives. Or we do it out of a sense of duty. We do all of this, and then wonder why we are unfulfilled. After casting blame on anything but our own actions (unless you’re the type to always blame yourself because shame is your self-loathing love language), we look for someone (or some thing) to fill this empty place that we have created and get pissed or depressed when that person (or thing) fails to meet the unrealistic expectations that we set.

No. Just no.

I’ve already mentioned in a previous post that happiness is a spiritual path. Going down the path of happiness, finding and living into joy, is an individual endeavor. The reality is that we cannot expect healthy, edifying relationships if we have not set that expectation for ourselves by defining what that means.

Here is what I know for sure: Knowing what you want for your life, living intentionally and accepting nothing short of your expectations in ALL of your relationships is the key to happiness. Keeping your spiritual cup full while doing the former is the key to joy. All of the truly happy women in my life have figured this out.

My hope is that, as women, we are not derailed from our path of emotional, spiritual and mental health so that we may be better sisters, friends, wives, partners, lovers, professionals, leaders, role models. The alternative is further denigrating ourselves by being the martyr, the “other woman,” the gold-digger, the low-hanging fruit, the bitch, the ho, the doormat, the female.

We have choices and will live in the misery or joy that those choices bring.

In 2012, I set the following intent:

I will not let anyone or anything come between me and my passions.

My passions defined:

• Travel
• Healthy living
• Spiritual, mental and emotional joy
• Authenticity

In fact, I will surround myself with people who share those same passions.

I forgot one, however: Fabulousness.

It is always around my birthday that I start redefining and committing to my goal for the new year. Since last week, I’ve gone on a glam-a-thon that I think I’ll ride out for the whole of 2012. There have been more jewels and higher heels adorning my person whether at brunch or at the grocery store. There have been wider smiles that reach beyond my eyes and heartier belly laughs. There have been more attempts at connecting and reconnecting in the enlightening reality that new soul friends might be people I already know right here in this country and continent. I have realized and remembered that I love the lavishness of it all. *reverb* And so I proclaim this to be the Year of Fabulousness. So I will add to my intentions that I will engage in a glamorous, connected, laughing, smiling, bejeweled, 5″ peep-toe Mary Jane adorned, fabulous year that coincides with and affirms my passions.

Here’s to bringing sexy back. Stay fabulous, beautiful people.

I didn’t  think of traveling as escaping until my diva sister let me know that she, too, engaged in escapist fantasies in response to one of my “I wish I could jump on a plane and head to Brazil” texts. I’ve always thought about traveling as communing with and in the world. Now, I’ve figured out that it is both.

It dawned on me that I do not think about travel when I am with students. We are busy learning from one another, engaging in discourse over immigration policies, health issues, homophobia and stereotyping, emotional and spiritual growth processes and general banter. All of these themes bring us closer to one another as they help us learn about and develop trust in one another. We become so close, there are always students who come out of the gay or undocumented status closet in class. It is in these moments I feel connected, not only to this world, but a future that I see to be bright and fearless. To the contrary of many people’s work reality, I don’t daydream at work–there is no room nor need to escape.

Today, travel thoughts are in my head because my students are taking a final exam (to the soundtrack of Jorge Drexler, Caetano, João Gilberto and Jarabe de Palo (music that transports me to my three favorite countries)), and I read an excerpt from Paulo Coelho–a fellow traveler–sent to me from a colleague who, like me, is looking forward to following the steps of Che Guevara as we traverse the whole of Latin America.

Desde muy joven descubrí que el viajar era, para mí, la mejor manera de aprender. Continúo hasta hoy con este alma de peregrino, y decidí relatar en este blog algunas de las lecciones que aprendí, esperando que puedan ser útiles a otros peregrinos como yo…

Continue reading (in Spanish, but I believe there is an option to translate)

“Since I was very young, I discovered that travel was, for me, the best way to learn. I continue to today with this pilgrim’s soul and decided to deduce in this blog some of the lessons that I learned, hoping that they may be useful to other pilgrims like me.”

You really should read that entire post. Really. But, I realize that not all of you are Spanish speakers, so I’ll summarize some things. Coelho gives his nine commandments of seeing the word in a new way:

1. Avoid museums–you live in the past instead of enjoying the vibrancy of a destination’s present.
2. Frequent bars to engage in conversations you’d otherwise not have.
3. Be available to meet locals and see their home with them.
4. Travel alone (or with your spouse, if married).
5. Don’t compare–honor each experience and place as unique.
6. Know that everyone understands you (even if you don’t speak the language).
7. Don’t spend too much on things, but rather experiences.
8. Don’t try to see the world in one month.
9. A trip is an adventure.

Besides the fact that I truly embrace these principles, I love how he defines himself — a pilgrim. Indeed, pilgrims go on a search for something, and oftentimes, they are escaping a current reality. How many travel to ashrams in India to escape a traumatizing life event? Others might travel to Paris to escape the doldrums of their lives. And more yet escape the frenetic rhythm of American life to the joie du vivre and Southern Atlantic sunsets of Rio. Ultimately, for this escaping, inquisitive, adventure-seeking, soul-connecting pilgrim, travel is the path for me to learn and participate in the world, find my soul friends, taste and dance my way through a culture, and to do all of this while I journey into myself and the deepest desires of my heart.

Click to view slideshow.