Just me, my yoga mat and I

So, I had nothing left to do. All that needed to be said was said, and everything that we did was done. My last option was to dedicate my yoga practice to love, happiness and focusing my attention inward “thy self” as my teacher refers to it. I did what any girl would do, having the first falling out or disagreement in my new relationship; I turned to yoga or Buddha. Okay maybe not any girl, but there was nothing left and the “if he loves me he will call me rigggghht now” expecting some sort of magical phone ring on the “now” playing in my brain. I was driving myself crazy, if only in my mind.
Naturally, I dedicated the one hour class to “staying on my mat” let’s translate that to mean I have a nasty habit of looking around the class at what everyone else is doing or not doing, eyeing them up and down like an Italian chick in Milano’s fashion week. “What are you doing that I can’t?” or thinking “Well, I can do that too!” Well, I smacked myself in the face before I chugged a dose of reality and admitted that I sound like a two year old child. Who am I to look or sneak a peek at anyone else’s mat in the first place? And get real Krysta, because that woman is double your age, so stop gloating. In turn I stopped looking around the class at each of the lovely women but turned towards myself. I focused on what I am good at and what I love so much about the practice. By the end of the class I was smiling not only with my lips, but my heart and soul and laughing with the other ladies instead of giving them the “Italian momma and your dating my son you’ll never be good enough” competitive eye.
 Perhaps what I really realized is that I need to “stay on my mat” in all aspects of life. I am constantly comparing myself with others, other women’s bodies, celebrities and friends. I put my relationships under the microscope and examine the evidence side by side with the people that I know. Like yoga in which no two bodies are the same, so we can not just glaze over at the next purple lotus flower mat to either give ourselves confidence or jump start (or stomp) competition or make ourselves feel negatively if their “Tree” pose is awesome.  No two relationships are the same either we just can’t peer in our neighbors windows to analyze their relationship. As soon as I gave this deep thought and searched with in myself (Only) on my own paisley green yoga mat I began to understand. We are what we are, each person is different as each relationship is different. And sometimes we have misunderstandings or a disagreement with people we love, but the answer is not what lies on the out side but the secret lies within. As I walked out to my car a little drizzle kissed my face, I smiled from within. I couldn’t help but wonder if ‘he’ finally called after 24 hours without speaking, the answer was clear, what is meant to be will always be and if not then, oh well,  there is a reason behind it. I looked down at my phone and saw the blinking missed called.  The conclusion is we must find ourselves first, clear our minds, take time to breathe and in the end what is right will be.

Rocky Road to Love

I guess I am full-time with “A”, the first time that I laid eyes on his 20 year old body was about three years ago. He was the man that helped me move out of the house I shared with my ex-fiancé, showed me how to love again after a bad relationship and we have this energy together that only happens a few times in a life time.  I moved to Italy to heal and learn to love myself before I could love him. Five months turned into two and a half years drinking espresso, consuming massive amounts of carbs which is considered normal and getting lost in the Mediterranean Sea when I didn’t have to work until 5:30 p.m. I came home seven months later to spend three short weeks for Christmas and ring in the New Year with my family and friends. I spent the chilly December days with the girls and laughing with my grandmother, and the frosty December nights curled up next to him in a rented basement flat. It was cold and snow dusted the ground, but he held onto me like I was the last woman on earth, he warmed my heart and soul. I cried the day I had to say “good bye”  and get on another airplane, I knew that I wasn’t healed and the South of Italy was waiting for me, like another lover, they both made me feel alive, the beauty and mystery is intoxicating and they both give me chills. I knew I had to leave him cold in that cold basement apartment, that he would be just fine and I wasn’t ready to be fully committed.
Another seven months came and went, the snow melted and revealed green grass, I was on another plane coming from North Africa, Spain, Italy then home. I arrived in the USA and called him. He was different, and so was I. I was dating an Italian man but it was rocky, I sometimes imagined that they would meet each other, as they both are very similar. That basement was long gone, as was the love we shared; it turned cold like those December nights. Perhaps he was afraid of me leaving, going off one more time without him to live my separate life. Perhaps he never loved me. All is unknown.
I hadn’t visited “home” for one year, I packed up my life from two years in Italy and exactly one year later I was sitting in my childhood home. I got an email that read
“How are you girl?” A
“I am wonderful, guess what?” “I am in America” – K
“When can I see you?” –A
“Now” – K
So, I went where I felt like I never left. Butterflies tickled my tummy as I saw him; he wrapped me up in his huge arms and smiled that smile that never left my heart. We talked like I never left him, and he never hurt me. And all that was said and done was the past and the present is now. And energy ran through us that was and is and always has been undeniable. He is distant, like he is afraid of being hurt. Even though I looked him in his eyes and confirmed that I am staying. We decided to try, like really try. Not just basement apartments, late night cuddles after happy hours and pretend to play house when I am in town.
Every thing was going well, and the first time I expressed openly my concerns about our new relationship. Perhaps, in fact, I need a healthy dose of attention. I am not like other women, I know. But just a phone call to say hello, a text to say I am thinking of you and mutual respect. Now we have found ourselves on the edge, or unstable. Maybe our relationship was never known or stable but now something has shifted again. A problem in communication, culture, language or perhaps all three.
“I am having people over on Sunday”
“Okay, cool, just let me know”
Sunday morning, I hadn’t heard from him. I texted him first to say “good morning” and I got a short response. I went and had coffee with a friend and called “A” after. He didn’t answer, nor text. I didn’t hear from until 6:30 p.m. which was four hours later.
“Hey, what are you doing?” – A
“Well having dinner with my family” –K
“I don’t speak Italian, what?” –A
I speak slower and repeat my sentence (English is his second language)
“Are you coming?”-A
“What? I didn’t hear from you all day, I had no idea what was going on. You didn’t call me back” –K  (My thoughts were …and now after all of the liquor stores are closed (7:30 at this point) you want me to drive 60 minutes to your house after I had a glass of wine and it is dark.)
“I was busy, cleaning the house and getting stuff for the party”-A
“We are all busy, and you could not call your girlfriend and give her the respect of a phone call to tell her what time?”
“So you are not coming?” “This is bad Krysta.” – A
“You expect me to….” (my thoughts were I don’t hear from you all day and then you call me and expect me to jump up and run over to you?) I want a boyfriend that  thinks about a girlfriend who has to drive a long distance on the beltway, gives her a certain time to come over and is never soooo ‘busy’ that he can’t return a phone call. And in addition, earlier I was channeling Will Smith in “Hitch” as I had a horrible allergic reaction to a certain type of wine, my face was red and swollen and I was looped up on Benadryl.
“I got to go, bye” - A
We haven’t spoken since. I feel hurt and he doesn’t understand why I am upset. I am sure he just thinks “she isn’t coming to my party.” Which of course is not very nice, I wanted to be there, naturally. But how can I be expected to just jump up with no confirmation, communication or contact? Am I wrong here? Should I have gone? Remember the allergy too. What should I do? Is it just not right, or worth it?

Curse the what if's and maybe's



Boracay Island

Sometimes it just takes a moment, a decision, a gesture to change a life time. Destiny or whatever you want to call it. If the man pictured above misplaced his hand on those flaming fiery Pilipino numb chucks I would have had some serious issues, but he didn’t miss a beat and I still have some issues (which is besides the point) If my flight was never canceled, I would have never met him; if my ex-fiancé didn’t chose to live in D.C, I would have never found him, If I never went to Italy I would have never met the most amazing women in my life or found my self again. A choice, a turn of events, a bunch of what if’s and maybe’s. Coulda, shoulda, woulda. There is no such thing as an accident; I was always meant to be here where I am in the present and where I have been in my past. It has shaped my being and my soul.  Every person, opportunity and love was given to me as a gift as I cherish each uniquely, brought to me for a reason. Where I will be tomorrow is unknown but I know that I was always suppose to be there and I have nothing to fear. Sometimes we must loosen up, un- button our up tightness, let down our hair and shake- it- out and let life flow naturally. There is no reason to fight it because what will be was always meant to be. When we give in to life it takes us on a beautiful journey that so often we miss because we are thinking about the next step in our lives. Life reminds me of a river and you can struggle and paddle and swim with all your will upstream but you will not get very far, if you give in and let it guide you it could be the most amazing ride of your life. Really we are the authors of our own stories; we are the creators of destiny. As I sit here I am going to live life now, because tomorrow is unknown for me and really any of us. Why worry and ponder the future, all I have is what I have been lucky to have experienced in my life thus far and what I have today. I am going to get in my raft and buckle my safety belt, because rapids do exist in rivers but they are a hella lot of fun and I am going to enjoy every moment that I am blessed with even if I have no idea where my river is headed or what country it will lead me to next, all I can do is soak in every moment and let it happen.

 

I love this picture, I took it before a storm on an island in South East Asia.

 

Sometimes you can search the world, only to find it brought you back where you started

Crouching near the foot of “my A’s” bed digging openly in my newest addition to my family of Italian accessories, my handbag, throwing out lipsticks, chewing gum, old wrappers and things of the sort. I think out loud in a singsong tune “I can never find paper when you need it

I find a crumbled cocktail receipt from Germany, I was there only 12 hours ago living a different life; a quick flashback of my travels and other life as goose bumps dot my skin as quickly as the memory disappears.

I look down at the writing on the receipt it is foreign to my jet lagged brain and every moment I have lived up to this point seems like a dream.
I try and shake the sleep from my brain and squeeze out my last few drops of common sense that I was saving for a needed occasion.
“Okay, right I think now one, two, three concentrate”, I quickly scribble “I love you love, K” on the German receipt and slip the half attempt for a love note under his pillow for him to find when he pulls back his covers tonight, I slide out of the room and close the door behind me, not knowing when I will see him again.
Twenty minutes before I was in a crouching tiger hidden dragon position in A’s bedroom floor, the morning sun was painting colors on my face and danced joyfully around a new bedroom as I tossed around in a restless sleep.
Jet lag and tired I realized the bed I was occupying was not my own, but I was getting used to sleeping in a bed that was not mine. Before finding myself pressed again my Russian lover I was living in Italy for over a year, Spain for the summer and a whirlwind trip to North Africa, then traveling for about three years total living out of a suitcase. I have spent at least two years of my life time in an airport. My own bed was as far away as my next homemade lemoncello in Italy and fragrant rice appetizer in Indonesia.
It took a few moments to register where I was and who was beside me. Not a new lover but someone who has always been there somewhere push in the back of my mind; Countless travels, countless goodbyes and reunions, always going back to one another, if only for a night.
I just touched down into the good old US of A only 24 hours before, living out of a backpack for ten weeks and before my backpack tirade living in Europe for over a year. The familiar sounds and smells of America and the man next to made me smile.
My arm tingled and felt numb under his strong young body on my small frame, young body I may add, four and a half years younger to be exact. I cuddle up next to him and tried to picture what he looked like I the first time I saw him, he looks older now almost like his heart holds secrets I will never understand. I can tell he has had a difficult year in my absence, not because I have been gone but because of things I may never know.
His light hair has turned a shade darker and his muscular build has become slightly thinner, the untrained lover’s eye would never know the difference.
I fell in love with his almond shaped eyes that change color with his various moods; they shine a golden yellow.
The many moods from him and his eyes keep me wanting more, perhaps more than he can ever give, maybe I can not give it either, I keep waiting for him to open up to me, to tell me his great story, like I have done so many times with him.
For me it is easy, I spill my secrets as easily as one can fall off of a log, an open book widely accessible for him. I usually get home from an adventure and one of my first stops is his room.
 After our routine reunion is finished he sits on the edge of his bed with his head slightly tilted to the left listening intently and watching my animated show of telling my latest full blown wild adventure. I have the habit of having wild experiences and attracting people from all walks of life. I truly believe it must say “if you are slightly crazy, come and talk to me” tattooed in the center of my head. I am a walking magnet for the circus, and there is nothing wrong with that I may add.
Then he tries to kiss me mid comedy or circus routine and I still manage to ramble on until my point is fully finished and he is laughing at the fact I may look different but I never change. He says, “I could be naked in front of him and I am still chatting away.”
I was an English teacher at a language institute for adults that travel to the USA to learn English in the nation’s capital Washington D.C; he was on a student visa trying to make a life in America. He wasn’t exactly my student but close enough that we had to keep it under the radar.
I was a newly engaged woman when he walked into my classroom almost two years from the morning that my head rests on his arm; he was an interesting man/boy that caught my attention and refused to ever let it go.
Letting my day dream seize and drifting back into reality I gently kissed his cheek and his golden yellow eyes that stop my heart and change color with his every mood flutter awake, he looked up at me through slumber filled eyes, “buongiorno” I whisper.. “Good morning,” he whispered back.
I smiled as the sunlight danced around the room, the smell of freshly brewing coffee was coming from the kitchen. I have searched the world and can’t say that I have found peace like when I wake up to this man. He kissed me and we escaped the world under a tent of sheets.
 He walks me out to my car and I let him go through our routine of him starting my car and letting it warm up.
This morning I could not pull out of the driveway, my mind was somewhere else, I stared at the clock blinking red in my blue VW, wondering if 7:00 a.m. was the real time or my imagination was playing tricks on me.

(Today, it has been over two and a half years, his eyes still draw me in casing a spell on me. A romance that has never fully died and perhaps it may never. Who knows? I don’t want to understand, I just want to love and live every moment of it, where ever it goes, which ever road it may take, through the twist and turns, ups and downs, I just want him.)

To Go or Not To Go, that is the question

To Go or Not To Go, that is the real question. At least in my life and in mind. I have really only been in America for eight weeks now and have been as busy as the next American. I got a job free lancing for a girl’s magazine and other small writing gigs, trying to finish two novels, I am teaching online for a school in Russia and trying to put the missing pieces together.  Everything is coming together, I feel it that the right thing is coming to me. I get an email from a school in New York, actually East Hampton. It is a boarding school and a perfect fit for my spiritual, health and wellness side. Very artsy, and centered the cultural historic approach to learning. Enough said, it is my perfect school. I am flying out on Tuesday to see the school and teach a class! Exciting, except something “feels” funny. Like it isn’t right. I am not sure what it is, maybe I am just nervous, but I have traveled around the world, alone, and I have never been nervous. It is more than a few butterflies in my tummy. The deal is that it is a boarding school, and they are looking for a teacher who lives in a huge mansion with other students. On duty for two days a week and free the rest of the time. From my understanding most of the teachers do this as well as the head of department. I mean am I the only one who is scared shit-less about losing my freedom? I am in my prime; I am a chronic dater and love a good glass of wine and the option to entertain in my home. Will I have to sneak out or tip toe back home when I had an extra glass of Cabernet with a bad case of giggles? Everything comes with a price tag, if not literally, then a little give and take. There are positives and negatives to every choice in life. Perhaps I may love it, love living in the Hamptons. It may be a great fit for my love of fashion and being near the water. If it isn’t the Mediterranean Sea the next best choice is the one presented to me. I would have the chance to become close with staff and my students as well as safe a lot of money by living on campus. It is like university all over again, but with teens. Yikes. So, do I go? Or not to go? That my friend is the question on deck.