As you´ve all probably figured out from previous writing, I´m not a huge fan of goodbyes and this morning was no exception.  At 8am I boarded a shuttle to Tamarindo and waved goodbye to Annie, Katie, Tasha, Matt, and Leif, having seen off Tom yesterday.  I felt a little choked up as I took my place by the window, knowing that I was now on my own for the next two weeks, and getting closer to returning home.  The past three weeks of volunteering have opened my eyes to so much, from learning about different cultures to seeing how hard true manual labor can be, and I don´t think I was quite ready to let it end.  I cannot wait to come home just to post the pictures to share with you all of the amazing people I´ve met and work I´ve done… “Your heart will melt.”

To be honest, I also welcomed the daily distraction of working and socializing… it was the break I needed from reality and gave me time to sort out what I really wanted to do when I returned to the States.

I stared out the window for a LONG time today, as the car ride from Monteverde to Tamarindo lasted about four hours.  To be fair, the first hour and a half I sat rather nauseous… the unpaved roads in Costa Rica are a nightmare on the digestive system, but after the first stop we ventured onto some main highways and it was slightly smoother.  A huge smile was brought to my face when we got out at the rest stop and I was greeted by a tree full of toucans and two monkeys!  I saw more wildlife on my way to pee than I did in the whole Monteverde Cloud Forest, but hey, that´s life.

Once we hit the main highway drag the ride got a little smoother, and I was able to focus more on the beautiful scenery whirling past.  The one thing that really strikes me here is the sky… it comes in two dimensions.  The first, flat layer of sky sits like a painting, bright blue hues dusted with light strokes of clouds against the horizon.  The second layer jumps out at you like a 3D movie, huge puffs of white cotton that dangle mid-air, inviting you to come play.  Sometimes, on rainy days, they just sweep right over you like you´re an airplane buzzing through the sky.

At orientation three weeks ago they spoke of “culture shock,” warning us that we were bound to experience it at some point during our projects and living with the families.  I never really felt it until I arrived in Tamarindo this afternoon.  As I stood in my hostel room, the multiple beds and buzzing sound of roommates being replaced by a single bed and a collection of ants and mosquitoes to keep me company, I suddenly felt very alone.  I walked down to the beach and stared out at the Pacific for awhile, and then perched myself in a hammock and laid for about three hours, watching the sky go from blue to grey to pink and eventually, black.

Thoughts of the past few months swirled through my mind, as I focused on my latest decision and where life would go next.  It´s frustrating sometimes to be constantly starting over, feeling like nothing you try seems to stick and the problems you think you are leaving behind find their way of sneaking up on you at your weakest moments.  A friend tonight pointed out to me that sometimes hearts are not meant to heal… that a scar stays with you forever and its how you choose to protect it and cover it up that helps you move on.  I am a firm believer in seeing the best in people, and if nothing else I believe this trip has helped me open my mind and my heart to new possibilities and friendships with people I would have never expected.  It has also brightened my eyes to a huge world that exists outside of New York City, and has me looking to spending more time watching sunsets than the sunrises that I´m used to. 

So here I go again on my own… maybe a change of coasts will bring me closer to home.

I’ve never been really good at goodbyes.  I suppose no one is, really, but there are those that manage to put up their walls in those instances and for that I am somewhat jealous.  When I’m leaving, all my walls come crashing down.

This week has been an emotional one, with scrambling to finish up writing projects, packing, going back and forth to NYC every night to see friends, and making my lists to ensure I have everything I need.  Last night was my final night out in the city, tonight I’ll say goodbye to family, and tomorrow night I anxiously await that 3 am car ride to JFK to board JetBlue bright and early Sunday morning.

I can’t believe it’s finally here.

For the first time since I booked the trip, I’ve started to feel nervous.  Butterflies float in and out of my stomach a few times a day as I try to process exactly where I’m going, what I’m doing, and what I hope to take away from it.  Saying goodbye to friends was especially hard, because the reality is I don’t know where I will end up when I return.  I haven’t simply taken a fork in the road, I pretty much found a random path in the woods and just took off running.  It’s a pattern I’ve grown familiar with, but never have I ventured so far as a new country to explore on my own.

Nonetheless, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.  The most important things I’m taking with me are my journal and my camera, both which I plan to use daily.  The main things I’m leaving behind are my computer, Facebook and Twitter.  It’s time for a little technology and social networking detox in my life.  I’m experiencing a strange mixture of feeling separation anxiety while looking forward to spending my time writing, reading, exploring my surroundings, and being a little MIA for a bit.

The next time I write I’ll be sharing my stories from an internet cafe in San Ramon.  I hope you’ll join me there.  

Until then, peace and love.

Adios, NYC.  You will be missed.

It’s hard to believe that just a year ago I moved into my first studio apartment in Manhattan.  For those that know me, the first two months of living and adjusting to the poorly kept and slightly chaotic space led to quite an accumulation of stories and tales, ones that will live on long after I continue my travels beyond the Hudson River.  In honor of one era ending and the beginning of yet another brand new adventure, I’ve compiled a list of my infamous love/hate relationship with D3.

Here’s to the memories… at least some of my favorites.

1.  Discovering a dead mouse, amongst other things, the day I moved in.  Discovering a live one in the months that followed.  I will never forget the night I woke up to him crawling up my window, right next to my bed.  Way to invade my personal space Mickey.

2.  Building, painting, and decorating a 13’ x 8’ space and making it feel like home.  I particularly loved painting the vines that surrounded my archway, and finding ways to make storage items look pretty.  Thank God for Pier One, the Container Store, Target, Home Depot and Bed, Bath and Beyond.  It truly takes a village.

3.  Waking up every morning to the big tree outside my window.  Especially when I woke up early enough to catch the morning light… a golden glow that illuminated the fire escape as the sun came up.  It was a rare moment of peace.

4.  Living in a fourth floor walk-up.  Great for the ass, a nightmare when moving. Or when you would get to the bottom of the steps and realize you forgot something upstairs.

5.  Grey Dog. And Grey Dog chocolate chips cookies.  Right. Next. Door.

6.  Daily walks to Hudson River Park, laying out and lunching in the circle park, and regular trips to Red Mango.

7.  My writing desk.  A place where I sat staring blankly at times… and typing madly and furiously at other times.  It was my jumping off point to many ideas, pieces, and aspirations… I hope the next time I come back to it, I will be sitting down to write from an even more inspired and successful place.

8.  The kitchen.  I must address the kitchen, with it’s gaping hole in the ceiling and 50 year old confectioners oven (which I insisted be removed for health reasons- I’m pretty sure it had a gas leak). My kitchen window faced my chain-smoking neighbors apartment, and each puff she took would blow directly into the 2x4’ space, filling my nose with the stale scent each time I went to get a glass of water.  It had two little white doors that opened to about 4 tiles, a sink, a mini-fridge (that broke the last month I lived there) and a stove top.  I made many delicious egg white omelettes in that little cell.  It was the most “New York” thing about that place… hands down.

9.  The musical serenade from my next door neighbor.  I always knew what kind of mood he was in… For example, in the first few months he was going through a break up.  I deducted this (the slick detective that I am) because his daily playlist consisted of three Justin Timberlake songs: “What Goes Around Comes Around,” “Cry Me a River,” and “Another Song All Over Again.”  After about a month of this, he moved on to Judy Garland.  Just one particular song.  Also on repeat.  Then came the rebound phase.  The soundtrack to that? Lady Gaga. Obviously.  Last I heard he was blasted techno dance music at 8am.  Glad to see he’s moved on.

10.  The neighborhood.  What a wonderful spot to immerse yourself in and learn to navigate the city.  I spent many nights walking home from the LES and Greenwich Village, taking in the quiet moments on the city streets, discovering architecture, and spending quality time with my iPod.  I could be at a venue in 10 minutes, BK in 15 minutes, uptown in 20 minutes, and Jersey in a half hour.  You just can’t beat that.  

The memories. For better or worse, that apartment took me through one of the biggest transitional years of my life.  If those walls could talk, they would spill stories of love, friendship, fighting, tears, laughter, frustration, hope, sleepless nights, wonderful nights, sleepovers, music, dressing up, dressing down, and so much more.

We had a good run D3.  I’ll miss you.