#strangers | It Only Takes A Smile

Travel Guides and Kindness

21 Aug 2023 1 Comment

by Dr. Tricia Wolanin in Uncategorized Tags: #blackmadonna, #dogs, #expat, #kindness, #strangers, #travel, #wanderlust

I pilgrimaged to the Black Madonna in Einsiedeln today. I originally was travelling to Zurich in order to visit the small country of Lichtenstein. Then, I realized, there was a Black Madonna here that Carl Jung previously visited and wrote about. It was the Black Madonna that was closest in distance to him, and therefore he wrote about Her. Upon hearing this, I knew where my next pilgrimage would be to. But the journey actually began the week prior.

I had just returned home from a group pilgrimage to the Black Madonna in Italy. I had messaged to confirm with someone I hired from an online app in regards to my dog’s upcoming stay with her. But she cancelled last minute. I struggled to find a new sitter during the height of summer, searching both online and in person. I made numerous requests, including to a friend that lived in Paris who I offered to fly out to Spain. Eventually, prayers were answered. Someone who attended my sound healing class, Manuella, offered to watch Bella. Hearing this meant the world to me.

In this moment, I noted this is where I need to invest in community. I realize being somewhat nomadic, I develop loads of acquaintances but minimal friends. What I truly need at times like these are friends, and having someone offer was so heartfelt. Manuella had come to multiple sound baths, and felt various forms of healing that occurred from then. Although she didn’t state this, I felt she actually was paying back the favor in watching Bella. She was just driving back from France, her home country, the same day I dropped off Bella. Words couldn’t describe how precious and impactful this was. I realized this dog sitting component and numerous other factors all lined up for this to happen. The ease of the train ride, having an entire row to myself on the plane, waking up to my lipstick on my hand in the shape of a heart, having free wifi (since my mobile network isn’t functioning), and the ability to feel safe in a foreign land like Switzerland.

My pilgrimage to Einsiedeln may have been one day long but included walks, a plane ride, and train rides (one that had three transfers). I got minimal sleep due to an early flight, late dog drop off the night prior, and a bit of travel stress that prevented me from falling asleep promptly. On an extended train layover, I opted to get a pretzel baguette filled with curry falafel. The concept of this meal didn’t make sense, numerous cultures hodgepodged together in one sandwich. I hopped on the train and ate this delicious cultural mystery. It was so tasty, and now I had the souvenir of the curry smell all over me.

As I arrived in Einsiedeln, I wasn’t exactly sure how to get to the Abbey. I stepped off the train, walked into the quaint picturesque Swiss town and stumbled into a hiking clothing store. The worker greeted me in German, and I showed her a screenshot I took of the Einsiedeln Abbey. “How do I get here?” I asked. I spoke no German, she walked outside with me to show me where to go so I wouldn’t be confused. I was curious how far would this be. She pointed left and she said, “It’s easy, easy, easy. You walk 1 ½ minutes and you are right there.” I laughed. It wasn’t what I expected. Why step out of the store to show me the directions of where to walk for a 1 minute journey? But I deeply appreciated it. It was as if she was a guide who magically appeared reminding me, “You are almost there” or “It’s only as hard as you make it out to be.”

I finally arrived at the Abbey. The smell of flowers in a mini casita that surrounded her was poignant. The excess of flowers and Her gorgeous sparkly blue gown must have been from the Assumption only one week before. It was apparent that I must have really smelled like curry, which was juxtaposed to the heavenly floral scent. I kneeled in front of the Black Madonna, felt welcomed curry and all, and I cried. I internally heard her say to me, “It’s okay. You can relax now.”

I don’t know if this “relax” statement was in regards to the numerous modes of transportation I endured for the day, the struggle of finding a sitter for Bella, or for receiving word that I had gotten a new dream job the week prior, the culmination of seeing 7 Black Madonnas the preceeding weeks. The smells of the flowers brought back reminders of the floral scents in wakes and funeral of loved ones I have lost. This Black Madonna was different than others. She had round cheeks, felt sweet, regal, and was inclusive of the knowledge and wisdom that both my Ninang and Lola had, and one day my grandmother, mother, and maybe me. I cried and felt held.

The Black Madonna looked as if she was the Queen of the Sea and the Night, in her flashy blue sparkly dress. Her attire changes dependent on what the staff members choose to dress her in for the occasion. I felt lucky that I was visiting in what seemed to be a celebratory occasion. Time passed as I observed Her, and I felt a tiny tension headache arising. I heard Her say to me, “Take care of yourself and come back. Don’t be greedy, let other people have time with me.” These are words mothers would say, the truth laced with sweet kindness and unconditional love. Take care of my needs, which included drinking water and taking bathroom break, buy some souvenirs and come back. This is what I did.

I am learning to have a different experience with Her this past month. It’s different than the past, of just thinking of problems or things I want when I visit a new church or see another Black Madonna. It’s as if I was putting an order in the universe. Now as I sat in front of her, I tried to listen to my body. How did my body feel in Her presence? What was being said? What images or intuitive hits am I receiving? I generally ensure I sit as close to her as possible, and take time to journal in front of her to note all that is arising.

If I really listened, I began to discern how each Black Madonna has a different feeling. Her facial expressions are different and what She stands for is different. The energy She commands and the people that are devotees of her are all different. But it’s taken solitude and inquiry to explore what is truly arising in this moment.

As I left the church, a little Indian boy grabbed my hand, as I walked past a café. His parents laughed and apologized for him. I am not sure what he saw in me. The gold I wore that was shiny and flashy, something playful in my youthful walk, someone brown in a sea of whiteness therefore I looked familiar. I too laughed it off, but was curious what did he know, what did he see? Maybe he was someone who simply wanted to share his joy for that moment, with a stranger.

I write this now in a café, accessing some free wifi, and another stranger is kind enough to let me use her charger (as I brought the wrong kind). She was Albanian, living in Italy, and staying with her family in Zurich. She offered this, when she saw me struggling trying one usb charger after another on the whole floor of this coffee shop. She said, “we all need to charge our devices.” It was another reminder that we are here to support each other on this journey of life, whether it’s a passing stranger offering a usb, a young boy giving a gentle nudge of the hand, store worker going out of her way to give directions, or an acquaintance offering to watch your dog. Oftentimes we see how we give to the world, but how often do we see how the world gives back to us?

If I continue to have a soft gaze as I interact with the world today, I will notice the grace that arises in my interactions with all that I meet. I will see the connection all of us have, and the longing for something more. There’s a sense of gratitude as I engage with the world, knowing I am supported by the Black Madonna, all travel guides, angels, and the kindness of strangers.

Part of Transformation

20 Aug 2023 Leave a comment

by Dr. Tricia Wolanin in Uncategorized Tags: #expat, #expatlife, #kindness, #strangers, #travel, #wanderlust

On my return flight of my 2 ½ week trip to Italy, I lost my leather bound journal. Actually, I left it on the plane. I didn’t realize this until hours later, when I was at home. And my first thoughts were, I hope the person who finds the journal will be excited and use it.

I had this journal for two years, and recently found it in storage when I was in the states. It was given to me as a birthday gift from my mother, and had an inscription from mother to mother on the front. But the extra special meaning was I took it on my pilgrimage to various Black Madonnas in Italy. Inside the brown leather cover were images of the Black Madonna I collected throughout the week, postcards from various churches. In some ways, it had a dual purpose meaning. It was my biological mother who gave it to me, but the ultimate mother was also gifting it to me.

As I realized I lost it, I wished that whoever finds the journal would find peace and the Black Madonna will watch over them. Maybe this “losing the journal” was a serendipitous event that will bring the finder comfort or joy. Not just in the beauty of the journal, but the images inside.

There were no steamy or juicy secrets written in there. All that was written were reflections and insights gained, potential plans for the future. The rest of the journal had empty pages, futures unwritten. I hope the person who finds it writes in the journal, continues to reflect on their hopes and dreams, and chooses to lean on the Black Madonna for support and guidance.

As I prepare for this next part of my life, I realize I must let go of attachments to things, journals, ideas, and goals. In order for transformations to be made, we must let go and shed old versions of ourselves. In losing this, I am letting go of the old me’s hopes, dreams, and allowing space for the new to enter.

I took the photo above the day before I lost my journal in front of the Black Madonna in Bologna. I spent an hour sitting in front of her, free writing, journaling, and crying. Crowds of people would come in and out, but I remained seated in front of her. In between crying, a stranger looked at me and said “thank you for everything.” We didn’t talk before this or exchange glances. Maybe he just appreciated my energy and devotion. He was dressed in pink and maroon, and thought he was an image or reminder of the divine masculine. And after he said this to me and left the sanctuary, I cried even more. It was a beautiful chance encounter with a stranger that lasted minutes. Therefore, I hope the tears of comfort and realizations blessed in this journal will bring whoever finds it inspiration, joy, and protection.

Gratitude in the Mundane

16 Aug 2023 Leave a comment

by Dr. Tricia Wolanin in Uncategorized Tags: #expat, #mindfulness, #strangers, #travel, #wanderlust

This past week I was in Bologna Italy. It’s a city I have been in before years ago, and was primarily coming here so I could explore the country: San Marino. I didn’t have much plans to do in Bologna, but to wander around town and rest, as I processed the earlier parts of my journey. Perhaps I would get some Bolognese, where it was invented.

On the afternoon I arrived, I stumbled onto this park. It wasn’t very big, and was quite mundane. It was a hot early August day, and people sought relief from the sun by the shades of the trees. Some homeless men lied on benches, there was some a sprinkling of young men gathering and smoking marijuana, teenagers chatted and played cards, a barefoot toddler cried as his mother took him away from the fountain as he didn’t want to leave his playground. But as I walked further, I found a tranquil café. Chilled out Radiohead style music set the atmosphere. I sat down and observed what was occurring around me. A young skateboarder was being chaperoned and cheered by his mother, who had a newborn baby in her arms. Young lovers kissed, as if nobody else could knew they were there. Older men sat at a table drinking beer as they caught up, large dogs napped on the ground next to their owners. A tired bicycle food delivery man napped on a bench. Children played on a mini playground, which was next to a book exchange. A young boy sighed as he missed the basketball hoops, while taking shots. Two people one wouldn’t picture as friends played checkers, while another woman waited at a nearby table to play the winner. The waitress greeted regulars. A variety of races and ethnicities were represented in the people I observed.

There was nothing special about this park, but this is what brought tears to my eyes. I found universality in this park. These exact activities are happening in parks all over the world. Parks serve as a place of tranquility as we seek refuge from the sun. I felt so grateful I could witness it. This was not a tourist park, there was nothing fancy to see, but what I witnessed warmed my heart. I felt so grateful that in this year, I’ve been able to go to similar parks in New York City, Paris, New Orleans, Malaga, Bulgaria, North Macedonia, Philadelphia, and Los Angeles to see the same thing. I know if I lived in this city, I would probably be walking my dog Bella everyday here and taking comfort in the shade.

Sometimes it’s in these simple moments of witnessing the similarities in humanity that makes me so grateful for life. Despite language barriers, customs, ethnicities, age, or eras our everyday lives may be more similar than we expect. There is beauty in this, and we forget. We are tricked by the disguises we wear, the superficiality we see in our skin tones or clothes that grace our bodies. Essentially we are the same, and if we could only see that, there would be such peace. We all yearn for connection, comfort, joy, and love. And the more we can see past the superficiality, we could access this common thread that unites us all.

In a recent Brazilian dance workshop I attended, we had to “cut” in and break up two people dancing. There was no hard feelings, as this was part of the process to have your place in the center with a person you wanted to dance with. How we asked the other person to leave, is we opened our arms and had our belly buttons touch. This welcomed in one, as the other left the group and went back to the outer circle. It was very intimate, warm, and jolly. The universal thread of the umbilical cord that binds us all. This is the image that arises as I reflect on those quiet moments in the park on that sunny summer day in Bologna. There’s unification in the mundane, and if we can recall this, a joyful smile may grace our faces.

The Laundromat

02 Aug 2023 Leave a comment

by Dr. Tricia Wolanin in Uncategorized Tags: #doinglaundry, #expat, #expatlife, #kindness, #saturdays, #strangers, #travel, #wanderlust

It’s been 6 days in my 21 day journey, and I knew the time had come. I needed to go to a laundromat. This is something I have avoided when travelling. I think it’s been awhile since I travelled for an extended amount of time and wasn’t visiting family or friends. It’s not an irrational fear to avoid public laundromats in foreign countries while travelling. There was a reason. Years ago, I was robbed. Yes, in my twenties while backpacking Europe for three months, a friend and I went to a laundromat in Florence. I didn’t think much of it as I stuffed my clothes in a machine, I must have only placed my wallet down for 2 minutes. When I looked back, it was gone. Gone was the money and credit cards, but luckily the passport was in the hotel. I was so grateful my friend Crystal was travelling with me during this portion of the journey. It was a three month solo backpacking trip, but for two different portions, I met up with friends. We could lean on Crystal’s credit cards, until I could wait for a replacement card to be sent to the next hotel. Ever since then, I avoid public laundromats at all costs while travelling.

But I was now in Italy again in the middle of summer. My clothes were quite disgusting of discovery days full of sweat. The hotel didn’t have a laundry service. I had no other choice. This was the prime time to do laundry, I was on the chilled out island of Lampedusa. I didn’t dare do laundry in Naples, where I was returning to. And so viola, I headed to the laundromat.

Although it was only 930 am, it was already in the 90s. I was filled with sweat on my walk, and upon arrival at the laundromat I noted all were full. There were three machines, one was broken, and two were in use. I would wait for the remaining 17 minutes. First I waited inside, but there was no air circulation, I could only feel the hot air of the machines doing their jobs. One woman folded her laundry, with a hair wrap to keep the sweat from her face. We commented on the heat, her in Italian, me in pantomime.

This was my opportunity to reframe the experience. I brought a book to read as I used my Spanish abanico to cool me down. This wouldn’t be so bad. Eventually the time came for me to load the wash, and after I did, I sat outside waiting for the time to pass. Another woman sat outside with me waiting for her load in the dryer. She wore all white, a white fitted tee shirt and white ripped jeans that seemed to have a faint stain of coffee in the back. I had seen her earlier on the phone, talking to someone on the phone. It was most probably her husband, as she rolled her eyes in desperation and leaned over a table looking exasperated. I don’t know if her dramatic attempts were for me, if she thought her partner could see this on the phone, or it was the only way to act out with her partner in public privacy.

There were many older men hanging in the streets at this hour. I wondered if they were there because it was yet to be high noon and stores were open, or they left their homes so the women could do the house work. Maybe one of those men was her husband. This could be why this woman was acting over the top, she felt I could relate to her experience as a woman doing laundry in a hot laundromat on a Sunday.

We sat on a bench outside, she offered a cigarette. I politely declined, but thought to myself “how Italian.” We are cleaning our clothes so they can smell fresh and clean, but her laundry would then be folded with her nicotine covered hands.

I appreciated her warm gesture of the cigarette, perhaps she wanted to connect in the only way she knew how due to the disparity in our verbal communication. Maybe I should have taken the cigarette, even though I don’t smoke, to accept her kindness. This was a corrective experience from my previous Italian theft laundromat story. Now it was a moment of connection with a stranger, we sat commiserating in the heat, two women waiting for our laundry on a Saturday afternoon.

La La Lampedusa

30 Jul 2023 Leave a comment

by Dr. Tricia Wolanin in Uncategorized Tags: #creativity, #europe, #expat, #expatlife, #italy, #kindness, #lampedusa, #slowdown, #strangers, #travel, #wanderlust

And I could finally let out a sigh.

It was as if I ate a large meal, and could unbutton the first part of my jeans and breathe again.

This is what I felt when I walked the streets of Lampedusa. It was a hectic busy 24 hours flying from Malaga to Naples, going to Pompeii, and flying to Lampedusa. The day was filled with a bit of anxiety, travel stress, and tons of stress. I think my body was on guard and tense due to my strict timelines, the heat, and the awareness of the fact that I could not get too comfortable because I would have to move to the next location. I had not arrived yet. But now walking the quiet “main street” of town, I could relax. I didn’t even need to go to the beach yet to feel the chill vibes.

There was a tranquility here. The restaurants placed chairs on the center of the road and closed off the street for the night to begin. Store workers sat in plastic chairs as tourists walked by. Elderly locals looked over their balconies to observe the newest people to visit their island. These photos capture peaceful moments in this Italian Island, which was once considered a Tunisian territory.

It’s a place I don’t know much about. As I tried to youtube video clips, I couldn’t find much. I know Italians vacation here for their summer holidays. But it’s also more well known for something else. When I told a French guy I was coming here, he said “Lampedusa the place where all the migrants go?” This is true, why most people are aware of this area is it is the location that many refugees try to escape to. It’s a gateway to Europe, people from various parts of Africa voyage to Tunisia. And from there the expedition continues. As you are aware, not many people make it.

This past spring, I decided to set the goal of joining TCC (Travel Century Club), to be part of this, I must visit 100 territories, and I want to do this before I turn 50. Since I want to do this, and was flying to Naples already, why not go to Lampedusa? I also will San Marino, while I am at it. So this is what I am doing. Lampedusa marks the 65^th territory I have visited.

I am staying in Lampedusa for five nights, and originally I thought this was excessive. The island is only 7 miles long and 2 miles wide. Would I go crazy, could I fly to Tunisia and check off another territory? But now that I am here, my soul is grateful for what has been planned out before me.

I have time to wind down, write, read, and catch up with myself. The slow pace of the locals and the fact that there are minimal tours here, allows me to wander or simply swim in the sea. I could allow myself to simply be, and I wasn’t aware that this is what I was longing for. Even though I am not currently working, I was attending Spanish classes for one month, and was in the midst of applying to jobs in America and going through loads of interviews. I also am taking a mythology class, which I love and was deep in reading the suggested literature. So overall, I was “busy.” It was a busy-ness of choice yes, and not of necessity, but it was still busy.

As I walk the main street, I note the muted spring colors. Things are not as vibrant as the electricity in hues of Miami or the blue white tranquility of Santorini. There’s a sense of humbleness, in the toned down colors of the building. They are not trying to be anything spectacular or Instagram worthy, they just are. In some ways this a beach Mediterranean island which would be featured in a Wes Anderson film. There are characters that exist here: in the locals that never left the island, the refugees that have fled here, and the vacationers they serve. I’m not sure what the storyline is yet, and maybe it would be a film of an everyday life on this quiet picturesque place, which has yet to been bombarded by excessive crowds.

The days pass, and I note the same people on the street. They notice me and wave. There’s the older sailor man who sails spices, the family who opened a new restaurant serving fresh fish burgers, the Thai and Italian family selling gorgeous clothes, and the local elderly couple who probably own the hotel I am staying in who sit on the couch every afternoon to watch the guests.

The slow pace has allowed me to linger. I walked throughout much of the bottom half of the island, swam in numerous seas, laid on rocks in the style of Barbarella, and had time to write. I appreciate that Lampedusa hasn’t gotten all the acclaim yet. It’s as if I stepped back in time, and could find not just another culture but a more relaxed version of myself I have lost.

World Citizen

18 Jun 2023 Leave a comment

by Dr. Tricia Wolanin in Uncategorized Tags: #expat, #expatlife, #strangers, #travel, #wanderlust

I am not an Athenian or a Greek, but a citizen of the world

– Socrates

Yesterday I was having a conversation with a friend about the concept of globalization. National Geographic defines this as “increasing connectedness and interdependence of world cultures and economies.” And I would agree, to some extent the world is getting smaller. Post pandemic, all is possible and accessible. We are connected in this technological fast paced world.

My recent travels to places such as Bulgaria, Serbia, North Macedona, and Gibraltar reminded me of this concept of globalization. Many of these countries, I didn’t dream of visiting. In my youth, I knew I would visit France, England, and Spain, but the Balkans were not on my list. And yet I was here. For some reason, I thought I would be one of the few tourists that travelled to this land. I knew of only a tiny number of friends or family who have visited here. But what surprised me were there were not only tons of tourists, but also digital nomads. Our boundaries to where we travel now as Westerners have expanded. I was particularly surprised by hearing so many American accents. The Cyrillic language was made easy and translated into English in the city centers for access of non-locals. Cafes were cutesy and instagrammable. We don’t have to travel only to Paris to linger in a cute café, we can hop over to Skopje.

One evening in Sofia, we shared a dinner with two Italians that were colleagues and were living in Bulgaria. We decided to sit at one table together, because the strict hostess at a local restaurant would not seat either of our parties of two. Our attempt earlier that day to get reservations failed. There were no two tables of two. But now we could be a party of four, and so we sat with strangers. When we walked to our table our new friend said, “it’s destiny,” I knew it was meant to be. She was speaking my universal language of synchronicty and magic. This woman had already lived in Serbia, Romania, and now Bulgaria. She was in the textile industry and due to lack of jobs in her country, she sought work in the Balkans. The European borders were open to her and she was immersed in it for years.

Several days before this we had a server and consultant at this Creperie in Sofia. He was Bulgarian, but lived twenty years in America. We spoke of everything from Yogananda, consumerism, over working, yearning for peacefulness, to modern dating. As we talked with him for two hours, I realized I had probably more similarities with him than I had with people in my hometown that never left.

This past week in Malaga, I hosted an event with Girls Gone International. We were a group of less than ten women, but all of us were from different location. We were from America, Ukraine, Prague, New Zealand, England, and Australia. All of us were living in Spain now, but have lived around the world. The border lines between countries are becoming fainter. We are more connected than we think.

And what I find is that I can connect with the people who have left their hometown to live and venture to other lands. One has to know there are other ways to live in the world. We limit ourselves when we think our town is the best one in all the lands and there is no other way to experience the world. This is small town mentality, whether you are from Massillon Ohio or Malaga Spain. There are other landscapes to see, exotic food to taste, fascinating people to meet. You can return home, and have a base but know there is more out there. The more we travel, we see that we are more the same than different. There is not one way to be, but simply a way of living we have been born into and socialized to conform to.

I would love to offer you the gift of travel. And it’s not just to see the landmarks that our favorite authors write about or visiting locations we have seen depicted in movies. It’s not to consume the luxuries of the most exotic spices and textiles. It’s the experience of interacting with others, and the breaking down of barriers that have been built up in our heads. Globalization is normalization. It’s validation of our connection and a reminder we are one.

More the same than different

08 Jun 2023 Leave a comment

by Dr. Tricia Wolanin in Uncategorized Tags: #bulgaria, #expatlife, #kindness, #morealikethandifferent, #strangers, #travel, #wanderlust

Currently I am visiting my 54^th country and 64^th territory: Bulgaria. I didn’t know what to expect from this Eastern European location. But I find, whenever I don’t expect much, I am pleasantly surprised. Sofia, the capital of Bulgaria, currently caters to the cosmopolitan traveller. The digital nomad millennial influence has impacted this space, with new cutesy cafes, brunch spots, and instagrammable restaurants popping up throughout the city. It’s a recognition that many of us are longing to linger in places that are beautiful and welcoming. The outdoor relaxing cafes are no longer solely reserved for the streets of Paris. They can exist anywhere, and this includes Bulgaria. Why not?

What I found truly interesting, was today when my friend Isabella and I, ate breakfast at a local creperie. One of the staff members chatted with us for at least an hour. Although Daniel is Bulgarian, he spent the past twenty-two years in America, and recently moved back to Bulgaria for family reasons. The three of us never embarked on small talk of the weather and “tourist things to do in Sofia.” We talked of “American” values of overworking to pay for our consumeristic lifestyles. We explored getting lost in the worlds of what we thought was important to us, and therefore losing our health or time for proper relationships. Collectively, all three of us intentionally made a shift in how we lived and worked to lead more balanced lives. We did and are purposefully continuing to do this in different ways. Although we were born in different countries, we had an American upbringing in our late teens through thirties.

Having a conversation like this, in a land I never thought I would visit, is refreshing. It’s the Law of Attraction. Like attracts like. One finds you attract people of similar minds and lifestyles. It felt “random” that our middle aged Bulgarian server, was drawn to the works of Yogananda and SRF (Self Realization Fellowship). We bonded in talking initially of this Indian guru who set up shop in California to spread spiritual principles in the world. All three of us had visited one of his SRF places of worship in California. Here we were living it, and having a discussion about it in Eastern Europe. In the end, it doesn’t matter the type of job or title you have or the amount of money you have in your bank account. What matters is the experiences you choose to have in life, and living in alignment with your values. These values are not those placed upon you by your culture, family, or media, but those that you fully chose. But what is required to do all of this is to step outside of your hometown, see parts of the world, and see that we are more alike than different. We must unlearn to learn.

Observe Love

12 Mar 2023 Leave a comment

by Dr. Tricia Wolanin in Uncategorized Tags: #expat, #kindness, #mindfulness, #strangers

It’s a time of dating apps, where one can swipe right or left to determine your worth to them. Love seems elusive. It’s a time where people can unmatch or ghost you if you don’t fit their ideal in the moment. One feels disposable. Love is a condition so many of us strive for, but feels far from reach.

And all we need to do to witness love is put down our phones and observe it. This is a new practice I have been trying. If I am striving for love and all the aspects of it, not just romantic, but also communal, friendship, familial, and universal, then I am practicing witnessing and being love. It requires one’s presence.

Today, as I sat in a local town square to be in the sun with my dog, I was present. I observed a woman crawling on her knees to move a cigarette butt so her baby wouldn’t grasp for it as he crawled the same park. I saw a single father, pushing his slightly tween daughter on a makeshift swing. I observed two friends catching up, as they were on holiday. I saw how I shielded the eyes of my dog when a razor scooter zoomed by so her bark wouldn’t ruin the mood of the moment for those around me. I interacted with a stranger as our dogs met, and although her dog was barking, she knew her pet was curious and only wanted to smell out my dog and greet it. None of these people were on their phones. They were present and patient. And this is where I observe the lines repeated so often in weddings from the Corinthians: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, and it keeps no record of wrongs.”

We don’t have to wait to hear those words to be read as people exchange their vows, to see them play into action. It’s a reminder that love is more than one’s romantic partner. Love is how we interact with other beings in the world. Love does not have to be saved for special moments, it is possible in every moment. So in a time of swiping, impatience, and greed, we can remind ourselves love still exists and is all around. But it requires us to observe. And when we can observe love wholeheartedly, there’s a contagion to that. We want to pass it on. Don’t pass on the bitterness, frustration, or stress. Pass on the love in the little acts you engage in with those in your atmosphere.

Today take note of the love you witness. Pass it on.

Why Do I Do This Blog

03 Jan 2023 1 Comment

by Dr. Tricia Wolanin in Uncategorized Tags: #goals, #kindness, #kindnessinstangers, #strangers

Why I Do This Blog?

“Carry out a random act of kindness, with no expectation of reward, safe in the knowledge that one day someone might do the same for you.” – Princess Diana.

Why do I do this blog? I am asked this question frequently, and it’s something I often wonder do I keep up after over a decade of committing to it. I’ve given these positive quote cards (which may have led you to this blog) to baristas, celebrities, homeless people, airport security, store assistants, friends, ex romantic partners, family members, favorite authors, or more recently children who are enamored by my dog. The business card which leads to the blog, generally has an inspirational quote on top of a beautiful backdrop and an image of my dogs.

Initially I did this blog and quote cards as a way to offer a tangible form of gratitude to a passing stranger. I copied the idea from author Cheryl Richardson, who said in a workshop that she leaves these positive quotes with her from one of her card decks she created as a form of positivity. I liked the idea, and wanted to do a variation of it. I wanted to make people smile too, because I knew that people tend to spread their negativity frequently, just as easily they could spread positivity. I wanted to be part of that movement in some way.

What has happened to these cards over the years? What has been the impact? I do not know. They may have been thrown away, re-gifted to a friend or stranger, or forgotten about and packed away in some shoebox forgotten about. Once I had returned to a store in Arizona, and saw the staff member have placed the card under glass with other important pieces of memorabilia from fellow customers. In London, I visited one psychic in an esoteric store a year later and he had the card I had given him placed on the wall. After Puzo died, a friend took a selfie of him and the card to show me he still carries the sweet words and image in his wallet. Most recently, after giving this to a store associate at a high end Parisian department store, she found me on Instagram and sent me the following sweet message offering her gratitude, here is a snippet:

“It gave me joy in my day and reminded me why I am doing this job: to meet nice people like you.”

Her finding me and taking the time out to say how this made her day, made my day. To know such a small simple act of kindness can impact others means the world to me. Often, we think our purpose in the world has to be something grand. Our purpose must equate to making millions of dollars, attaining a high degree, being famous, and making a newsworthy mark in society. But our purpose could be to simply bring smiles and joys to strangers. We can brighten their day without much effort, and this impact will overflow in their interactions with others. It doesn’t take much.

So this new year, as we contemplate what goals we want to achieve, perhaps we can step back and simply smile at a stranger, open a door, leave a nice tip, or give someone an unexpected compliment. It doesn’t take much, it only takes a smile.

Finding Community in a City

09 Dec 2022 Leave a comment

by Dr. Tricia Wolanin in Uncategorized Tags: #city, #community, #holiday, #kindness, #kindnessinstangers, #paris, #strangers, #thirdspace

“Community is not an ideal; it is people. It is you and I. In community we are called to love people just as they are with their wounds and their gifts, not as we want them to be.”-JEAN VANIER

I’m living in the midst of a holiday season in a metropolitan area. It’s a time when cities feel frenetic. Locals are shopping for gifts for loved ones. Tourists inhale the Christmas spirit each store window has to offer. And often we may feel overwhelmed and exhausted. Being an outsider who is residing in a foreign country, where I don’t speak the language, oftentimes I just observe. Paris seems in some ways like any other big city. Many people live alone in their tiny apartments, and interact with their romantic partners or close friends for lunch or dinner. It doesn’t seem as if people go outside their own little bubbles. I’ve accepted this, as it what I am used to. But last week I had two experiences which warmed my heart and reminded me a sense of community can exist anywhere.

I was in my favorite gluten free boulangerie last week, which was crowded. There was minimal seating available. I asked a woman in a communal table if the space across from her was free. She nodded. I began to sip my coffee, and she tried to speak to me in French. My French is horrible, so then she began speaking in Spanish. This happens often. I am mistaken for being some type of Latin. I answered in Spanish that I was from the United States, and she transitioned to English. Claudine was this woman’s name. She hailed from Morocco, but who has been living in France for years. A mask covered her face, and a cane graced the table. As we spoke, she noted how lovely the lattes were. She stated she should know because she came to the Chambelland boulangerie daily. Claudine began to tell me she lives in an apartment behind the boulangerie, and each day a staff member will help her walk the steps to her home. I could have closed our interaction and typed on my computer, as I had planned. But I welcomed in the moment with this stranger. As our conversation continued, workers would stop and check in on her. Claudine created community in this popular establishment, with her loyalty and regularity. As she was about to be escorted by a worker, she asked me to visit her house. I agreed. All three of us walked to her apartment, and thirty minutes I was a guest in her home. She offered me another coffee, as I continued to eat my pastry from the store. As we bid farewell, she left an open invitation for me to return to her home.

Later in the week, I went to a tiny Vietnamese restaurant where I had a similar experience. My friend Isabella and I grabbed lunch, after a macaron making class at The Galleries Lafayette. We sat at a table next to these two older women. At first, they seemed shock that we would sit next to them. The restaurant was tiny, and they appeared as if they didn’t want to be bothered. There seemed to be an apparent free spot at a table next to a woman dining alone. After time, their energy settled. The older woman sitting next to me attempted to start a conversation with me. Again it was in French, and again, I simply smiled and noted “Je parle un peu francais.” I only speak a little French. She offered to transition to English, and queried where we were from. When we shared that we were from California, she noted that her grandson lived there and she visited once. As she spoke about it, it appeared as if it was ages ago. This woman than said she’s nearly 100 years old, and whispered to me her real age of 98. We continued to politely chat, and they received their meals first. Her and I ordered the same dish, a shrimp stir fry.

At one point the woman got some of the stir friend noodles she was eating on her shirt. I didn’t notice this, but the waitress did. The waitress came over to her to wipe it off her shirt and then placed a napkin over her shirt like a bib. The elder woman told her “Toi es gentille.” You are kind. At first, I thought this was strange. I didn’t know how I would feel if a stranger did this to me, wiping me down, and doting on me. But then the older woman stated she comes to this specific restaurant daily. “I live above here and I’m too old to cook,” was her response. When I inquired her favorite dish, “all of them, I rotate,” was her response. What I was witnessing in this moment was another act of kindness. Two days after my interaction with Claudine, I observed this. It was another older woman, who made this Vietnamese restaurant her third space. Her home. The staff member cared for her like a family member. It was beautiful to witness this.

These two single older women lived alone in Paris. Their family members did not live in the city, but they created family. They created community in third spaces. The staff members at these food establishments went above and beyond their duties and job descriptions and offered support, care, and love to these women for small moments each day. It was beautiful to observe these warm acts during these cold Parisian days. And it wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t present enough to chat with these women in my poor French and be willing to go with the flow and engage in conversations with strangers.

It Only Takes A Smile