“A creative life is an amplified life. It’s a bigger life, a happier life, an expanded life, and a hell of a lot more interesting life. Living in this manner—continually and stubbornly bringing forth the jewels that are hidden within you—is a fine art, in and of itself.” ― Elizabeth Gilbert,Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear
Sometimes we seek out creativity without knowing what to expect. This was the case several weekends ago in Santa Fe, where my mom, friend, and I went to a free Denim painting workshop put on by the Site Santa Fe Museum (also free to visit) and 4Kinship, an indigenous owned clothing store in town. We didn’t know what we were in for, as I thought when we signed up that this would be a class to teach us how to paint indigenous designs. Instead the class offered permission and paint to design whatever your heart called for. The theme was joy.
But for before the class began the owner of 4Kinship shared a story of how she had partnered with an organization to build a skatepark on an indigenous reservation. On the inaugural day of the skate park opening, legend Tony Hawk was invited and came to skate in conjunction with all of the other skaters. The owner of 4Kinship recruited an individual Shawn, who had been skating for years, to serve as a mentor 2-3 times a week to teach and lead skating lessons. He offered through mentorship and skating, alternative ways of being and living could be discovered to indigenous youth. Another indigenous creative was there who created a bespoke skateboard company (he also happened to be half Filipino). As this story was told, the owner began to tear up, which made me want to cry out of the beauty of collaboration and commitment to community.
And here we were in a free denim workshop. She gave us permission in that moment to create for the sake of it. As we did, there was initial hesitation and trepidation, what if we paint something and it’s wrong? There’s no erasing…. But we began to follow our intuitive hits. My friend Crystal, had images of faded checkered lines on the back of her denim coat, and was advised a way to seek out those results. My mom free styled a Desigual-esque vibe, as I tried to mimic the essence of examples that were hung of denim with indigenous patterns. Beats played in the background, we all got in the zone, chatted, and painted. It didn’t matter what the results were, we temporarily were all being creative collectively. And there was such beauty in this…
Being in Santa Fe, at this workshop, then strolling down Canyon Drive with dozens of galleries, gave permission to step into my own creativity once again. It’s easy to get caught up in the everyday drama of life, focusing on the daily busy-ness of work and to dos. But to let your mind wander, let the paintbrush move on a canvas, there was freedom there. As someone who is a creativity coach, I am used to talking to people 1:1 about their creativity, but there is a sacredness in doing this in a group. Separate and connected.
I had taken my first and only cruise with my family over 20 years ago, and had never stepped foot on one again until this past week. The reasons have changed, I wasn’t opting for solely relaxation, family reunion, and a getaway during the autumnal months. I was looking for ways to gain access to the Travel Century Club. The reason one joins is for bragging rights to claim that you have been to at least 100 territories in the world. On this one, I would add three more to the list: Puerto Rico, St. Kitts & Nevis, Sint Maarten (the Dutch side)/Saint Martin (the French side), Barbados. This was in addition to the US Virgin Islands, to which I had already been to (St. Thomas and St. Croix). This would put me at 80, and so on a cruise we go….
Cruises seem to be made for loving gatherings of large groups of friends and families exploring the world together without having to worry about cooking, cleaning, or driving. Entertainment and activities are provided, and all that is required of you is to get back onto the ship before departure time each day. On the first day, there was a massive balloon drop, which my friend and I managed to find ourselves in the front row of the dance floor. The band played Celebration by Kool and The Gang, as we counted down for the balloon drop. The crowd screamed as we tapped the balloons to others as they fell from the ceiling slowly, then picked them off the ground to keep them from popping and kept volleyballing them to others on the dance floor. My friend and I realized we were the only adults laughing with joy as we did this. The only other people doing the same thing were children, but we didn’t care. This was wonder in action.
Since my previous cruise departed from Florida, I had a bias that a majority of my fellow cruisers would be from middle America. Surprisingly this was not the case. We left from San Juan Puerto Rico, and nearly 75% of the guests were Puerto Rican. At our evening dining table, we were the only ones not from Puerto Rico. It truly felt we were part of the Caribbean. Dance and lip sync competitions had numerous participants that hailed from Puerto Rico, as the crowd cheered. Fellow mainlanders realized they were in the minority. A middle aged white man named Kirk even tried to claim he was from Puerto Rico to gain the audience’s love and votes as he competed doing pelvic thrusts and hip sways to Shakira, Ricky Martin, and the song Gasolina. The audience and host knew the truth, saying “alright Kirk from Puerto Rico” but laughed and clapped along anyways to the ridiculous over the top court jester archetype.
As we met other guests on this ship, there were people that were regulars in the cruise life. Whether they remained loyal with the same company and earned points or shopped around dependent on the regions explored. At some point, I realized we are all reflections of each other. Two older women sat next to us, whose husbands who opted for the buffet. They solely spoke French, and I listened in and internally translated bits of their conversation. Two other older Midwestern friends sat next to us, who resided in Ohio (my home state). One lady was British, and when I shared the towns, I lived in the UK (Cambridge, Epping, and Bury St. Edmunds), we were both shocked as she revealed her father was born in Bury St. Edmunds. We all exchanged names, and when I shared my name Tricia, the other woman noted she would remember this as her sister’s name was Patricia. Patricia Ann specifically (my name is Tricia Ann), who died at the age of 44 (I am 45). She teared up as she talked about her, and for a moment I thought how she may have needed me to serve as a mirror to her sister for a momentary reflection.
Staff members we engaged with hailed from India, Indonesia, Jamaica, Dominican Republic, Philippines, and numerous other locations. A flag dance party the last night of the cruise claimed 57 countries where staff on that specific ship resided from. One waiter asked if my friend and I (both of Asian descent) if we were married to Americans, wondering how we gained citizenship. We informed him that we were born in America. This exchange served as a reminder to be grateful for my family members that made sacrifices to come to America, the land of opportunity. I am not sure the exact amount staff are paid on cruise ships, but many waitstaff particularly come from low income or third world countries. These hardworking individuals work for at least 7 months a year, with minimal days off, in hopes of financially moving ahead in their lives. Some may enjoy the lifestyle, as I met one waiter from the Philippines who has worked for this same company for 20 years. The cruise life now is his home, and his homeland is a vacation. I overheard another staff member from India saying he was retiring after 30 years of working on these cruises. “Who will you work for now?” a guest asked him. “My wife,” he said with a smile, he was looking forward to spending time with her and his adult children.
There is poignancy in small moments. One of the nights, the waitstaff walked around the restaurant, as the guests clapped for their waiters and twirled their white cloth napkins in the air as a form of gratitude and appreciation to those who served them. We joined together in a large dance of the macarena. One port held 5 cruises on St. Martin, this meant 25,000 of us went ontp the island on that one day. As one cruise ship left, phone flashlights shone waving goodbye from both ships, as crowds do at concerts. Waving farewell to strangers via phones, or when we passed them on land, reminded me of the universal urge of wanting to connect.
And one begins to realize that we are mirrors for each other. We may not be as different as we expected. The characters we observed in our fellow cruise ship passengers were all archetypes, each who exhibit aspects of us. The court jester who hammed it up for the crowds in dance competitions, the lovers celebrating anniversaries or honeymoons, the bereft who still had residual grief , the royal court who complained about everything, the sick who needed to slow down their pace even on the cruise ship due to recent surgeries, the artists that performed each night, the salesmen who lured you to their stores with raffle prize wins and deals on art auctions or jewelry, the martyrs and wounded healers as staff who sacrificed so much as they served us to make money for people back home, the anxious ones who worried about this ship’s reliability as we swayed and rocked the waves on the boat, the gamblers who vowed to win more in the casinos, and the explorers who longed to step onto new lands, We have a desire to live for something more. We are here to celebrate, to cry, laugh, dance, and connect. For a brief period we were all unplugged from the everyday devices and linked with those around via conversation, laughter, song, travel, presence, and appreciation for one another. I’ve met so many types of characters on this ship, even some characters within myself that have been dormant.
What is the American dream? And can one still attain this? It seems that some people are still in search for this, and have ventured to the state of Alaska to attain it.
Inflation in the country, has made it difficult for the average person to afford rentals, and further the purchase of homes. But in Alaska a 3 bedroom home is still within reach. Over the first twenty four hours of arriving, we’ve met several people who have moved from different parts of America due to the affordability, opportunity, and promise of something more.
But there is also something else here that exuded… The kindness that emerged from the locals and the transplants, in offering suggestions of delicious cuisine to eat, stunning natural landscapes to witness, and warnings of what one may encounter during one’s visit.
I visited Anchorage Alaska mid-October, during Indigenous people’s weekend. To honor this, the Anchorage museum waived the $25 entrance fee for all visitors. A volunteer greeted us at the door, a young Indigenous female with a painted red hand over her face. I asked to take her photo, she said “I’d rather you not.” I honored her request, remembering that some people believe that if you take their photos, you are taking their souls. The red hand I observed was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. My friend reminded me that this was a symbol to bring awareness of missing and murdered Indigenous women in North America. They are 10 times more likely to be sexually assaulted or murdered than non-indigenous women. To read more https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_handprint#:~:text=A%20red%20handprint%2C%20usually%20painted,be%20murdered%20or%20sexually%20assaulted.
As I walked through the museum, I couldn’t help but be stunned by the controversial art pieces on display sharing the indigenous people’s stories throughout generations. Through imagery and storytelling, there were reminders of how the indigenous people were robbed of their heritage, appropriation was used as a platform for consumerism and capitalism, and the necessity of the new generations to discover, embrace, and share their heritage in their own native languages to ensure traditions are carried on. In addition, there was homage to other ethnic groups that make up pockets of Alaska, including Black Americans and Latin Americans.
(Nicholas Galanin: The Imaginary Indian, 2009)
Alaska is a complex entity, becoming the 49th state in 1959, but originally was purchased from Russia in 1867. Then came the Gold Rush, subsequently the search for oil.
It became a powerful place for America to own, “In 1935 General Billy Mitchell said to Congress “I believe that in the future, whoever holds Alaska will hold the world. I think it is the most important strategic place in the world.”
But with this cane the wipe out, erase, capitalize, appropriate the indigenous people and their customs. There were so many mixed feelings being here, that I may need to continue to reflect and chew on. The Anchorage museum held controversial conversational pieces, but what about the remnants diversity throughout the land? From what I explored, in the surrounding areas of Anchorage this was minimal. There are high rates of suicide, alcoholism, and ancestral trauma. And how do we serve and honor all those impacted by generations of colonialism?
There is so much to say about this, and I am aware I am only scratching the surface. But I am reminded, as we visit places even in our own country, it’s important to honor the land and the ancestors of the land, even if you are not a direct descendant. How can you be a responsible tourist and leave more than you take? This can be kindness, conversation, exploration, and discussions when one returns to your own neighborhood of the vastness you experienced. It’s an ever evolving reflection, and the more I travel to further vast corners of the world, the more questions arise. Thank you Alaska for what you shared, and I honor you and all that you contain.
“The unicursal path of the labyrinth is what differentiates it and sets it apart as a spiritual tool. The labyrinth does not engage our thinking minds. It invites our intuitive, pattern-seeking, symbolic mind to come forth. It presents us with only one, but profound, choice. To enter a labyrinth is to choose to walk a spiritual path.” ― Dr. Lauren Artress
Labyrinths often are confused with mazes. At a quick glance, they appear similar. Oftentimes a circular journey that appears to trick us as we walk towards the center. Yet there is one differences. Mazes have multiple options one can talk, a small form of choose your own adventure, filled with false pathways and dead-ends. But labyrinths do not trick us, there is only one way in and out.
Over the years, I’ve wandered through numerous labyrinths, but inside churches, buildings, and in gardens and retreat centers. Yet, the experience at Chartres Cathedral was profound. I had heard once that the labyrinths, particularly in France during the medieval times served as a metaphorical pilgrimage people could take if they did not have the time or physical strength to take the 500 plus mile walk via Camino de Santiago. This contemplative practice offered a piece of the reflection that could occur.
I was reminded that a pilgrimage begins with intention, often when one leaves the home. Last week, as we waited at Gare Montparnesse for our train track to be displayed to Chartres, we witnessed a staff member arguing with her boss. He didn’t seem to be understanding her as her voice elevated, at one point she screamed and hit the floor. Was it a panic attack, stress induced stress or a dramatic act? We couldn’t tell as a handsome passenger who also was a doctor, offered his help. As the fainting woman was sent away in a mini ambulance golf cart, I wondered had the pilgrimage begun. Each component played a part in the day: the heavy bags we carried, a miscommunication with the uber driver, the short but steep distance we walked from the train station to the hotel? A line of police vans drove by and small tents were getting set up. I couldn’t help but wonder what type of celebration was occurring or who was here. We queried our receptionist, who stated simply that someone important was in town. Thoughts immediately went to political importance. When I inquired if it was the president, she nodded her head, not wanting to verbally share who was here but not denying it either.
And so the pilgrimage really did begun. Each persona we met with during the day served as an archetype for the journey: the victim, the doctor, the police, the staff, and the president. We were prompt to arrive at Chartres Cathedral, as we were aware the labyrinth is only open for several hours on Fridays during some parts of the year. But as we walked to the Cathedral, we noticed crowds of students gathered outside and inside. Was it a massive field trip or something else? I later learned it was a photo op with President Macron. We were so in the zone of the moment that we didn’t seem to absorb he was in the Cathedral the same time as us. The labyrinth appeared before us, uncovered from the chairs that usually sit on top of it. I was curious how this labyrinth experience would compare to others I have done in the world.
One is to think of an intention as you enter a labyrinth. And so I did. As I meandered from one side of it to the other I reflected on this intention. Volunteers guarded the labyrinth, from tourists who stumbled unknowingly onto the labyrinth. They ensured that all who would grace the space offered their respect to what lay underneath them. If they were not going to walk it appropriately, they would have to leave the labyrinth and walk around the perimeter. The protector archetype was present, as was the fool, and the student. And as I walked the labyrinth, I would repeat my mantra. Pause. Repeat. Many of us were spread out, but as we entered the final stretch of the labyrinth, there was a bit of a human traffic jam. I wondered if I would feel frustrated with so many people there. Were people taking it seriously or was it just another quick tourist photo op?
But something shifted and changed. I dropped into this sentimental place observing my fellow pilgrims. And then I couldn’t stop crying for the beauty of the moment. This entire day was a metaphor of life. All the characters and interactions, and in the symbolism of this walk we were each headed for a moment in the center. The Chartres labyrinth is special in there are 6 petals in the center, for this particular walk, unspoken rules were created were our specific group. We were all strangers from different parts of the world momentarily gathered to embark on this contemplative tradition. As we walked into the entryway to the center, each of us would step to the left, as the person in the center stepped out. Some people had their hands to their hearts, bellies, both, or even palms open, ready to receive. As the person stood in the center, they faced the altar and infamous stained glass windows. It was as if it was there moment to shine, receive our quiet intentions and prayers, before stepping out. I couldn’t help but compare this specific part to one’s death, offerings, acknowledgement and prayers are made for a moment in time in one’s honor before you step out of the labyrinth.
Each time you walk the labyrinth it’s different but this specific moment will be etched in my mind. It served as a powerful reminder of meeting each part of ourselves on the journey of life. And having a moment of grace before one steps out of their path on earth. What are your stepping into? What are you leaving behind?
And so I challenge you to find a local labyrinth, make one, engage in a finger labyrinth and notice what metaphors arise on the journey.
As I write this, I am at the airport, awaiting my international flight to Paris. It’s my first international trip since I have begun a full time job 9 months ago. Although I’ve had mini holidays the past year, nothing of this extent. I will be gone for ten days. To the old free-spirited wanderluster, this amount of time is nothing, but to the me in a full time job, it’s a lengthy amount of time. There were so many little things that arose last minute to prepare for the weeks leading up to it: confirming with work, clients, fellow staff members, dog sitter, shuttle company, neighbors, family and friends.
I made the final touches to my luggage this morning. As I closed the zipper on my backpack, my Black Madonna keychain broke off. Automatically, it served as a reminder the journey was officially starting. There was no turning back.
Experiences are amplified when you take a long haul trip, and in this there is a realization you have to let go and allow the trip to unfold. Some things may go as planned, some may not. But in a time crunch, you must surrender that the travel guides and gods will protect you on your journey. You will be watched over and it will be what it will be.
There are mysteries that arise on journeys that may not be understood until reflection. Life will go on back home without you, but time will be stretched on your trip. Regardless of how much stress a trip may cause, the experiences gained are generally worth it.
Part of what draws me to towns that are known as “spiritual” is that the inclusivity that is exuded. Years ago I went to Glastonbury England, and what I found fascinating is that on their main street there were stores that had images of Mary, Merlin, and Buddha all rolled into one. On the street you found stores that had sculptures of the Green Man, fairies, a Goddess temple, and so much more. This is the case in Sedona.
Sedona, known as the most beautiful place on Earth, with it’s vortices, new age healers that reside, and tourists yearning to be recharged that flock here. At a store’s checkout, was an image of Yogananda, Jesus, and the Dalai Lama above their register, while another had Jesus, Ganesh, and dreamcatchers. I made a visit to a local shaman’s house for an indigenous healing session, and around the room were images of his Indian guru, Jesus, the Black Madonna and numerous other spiritual items that surrounded him. All were called upon from him and myself to allow the healing to occur through him as the vessel and to me the recipient.
There is comfort for me in places that offer spiritual inclusivity. All are welcome, all forms of worship to higher beings that are self-realized regardless of the country they stem from or the people that worship them. Perhaps you’ve been lucky enough to witness this, and if so, how did it impact you? There’s so much we have to learn from each other, and I embrace all places that embrace all.
Upon moving back to America six months ago, I became interested in learning more about the Indigenous culture here. I’ve been a sound healer for several years, and know that there are aspects that borrow from indigenous traditions and healings. I want to know more, and have gone to an in person workshop and taken a virtual course by indigenous healer Asha Frost. But this is not enough, I want to expose myself more to the knowledge and traditions out there.
And so this weekend I went to my first pow wow, it was a small one held in Oxnard College. But it was beautiful. People from various tribes came from different parts of California and the surrounding states. There was aspects of ceremony and ritual, with sage burning, as communal drums played. Traditional colorful attire worn and gourd dances were performed. There were dances that honor various individuals in attendance whose family members donate money to on the ground, as they stand and dance behind them. The money is picked up by another individual, afterwards often times the individual honored, then offers the money to the drummers and singers who played the entire time. It was fascinating to witness the energy of money being performed in front of our very eyes.
The emcee for the day was a veteran, and I was surprised to find many present were veterans, including two Vietnam vets. At one moment he stated, “During funerals we go to, there are 6-8 pallbearers. What about in life?” He further shared that we should not wait until our deaths to have 6-8 people carry us, depend on others while you are alive. He reminded the crowd that we are all human and have our vices, but collectively we can help each other out. He found this to be true for gourd dances. People have been cured of various ailments, particularly returning back from war through this collective dance.
It was beautiful to witness generations of families are present sharing the lineage of wisdom passed through song and movement. I began to tear up seeing this display of support and hearing the loud strong hearty drum beat, as the drummers beat on one large drum in unison. Seeing this beauty of culture displayed reminded me of the African drum circle I attended in New Orleans next to an ancient tree, where African Americans have been meeting Sundays since the time of slavery. It was the one time of week they were allowed to collectively worship while their masters went to church. In both of these instances, I felt I time travelled and saw the ancestors and their kin playing the drums and dancing to demonstrate solidarity, freedom, and connection.
The longer I am in America, I’m trying to truly understand what this country is about. What do we represent? What is freedom? Where did we come from? Who are the ancestors of the land and all that inhabit it now? What can we learn from them? What wisdom can be gained from all that was lost and somehow saved through traditions such as this?
“Or can you be like you, and reconnect to your own sacred Medicines? Your own beautiful ancestry? Your own power, presence, and brilliance? I see you wanting to. I see you aspiring to. I see you reconnecting. Can you be like you? As I reclaim and remember me. And then, we can finally walk in right relation to each other.” ― Asha Frost,You Are the Medicine: 13 Moons of Indigenous Wisdom, Ancestral Connection, and Animal Spirit Guidance
“Because when they looked at her, it occurred to them for the first time in their lives that what’s divine can come in dark skin. You see, everybody needs a God who looks like them, Lily.”-Secret Life of Bees, Sue Monk Kidd
A PBS episode that recently aired that highlighted the beauty of the Black Madonna in Italy. It was a great refresher in having the emotions stirred within about the essence of pilgrimage. Earlier this summer, I went on a pilgrimage with Alessandra Belloni (featured in the PBS special) to visit multiple Black Madonnas in Italy. It was beautiful to witness the devotees that pray, sing, and dance to Her. I observed people having a 1:1 relationship with Her, and it was a reflection of the potential of my relationship with Her.
I’ve been living in America the past six weeks, one hour outside of Los Angeles. Although it is not a busy town, there’s still a fast pace to the American lifestyle of capitalism, consumerism, and hustling to survive. I am surrounded by people who are talking of the struggles of surviving, let alone thriving. It’s easy to lose focus of your values, when you are staying so busy simply to keep up. But watching this episode was a reminder of how my life was earlier this year. There is an importance of slowing down and dropping into the sacred. This is what pilgrimage does.
We may not be able to be on pilgrimage all year. And I’m curious that high could be sustained if it was perpetual. Perhaps we need moments from the peak to recognize the importance and beauty of the sacred. The return in our everyday lives is the challenge to sustain the transformation felt within on pilgrimage, while at home. We may no longer be surrounded by fellow pilgrims, holy shrines, or celebrations that ignite a sense of awe, but can the power of the pilgrimage outshine the monotony and stressors of regular life> Can we stay moved and uplifted, although people around us may want to complain of everyday sorrows?
This is the challenge.
The two, the hero and his ultimate god, the seeker and the found, are thus understood as the outside and the inside of a single, self-mirrored mystery, which is identical with the mystery of the manifest world. The great deed of the supreme hero is to come to the knowledge of this unity in multiplicity and then to make it know.-Joseph Campbell
This past week, when having a farewell coffee meetup with a friend, she said to me that this return home would be a pilgrimage. Although I have visited America nearly annually, I haven’t lived here in 10 ½ years. Those words “it’s a pilgrimage” repeated with me over the past 20 hour voyage home.
I’ve been prepping to move back for nearly six months in some ways, and everyone has been asking me “how are you feeling?” In truth, so many emotions, but the final months with non-stop international and Spanish travel, visitors, or packing, I haven’t been able to process. I can only be present to the next task ahead of me.
“Life is like driving in the dark. Your headlights show you the 200 feet in front of you and as you move forward, the next 200 feet are shown to you. You don’t need to see the entire path in order to reach your destination.”-Jack Canfield
On one of my last nights, as I lied in bed prepping to sleep, my thoughts began to ruminate over what all had to be done and I realized in that moment I had a choice. I was making an international move with a pet, buying a condo, starting a new job, and shipping belongings. I could choose anxiety and restless sleep or know that everything was already working out. My question became, “why wouldn’t it work out?” All was unfolding and being divinely guided, I just had to trust and focus on the next task at hand. Don’t focus on the larger picture but the next thing that was being asked from me.
My friend Isabella reminded me I was fortunate enough to not be alone. She was right, as both her and my mother would be present to help make this journey possible. I ordered a van from Uber the day prior, hoping it would fit the three of us and Bella and all of our luggages. We each had two check-in luggages, a carry on and personal item. And it did. As we made the Uber ride, I realized my carry on and personal item were over stuffed and I should pay additional money for my carry on, and buy another carry on to distribute the weight. I hoped in the van ride it would be comped, but was willing to pay. Upon reaching the counter to check in at the gate, I informed the staff member of my luggage predicament. She looked at me, my belongings, and Bella in my backpack. She told me this would be too expensive, and she grabbed the credit card machine. “240 euros,” she said . She then proceeded to say, “I’m doing this for the dog.” It was comped! She happened to be a fellow dog owner, and had empathy for us. Perhaps she knew flying with a pet internationally was massive work.
With each little step, I repeated gratitude verbally and internally, like a mantra. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Everything was working out. I definitely had to have a “pilgrimage” mindset during this. For a short amount of time, physically and energetically I would have to be managing a lot. But I could do this. I could harness my internal wonder woman as I embarked on this journey. Having actually done the camino was helpful. I reflected on the state I was in for those specified days. I questioned at times what the heck I was doing walking so many kilometers, remind myself of the intention, and the fact that so many have walked that path before. I also knew it was temporary and that magical things could happen to assist all peregrinos. And so these flights would be a different camino. It was fitting that the first film I watched on the extended journey would be The Camino, a Danish film that came out this past year. https://www.imdb.com/title/tt24177444/
I heard a quote once that “it ends as it begins.” And I thought of this as we flew from Malaga to Paris in the 2 hour journey, the city I lived in last year. In the three hour layover, I felt horrible for Bella as there were no pet relief areas. My mom bought her the cutest diaper skirt and diapers for the journey. I walked her during this break, she lifted her leg and half peed in the diaper and a wall. I grateful to have Isabella and my mom to assist me as I cleaned it up, and Bella made her own makeshift pet relief area. I was so surprised and grateful that Bella had no accidents on the 10 ½ hour flight from Paris to Los Angeles.
There was more relief and gratitude as my brother picked us up from LAX in a SUV, and had Filipino food waiting to feed us. His girlfriend had spent days cleaning the house in preparation. And we could finally breathe and rest.
In the past, embarking on a pilgrimage like this would have been overwhelming. I would have somaticized the pain, cried at various stressful trigger points, and had ruminating thoughts of anxiety. This is all okay if these emotions arise, I once did this. But for some reason this move was different. I was present to what was at hand, had assistance from friends and family. It could have been the frame of mind I was in, the pilgrimages I’ve done, or the hundreds of hours of meditation practice I have done over the years. Perhaps it’s in these moments that the results of accumulated practice are culminated. Calm surrender and trust that the Universe, our guides, God, strangers, and the path are all supporting you on this pilgrimage of life. And with that all, thank you for everyone who has supported me on this journey.
“Travel far enough, you meet yourself.”― David Mitchell
“Where are you from?” It’s the number one question we were asked and asked others on this trip. It was a question that had potentially layers of responses. This is not just what country we were raised in, but where were we living, where did our ancestors come from, and where did we aspire to live? One of the most interesting things about travel is the people you meet, if you give yourself the opportunity to exchange words with strangers. On this most recent trip to the UAE, we met people from India, Philippines, Pakistan, Nepal, Uganda, Egypt, Algeria, Greece, Germany, Singapore, England, Netherlands, and America. This is a tiny glimpse of who exists on this land.
Dubai is one of the most expensive cities in the world. The local population in the UAE is anywhere from 8-20%. One guide alluded to the fact that many of the locals do not work, having received large portions of their finances from oil. Oil was discovered only decades earlier, which brought the new found wealth to the country to a group of people who were nomadic bedouines. He noted that in addition to receiving free healthcare and education, some newlyweds are offered land or villas to assist with their new start in life. When we asked our tour guide if he was of local Emirates descent, he responded “would I be giving this tour if I was?” He said this as he drove us around six of the seven Emirates in one day, he worked seven days a week, giving group and private tours, and sleeps several hours a night balancing work life, family life, and playing professional cricket.
We know that a country can’t survive if nobody works, particularly countries such as the UAE that are developing at such a fast place. This means that 80-92% living in the UAE are expats. Newer digital nomads from Western countries move here due to tax breaks, with zero percent income tax. A fellow German explorer who was on this Emirates tour with us lived in Saudi Arabia for over the past ten years working as a HR consultant for a wealthy family and their multiple businesses. He loved the Middle East and wanted to move to Dubai with his Mexican wife who lives in Qatar, for these exact tax benefits and to expand his business. But not everyone has the financial freedom to live anywhere.
It’s been said that 50% of the population are from India, and another large majority are Filipino. Our Ugandan waitress at a Japanese restaurant asked my friend and I if it was the first time we went to this restaurant. We nodded are heads, as we were there during a Wednesday, which coincided with all you can eat sushi night. Shethought we were expats who were splurging on our night off. It made sense, because I am a mix of Filipina and Eastern European descent and my friend Isabella is Thai. We were brown just like everyone else we saw on the metro and streets. We looked like we could be living here, fellow servers in another restaurant. And if things were different, maybe we would be.
I couldn’t help but think of a parallel life I would have, if my grandmother never immigrated to America from the Philippines. I have mixed feelings with being American, particularly having lived in the UK and Europe for the past 10 years. But I often forget the world of opportunities that are available with an American passport and making a salary in USD.
The UAE is welcoming to those wanting to come to their country, allowing one to attain a work visa while on a tourist visa. But for some individuals in service industry jobs, one wonders what it is really like. Pay is low (although probably more than that of one’s third world country), health care is provided, transportation to and from one’s job is also offered. This is in addition to lodging, but transportation is on large school buses. Tourists are enamored by the bright lights of the skyskrapers and the fountain show in front of the flashing Burj Khalifa. One only has to look a little further outside a taxi or bus window to see the lines forming on the side entrances of malls or hotels, picking up and dropping off staff members at transitional hours. The UAE is expensive and therefore having housing benefits is a perk, but it’s been said that people may have up to 10 roommates in a 1bedroom apartment. I shared this story to friends in Paris, and they had heard rumors of passports being taken until debts are paid back to those who brought them over to the UAE. My ex-husband who was Italian American told me this years ago as he was sent to Dubai to open a new restaurant, but I couldn’t fathom the depths of struggle industry workers from third world countries were facing.
This blows my mind, and I wonder how this occurs in a land that many pilgrimage to in order to see these astounding feats of human creation. The UAE has created man made islands, engages in cloud seeding (where planes fly into clouds to produce rain), there are ever increasing skyscrapers and it boasts the most records in the Guinness Book of World Records, with such extravagances as the largest mall, the tallest building, and the largest gold piece of jewelry. These extravagances are built on the backs making meager income. It is a choice to work in the UAE, but how much freedom do these people have?
We often forget that physical space, such as one bedroom apartments, are a luxury many of us are privy to. Sacrifices are made to live in the UAE with one’s privacy, living situation, weather, and working hours. Oftentimes money is sent back to families in their homeland, expat parents may be providing money for grandparents or aunties and uncles caring for their own biological children they had to leave behind for all to lead “better” lives. I pondered what my life would have been like, if my grandmother, aunt, and mother never left the Philippines. Although they had great jobs in the medical field and we came from a wealthy family, who would I be if they hadn’t been willing to take the leap to move to a new land?
We talked with some of the people we met who moved to the UAE from other countries and now had aspirations to move to Nordic territories such as Finland or Sweden. Although these countries are also some of the most expensive in the world and can get extremely cold, it was an aspiration to live in these exotic lands. The UAE was to be a springboard for their next dream. They were paying their dues working hard there to aspire to advance to places with more freedom, income, and flexibility within the EU.
There were other moments of my future and past meeting me on this trip. On an hour long cruise along the Dubai Creek, we met three individuals travelling together. We thought they were a cute adult family, but it turns out two were Caucasian coworkers at a travel company and the other Hispanic individual who was travelling with them they had just met and asked to come along: Mike, Joan, and Toey. One of the individuals, Mike, was our ideal future travel self. Both Isabella and I set a goal recently to join the Travel Century Club (TCC) before we turn 50. To join TCC one must travel to at least 100 territories, which is more expansive than countries. After the UAE, I am currently at 75 territories and 53 countries. Mike was familiar with TCC, as he has travelled to over 165 territories, including the North Pole and Antarctica several times. This 68-year-old man was a kindred spirit because he encouraged us to go to Unesco World Heritage sites and National Parks. These are places Isabella always strives to visit, and this year I had applied to work at both of these organizations. Both Joan and Mike were on a cruise together throughout Greece and Egypt and met fellow passenger Toey. Mike was supposed to have his girlfriend come on this extended holiday with him, but she wasn’t able to make it, therefore they invited Toey for the ride. Toey was a young special education teacher from Texas, who bought a one way ticket to Europe, as he was on disability leave. He never had time or money to travel, as he was always working. Now was his chance, he had little plans and allowed moments of synchronicity to arise on this trip. Mike felt empathy and compassion for Toey, being a previous educator himself, and offered an invitation for him to tag along and take his girlfriend’s spot on the remainder of his Middle Eastern and European journey. Mike was paying travel privileges forward, and I had a feeling in the future Toey would do the same to another stranger.
On another excursion to the Dubai Spice and Gold Souks, we met two African American coworkers from Washington DC, who were court reporters. They appeared to be in their fifties to sixties and had travelled the world together. I had realized that Isabella and I were also prior coworkers, as we met on the set of filming a television show over twenty years ago on a set in Los Angeles. We have also taken trips around the world together. This was their second time in Dubai in two years. They loved it so much and there was more to experience on their UAE bucket list they had yet to achieve, so they returned. Their zest for life was how we aspire to continue to wander the world and make the most of the vacations we have. Time passed on the large souk tour, and we lost track of these fellow travellers. I noted to Isabella how we didn’t get to say goodbye, but the Universe wanted to ensure we did. That same evening, after getting lost in the world’s largest mall, the Dubai Mall, we ran into them, shared our days’ experiences, and grabbed a selfie. We were them and they were us.
The following day our jam packed adventure tour included two young 30 something men from Greece, and an African American fifty something married couple from Columbus Ohio. These young men were working as engineers on a construction project and were in Dubai for the past 20 days. That day was their first day off that month, and we could tell they were letting off steam as they glided and weaved in and out of their atvs or surfing on the sand dunes. Their past several years were filled with 12 hours work days in foreign countries, sacrifices made for their future selves. Both Isabella and I could relate to this offering much of our energy and time in our 30s to our jobs, making the most out of any amount of free time we had. In regards to the Ohio couple, he was retired working for the military, living in various places in America throughout his life, including Hawaii but being raised in New York. I was born in Ohio, and meeting someone from Ohio in the Middle East is simply wild. We talked story of Ohio State football culture, which has it’s own traditions. In addition, their military and New York and Hawaii life resonated with me, as I have worked with them, lived in NYC and Hawaii twice myself.
These are reflections I have on my Air France flight back to Spain, as an American, where I currently reside which has a layover in Paris, where I lived last year. All versions of me being an amalgamation on one trip. What’s so fascinating with this trip is that Dubai seemed like every place and no place. The downtown city skyline was endless and took the best brands from multiple countries of hotel chains, restaurants, cafes, grocery lines, and clothing stores and brought them all there. It’s a wealthy city which refreshingly smells of sandalwood everywhere you go, and is a melting pot of expat workers whose sole existence is to build, serve, and grow this land into a cosmopolitan luxury superpower and have bragging rights for as many world records as possible. With every person we met, regardless of their ethnicity or occupation, I could relate. In some way, whether in a past, present, future, or parallel world- they all could be me. It’s vital to see the similarities amidst the differences and to be able to see ourselves in others. Take the time to talk to strangers, whether fellow travelers or staff members. Who knows which version of you will be met on your next trip?
It Only Takes A Smile 
