Constantly Searching

Every now and then I get the sudden urge to change my life completely. I start to realize that I have fallen into a routine of some sort and, becoming frustrated, my mind begins to convince me that I'm meant for something else. I've always thought that I was meant for a life of adventure and surprises. I've always known somewhere inside of me that I'm not like everyone else and I don't want to be. I want to tell stories to the world about people and places and food and culture and anything and everything else I can discover in this world. I want to take it all in and help to somehow share it with the world.

I recently met a couple from Germany who was staying at the same Bed and Breakfast in New Jersey as Julio and I. I was so curious and interested in finding out about their lives, what brought them to visit New York and the United States, what food do they enjoy most from home, how they learn to speak English so effortlessly... Something about the interaction with these people sparked something in me and at one point, I made a comment that my husband later brought back to my attention. I said, "There's a bigger world out there than just America." I didn't say it to prove how smart or worldly I thought I was, I just said it because it came to me. And I believe it.

Somehow it seems like people get so involved in their own lives and their own routines and their own selves that they don't open their eyes and see that there are millions of other beings out there in this universe that are chasing after something as well. Or maybe they aren't. Maybe a lot of other people have just settled in to what they have and given into that routine and that life. However, I'd like to think that there are a lot of people out there actively pursuing something--anything. I'd like to believe I'm not the only one who feels destined for adventure and experience. I'd like to believe that the world has been waiting and I need to just seize the day, have at it, and get this show on the road.

Coming Home

I've been thinking a lot about how I don't write anymore. (...or I guess I should say, how I haven't written in so long since I am definitely writing at this very moment.) I have thought about it so much and how much I miss the feeling of finishing a simple blog or article when everything feels like it makes more sense and I can be proud of what I have been able to put into words.

Today I found myself venting to my husband again about how I feel I've lost my creative spark and it occurred to me how ironic my reasoning was. I used to write because I wanted to go to New York and the very thought of that inspired me to put words together. What I told my husband today was that I haven't written because I'm afraid that inspiration is gone and now that we are hoping to get back to New York, I don't know how I will make myself write something when I can't find the inspiration again. (Whatever will I do?) But if what inspired me in the first place was just the prospect of living in New York, would not the actual experience of living there be ten times more powerful as inspiration goes?

I began to think about the short amount of time last year when I was able to go to New York for school and I began to draw out all of those old feelings again. I remember just the way it felt to fly into the city after the sun had gone down and the blackness of the night sky had taken up residence behind the city skyline. It was like arriving in a new world--it was nothing like home and just flying by those sparkling skyscrapers brought tears to my eyes. In many ways, it was just as I had imagined my flight back in would be, but it somehow also overwhelmed me in a way I hadn't expected. I had arrived. I had been writing about this place for two years and I was finally there.

New York is like no other place. One of my favorite things about it is the fact that it has inspired so many people over the years. Say what you will about cold, heartless city life, but I can still remember all the moments I had there that felt so intimate, so extraordinary... and many of them were just between the city and me. I remember how I loved to find the Chrysler Building from wherever I was in the city and how just the fact that I could find it in the skyline made me feel like I hadn't gone too far even if I was neighborhoods away from where I started. I remember walking for blocks with my head tilted upward to experience that sort of vertigo you get from walking while looking up at the tall buildings beside you. I remember taking the train in every morning and out every night and always making sure to get a glimpse of the skyline as it approached or faded away. It is the same feeling I get when I look into my husband's eyes: hope, love, promise, elation, that feeling that everything is right even if it is just for that moment.

The Void (revision)

It’s a room without a ceiling. The walls are made of dark slate-colored tiles and the tops of several partially-constructed skyscrapers are peering out above them. It is dark outside, but lit by the city lights. It’s so incomplete— it’s so beautiful.
Standing in the chasm between ruin and restoration, things around here are still pretty messy. James is waiting a few feet away, but he doesn’t seem to realize the immensity of this moment. This is a place where almost no one from the general public will be allowed to stand and taking it all in, it’s hard to notice he is ready to move on.
This place is called “The Void.” In September it will be full of water and no one will be able to walk through the submarine-like door that led here. It is actually the bottom of a very large fountain—one of two being constructed here in Lower Manhattan. They are to serve as the “footprints” of where the Twin Towers once stood. The symbolism is clear: a fountain to reflect upon the tragedy; a void to remember the loss of human life.
James Glover, Senior Project Manager of the 9/11 Memorial, is now edging back toward the “submarine” door. It has been about an hour since this tour began. There are five levels to the memorial: the plaza (where the public will be able to view the finished fountains), a piping gallery that will organize water flow, a large A/C and heating level, a pumping and filtering level that will clean debris and cycle water, and a memorial museum underground directly below the “footprints.”
About fifteen minutes ago, on the museum—or bedrock—level, Glover pointed and said, “This is the North Tower, and that’s the South Tower.” The statement so simple, so matter of fact that for a moment one almost believes they are still there. You relive a sense of loss to stare at the mess of equipment, materials, and signs and try to make something of it.
“The company I work for, we do construction management. When they had the first bombing in ’93, our company came in and did the whole assessment and rebuild and we kept doing a lot of refurbishment on the Twin Towers. But once the Event happened, we just kind of rolled into play and continued our services,” said Glover. Although he has obviously been working at this location for much longer, he moved here six years ago to begin the 9/11 Memorial project. “When I first got here, we still had a medical examiner sifting through and finding bone fragments.”
Managing a project with so many challenges, Glover seems more than unnerved by the impatience of the public. He reiterates this at least three times during the walk-through. On several occasions, a construction worker would be digging at the site, find something, and have to report it. Work would cease, and the area would be tented off for examination. Glover cringed as he described archeologists invading, armed with what he referred to as their “little brushes.” Not everything found at the site has been small, however. Last summer construction was halted due to the discovery of a ship from the 1700s. “There’s a lot of history here,” Glover remarked as he continued through the 16-acre site.
In fact, the entire site is built on fill. Back when the older buildings were being constructed, extra land that was moved away from those sites was built up on the shore of the Hudson and eventually expanded the island of Manhattan significantly. This has been a major challenge in the construction of the 9/11 Memorial because the soil is very moist and slushy. The site is only about 800 yards from the current shore of the Hudson.
Underground, there is a gigantic slurry wall with row after row of large bolt-like protrusions showing on its face. Evidence of leakage is audible as it drips in from the day’s rain storm while Glover explains what these tiebacks are for. Without these large reinforcements, the wall would basically cave in on the workers because its weight cannot be supported by the soft soil. Each row represents how far the job has come. While workers cleared out debris from the destruction of the Towers, they installed new rows of tiebacks as they dug further and further into the wreckage. It seems impossible not to marvel at the amount of patience these men must have.
Following James back up through all five levels of the site, the journey back begins to feel endless, but at the top there is a pair of makeshift plywood doors with an “Exit” sign stapled to the exposed wood. Above it, someone has scrawled in permanent marker “To Heaven.”
Just push through.

The Void

I feel as if I’m standing in the chasm between ruin and restoration. I’m wearing a faded olive green parka over a baseball tee and comfortable jeans tucked into brand new grey Doc Marten boots. This is the first time I’ve worn Doc Martens so they aren’t even close to being broken in yet. I was told to come in casual clothes and hard-soled shoes; things around here are still pretty messy. A moment ago, my feet were killing me, yet now, I hardly notice it.

I’m in a room without a ceiling. The walls are made of dark slate-colored tiles and I can see the tops of several partially-constructed skyscrapers peering out above them. It is dark outside and I notice the city lights. It’s so incomplete— it’s so beautiful.

James is standing a few feet behind me waiting and I can tell he doesn’t realize how immense this moment feels for me. I’m standing in a place where almost no one from the general public will be allowed to stand and I’m too busy taking it all in to notice that he is ready to move on.

This place is called “The Void.” In a few short months it will be full of water and no one will be able to walk through the submarine-like door that led me here. It is actually the bottom of a very large fountain—one of two being constructed here in Lower Manhattan. They are to serve as the “footprints” of where the Twin Towers once stood. The symbolism is clear: a fountain to reflect upon the tragedy; a void to remember the loss of human life.

James Glover, Senior Project Manager of the 9/11 Memorial, is now edging back toward the “submarine” door. We have been walking the construction site for about an hour. There are five levels to the memorial: the plaza (where the public will be able to view the finished fountains), a piping gallery that will organize water flow, a large A/C and heating level, a pumping and filtering level that will clean debris and cycle water, and a memorial museum underground directly below the “footprints.”

About fifteen minutes ago, we were on the museum—or bedrock—level when Glover pointed and said, “This is the North Tower, and that’s the South Tower.” The statement so simple, so matter of fact that for a moment I almost believed they were still there. I relived a sense of loss as I stared at the mess of equipment, materials, and signs and tried to make more of what I saw.

“The company I work for, we do construction management. When they had the first bombing in ’93, our company came in and did the whole assessment and rebuild and we kept doing a lot of refurbishment on the Twin Towers. But once the Event happened, we just kind of rolled into play and continued our services,” said Glover. Although he has obviously been working at this location for much longer, he moved here six years ago to begin the 9/11 Memorial project. “When I first got here, we still had a medical examiner sifting through and finding bone fragments.”

Managing a project with so many challenges, Glover seems more than unnerved by the impatience of the public. He reiterates this at least three times during our walk-through. On several occasions, a construction worker would be digging at the site, find something, and have to report it. Work would cease, and the area would be tented off for examination. Glover cringed as he described archeologists invading, armed with what he referred to as their “little brushes.” Not everything found at the site has been small, however. Last summer construction was halted due to the discovery of a ship from the 1700s. “There’s a lot of history here,” Glover remarked as we continued through the 16-acre site.

In fact, the entire site is built on fill. Back when the older buildings were being constructed, extra land that was moved away from those sites was built up on the shore of the Hudson and eventually expanded the island of Manhattan significantly. This has been a major challenge in the construction of the 9/11 Memorial because the soil is very moist and slushy. The site is only about 800 yards from the current shore of the Hudson.

Underground, I stared up at a gigantic slurry wall with row after row of large bolt-like protrusions showing on its face. I could hear the leakage dripping in from the day’s rain storm as Glover explained what these tiebacks were for. Without these large reinforcements, the wall would basically cave in on the workers because its weight cannot be supported by the soft soil. Each row represents how far the job has come. While workers cleared out debris from the destruction of the Towers, they installed new rows of tiebacks as they dug further and further into the wreckage. I couldn’t help but marvel at the amount of patience these men must have.

Following my guide back up through all five levels of the site, my feet ached in pain (I wouldn’t dare ask for a break) and just as I thought I had reached my threshold, we came to a pair of makeshift plywood doors with an “Exit” sign stapled to the exposed wood. Above it, someone had scrawled in permanent marker “To Heaven.”

We pushed through.





(This is actually an assignment I just finished for SLC.)

Not So 'Bleecker' After All

[Actual Date: January 16, 2011:]


Even as I’m thousands of feet in the sky, it still doesn’t seem real to me. I didn’t sleep at all last night and at 4:15 in the morning I was wide awake and ready to pack up the car. Two years ago I decided that my future home would be across the country and yet still I can’t believe I’m actually headed there now.


About two months prior to this morning, I was checking my email and discovered something sent by the New Yorker newsletter. The message literally spoke directly to me… “Love to write? Seriously obsessed with NYC?” Um, yes and YES. –And that’s how I discovered what, for me, would not only be the beginning of the actualization of my dream, but also the start of a whole new reality check.


I giggled and bounced around on my bed at first—that is, until I caught a look at the tuition fees. Turns out, although “discounted,” this college’s prestige would be directly proportionate to its price. At first, I was in shock—‘don’t they know this is a recession?!’ I put the thought of ever making this happen behind me and decided I should just focus on saving and finishing my degree in California.


However, a few weeks later, my boyfriend brought up the idea again and asked how the application process had been going. I was forced to admit that I was putting off applying due to what I considered some very obscene tuition costs. –But he wouldn’t have any of my excuses and he made it known how upsetting it would be if I didn’t even try. So, somewhat reluctantly, I filled out my application and turned it in. He was right: I couldn’t just let the opportunity slip by.


A week or so later, I got an email from the dean of the college informing me that I would soon receive an acceptance letter in the mail. I was elated; by that time, I had resigned myself to the fact that sometimes it’s worth putting yourself in debt to pursue your dreams. I bought warm jackets, ear muffs, boots, and scarves to prepare myself for the cold. Later on, I jumped on board completely and bought my nonrefundable plane ticket before I had even taken care of the tuition costs. I just assumed that applying for a loan would be easy and getting the funds would be fast.
Oh, how naive a 21-year-old girl with barely any credit can be. When I finally applied for my loans, lo and behold: I was NOT a desirable candidate! (‘--But if they only knew me!!’) When I was told I needed a cosigner, I felt like all hope was lost. I began to once again put my hopes of moving far away and just assume that this time it wasn’t meant to be.


Little did I know what was in store.


My mom came up to me and, noticing I was feeling pretty low, suggested that we sit down and pray. I wasn’t immediately open to the idea (as many stubborn people often prefer to wallow in their pathos) but after a little encouragement and a long talk, I was ready to face a God that I hadn’t been able to speak to in quite some time.
After we prayed, I felt as if no matter what the outcome, I could finally rest in knowing it would be the right choice either way. Relaxed, yet still a little teary-eyed, I looked at my mom as she hugged me goodnight and assured me everything would be figured out in the morning. How she knew this—I still have no idea.


Yet, sure enough, I woke up the next morning and the first thought on my mind was ‘Thank God I’m at peace today…’ Immediately after this little prayer, I heard a muffled noise coming from under my pillow. Long story short, within two days, God had provided a way to help make my dream come true. I guess all things are possible…

Staying Grounded

There is a little tree just outside my bedroom window. It's still pretty new from when we moved into this house about 7 years ago. During this time, in the dead of winter, it struggles to keep what leaves it has left. The trunk is small, but sturdy at the base and as the tree grows up toward the sky, its branches seem to be reaching out in such random and opposite directions.


Today I'm looking out my window at this tree as the cold winter wind is batting those scrawny little branches back and forth. It kind of reminds me of something from a Tim Burton movie. The wind will hit, and the whole top half of that new little tree begins to toss almost violently--frantically. I'm looking out my window at this tree and I realize we are the same.


I'm moving to New York for a semester of school and this morning all I could think of is how much needed to be done. My branches were reaching out in every direction they could, but they were just letting the wind beat them tired. God kept telling me to sit down and ask for His help, but for the first few hours I was awake, I found myself sending up short little telegram prayers instead of sitting and spending quality time with Him like He wanted.


Finally, I sat down, turned off my music, and began to also work on turning off my anxieties. I asked God what He wanted for me today and He gave me these verses:


"In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength." -Isaiah 30:15b


"Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you;
he rises to show you compassion.
For the Lord is a God of justice.
Blessed are all who wait for Him!" -Isaiah 30:18


It seemed pretty clear that God wanted me to be quiet and wait on Him and as I sat alone with my eyes closed and my head lifted to Him, I waited for my directions.


After a few moments, I opened my window and sat on the floor in front of it to watch and wait for a message. Yes, I noticed the colors and the beauty of the nature just outside my house, but the first thing I noticed was the wind. I remembered a time almost ten years ago when I sat outside and asked God to show me He was there. I asked Him to make the wind blow so that I could feel Him. When I opened my eyes that day, the palm trees were being blown so hard they were nearly bent sideways. Ever since, the wind has reminded me that God is always there. I smiled as I realized that God wanted me to know He was there with me today just as He always has been.


That's when I noticed the tree.


Branches blowing, leaves hanging on for dear life, I knew it was important to watch this little tree struggle. The whole top half was being beaten back and forth as I continued to watch. Yet after a few minutes of this, I finally noticed what God wanted me to see. The small trunk of that tree moved less and less the closer it got to the base: God.


My dad has always told me to keep my "foundation" firm and this was such a wonderful example. Although the top of my tree may be beaten back and forth as I reach in all directions, the trunk of my tree is God and it keeps me sturdy. No matter how hard life beats at my branches, my trunk is rooted deep enough to keep me in the ground. So today I rest in His salvation and let the quiet be my strength.

Mending the Brooklyn Bridge

I have been thinking a lot lately about broken bridges and mending fences and I've come to the conclusion that those bridges can be mended, too. I think it is important to live in harmony and invite healing into your life whenever possible. The world is often a lot about hate, so why not try the opposite?


In the past year, I have said and done a few things I'm not necessarily proud of. I broke off budding relationships, as well as ones I had been a part of for a little longer. I used to think of myself as a cold and unattached person--able to let go of almost anyone like it was nothing. However, treating relationships this way (no matter how developed or not) always seems to leave me feeling a little bit off. So what now? If I see that person, I ignore them? It's just so middle school of me.


So maybe I can't take back the things I said or did to nearly ruin a relationship, but I can apologize for them and make an effort to grow into a more mature person who will hopefully handle the next situation with a little more wisdom.


I know that there are times I have let my emotions carry me, but I also know that where there may have been a dark past, there can still be a bright future.


(Dedicated to anyone who may have seen my dark side, but is willing to help me return to the light. :) Attraversiamo... "Let's cross over.")