Self Discovery

Exiting the Frying Pan to Rejoin the Fire

/ Jaci D'Ulisse / Leave a comment

I’ve been unexpectedly quiet lately. I mean strictly in a writing sense – internally I’ve been screaming since mid-March. These past two and a half months have been a roller coaster of emotion and, let me tell ya, I don’t do rides! But for as much as quarantine has made me question almost every aspect of myself – not the least of which being my anger management capabilities – I feel undeniably more conflicted and stressed about the looming reopening than I ever did about lockdown. I’d like to say it is because I’m anxious about what returning to the world means for everyone’s health and safety. Of course that is a legitimate concern of mine, but my current set of negative feelings actually stem from a much more selfish place.

I still have four songs in the works. I’m wrestling to transform an outline into a first draft of a script. I’m not done watching all the online seminars and streaming theatre – both of which I’m sure will no longer be so easily accessible once we go back to business as usual. I’ve only just begun to reacquaint myself with my piano. I restocked my pantry for no less than four more baking marathons. There are projects to tackle and books to read and rooms to deep clean that all remain untouched.

During this entirely bonkers time, there have been many soft souls who have offered gentle reminders – particularly to those who fancy ourselves “artists” – to go easy on our hearts, minds and, most importantly, our expectations. We’re going through a global crisis after all and it’s ok to not feel like a creative genius at the moment. With every tweet or beautifully crafted graphic, I’d smile warmly and think, “That’s lovely, dear, and so true. But it doesn’t apply to me.” No, while everyone else was taking a breath and making room for self care and reflection, it was supposed to be my time to swoop and shine! Yet in spite of all the opportunity to take on my growing to do list the only thing I feel I truly accomplished during lockdown was getting fat – another obvious reason why I am not enthusiastic about rejoining a world that will see more of me than just what fits into a Zoom square.

I do want the world to open up again. I miss doing things and going places. A little piece of my soul dies any time I think about a summer that might not include cruising my way down the boardwalk or bitching about the New Yorkers who are too loud and park their blankets too close. I have theatre tickets that sit idly by as the entire industry is in a state of waiting. My heart breaks for every small business owner and gig worker who doesn’t know how much longer they can stay afloat while staying closed. And, for the love of God, parents have to send their kids back to school! People need to celebrate at weddings and grieve at funerals and cheer at graduations again – these are significant human events and all of them were affected in the lives of those I love. But as others applaud every new step that we take towards normal, every announcement that something else is open, I can’t deny my deep sense of dread concerning the day we go back to a time before the world exploded. As we inch towards the end of lockdown, I am not optimistic about what we may be opening up to. I’m afraid we will have learned nothing.

Enthusiasm was never in short supply during my BC (Before Covid) days but I was always too busy and too tired to ever move beyond what I had to do in order to get to the things I wanted to do. I’d spend whole days at the office thinking about everything I would accomplish if only I could regain some time. There’s an obnoxious “be careful what you wish for” lesson in that but I’m not gonna touch it. For better or worse, now I have it. During this entire lockdown, there has been one personal constant amidst all the universal question marks – the creativity-killing pressure of “If not now, when?” The inescapable responsibility brought on by that question has left me more overwhelmed than my day job or commute ever did. For those of us lucky enough to be both healthy and free of homeschooling demands, this moment in history has given us the gift of time that we so desperately needed. But it’s a gift that came with a big mental price and the tension brought on by its volatile existence renders it almost useless. What if instead of scrambling to squeeze every ounce of opportunity from this relatively brief parenthesis, we simply chose a less demanding existence? Can we stop worshiping at the idol of busyness that keeping us slaves to our clocks and calendars? Let’s entertain the idea of free time without fear of judgement – particularly when that judgement comes from within. We shouldn’t need a pandemic-induced global shut down to feel like we have enough time to live our lives.

Now, I am the last person to have any understanding as to how to achieve balance in a very unbalanced world, but if someone is out there who has a decent grasp on the subject, I’d be happy to attend to your TED Talk. I mean really, do bloggers and essayists ever have constructive conclusions after all their musings? I read a number of them regularly but can’t seem to recall – which I guess is an answer in and of itself. If they do, I certainly haven’t earned that Insightful Solutions badge to add to my writer’s sash. I have no answers, at least none that are realistically viable or free of major explosives. Because, the truth is, I cannot see how changing an individual life would make a difference if the society we live in has, regrettably, stayed the same. And how the hell do you change an entire society? Moreover, what IS society and who’s in charge!? I’m going to pull back now before this gets weirdly existential. Some would argue that this pandemic created a “new normal” – a phrase I have come to loathe, bytheway. Unfortunately, I can’t say I agree. The barreling of the train has come to a temporary stop but as soon as we’re able we’ll just keep chugging along down the same track. What we need to do is jump the rails and head in a different direction. If a global pandemic won’t do that, I don’t know what will. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to be around to find out.

How about you, do you want to return to what we’ve all conceded to life as we know it? Think real hard, ALL THE WAY BACK to three months ago. Memories are getting shorter by the day but I’m fairly certain that if we were being honest with ourselves we’d admit that life before quarantine sucked, too. Yes, it was a very different kind of shit storm than the one we’re currently experiencing, but it sure as hell didn’t include leisurely walks outside with the boyfriend or the slightest notion that I’d find time to perfect a pie crust. I still haven’t binge watched Game of Thrones but I like feeling that I could binge watch Game of Thrones. Pre-pandemic days didn’t have regular check ins with friends to see if they were ok because we just assumed that they were. There were no surprise front door deliveries of baked goods, booze or flowers to cultivate a sense of connection and share a smile. It’s been encouraging to see what is possible when we are given permission to slow down and make time for ourselves and the ones we love. Instead of rushing off to all our obligations, we’re consciously engaging with people we care about through simple pleasures like puzzles and cooking and conversation. We’re getting creative with our entertainment – by generating new outlets and adapting old ones. People are sewing again! Ok, it’s for masks, but still! Listen, I don’t want to be stuck in a world in which every moment is colored by the fear of a super-virus; where the nightly news updates the death toll stats like we’re living in a damn Suzanne Collins novel. But I also don’t think it’s too much to ask for a world that doesn’t make us choose between our lives and our livelihoods. I fear reopening because I fear returning to an existence devoid of time to enjoy and explore the life we’ve been given. As others rush to get back to their church services, restaurants reservations and business meetings, I mourn freedom and possibility and another project that will likely turn into an unfinished orphan. I don’t want to be so excited to return to the normal days that we sacrifice what could actually be better ones. We’ve gained a lot of good in this bad time – don’t let it be in vain.

Throw Back Thursday

/ Jaci D'Ulisse / 3 Comments

I have a habit of throwing words together and then not going back to them for days or even weeks. I started this entry, as the below title states, on October 1st. It lived on paper in rushed pencil scribbles for a while until it found its way to a computer a few weeks later. Then life got in the way. Then the holidays happened, which is really just life to the nth degree. Now, it’s a few months later and its finally made it to the interwebs. Sometimes I tell myself that I’ll be better at writing consistently and in a timely fashion but I hate making promises that I can’t keep.

OCTOBER 1, 2018

Hi, my name is Jaci and I do theatre. Sounds like I’m saying hello to a self help group. (There really should be a theatre therapy group. Why is that not a thing?) In a world where what you do is who you are, I’ve always had a difficult time narrowing down my acceptably succinct identity. What does “do theatre” even mean? In my life, it has meant a number of things, depending on the day. 

I started out, naturally, as a theatre-goer. My very first artistic memory is when Ma decided to take me to a local high school production of Bye Bye Birdie. We didn’t even know anyone at the school, let alone in the show, but it was a cheap and entertaining activity for a six-year-old. I can vividly recall the joy and energy emanating from the “big kids” on stage and wondering to myself if there was possibly anything better than telling stories through elaborately staged musical numbers. Ma continued to encourage my love of art through dance classes and semi-regular trips to the theatre.

However, growing up in a working class household, it never occurred to me that theatre could actually be a career. When the time came, I, like many other first-generation college students, chose a more pedestrian path for my continued education. Yet four years and two Bachelor’s Degrees later, I decided that “business” just wasn’t for me. (Really, isn’t “business” just as vague as “do theatre??”) Little did I know how difficult it would be to find what exactly was for me and what paths and lessons it would take to get there.    

Out of school and completely disillusioned by the experience, I thought I’d do something completely different and try my hand at this whole theatre thing after all. I auditioned for every community production I could and occasionally squeaked by on the dance skills I acquired in my youth. It didn’t take me long to accept the fact that each show I was lucky enough to get into was merely a fun diversion and not, what I had initially hoped, another step towards an illustrious career. Still, I was having fun with this new hobby and found that a rehearsal room was my happy place.

Yet, the truth of the matter was that I had no artistic training and no singing ability whatsoever. If I wanted to keep my spot in this exciting, new world, I was going to have to figure out another way to belong. That’s how I found my way from on stage to behind it as a stage manager/assistant director/props master. In community theatre, you generally end up with a lot of slashes in your title. There’s something quite fulfilling about running a show; it provides a sense of ownership in the process – especially those late nights spent toiling away in the shop or in the wings making theatre magic. But still, most of the work that comes with the gig is just that – work. It’s spreadsheets and calendars and emails, not exactly the fulfilling responsibility of bringing art to life.   

The same can be said of my day job. I work at a professional theatre…in sales and customer service. It’s the right place but I’m doing the wrong work. Sure, I actually get to put those expensive degrees to good use (sort of) but I’d prefer to be exercising my imagination instead. The most creative I’ve been recently is in figuring out a new way to explain to Ethel, for the umpteenth time, why she can’t use an expired coupon code. I thought art was supposed to be illuminative, healing and beautiful but my bit only shows me the ugliest parts of people. Long time subscribers (newsflash: they’re ALL long time subscribers) make ludicrous demands because they think it is what they are owed. Little old ladies turn into banshees as their voices raise each time they’re told “their” seats aren’t available or *gasp* they have to pay full price. Crotchety men insist on speaking to the manager because, clearly, as a woman, I can’t possibly be in charge. (You’re out of luck, buddy, because I AM the manager!) The undulant wave of entitlement and self centeredness are soul crushing. Once a day the words, “I hate people” come out of my mouth. I would expect the dark cloud of job dread hanging over me in the corporate sector, but in non-profit theatre?! This is not who I used to be, this is not what art should do to a person and this is certainly NOT living the dream.     

To seemingly satisfy my need to be in control of anything in my life, I co-founded my own company, Rooftop Theatre Collaborative, in 2015. Now I can be the one who decides which shows to produce and have the fun and freedom to make artistic choices through directing. I’ve also been able to alleviate some of my new found distaste for humanity by adding a philanthropic component to the work. The entire process is so gratifying that I don’t even mind all the paperwork that inevitably goes with it. Admittedly, I’m making a lot of mistakes along the way but I’m seeing them (uncharacteristically, for this self proclaimed perfectionist) as welcomed learning opportunities. However, I’m also the one who foots the bill. While I’d love to solely focus on the practice of create-stumble-discover-grow-rinse-repeat, it does take some serious funding to do so. Since I haven’t been able to figure out how to bring boat loads of audience members and/or cash, most of my time and energy are spent at the aforementioned day job. And so the vicious cycle continues.

All of this is what my life used to look like:

 

As of today, this is what my life looks like now:

images

I gave it all up. Part of it permanently (the job) and part of it temporarily (the company). I haven’t really thought it too far out from there. My life was a good one in an industry I wanted  to be in, so why did I quit all the things? Why, really, was I becoming so increasingly miserable that it resulted in such drastic measures? No matter how acceptable my life was, it wasn’t for me anymore. Maybe it never was. I finally got tired of good enough or close enough to what I wanted, my existence had become so uncomfortable because it never felt like it really fit. I wore my life like a cheap Internet purchase. It looked great in pictures but in reality I struggled to make it work. No matter how much I tugged or pinned or finessed the fabric of my life, it was never right. It was time to face the facts that nothing is worth that much effort when all you’ll ever be able to achieve is adequacy. It was time to say goodbye. 

My latest reincarnation starts today. My first class at the Atlantic Acting School begins in 15 minutes and I’m currently writing this in the Starbucks downstairs – terribly cliche of me, I know. The few people who I told of this new adventure generally greeted me with cocked heads and furrowed brows. “Oh, so you want to be an actor?” The truthful answer is that I don’t know. What I want is to get back those first feelings of excited storytelling and what it’s like to be in my happy place. I want to be something different than what I am now. Whether that means getting back to who I used to be or figuring out who I really am is yet to be determined. I’m going to try this on first and see if it fits. If it does, great, and if it doesn’t, well, that’s fine, too. I’m only committing to a year program at the Atlantic and then we’ll see. There are infinite options out there and I’m starting to feel ok with the fact that I could be any number of them – in the theatre or possibly even out of it. 

I will be completely honest with you – I have no idea what I’m doing. But I really believe that no one else does either, regardless of appearances, and that’s comforting in a way. I don’t know what life is going to look like in a few months or a few years from now, which is equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. I was pretty certain what the future held if I had continued down my previous path and I have no doubt that the question mark is a better alternative to the unhappy probability of what was in store. So, here I go. Desperation got me here but hope will take me the rest of the way. I’m eager to see where the next step may lead. This might be the first day of my new life or it might be a side trip on my ultimate journey. Either way, it will be different and different is what I need most right now.

And hey, if this doesn’t pan out, maybe I’ll start over AGAIN and turn into a free-spirited gypsy, selling seashells and hemp bracelets to tourists along the world’s most beautiful beaches. I’m not entirely kidding.

India: Musings from the Middle Seat

/ Jaci D'Ulisse / Leave a comment

Before

We’re only five hours into our flight and I’m officially starting to get antsy. At least, I’m estimating five hours – we’re traveling across time zones and my watch is already set to Delhi time, so it’s really just my best guess at this point. Airplanes are sort of like casinos and cubicles in the way that they have an unnatural ability to manipulate minutes and hours. Anyway, it has already been a long flight. Thinking I was clever, I booked both a window and an aisle seat assuming no one in their right mind would voluntarily take a middle seat and, therefore, equal more breathing room for both of us. When we checked in earlier today, the airline attendant noticed our seat requests and smiled at us as she let us know she X’ed out the seat between us. Success! Or so we thought until we boarded the plane and begrudgingly found someone else in our row. The row directly in front of us had two vacant seats, one of which we suspect belongs to our unwelcomed row mate, but since she’s the only person on this flight that does not speak a lick of English, I guess we’ll never know. She’s also lacking in the concept of personal space, so, there’s that.

I’m currently writing from the middle seat while she sits crossed legged in what should have been my boyfriend’s seat – her naked, fat foot staring at me like a bad omen of things to come. Needless to say, my plan majorly backfired. Although, maybe I should be grateful to her; the only reason I am able to write is because she accidentally hit the light button on OUR armrest, providing me with some serious glow in an otherwise darkened cabin. Also, thanks are due to the baby who finally stopped wailing long enough for me to form a coherent sentence in my own, already noisy head.

I’m happy to be writing, it’s always made me feel in control and is a familiar part of who I am. It’s nice to turn to that now as I’m flying further and further away from ANYTHING familiar. Save for the boyfriend, of course, who is contentedly sitting next to me working on his fifteenth Hidato puzzle in a row. (They say it’s supposed to be the next Sudoku…we’ll see.) Its times like this I appreciate his calm and laid back personality most. I know that there will be multiple times throughout the course of these next two weeks that he will be my only saving grace. Maybe it’s just where I’m at right now – meaning my seat as well as my life – but I’m not emotionally ready for India. When we decided on this trip over a year ago, it felt like a distant dream. When we booked our plane tickets five months ago, I was excited for a new adventure. But a lot of life has happened in not a lot of time and dealing with my own chaos has left me with little energy to deal with the chaos waiting to greet me in Delhi. I’m tired and I’m worried that I won’t be able to handle the assault to my senses brought on by the vast extremes of an entire subcontinent. Six hours into my flight now. I’m still eight hours away from starting a journey I’m not entirely sure I want to take.

Tomb
Taj
Palace
Street
Lake
Fort
Moo
Motorbike

After

I abhor this new trend in which people say, “Oh my God, this is EVERYTHING!” How pathetically lazy – please make the effort to choose appropriate words and then use them to communicate effectively. That being said, I must admit that India was indeed everything. It was breathtakingly beautiful and hard-to-look at ugly. It was relaxing to the point of boring and stressful to the point of madness. The sheer amount of bodies that inhabit one space at any given time was overwhelming and yet the feeling of isolation was inescapable. It was color and joy and light and darkness and despondency all at once. That’s what makes India such a mystery – depending on where you look (or what you choose to see) it’s either magic or mayhem. All the time. That’s what makes India such a fantastic challenge. And that’s why I had to go.

For as much as its everythingness left such an imprint on my heart, I know that it won’t be long before I start forgetting the minute details, the specific nuances of my 16 whirlwind days in northwest India. Even now, as we endure what surely must be the world’s longest flight – one that is exponentially more unpleasant than its predecessor – it feels as though the memories are being ripped from me with every fleeting mile closer to home. It’s as if India herself won’t allow me to bring the entire experience back with me; in an effort to maintain her mystery she holds on to a part of you and faintly whispers, “you will be back.”

But I must make a noble attempt, however futile, to thwart India’s efforts. For as much as it distresses me to realize that it truly is impossible to remember everything, there are some moments that I refuse to forget:

  • Every National Geographic worthy snapshot that went undocumented because they whizzed by too quickly from the view of the train window or because the camera was tucked safely away as we navigated the bustling, narrow bazaars.
  • The sketchiest airport pickup that involved one beat up car, three drivers and two horrified passengers.
  • The interactive experience of going to see a Bollywood movie. The next time I’m annoyed by an obnoxious patron at the local AMC I’ll ease up on the passive aggressive sighing and think back to the massive amounts of both hooting and hollering from the Indian teenagers throughout the entire film. The addition of the national anthem, an intermission (or interval) and technical difficulties with the elaborate red curtain made the rainy afternoon activity all the more interesting.
  • Practically everything about our camel desert safari. I think that specific 27 hours in India deserves its own post. Stay tuned.
  • Galtaji, or the monkey temple as it’s apparently called, could have easily been the setting of an Indiana Jones movie. It had an eerie, mystical quietness about it that felt more like the scene before someone rips your heart from your chest than it did a sense of spiritual peace and enlightenment. I was tentative but still on board with the whole experience until one of the temple priests unlocked a door that looked as ancient as he did and invited us inside the tiny chamber. Commence panic! I eventually escaped unscathed, save for the 100 rupees he demanded after forcibly tying a string around my wrist. I suppose it was worth the terror and the equivalent of $1.45 since I’m still wearing the damn thing.
  • Ayurveda massage is probably soothing but only if you don’t have personal space issues.
  • Finding Hazrat Nizam-ud-din Dargah is even more difficult than remembering how to pronounce it. Looking back, I wish I had taken more time to fully embrace the experience but after frantically trying not to lose my guide who rushed through the crowded maze of a bazaar leading to the shrine my head was spinning. How ANY tourist finds this place is beyond me! If I had a bit of a heads up about the rabbit hole I just fell down, I suspect I would have appreciated the mysticism of it all much more. It was also the first time I was required to relinquish my shoes and leave them unattended. While that initial parting left me uneasy, it didn’t take long in our two-week journey for me to realize I would always be reunited with my footwear.
  • The homeless children and unrelenting women who not only knock on the car windows begging for money as you are stuck in the inevitable traffic but also peer inside of them to make sure you really see them. It is impossible not to see. The poverty that pervades the Indian way of life is unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed and is overwhelming to take in.
  • Our train companions: the unassuming military man on his way to a base right outside of Jodhpur and the young woman who looked barely into her 20’s and already had two girls of her own as well as a growing jewelry business. Lucky for us, she also had a heart of compassion for two tired, uninformed travelers. Not only did she let us know when to get off the train in Delhi but she also called us a cab and kept the rest of the touts at bay until we were safely on our way to the airport.
  • Transportation in general is quite a marvel in India. Motor scooters can be packed up to six deep, one of which being an infant sandwiched between adults and older kids for, you know, safety purposes. Aside from the ubiquitous tuk tuk, the motor scooter seems to be the most efficient way to transport yourself and significant other, an entire social circle, a 5’x7’ pane of glass, or your pet goats. Outside of the congested cities, overstuffed feed trucks (which evidently do tip over on occasion) and overpopulated buses dominate the highways. Both of which will happily warn you of their presence with a melodious horn that is the Indian equivalent to the one from the General Lee on the Dukes of Hazzard.
  • The welcomed entertainment of the reality competition television show, Super Dancer, and the surprisingly engaging miniseries, The Trip – both of which made a very long night in Agra more bearable.
  • Willingly and happily accepting the racket of tying a string to the marble latticework screen of the tomb of holy man Salim Chishti at Fatehpur Sikri in order to make a wish. Yes, it is certainly a tourist trap, but it was a pleasant part of the entire experience nonetheless. If I receive my wish like Emperor Akbar did, or so the legend says, I must return to untie my string. While the chances of me receiving my wish are about as good as being able to identify my string from the hundreds of thousands that are tied on the walls, I certainly hope that I do NOT receive the gift for which the tomb is primarily known…child birth.
  • The crystal gallery that strictly prohibits photography. Sounds like a not-to-miss experience, right? Lonely Planet seems to think so but I’d have to disagree. Oh well, lesson learned. Seriously though, if you’re ever in Udaipur, don’t waste your money. Just check it out on Trip Advisor. There, I just saved you 550 rupees. You’re welcome.
  • Sugar cubes – is there a more charming way to sweeten your masala chai tea? I think not!
  • Sometimes the best travel experiences cannot be researched, planned or put on the schedule. After a fruitless afternoon of trying to figure out what the rest of our trip would look like without our driver, we ventured out to a recommended shop that somehow ended up being an expensive spree despite the disappointing goods. Feeling a bit dejected, we took our first tuk tuk ride back to the hotel. Holi was upon us and as we motored down the streets of the Pink City, fireworks heralded the official start of the festivities. Suddenly, motorcyclists started weaving through traffic, each carrying a blazing torch of reeds. These daredevil distributors were descending upon the city from the Maharaja’s palace bringing the light from the royal fire to all the bonfires of Jaipur. The streets began to glow as the faint smell of smoke coupled with the increasingly boisterous chanting. A palpable sense of celebration was in the air and we, quite serendipitously, were in the middle of it all. You won’t find THAT in any guide book!
  • The German mother and son duo – Barbara and Jan – who we said hello to on a rooftop in Jodhpur and said our goodbyes to on a rooftop in Jaisalmer. In between, we toured a fort and a mausoleum together and enjoyed a good-natured giggle at four young blonde girls trying to buy sarees as we watched from a nearby café.
  • Monkeys playing in the tree across from the rooftop restaurant at our hotel. They were having their own raucous Holi celebration to the delight of the hotel guests and the chagrin of the hotel staff.
  • I got to live out the fantasy of milking it for the paparazzi because, in India, sometimes being of the Caucasian persuasion makes YOU the star attraction. We drew our own attention as we toured forts and palaces and monuments and smiled politely as another hoard of school kids or 20-something dude group asked to take photos with this pale girl and her 6’3 white boy. The most preciously awkward of these moments included a father who was overly eager to have his young daughter take a photo with the American – the kiddo was clearly mortified. Still, he continued to insist, I continued to oblige and she continued to scowl as the photos were snapping away.

There are countless other memories that may or may not stay with me as the days following our adventure turn into months and years. I am sure, however, that I will never forget the lessons I’ve learned as a result of my experiences because they have truly changed me. Or maybe it is not that they have transformed me as much as they have revealed certain truths about who I actually am and it’s my job to do the changing if I so choose. The revelations were jarring at times and left me bewildered as to how I could be such a stranger to my own self and, in selected instances, how far away I am from who I wish I was. I am remarkably distrustful and more fearful than I realized or would ever care to admit. This crazy world seems to be losing its collective mind more and more by the day so, on the surface, that mentality might seem justified but I fear that it may also keep me from experiencing some wonderful opportunities. After meeting numerous people who are legitimately free spirited and adventurous, I discovered, much to my horror, that I am neither of those things. I am calculated, controlled and cautious – while other people have flights of fancy, I have color coded itineraries perfectly laid out in Excel spreadsheets. Yes, this allows me to move efficiently and quickly through life, which I do, sometimes at an alarming rate. I don’t think these traits are inherently bad ones but I also don’t know if they are truths about myself that I’m happy to accept. I used to believe that I wanted to travel the world and live abroad and make big, daring, scary life choices. But being so far out of my comfort zone made me all too aware of how much I really crave the comfortable. Security and courage – which one is honestly more important to me? Am I even strong enough to give up the former in the hope of what the latter could achieve?

It’s amazing how being away from everything you know shows you how much you don’t know, especially about yourself. But some things, of course, are constant and should be expected no matter where you roam. In my vulnerability and surprising moments of self-discovery, I learned that heartbreak travels with you, even to the other side of the world. I accepted that it’s ok to cry about the grief I left at home because I knew it was going to be waiting for me when I return. A lot of uncertainty will be there as well, a lot of difficult questions that demand answers. But I am grateful for the softness and humanity I exposed within myself through the hardness of this astonishing country. I’m grateful for the opportunity to reevaluate who I am and what I want and how I choose to go on from here. I have travel to thank for that. I have the lingering sent of patchouli and the taste of cardamom to encourage me to keep discovering and, little by little, shape a new me every day. And if I ever need another reminder, I’m sure Shiva will be more than willing to offer one.

India, I think you’re right – I will be back.