(un)Apologetics 

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I remember reaching a point of exhaustion which slowly turned into crippling depression. This happened back in college when I couldn’t carry all the baggage for everyone that wasn’t me anymore. The next few years would be spent telling myself it was okay to let go and drop that baggage and shed those masks. 
Professional people pleaser, I spent my whole life up until that point trying to be who everyone expected me to be. Perfect. That’s what I thought anyway. So I spent all these years not even getting to know myself and instead grabbing the bags of perfection and trudging behind all the masks of this is who you should be. 

So when the heaviness caught up and the the depression pinned me down in a pit, it was almost a relief to not have to carry all of it anymore. But the pit didn’t seem much of a life at all either. 

I remember slowly climbing out of the pit. I realized I wasn’t broken and everything was actually much lighter. I had this freedom to just be me. The climb was slow because I hadn’t used these muscles since I was a child. Very weak, but they were excited to be used again. I was a curious child again brand new to the world. Sticking my nose in anything and everything. Fear very present, but I did not allow it to paralyze me. Curiosity not coming without those burns though, but I really didn’t care because this was a life I never experienced. It felt more whole and rich. 

So that brings me to now. 

Present me still prancing around. Curious. Talking to anyone and everyone and I hear a voice say “I’m long past apologizing for who I am. This is me. An open book, dramatic, and at the end of the day I’m still learning. That’s all I can do. That’s all any of us can do.” Shame so miserably tries to interject “What is wrong with you?” but its voice is too weak and feeble to be heard. 

Then I realize that strong unapologetic voice was mine. And I was damn proud of her. No second thoughts to this is who I am. Just owning it. 

And then I look at my friends. I don’t love them despite their quirks. I love them because of their quirks. When they are loud and embarrassing. When they are demanding. When they annoy the hell out of me. And then I realize they must love me for all the same reasons. I love them as the individual they are. All unique. All interesting. All worthy of all the love in the world. 

I woke up the day after the election crying and mourning. This seemingly post-apocalyptic dystopia which is very much our reality is trying its damnedest to cis-straight-white wash this beautiful mural we were meant to be. That we already are without trying to be anything we’re not. And then I started doubting myself again. My goals aren’t realistic and my dreams aren’t big enough. Am I doing any good for this world at all? And that strong woman came back in and told Shame it was not allowed and sat with me and reminded me that all the world needs me to be is myself. And I will fight to the end to let others know that too. You. Who you are. What you love to do. WHO you love. What your passion is. What brings you alive. However small it may feel. That’s what the world needs from you. You. You’re not insignificant. You’re beautiful and so so so deserving of all the love in the world. I’m asking you to do the most radical thing you can do in this world and be unapologetically you. That’s what I live for. 

All my love. 

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Seemingly Insignificant 

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I find myself feeling restless again. The urge to move. Get out. Runaway. It’s what I always do when I get bored. It’s like I have this inability to settle, or maybe it’s just this fear of complacency. I don’t know, but I drive myself mad. Because there has to be something I’m missing, right? (Cue FOMO)

You see, I get this deep longing and homesickness for Asia. There I was always on the move. Deep relationships were formed in 2 hours, and well, goodbyes, albeit still difficult were a little easier to cope with because I would probably become best friends with the next person that walked into the cafe wearing hippie pants. 

It’s like summer camp- where you’re learning all these universal lessons on self-love and understanding among everyone else wanting to learn the same and you’re all having fun along the way. And it’s easy to maintain this hippie mentality when you’re surrounded by it. I mean, you’re basically sitting in a circle singing kumbaya and wigging out on some kind of mind trip everyday. Let’s face it; it’s not that hard. 

But then you get back into the “real” world- the wild wild West if you will, and suddenly it’s not that easy anymore. People side glance the feather in your hair and scoff every time you mention universal love. You have to throw up peace signs anytime you say something too hippie dippy just to show people you’re very aware you sound straight out of Woodstock. 

You’re not in summer camp anymore, and it’s time to put everything you learned into practice. How long before you slip back into old habits? The fear. The anxiety. The depression. Oh, but you promise yourself you’re not going down without a fight. You’re stronger than that. You didn’t shit in holes for nothing. 

So where is this anxiety coming from? That you’re not seeing famous landmarks every week? That you’re starting to acquire more than a backpack’s worth of stuff? That you haven’t gotten a new passport stamp in awhile? Nah. 

You just think there’s something “more” that you’re missing. Isn’t that what it all boils down to? That you’re not doing anything beyond yourself? That you’re not enjoying your right now. That your life should be more than this. But here’s the thing. It doesn’t have to be. Because when I look back at my times of traveling it was less about the sites I saw and the “crazy” things I did but more about the people I shared it with. 

It’s about these seemingly insignificant moments- these moments make up our lives. They happen anywhere and everywhere, and they happen right now. In India… In Melbourne… In Atlanta… Everywhere. And these moments… They’re all we’ve got. 

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lost

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I’m walking along the streets of Melbourne, Australia trying to work up the courage to walk into restaurants and give them my CV. I’m wondering how I even got here. Traveling to Australia was never really on my radar, but here I am. I’m feeling lost, but that’s nothing new. 
It’s this reverse culture shock, you see. I’m back in the western world, and I feel like that automatically means I’m going to sink back into this western mentality- everything I was trying to escape when I initially left to travel. I’m having flashbacks to when I first graduated college and moved to Seattle. Stumbling around blindly and just trying to find something-anything to give me a source of income and keep me busy. It didn’t matter what. 

But suddenly I wasn’t living up to my potential. So much pressure to be successful. Be prestigious. Make my alma mater proud. You could be doing so much more with your life, people would tell me. Why are you settling for this hospitality job? You’re smarter than this. When are you going to get a real job? I started to believe them. And I was miserable. The pressure was too much for me. What was wrong with me? What did I even want? I was lost.  

But something else in me made me think maybe I didn’t want a “real” job. Maybe there was more out there than corporate America led me to believe. Maybe I didn’t have to live this life everyone else so vehemently wanted me to live. So I ran away. At least that’s what people told me I was doing. And maybe to a degree they were right. I quit my jobs. Got rid of a lot of my shit. And went all hippy dippy and flew off to India to “find myself.” Okay, so I never phrased it like that, but for a lack of better words, sure, we’ll say that’s what I did. And did I find myself? No. Did I leave with a little more sense of direction? Maybe…no. Not really. But I did know that I wasn’t done exploring the world. There was too much to see. Too many people to meet. Too many people to love. Hippy. Dippy. 

I didn’t want to stop. 

So I was told to come to Australia to make some money, so I could keep traveling around the world. And suddenly I find myself back in the western world after traveling Asia for over half a year, and it’s been the hardest adjustment of them all. Fear that I’m heading back to the daily grind. Confused about what I’m even doing here. Unsure what the point of it all is. I am back in the vicious cycle of “am I doing anything of purpose at all?” 

More lost than ever. 

But then I think of all the people I’ve met. The lives I’ve encountered. So many stressing about not having their lives figured out. Unsure if their life is amounting to anything worthwhile at all. And then I think about how much these lives impacted me. How they gave me their time. Made me laugh. Listened to me. Made me feel a little less alone. All these beautiful souls just as confused as I am and how they changed my life. Doesn’t that count as something? Because if they changed my life, they have to be changing other lives as well. And maybe that means I have impacted others’ lives too. Is that the interconnectedness of us all? That we’re all searching for God knows what, but at the end of it all, we are all just searching for each other? Is that life? I hope so. Because maybe just maybe I’ve been doing it right. Maybe we’re all a little less lost than we think we are. 

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debrief

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“Once a journey is designed, equipped, and put in process, a new factor enters and takes over. A trip, a safari, an exploration, is an entity, different from all other journeys. It has personality, temperament, individuality, uniqueness. A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us. Tour masters, schedules, reservations, brass-bound and inevitable, dash themselves to wreckage on the personality of the trip. Only when this is recognized can the blown-in-the glass bum relax and go along with it. Only then do the frustrations fall away. In this a journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.” -John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America

The past couple of weeks I have been reflecting on what I’ve wanted to share with you guys about my trip. I’ve written so many introduction paragraphs, but my thesis statement seemed so forced and not true to my voice that they’ve all just had to go.

Because in reality, there are so many things I could share with you about these past 6 months.

I could talk to you about a girl doing everything she could to grasp onto control while pretending to be the freest of free spirits and the dippiest of all the hippies, but how after some time and some mistakes and some beautiful people, she realized she wasn’t holding onto so much anymore.

About change and how I exclaim “impermanence!” at least five times a day because it’s the only consistent thing in this world.

About how sometimes it hurts and sometimes it doesn’t, but the essence of impermanence is that it is also passing, so I shouldn’t hold onto any of it anyway.

About how there are amazing people everywhere, you just have to be willing to meet them.

About how better than all the sites I saw were the moments I shared with people.

About how there is nothing more and nothing greater than this moment right now; we are just always in a fuss to discover what’s better and that’s often where our discontent is rooted.

And about how traveling is a magical antidote and will heal you in ways I still don’t even understand; it will break you and break you again just to show you how strong you really are.
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But the question to end all questions is “How do you travel alone… especially as a woman? Aren’t you ever scared?”

And the truth is I’m scared all time. But if I let those fears get in the way I wouldn’t be traveling at all. Those fears stop me from living, so I have to believe I’m bigger than them. Because I am.

It’s either I live a life full of discontent because I let my fear control me, or I live a life of wonder because I shut that fear down by engaging in adventure. And only one of those options seems like a life worth living at all to me.

So let me set the scene: You’re clutching onto your bag in the middle of a train station in India. Sensory overload. It’s chaotic—an organized mess if you will. The queues are just big blobs of people. People are pushing around you. Others are sleeping on the floor waiting for their train. It’s dusty and grimy and is there even a trash can (or rubbish bin for my non-American friends) around? You’re the only westerner. You can’t hear yourself think. Sweat is dripping down your leg. A cow cuts you off. Wait, a cow in the train station? Yes. You step in shit. Shit. You’re pretty sure you are at the right platform, but where the hell is your train?… so you have to ask one of the many people already staring wide eyed at you. Oh, it’s late, and it will be here sometime in the next 2 hours. Cool. You start to doubt if you are actually going to make it where you want to go. (Spoiler alert: you do.)

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It’s sink or swim and you always swim someway or another. But you have to learn that the easiest way to make it through is to float.

You have to let go of control and just to let things happen the way they happen. Because the more you fight it, the more you lose control. Like when you’re driving and you start to hydroplane… you don’t slam on the breaks, you just have to ride it out. And I’ve learned when you let go of control you’re never disappointed with the magic that unfolds because you can’t be disappointed when there are no expectations on the table. You can only be excited for what’s to come. The process is slow, but you just have to trust it– the ultimate way of letting go of control—trusting what you don’t know.

So you have to learn how to trust your intuition, trust your mistakes and keep moving forward. And slowly, slowly the best love story of all unfolds—the one with yourself. Because you start to truly believe how capable you are. And one day you wake up and realize you aren’t that insecure girl stumbling through a foreign country anymore, but you’re a woman who is sure of herself strutting with confidence in a beautiful world filled with so many opportunities. Because when you choose to say no to all your fears, there is nothing that can stop you.

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The Real Deal 

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Today marks 3 months in India. I know it doesn’t seem like a long time, but honestly, it’s a longer amount of time than most of my dating history, so I think that makes India and me the real deal. I mean, when talk of bowel movements, ahem, the shits, are common ground for speaking in a relationship, I think we can all agree it’s pretty serious. 

But real talk, India and I skipped the honeymoon period and went straight to the hard part- the let’s fucking work at this relationship part. And let me tell you, these 3 months have been some of the most challenging, empowering, and healing 3 months of my life. 

 

India and I have those really embarrassing public arguments: You know, that moment when I am in the middle of a busy market crying because I’m so overwhelmed and thinking, “I hate India! I fucking hate this place!” And then the thought comes, “oh, yeah? Then why don’t you leave. What’s stopping you from buying a plane ticket back to the States?” And my answer is nothing. Nothing except the fact that I kind of love this place… okay, I kind of really love this place. I do. Because the struggle is nothing compared to how alive I feel being here, and I can’t leave that. Despite every tear shed, every bitch face given, every exasperated cry, this is where I want to be.  

 

So maybe this sounds like a toxic relationship, but I don’t see it like that. I see it as real. It’s challenging. It’s a real struggle. But it’s worth the work. It’s worth the tears. It’s worth the anger. Because at the end of the day, I go to sleep content with the challenge of it all. Because this is where I find myself growing… thriving even. And that’s what it’s all about! So in all my frustration, the tenderness is still there. I surrender. My heart is all in. This relationship is worth it.    

   

 

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The Glamorous Life of Backpacking 

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I think people like to romanticize the idea of backpacking. And to a degree, it’s very romantic. It’s a journey. But that journey is by no means glamorous. And some moments just plain suck. But I still think it’s worth it.
So what’s backpacking really all about? 

It’s about vomiting off of a moving bus in the middle of the night. 

It’s about choosing what to wear by deciding what smells the least disgusting. 

It’s about sometimes feeling lonely even though you’re in a country with a population of 1 billion.   

 
It’s about getting lost. 

It’s about getting lost on the way back to your guest house even though you didn’t veer off course and literally stayed on the same road the whole time… At least you thought you did. 

It’s about getting lost AGAIN. 

It’s about never being 100% certain that you’re actually going to make it to where you intend on going.  

It’s about somehow always making it to where you intend to go though. 

It’s about shitting 3 times a day in a squatter toilet because your stomach hasn’t adjusted to the food. 

It’s about your squat form improving because of said squatter toilets. 

It’s about crying on public transportation. 

It’s about a lot of sweating. 

It’s about wanting to push over every motor bike that honks at you to get out of the way. (No! You get out of MY way!) 

It’s about getting one too many “foreigner taxes.” 

It’s about bargaining the hell out of a rickshaw driver just to make it 3 kilometers. 

It’s about your yoga instructor insisting you do a head stand even though you don’t think you can (you can! well, sort of…) 

It’s about REAL hot yoga.

It’s about meeting some awesome people who really lift you up when you most need it. 

   

It’s about changing your plans to travel with awesome people. 

It’s about fitting 3 people on a motor bike only to have it break down. 

 
It’s about knowing when to go your own way. 

It’s about realizing that everything you really need in life can fit on your back. 

It’s about reaching your breaking point and realizing you still have a lot left in you. 

It’s about realizing you are fully capable even when you don’t think you are. 

It’s challenging and incredibly empowering, and I still have a long way to go. 

Peace & Love, 

Kathleen 

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Incredible India:Celebrity Status 

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Now I know I have been in India for only 4 days, but I already have so many thoughts. 

India’s Law of Physics: 
For every frustrating, pull my hair out moment in India, there is an equally opposite beautiful, happy tears moment in India. 

And these extremes happen like 12 times a day. 

And the complexity of the city of Mumbai is only a testament to that. Mumbai is a strange combination of green and lush and grunge and loud, and it somehow works. 

With all that in mind, I thought I would share with you guys a little story of mine. 

I took an hour long ferry ride out to an island off of Mumbai called Elephanta to do some exploring. The fact that I have white skin gives me celebrity status, so on the ride out there people were trying to take not so secret pictures of me as various family members sat next to me. I started to smile with them because why not? The poses began to escalate, and I started to feel like the president when they started giving me diplomatic handshakes as they posed. The picture taking lasted the better half of the journey. And when the snack vendor came by a man bought me a juice box which quite frankly is better than any time a guy has bought be a drink in a bar. 

So finally we get to the island and I do some exploring around the sculpted caves they have there and do some hiking among the greenest of green trees. My celebrity status quickly shifted from white girl to sweaty white girl, and I was not about the paparazzi anymore. So when I was heading back to the ferry, I decided it was probably best to pick up a touristy Gandhi t-shirt from one of the vendors at the island entrance to change into so I could be dry and just a white girl sans sweat again. (But let’s be real… This was just my excuse to buy the touristy Gandhi t-shirt). 

  
I was dry all of 10 minutes. 

When I got on the ferry to head back, monsoon rains started coming in. Luckily that stopped, but the rocky waves didn’t, and waves came crashing over board and taking me as their prisoner. Welp. There goes my dry shirt. So much for my ingenious plan. The waves kept coming and crashing, and I actually was starting to get a little concerned that the boat might be capsized, but only just a little. As we are all trying to huddle in the middle of the boat, there came an overwhelming since of solidarity. And then we all just started laughing. Why? I don’t know. But our discomfort just became amusing for some reason as we practiced our sea legs. And even though I couldn’t understand what the people  were saying most of the the time, I did understand their laughter, and that was beautiful. 

  
We eventually made it back. It took nearly twice as long. Soaking wet Gandhi and I made it off the ferry with some snacks a lady had purchased on the island and insisted on giving to me. 

And I just smiled because my clothes getting drenched and my slight nervousness that whole ride back was 100% worth it. 

Comfortable? No. 

Amazing. Yes. 

It’s these moments when I’m traveling that I cherish the most

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learning to love my mess

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I know what you guys might be thinking. That Kathleen… man, that girl’s got it all figured out. She has direction and knows exactly what she’s doing with her life. In fact she’s so together, I even want her to be my life guru.
And not to disappoint anyone or anything, but there’s only a couple of things in my life I know for certain and one of those things is that I don’t have my shit together.

But maybe that’s okay.

Perhaps the worst belief you can have is that being lost is a bad thing.
But what if it’s not?
Maybe the worst thing for us is allowing ourselves to stay stuck—letting the fear of getting lost scare us so much that we don’t move at all.

So we don’t take risks. We play it safe. Following our bliss becomes too risky of journey. So we decide it’s not worth it. And we never really reach our true potential.

I’m learning to love my mess of a life.

My mess keeps me moving forward.
It means I always have something to clean up.
It means I always have something to keep searching for.
My mess helps me learn.
My mess gives me purpose.

I don’t have to know where I’m going all the time. As long as I keep moving forward and searching for what makes me, well, me. And the deeper I get into my mess, the more I find that I really like the woman that I’m becoming. I’m going to be okay as long as I keep moving forward. I might even be more than okay.

And I’m never alone on this journey. Sorrow joins me sometimes, but so does joy. They are both great companions for the lessons only they can teach.

I hope I never have my shit together because if I ever get to point where I have it all together then I cease to stop seeking. I cease to stop learning. I cease to stop growing.

I’m okay with not knowing exactly what I’m doing with my life because my mess of a life is honestly the best thing that has ever happened to me.

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enough

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I looked someone in the eyes the other day. They were terrified. It was too real.

We only want what we think we want and then we don’t even want that.

We make this world so much harder than it’s supposed to be.

I thought maybe we could laugh together about something silly and that would be enough, but it wasn’t.

I thought maybe I could just hold your hand and bask in the sunlight and we could take in the beauty of it all and that would be enough, but it wasn’t.

I thought maybe we could just breathe with the general knowledge that this is life and that’s enough, but it wasn’t.

I just want to look you in the eyes and for you to do the same and we could smile knowing that this is quite enough.

But it’s not.

Nothing is enough anymore.

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Feel

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It was a sucker punch if there ever was one.
Outside my body I saw the whole thing in slow motion.
I turned around and the fist was in my face.
Defenseless.
There was no stopping it.
And in that moment, every memory of pain surfaced.
I stumbled, and then I hit the ground.
Crumpled.
I wasn’t getting up this time. There was no way.
This was too much.
I couldn’t survive this.
Done.
Every bruise I’ve ever had returned to my body.
All my pain was brand new all over again.
I couldn’t move.
Paralyzed.

I was moving again.
I couldn’t… I wouldn’t be defeated.
Every amount of will surfaced from within.
Standing.
Weak but not defeated.
I took out the weight I’d been holding onto.
I didn’t have to hold onto it anymore.
Heavy.
I held it in my hands.
I took a deep breath.
I threw it to the ground.
Shattered.
Freedom was born from pain.
Just because you’re weak doesn’t mean you can’t be brave.
Feel and let go.
Feel
and
let go.

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