Dad

For a long time, probably a couple years now, I've had this looming feeling that something major was going to happen in my life. It was not a pleasant sensation, it was a feeling of doom, like something was going to hit that was going to be very difficult. Of course, being the selfish hypochondriac I am, I thought I was going to be diagnosed with some horrible, incurable disease, or get into a bad accident or something. It didn't even cross my mind that this feeling of doom could have to do with another person.

I also felt very strongly that I needed to spend more time at home with my parents in California. Part of the desire to visit California more often had to do with my cute twin nieces and their baby brother Gus, who are growing up so fast it breaks my heart, but I also had the feeling I needed to spend time with my parents, especially my dad. I have been able to go home four times in the last year, when usually I only make it home once a year. After this last trip to Montana, I hadn't planned to go back to home, but for some reason I felt like I needed to. I wanted to be able to sit down and talk to my dad. I wanted to go on a daddy-daughter date with him. I wanted him to share some of his music with me. I booked a flight to California instead of going right back to Utah. Turns out I have a magical intuition.

My dad passed away suddenly a month ago, while I was in California visiting. He and I were able to go on a daddy-daughter date the Monday before he passed, and I was able to sit down with him and listen to a few of the pieces of music he'd been working on. We had pleasant conversations. Things were peaceful between us. I am so thankful I listened to my gut.

You see, my father and I kind of had a rocky relationship. My dad was diagnosed with depression and anxiety (however, I wonder if maybe he was misdiagnosed and was actually bipolar, though we will never know at this point). Growing up, my siblings and I never knew what dad we were going to be greeted with when he got home from work. Sometimes he'd be in a crazy good mood, laughing easily and loudly, joking along with us, having a great time. He could be such a funny, happy guy! But sometimes he was volatile. He had a temper, he was paranoid, he could not be reasoned with. He would overhear conversations we were having, assume we were talking about him, and erupt for no reason, sometimes lecturing us for hours about things we hadn't even said or done. As kids, we all just took it, not wanting to deal with dad, and we'd just roll our eyes and laugh about it with each other later. But as I got older, I became less and less tolerant of these unnecessary outbursts and started to argue back. I had a couple tear-filled, knock-down, drag-out fights with dad because I was so tired of being blamed for saying or doing something I hadn't said or done. Then I just started walking away from such arguments. Especially the last couple years, dad liked to debate about everything, even though none of us wanted to debate. There were a couple times on a recent visit when dad started arguing about something unnecessarily, and I just walked out of the room, ignoring his comments, because I didn't want to deal with him.

We all had so many conversations about what to do about dad. How could we help him? How do we deal with his crazy? Do we just put up with it or argue back? How do you deal with someone who is so unreasonable? How do we love him? Then I listened to an episode of Invisibila (which is a great podcast, check it out) where they talked about this village in Belgium where the villagers take in the mentally-ill. Here is the description of the episode from their website (they do a better job of summarizing than I do):

"We are naturally drawn to finding solutions. But are there ever problems we shouldn't try to solve? Lulu Miller visits a town in Belgium with a completely different approach to dealing with mental illness. Families in the town board people – strangers - with severe mental illnesses in their homes, sometimes for decades. And it works, because they are not looking to cure them."

That last sentence is the trick: the mentally ill who go to this town find happiness and thrive because the people who take them in don't really care if they ever get better. The villagers accept the mentally ill for who they are, crazy and all. The episode goes into more detail about how the families of those who suffer from mental illness actually do more harm than good because they usually have unrealistic expectations for the family member suffering from a mental illness, they get disappointed when the person doesn't make progress or doesn't seem to be getting better, and they have too much pity for the person, saying things like, "I would do anything for them to get better," or "I just want them to be happy." They don't accept the person for who they are, mental illness and all, but instead constantly look for solutions to the problem of mental illness, which ends up being counter-productive. After listening to this episode, my whole view of the way we had been dealing with dad changed, so I sent the episode to my siblings and my mom, and we discussed how we had been treating dad. All of us decided that we needed to be more patient and more accepting of dad, even if he was hard to deal with sometimes. We needed to just let him be, and let go of finding solutions, which is why I wanted to go home and visit him after my trip to Montana. I wanted to repair the damage that had been done. I wanted him to feel loved and cared for. Then he died.

My dad was a music teacher at the junior high in my hometown, and was beloved by his students. We decided to hold a memorial for him at the gym of the school so that students could say words about dad if they wished. It was incredible. The gym was filled with students, parents, teachers, and community members who all went to pay tribute to dad. Several of his students spoke about dad, talking about what a fun, energetic, kind man he was, about how they knew he really cared about them. My dad saw the good in everyone and believed in the kids he taught. He was eccentric, without a doubt, but that was one of the things everyone loved about him. It was so interesting to see the view all of these strangers had of dad as compared to my view of him. I mean, I had always known him to be a very kind and caring man with a big heart who was willing to sacrifice for others. But I also knew the crazy, volatile dad who could be so hard to live with. I had focused more on the negative parts of dad instead of the good parts. How tragic! I have a genuine love and concern for strangers and for friends, yet I am so hard on my family members. I try so hard to see the good in everyone, yet I couldn't focus more on the good in my dad.

Of course I need to be more forgiving of myself. The fact is that dad was good at turning on a happy face and fighting his anxiety to be such a wonderful and loving educator, but that drained him and when he got home, where he didn't have to put on that face anymore, we saw some of the ugly parts of dad. His students saw only the good parts, we saw all parts. Living with someone who has a mental illness is really, really hard, and we did the best we could, but I wish I had done better.

In the last conversation I had with my mom, I admitted to her that anytime someone told me I was like dad I always took it as kind of an insult because of how difficult a person he could be. But now, when I think of all the good in my dad, I want to be like him, and I'm so glad that I have a lot of him in me. I asked my mom what traits she thought I got from dad. She said dad had a curiosity for the world, and if he'd had the time and money he would have travelled a lot more. This makes sense because when I told him I was going to quit my steady job to work seasonal jobs and travel, he said he was proud of me and wished he could join me. My dad felt things very deeply, did not have a very good poker face, and wore his heart on his sleeve; I am very emotional and feel things very deeply. It's hard for my not to express my emotions. My dad was very hard-working and goal-oriented, always striving to achieve; as a little girl I would write lists of goals and then rewards for completing those goals, and I continue to do that as an adult. Dad loved to create things, was always writing poetry and stories and music, of course; I love to paint, write poetry, write stories, and play music. Most beautifully, however, was my dad's huge heart, his willingness to forgive and to see the good in everyone. He gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. I genuinely love people and think everyone is good, or at least has good in them. I try to see the good and bring it out in people, just like my father did. I know I got that from him.

If only I had seen these things earlier. I think my dad and I would have had a much stronger relationship. I would have appreciated him more. But then I wonder if I would have realized any of this if dad hadn't died. Maybe his death was what I needed in order to feel closer to him? I don't know. I'm working through it.

All I can say is this: love those who are closest to you. Forgive them as you would a stranger. Focus on the good. Appreciate them for the people they are, warts and all, but try not to focus too much on the warts. We need to be so much kinder to those we love.

Thoughts from the road

May 28th 2016--
I finally made some friends! For the last few days, there has been the same group of people staying at the same hostels every night, which is so nice. There are two older guys from Holland, who are really sweet and funny (I love the Dutch!), Dennis from France, Marj from Montana, and Medi from France. The Dutch guys ended up staying in Porto for a couple extra days, Dennis walked ahead a couple days ago, and Marj is behind by a day now, but Medi and I are on the same track.

I've been trying to ask everyone what they think love is, but I only remembered to bring it up with Marj and Medi. Marj's husband passed away a few years ago, but she talked about him a lot. I told her I could tell she really loved her husband, so I asked her how they met. She said they worked together as medical professionals for 4 years before they got married, and then worked together for 30 more years after that. When I asked her if she ever felt butterflies for him, she just laughed and said, "no, never." Her relationship with her husband was founded on mutual respect and companionship. She said they were both introverts, didn't really talk much, but when they did they had really good conversations. They never fought, and she knew that her husband always respected everything she said, even if he didn't agree with her. They took care of each other and went on adventures together, but she didn't describe it as a sweeping, butterflies-in-the-stomach romance, but more friendship and caring, perhaps what could be described as a more practical type of love.

Medi is so sweet. He asks everyone he meets so many questions, and listens so intently. He is genuinely interested in getting to know people deeply, which is a magical thing to witness. And he is hilarious! When we walked through Porto together, I guess some guy was checking me out and he said, "that guy just looked at your legs like he had never seen legs before!" Maybe that isn't as funny on paper, but the way he said it and the look on his face made me laugh so hard.

Medi's thoughts on love have been the most significant to me so far. He has been with his partner for 13 years, but he said, "if he ever wanted to be with someone else, I would not stop him. I want him to be happy. Love is letting the other person do whatever makes them happy and not trying to control them." I've heard this logic before. You know, the idea that if you love someone you have to set them free? In the past I've always rolled my eyes at this sentiment, because I can be a bit possessive in love, so it didn't make sense to me. I have always wanted someone to love me fully and completely, and only me, forever. As I have gotten older, and as my views on so many things have changed, my view on this idea has changed as well. I think it shows a lot of respect and maturity to let the person you love live the life they want to live, and love them anyway, even if their choices don't lead them to you. I have no control over another person. They are going to do and feel however they want, and I can't stop them. I've always wanted to be the type of person who could just let go, but my personality has a hard time allowing for it. However, for some reason, as Medi was telling me all of this, a switch flipped in my brain, and I thought back on all the times I tried to control past lovers, even if I didn't realize I was doing it, and I was so ashamed! My desire to control them showed my lack of confidence in myself. Whether or not a person falls in love with me, and/or stays with me forever does not reflect my worth. I am beautiful, strong, smart, funny, etc, regardless. So if I truly love someone, I have to let them live however they are going to live and not worry about it. If they choose me, cool, if not, cool. Whatever makes them happy. I love this way of thinking so much better. Not only does it free the other person, but it frees me as well.

May 31st--
I've lost Medi! He went a different route than me (and took the train for part of it), so he is a day ahead. It's all good; a couple nights ago I hung out with this hilarious couple from Australia who just kept pouring me more and more red wine...I slept well that night! Yesterday I did 40 kilometers, up the steepest part of this Camino, and it was so much fun. I started running and up and down the rocky path, because I just felt like running (I get it, Forrest Gump). All these old people kept looking at me like I was crazy, and many of them cheered me on, but honestly, when I see 70+ year olds doing these long strenuous hikes I am totally in admiration. I think they are amazing. Hopefully I will be going on such adventures when I am older as well.

A couple days ago I met a girl walking the Camino with her 3 month old. She said a lot of people tell her she is stupid and reckless for it, but I couldn't help but be in awe. That takes guts. Then the next day I saw a couple with a baby walking it as well! Super parents, also an inspiration for me.

After my conversation with Medi about love, I haven't thought about the meaning of romantic love since. I think the idea of loving and living and not having expectations for the other person is perfect. That is beautiful love, I think. What I have been thinking a lot about is how I don't feel like I really have a home anymore. Like, nothing feels like home. I miss California when I am away, I miss Utah when I leave, I missed Spain when I finished my first Camino, today I crossed the border from Portugal into Spain and automatically started missing Portugal. I miss The Netherlands like crazy. I'm excited to go to Germany and Denmark, and I will probably miss them when I leave. I am always longing to visit old places while at the same time excited to explore new ones. Everywhere and nowhere feel like home, both at the same time. I don't have a place. When people ask me what I do for a living, I tell them I am a vagabond, because I don't know what else to tell them! I quit my "real adult job" a year ago and have been wandering since. I am a wanderer. An explorer. And I wonder if I will ever find a home.

(On an unrelated note, Spain has the best coffee IN THE WORLD and Portugal the best croissants. I also associate the Camino with Magnum bars and Milka with Oreos, and have been eating a lot of those things as well. I feel really good about it. I burn about 2500 calories a day hiking so whatevzzzzz.)

I am no better than you, my friends

The last three days have been amazing. I got my walking legs back, finally! Plus, the trail in this region is well marked, and so I haven't lost my way as much, and when I have it's been easy to get back on track.

A few days ago, in Tomar, I stayed in a hostel that actually had people in it, and I probably annoyed the lady at the front desk because I spoke to every single person that came into the rec room. People! I ran into an older guy, Ricardo from Orange County, who I had seen the night before. He offered to pay for my dinner, and a broke traveler never turns down free dinner. We ended up talking for a couple hours about travel mostly. He shook my hand and commended me for traveling at a young age, talking about how there are lots of people who never see the world, so it is admirable that I am seeing it, like he had his whole life. Though I appreciated the comment, it almost came off as if he thought people who traveled were better than people who never traveled, and it really bothered me. I think travelers can sometimes be just as arrogant as someone who has achieved career and/or monetary success. Yes, travel brings me a lot of happiness and I love that I am doing it, but it makes me no better than another person. I think happiness can be found in so many different ways, and it is arrogant to think that travel is the only way to experience happiness and adventure. Sometimes I worry that the pictures I post make me seem like I'm showing off or bragging, which really is not my intent. I share pictures because I've had people request them, it brings my parents comfort to see I am alive, and I figure people might be interested in what I'm doing. I am in no way trying to rub it in. People must find happiness in their own way, and not everyone has wanderlust.

I asked Ricardo what he thought love was. He fell in love with a woman when he was in China years ago and they were married for 15 years. He said when he met her, he got a really peaceful feeling around her. He said she put him at ease, and that's why he fell in love with her. I asked if he ever had butterflies for her and he said no, just peace. It makes sense, because Ricardo suffers from OCD and anxiety, so butterflies were probably not what he was looking for, but peace and comfort were.

That next morning I finally got in to the mountains! I thrive in the mountains. I am much faster at going up and down trails than walking a boring flat surface. I felt so good I ran for part of it, and then found that my guidebook had fallen out of the pocket of my pack. Luckily there were a couple brothers from California that had the same guidebook and so I was able to take pictures of it and have been using those pictures as my guide.

Yesterday I ran into two older guys from Australia that were really cheeky and fun, and walking verrrrry slowly, but it was nice talking with them. So far I've only met retired old men on this Camino, which honestly is probably a good thing. On my last Camino, I was very preoccupied with a handsome Dutch guy and so I didn't end up doing the writing and reflecting I was hoping to do. This time around I've been writing a lot more, which is nice. Keep the old guys coming.

I've also been thinking a lot about my belief in God. I do not believe in the God of my upbringing; God is not a white man with a white beard sitting on a throne wearing a white robe watching at all times. I do not believe this, but I do not deny the existence of something. I have had too many experiences in my life, and in this journey alone, that point to there being some power taking care of me and moving me. I don't know what it is, I don't know if something is actually there, but I also don't know for sure that there is nothing there. I like doubt. I find comfort in it. It leaves my mind free to question and to wander and to wonder and to never come up with a definitive answer. I think the words "I don't know" should be more respected than they are.

The Road Less Traveled

I am alive. Portugal is hard.

Yesterday I spent an hour and a half and walked 6 miles just getting out of Santarem, the village I stayed in for the night. I am used to the French Way, which is the Camino I did last year. It is incredibly well marked, and if you happen to get lost, all the locals know about it and can direct you accordingly. The Portuguese Way is not so easy. Because it is less popular, it is not as well marked (or maybe because it is not well marked it is not as popular...). I met a German guy in Santiago last year who had done the Portuguese Way and said it was really hard to find his way to Spain, so I understood it would be harder, but I had no idea it would be this hard. The yellow arrow marks The Way, and yet many times on this Camino I will be following the arrows, and then they just stop. I have ended up having to follow highways to the next village, and I've learned that walking on flat asphalt for 20 miles is really hard on my body.

I also stupidly brought a different pair of hiking boots than the ones I used on the French Way. Those old boots never gave me blisters, fit perfectly, protected my precious feet. But they were worn and dirty, and I had another pair I had been wearing all winter that I figured would do me well this time around. I was wrong. Because the boots fit a little too loosely, my ankles kept hitting the insides of the boots, causing bruising. To remedy this, I thought I would wrap my ankles and wear two pairs of socks, but the bandages I used to wrap my feet just caused burns on the backs of my ankles and the bruising was not helped. Along the way I angrily threw those boots to the side of the road and put on my running shoes (it's funny; I would see abandoned boots on the French Way all the time and wondered why anyone would leave them behind, now I understand). When I got to my stop last night, I couldn't walk anymore. It hurt so much to put pressure on my ankles. On top of this, I am not used to walking in such heat and sun, so I was completely worn out. I slept 12 hours last night out of shear exhaustion. The sleep definitely helped because I was still able to do the 31km (20ish miles) today, and my feet aren't as sore. I think wearing my running shoes is going to make a big difference, and I expect that in a few days I will be fully healed. 

It's interesting the reaction I get from people when they see me walking alone, like it's the weirdest thing they've ever seen. On the French Way, the majority of Pilgrims are solo travelers who meet other people and then end up walking together. It is not uncommon to see Pilgrims, even female Pilgrims, walking alone. In Portugal people are amazed/confused/concerned, which is probably why everyone has been so nice to me. Take these examples: yesterday I flagged down a guy after walking in circles all morning to ask where to go, and he gave me a ride to the highway and directions on how to get to my next stop; this morning a woman walked with me to where the trail began; just now a guy walked me to the hostel I'm staying at. Everyone is so kind here.

I'm also starting to get a little lonely. I have always been comfortable doing things by myself, and I'm still fine with walking alone, but it would be nice to have some company. On the French Way, I fell into a group of guys who I walked with half of the way, and when I broke off from them I was able to find other people to walk with. There were always people on the trail and familiar faces in the hostels at night. So far I have only met 8 other people walking to Santiago, and they are all older and walking at a slower pace than me. I would walk with them, but most of them have 25 or 30 days to get to the end, I only have 20, so I have to walk a bit faster. I understand that in Porto, which I will get to in about a week, more people start the walk to Santiago, so I'm hoping I can find some people to walk with then. Otherwise I might go crazy.

I think I am learning that my body has limitations. I have never been so hurt or broken that I haven't been able to keep going. Even on the French Way when my legs and shoulders were really sore, I could still push myself. Last night I felt pain like never before, and had a lot more respect for what my body can do. I wondered if I would be able to go forward today, but thankfully was able to. But man! That pain was crazy.

On the upside, a man named Miguel who owns and runs a hostel in Santarem offered me a job for two months at his hostel this summer. I started seriously considering it, because, why not? But then, I have to admit, I miss the good old USA. I do not consider myself a patriot; I think the way we pushed out Native Americans and enslaved African people and mistreated Latinos and continue to stomp on the working class is nothing to be proud of. I cannot say I am proud to be an American, nor do I think it is the best country in the world, and it is not the happiest either. But I love it. Can't exactly explain why, other than it is my home, I know it, I love the people, and I love the land. It is beautiful.

The Beginning

I am a day ahead on my Camino, but not on purpose. Yesterday I meant to only walk 30 kilometers, but ended up walking 45 kilometers, or 28 miles, because I thought the route would go through the town I was meaning to stay at for the night, but it didn't, and I didn't realize it until I was 10 kilometers passed it. I could have either walked back the 10 km or walked forward another 14 km to the next stop, so I decided to walk forward. Before I headed on I stopped on the side of the road to take a quick rest and eat an apple, when a lady named Lily stopped and asked where I was headed. When I told her I had 14 more kilometers to go (this was at 6 in the evening), she offered me a ride. I couldn't turn her down. My body was sore and I was especially tired from the sun beating down on me all day. I could barely function. She gave me a ride to my next stop, and thank goodness she did because when I got there I found out the hostel I was planning to stay at was closed, so I had to find other lodging. Had I gotten there any later I may not have figured out where to stay.

This is what I have learned about Portugal so far: the people here are so kind and willing to help. When I arrived in Lisbon a few days ago, I was looking for the Cathedral where I needed to pick up my Pilgrim's Passport. I stopped and asked a lady for directions and she walked with me part of the way, and then a couple guys came up to me when they could see I was lost and showed me the way. Yesterday I had the experience with Lily, and this morning, when I went to pay for my breakfast, the lady only charged me 1.50 euros for a coffee and a pastry, and gave me a muffin for free being a Pilgrim. It almost made me cry.

My body hurts like hell and my feet are sore. I'd forgotten how painful walking all day with a heavy pack on can be. I am exhausted at the end of the day, and by the time I get to my next stop I can barely walk. But then there is the miracle of sleep! It's amazing how the body heals itself after a night of rest. I'm looking forward to bed tonight.

My last night in The Netherlands I told Lyn, Alef, and Adriaan the story of the 06 female wolf. Typically when a pack needs food, two wolves are needed to catch the prey. The 06 female, however, could do it all on her own. She was strong and beautiful and all the male wolves wanted to mate with her, she could have had the strongest male, but she chose two of the weaker ones, because, it is speculated, she wanted to remain the leader of the pack. I told Lyn, Alef, and Adriaan that I wanted to be like the 06 female, to which Alef exclaimed, "you are somewhat of a feminist aren't you?" It made me laugh. Of course I am a feminist, but I think my form of feminism is based on how strong women are. I'm all about women getting equal rights, but I think more than anything I want it to be acknowledged that women are strong and capable. Not just physically, but also, and more importantly, mentally. I am a strong, independent female.

With that said, I understand where I am priviledged and where I am in danger. When I told my friend Adriaan about how my creepy couchsurfing host in Paris tried to have sex with me, he said, "you can't do anything about it if you are a beautiful girl and people want to have sex with you." It is such bullshit that as a woman I have to worry about disgusting men who will attempt to have sex with me at any cost. There have already been a few times on this Camino where I have felt to the need to have my pepper spray in hand, ready to go at any moment, because a man was staring at me for too long. I hate it. But then I also recognize that the help I have been offered on the road so far is probably because I am a single woman walking alone and people are concerned for me. I wonder if I were a guy, if I would be treated the same way? I actually kind of doubt it. There are benefits and disadvantages to both.

I am also trying to figure out what love is. WHAT IS LOVE? I think it means different things to different people. I met a woman, Ans, on my first day of walking. She was a beautiful 70 year old woman from The Netherlands who is also doing the Portguese Way. I asked her what she thought love was and she said, "love is taking care of another person." She talked about how on one of their first dates, her husband changed her bike tire for her, and how he was gentle and kind to her. That's how she knew she loved him. Years later she was diagnosed with cancer, and he cared for her through her treatment. She said that's was love was, and that's why she was in love with her husband. So beautiful. But then another person's idea of love might be different. What is my idea of love? I still don't know.

What is love? Baby don't hurt me

Last night when we spoke I told him I was sad because I didn't think he really understood how magical I am. 

"Oh Marie," he said "I know you are magic." 

But then he kept contradicting himself. 

"I do not feel butterflies when I see you."

"You are an American and I am European. We cannot be together."

"But I actually think butterflies are shit."

"You are very beautiful."

"It doesn't matter if I love you a lot, I am the man who I am."

"I am shit at relationships."

"You are a strong woman."

"We would have beautiful children, and you would be a good mother."

"But it can never happen."

I still don't understand him, and I don't think he understands himself.

But this is why I have not been able to let him go:

He makes me laugh. We have fun together. He lost one of his running shoes at the gym, and ordered new ones online, but they hadn't come in the mail yet so he went and bought new running shoes so we could go running together while I visited. We push each other. He is good with children. He does the dishes. He cooks. He walks on the outside of the sidewalk to keep me from cars. He is a protector. He works with his hands. He is clever. He loves his family and takes care of them. He had to grow up at a very young age, and although he is a playful boy at times, he is a man. He cares more about exercise and healthy eating than he does about watching the latest TV show. He is informed. He makes me feel safe. I am comfortable with him. 

I always flash back to this time on the Camino when we had fallen behind the rest of our group, but we wanted to catch up with them. With our heavy packs on, we held hands and ran up and down steep hills. We passed people on the trail, running, laughing, and they looked at us like we were crazy. We didn't care. When I fell behind him because my pack was heavy on my shoulders, he pulled me forward and encouraged me. When he got tired but saw me walking ahead, he pushed himself and kept up. We trusted each other. We were a team. 

I don't feel butterflies when I am with him either. But I would move to Europe for him, because he is a good, strong man. My animal instincts are drawn to him. I have a lot of love for him, and, in his words, I can nothing do about it.

The Netherlands so far...

The Netherlands, Holland, the Land of the Dutch, is a dreamy place.

I arrived Monday night, and was picked up by Alef, the father/husband of the family I am staying with here. Alef, his wife Lynn, their daughter Indy and son Jona all live on an old farm in Muiden, just outside of Amsterdam. A couple years ago Alef and Lynn decided they wanted to create a more simple, sustainable life for them and their children, so they bought this homestead and are slowly transforming it into a garden and eventually a bed and breakfast. I have been helping in the greenhouse, specifically building the garden boxes, lining them, and planting. I'm also helping plant berries in a bed outside their house, in addition to helping with the kids when needed. In exchange for my work, I get free room and board, along with a really authentic experience. I have hung out with Alef and Lynn's friends, family, toured around a bit, and learned a lot about the culture here.

Muiden is a beautiful village with lovely canals and streets. Honestly, so far everywhere I've been here is ideal. Everything is clean, green, and charming. The beaches are really nice and the weather this week has been so nice. The only thing missing are some mountains, and then I think this place would be perfect.

One of the reasons for my trip was to see my friend Adriaan, who came by on Wednesday. More to come on him, but for now I'll just say it was so good to see him. I don't believe there is only one person for you in this world, I think there are a few people who can fit just right. Adriaan is one of my people. It's magic when we are together. I'm waiting for him right now because he is going to show me around Amsterdam this weekend. I have a feeling saying goodbye is going to be very hard...