Home is where your heart is, whether you like it or not.

This summer I was lucky enough to spend five weeks back in my home state of Minnesota. It was the first time I had returned since I moved to Amsterdam more than a year ago, and I definitely made the most of it. I spent quality time with my family, many days catching up with friends, and every free minute relaxing on one of the many gorgeous lakes Minnesota is known for. It was great to be back.

Before I left Amsterdam, I was incredibly excited for my return, but also a bit worried. The last time I experienced a big homecoming was after spending 18 months away. During that time I had lived and taught in South Korea, volunteered in Thailand, and traveled extensively throughout Southeast Asia and Europe. I remember how excited I had been to return to the place that had been so comfortable for me for most of my life, and how shocked I was with the reverse culture shock that greeted me. I felt like a foreigner in my own country and, well, I didn't like it.

So this time, I mentally prepared. I anticipated a similar feeling and was ready for it to knock me off my feet. I'm not sure if it was my preparation that worked or the fact that I psyched myself out more than necessary, but that feeling I anxiously awaited never came. On the contrary, it felt great to be back in Minnesota. I was surprised by how natural everything felt and I was elated to surround myself with the people who have played such important roles in my life for as long as I can remember.

Though something did feel different. Each time I would see someone for the first time, they'd ask me how it was to be home. "It's great!" I'd say, but I felt a bit like I was lying. While it was great to be back, it didn't necessarily feel like I was home. Sure Minnesota is a comfortable place for me to be, and I certainly do feel at home in my parents' house, but it's not necessarily my home anymore. No, I thought, my home is my apartment in Amsterdam - that cozy little flat in which I live with my husband and our cute little feline. And as much as I loved every minute of my Minnesotan summer, I often found myself feeling homesick for my life in Amsterdam.

The five weeks passed, simultaneously slowly and quickly as time seems to do, and before I knew it I was on my way back to Amsterdam. I was sad to leave Minnesota, excited to return to Amsterdam, content with all the memories I had made, and completely unprepared for what was to come.

Almost immediately after I returned, I was completely, totally, unbelievably overcome with homesickness (I realize that this sentence is redundant, but that's the only way I can describe just how I felt). What's worse, I was utterly confused as to how I could be so completely, totally, unbelievably overcome with homesickness for a place that didn't even really feel like my home just a few weeks ago. Yes, part of me was glad to be back with my husband and our cute little feline, but I was also beside myself with loneliness for those I had left behind. I was consumed by feelings of sadness, and there was just no consoling me or working through my feelings logically. I spent about two days laying on the couch, trying to distract myself from myself, and suffering from what I can only describe as heartbreak.

And that's when it clicked. Through my jet-lagged fog and tear-bleary eyes, a time old saying popped into my head.

"Home is where your heart is."

Never had words spoken so truly or hurt so deeply. Home is most definitely where your heart is, and in my case (and the case of many expatriates, I'm sure), my heart was split right down the middle between two. I realized then that Minnesota most certainly is, and always will be, my home. Though I may not live there, my heart is there with my dear family and my irreplaceable friends, and that is enough to make it my home. But Amsterdam is also my home, as my heart is present here in this city and in the beautiful life I'm creating with my husband.

So what does that mean for a girl with a heart split down the middle? Well, I can't really say. I usually like to end my posts with a little lesson that I've learned from my experience, but this one isn't so clear yet. I know that I'm lucky to have such a full heart, but when your heart is torn, it's harder to feel the luckiness. I'm sure with time I'll be able to balance the two homes with more grace, but until then, I'm going to have to keep juggling.

An Amsterdamiversary

While tomorrow will be my official Amsterdamiversary (or, in layman's terms, one year since I arrived in Amsterdam), today marks a full year since I hugged my parents goodbye and boarded a plane on a one-way ticket. As often seems the case when I reflect on time, part of me can't believe it was only a year ago that I moved to this foreign land while the other part feels like I've been here forever. This year has been full of ups and downs, exciting developments as well as setbacks, and a whole lot of growth. I surely can't say that I've loved every minute, but I'm learning to be grateful for each one because things are finally starting to feel like they're falling into place.

I feel like I may have written something similar to those last two sentences before, and I did mean them at the time, but new developments have me feeling them even stronger now. While I've been substitute teaching for the past five months or so, I haven't been called in very regularly until the last month and a half during which I've been working every day (you may have noticed I've been extra busy by the lack of blog posts, my sincerest apologies for that). Being back in a school has been great, but it's also been very taxing to teach different students every day, and often switching classes once, twice, or even thrice a day. I've learned so much about the students, the curriculum, and gotten to know many of the teachers, but I've lacked any real connection to a specific classroom. Lately, I've felt that every shred of energy I can muster was channeled into teaching, building relationships, and trying to further my position within my school's community. But today, as I signed a contract to be a homeroom teacher of a shared pre-Kindergarten class next year, I can say that my hard work paid off.

The timing of my Amsterdamiversary is actually quite fitting because today also happens to be the last day of school for me. It really felt like I was closing a chapter as I said goodbye to my students and colleagues, walked out of the school as a substitute-only for the last time, and watched the school fade into the background from the train window. And as I reflected back on my first year during the commute home, I felt content about all that has happened, proud of what I've accomplished, yet I also recognized how lost I've felt at times. But mostly, as with the end of any school year, I felt relieved that it was all over.

So tomorrow, as summer break begins, I will enter my second year in Amsterdam with enthusiasm for what lies ahead, gratitude that it begins with more direction than the last, and the motivation to keep making what I want of this life. I hope you'll join me for the ride!

Time to get naked.

There is something magical about those warm weather days that signify the beginning of summer. The sun blazes in the sky, toasting your skin and summoning drops of sweat to the surface. The air is fragrant with scents of flowers and barbecue smoke intermingling ever so deliciously. Parks are full of families laughing over a picnic lunch, lovers tangled on a blanket in the shade, dogs frolicking in the great wide open, and, if you're in Amsterdam or another large northern European city, a whole lot of naked children.

In Amsterdam, summer is a season in which I've come to expect to see the naked bums of children every time I enter a park and bare breasts every time I visit one of Holland's beaches. To which I say,

"I love it all. Bring on the nudity!"

I've come to find that the countries I've lived in outside of the States (alright, there are only two, but I know these two are representative of many more) embrace nudity a hell of a lot more than we do in the good old U S of A. This is not to say that the kind folks in South Korea indulge in nakedness the way people do in the Netherlands, but in both of these countries there exist places where it is widely accepted to take all your clothes off around other people. 

In South Korea they have jimjilbangs. Jimjilbangs are public bath houses where, separated by gender, people go to soak in hot tubs, revitalize in cold baths, and scrub their bodies clean. In the jimjilbang, you can find people of all ages embracing nudity together and doing whatever it is they need to do for hygienic and pampering purposes. 

I'll admit that my first experience at a jimjilbang wasn't comfortable from the get-go. I was still quite new to Korea and, thanks to a weekend trip that included a disgusting guesthouse bathroom and a Buddhist temple with no available shower, found myself in a situation where a jimjilbang was the only chance for a shower. Further, my travel buddies were also my co-workers, which made it just a bit more awkward. So yes, I was a bit apprehensive at first. I mean, I'm pretty sure the last time I had donned my birthday suit in front of a room of people was for middle school swimming. And even then, I didn't. No, at the ripe young age 14, I think just about every one of us changed awkwardly while trying to keep most of our goods hidden under our towels.

But here I was, getting naked with my colleagues, and surprise, surprise! It wasn't that scary. Once we let our guards (and our pants) down and entered the room with all the other naked ladies, all the nervousness slipped away. We were all equally vulnerable, and we were all equally powerful. After that, I made it a point to visit other jimjilbangs during my time in Seoul. First of all, it's quite difficult to say no to a nice hot tub, sauna, cold bath, and scrub down. It's also quite freeing and refreshing to be in a room where everyone feels comfortable in their own skin.

In the Netherlands they take it a step further with co-ed saunas. After becoming accustomed to the jimjilbang, going to a co-ed sauna wasn't too much of a shock. Yes, there are different bits and pieces present, but once again you are all equally vulnerable or equally powerful depending on how you want to look at it. What was a shock, however, was being naked around so many people of the opposite gender and never once feeling like I was being checked-out or sized-up. I have the same experience when I go topless at a beach here. When nudity is the norm, the lingering eyes aren't looking so hard to uncover the forbidden fruit. As refreshing as the jimjilbangs were, this is even better.

The more I find myself in situations where nudity is accepted, the more I wish I had grown up with this as the norm. Take, for example, the time my sister and I were in Iceland visiting a hot-spring pool. As we entered the changing room, I once again found myself surrounded by nude females of all ages. I couldn't help but notice the teenagers in this locker room, chatting it up comfortably while they stood around nude, and compare it to the very opposite experience of my middle school swimming days. It made me wonder how differently I would perceive my body had I grown up in a place where seeing other people naked - young, old and every age in between - was a frequent occurrence. Would I feel more beautiful? Would I be less critical?

How would I feel about my body if, instead of being taught to hide it out of modesty, it was commonplace to bare it in front of others? Would I feel more confident? Would I feel more powerful?

How different would my body image be if what I saw daily were the nude bodies of real women in addition to (because I'm afraid we just can't get away from them) the air-brushed-within-an-inch-of-their-lives super models that dominate advertisements and magazines?

What if this openness to nudity started when I was no older than a toddler running in the park?

So this, my readers, is why I'm all for nude saunas, topless beaches and naked baby bums in the park. Not because it's eye candy (though who doesn't love a cute baby's bottom?), but because I believe embracing the body in its natural form can only be a step in the right direction.

...

Photo credits:
Naked Hula Hoop by Todd Morris (CC-BY-20)

March Grateful & A Guide To Starting Your Own Gratitude Project

"Every day, think as you wake up, today I am fortunate to be alive, I have precious human life, I am not going to waste it. I am going to use all my energies to develop myself, to expand my heart out to others; to achieve enlightenment for the benefit of all beings. I am going to have kind thoughts towards others, I am not going to get angry or think badly about others. I am going to benefit others as much as I can."

-Dalai Lama XIV

The first part of this quote from His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama has guided my grateful project. Each morning for the past three months, I've woken up feeling fortunate to be alive and filled with purpose to express my gratitude throughout the day. This month, as I compile my graphic calendar for the month of March, I can't believe that I'm already and only a quarter of the way through my project. I say already because it amazes me how fast the time has gone and how habitual this project has become. I say only because I am humbled when I think of how much I have benefitted from this project in such a short amount of time, and can't help but anticipate what the future holds.

The end of this quote, paired with the thrill I feel from this project, inspires me to pay it forward by encouraging others to participate in their own gratitude project. To do so, I've come up with six steps that I believe will act as a guide. I hope you'll read them and consider starting a project of your own, for as I've experienced firsthand, the more you give gratitude, the more the universe will send good things your way. So, without further ado, I give you:

A Guide To Starting Your Own Gratitude Project

1.) Make a plan. Make a commitment.

While documenting gratitude through daily photographs works wonders for me, maybe you'd rather make a weekly phone call to tell someone you're grateful for them or write a few sentences in a journal three days a week. However you decide to express your gratitude, take the time to make a clear plan. Equally as important, take a moment to make a commitment to yourself and your project. You may also want to mark your calendar, ask a friend or partner to hold you accountable, or set a reminder on your phone to be sure to carry out your actions. A little outside help never hurts.

2.) Begin.

This step, though seemingly obvious, may just be the most difficult. No more "I'll start eating healthy tomorrow" or "I'll put money into the savings account next month" excuses. As soon as you finish your plan and make the commitment, start your project. And start right away! Let the gratitude begin.

3.) Be present. Be aware. Be open.

Once you've started your gratitude project, you'll probably notice that you don't feel gratitude only on the days or times your plan dictates. Instead, the feeling of gratitude will strike when the bus pulls up right as you get to the stop, when the earthy scent of fresh vegetables overwhelms you at the market, or as you're drying off with a clean, warm towel. Be aware of these moments. Be present in these moments. The more you acknowledge gratitude, the more the universe gives you things to be grateful for. Open yourself up to the possibilities.

4.) Stick with it.

I guarantee that, especially at the beginning of your project, there will be days you don't want to do it and moments you feel like you're forcing it. Do it anyways. Maybe you're feeling crabby (you are human after all). That's fine. Give yourself time to pout, and then move on and give some gratitude. You'll find that you're glad you did it, and it will probably lift your spirits as well.

Also important is to not give up once you start seeing and feeling results. Instead of stopping when the going gets good, keep pushing forward and let it get better.

5.) Share your gratitude.

One of the many rewarding aspects of my project is all the positive feedback I receive from sharing it. I can't imagine that any harm will come from connecting with others over gratitude, so give it a try and spread the gratitude. If your plan is to personally express your gratitude for others, well then you have the opportunity to share built right into your project. If your plan is to write in a gratitude journal, you could read it aloud to a friend or partner. Or if you're sitting next to a stranger on a park bench when you find yourself overcome with gratitude for the beautiful day you're enjoying, take a minute to connect with them and comment on how grateful you are for the wonderful weather. I suppose there's a chance they'll think you're crazy, but my guess is that they'll agree and smile along with you. You'll feel even more gratitude for having made them smile, and there's a chance you just spread gratitude to someone who really needs the reminder.

6.) Reflect

Once you've gotten into a rhythm, add a little reflection to the mix. I know you're already reflecting each time you give gratitude, but also take the time to look back on your project as a whole. I do this by compiling my calendar graphic at the end of each month. In doing so, I once again give gratitude for all the wonderful things that happened that month. And on days when I'm feeling down, I look back through my photos to remind myself just how many things I have to be grateful for. So, after you've made your gratitude phone call, take a minute to think about it, write about it, or just soak it up. If you're keeping a journal, flip back through the pages and re-read your entries. Giving gratitude is a process, and the more time you devote to your project, the more benefits you will receive.

Good luck, and keep giving!

Previous installments:

January Grateful

February Grateful

The Stolen Bike: A Rite of Passage

The expatriate life can be a tricky, emotional journey. If you're like me, with strong family and friend ties to the land from which you came, it often feels as if you're caught between two worlds. I seem to go back and forth between being ecstatic to live in Amsterdam and missing Minnesota to the point where my heart aches.

You see, on one hand, Amsterdam is most certainly my home. In late August 2013, I became an registered Amsterdammer (you may recall the post written excitedly after mijn verblijfsvergunning is ingewilligd). I've since planted roots by personalizing our flat, starting a job, and paying taxes here among other things. All the signs point to the fact that Amsterdam is my home, and most days I feel this way too.

On the other hand, I have moments when I wonder what exactly I'm doing here, and why I chose to move an ocean away from so many that I love (I'm pretty sure that just returning from a week in Florida with my family has something to do with these feelings rising to the surface). While I have become accustomed to the many differences between my old home and my new home, I don't necessarily feel that I fit in with Dutch culture and have realized that I'll never fully feel like a Dutch woman. 

Yes, being an expatriate has its ups and downs. And yesterday, I experienced a combination of both feelings in the event I'm now referring to as "The Stolen Bike: A Rite of Passage." As I'm sure you know, Amsterdam is full of bicycles. In fact, the data I find tells me that there are as many bikes as people, if not more, in Amsterdam proper. That said, I'm not sure why bicycle theft is such a problem since the research indicates everyone already has a bike, but unfortunately it is, and unfortunately I'm not immune to it.

My first bike in Amsterdam got me safely to my first wedding,
but ended up costing more money and causing more trouble than it was worth.

About two months ago, I purchased a brand new, shiny bike to replace the used bike that was starting to give me more trouble than it was worth. My goodness, how I loved my new ride. It was an omafiets (direct translation: grandma bicycle) which means that it had pedal brakes and no gears ... just an average yet beautiful street bike like the one your grandmother rode when she was young (or something like that). 

This empty space on the sidewalk is where my bike should be.

Imagine my disappointment when the husband and I walked down the stairs with a picnic in tow to find an empty sidewalk where my bike should have been. I was incredibly bummed. Not only were we no longer going to be able to ride to the Amstelpark and enjoy a picnic in the sun surrounded by budding flowers, but my beloved bicycle was gone. And probably forever.

It was then, well actually it was after a few tears were shed, that the husband tried to spin the event in a positive light (I think my gratitude project is having an effect on him as well). He shared the story of when his bike was stolen a few years back, he reminded me of our other friend's bike that was stolen a few months ago, and both stories then caused me to remember another friend who had her bike stolen this week. He helped me realize that as much as a stolen bike really, truly sucks, I have now gone through the Amsterdam rite of passage to become a true Amsterdammer. It's just too bad that I'm now an Amsterdammer without a bicycle.

So here I am, about to spend my afternoon looking for a new bike and reflecting to see if there is a lesson I can take away from this (a lesson besides the fact that it's probably a good idea to lock my bike to a rack instead of just to itself). What I'm finding is that no matter how comfortable I may feel some days, there are bound to be other days when I feel out of place. As happy as I am to be starting a marriage with the love of my life, there will always be part of me that misses my other loves across the ocean. The lows will continue to accompany the highs, but what matters most is how I choose to view the events that happen to me. So today, I choose to feel like a true Amsterdammer, to find a new set of wheels to take me where I need to go, and to enjoy my life as an expatriate.

Shopping in Amsterdam: A Love / Hate Relationship

I have a love / hate relationship with shopping in the Netherlands. I definitely love the abundance of flower stands and open air markets, but unfortunately the shopping is not all sunshine and tulips. Growing up in the States, I've been pretty spoiled by the convenience of American shopping. Shopping in Amsterdam, however, is a completely different story, and I attribute this to three main reasons:

1.) The hours and days of operation
2.) The store-specific availability of products
3.) The reality that I have to carry all purchases on my bike

In Amsterdam, most shops are open Monday through Saturday, from 9 or 10 am until about 6 pm. Grocery stores are an exception, opening for limited hours on Sundays, and often staying open until 10 pm every other day of the week. Another exception is Thursday, when stores will stay open until 9 pm to accommodate shoppers who work during normal shopping hours. Shops in Amsterdam's center are also open on Sundays, but believe me that unless you can navigate through crowds of tourists or fully embrace the virtue of patience, you'll want to stay far away.

At first, I perceived these limitations as inconveniences ... and I hated them. But then I changed my mind. I realized that they aren't necessarily inconvenient, they just mean that shopping has to be more of a planned activity. It also means that people are spending their time doing things other than working or shopping on evenings and Sundays. And I think we can all agree to love that, right?

Another thing that took some getting used to was going to many stores to acquire everything on my shopping list. Very often, my shopping list looks something like this:



In the States, this is a one-stop shopping list. In Amsterdam, however, I have to go to at least three stores to make these purchases ... possibly four if the grocery store doesn't have the specific light bulb I'm looking for. It's making these multiple stops to cross everything off my simple list (this is a pretty simple list, right?) that I like least about Amsterdam shopping.

I'm getting used to it though. And I'm actually starting to love the fact that Amsterdam doesn't have the one-stop everything stores so commonly found in the States. Instead, the city has a whole slew of neighborhood shops that specialize in specific items and offer a huge variety. While it takes a bit more effort, I never have to bike more than 1 km (or just over half a mile) to find all the items on my list. Plus, my neighborhood's butcher shop, seafood shop, cheese shop, flower shop, and pet shop (to name just a few) easily allow me to shop local and interact with store owners who are (usually) more than happy to help me make the best selection for my needs.

Lastly, there's the bike situation. This one is mostly love. I love being able to hop on my bike to go shopping. I love relying on my own legs to get me where I need to go, and I love getting exercise and fresh air while doing so. I also love that only being able to carry so much means that the husband and I buy groceries more frequently, and that this results in us buying more fresh foods.

There are times, of course, when I hate it. This mostly happens when it's raining, my bike decides to give me troubles, or I have a long list of items to buy resulting in multiple trips back to the flat. Like that one time I was planning a wedding and had to get ten vases back to our flat without breaking them. In the rain. Uphill both ways. Ok, maybe that last part wasn't true, but at that moment I was in the thick of my hate relationship with Amsterdam shopping. Thankfully, these times are few and far between. Usually, I'm the girl with my tote full of goods, slightly annoyed from going to a variety of stores, but mostly just happy to biking home in my new neighborhood.

One tiny, seemingly insignificant, life-changing decision.

It's incredible to look back at your life and trace the steps it took to get you to a specific moment. Most often there is a chain of events that led you in a certain direction; a multitude of intertwined decisions that, when all working together, brought you to where you are today. But every once in a while, you can pinpoint one tiny, seemingly insignificant thing you did that made a huge difference. For me, that tiny, seemingly insignificant thing was bringing earplugs to a handsome, sleepy traveler as he relaxed in a hammock.

Let me back up a bit.

This is me at Erawan Falls, three years ago today.

After teaching in South Korea for a year, I decided to take the long way home by spending nearly six months winding my way through Southeast Asia and Europe. My first stop was Thailand, and by March 5, 2011, I had been in the country for about six weeks. The first two weeks were spent traveling with my parents. We visited temples and got daily massages in Bangkok, zip-lined in the jungle and visited the night market in Chiang Mai, and soaked up the sun and relaxed on the beaches of Phuket. The next four weeks were spent volunteering at the Gibbon Rehabilitation Project (GRP) in the tiny village of Bang Rong in Phuket. Here, I woke up early to feed small apes and clean their cages, learned and taught others about wildlife conservation, and camped in the wilderness with minimal supplies. The experiences I had in Thailand were exciting to say the least, and transformative if we're being completely honest. Yet little did I know that the most life-changing moment of all was yet to come.

Exactly three years ago today, I was traveling with a girl I barely knew. She was the childhood friend of a mutual friend who was supposed to be traveling with us, but who was stuck in Korea because of a broken leg. This situation left me in charge of planning the rest of our Thailand trip, and because I had been to a handful of Thailand's must-see places with my parents, I decided we should go to Kanchanaburi, a destination a little more off the beaten track, and recommended to me by one of the Thai employees at the GRP.

We stayed in Kanchaburi for only two nights, signing up for an excursion to visit Erawan Falls and the bridge over the River Kwai on our only full day. There were a handful of other travelers on this excursion, and throughout the day we mingled with them as we walked along and swam in the waterfalls, enjoyed a lunch of Thai noodles, and visited the Burma Railway, learning about the 100,000 Asian civilian workers and prisoners of war that died during its construction. At the end of the excursion, a few of us decided to take the train the whole way back to the city. A handsome French/Dutch traveler and I were two of those people, so we, along with an Italian couple and a Japanese girl, talked away the afternoon as we admired Thailand's lush scenery from the train's hard, wooden benches and reveled in the warm breeze floating through the open windows.

This is the husband sitting on the Burma Railway, three years ago today.

The handsome traveler and I were staying at the same guesthouse, so our conversation continued as we walked back from the train station. When we arrived, we were invited to a dinner planned by some of the other travelers on the excursion. We both accepted the invitation, and so our conversation continued into the evening, through dinner, down the street to a bar, and finishing with a walk back to the guesthouse.

As the night came to an end we said our goodbyes, wishing each other good luck for our travels. We were both leaving Kanchanaburi the next day to head to Thailand's southern islands. I returned to my room, feeling very content after a day full of exploration and good conversation. But then, just as I was about to put in the earplugs that I rely on for a good night's sleep, I remembered that the handsome traveler had complained about being kept up the night before by his noisy neighbors. Looking out the window, I saw him relaxing in a hammock, and decided to go out and give him a pair of earplugs to ensure that he would get a good night's sleep as well.

And that was it. That was it! That tiny, seemingly insignificant decision I made to bring earplugs to a handsome, sleepy traveler ended up being the most important, life-changing moment of my life. For as I approached the hammock, the handsome traveler reached out his hand, placed it on the back of my head, and kissed me. And from that kiss stemmed emails, a few days on the Thai island of Ko Tao, a week in Bali, a weekend in France, two years of trips to Minnesota and Amsterdam, emails and video calls, a wedding, and now a life together. I never could've imagined that this tiny decision would be the best one I ever made ... but it was!

Now as I mentioned before, there is often a chain of events that create your life's path, and this is certainly true for this story as well. My dad, for example, likes to take credit for getting me to Asia in the first place. You see, he was the one who showed me the link to a job opportunity and encouraged me to act on it. Also, had it not been for my parents' trip to Thailand, I probably wouldn't have ended up in Kanchanaburi at all. In fact, had I not volunteered at the GRP and acted on the recommendation from an employee there, I wouldn't have gone to Kanchanaburi either. And then, of course, there is my friend who broke her leg. Had she not injured herself on a pre-school sledding field trip (true story), thus leaving me in charge of our itinerary and also encouraging me to go to Bali for a week while she recovered on a beach in Cambodia, well, who knows how things would've played out.

But, in the end, regardless of how I got there in the first place, it all comes down to the earplugs. For had I not decided to give them to the handsome, sleepy traveler as he relaxed in the hammock, I wouldn't be living in Amsterdam today, celebrating my three happiest years with the love of my life.

February Grateful

As the second month of my grateful project comes to a close, I find that it only becomes easier for me to express gratitude on a daily basis. In fact, I'm finding that my whole outlook on life has changed as I now look at the world around me through a critical lens of gratitude. Every day I find at least (at least!) one thing to be grateful for, and documenting it is becoming as natural as breathing air. The overarching goal of this project was to keep gratitude at the forefront of my mind, and well, there it is. 

So this month, instead of just looking for things to be grateful for, I also made an attempt to change my perspective and view life's mishaps in a grateful light. A perfect example happened last Friday when, as the husband and I were biking to the city center for a date night, my bike tire went flat. At first I was cranky (this was my fourth flat tire in a matter of months), but then (with a little push from the husband) I decided that not only was I not going to let this mishap ruin the night, I was going to let it improve the night as well. So, we locked up the bikes and started to walk to our destination.

If you've ever been to Amsterdam, you know how magical the city is at night. The streetlights bounce off the cobblestones and dance on the canal waters. The houses look friendly and inviting, with warm, yellow light streaming from their windows. And this night in particular was cool and clear, with a few stars twinkling in the dark sky. As we strolled along the canals, hand in hand, I realized we never would've enjoyed this moment had I not gotten a flat tire. Instead of slowing down the night, we would've biked quickly to the pub, and quickly home again. But that night, our walk led us to stop into a few places we never would have visited had we been on our bikes. We even decided to walk the two miles home, pushing our bikes all the way back to our flat. By the time we crawled into bed, I was grateful for the flat tire and the wonderful evening to which it led.

The funny thing about this story is that, despite how grateful I am that it happened, it didn't even result in a grateful post. In fact, I can't even tell you how many days I've posted a grateful photo only to find myself, later in the day, thinking "Oh! But I'm grateful for this, too!" It seems to me that gratitude increases exponentially, and as I continue this project I find myself not only grateful for a multitude of things every day, but also increasingly grateful that I decided to do this project in the first place.


Previous installment:
January Grateful

Life in full bloom

Every once in a while, life blossoms before your eyes. For me, this is happening now, and I am making it a goal to embrace every minute of it. That said, some things in my life have been pushed to the side, such as keeping Shmamsterdam as updated as I would like. So please bear with me as I do my best to live this life to the fullest ... and have faith that taking small breaks to do so will inevitably provide me with more writing material in the future.

I've always been an autumn girl. I love the feel of it - the crisp, cold air blowing against my face while the rest of my body is wrapped in a cozy sweater. I love the look of it - the fiery leaves floating against a backdrop of blue sky and down to the ground, collecting on street corners. I love the sound of it - the whispering wind blowing through the trees and the fallen leaves crunching underfoot. Autumn is, hands down, the season I look forward to most every year. This year, however, spring is taking me by surprise.

The sunshine that brightens Amsterdam fills me with light and excitement. The cool, fresh air invigorates and inspires me. The sound of birds chirping provides a joyous soundtrack to my day. There is new life springing up all around me, and the best part is that I can feel it deep within me. Just as the flowers are blossoming in the parks, my life is taking on a new, colorful form.

It's quite incredible how quickly things can change. One day you're sitting on the couch, in the same spot you've sat in day after day for the last seven months, endlessly searching for ways to pass the time, and then ... BAM! Things start to happen. The cold, dark days of winter are over, and the longer, brighter days of spring appear.

All of a sudden you have a job. You have a student to tutor. You have editing jobs flying at you faster than you can imagine. You actually start to be grateful for the days that you don't get called into work because if you did, well, you wouldn't be able to accomplish all the other things that you need to do. With what seems like the blink of an eye, you remember what it's like to be busy. You even start to forget what it was like, not so long ago, when you were waiting for things to happen.

Most exciting, you remember how truly wonderful it is to have a life. Your own life. A life created by your choices, dictated by your plans, and full of your own obligations. After feeling quite directionless for more than half a year, this was the feeling I was waiting for, and I can't begin to express how ecstatic I am that it's finally here. As this winter gives way to spring, I feel my roots growing, I see the colorful buds poking their way through the earth, and I can't wait for it all to bloom. In the meantime, I'm hard at work cultivating all the new growth in my life by searching for balance ... and by taking in as much fresh air and sunshine as I can.

Did we just skip winter?

This post is in no way intended to make my North American readers (especially those so affected by the polar vortex) feel jealous. But it probably will. So for that, I'm sorry.

Amsterdam is all green grass, blue skies and cherry blossoms this winter.

There were a handful of things that made me feel worried about moving to the Netherlands, and two in particular plagued my mind the most. The first was the fact that I was going to be living so far away from my friends and family with no real date set for when I would live near them again. The second was the weather.

The months I had spent in Amsterdam prior to my move evoked the second worry. My visits were either warmer than I preferred, wet and rainy, or colder than I preferred, wet and rainy. I vividly remember that excited feeling I had while packing for my first summer in Amsterdam, carefully folding all my sundresses, skirts and tank tops, throwing in a few cardigans for the colder days, and tucking my sandals along the side of the suitcase. I was so enthusiastic about spending the summer with my man, cruising around on my bike wearing a flowery dress, lounging in the park wearing a flowery dress, drinking coffee or beer at a café in the sunshine wearing a flowery dress ... you get the idea. That said, I also vividly remember that disappointed feeling I had while buying a completely new wardrobe once I arrived, a wardrobe that consisted of jeans, sweaters, scarves and closed-toed shoes. You see, I like my summers to be in the high 70s if we're talking Fahrenheit, in the mid 20s if we're talking Celsius, and full of sunshine no matter what. Anticipating that my summer temperatures would now be in the high 60s if we're talking Fahrenheit, right around 20 degrees if we're talking Celsius, and often accompanied by a chance of showers didn't exactly thrill me.

And the winters? Well, while the two Januarys (Januaries? I don't think I've ever written the plural of a month ending in y before) I spent in Amsterdam were warmer than pretty much any January in Minnesota, the warmer weather usually just meant that it rained more. Plus, it was still cold. Not necessarily freezing, but still cold. Now, it does snow in Amsterdam, and every few years the canals freeze over lending themselves to a fantastic skating experience I've yet to behold, but my short rendezvous with Amsterdam winters had mostly left me feeling like a shivering, drowned rat (pictured in this post).

So just imagine my surprise! My excitement! My elation! When I discovered that my worries about the weather were all for naught. This summer in Amsterdam was absolutely beautiful, and I took full advantage of this by basking in the sun on my balcony, picnicking in the park, and drinking coffee and beer at cafés in the sunshine. My only regret was that I neglected to pack my full collection of sundresses when I moved, thinking that they would spend most of their time hanging in my closet, taunting me every time I reached for a long-sleeved shirt instead.

And this winter? Well, I think we actually may have skipped it. As of now, we've only had a handful of days during which the lowest temperature dipped below freezing, and the maybe two not-even-worth-talking-about snowfalls lasted about five seconds with all flakes melting before they hit the ground. At first, I wasn't so happy about the lack of snow (I like my winters white ... and am beginning to realize that I have quite a long list of preferences regarding the weather), but now that we approach March and I find myself biking to work without gloves, I'm starting to change my mind.

If we did, indeed, skip winter, you won't hear me complaining. If this phenomenal Dutch weather continues, I may write off that initial worry altogether. And if you're looking for a reason behind this great weather, well, I like to think I brought it with me.

Step-by-Step Crêpes

One of my favorite things in the world is when the husband makes crêpes for brunch. What's not my favorite, however, is when he pronounces it creeps to bug me ... but that's beside the point. I'm not sure what it is that I love so much about crêpes. Maybe it's that the first time I had them was in Paris and they bring back fond memories of my 21-year-old self walking down the Champs-Elysées. Or maybe it's that there is just so much you can do with them that it's completely possible to eat them two days in a row without getting bored (which we usually do since this recipe feeds 4-6 people). I prefer to make mine sweet, adding chocolate, jam, caramelized bananas or some lemon and powdered sugar, but you can just as easily make them savory by adding meat, cheese or veggies. Basically, you can do just about anything with them and they turn out delicious. It also turns out that they're not so difficult to make! So, if you're looking for a good brunch recipe, look no further ... you've found it right here.

250 g (2 cups) flour

½ liter (a little more than 2 cups) milk

3 eggs

pinch of salt

sunflower or vegetable oil (enough to coat pan)

Put flour into a big mixing bowl, making a little bowl in the flour (see picture below).

Add the eggs and salt to the flour.

Whisk together gradually, taking the flour from the edges.

Gradually add the milk, stirring constantly, until the mixture is smooth and without lumps.

Optional step: If you want to make sweet crepes, you can add 2 tablespoons of powdered sugar, or 1 of tablespoon of vanilla, rum or Grand Marnier and stir until mixed thoroughly. Personally, I think adding a sweet topping to the normal recipe after cooking is enough.

Pour some oil on a paper towel and use it to lightly coat large frying pan.
Heat the pan over medium heat.
Add a full soup ladle of batter to the pan, moving the pan to distribute the batter evenly.

Cook until the batter becomes firm and golden, then flip the crepe.
Cook the second side (this goes quite fast).
Remove from the pan and serve with your desired toppings.

Some notes:

This recipe will feed 4-6 people.

You only need to oil the pan once, before making the first crêpe.

The first crêpe is usually the worst. I’m not exactly sure why, (maybe it has to do with the direct exposure to the oil?) but it almost always turns out a little off. Don’t be discouraged! The next will surely be better.

Batter can be prepared a day in advance, just cover with plastic wrap and and keep in the refrigerator until use, stirring just before cooking.

To make a savory crêpe, like the one my man made this morning, you can fry a bit of meat and/or a veggie of choice, and then pour the batter on top. The rest of the cooking is the same. You could also cook the savory sides in a skillet on their own, and add them to the finished crêpe, rolling them inside.

My absolute favorite thing to put on crêpes is a caramelized banana topping. It's pretty much the easiest thing to make; you just need to follow the rule of two. Melt butter 2 tablespoons (28 grams) of butter in a small saucepan. Add 2 tablespoons of brown sugar and 2 sliced bananas. Cook until golden and syrupy, about 5 minutes.

Bon appétit!

Valentine's Day Wishes

Happy Valentine's Day to the woman who gave me life, nurtured me, and protected me. On this day, and every day, know that I love you for always being there, staying home to raise me, getting me ready for school every day, and greeting me when I returned home. I love you for all the hours you spent coming up with crafts and activities to expand my creativity, and for the patience you showed when teaching me new skills. I love you for comforting me when I came home from second grade in tears because a friend hurt my feelings, for filling my belly with delicious meals, and for filling my soul with compassion and kindness. I love you for always being available to talk, and for making me feel like I'm the most important person in the world when we do. Thank you for being a strong, dedicated mother during my childhood, and for being my friend now. I am grateful for all you have done for me and love you more than I can say.

Happy Valentine's Day to the man who has always supported me, believed in me, and encouraged me to do my best. On this day, and every day, know that I love you for the countless hours you worked to provide for our family, and for being so present during the time you were at home. I love you for the Saturday mornings you spent introducing me to your music collection as I lay on the floor in your den, for taking the time to point out and replay the best guitar, drum or vocal solos, and for making delicious pancake breakfasts when the rest of the family woke up. I love you for setting such a strong example of what a father and husband should be, for always treating people with respect, and for searching for ways to better the lives of others. I love you for consistently opening my eyes to new opportunities, for instilling in me the confidence needed to jump at them, and for believing that I'm capable of anything I set my mind to. Thank you for being my silly twin, my joe-to-joe, my daboon, and the list goes on. I can't imagine going through life without you and am beyond grateful for all you do.

Happy Valentine's Day to the girl who filled my childhood with laughter, silliness and (mostly) fond memories. On this day, and every day, know that I love you not only for being my sister, but for the dear friend that you have become. I love you for that time we laughed so hard before we fell asleep at Pine Beach that our stomachs were sore the whole next day, for all the times we watched Sillyville together, and all the times we've acted like sillywhims. I love you for all the cards and notes you send me that remind me how special our relationship is, for our fun-filled sister days, and for the travel adventures we've had together. I love you for your constant support that remains strong whether we live close together or far away, and even when a haircut makes me look like your brother. I love that you have found a man that treats you like a princess and makes you happier than you've ever been, and that you have added this wonderful man to our family. Thank you for your dedication, not only to me, but to all of your family and friends, your education, and your career. I am incredibly proud of the strong, smart, beautiful woman you have become and will cherish you always.

Happy Valentine's Day to the incredible ladies who inspire me, motivate me, and accept me. On this day, and every day, know that I love you because (to botch some words from the Avett Brothers) you love me for the woman I've become and the girl that I was. I love you for the countless hours we've spent together, whether it be floating on the lake, talking on the phone, going out to dinner, exploring new cities, or just doing nothing but still having a great time. I love you for being there whenever I need you, for supporting me through good times and bad, and for making it feel like no time has been lost between our conversations or visits. Thank you for your adventurous spirits, your kindness, and for making me want to be a better person. I love each of you for the unique qualities that make you who you are and I wouldn't trade you for the world.

Happy Valentine's Day to the man I couldn't stop thinking about after the day we met, and who makes me smile every time I think about him now. On this day, and every day, know that I love you for your persistent optimism, the kindness you show to everyone you meet, and your handsome face. I love you for always validating and supporting my feelings, comforting me in sadness, and sharing in my happiness. I love you for kissing me in Thailand, traveling with me in Bali, and helping me write the most perfect love story I could imagine. I love you for your commitment to our relationship once we returned back to our normal lives, and for always looking forward, believing that we could make it work. Thank you for creating a life with me full of good food, passion, laughter, and memories that have only begun. I am the luckiest girl in the world to have you by my side, and I can't wait to spend the rest of my days loving you.

"Excuse me. I need some space."

I came across this quote, so nicely put by a two-year-old, while reading my friend's blog, Wifeytini. It has stuck with me since then because, well, first of all I think it's pretty adorable and hilarious that a toddler needs some space, and secondly, because I've finally reached the point where I need mine as well.

As you probably know by now, the husband and I don't have your average dating story. Our long distance romance didn't consist of going on physical dates, it consisted of scheduling Skype dates that took into account a seven-hour time difference. Instead of meeting once a week at a restaurant nearby and then saying goodbye for the evening, we were flying across an ocean and meeting for two weeks, one month, or even three at a time ... and then saying goodbye for the next few. That said, we never went through that phase of spending a few hours together here and there. No, we were spending some pretty good chunks of time together. And when we were together, we were together. I'm talking joined-at-the-hip, not-letting-you-out-of-my-sight together. I mean, wouldn't you be that way too if you only got to see the love of your life every three months or so?

This trend continued when I moved to Amsterdam. We were so happy to finally live together that we spent every available minute in the same room. If he was in the kitchen cooking dinner, then I was in the kitchen helping him cook, chatting about my day, or doing who-knows-what ... but I was in that kitchen with him. If I was sitting on the couch, then he was sitting on the couch next to me, likely with the side of his body pressed right up against mine. I think the word inseparable just about sums up what the husband and I have been, whenever possible, for as long as we've known each other. But, as Bob Dylan so aptly put it, "the times, they are a-changin'."

Just about one month ago, I decided to retire to bed before the husband and read my book. Now I realize that this sounds like a completely normal activity, but for me it wasn't. For me, it was the first time I had actively decided to do something that didn't involve my man even though I could have chosen to be with him. A few days later, I attended a ladies-only social event, leaving the husband home on his own for a few hours. And now, well, taking the time to do things on my own is becoming a more frequent occurrence.

The thing is, I'm not so sure how I feel about reaching this new point in our relationship. On one hand, I realize that it is healthy to have a life outside of your couple, and believe me, I am happy to create one of my own. Taking the initiative to do things for myself is increasing my overall happiness, not to mention that it's also boosting my confidence, leading me to make more friends, and forcing me to be more active in finding my place in Amsterdam. On the other hand, it makes me a bit sad that the pressing urge I had to soak up every minute with my man is fading. Maybe it just means that we're settling into married life, but it's taking some adjustment to realize that spending time together is now the norm, not a novelty.

But this is what I was waiting for, right? I mean, I was anxious for this "common life" (as the husband likes to call it) to start for so long, and now it is here. I am fortunate to wake up to the love of my life every morning, and kiss him goodnight every evening. And what's more, I'm fortunate enough to have such an abundance of time with him that it's perfectly fine to need some space. I think I just need some more time to get used to this concept.

London Revisited

Eight years and one month ago, I arrived in London to start my first European adventure. This past weekend I returned with my husband, excited to show him around the city I once called home. It is rare that I get to play tour guide in a European city, but I was more than ready to assume the role. 

...

One of the first things we did (after drinking a pint in a pub of course) was to go for a ride on the London Eye, taking in magnificent views of the city and getting a lay of the land.

Then I made my man take a picture in a red telephone booth. He wasn't so excited about this part, but I managed to get a pretty good shot regardless.

We visited North Row, the street where my dorm was located, and peeked inside the Marlborough Head pub, the place where I enjoyed fish and chips with a pint on my first night all those years ago.

I glanced at the place where my former dorm once stood, where a Zara stands now, and gave thanks that the Zara wasn't there before, or I likely would have spent much more during that semester abroad than I did.

We walked through St. James Park, from the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey to Buckingham Palace, enjoying the nature and intermittent sunshine.

And gazed in awe at St. Paul's Cathedral.

We watched two plays in the West End, including Agatha Christie's Mousetrap, the longest-running show in history, and Once, the stage adaptation of one of my favorite films.

We strolled through the the colorful streets of Notting Hill,

admired the sometimes delicious, always amusing offerings of the Portobello Road Market,

and spent time in Holland Park where this peacock put on a display.

We even stopped for a little kiss outside the park's walls.

All in all, we had a splendid trip. Though I must say some of the fun of this trip was returning home. No, not the part where they charged me and extra £45 to check my luggage, the part when we arrived in Amsterdam and, for the first time, I really did feel like I was home.