Weird just happened - a unpredictable 2011 in retrospect

Dear Internet, I’ve been horrible, saying I’m going to write and then rarely following through. And it’s not for lack of noteworthy developments; this was an unbelievably unpredictable and diverse 2011, with certain promise of continuation in 2012.

Upon returning to Indiana this holiday season, to a world so different from my working one, I managed to find only one word that adequately describes my baffled reflection on the year’s events: weird. How did I experience the myriad twists, obstacles, and accomplishments that plopped me into the role I'm in now? Did that all really just happen? And I didn't even really get to tell you about it...

2011 was a weird year, and I don’t consider that word to be derogatory – for the most part. Here, Internet, let me fill you in on the tidbits worth noting.

JANUARY

Throughout childhood, New Year’s Eve was always an event I celebrated with gusto. Though I acknowledge it’s overrated nature today, it still feels like a beautiful night where the mind receives a flushing and a chance to redirect its thoughts at something more meaningful. Landmarks in time are meant to be celebrated, for they represent the act of highlighting the realities of our present.

New Year's Eve 2011 in New York City, Lindsay

Balls dropping, confetti clotting up my local sewage system, fireworks speckling the famous skyline - regardless of my surrounding atmosphere, I celebrated this widely observed holiday by sitting in my first apartment in my first real residence post-graduation, writing the previous observation and feeling pretty content to be warm, well-fed, and with a clean bathroom nearby. I braced for a big year in a conservative manner, apparently feeling the necessity for taking it easy when I could. It was on track to escalate quickly.

FEBRUARY

For months, I read books, studied Creole flashcards, and followed the news to develop an informed awareness of Haiti, my February destination for documentary work for The Haiti Project. Prior, the country seemed an inaccessible shell of a nation in my mind's eye, an unfair judgement based on insufficient exposure. It also seemed a destination only frequented by journalists, politicians, and celebrities seeking humanitarian glory.

After landing in Port-au-Prince, my silver dollar eyes focused behind a camera lens at both the headline-worthy and unexpectedly average. First conversations with this traveling crew - an investment banker, a doctor, and a politician - made my research immediately relevant. Smells, rocky rides, colors, and penetrating glances brought me back to Africa. The downtown area was the front page of the New York Times, the residential acres overlooking the city representing a side of Haiti I hadn't at all conceptualized - the affluent one. The stark contrast of my documentary subjects and nightly accommodations made for a racing brain, one that saw the nation as a whole - its past and present, the potential for its future.

Haiti is small, mountainous, and in possession of more culture than many countries exponentially larger. In pursuit of stories from Project Medishare, Hollywood Unites for Haiti, Edeyo, and the Cine Institute, we traversed the capital, the central plateau, and the coastal region of the south, also managing to witness a long-awaited Kanaval, fueled by pent-up emotion and necessary release from the earthquake thirteen months prior. Intensity, aggression, jubilation, and passion were on display from a hopeful and resilient crowd. Deep layers of humanity exposed put me in awe.

MARCH

With the flavors of fried platanos and unmatched rice and beans still making my own cooking taste vastly inadequate, I stewed in New York City, contemplating Haiti and all that occurred on the whirlwind trip, including the unplanned encounter with then-candidate and current president of Haiti, Michel Martelly. As if that experience wasn't shocking enough, the dude started following me on Twitter a few days later. Still follows today. Is he messing with me?

Alexis Reller visits New York

Yes, that was odd to have a then-presidential candidate following my tweets about flying with cats and traveler's diarrhea, but what really defined the month was an impromptu visit by my favorite trail-blazing lumberjack, Alexis Reller. Together, we took advantage of Astoria's open spaces and Greek delicacies, free yoga and unseasonably warm St. Patrick's Day afternoons at beer gardens.

APRIL

Qatar Airways plopped me at the Bangkok airport for production in Thailand, a project I witnessed from its conception. I found myself a girl in possession of $5 pants staying at the Shangri-La Hotel (or similar accommodations), where laundry services are clearly in proportion to my wardrobe value. The mission: to distill a country down to its identifying culture for use as academic resources in global education worldwide. My additional mission: to engage in a place I've pined to have an extended visit, absorbing all things food, massage, language, and culture-related.

Swirling a camera around a Muay Thai fighter, photographing behind the scenes of a Nang Yai shadow puppet performance, devouring multi-course tasting menus - I was fortunate to enter and exit Thailand with enough absorbed information as to get the country's cultural and historical significance on the world's stage. Getting cracked in half with Thai massages, mowing $1 pad thai from popular street vendors, meeting local restauranteurs down the beach from our hotel, hearing the story of a tsunami wrecking her family - I let myself be melted and molded by surrounding experiences in a more personal fashion.

Flowers of Luang Prabang, Laos

Though Thailand is close to the counterpoint of Indiana, I found myself in close proximity of a fellow Wabashian also in the country for production. Cassie was in Phuket while I was in Bangkok, in Chiang Mai while I sat on a beach near Phuket, flying elsewhere while I was coincidentally getting trucked around by her former driver in Chiang Mai. Unfortunately, I couldn't meet up with her to chat on our polar opposing experiences in production (mine being a team of five, hers well over 100 for a hit ABC show) or reminisce about our childhood home. I'm happy we grew aware of the others coordinates and subsequently recognized the shared tendency to combine travel and film.

Post-Thailand was a much-needed personal trip to Vietnam and Laos. Joined by co-worker and friend Vijaya, we floated in the mist of Ha Long Bay, found an incredibly authentic bun thit nuong in a no-sign establishment, drank the blackest and most flavorful coffee from a makeshift street diner, and were surprised by the serenity of a Laotian night market. The trip was gritty. It was active. There were terrifying moments punctuated by relief and laughter. It was a trip that reminded me of RTW joy, though that desire for long-term travel has somewhat left my being, making space for the unexplainable urge to nest.

MAY

I returned to a mild New York City and emerged in the marketplace as a freelancer of all things content. I did things I never thought I'd get the opportunity to do. I unknowingly pitched an art magazine, exhibiting my photographic portfolio and leaving with affirmation that had me bouncing through Chelsea. I began writing features for Matador, for the first time really sensing journalistic accomplishment. I also did the unthinkable and flew my cat from Indianapolis to New York City. She hyperventilated to the point of drooling a fu manchu.

And things just kept happening. It was unsolicited confirmation that without direction to do work, I still do work - feverishly - so much so that I neglect my own writing and fulfillment projects. Within two weeks of this mad hustle, I obtained a job interview with a concept previously unfathomable to me: a traveling high school. It felt like travel, education, media, and youth combined to create my ideal activity. I had a long interview and a short lapse of time between the subsequent offer to visit the school in China.

And the cherry on top, my nephew was born.

Family at hospital for Max's birth

JUNE

I flew to China, met this traveling high school, and my mind was blown. Previously conceived notions of education were combined in a bag, shaken not stirred, and tossed like Yahtzee! dice onto my table of consciousness.

JULY

The offer came on the table to be the media specialist for THINK Global School - a full-time content creator, manager, and occasional instructor. In the meantime, before I began this first foray into salaried employment, I wrote like a fiend, took my portrait photography to new depths, celebrated a friend's marriage as a bridesmaid, and took advantage of my location by traveling to Boston.

And within months of the big relocation, I was organizing my departure, sad to leave the city but following a job worth the sacrifice. The feline went back in flight, and a subletter was en route. I accepted my return to the nomadic lifestyle with hesitance but eventual enthusiasm.

AUGUST

Bags packed in NYC for the nomadic life once more

Just as I had done in May of 2008, I filled bags with my worthwhile earthly belongings and began living out of a bag. I had a bed thanks to cat-sitting in Brooklyn and started performing my new job tasks from every Asian restaurant in its vicinity - trying to consume every food I would miss in Ecuador. In preparation for my work as a one-woman production house, I investigated the art of the film title and reflected on my trajectory sans film school experience.

With a flight to the southern hemisphere looming a week away, I frantically tackled the goal of seeing New England - one of the reasons I moved to New York initially. Inspired by my trip to Boston the month prior, I rented a car to explore the coastline. Driving directions sat in my passenger seat but were never really utilized. It was usually dark outside before I knew where I was stopping or staying, but even with this seat-of-my-pants itinerary, it was refreshing, calm, and perfectly timed to see friends en route. Van Morrison serenaded me through five states, and my camera operated for no one but myself. For the first real time in maybe years, I was documenting my own adventures just for me.

Hurricane Irene did cut my road trip a bit short, but because of this highly-publicized natural disaster, I ended up driving around Brooklyn and Queens (an experience I always considered to scary to attempt) and meeting a long-time internet friend, Sierra Anderson; thankfully before her TLC reality show aired and she became an unattainable, high-rollin' television star.

SEPTEMBER

Leaving NYC, under Brooklyn Bridge, for Ecuador

This is me leaving New York City to Ecuador. Coincidentally, every taxi I took from the moment I signed my contract was operated by a chatty Ecuadorian. From the moment I hailed this cab until December 7th, my life never paused. After shooting back to Indiana for yet another great wedding of a great friend, September eased me into my future hectic schedule surrounded by international teens and ever-stacking responsibilities, which included:

• Visiting the Amazon rainforest as the first high school group at Tiputini Biodiversity Station

• Standing on an emergent atop the canopy, watching spider monkeys and killer ants

• Floating down a piraña/anaconda/caiman/electric eel/vampire fish-invested river in nothing but a life vest for two hours

• Spending my 26th birthday flying past three active volcanoes and taking six different types of transportation through the rainforest

• Straddling the Equator, both the tourist line and the GPS-specific line, watching water swirl in opposite ways on both sides of the line

• Taking over the creative arts teaching position for 26 students from 15 countries

Did you notice that last bullet point? Teaching. Not occasional instruction of the digital arts but all-out educating a classroom on the entire field of creative arts. Though had I gone for my Masters in Studio Art I would have taught more complex classes than this, I had to juggle my already-intensive job with learning how to manage a classroom of 26 international and inquisitive kids. I thought I was cognizant of the difficulty in a teacher's job, but it became screamingly clear of why it's full-time and worthy of at least four years of intensive study.

OCTOBER

Maybe six days after returning from the Amazon rainforest, I marked off a Bucket List item and flew to the Galapagos islands. My class field trips were to the zoo an hour away, but here I was filming and photography 26 kids who got to cash in on a lucky life experience at age 15.

For one week, we lived on San Cristobál island, housing classes in a local university directly opposite a white and blue beach. It was here that I stood in front of two grade levels, wrote my first non-hypothetical lesson plan, and used advanced technology to engage students on some artistic concepts. I had what the profession calls a 'teaching moment' within first three days.

Following what some would already consider an immersive and whole experience in the Galapagos, we got on a boat and went island hopping. I photographed from the top of a truck up an unpaved road, hiked the rim of the second largest crater in the world, and saw tortoises bigger than a mini fridge. By the end of this entirely satisfying journey, I was wiped out and in need of a break after 37 days on the job straight.

NOVEMBER

I began teaching a medium I never even studied in school but only self-taught and learned through experience. But, of all the courses I've taken in my life, this area is surprisingly the one I feel most confident and qualified speaking about. For three weeks, I taught cinematic storytelling and film production, a unit which concluded with a film festival of original work by the students. It was a reminder of much we can construct for ourselves instead of waiting for a structure to provide life experiences.

What seemed previously like an infinity pool of time to utilize soon became a countdown clock drawing all of us away from Ecuador. I had to squeeze in another unit on social commentary, grade an intimidating stack of written critiques, continue to film, photograph, and edit the content reflecting our experiences, and simultaneously have my 'human being' time where I enjoyed the temporary coordinates of my employment.

With time quickly unraveling, we hopped in an SUV with our eyes set on summiting a magnificent hill: Barabon. It was one of the few moments we stopped to travel and enjoy each other's company in an environment of our own choosing. It was a refreshing morning.

Ecuador, hills outside Cuenca

Hiking a hill in Ecuador, Barabon

Two terabytes of footage were beginning to burn a hole in my desk, impatiently awaiting their eventual coagulation into films for viewing. And so I grasped my week, squeezed it like a tube of paste for any excess time, and made an iMovie teaser for a trimester unseen.

DECEMBER

Starting from our 3-month home of Cuenca, Ecuador, we took a bus and an SUV through the foothills of the Andes en route to Chimborazo province. The kids hammered into concrete, dug the foundation for a school, and shivered happily in a highland community for three days on a volunteer trip. This was our final Ecuadorian experience, other than a farewell party that had many of us in tears by morning's end. I was a mess, saying goodbye to a woman that shares many of my oddities and knowledge of northern Indiana 'culture': María del Mar, our host city specialist and Notre Dame graduate.

I've traveled alone for school, work, or play and returned home to the threat of reverse culture shock over ten times, and this one was (relatively) an absolute piece of cake. My longest duration in one place abroad; it didn't affect me adversely. I had some domestic hiccups, and at times I was inexplicably anxious to do anything. In the first 24 hours, I snuggled with my niece and nephew, drank cold ones with my brother, and got used to English interactions with strangers and driving everywhere. It wasn't until I visited my hometown that I realized the ride 2011 took me on.

Are you still working for that one company? Or is it now that other company? Where in the world are you these days? What do you do...I can't even keep up!

I attended a family wedding with hundreds of people I grew up with and answered my work question differently every time. I'm finding it exceedingly difficult to explain myself as I continue this organically-paved career path, and the further I move away from a 'travel phase' to a lifestyle choice, the harder it is for me not to brush it off as a weird and fleeting situation, for the sake of being relatable.

This all is weird. These opportunities all happen before I'm ready, and they defy the limits of this supposedly impossible job market. I've been learning how to swim by getting tossed in the deep end, and thankfully (so far), I've managed to adapt my strokes to stay afloat and keep swimming upstream. The only way 2011 could have accomplished a more elevated status of weird - edging into surreal - would have been if National Geographic called to fulfill the quintessential travel documentarian's dream. At least that would be a relatable job description that wouldn't leave me hungering for the right words for my self-definition.

More weird on the radar?

I rang in the new year with my lumberjack, mixing drinks behind the bar and enjoying our limited but valuable time together. Shortly after that stroke of 2012, I flew to Thailand, roughly my hometown's counterpoint. This year is already bound to be off course from the expected and normal. I've got my floaties on in preparation.

The opinions stated in this post are mine and do not reflect the positions, strategies, or opinions of THINK Global School.

Domestic deficiencies and my learning curve post-Ecuador

Living in one place for a couple months - regardless of one's experience - inevitably causes nostalgia upon leaving and for a succeeding period of time. If it was a bad time, the pleasant memories override the bad, and if it was a good time, as was Ecuador, everything habitual and endearing continues to perpetuate once home again. In my case, the lingering reflexes from previous travels usually mess me up in Indiana - sometimes big time. I tend to call these the ironies of my lifestyle, but lately I feel it's more a deficiency in domestic knowledge, exacerbated by my fondness for the last three months of international living.

I can't live up to familial expectations

Max after baptism, family

Once I knew my work dates for December, my sister-in-law planned her son's baptism around my schedule - to make sure I could definitely attend. And there I was on the morning of his christening, coffee in hand doing the two-step warm-up dance outside in tights, watching my friend's husband jump my borrowed car's battery where it sat 90 miles from the church. It's not too hard to remember to turn the headlights off in the pitch black of night the evening prior, but that's assuming one gets those pangs of common sense.

...because I'm used to: cheap taxis and close proximity

When my school's transportation or my feet couldn't take me where I needed to be, I could stand on a curb in the historic center and hail a yellow car that never cost more than $5, even for a twenty minute trip. Distances traveled - in this country smaller than Nevada - were relatively miniscule compared my US of A expectations.

In my breaths between trips, I rely on my wheeling-and-dealing car salesman of a brother to have a means of getting around. Taxis in Indiana are as scattered as stars with meters that run like Michael Johnson. Not efficient, easy, or happening.

I've got plumbing confusion.

Cuenca resembles an historic European city with cobblestone streets, cloth napkin lunches, and more ornate churches than there are Sundays in a year. It is a lovely town with enjoyable nightlife and beautiful rivers flanking the walkable center. That's the necessary introduction for my dear American audience that will be disgusted with the necessary toilet paper disposal method: a trash can.

...because I'm used to: weak sauce toilets

The plumbing in Ecuador generally requires an 'exit-stage-left' strategy for used tissue. Not to divulge my rituals behind closed stall doors, but I have yet to not be confused with the protocol since my return. In the same way that I don't remember my current continent when my daily alarm rings, I have to go through a process of remembering where I am and what I'm doing every time nature summons.

The motor skills flop when cooking duty calls.

Whereas my fifteenth year was marked by an obsession with Food Network, today I chop vegetables at the speed and with the delicacy of Remy's first try. I can make a spectacular explosion of coarsely slaughtered salad ingredients, which is actually my most coveted meal when abroad, but anything involving even marginal levels of calculation and finesse isn't possible for at least a month post-trip.

I've actually got a known track record with the Indianapolis Fire Department with this issue.

...because I'm used to: $3.50 lunch specials and constant group meals

Near the end of Cuenca, I realized I hadn't cooked for myself - not a saucepan touched - in months. It was more cost-effective and timely to eat at a nearby restaurant with wifi than it was to assemble something palatable in the hotel's kitchen. I also felt like a bothersome house guest when I tried. And eating with the students meant a pre-set menu consisting of meat and potatoes, sandwiched by a creamy soup and a fruit platter curtain call.

I'm speaking the wrong language.

Ecuador presented me with daily challenges to expand my language skills, much like New York gave me the sensation of world travel the moment I left my apartment. I was able to push beyond my fluency from senior year of high school and regain the abilities swiftly lost with the apprehension of Italian.

...because I'm used to: never being able to communicate with the surrounding majority

This is nothing new. I was saying naka to my mother two months after Fiji - instead of 'thank you' - and even though my recent firings of Spanish have hit some native speakers, I am forgetting how to communicate to people at home in daily, civil settings. I am used to being a fly on the wall and observing life I don't connect with personally. In this environment, I can pop in and pop out; obligation to the place is non-existent.

With every trip abroad, the return home gets easier. I'm hoping these are the remnants of a dying reverse-culture shock trend. It's a plan to tackle one or more of these issues while in Thailand...and again when I return to the great US of A.

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The Art of Reinvention, Anonymity, and Self-Discovery in Travel

The sky of Indiana

My mind finally smells summer. I've been away from Indiana for the past two summers and away from Wabash during the summertime since I moved away ten years ago. Having spent the majority of my childhood outside, I've been unknowingly pining for the familiar olfactory triggers, which I still can't define well: aromatic greens of unknown classification, warming as though being slowly cooked, lawn mower engine fuel, chlorine and very cold water, heat radiating from the cement below my bicycle tires, sometimes fresh asphalt but most often cracked sidewalks and gravel-sprinkled roads.

Though some of these seem like multi-sensory experiences - not to mention fairly common around the world - I'm really only talking about my nose. I can smell all those things. The same summer climate can be found on about 60% of the Earth's land mass at some point in the year, but it is only in this town that the sun seems to electrify the atoms and molecules in such a way - for me.

Bias steals my reason when I believe this town could actually be that much different than the rest of the world. Everyone most likely has a sweet spot for their birthplaces, maybe less sweet than bitter for some, and memories are fantastically linked to senses and, in my case, inspiration.

Nostalgia Triggers

I'm not a weird uber-fan of sweeping my grandmother's back porch, but doing so the other day washed warming nostalgia overhead and allowed me to tap into the feelings I once had as a youngster, feelings I remember viscerally that I can now decode and translate with this older mind.

It's an exciting town!

It was in the public library downtown that I grew to love plowing through books. Though my reading comprehension these days is borderline frightening, the visuals I concocted for the stories of Roald Dahl are still sharp in my mind. The movies were all sad efforts after my daily mental capades through Matilda's home and Charlie's new factory.

It was a means of wasting time while my parents worked at the office, but I used to pluck away at a typewriter and create five sentence short stories about personified animals with morals and cool names. Taylor Swan was my ideal girl name, now a nausea inducer. I still have these hilarious attempts at literature in a folder somewhere, along with the memory that I dreamt of being the youngest published author in the world. I had no burning story to tell, but the thought of purging my thoughts to achieve such a landmark was satisfying for my eight year-old self.

Cue to me, ten years later, finally figuring out I did have stories to tell.

The Reappearing Interest

And I have to admit that while living in Wabash I was, at best, ambivalent about being here, even though my daily outdoor activities were fascinating and my friends quirky and long-lasting.

We moved cities with the intent of snatching those opportunities from which I'd be out of reach in the rural north. In turn, I believe my senses were dulled, though they did become my flypaper for artistic inspiration later in life.

My grandma used to say, "All roads lead to Wabash" - her version of the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. I sometimes find my path back "home" completely mind-boggling, which looks something like Indianapolis - Italy - Misc. USA - RTW Cruise Journey - Europe - Africa - Asia - Indianapolis - South Pacific - Asia, again…and so on until all trips are accounted for, with the caboose being good ol' Wabash County.

As far from "as the crow flies" as you can make a round-trip, I'd say…unless that crow is very drunk. And never a plausible concept when the bubble of the small town seemed to draw impermeable borders.

Wabash friends

And now I'm peddling through town on sidewalks that haven't been updated since my mom was with bun in oven. The people who see me cycling seem to know me, and I don't remember names, only encounters at fairs, churchs, and community theater performances. There are no strangers. Cliche, schmeeche - I'm having serious déjà vu.

Reinvention

Fresh from a recent trip that reminded me how much I love the clean slates and stranger-filled surroundings of travel, I'm feeling stumped.

Where are the lingering conversations I can't comprehend? Where are the strangers, and why do I want them around?

The ensemble of the town rarely seems to change, and so stays static my relationships with everyone. Feelings remain regardless of time, which seems to affect bodies rather than minds. There's little flexibility available for reinvention, as history is chiseled in stone. Aging doesn't guarantee anything.

My brother's advice upon starting my new school in Indianapolis was simple, and it stuck.

No one knows you here. You can reinvent yourself, if you want.

That sounds like a movie line. Maybe I'm getting confused. Disregard the wording and assume the same sentiment was relayed to me ten years ago upon the first days of my new schooling experience.

My parents after a wine tasting

With a move [I couldn't conceptualize] an hour and a half south of childhood, reinvention became possible. And even though I've never felt unlike myself in a true, lingering sense, I did seize the opportunity to portray myself in a different light. Mannerisms, humor, interests - they all stayed, but I altered my air to put up with less than I used to allow. No longer did I slink away from moments of embarrassment or shame from the likes of the neighbor boys or the burly girls of bully stock. I didn't want to feel self-conscious about being the person I wanted to be, nor did I have the desire to exhibit any characteristic not indigenous to my being. Hence, no fake-itude.

And now I return, having flexed as a personality but not having evolved alongside Wabash. I wonder if I'm recognizable. Even though this renewed interest has brought me back in touch with the town of 11,000 of my upbringing, I'm unsure as to whether I see myself or a different person in the reflection of my memories.

Walking above Charley Creek, I wonder if it's purely time that strips me of my visceral connection or the fact that the person is not the same (just plus ten years).

When Does a Person Become?

When have I been most happy in my life? Would memories of the most fulfilling or satisfying moments be those which define my life's interests or purpose? Are we who we were coming from the womb and then slowly compromised as we evolved into civilization? Are we really who we are after a life-changing experience or a test that morphs us into a person we never thought we'd become? Was I more me in the 80s, playing in my backyard treehouse, or now - now that I ask these questions and still come out of the wringer being the way that I presently am?

These are the sort of questions that arise amidst the dormant and knowing air particles of my grandmother's house. Surrounding by the grooviest domicile on the block, I question the point I've reached in my being and wonder if the same mushroom cap hairstyle who used to watch TV in the nook on the left is still present and solid.

My Wabash abode

Being alone (with cat) in a house that holds my history, in a town that crafted my humor and habits, in a state that isolated my focus on personalities, I am grappling with concepts to identify what place and time have to say about my being. What person would I have become had I not moved? And if that hour and a half move was all I attempted, what person would I then be had travel been stripped from my pastimes?

When home seems to nurture a specific development of the self, how does travel - with its anonymity, chance for reinvention, trying challenges to the first installation of values - affect the development of our purest form?

Post-world travels, I tend to side with the tried-and-tested theory of being; being put through the wringer, slapped around, and pushed to a near breaking point will result in a person, fibers and nothing else. But are these challenges distractions from the primary meditation that would facilitate that pure knowledge? The answer to that question would restructure the entirety of our social make-up.

What Do You Think?

This is a post I've been writing since the commencement of my summer seclusion project and seemingly one of the main products I hoped to reap from the experience. I write for an unknown public audience, and in doing so, I'm inviting the collective "you" to think what you want. While this post could seem like a journal entry or simply a moment of deep, personal musing, I want these concepts to be chewed on by all. I don't write these ideas to be an exhibitionist but to stimulate a discussion on the art of travel.

Please leave your feedback on whatever was of interest to you. If you'd rather have your comment invisible to the public eye, leave a message on my contact form. Video comments are extremely encouraged.

Thanks for reading.

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Consume & Update: Balance, Success, and Last Week

Today's documentation of the travel and blogging world is a little slim but can plunge you into a lotta deep thought.

The Four Burners and Success

Balance Your Life...or else

Who really has a balanced life? I'd like to think that overall the way I conduct myself on a year-long basis levels out between travel and home, physicality and leisure, hermitville and social junction. As I've stated before, the concept of "live every day like it's your last" is, in my opinion, a bunch of hullabaloo. How are we supposed to make today a most brilliant day while also strive for completeness in all aspects of our life? That's a whole lotta pressure for one day. I'd have to spend all day today planning for an amazing tomorrow, which would defeat the point, right?

I chew on this thought today because Chris Guilleabeau brought up an interesting idea mused by David Sedaris:

One burner represents your family, one is your friends, the third is your health, and the fourth is your work. -David Sedaris

The gist is that in order to be successful you have to cut off one of your burners. And in order to be really successful you have to cut off two.

Especially in a country where we like to think we can "have it all" and also one where we define success as an outward appearance of money, power, and respect, this idea seems to be true for most Americans; not sure about the rest of the world, but I assume the same goes for most of them as well. We don't want to read this quote and consider its validity, because that means accepting imbalance and relative failure at one facet of our lives, of which we'd normally be prideful.

What do you think about this concept? Do you think the idea of the four burners is irrelevant or spot on? What's your stance on the balance of focus and pride in your life? Do you think one or two must slip to achieve some level of success? And what is success in your terms? I'd love to hear your feedback, so please comment below!

Other Discoveries

Problogger sets us straight on some typical blogger grammatical mistakes. Hate to lose my hold on proper English!

What do you think is necessary in redesigning your lifestyle to incorporate your passions and happiness? Did this guy get it right?

Do you think your travel experiences have had a direct impact on your political affiliations or sidings?

Update from Nomadderwhere

Photo on 2010-07-18 at 16.20

Delicious culinary concoctions, kooky Midwestern weather, biking through town and heat advisories, cinematic adventures and writing deep thoughts; this was my week. In some minute ways, the world seemed to stand on its head for me this week. I watched one Shakespearean themed movie...and finally understood them. My cat, whom is far from a lap pet, sought comfort in my bosom during an overhead thunderstorm. Wow, that was all that really stood on its head. My life this month isn't all that exciting! I guess that's what happens when you dumb your life down to a few elements and hope they function at their peak: cooking, writing, and summoning creative energy.

This week, I upped my game and pumped out a slew of content. Applaud me, why don'tcha?

• Video of the Week: The Challenge Edition (Webcam): A webcam special asking you for your ideas on personal challenges and pursuing your passions while not traveling the world

• Jobs for World Travelers: A Life at Sea: Presenting options to those who love to travel and need to work - life on a cruise ship

• Q&A: Easing Parental Worries about Travel: Answering a question I get far too often, and addressing a topic I have to deal with on a constant basis

I only have one more week of exploring the town of 11,000 of my upbringing, and I plan on soaking up the solitude with every molecule of my being. I visit daily locations I haven't experienced since my middle school days and am beginning to wonder if my quarter-life crisis is approaching early with an emphasis on the past rather than a fear for my future. Eh, I know I'm going to be alright. But am I the same person I was when I was four? These are the thoughts of this pickled mind...

And in case you like helping me out: I'm doing a little research on South Korea and Taiwan this week and would love some expert help on where to go and what to see, along with important facets of both cultures and histories!

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Video of the Week: The Challenge Edition (Webcam)

Traveling creates a lifestyle of constant challenges, which then facilitate self-discovery and, in turn, happiness. This week, I report from my post alone in northern Indiana to ask you: how would you challenge yourself with a home experiment that would simulate the effects of travel?

Notes from this week's Video of the Week:

• I continue to get back to the basics by concentrating on a few key things: cooking, physical activity, and expression.

• Challenge for you: What would your month-long self-discovery experiment be?

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Video of the Week: Seclusion Musings (Webcam)

After one successful week of relative seclusion in northern Indiana, I've got some thoughts to share - musings, if you will. Your feedback is strongly encouraged.

Notes from this week's video:

• Musing #1: Reinvention

  • Have you ever become a person you don't recognize?

  • Do you take advantage of the easy opportunity for reinvention when traveling?

• Musing #2: Anonymity

  • How does your anonymous presence on the road affect your attitude, behavior, mind, etc.?

  • Have you experienced the overfamiliarity of the small town or close-knit region? How does this change your state of mind or activity?

• Musing #3: Constant Travel

  • Is re-experiencing your own town/city as valuable a teaching opportunity as perusing a new place in another country?

  • If home travel is considered "travel," where is the line drawn between travel and not? What differentiates the two?

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Video of the Week: Summer Seclusion Project (Webcam)

Haven't seen one of these in a while, huh? A video of the week or a webcam special. I finally got my act together! Enjoy.

Notes from this week's video:

• ProjectExplorer.org is in post-production stateside after a fantastic filming session in Mexico.

• I'm moving out of my parent's house for a month for some seclusion in my hometown.

• I have four goals for the month of July.

• Crank out stellar videos, images, and work for ProjectExplorer.org

• Write personal travel narratives in hopes of publishing or at least having them for myself.

• Learn how to cook basic vegetarian meals well. I don't know how veggies are supposed to taste. Sad.

• Enjoy my hometown for the first summer in a decade and reap the benefits of relative seclusion from distraction.

• It's time to reformat/redesign Nomadderwhere, just like I did last September. A lot has changed in my life and path, and my website needs to reflect that.

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Wrapping it Up at Home

The Lager of the Netherlands washes the fresh-made guacamole down my hungry trap as a Hoosier sunset falls on my face one last time. I embark tomorrow at noon thirty for the coolest experience of my life. Soon, I'll see my brother and his wife one last time pre-parenthood and make one last attempt to get fit with my trainer. Meanwhile I shove my face with tortilla chips and sit on my rear-end typing to you.

What have I been doing this week?

Finishing the Big Journey blogs

According to my blog coverage from last year, I am still traveling back in time from Tokyo to Hawaii, crossing the International Date Line on November 17th. Yes, according to my flight times on that trip, I arrived in my destination before I boarded the plane! Trippy, huh.

Well, I'm making sure I don't forget any of those rare and exciting moments by forgetting to document them thanks to the WTI commencement. I hope some day to make those stories into a full-fledged book, so I can't afford to miss the last destination out of redirected priorities. Tonight, my friends, will be the last time I blog about the Big Journey. And then I will be ready for the next step.

Giving Away Clothes

For some reason, I gather this minimalist mindset either before or after I travel. I adore the idea that when I get home, I'll have nothing but what I hauled across the world, all salted with sweat and grit from my adventures. This week, I took a massive bag to my closet and gave away many prized possessions. I have one pair of pants hanging on the racks in there. Rut row...but it just feels so darn good.

Shopping

Got me a sleep sack to stay all clean and warm! Got me some water filtration tabs so I don't get intestinal parasites again! Got me a swimsuit that actually constitutes as a two piece (I've worn tankinis for a decade, but the way I wear them, they ain't no two pieces!). I'm rarin' to go.

Being a Kitty Mama

After "mothballing" car insurance and warning banks about my globe-trotting, I thought I'd give my lady feline a little check-up before I head outta here. She checked out all fine and dandy, and I had a whale of a good time carrying her in there like an African mother (with a sarong strapped around my back). Frankly, I was a bit surprised she had no issues, because she's been bringing live chipmunks to the door for three days in a row. Not so odd when you realize this coincides with her strict diet.

Where yat? My house, that's where

I have some really cool friends that I'm going to miss (family, too). So, I invited them all over last night for a small soiree infiltrated with the smells and tastes of my favorite restaurant, Yat's. It was a hit, even for those who had already eaten upon arrival. I made it a point to serve all the foods and drinks I miss on the road. Guacamole was a must. As were an assortment of Mexican lagers. And then there was the consensus to pull out the Clark family videos. I tell ya, we know how to live that Vida Loca. They sent me off to see the world with laughs and a slightly stronger liver. Thanks, friends. I'll see ya when I see ya.

There's an incredibly strong chance I won't sleep tonight. And who really could. I'm meeting a being called Chris Danner tomorrow at Dallas/Ft. Worth Airport, whom will be my ultimate travel companion for two and a half months. Let's do this.

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Pack that Back Up

The poll's closing at 5pm EST today, one which determines my packing philosophy for this summer adventure. Vote one last time or comment on my packing list thus far! I want you to be a part of the STA intern experience, which is the only thing compelling me to leave such important decisions in your hands. Some other advice I've gotten for this pre-departure crunch time via my friends on Twitter:

jliamquinn @nomadderwhere TIP: Scan a copy of your passport and email it to yourself and a family member. This way you have a copy if you loose it!

feleciacruz @nomadderwhere just read this...mostly obvious, but some diffs... http://www.travelblogs.com/articles/18-things-you-dont-need-on-your-packing-list

jliamquinn @nomadderwhere TIP: International ATM's often offer the best conversion rates and with little or no fee's. (see your bank for details)

jliamquinn @nomadderwhere Be sure to alert your bank about traveling abroad.

Boy-o-boy, I leave tomorrow. Gimme some advice before I go! I'm much obliged…

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Written in the Star

I feel incredibly privileged to be a featured person in the Indianapolis Star. After an hour long interview and photo shoot a couple months ago, this article brought me great joy with its final materialization on Sunday, also race day in Indianapolis.

Sitting on the top of a Parking Garage

I was sitting in a lawn chair, cold beer perched in my camera-case-turned-koozie, hearing Indy cars zoom behind me, when my parents forwarded the link to the piece online. Reading the whole thing while sitting there amongst the thousands of fans at an event that was integral to my WTI success (see video)...it was all so smile-inducing.

The article takes the form of a Q & A, just as the interview did. The responses, now not just in my head but in print around central Indiana, reminded me of the excitement I find in this travel game (not that I needed the memo) and why I do it.

I'm hoping to open minds, and being from a city where the travel section comes out but once a week in a small, hidden section of the paper, I hope to connect to many at home that may have the misconception of "scary, expensive travel" and not "mind-boggling, self-defining, gorgeous, inspiring, life-changing travel."

Big expectations. Big dreams. A big summer. We doin' big thangs, whodi.

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Two Weeks to Go!

Guacamole of Holiness! We're leaving in the wink of a moment for the World Traveler Internship. I keep thinking back to the big phone call and that visceral awareness I had of this imminent journey. Today, it's but an idea that I cannot grasp. I keep saying this, but it's impossible to fathom how cool this experience really is! So two weeks until departure...What have I been up to?

I've been brushing up on my dance moves, perfecting such moves as the Jerri Blank, the robot, unspeakable gyrating, and much more, hopefully all culturally accepted in our future destinations.

During said dance break, I began my work on dealing with uncomfortable situations by "dealing" with the dead chipmunk my cat dragged to the threshold of the downstairs patio. Troubleshooting involved first using my tripod legs like I was Inspector Gadget to remove the dead rodent and second, successfully, with the bottoms of my flip-flops. Bucky is still lying outside my window in the garden, legs frozen in pre-spring tension (sorry for the grotesqueness, PETA).

Flexibility is key in travel, so when I had to take a detour in my plans with "bush" camping, thanks to a mild monsoon, I dealt with these changes like a pro...and regretfully returned to my "comfortable, safe, convenient" bed inside. Darn.

Had some fun with time lapse photography and a mock packing exercise. I'm still waiting to know what I'm packing...it's all up to the poll!

Since I'm still an owner of a PC (please don't giggle), STA sent me the MacBook to allow adequate familiarity with the world of Macs. Did you all know it's possible to compose your own music on something called GarageBand? And do you know how swiftly these things run? How intuitively? My mind has been iRocked.

If you pay attention to this blog at all, you've realized surely by now that I'm all about recording every moment of this pre-departure experience. Now that you've seen what I am able to produce, I'd love some feedback on what you like to hear...AND SEE! After all, I am putting myself through this rigorous experience all for the benefit of hopeful travelers like yourselves. Oh, what a burden I must bear. Ha!

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Home Court Attention

From '04 to '08, I was fortunate enough to have at my disposal (and for free, might I add) one of the nation's leading student newspapers. Though these papers litter the IU campus daily, left under desks in Ballantine Hall and sometimes coating atrium floors with their glossy weekend section, a large portion of the Bloomington campus reads this publication with regularity.

I'm not one to enjoy constant updates of the Hoosier backetball team, but I liked reading scattered interest stories, the Associated Press world updates, and doing the crossword while my teachers were getting settled before class.

Today was quite thrilling to see an article in the Indiana Daily Student about my World Traveler Intern endeavors. The turnover between interview and publication was speedy, and I hope this exposure means a larger audience for both the internship and my beloved site. Check out the article, written by Ashley Bornancin, by clicking the excerpt below.

As for planning out her trips, Clark said she let her instincts take her to where she wanted to go and made some decisions by tossing a coin.

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WTI Basic Training: Day Two

Day One's lack of roughness was rectified last night, Day/Night Two, with a wee hour rain storm that had me waking every hour to see if I was lying in a pile of water. Without stakes to pull my fly away from the tent walls, it was somewhat of a waiting game, but all was successful by morning, and I awoke once more with that fresh feeling one can only get after sleeping outdoors.

After one successful night of "bush" camping, I decided to turn it up a smidgeon and incorporate some more factors to toughen up my travelin' image. And since food is essential to life, travel, and survival in the wilderness, I took on a segment called "Bush" Camp Cuisine. Here are important things to remember when eating outdoors:

• Never put food in your tent. I once had a monkey approach my tent with crazy eyes as he watched me eat a banana. I threw it at him and zipped up fast.

• Avoid high maintenance foods that require lots of preparation. Remember those hobo meals of hamburger meat and veggies in aluminum foil from summer camp? That's just a little slice, dice, and season. Delish.

• Meals that require lots of condiments to be good are a pain. No one wants to be the guy who carries the Costco sized ketchup and dijon mustard up the mountain...and risk their tents to ant armies.

• It's easiest to avoid foods that need refrigeration. Sadly, Italian gelato just doesn't pack well for an afternoon hike.

• Help yourself by using light-weight camping flatware and utensils; a clean pocket knife works wonders instead of bringing your best steak knives.

• Try not to drink lots of liquids or libations as midnight bathroom breaks could be lethal. I once pitched a tent fifteen feet off the ground in an open camp. At night hippos and elephants would walk under the tent's platform and graze, and I decided against imbibing at the bar that night in order to avoid the awful situation of a bathroom break amongst territorial African mammoths.

Day Three may be exponentially more challenging with the constant rainfall and thunderstorms in Indianapolis today. Chances are my move to open the solid flaps in my tent to get fresh air in there has brought in the floods. The babbling brook (a.k.a. the storm drain in the backyard) will be a torrent tonight and may carry me away from my spot near the tulips.

Wouldn't that be sad...if these rains kept you all from learning how I pack for a bush camp experience or even an unspeakable lesson in "bush" squatting? Let's keep our tough and callused fingers crossed. Day Three...TBD.

Day Two has the info to ensure your hunger pains and a dry night of sleep. If camping out in my backyard won't make me gritty and tough for the World Traveler Internship, I just don't know what will. http://nomadderwhere.com

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WTI Basic Training: Day One

I'm sleeping in my backyard. Why? Because I've been a nancy for months. Last year I slept in bus stations hunched over my bags with 100 other women and kids. Exercise was sought by running for trains and trekking in inappropriate sports wear at 16,000 feet. Where did that grit and toughness go? This week, I'm breaking out of the suburban mold for my future this summer as a travelin' intern. This is my attempt to roughen up like my days in the African bush...minus the wild buffalo staring contests...add the potential for coyote encounters...multiply the opportunities to use proper facilities...divide the free time to be distributed either pumping iron at the club or nannying down the street. Wild, huh.

Last night, I rolled into my beautiful Coleman with three thick sleeping bags from Grandma's closet and an oversize stuffed dog for a pillow...just like the sleeping accommodations on safari. I brought out all my essentials on that long hike to my tent: my travel book, the biggest jacket I could find, and one of my most trusted travel tools...MELATONIN.

This is serious. If I were to bring just a few things on the road, that short list would include this natural sleep enhancer for its amazing ability to induce authentic and fulfilling sleep against the odds of bush sounds, jetlag, and snoring hostel dorm sleepers. Maletonin, go getcha some.

Anyway, after throwing on my George Costanza Gore-tex and fluffy down socks, I snuggled up with my Bryson, knowing fully well there was nothing "rough" about this experience, other than hearing barking dogs and lawn mowers before the alarm goes off in the morning. And with a quick brushing of the teeth, without water mind you...and spitting in my Mom's flowers, I was fresh and revitalized from an evening amidst nature.

It was an interesting experiment. Made me want to take backyard "bush" camping to new levels.

Suburbia has made me a nancy, so I'm taking to my backyard with my tent and my know-how to roughen up that skin for the ultimate traveling summer. Day One takes you through the essentials for having a comfortable camp site and a good night's rest. Day Two has much more in store...

And so I will tonight on day two. This time I'm covering some interesting topics, such as cooking in the "bush" and maybe more.

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Baggy-Eyed in the US of A

It is 1:40 a.m. in Indianapolis, Indiana. I have so few hours left in this house, in this state, and on this side of the globe. It's unfathomable, the intensity of these last few hours. I'm hardly nervous or even realizing what's going on.

Mom is asleep beside me, curled up like a cold little orphan girl...couldn't make it to her bed...couldn't last these last grueling hours awake before I need to be on my plane.

I said goodbye to the most darling of all feline creatures. I have no fear about her quality of life in the following seven months; I will miss dearly the fur on her nose and the feeling of her body flop onto my leg in the middle of the night. She's a big girl...she leaves quite an impression.

I feel sort of dead inside, completely emotionally exhausted from graduation day, but luckily meticulous planning for the last 18 months for this trip has provided me countless checklists, sorted piles, and firm ideas of what I need to do before the main event.

Eleven books are weighing down my day bag, a larger number than I'm even bringing in clothing options. Needless to say, I'm quite curious of where this "Big Journey" will take me.

Enjoy all of your summers and lovely fall seasons. I am off on a quest. See you in 205 days.