do you know- where you're going to...

Listening to my friends' adventures of backpacking through Europe with little money, no hotel reservations, and a guidebook to lead their way- I found myself thinking about the journeys we take in life. I imagine that my version of a European excursion would involve a backpack (merely for effect), an English speaking tour guide, and a five star hotel complete with a tempurpedic mattress and Egyptian cotton sheets. And though my experience would differ greatly from my very brave friends' whose jaunts  included a night at a countryside hostel in Amsterdam and Ethiopian food in London; it occurred to me that in matters of travel- there's no wrong way to do it, so long as it's your own.

It's natural for me to choose a sense of adventure over good old common sense. A move to Hawaii, marrying my husband, and a mid life career change are proof of that. Luckily I rarely ever wonder about the "what if's?" in life. My journeys have taken me far from the streets of Jersey City to an exotic locale surrounded by an eclectic culture and interesting people. And what I've finally come to realize is whether it's life or travel- there is no wrong way, so long as the path you follow is your own. And you- do you know where you're going to, do you know? Do tell...

sustenance...

Stepping onto the scale this morning, I braced myself for the outcome of two gluttonous months filled with traveling, assorted alcoholic beverages, and pasta's glorious return back into my diet since Lent ended. Looking at my daily calendar, I noticed that I may have occasionally (okay, okay- more like, regularly) slacked on working out, but how in the world did those extra pounds find me so quickly? Determined not to undo months of hard work and effort, I headed straight for my nemesis- the elliptical machine for an intense cardio workout. As I flipped through the New Yorker (some geriatric swiped the US Weekly), sweat dripping, and goal heart rate achieved- I felt invigorated. Finally overcoming weeks of dread and avoidance, I dealt with the fact that scales and skinny jeans rarely ever lie.

Thanks to genetics and my own mother's disdain for physical activity, I remained blissfully sedentary for most of my life. That of course changed when I realized that youth was no longer on my side. (traitor!) Sadly, all the extra weight packed on over the years (both emotionally and physically) wasn't budging, and it was time to do something about it. And while I still indulge in heaping bowls of my husband's home made penne a la vodka and a glass or two of Merlot; nothing feeds your body more than getting physical and unloading all the baggage. And you- how much weight do you carry? Do tell...

it is written...(maktub)

I recently read a wonderful book by Stephen King called, On Writing. In it he asks 2 questions....do you read a lot? (me: NO) Do you write a lot? (me: SOMETIMES) Aside from winning a poetry contest about the Statue of Liberty in 1986 and submitting two random essay's in 2009; in which I won both grand prizes (stand up paddle lessons and attendance to the Hawaii Writer's Conference)- I've never taken any formal writing courses or imagined where my writing could take me. Sure, I've got my blog and a few published pieces under my belt thanks to Modern Luxury- but so what? No God loving, responsible Filipina gives up a healthcare career to be a writer. "Leslie, writing is a hobby- not a profession", says my disapproving conscience. And just like that- I steer clear of any natural inclination.

If you ask me what my life's ambition is, I'd tell you that I want to get paid for being myself. And with that comes flailing hand gestures, over exaggerated facial expressions, and a knack for telling stories in person and on paper. I enjoy studying people's behaviors and understanding what makes them tick, which according to Mr. King, makes me a good writer. (or at least, a competent one) So why haven't I won any awards in nursing? And why is a substantial amount of money needed for me to show up to work everyday? Well...ignoring your instincts will do that. You know, steer you clear from natural talent and inclinations, and all. And you...what are you ignoring? Do tell...

(photo cred: Carlo Guzman @ www.ag2photography.com)

friends by dissociation

When I first logged on to the wonderful world of social networking via facebook, twitter, and an incomplete linkedin account- I felt as if my hip factor multiplied exponentially. Everyday was a new friend request, an added follower, and an opportunity to catch up with people I haven't spoken to in decades. DECADES! In a matter of months- I'd gone from having 5 friends to an astronomical 472. Without thinking twice- I racked up a slew of acquaintances, friends of friends, and became rather chummy with a handful of high school students. (I can't help it if my daughter's friends find me fascinating!) Admittedly, I enjoy updating "what's on my mind?", melt when I see family photos, and have had fascinating IM chats with people all over the world. For a girl who thought her friend making days were over- this virtual opportunity at "getting to know you" without the hint of an awkward conversation or a forced air kiss is absolutely delightful.

But let's face it- there is a downside to letting 400 people you barely know into your life. I've actually run into FB "friends" at weddings and street corners and without so much as a glance or even a faux 'hello'- we continue to remain as anonymous in person as we do online. So, the question is...how many friends do I have? Well, I'm glad to report that it's more than 5 but much, much less than 500. It's been rather lovely getting reacquainted with old acquaintances whom I'm certain we'd exchange more than a fake kiss and a forced smile. As for the rest...I suppose that's who the delete button and privacy settings were made for. And you- who's got your back? Do tell...

i got a feelin'....

I recently returned from a very short but much needed 4 day trip back east. As the plane landed, my husband lifted the shade to reveal a dark, rainy, miserable day- from which I beamed a smile that only the sight of the Parkway, my best friends, and my entire family could induce. Home at last! As we stepped off the plane, my husband and I tried to keep pace with thousands of over zealous travelers who darted and weaved in and out of airport rest rooms, restaurants, and on and off those godforsaken travelators. And though I was tempted to get right back into the Jersey swing of things- I thought to myself, "What's the rush?" Surely, I was in no hurry for this vacation to end or to text my tearful good-byes, and certainly, I was in no rush to rush back to Hawaii. So, with a deep breath- I vowed to soak it all in. (both the rain AND the memories)

As predicted- the trip was a whirlwind. Many vodka crans downed, plenty of babies kissed, and all too many moments wishing it would never end. Like dinner at Komegashi with my BFF's, a cousin brunch filled with laughter and longanisa, a beautiful, heartfelt wedding in the middle of a storm, cocktails with my siblings, and a quick trip into Chinatown for some Wonton Garden. Most people are perplexed, even downright annoyed that I'd even consider trading in the sunny, blue skies of Hawaii in exchange for life in the armpit of America (that's right- Jersey, baby!) but truthfully, at least for me- it's not always about location, location, location. And you- where does your heart pull you? Do tell...

truth is stranger than fiction (or is it?)

As I got into the elevator with our dog, Phifey a curious Asian man asked in broken English, "How many time you take out dog?" Before the door could open I cheerfully blurted, "Ususally 3 or 4 times a day". Immediately, Phifey shot me a look of disbelief as I began to blush at an apparently innocent yet little (white) lie. "WOW!", he said stunned as I tried to change the subject by asking if he had any pets. Shaking his head with a vigorous "no", he appeared appalled as he calculated the number of times I ride the elevator on a daily basis. And just as I was about to explain that, "pets are really no trouble at all and that in theory- I'd like to take my dog out 4 times a day but realistically...well, you know, it was more like twice and sometimes, most times it's 3"...the elevator doors shut. There I was- mouth ajar, Asian man perplexed, and Phifey...let's just say she got all 4 walks, a romp on the beach, and extra kalbi bones with dinner.

So why do we do it? The exaggerating and stretching of the truth, that is. Lucky for us and I mean ALL of us- turns out that little white lies are more common than you think. Whether we're saving face or sparing feelings- the truth is, the truth hurts. And so what if I fudge the number of days I actually go to the gym or fib about how fabulous my overweight co-worker looked in a tank top? Researchers say that embellishers use their "fiction" as a way of some day becoming self fulfilled and that positive biases can be beneficial. Hell! If that's the case then, next year- you can find me on the New York Times best sellers list, hosting a show on Oprah's OWN network, and out walking my dog 5 times a day! And you- what white lies do you tell? Do tell...


my due diligence while clearing my conscience:
We're All Lying Liars: Why People Tell Lies, and Why White Lies Can Be OK - US News and World Report

my own worst cynic...

On a never ending quest for answers about myself- I've consulted everyone from family members to fortune tellers and have been thisclose to figuring things out, but at the present moment...still no cigar. In an effort to save face and a few hundred bucks (psychics aint cheap)- I've now turned to some free, anonymous methods of advice seeking via the Honolulu Weekly's horoscope page, Martha Beck, and egads...Men's Health magazine. Between an astrologer, a life coach, and a witty men's magazine writer- it's safe to say that I'm hardly the glass half full kinda gal that I thought I was. My natural instincts towards snarky commentary, pessimism, and an overall distrust toward the general population was what I believed to be the epitome of a Jersey girl. (insert FIST PUMP!) And there's nothing wrong with that! 

However, through the years I've noticed an increase in skepticism, eye rolling, and paranoia...all of which can make for a very lonely existence. I recently read an article about successful people and their unwillingness to be cynical. I thought perhaps I misread the piece and deemed it bullshit until I re-read it again and yup, it said "unwillingness" to be cynical. But, who doesn't have doubts? Who doesn't second guess? Who in their right mind totally believes in all the bullshit they say? Well, apparently- successful people do. And with that said, I'm off to work on an attitude adjustment and go find some optimism. And you...want to come? Do tell...