Tag: travel

Where’s the Fire?

carissaricci

When was the last time you asked yourself what sets your heart on fire and genuinely listened for the answer?

Over the course of my life, I have (over)thought my way in and out of too many things to count. This next season is requiring me to get out of my head and drop into my heart—which for an over-thinker like myself, can be a terrifying proposition. Holding onto the cerebral approach feels safer. Familiar. I can make the lists and rate the things. There are tangible ideas to grasp. Something to hang my hat on. 

Dipping into intuition and heart knowledge feels squishier. Less certain. There’s a part of me that wonders how I would justify decisions made from that place. And there’s another part (whose voice is becoming stronger) who wants to know why I care about defending my choices. To whom am I making the case? At the end of the day, the woman staring back at me in the mirror is the one who will ultimately hold me to account. And she’s learning to be more compassionate with herself these days.

So, what does it feel like to live from the heart? For me, it means clearing out the noise and paying attention to what makes me feel most alive. Noticing when it happens and making a “note to self”: Do this more.

When I was in college, I decided that I wanted to teach, write, make as big of an impact as I could on the humans I connected with, and see the world. That was the goal. As with many of us, my life took a major detour shortly after, and I allowed what I thought I “should” do to become the loudest voice in the room. The dream was shelved. I moved on and made peace with what my life had become (or so I thought). Now, many, many, years later, I’m finding my way back to what I’m realizing I always knew would light me up. It will look a little different than how I originally imagined it, but the heart and soul of it remain strong and true.

Go inside and listen to your body, because your body will never lie to you. Your mind will play tricks, but the way you feel in your heart, in your guts, is the truth.

Don Miguel Ruiz

On my spring travels abroad, I recognized the fire immediately. When I first landed in Portugal, I dropped my luggage at the place I was staying in Lisbon and headed out to find lunch while I was waiting for the check-in time to roll around. Stunningly intense jet lag aside, I felt the familiar pull and the quiet but strong whisper…“there it is”. That feeling persisted for the remaining 34 days I traveled and didn’t let up until my feet hit the inside of the plane that would take me back home.

Since then, I’ve felt it pop up at various times—I feel it in my body more than anywhere else and I know, without question, that I’m where I need to be when it does. If you’re facing some big questions, “Go inside and listen to your body, because your body will never lie to you. Your mind will play tricks, but the way you feel in your heart, in your guts, is the truth.” (Don Miguel Ruiz) When I look back at my life, I knew long before I made any decisions, what the right one was. I was just incredibly adept at talking myself out of it for the sake of what I thought I had to do.

Feeling the fire at the Plaza de España in Seville

In many of the personality tests I’ve taken over the years, responsibility (or some form of it) is always high up on the list—which isn’t necessarily a bad thing—until I realized that I wasn’t being as responsible to myself as I was to everything and everyone else. 

Your longing. Your heart. Your calling. All of those are just as important to maintain loyalty to as the other things that garner your energy.

I now take notice when these things happen:

  • I’m in what some people call “flow”. I lose track of time. Unintentionally skip meals. And am so focused on what I’m doing that it’s almost like I enter another dimension where everything else is muted.1
  • I feel giddy. A genuine happiness or excitement that emanates from the deepest part of my center. This can show up as a smile that suddenly stretches ear to ear…or sometimes, something different happens. When I stepped foot into La Sagrada Familia and first looked up, I was immediately moved to tears. Inspired, present, and in total awe of what I was experiencing. 
  • I get the “good chills” (Part 1). This usually happens in conversation with someone—when we have a moment of genuine connection about something we’re talking about. But talking isn’t always a requirement. Sometimes, just holding space for one another and silently acknowledging someone else’s experience can be just as powerful. In those moments, we both truly see into the soul of the other. When I think back to the most meaningful moments in my life, being a part of that reciprocity and vulnerability is one of the most beautiful things about being human. 
  • I get the “good chills” (Part 2). Music can reach me like little else can and always has something to teach me. I can’t get enough…never could and probably never will. When I was really young, I learned to play the piano and it changed the way I experienced music and my relationship to it. Even though I loved playing, I was never hankering to perform for crowded rooms. I was happiest when I was at the keys in an empty house. Just me and the music…dancing the dance. In one of my previous posts, I mentioned that I typically always have music going, and it’s true. It helps me feel connected to something bigger while also feeling deeply connected to myself. Whether I’m playing music or listening to it, the “good chills” can strike at any time—both grounding me and taking me to other places simultaneously.

There’s an unbelievable amount that we don’t know and so many things that still remain unexplained, but I believe we can tap into that feeling of interrelatedness…if we’re paying attention.

I’ve often wondered how the things we can’t see—the intangibles—can impact us so deeply. Recently, “scientists have detected a ‘cosmic background’ of ripples in the structure of space and time” and that “every star, every planet, every continent, every building, every person is vibrating along to the slow cosmic beat.” (Frank, 2023)2 We’re all so much more connected than we think. There’s an unbelievable amount that we don’t know and so many things that still remain unexplained, but I believe we can tap into that feeling of interrelatedness…if we’re paying attention.

In those moments when you’ve been places for the first time, but feel a familiarity—almost a knowing—that you’ve somehow been there before. The people you meet who you have an instant connection with—like your soul has known theirs for much longer than you’ve known them. Reading stories that resonate so deeply, you feel like they were written just for you. Listening to music that moves you in the very deepest part of yourself.

As we take steps toward rediscovering and following those dreams that are unique to each of us, those pesky fears may come up. Hesitations. Doubts. But we also each have a fierceness that lives within us. When the world tells us we can’t, let’s allow the hesitations, doubts, and fears to be there—but also let that fierceness push us forward anyway—even if old stories are relentlessly trying to keep us in suspension. 

Choosing to live from the heart is a courageous act. One that requires us to honor our innermost knowing, despite what our minds might be telling us. If you’re wondering whether you have that type of courage, this is your reminder that you do. You are stronger than you think. Braver than you would guess. And worthy of a life well-lived…with your heart on fire.

1 I stayed up 2 hours later than I normally do working on the first draft of this post. I’m finding it amusing that I was in the “flow” while writing about the “flow”. How meta of me.

2 If you want to read the full article, head over to The Atlantic.

It’s Not All Glitz and Glamour

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“What if I completely lose my balance, slam into the door—accidentally opening it—and fall out with my pants down around my ankles and toilet paper wrapped around me like a mummy?” This was an actual thought I had while attempting the hover technique over a toilet while on a high-speed train. I had tried to hold it, but the water I had downed earlier was looking for a new home and there was no way my bare skin was going to touch the toilet seat in its current state. My fitness tracker told me that I had climbed the equivalent of 97 flights the day before, and when I say that I was feeling a little shaky, that’s an understatement. One of many memories that made me laugh afterwards, but was one of the less glamorous moments of my trip.

When posting about travels, I often share the beautiful pictures and wonderful memories made and leave out the “other stuff”. Let’s face it. That “other stuff” can be uncomfortable. Daunting. Disappointing. And sometimes a little scary. For me, agreeing to experience that “other stuff” is absolutely worth it, but I feel like it’s important to talk about because in many ways, it draws a remarkable parallel to what we encounter in life even when we’re not traveling. What about all the muck and gunk we have to wade through to get to the good stuff sometimes? Buckle up, dear reader. I’m going to lay it bare. 

I’m here to tell you…it doesn’t matter how much you prepare and plan, you will encounter moments that make you feel embarrassed, confused, and completely over your skis.

While abroad, I encountered a lot of unexpected things. Closures. Delays. Unclear directions. A bee in my scarf (more on that later). Various toilet “situations”. Feeling like the dumb out-of-towner. Now, this one I expected to feel at times, but I wasn’t expecting to feel it as much as I did. I’m here to tell you…it doesn’t matter how much you prepare and plan, you will encounter moments that make you feel embarrassed, confused, and completely over your skis. 

Lesson 1: It’s Okay to Ask for Help (Yes, Really. It’s Okay.)

By the time I got to Paris, I was feeling pretty confident about my ability to get around. I was on the back half of my trip and had learned a lot about how to navigate in different countries. The place I was staying was a 5-minute walk from the metro station and a 22-minute subway ride from the heart of Paris. I looked up the different metro lines, found the one I needed, and got myself to the station quickly. Easy peasy, right? Then, I got to the ticket kiosk. It took me a couple of minutes to figure it out, but I worked through it and ended up with a tiny paper ticket in hand. Feeling fairly proud of myself, I then walked to the turnstile. 

This is where it all fell apart. I could not for the life of me figure out where to put my ticket. The only thing I saw was a scanner where people badged in with their metro cards. I couldn’t see anywhere to put my ticket. I tried everything I could think of and was at a complete loss. A sweet, small, elderly woman saw me struggling. She walked right up to me, grabbed my ticket, put it in this tiny notch next to the scanner, and the ticket flew in and popped out by the turnstile. She gestured that I was supposed to take the ticket. As I grabbed it, I felt a hard shove on my back as she pushed me through. When I looked back to thank her, she was smiling and waving at me. No words were exchanged, but it was yet another moment where a kind stranger took pity on a clueless traveler and helped her find her way.

Lesson 2: Sometimes, Things Aren’t as Complicated as We Make Them

Remember the bee I mentioned earlier? I was sitting outside this beautiful cathedral in Bordeaux, soaking up the sun and taking in the views when this large bee flew in between my neck and the scarf I was wearing. Paralyzed, I was scared to move a muscle at first—trying to figure out if I could remove my scarf gently enough so that it wouldn’t sting me. I very slowly started to loosen it, and the bee simply flew away. In my mind, I was already doing the mental gymnastics I thought necessary to strategize how I was going to get this bee out and visualizing scenarios of it stinging me and my head swelling up to twice its normal size. But there was no need. Just a little space and a soft nudge was all that was required.

Lesson 3: Have a Conversation with Your Fear

In order to see some of the things I was wanting to see, I knew I was going to have to step outside my “happy place” when it came to heights. When I was climbing the 300 steps up the dome at Sacré-Coeur, I stopped halfway—not sure I could do it. I almost turned around and bailed. I was standing on this little landing that had a sign saying something like, “Only 167 steps to go!” and could feel the anxiety building. With my hand on the wall, my fear tried to talk me out of continuing. “You don’t really need to make it to the top. The view from the bottom is pretty amazing, even if you are surrounded by hordes of people. You’re scared now, but it could get worse. You don’t know what’s ahead.” That’s when I marshaled my courage and said, “That’s right. You don’t know what’s ahead. It could be amazing. You’re safe, and you can do this.” I know it sounds corny, but the pep talk worked and I kept moving. Shakily and one step at a time. 

When I got to an outdoor space before the next flight of stairs, a woman and her son were resting. She asked if I was okay and I said, “Yeah, thanks. I’m just not a fan of heights.” She smiled in understanding and replied, “My husband isn’t, either. He tells people that it’s not a fear…it’s an ‘intolerance’.” We both laughed and I told her I was going to steal that phrase. When I made it to the top, I let myself take as much time as I wanted to soak it all in. Not just because the views were incredible, but because I had done one more thing I wasn’t sure I could do. I had taken one more step toward tolerating my intolerance.

One of the views from the top of the dome of Sacré-Coeur

So often, we associate discomfort with “bad” and avoid it like the plague. We’re wired to. But living in (and with) discomfort is necessary in order to get to the heart of what it means to live a real life. This trip was a serious lesson in the radical acceptance of the present moment. There were so many incredible, jaw-droppingly beautiful moments. What a pity it would have been if I had let the few uncomfortable ones keep me from experiencing all the rest.

I would have missed out on getting to know the lady who ran the smoothie shop I visited when I desperately needed something to cool me down from hiking up and down steep city streets in the middle of a heat wave.

I might not have witnessed someone painting one of the famous Portuguese tiles in a small tile shop I randomly wandered across if the tile museum hadn’t been closed on the one day I could go, nudging me to explore elsewhere.

I would have never found the best sorbet ever if I hadn’t been desperate to find a bathroom and decided it was worth it to purchase something so I could get access to a toilet.

The moral of the story? Life will get bumpy sometimes. We’ll find ourselves in uncomfortable spots. Disheartened. Sad. Unsure. Grossed out. Embarrassed. Frustrated. Anxious. It is an ongoing battle for me to accept those feelings when they come. But it’s getting better…bit by bit. Navigating the bumps is worth it, and by leaning into those moments, we grow. And we get to experience some truly amazing and potentially life-changing things we wouldn’t have otherwise.

We often want to post the Instagram-“worthy” pictures and stories about phenomenal moments. And that’s ok! But I think we’re missing out if we don’t also share the other non-Instagrammable moments*. I hope by putting some of these stories out into the world, it helps others feel freer to share theirs. We are not alone in wading through the “other stuff”. This I know. May we cheer each other on in the glitz and the glamour and the muck and the gunk—for it is all a part of this perplexing, strange, and beautiful life.

*Disclaimer: These particular moments don’t need to be photographed. I feel like you all owe me a thank-you note for not including a picture of myself tangled in toilet paper, looking like a cartoon character as I balanced and braced myself in that train bathroom. 

Going Solo (Part 3)

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“Bad GPS!” I heard the Uber driver yell as he attempted to get me from the train station to the place I was staying for the night. He knew very little English and I knew even less Portuguese. As we continued to wind through the streets in the dark, I checked to see if my GPS would work properly…and it did. Thankfully. I managed to communicate to him to pull over so I could get in the front seat. My phone wouldn’t fit in the device where he had his, so I held it at eye level for him. The entire trip. My arm was shaking by the time we got there. The situation was so funny, that we ended up bursting into laughter a number of times before we finally found the location and he dropped me off. Another moment that still brings a smile to my face.

So often, we want or expect things to go a certain way—but many times, they don’t. These last few weeks have been such good practice for me to roll with the unexpected while learning some lessons along the way.

Lesson 1: Don’t Assume (You Know What They Say About Assuming, Right?)

In my Bilbao hotel, the shower situation seemed wonky. It was in a small corner in the bathroom which was no big deal. But when I went to open the door, it opened in toward the shower and left barely enough space for me to squeeze myself inside before shutting the door. For the first couple of nights, I found myself wondering how anyone who was any bigger than me would fit. There was no way. Did they pole vault themselves in over the top? Most of my shower time those first days were spent pondering that question. 

On the last night, I grabbed the shower door handle to push it forward and then slipped a little and the shower door went the other direction leaving plenty of space for me to walk in. Yep. That’s right. The shower door opened both directions. I spent my last shower in that hotel room laughing at myself. How many times in life have I done things like that? Making an assumption that the first thing I try is the right way to do it instead of trying the opposite tactic (or at the very least, a different one). 

Lesson 2: Get Creative

On a train from Spain to France, I was sitting next to a man who was reading a graphic novel in Japanese, but he also had his phone open. Puzzled, but not wanting to seem stalker-ish, I ventured a quick glance to see what he was doing. On his phone, he had the same book pulled up in what I guessed was a language he felt confident with. He had headphones on–I’m not sure if he was also listening to it or jamming to his favorite tunes, but I thought it was such a cool way to learn a new language. Learn something new by doing something you love. Another lesson in opening the aperture to different possibilities. 

Lesson 3: TRUST

One of the last legs of my trip took me from Paris to Bruges. Another train ride, with this one connecting through Brussels. When I got off the train to catch the next one, I checked my ticket and asked one of the employees on the platform if she could help me find the train I needed since the train number on my ticket didn’t match any of the departing trains listed on the board. She told me it was the next one coming on the same platform, but I hesitated because that one was going to Amsterdam which was not in the direction I needed to travel. 3 more people later, I finally found someone who looked at the code on my ticket and said, “Yeah, this isn’t going to get you there. Your ticket is for an intercity train. That’s not this one. And I don’t know where it’s leaving from. You’ll just have to check the boards.” With only 5 minutes left to catch it, I could feel urgency pumping through my veins as I scanned the boards. Nothing I could see had my destination, but there was another one going to somewhere else in Belgium and left at the same time as it said on my ticket. It was the best bet, so I grabbed my luggage and raced all the way to Platform 16. Out of breath and wondering if I was even in the ballpark of where I needed to be, I could only hope. Looking at the board on the platform, they finally listed the stops and Bruges was one. It was delayed 8 minutes…I would have made it even if I hadn’t sprinted. 

This particular lesson keeps chasing me down, reminding me to let go and trust. To lean on my intuition and know that I will handle what comes my way.

When I walked back through the door of my home, the oddest feeling came over me—like I was a stranger in my own house.

As my current round of travels have come to a close, I find myself already wanting to buy the next plane ticket to somewhere I haven’t explored yet. I opened Pandora’s Box and there’s no way I’m going to be able to shove everything back inside—and I don’t want to. 

When I walked back through the door of my home, the oddest feeling came over me—like I was a stranger in my own house. I have outgrown my former life. It no longer fits. I was snatched completely out of the hamster wheel of my “normal” life for an extended period of time, and now those patterns that felt slightly uncomfortable before? They feel unbearable now. Instead of feeling like that irritating itch on the back of your neck you get from t-shirt tags, it feels like I’m now wearing clothes made entirely of those same tags.

When I was eating dinner in Lisbon one evening, the server who was taking care of me asked me if it was my first trip to Portugal. I replied that it was, but that I have Portuguese heritage. His eyebrows rose in delight, and then he leaned in and put his hand on my shoulder. “Well then,” he said, “welcome home.” I hadn’t planned on giving my dinner a sprinkling of tears that night, but as I’ve learned…when the tears come, I need to let them be. 

As I’m continuing to reflect on my time abroad, the memory of that moment with the waiter in Portugal keeps coming up, and I think I know why. This trip was another huge step in the returning home to myself. Even if my physical house doesn’t feel like home anymore, I’ve realized I’m at home wherever I go—as long as I’m living in a way that is authentically me.

Exploring Lisbon

Thinking about living the life I want, it sometimes feels like a lonely road. I don’t know a lot of people who want the same type of life I do, but I remind myself that no matter how far the physical distance, I will always be connected to the people I love.

When I was traveling, I messaged a good friend with, “No idea how I’m going to go back to normal life after this.” He replied, “But what if this becomes your new normal life?” As soon as I read what he wrote, I smiled the biggest smile. On my way home, another dear friend messaged me with, “May you be gentle with you and go slow. Everything may look the same as when you left – and yet I have a sense you may not be.”

I keep going back to those wise words from both friends as I try to find my way into whatever this next phase looks like for me. They are another reminder that no matter where I go, the bonds of friendship formed over the years will forever be interwoven into my journey. This is what gives me the courage to keep taking steps forward. To all of the friends in my life who are cheering me on—thank you. Your love and support are helping fuel my feet as I continue to seek out what’s next.

To all of us who are continuing to march toward our own true north, I know it’s hard. Some days, excruciating. But we’ve got this. We really do. So, let’s keep going.

Going Solo (Part 2)

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“If a tree falls in the woods, but no one is around to hear it, did it make a noise?” This feels related to a more relevant question for today: “If we don’t take pictures of our experiences and post them, did they really happen?” (In case you’re wondering? Yes. I realize how old I sound when I say things like that.) 

As I’m traveling, I regularly battle against the desire to take pictures of literally everything. Each time I turn a corner, there is some beautiful sight to behold and the temptation to capture it is so strong. After a couple of days of fighting the urge, I made a deal with myself. I could take a few pictures of whatever I wanted, but then I made myself put the phone away and just stand in the moment. Taking it all in. The light. The sounds. The smells. The feelings. And I let myself say things like “I can’t believe I’m actually standing here looking at this.” I allowed the goodness to wash over me and didn’t move on until I felt ready.

Photography is a favorite hobby of mine, so it’s ridiculously easy for me to get swept up in capturing a moment while forgetting to actually be in the moment. The lesson for me in all of this is to slow down and intentionally be present in my life as much as possible. Much easier said than done—but a worthy cause.

Similarly, I had to resist the pull to see “all the things”. As I walked the streets, a little voice in the back of my mind would whisper, “How can you come to [insert city name] and not see [insert name of famous structure/art piece/park…]? If you’re not seeing those things, are you really doing this trip right?” As the days passed, it became easier to quiet that voice. And the people I met along the way helped me. 

My first impulse was to feel frustration at the unexpected turn of events, but then I realized that my word of intention for 2023 was TRUST. So I trusted. And I’m so glad I did.

About halfway through the train trip from Bilbao to Barcelona, we suddenly ground to a halt. Everyone around me was chattering away in Spanish and I had no clue what was going on. The woman next to me, seeing that I couldn’t understand, opened her phone and typed a phrase into Google Translate to let me know that the delay was likely going to be a long one—at least an hour. 

My first impulse was to feel frustration at the unexpected turn of events, but then I realized that my word of intention for 2023 was TRUST. So I trusted. And I’m so glad I did. That first sentence she typed into Google Translate turned into hours of us typing back and forth to each other—a friendship forged out of what some would deem a misfortune. I learned about where she was from, things she loved to do, and some interests we had in common. When she found out I grew up in California, she said something that I didn’t understand and gestured like she was a gorilla. My quizzical expression sent her back to her phone and she typed “Arnold Schwarzenegger”. I laughed and typed back, “It’s sad to me that’s what people outside the states think of when they think of California,” which then sent us both into a fit of giggles and a handful of Terminator jokes. 

It then hit me that I would need to try and contact the person who was supposed to meet me where I was staying to let me in. It was already going to be a late check-in, but now I wondered how in the world I was supposed to expect someone to stay up past midnight to let me in. His response? “I won’t leave you sleeping in the streets! And remember: there’s nothing to worry about, we are in Spain!” Another lesson in trusting. In believing in the goodness of other humans. In rolling with the moment. Everything has a way of working out—even if it’s not in the way we expect. 

Looking up in La Sagrada Familia

After arriving in Barcelona and getting a good sleep, I found myself in La Sagrada Familia the next day. I had seen it from the outside before, but had never been inside and let me tell you—if you’re questioning whether or not to buy the ticket, DO IT. It was one of the few places I’ve been where my breath was literally taken away when I stepped through the doors. I let myself marvel at every incredible view. As I wondered into each nook and cranny, I found this small area in a back corner with an agent standing at the entrance. He informed me that the space was for meditation, reflection, or prayer and that there were no pictures allowed. I agreed and entered. It was a chapel space with a few pews and only one other person already there—he left soon after I took my seat in the back. My intention was for reflection. I’m not a religious person and trying to meditate in such a spectacular setting felt like it was just setting me up for failure in such a mind-blowingly beautiful place. Good luck not getting distracted, right? 

As I sat there reflecting on my life, and in particular, these last few years—the tears flowed freely. The culmination of the “everything’s” and the intensity of those “everything’s”. Joy. Grief. Pain. Exuberance. Gratitude. All at once. In this transcendent space, I let myself feel it all. A woman walked in a minute later and my first reaction was one of embarrassment until I realized that she was crying, too. She took her seat at the other end of the pew I was sitting in, and we both took in the gorgeous light of the stained glass windows while feeling all the feels. I don’t know anything about her. I don’t know her name or what her life is like. I don’t know why she was crying. But in that moment, I felt inextricably connected to her. After I had processed what I felt like I needed, I got ready to leave. I looked over at her and she looked back at me. Tears still in our eyes, we each placed a hand over our hearts in acknowledgement of the other. A soft smile which was immediately reciprocated. And then I slipped out quietly, not wanting to disturb the rest of her time.

When I’m headed in the right direction, I now have deep clarity about what that feels like. Heart forward. Heart open.

When I finally stepped outside to get one last look at this massive architectural masterpiece, I felt an all-consuming warmth and contentment of spirit—and also a renewed resolve to continue following this path I’m on. Something has clicked in a big way for me on this trip. When I’m headed in the right direction, I now have deep clarity about what that feels like. Heart forward. Heart open.

Yesterday, I caught a train from Aix-en-Provence to Bordeaux and as I was waiting on the platform, three Italian women came and sat next to me, asking me if they were catching the right train. Trotting out the faithful Google Translate, we had a lovely conversation as we waited. When we parted at the transfer in Marseille, the woman I talked with the most thanked me for the chat, wished me a wonderful trip, and kissed me on each cheek with a “Ciao, bella!” and a hearty wave in farewell.

So, in answer to my previous question of “Am I doing this trip right?” The answer is YES. Absolutely. These new friends and moments of true connection mean more to me than any place I’ve visited. Although all of my experiences over the last few weeks will forever hold a special place in my heart, it’s the lovely interactions I will remember most—a vibrant reminder of our shared humanity. What a gift.

Going Solo

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You know that phrase, “Wherever you go, there you are”? That used to hold such a negative connotation for me—as if I had to drag the heavy luggage filled with all of my pain and trauma behind me for the rest of my life with no escape. At some point along the way, I reframed it. It was no longer about fighting against who I am, but embracing it. One of life’s many great ironies.

I began to take each piece of clothing out of that luggage and make friends with parts of myself that I had previously tried to shove out of sight. In grappling with that process, I’ve found a peace and calm in my life that I didn’t think I could have. Does that mean everything’s perfect and I feel like that all the time? No way. It’s an ongoing process. I often have to grab that luggage, sit on the floor, slide the zippers, fling it open, and redouble my efforts to accept all the pieces inside.

To help me take the leap, I planned a trip—a big one.

For most of my life, I’ve been waiting for someone to give me permission to be who I am, to accept myself, and to do the things I know are right for me. Why? Because it feels safer to walk that road…even if it means not living life to the fullest. I’ve decided I’m no longer willing to make that sacrifice. The latest chapter in my story has been asking me to take a different way. To honor my truest self. To craft my own path and write my story in a way that honors my deepest longing.  

To help me take the leap, I planned a trip—a big one. I offered a few different friends the opportunity to join me, but it didn’t end up working out. I wasn’t necessarily planning to do it solo, but something deep down within me knew that it needed to be. As my departure date approached, I found myself feeling grateful. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have imagined doing something like this by myself, but lately, the yearning to explore has continued to knock at the door—louder and louder. And the thought of having the freedom to wander in my own way was eagerly beckoning.

To give myself even more of a challenge to step outside my comfort zone, I booked a few nights in a hostel dorm. I had no idea what to expect, but it has been one of my favorite experiences so far. So many kind humans have crossed my path, willing to share their tips and recommendations and allowing me to return the favor with my suggestions. After hitting it off with one particular dorm mate, we ended up spending the afternoon together on a trip down the river and then grabbed a bite to eat while swapping life stories and travel tales. One of many beautiful moments that will stay with me long after the trip ends.

The evening before, our hostel hosted a folk dancing night. Normally, this is something where I’d sit on the sidelines to enjoy it. But not here. Not only was I invited in, but I genuinely wanted to be part of it. There was so much joy and laughter exploding out of that room as we swung each other around, not caring if we “messed it up”…when we made a misstep, we just laughed harder. I went to bed that night with an incredibly full heart and a huge smile on my face.

So, what’s next? I’m currently on a train speeding through the European countryside watching the sun sink lower and lower in the sky, marveling at the beauty all around me. Not sure what my next few days of exploration will bring—and I don’t need to know. There’s so much joy in stepping off a train into a new town and getting lost in its streets. I have a few more weeks of adventuring to my heart’s content and I’m not rushing any part of it. I’m taking things one hour at a time and delighting in the unknown, which is new for me (but fits all the same). I have met so many wonderful people, and even though I’m traveling solo, I have never once felt alone. 

I know how I want to feel, and for now, that’s plenty good enough. My plan is to keep saying yes.

I’m only a little over a week in and my soul feels like it has been lit on fire in the best way. For the first time in a very long time, I feel completely in my life. This is giving me a small taste of so many things I want more of. I don’t know what the future is going to look like, but I’m okay with that. I know how I want to feel, and for now, that’s plenty good enough. My plan is to keep saying yes. To plane rides. To bus rides. To train rides. To trying new things. To making new friends. To living in other countries. To satisfying that curious wanderer in me. To continue expanding the edges of my comfort zone—all in pursuit of the continued returning home to myself. 

If you’re on the fence about jumping into something you know is right for you, but you’re feeling a little nervous about it, this is your sign. Take the leap. You’re not alone—I’m doing it right alongside you. We can jump together.

The Spark Calls

carissaricci

Looking back, there have been many times when I’ve felt the spark light up. For a good portion of my younger years, I was oblivious to what that felt like when it called. I was heavily shrouded in the plans I had made for my life. With my head under a dark hood, focused only on what I thought I had to do, I plunged forward. Hell-bent on checking off the boxes I thought I should and numb to what my inner self was trying to tell me.

This picture is the first time I can remember feeling and recognizing it. I was on a work trip in Europe. I left my Amsterdam hotel the first morning I was there and went for a walk—not sure what the day would hold and blinded by the exhaustion of the long flight and sleepless night. The sights, the smells, the people, the tapestry of different languages being spoken around me…it was magic. I was completely hooked. Even if I was also so exhausted that it felt like I was simultaneously drunk and hungover (thanks, jet lag), I was completely enamored.

I can’t remember where I heard this quote, but it sticks with me to this day. “I feel most at home when I’m traveling.” That sentiment resonated into my very bones.

I’ve always considered myself to be somewhat of an odd duck. When most of my friends can’t wait to get home after a trip, I’m already jonesing to buy another ticket to somewhere else and hop a flight. I used to think there was something wrong with me. Broken perhaps. But then I started meeting other people who felt similarly and my world opened up. I wasn’t alone. That’s when my practical side started tugging at my pant leg like an impatient toddler. How was I going to be able to support myself in a way that would still allow me to fully explore this part of myself?

So, here I am. Researching and planning for what I can. That’s the easy part. Trust? That’s the hard part. 

As I pondered different potential options, the familiar narratives of, “How in the world are you going to build a future that will allow you to do that?” and “There’s no way that’s possible,” reared their ugly heads. My psyche was doing everything it could to keep me pinned in to the familiar. The comfortable.

This was breaking new ground for me. Anyone who knows me, knows that if I’m passionate about something, I put my full weight behind it and go for it. All out. 100%. So, here I am. Researching and planning for what I can. That’s the easy part. Trust? That’s the hard part. 

This next phase of my life is about learning to trust: myself, my intuition, and that I might have something unique to offer the world. My fear and doubt want desperately to dispute and cast a shadow over all of that, but this isn’t 2008 Carissa or 2017 Carissa—the woman that had shockingly low self-worth and felt most comfortable in the back of the cave hiding under a blanket and white-knuckling it through life. This is 2023 Carissa. She’s a bit of a badass. And unwilling to settle for things that don’t feel right for her anymore. 

Every time I feel those dark corners moving in, I remind myself to keep taking steps forward toward that spark. It has led me out of the darkness before, and I will continue to follow it again and again—until trusting myself becomes as easy as breathing, and I know I’m honoring what’s most true for me.