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http://www.lostinwanderlust.com

Time Out

I'm taking a break from blogging for a hot second to get some life business in order. In the meantime, check out some of my favorite past posts!

A Weekend Away

Tunnel Vision

Copenhagen Says Hello, I Say Goodbye

End of Chapter One

Beautiful, Beautiful Balkans

Are You a Ghost?

Where's Janell?


You can also check out a yoga post I wrote for health and fitness blog, Healthynomics.

And then there were two (Finding lost toys)

I just drove across the country. Well, actually we just drove across the country. I have to get used to using the plural pronoun because now, as it turns out, there are two of us on this little adventure. This is a bit of an adjustment, but one that is infinitely exciting.

Adventuring solo is easy. Yes, showing us in a new city where you barely know anyone, let alone how to get a doctor's appointment, can be a little scary and a lot exhausting, but it's also a test of character and an incredible personal challenge. Which is perhaps why it's so rewarding when you've finally figured out how to use the bus system and where to buy groceries- you've done it, and you've done it all on your own.

So now what? Now that's there's another person along for the ride? What does it mean to adventure as a pair instead of solo?

Well, so far it means expanding my musical horizons to listen to lots of Metallica and Kitsune, compromising on what kind of bread we buy, and attempting to stomach slices of Kraft singles.

It also means being perpetually entertained, laughing until my stomach hurts, and knowing that I've got someone right by my side as I embark on this next step.

In short- it's fun. I've always wanted to have a partner in crime; someone I can travel the world with and who won't drive me completely crazy after 10 days in a car.

We made it here in one piece. Upcoming posts will delve into the ridiculousness of driving from San Francisco via New Mexico and Dallas, but for now, coming to you from our new home and in a Lost in Wanderlust first, Matt will officially introduce this period of adventuring a deux with a guest post about his time in San Francisco.

Check back soon for posts on returning to Los Angeles, staying in a retirement community in Sun City, and skirting the border on the way to floor seats to the Dallas Mavs game.

And now.....Matt speaks

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It was over two decades ago, but the memories of my first trip to San Francisco endure. To set the scene, picture a chubby four-year-old boy with snow blond hair and a raspy, Brooklynese accent. I was on a road trip with my family. Little did I know that I’d soon learn one of the most crucial of life skills: how to tie my shoelaces. Unfortunately, this new achievement of mine came at high costs.

It’s early January 2010 and I have decided to leave London and move to a new city with my girlfriend. Our relationship history can be written on a post-it note but we don’t care. Our detailed minds took care of the logistics and February came and went. Kristen had moved back to the Bay Area for the time being and I was left to tie up my loose ends in London. Time marched on and the big day arrived, 25 March. I condensed my life down to three bags of varying sizes coming in at a combined weight of 37 kilograms. That’s it. Oh, and a round-trip ticket to San Francisco. (Often misinterpreted as an escape plan, but it was the cheapest fare I could find, honest!).

I have been awake for 16 hours and it’s only 3:30 in the afternoon, local time. After a long trans-Atlantic flight I have touched down in SFO and negotiated my way through US Customs at pace. It has been nearly eight weeks since I have seen Kristen. My excitement to see her again was profound but I won’t delve any into it any further than that. I was about to cross a relationship threshold that most shudder to think about; meeting the parents.

Back to my first trip to San Fransisco and the ‘high cost’ of becoming a self-sustaining little boy who can kit up in his new Nike Air Force 1’s (size 3.5, all black). My favourite toy at this age was a simple baseball. Not the seamed hard type but the soft nerf type. It was regulation size and colour though. Leaving fond memories of San Francisco behind my family and I set out on the 101 Northbound and traversed the famed Golden Gate bridge. Mid-way across this huge spanning marvel disaster strikes! My brother throws my baseball out the open window down into the Bay below. My most cherished toy is gone in an instant. The last thing I recall on this trip is screaming at my Dad to stop the car so I can go fetch it, but he drives on. Three long days of driving ahead; new shoes, no ball. Those that were there won’t contest, it was an unpleasant three days.

What does this have to do with meeting my girlfriend’s parents, you ask? Nothing really. They were wonderful and gracious hosts. I can certainly see now where Kristen gets her charm and quick-witted sense of humour. The story of the lost ball is more than just a scarring childhood memory. It is a reminder to me of two things. One, expect the unexpected. It’s a cliche for a reason. Good, bad, or somewhere in between, things happen. Whether there is a reason behind it remains to be seen but either way we are forced to react. Two, protect what is most important. My second trip to San Francisco involved the opposite of loss. I met my girlfriend’s life, head-on; her family, her home, her friends, her city. Thanks to lessons learned from San Francisco past, I will not let this new great thing in my life escape out the window down into the Bay.

Home is where...

I've made a mistake.

The one mistake that you should never make before you head out on a new adventure.

I've gotten comfortable.

Whenever I've previously set out on a somewhat impulsive adventure it's been to escape- escape the predictable day-to-day of a life I had grown used to, escape some sort of personal turmoil that I knew didn't have a chance of following me to the other side of the world, escape my own expectations.

And now? Now I don't feel like I have anything to escape anymore. It's taken awhile, but I now appreciate my home.

And so, taking off to our new city all of a sudden seems more difficult than I had expected. I get attached to people and places easily (we all know this), but this is different. Something about the Bay Area has a hold on me.

The joy I feel walking the streets of San Francisco on a sunny day, or hiking Mt. Diablo, or driving highway 24 at sunset is unsurpassed. This place is inside of me in a permanent, lifelong love affair kind of way.

I know I'll be back, it's just a matter of time.

Now on the other hand, the one thing I have learned over the past few years is that home is also something you carry with you. It's a feeling you create inside yourself. It's the people you surround yourself with, and those you keep in your heart. And so, sometimes, your physical home is less important than the one you have created for yourself. If you carry your home with you, you'll never be homesick.

I'm thankful that my home is brimming with an utterly eclectic mix of people and experiences.

In the kitchen (the heart) is my family, chatting over Sunday dinner.

In one room are my London loves, laughing over pints and sharing gossip.

In the backyard are my oldest, dearest friends soaking up the California sun.

Through the hallways people who have passed through my life at crucial moments mingle, speaking all sorts of different languages and eliciting waves of nostalgia.

At the front door is Matt, the newest addition to my home. The other occupants don't really know him yet- but they're a welcoming bunch so I'm not too worried.

And so, though my physical home is temporarily relocated as I open this new chapter, the doors to the home in my heart are open- and all are welcome.


Image by Jeremy Sutton

Delicious Tedium

I have answered the phone six times today. That’s it. In fact, that’s all I’ve done for the past week and a half. Some days the phone rings more, sometimes it rings less, but on average I would say six is the lucky number.

I’m temping while I’m home as I put together some money and prepare for the big move. And so, for the next few weeks, this is likely to be my life. Now, I’m not complaining. If someone wants to pay me $12 an hour to answer an average of six phone calls a day that is just fine with me.

However, I do seem to be filling the role of “just in case” girl as I sit in a reception lobby that no one passes through. I think I’m here “just in case” someone ever needs someone else to do something, or an extremely important person magically walks through the door, or the entire world simultaneously decides they need insurance this instant and the phone starts ringing off the hook

The other day when the administrative manager was preparing to step of out her office for an hour she fully briefed me on how to evacuate the entire building and all of its employees, “just in case” a four alarm fire broke out and we were all trapped on the first floor of the building while she was gone.

As well as being the “just in case” girl, I’m close to 99% positive that most of the employees think I’m a moron and that answering the phone six times a day is literally all I’m capable of. Amusingly, the same admin manager who instructed me on how to evacuate the building yesterday also bestowed upon me the responsibility of calling building maintenance with a question because she wanted to “give me some experience.”

Now, relating humorous anecdotes about the tediousness of my temp job isn’t really the point of this story. The point is this: I am trying with all my might to accept, and even enjoy, this tedium.

Think about this, how many times have you said to yourself, “If only I had some free time, I would love to do XXX.” I have. Many, many, many times. The issue I’m faced with now is that I, amidst the hours upon hours of free time I find at my disposal while sitting at this desk, cannot bring myself to do much of anything. Instead I play game after game of solitaire (ironic?), all the while telling myself, I’ll quit after I win the next game.

Here’s my problem: I am only motivated to do things when I don’t have the time to do them. I thrive on having a schedule packed so tight that I have to ram as much as possible into any free gaps if I want to get things done. Need to drop something off at the dry cleaners? Well I’ll do that on my lunch break while I grocery shop and call the bank. Want to get some reading done? I’ll do that on the train while I put on my makeup.

Truth be told, a day where all I have to do is take something to the dry cleaners is terrifying; so terrifying in fact that I might not actually do it.

Now, I don’t think I’m unique in this way. I know a lot of other Type-As who are only really truly fulfilled when they don’t have time to breathe. But here’s the thing- this is a trait that I’ve never particularly liked about myself. Yes, I think it’s great that I’m efficient and an achiever, but how do you think I feel when there is nothing to achieve? It makes living in limboland (as I am for the moment) unbearable.

While it’s crucial to have goals and dreams and to be pursuing ideas and challenging yourself, this constant pursuit of achievement that is so prevalent in our culture can only leave us unsatisfied. If you’re always chasing achievement when are you celebrating those things you have already accomplished?

And so it is with me. I have always felt that if I am not achieving I’m just taking up space. That time spent doing anything other than checking something off my to-do list is meaningless. That if I’m not constantly moving towards something, I may as well not be moving towards anything.

In my acting classes in college, I always had trouble being ‘present’. In one movement class in particular, while other students described what they experienced during an exercise, I shared how the only thing running through my head was everything I had to get done after class. Now something similar happens when I practice yoga. Even as I try to quiet my mind little distractions always seem to find their way in, keeping me from enjoying the delicious present.

“When you are open to the present moment,” I once heard in a class, “what comes in, is a gratitude for "what is".

And so? What is?

What is, is that I’m at home in California spending more time with my family than I have in a very long time.

What is, is that it’s beautiful and sunny outside.

What is, is that I answer the phone 6 times a day.

What is, is that I have time to read, and write, and go to yoga whenever I please.

What is, is that is that plans for the move are (almost) sorted.

What is, is that I am loved.

What is, is that I am happy.

And really- isn’t that all there is?

And so we've come to the end...

The past two years have been full of change. As any of you who have been reading this blog from the beginning know, it was started at a time of huge, unexpected change. At a time when I had no idea who I was, or where I belonged, or what I should be doing. And it was that not knowing that set me on the path I have followed for the last while which, though full of twists and turns and roadblocks, has been full of laughs, love, and challenges. To be honest, change has been a theme over these past two years; not just accepting change, but embracing it, loving it, and learning to grow through it.

And I have. I have learned how to take a huge risk without feeling like if I failed I would never recover. I have learned how to find my way in a massive city, in a brand new country, on an entirely unknown continent. I have learned how to build a family out of my friends. And I have learned that I, above all, have final say on every decision in my life and that I can make those decisions by all by myself.

And so, that said, another major life change is about to take place. On Tuesday I will be waving goodbye to the brilliant UK and returning (briefly) once more to the great state of California before jumping once again to land in my new city with Matt.

Why? You ask. Well, the short answer is that my visa has run out, which initially seemed like the worst news in the world to me, but which has now become the biggest, most important step I’ve made so far in my little life.

But before I go, I do have to pay tribute to the city and country that have felt so much like home for the past year.

Living in a city like London means you are living in constant state of motion. I don’t know if I ever really stopped for breath this year, and if I did it was when I was back in California, floating in the pool and wishing I was back in London. Although a year isn’t a long time to live in a city, it’s long enough to plant some roots (baby roots) and start to feel at home. I felt immediately at home in London, and that feeling has only grown during the past year. This city has latched on to me in a way that I didn’t expect, and taken up residence in a very big piece of my heart.

The thing I love about cities (that I love about London) is that anything is possible. I don’t think there’s been a day that’s gone by in London where I haven’t seen or done something new, made a friend, or felt challenged in some way. Even now, after a year, I know I haven’t seen and done everything that there is to do in London. I’ve only had part of the London experience, but it’s been my London experience, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’ve been asked over the last few weeks what I’m going to miss most about London and my life here. And the simple answer is everything. Even crammed rides in the tube and the dismal rainy days have left a lasting impression. But yes, there are a few things that I will feel particularly lost without- for awhile at least. I doubt that I’ll ever spend as much time in the pub as I have here. I’ll never drink as much tea or consume as many biscuits. I’ll never be as delighted by silly British phrases like “off with the fairies” and “bits and bobs”. I’ll never see so many curry restaurants or enjoy so many late night pasties. And I’ll never again be stopped in my tracks as I walk along the Southbank, marvelling at how majestic and beautiful the city I live in is. But when it comes down to it, a city is just a city. And the world is made up of so many more that are worth discovering.

But the thing I will truly miss, that I already miss, is my friends and colleagues, who became my family and without whom I would have been so lost this year. You know who you are, and I hope you know how important you are to me. I would dare to say that this year has been one of most, if not the most, fun year of my life, and that is entirely due to the amazing and adventurous souls I have met here. I’ll always remember incredible nights out at clubs that are too posh for me, scoping out every brunch spot in the city for the best eggs benny, endless hours whiled away in cozy little pubs, very loud and incredibly exciting Friday mornings followed by all day countdowns to Friday night, greasy lunches at the Caf, spring and summer afternoons in the park, Mexican dinners and movie nights, Sunday mornings at Whole Foods, and dance parties, always dance parties. You are all irreplaceable and I will miss you dearly. But I know it’s not the end, you’re lifers in my book.

Much love to this wonderful city and everyone who has been part of my life here. And as my grandma always says, “We won’t say goodbye, we’ll just say so long.”

A Weekend Away

“Miss Kristen Scott and Mr Matt Kennedy from Macmillan Cancer Support…”

I am being announced into dinner.

I am wearing a ball gown, I can’t stop giggling, and I am being announced into dinner.

Matt gives me a look that calms me down and we enter the ornate dining room of the Blackpool Imperial hotel, arm in arm, to the applause of two hundred formally clad members of the British Amusement Catering Trade Association.

I know you’re thinking, “why”? Kristen, why did you dig out your senior prom dress and head up to the seaside community of Blackpool to spend an evening with middle aged gambling and gaming centre proprietors and their spouses?

Because, as someone I know often says, “It’s a lifestyle.”

And in fact it is, from time to time. BACTA and its members are one of Macmillan’s corporate partners and routinely hold glamorous events, the proceeds of which go to help people affected by cancer across the UK. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, I get invited.

Now, it may not be the Metropolitan Museum Costume Institute Gala or the Bridge School Benefit, but when else would you get the chance to meet the Mayor and Mayoress of Blackpool, be announced into dinner with your “partner”, and seated at the VIP table as if you were some hot shot, instead of a 24-year-old displaced charity worker with a confusing North American accent? Where else would you see grown men and women pelting each other with styrofoam balls shot out of pea shooters? Or walk away from the tombola raffle with a 13” TV, a remote control car and a set of watercolours? I don’t think the Bridge School Benefit offers any of that.

This evening was actually only the beginning of one of the most memorable weekends I’ve had in the UK.

After Matt and I left the rag tag streets of Blackpool we headed up north to the Lake District, where we were fortunate enough to have been lent the use of a rustic lakeside cottage for the weekend. Teeming with lush green hillsides and tucked away little pubs, it is the perfect place to disappear for a few days.


We were warned ahead of time that we should expect it to be very very cold. As it turned out, the cottage was several degrees colder than the outdoors and we were forced to put our industriousness to the test to heat up the space. As there were a finite number of space heaters in the house we could only heat two rooms, the living room and the bedroom. And so by 5pm we had arranged four space heaters in something of a semi circle around an ancient love seat, and were tucked under a duvet watching a VHS of L.A. Confidential like two geriatrics.

By all accounts, the weekend could have gone terribly terribly wrong. Blackpool is not much in the way of a UK “destination” city and the Lake District, while beautiful, is a challenge to get to without a car and on par with Scotland as far as “bracing” temperatures go. It could have gone terribly wrong, but it didn’t. And here’s why: I don’t think I ever stopped smiling.

Now, I’m not one to go into great detail about my personal life on this page. Yes, I share some thoughts and philosophise a bit from time to time, but I don’t usually share much actual information, partly because I’ve tried to stray away from making this blog an online diary and have instead tried to use it to share some important moments from the last year and a half.

So here’s the rub. This weekend, this moment that I’m describing, crosses the line, because even though on the surface it was just a weekend away, it was really much much more. It was the weekend I fell in love.

Surprised? Me too. But isn’t that when love is at its best? When it sneaks up behind you and holds you in a bear hug or when you catch it in the middle of a silent dance party with a can of Pringles?

And so there it was, the weekend that would likely have been a disaster with anyone else but instead began at a ridiculous ball, was spent playing killer scrabble games, enjoying sneaky pints, and running back and forth between the unheated rooms of the cottage screaming from the cold, and ended at a train station where neither of us could say goodbye.

And the best part? This adventure was just the beginning...