TRUMP.

Yesterday was (beyond) a weird day for me.

It began the way I expected if I'm honest: I woke up before my alarm went off at 7AM. I scrolled through the notifications on my phone. I had almost no reaction as I read, without the exact details to back up what I knew just by glancing, the "Oh God. Please, God. No." Statuses. The sob emojis. The ".... You are *bleeping* kidding me." And then, from my trader friends attempting to make sense of the news and the immediate global economic turmoil, "WTF did you DO, America?!?!"

I read through them all. Facebook has conveniently filtered all of my newsfeed to omit absolutely any and all Trump-supporter statuses (something I am grateful for, in my need for self-protection). I shook my head a lot. I paced back and forth in my pajamas and slippers discussing with Bruno what this could mean for the next four + years. I mean, sure, I have the option to stay in Europe for at least 5 years at the moment, but I am an American, with deeply American roots, and my family is there. I have always wanted the option of confidently returning to my country without wondering what swift and unfriendly changes are in store for me, my partner and any subsequent family I bring back with me. That option has dimmed significantly in the wake of the past 48 hours.

These are not dramatic things to wonder about at this point. History has shown the way these current trends tend to go down. There's a perfectly understandable reason people are having straight up panic attacks in the States right now. But, I'm not going to convince my cousins and friends who voted for Trump to see reason. I'm done quoting his boasting about grabbing women inappropriately. I just wonder how ANY of my Christian friends could see this man as a worthy leader. We really aren't discussing Hillary anymore -- this is a sinful, disgusting, dangerous man and people I respect and love unconditionally voted him in. That is the fact that I am struggling to understand. And these same people have been chuckling and bragging and jeering about this without taking into account how freaking terrified we are -- and for good reason.

But I decided to calm down somewhere around 11AM yesterday when I realized that the world is continuing to turn, regardless of this outcome. I went to work. I had to go to the bank, handle paperwork regarding my Visa, email many of my wonderful friends and colleagues here. 

I practiced music. I studied for my Dutch class in Amstelveen. With each vocabulary word and grammar lesson, I felt a knot releasing in the pit of my stomach. I took some deep breaths and turned off my facebook notifications (something, let's face it, all of us needs to do this week.) 

I ended the evening at a football stadium watching the Netherlands and Belgium duke it out in a friendly game, shivering in my jacket and scarf next to Bruno and waving a Dutch flag while donning a Belgian scarf (my loyalties are a little bit mixed over here guys...) I watched the pride around me, the unbelievable excitement and joy and support. I kept thinking about my home country and how strange it is that they are so torn right now. So many of you are spewing hate because you have full reign to now. Because you feel you have something to prove. So many of you are burning American flags and insulting each others' education levels. 

Where does that get anyone? And look, I'm just as guilty. I posted several things out of anger and frustration that would undoubtedly offend Trump supporters. It's just that I don't understand voting for a man like this. I would honestly love to hear why people did this. We all are stuck with him now, so fill me in, please.

But judging by the belligerence I keep seeing from the Trump supporters I DO know, I won't like what I hear. I don't understand hating on a single race of human being at this point in our evolution. I don't understand telling someone that he or she should not be allowed to marry whomever their heart desires. I don't understand taking away a woman's right to choose what to do with her body. Trump HAS threatened these things. It isn't media gossip. He has said these words. But it seems like everyone who supports him has nothing to say about these enormous issues. Clearly, I do not understand those that support this person, and I'm unlikely to no matter what they explain to me. 

But I know that burning flags, staining walls with Swastikas and cursing each other out on facebook walls is only going to bring devastation to everyone, and my anger and frustration does nothing to help.  

So, I have to focus back on my present right now. Tonight I am grateful for Holland. For peace, and a port in the storm. For the number of people who chuckled kindly to me yesterday and patted me on the back. To the man at the bank who recognized my urgency when I asked for help figuring out a detail to my Visa so I can work in the Netherlands more this coming year. I am grateful to the family I have here.

 I have no clue what is in store for my future as an Expat, a woman, and an American citizen. Right now it feels uncertain and more than a little terrifying. But all any of us can do right now is take stock of where we are right this minute, who we are with, and what we plan to do about it.

WHAT SCARES YOU?

I feel like the biggest dork here in Amsterdam with my fuzzy cat ears and obsession with Halloween decorations because really, no one is full-on Halloween in these parts. I mean, I'm sure there is some ridiculous and terrifying party going on midtown and I definitely saw a lot of Amsterdam Dungeon ads flying around on Saturday, but in general I have to admit I'm missing the States with this one. I'm missing my parents and their decked out house, covered in spooky lanterns and cobwebs. I miss the little trick-or-treaters ringing the doorbell every few minutes, and having to stock up on jumbo-sized bags of fun-sized 3 Musketeers and Snickers bars. I miss it all, but it's been a pretty amazing fall here in the 'buurt I am still lucky enough to be living in.

Halloween always draws my attention in to many abnormal facets of life: horror films, haunted houses, ghosts (although I definitely ponder the existence of spirits in my regular life, I admit), and fear in general. I find it kind of fantastic that we have a holiday on this planet dedicated - as it was so intended in the beginning or not - to scaring ourselves and others. We willingly sit down to watch films that make us jump out of our skin and sleep with a light on. We feel entertained by painting ourselves into walking gremlins and zombies, or feeling our way through pitch-dark haunted houses where costumed actors jump out at us and make us shriek.

Or.... some of us do that - I used to, but have grown into one big fat wuss in my recent years.

Still, a focus of the holiday is on the things that we technically spend a lot of time shunning. We embrace the ghosts, demons, and evil forces that make us shiver and hide and stare them right in the eyes, wanting to see what else they will reveal to us. I'm sure there is a whole sociological school of thought behind this (one of them being that Hallmark is a brilliantly successful company), but I think it goes back to something primal: survival. Instinct. Growth.

When I was a kid, I loved nothing more than telling scary stories around campfires during the summer. I loved this, and I don't know why because I was the first one to knock on my parents' door at 3 in the morning, scared crapless by whatever story someone had just told about an old witch who pickled peoples' fingers and would come tickle you with them in the middle of the night. (Psh, a whole lot of inappropriate in THAT story, told to me when I was 6....)

That hasn't changed a lot as I've grown - but the stories have changed a lot. The scary stories have more to do with things that scare us as adults. My Student Loan payments. What will happen to me as I get older if I don't go after _____ dream. If that person who hurt me in the past could ever somehow hurt me again. If my relationships are strong. If I am a good person. I find myself talking about fears pretty much every day, in one form or another. But the talks aren't nearly as fun as they were when the topics were possessed Jack-o-lanterns. I don't laugh about them the way I used to when I was little, telling the ghastly tales from my 'Goosebumps' collection, which was extensive.

No, instead, I shake. I quiver. I try to feign confidence and I find myself all but freaking out internally. "No but, really, what if they don't like me? What if I fail?" The more I talk over the fears, the stronger they feel - as if they are drawn into the presence of the room, and made a reality.

Obviously I am exaggerating this to illustrate a point. That point being - why do we do this? Why do we make our fears, which are unlikely to take shape and arguably (often) just as ridiculous and far-fetched as the "Paranormal Activity" script? What would happen if we told the stories the way we did around campfires, rather than the way we would in a business meeting, going over every last potential detail? What if we (gasp) laughed at our fears the same way, instead of letting them come alive in the moment?

I will admit that a lot of my life has been dampened by fear. I know I'm not alone. But, it is my mission to embrace the fears, look at them for entertainment value, laugh with most of them (because mine can be nothing short of silly), and even enjoy them as I watch them rise up and fade away. 

So this Halloween, I go forth turning my insecurities about myself as a human into campfire stories, told with a flashlight under my face, and over-dramatized to make the crowd gasp. But that is as far as they will go, and the serious conversations will be reserved for the goodness that is my reality. 

I hope you will join me.... 

Amsterdam Half Marathon!

OKAY
I know there is an immense culture out there of people who just casually run half marathons, marathons and triathlons like it's normal. It's not. But I have great respect for all of you crazy people.

This weekend was the annual Mizuno Amsterdam Half Marathon 2016, as well as the full Amsterdam Marathon and I think a 10K that took place ... that same day.

This meant that Amsterdam became as crowded and crazy as a normal afternoon would be in New York City. In Netherlands-terms that means it was I.N.T.E.N.S.E.

I had prepared for several months before this event, but still, truthfully, did not feel very ready for it on the day of. The reason I decided to go for it goes back to March of this year, when I realized I was regularly running 10km + every time I would go out for a jog. I was stressed out, homesick, and overwhelmed at the time, and there was something about running and just going until I ran out of time on my afternoon breaks that felt unbelievably therapeutic. I have been a regular runner for years now, but running long distances was something completely new.

Years before, I rode in the Ride for Missing Children, a charity I am absolutely crazy about that takes place in New York State every fall. That was a 100-mile bike ride that I did with my Dad back in 2013, and adored every mile of. But since then, most of my sports events have been private training or running in 5Ks here and there - and one back in January with Bruno, Nike, and Kevin Hart. So, although I've been active and I don't think I've gone more than a week or two without training my body in some ways, running 13 miles was a much bigger challenge to me.

Anyway, Bruno encouraged me to join him for the half marathon back in July, and I signed up thinking "Why not!??! I can totally do that!" Since it was many months ahead of time, I had relentless confidence in my capabilities and planned all of the pizza and beer we would have in celebration already. We spent the summer going for runs with each other and also in the States with my family (he fared much better than I did in that heat and with the elevation. Holy crap, the Netherlands are flat.) Then, about two weeks ago, we ran about 15 kilometers to prepare.

In total I would say my training was: one very long run a week (maybe twice, depending on various factors such as time, health, energy levels, how angry I was about something that day, and so on...), usually 10K or more. Then a shorter run (5-7K) 2 or 3 times a week around that. I would stretch as much as I could think of, and had the worst kind of appetite ever. I couldn't stop eating. I mean that.

Two days before the main event, on Friday, I started drinking as much water and coconut water I could get my hands on. I did not stop hydrating. I went to pick up my bib and Bruno's, checked us in (something I didn't even know we could do. That was cool). And took a 2 mile walk through Amsterdam.

The night before, we ate pasta with chicken and broccoli, and attempted to get lots of shuteye... only to find out around 10:30 that we, and Bruno's upstairs neighbor, were all locked IN to the apartment building.

... And so began the most annoying chaos of all time.

Quick Back story: Bruno lives in a neighborhood that is surrounded by small shops, and not many apartment buildings. His apartment and his neighbors' are built just above a line of shops, and we have to access his apartment building through an alleyway behind these stores, until you reach the main door. The alley is often filled with random stuff, tons of bikes (there are bars around too, and I have a suspicion people just tuck their bikes away in there because it's easiest), and random odds and ends from the stores next to us. There is a main door you must unlock, go up the stairwell, and then you're at Bruno's door to his place. It doesn't feel unsafe, however there have been some strange theft issues (bikes going missing) in that alleyway, and we noticed someone seemed to be hacking at the sides of the main door and tampering with the lock. So, a door further into the alley way was put back in use, a lock was built for it, and we automatically had an extra level of security.

Then, ten days later (on Saturday night), that extra lock broke. None of us could unlock it with our keys no matter what we did. We threw ourselves at the door, called for help, and then waited about three hours until the Emergency Locksmith arrived to drill out the lock and set us free. That was at 1:30AM. He charged Bruno an arm and a leg and we angrily went to sleep by 2AM. We will never use that door or lock again, since there is an obvious fire hazard and, well, it didn't work out for us in the end anyway. TO PUT IT MILDLY.

The next morning, I was amazed when Bruno enthusiastically woke me, unable to hide his excitement about the half marathon and pumping me up. He hauled my grumbling butt out of bed, we made banana pancakes, and away we went to the Olympic Stadium to show off our Forrest Gump skillz!

Made these from scratch! I will link this recipe soon!

This was overwhelming. I was nervous. I was excited. It was warm, and sunny, and SO CROWDED. I am 5' tall, and the average Dutch person is about 6' (THE AVERAGE DUTCH PERSON), so mostly I saw butts and backs and elbows until we were finally off.

The best part of the run was by far the first 10 kilometres. Every few minutes we passed another silly-costumed DJ blasting music at us, pumped our fists in the air and cheered and kept on running. Bruno and I were in the Green section, which was supposed to be a 6 minute Km. He can easily make this time or faster when he runs, but I generally run about 6.5 / km, so I was a little nervous to be there. But the adrenaline and music meant that I started booking it way faster than I should have, and we were running at about 5:15-5:30 per kilometre for the first 10K.

At about 12K, though, I started to get tired. We had hydrated like crazy ahead of time, and they had cups of water and gatorade, as well as bites of power bars to grab, every 5K or so... but I noticed the music stopped and we were just... running. For a realllyyyyy long time, it felt like. And uphill, which I was not expecting. But okay, what's another 9K when you're used to running 15K for long runs?? I was enjoying the sun, the views, the cheers from the crowd and the bleeping noises that would happen every time we ran past the scanners that took our bib numbers (this way, my Mom at home could actually SEE my and Bruno's times every time it scanned us!) I was tired, but we kept going, and I was bound and determined to make it at least to 16 before I would stop for any reason.

So, we made it to 15K, at which point I felt sure I was going to collapse. My time had slowed down, but we were still running, and I got a burst of adrenaline when I realized we only had 6 K to go, which was a typical short run for me. I had to laugh when we went past a spectator who had made a sign that read "Bet it feels like 6 months to you!"
...Yes. Yes it did.

We made it to the last 3 K, and the route went into Vondelpark at this point. Bruno had told me before we started that by the time we got to Vondelpark, we were basically done with the run as it is so close to the Finish line. But let me tell you this: by this point, even 1 kilometer felt impossible to me. I suddenly turned into the raging version of myself, angry that it was taking so damn long for one kilometer to end and that this whole freaking run is uphill!!!!!

Bruno would cheer me on: "You're amazing!! Give me a high five!! You are going to complete it!" And I would scream back at him "STOP IT, WE AREN'T DONE YET, THIS IS NEVER ENDING, MAKE IT STOP!!!!" I then tried to walk, in my delirious state, and he did not let me. I'm not sure how he talked me off of that ledge, but he did, and I kept going, hating the world, my body and everyone around me.

I will note that at this point in the run, many many people were going down. I was shocked to see this, because you don't often hear about it, but there were several people around us who were way beyond their capacity and could not handle the stress anymore. One man collapsed on the side of the road beside Bruno, and when Bruno helped him up the look on his face was one of blank confusion. I hope he stopped the run at that point - it is never worth hurting yourself to cross a finish line.

I realized that I was doing okay, my breathing was fine and even though my legs were killing me, it was not that bad and 1 KM was too short a distance for me to walk unless I absolutely had to. So, we finished, crossed the finish line, and I burst into hysterical laughter and immediate apologies for all the angry I had thrown at Bruno for the last laps. We finished with:

21.60 Kilometers

TIME : 2 hours and 18 minutes. 

(My original goal was to finish in 2 hours 30!)

It was a great feeling, and a very cool accomplishment, and then we limped our way home with our medals, bananas and gatorade and stuffed our faces in pajamas on the couch.

I will say, I look forward to doing it again next year mainly for the psychological aspect of it all, as well as the awareness of how important it is to truly pace yourself. I think I would have enjoyed the run much, much more if I had taken more time in the beginning 10 Km, but I was so excited and adrenaline-fueled at the time that it just didn't work like that this time.

There is a huge difference, once completing 21 Km, because now that number is not as scary to me and I honestly think if I train the same way next year, I could get a better time. But for now, I plan to do yoga, nap a lot, and avoid running altogether for at least the rest of this month.

Yay!!! :)

Thank you to all of you who supported the day of, and who inspire me to live a fit, active life, and of course as always to Bruno, who is the ultimate coach and the best team mate I could ever ask for in life.

Ways to Relax.

This blog takes on a tone of its own depending on what my life is doing, I've noticed, so I figured I might as well roll with the way life is right now and post about something very near and dear to my heart: 

Chillin the *bleep* out. 

Stress has shown up in my life in many different ways: First and foremost, insomnia. If there is something on my mind, I will lie awake and toss and turn as if I just drank three espressos. From insomnia (and lowered immunity due to the stress itself), I will catch a cold. Depending on my level of stress and exhaustion, that cold can sometimes linger for weeks or turn into something much worse. 

I would not by any means describe my life in Amsterdam as stressful, however events do arise no matter where I am in the world that impact me like anyone else. In January, my grandfather passed away on my birthday, which was painful enough to deal with while living so far from my family. Then,  in the immediate weeks and months following, I went through a stressful and aggravating (annoying) personal issue with someone in my life at the time that made me feel powerless, insecure and overall miserable. I had a very difficult time sleeping and developed a chest cold that lasted weeks, made me lose my voice, and eventually led to my being out of the game for over a month. There is a lesson to be learned here, big time: life should never have to be put on hold due to stress. 

So during that time, I decided to learn how to protect myself from the toxic energy that can arise as a result of these circumstances. In my opinion (and experience), it is a choice to let ourselves lean into the negativity. But sometimes we're just too damn exhausted or overwhelmed by the issues at hand to combat them with our otherwise badass mentalities. 

Since I was in Europe, I decided to stop laying in bed feeling sick all the time, and I got out there. I spent a weekend taking care of myself - whatever that meant to me at the time - and ignoring my cell phone, my worries, and the list of things I "should get to." I had the apartment to myself, a rare thing, and I hopped on the tram with my ear buds in, setting out into the center of Amsterdam without much of a plan except to enjoy myself. I wandered to Museumplein where the Rijksmuseum and Van Goh Museum are, and then headed towards Spui - an area filled with shopping, coffee shops, cafes (there's a big difference here, by the way), and grabbed some coffee while I wandered. I wound up heading home with a couple of Lush "Bath Bombs", a bottle of wine, some veggies from Albert Heijn and a plan to fully relax that evening. By the end of the weekend I had pampered, Netflix'd, and cooked myself into a completely different human and I was ready to hit the ground running the very next week with a new lease on life.

I made it my mission after that dark winter month to find ways, no matter what, of keeping myself grounded and removed from stress and anxiety. I was seeing the negative impact that had on my overall wellbeing. I saw the repercussions in my interactions with the humans in my life - both big and tiny (I babysit for my friends' kids every week). I watched my energy decline in my runs, yoga sessions, and especially in my singing. In the past, being busy (and even stressed) was always something people bragged about when they were supposedly doing really well in their ambitions. But I realized that, for me, this significantly cut down my productivity and made me a pretty pathetic human being. So, no more. 

And, if I still have your attention, here are some of my standby ways of relaxing - no matter how stressful life gets:

Pillows and Tea are not on this list, although they are a good place to begin.

Do Not Try To Figure It Out Right Now.

This may be controversial - but it works for me, so I'm going to put it down in the first spot. 

Whenever stress hits - be it due to some crisis in your life, a build up of way too many things going on, a personal relationship giving you grief or financial struggle (or all of the above) - we tend to want to fix it immediately. At least, I do. I want to find solutions, resolve everything, understand what went wrong, basically dissect the crap out of what is happening instead of waiting for solutions to pop up. 

On one hand, this is a good thing. It's never great to be complacent and allow unhealthy situations to perpetuate themselves in our lives. Being action-oriented has never failed me. But sometimes, the solution just isn't available immediately and trying to put out every single fire is not possible. Focusing in on all of the things going wrong is going to undermine your confidence, potential to find the right  solution, rather than just the quickest, and can build up longterm depression. 

So, just for a day or two, (unless there is a life-or-death situation on the line), give it a rest. You do not have to break up with that person immediately if you are feeling on the fence and confused - and frankly, you shouldn't if you are in that state anyway. You do not need to apply for a loan at the bank this very second if you're not sure of all the numbers and figures. You can decide to quit your job next week. Or, you can meet with your boss when you're in a better mindset to go over what is going wrong at your job tomorrow. But today, just temporarily, stop the thoughts from flowing. Do whatever it takes to find a release from the worries. Turn off your cell phone. Meditate. Go for a run or to a yoga class. Decide to go to bed three hours earlier. Cancel any plans with others (unless seeing people will help distract you from your worries for a little while). Whatever will help you let go, do it. (Without going overboard or harming yourself with drugs and alcohol).

Clean (or meditate).

Again, this is my list. So just go with it, please. ;)

All my life (or, the last three years), I have tried to meditate as often as I can remember to. I see an immediate difference if I do - the fog lifts, I feel grounded in my body, and I generally find it easier to pick apart the negative thoughts from the positive ones and clear up whatever is bothering me much faster. But to be completely honest with you: It's not my favorite way to calm down. When I'm at 9 on a scale of 1-10 (10 being my head is exploding), it's very hard for me to find the quiet within myself to shrink down to a 3 or 4. I still have that restless energy. I still need to do something. 

I have often said that the state of my room reflects the inside of my head. So, I clean. I will get every rag we have out, with all of our cleaning products. I will toss clutter into trash bags, take every item off of table tops and other various surfaces, and wipe them down, scrubbing at any stubborn spots. Any dish not inside a cupboard or the dishwasher will be tackled with a sponge and dish soap until it is put safely home again. I'll do all my laundry and vacuum and mop the floors. This becomes meditative for me: I put on music (usually instrumental), and focus on the previously cluttered or messy spaces now clearing up - each item of clothing, paper or dish being removed and placed somewhere better. As I do this, I not only begin to feel calmer, but I also feel re-energized to get back to work the next day, waking up in a house that is organized, cleaned from top to bottom and ready for my work mode. 

Honestly, this ritual just makes me feel like an adult again. Like I have my ish together, and don't need to be stressed about any additional challenges in my life. In the end, I'll usually light a candle or go buy a blanket to throw on my bed and sink into the relief of the new home. While being clean in general is normal, going through the house like this is a different practice, and one I use as often as I can.


Write.

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that I use this one the most. It helps, but there is a caveat: Know when to stop writing about the problems you are facing.

I use this in a variety of ways. I have many drafts in these bloggers (I have two accounts, as you may have noticed from my page if you were curious enough to look that far :) ), most of which I do not ever post. I sit down to type whatever strikes me once or twice a day when I have a break to drink some tea and answer emails. It has become a therapeutic practice unlike any other. Sometimes, I will glance back over the drafts and pull one up, edit it for public use, and post it here. But most of the time, Blogger is a place for me to dump ideas, thoughts, or worries. 

Then, there is the "real" writing: by hand, on whatever paper I can get in the moment. This method is used for those times when I cannot get a thought out of my head and need to physically take it and put it down and forget about it. Whenever I've had worries about things I just simply cannot control, this has worked best. Left a message for my boss about something that needed help asap, and haven't heard back yet? Let it go. Use real writing as your practical technique for handling a situation. 

My favorite thing to do when faced with a major issue in life is to make a 'Solution Map'. This works as follows:

Top of the page: The Problem. (Example: "I can't find a job.") Circle your problem so that it is surrounded by a bubble (a thought bubble, if you will), then draw about 5-10 lines downward. Beneath each of those vertical lines, write a possible solution to the main problem. (Such as: "Contact three professionals I know today who can help me get a leg up" or "Update Linkedin and bookmark positions I am interested in", etc. ) Encircle those with bubbles, too.  Then from each of those, more vertical lines. These are your Action Items. (For instance: Under "Contact three professionals I know..." you can write their names and email addresses and a time you will email them that day, to hold yourself accountable.)

This starts to show you what your next steps are to conquering your problem, or - as frustrating as it may be - it will show you if you simply don't have control of this one, and the only real Action Item is to wait. For me, it gives permission to let go when I otherwise want to control, change, and impact the result. Sometimes I can't. Sometimes it takes going to the effort of mapping out whatever is possible before I come to that conclusion. No matter what, if I do this, I start to feel better.

Back to the earlier point: with journaling- both online and by hand- there comes a point where you need to stop focusing on the problems. You perpetuate your own reality as much as you want to. If you're unhappy about the same thing and keep writing or talking about it, it is going to stay put as a worry in your life. That can make it very hard to move on. A good way to go is to simply write it down and decide that it is out of your hands, except for the action items you have given yourself. If it's an emotional issue, you decide how much processing time you want to give it. Try to keep it moving rather than rooted in the same cycle. You should be able to look back at your writing and see progression and growth, rather than be dragged back into darkness. 

Move.

For me, moving means getting my butt out there - running by the river, or jumping on the tram to the center of Amsterdam to see some canals and grab some street food and a coffee and shake myself out of my own funk.

On the rarest of rare occasions, moving meant literally moving. I was unhappy where I was living, or in the job I was in, and felt like I absolutely had to leave in order to get out of that negativity. I didn't do this until I had vetted all other options (using the above method of Solution Mapping),  but at least one of my major moves in life (moving to New York City after Graduate School, for instance), came from this. I was ready to move on and start a new chapter.

On a smaller scale, however, moving can be something as simple as packing up and going to a new apartment or neighborhood in the town you live in. It can be similar to "Clean", above, where you take all of your items and move them to new homes in your house - or outdoors. 

As a travel lover, with extreme wanderlust, TRAVELING always seems to do the trick. Living in Europe is the best place for me, because the fact that I can hop on a train and spend an afternoon in Lille, France, is pretty amazing to me and helps me get a whole new perspective on life. It doesn't have to even be that far; your own State or town has sights to see. Go for a hike in woods nearby. Take a 20 minute jog. Drive across town, making sure to blast the right music and go by places you like to see. Find a way to inspire yourself and get out of your rut. It's a choice - stay rooted, or move. I almost always pick move.

Make Over.

This is really dependent on you and whatever way you lean. For some, this can be a typical makeover - getting a facial and doing your nails, buying new clothes, whatever you can think of.

For me, this usually is more of a spiritual practice. Whenever I feel a lot of negative energy, I know there is something out of whack in me. Either something major has happened to cause it, or I'm not taking care of myself a certain way. I'm not taking the time to adapt and change to the current environment, and I am looking at the past with longing. I've been thinking a lot lately about a quote I heard (and cannot remember where) that goes "Adapt or die." It was probably in regards to evolution - how we, as a species, need to adapt to the new conditions of our planet or risk dying out. I believe this applies to our evolution on personal levels as well. 

How much of your stress is learned, for instance? Are you really scared about having enough money, or are you getting by just fine and allowing your nerves to be frayed over your budget because it is a habit you've perpetuated through the years? Were your parents so obsessed with making enough money while you were growing up, that being nervous about finances was the norm and therefore being calm about it is not something that comes naturally to you? 

Did you know that it can become something you're relaxed about, rather than scared or anxious? Because that is a choice. No one is putting you in handcuffs. You have a roof over your head. You have the internet in some form, because you are reading this. You can change this side of yourself.

For years, I have let myself be controlled in some way by everyones' opinion of me. At work, especially as a musician, this dictated what I did from one day to the next. I would select the pieces of music I believed would impress others, even if I didn't particularly like singing them. I would spend 12 hours checking emails and attempting to put fires out left and right on the job, even if I was the only one really noticing my work - and was not actually making progress anywhere (especially not in my own sanity). I would always try to hang on to what I had learned was expected of me, rather than growing in an honest way - allowing myself to adapt and change as some circumstances no longer worked for me. The result was - you guessed it - utter failure, and me crumpled up in my bed wondering why I couldn't get anywhere in my life. (This is an overdramatization. But you get the gist).

Maybe I don't sing the way I did when I was 28 anymore. That's okay, because I don't want to be that person anymore either. I'm different. I've learned new languages, new repertoire and new and interesting pieces of music. I've walked in new lands and met new faces. Maybe I don't look the same as I did then. Maybe I can't eat the same foods, or budget my time in exactly the same way. Maybe I am just different now, and I can resist that, or I can evolve.

I think that, by the age of 30, most of us are a combination of habits we developed in our upbringing and school (and work), and the other side of us that is entirely genuine and unique, always open to what comes next. THAT is the side I think needs more attention. Half the time, when I am very stressed about a particular subject in my life, I come to the conclusion that I'm worried about it mainly because it's an area I have always reacted to in stress, without knowing why exactly. A bear is not usually chasing me down the street, so my stress reaction isn't (most of the time) a protective response to my environment, saving me from dire straits or imminent danger.

So how does this have to do with a "makeover"? Simple, really: You've always whined about not having a boyfriend? So, stop. Decide right now that you're going to enjoy what you have, keep trying to live the good life you are living and put yourself out there. And if you meet someone amazing and fall in love, awesome. And if you don't, at least you're not like everyone else, stressing about having a boyfriend. You're making something of your life, which is, by the way, going to run with or without a man by your side. 

If you're scared about finances, you're unlikely to actually make any moves towards improving it. So, find a way to make over your outlook. Stop getting scared, start getting motivated, and look for ways you are wealthy already. They're there - you're just too busy looking at what you do not have.

Obviously I'm not saying that you cannot react to real problems in life with stress and worry; but life is always changing and evolving. It will never stop doing so. You can get a lot further riding the wave than fighting it in the undertow. 

These are (some) ways I find work for me, and there are hundreds more that come with the territory. If you've read them all, hope they help a little. Happy relaxing.

Did 9/11 Traumatize This Whole Generation?

I've thought about this a lot throughout the years. I know how 9/11 changed my life; my perception of safety, my innocence, and my level of patriotism. But I wonder about the rest of my colleagues and friends. Those who weren't lucky that day; who lost someone they loved.

The other night, Bruno and I watched the movie "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close." I shouldn't review the movie here, although I will say it gave good performances but was otherwise a very flawed movie and padded its impact with some horrific details of that day. I actually felt somewhat emotionally assaulted afterwards, and in my opinion, they used the events of 9/11 to draw a crowd to see the movie. It didn't really honor the subject matter at hand, and I found myself confused and annoyed more often than not. But, I digress (that wasn't the point of this blog post)...

Bruno fell asleep shortly into the movie, and I decided to watch it to the end (hoping it would improve), dragged us both off to sleep after, and then sat up in bed for about two hours, haunted by my own memories of 9/11 and trying to shut out the thoughts of "what must that have been like for victims..?".

Turns out, movies depicting that day fall into the same category, for me, as "Saw" or any Holocaust movies: just don't go there.

I remember that day too vividly. Or, actually, what I remember most are my feelings about it at the time, the way so many memories work. I was 16 years old and starting my Junior Year of high school, just a few months before my family and I were set to move to Albany, NY. It was a hectic time.

I felt confused when my gym teacher told the group as we left class at 9AM that, "a plane crashed into the WTC". What was the WTC, again? World Trade Center... that's right, I had a cousin who worked there - a lot of my Dad's side of the family lived near New York City. But, being about 7 hours away in Baldwinsville, New York, I felt like that was a different country.

At the time I remember thinking, "wow that's an insane plane crash, I wonder if the pilot fell asleep?" Or something along those lines.

They made an announcement on the PA System, saying nothing more except: "We will keep you informed." I still didn't get it. I guess a huge part of me was trying to enjoy the day (which was, famously, one of the prettiest days of the year), and cling to my innocence as something much bigger than I'd ever experienced in my lifetime started to unfold.

By the time I got to my Social Studies class, I knew something was going on, because it was extremely quiet, and incredibly tense. My teacher started the hour by saying, "I am not going to comment on what is happening right now, because I don't have enough information, but let's try to get through class." This sentence let me know:

Something big was happening.
Something really bad.

I shifted nervously with the rest of my classmates all throughout that period until it was time for chorus. Chorus was my biggest class - at least 75 students - and when I walked into the room, it felt like stepping into an alternate universe. On the TV screens above our heads (the chorus room was a sort of media center in the building, filled with recording equipment, mics, TVs and radios), I saw two burning buildings, and in glancing around the room saw that my fellow classmates were either in tears or staring in shock at the Television. No one was talking, except in a whisper, but the whole room felt ...Loud. Our director said nothing. I think she must have told us we would not be singing that day - I can't remember. Everyone was lost in our seats, not knowing what to do, therefore doing nothing.

I found my seat, next to my friend Justine, who was usually a very happy and bubbly person but her face was white as she whispered to me, "four acts of terrorism have been carried out in the past two hours." Then she ticked them off: Two planes into the WTC. Another into the pentagon. Another crashed in a Pennsylvania field. We were under attack - on our own soil; in what felt like our own back yard.

This had always been one of my biggest fears growing up, and panic rose in my chest. I looked up at the TVs and watched, with the entire room crying out as the South Tower crashed to the ground. There was another stunned silence and the phone rang next to the doors. Our teacher went to answer it and then looked up at me - my heart sank. "Julie, it's for you."

I remember getting up to answer the phone in surprise, and hearing people gasp, "It's for Julie..." I knew they all expected it was about the attacks. I knew my cousin worked in the World Trade Center, but he was my father's age and I did not know him well - even if something happened to him I doubted anyone would let me know until later in the day, after school. Still, at this point, I believed anything of nightmare-level could happen and that no one was safe. I think we all felt like that for a while.

I got to the phone and it was the guidance office, asking me to come down. I grabbed my bags without looking at my classmates, who were staring at me, and booked it to the office.

There, I remember feeling like I was in some kind of dream or bubble. Everyone was chipper with me, calm and very kind. But I was shaking as I sat down in the counselor's office, waiting for her to drop some other horrible news on me. Instead, she pulled out a file and said "I understand you are transferring to your new high school in November, right...?" I stared at her. "Are you okay?" she asked me, and I stuttered back that I was just overwhelmed and, "...the news today..." "I know." She said, "Let's try to focus on this and then you can just go home."

That's all I remember about school that day. I have no idea what we accomplished in her office. I remember feeling cold and sick as I took the bus home with the rest of my classmates around lunch time. My brother was also home when I got there, much to my relief. I remember we both were terrified and did not want to turn on the TV. There was a feeling of uncomfortable vulnerability, even at home.

The scariest part of the day occurred for me when my next door neighbor, who was also one of my teachers, came running over, tears running down her face, and hugged us tight. "Oh this is the most horrible day. I'm so terrified. All those people! Are your parents coming home?" My Dad came home shortly after, looking drained. He was an administrator at the high school he taught at, and, I imagine, had suffered a lot that day. I was relieved when he got home because my father was never afraid of anything. My Dad is always tough. Seeing the "grown-ups" losing their cool all day was the worst part of the whole experience for me. They were supposed to calm us down, explain why this was happening and what would happen next. They were supposed to have the answers, but they didn't. We were all in the same boat.

My Dad wandered into the living room in silence, turned on the TV my brother and I had been avoiding, and stood, still, as he watched them play and replay the towers collapsing. I remember him saying only one sentence: "My God, these shots...."

That night was tense until we heard that Tom, our cousin, had made it out of the second tower okay. My Dad relaxed, and I approached him to ask why this happened. What was happening next? Was this World War 3?

I don't remember much of what he said, except that he seemed to feel confident and safe. So I did too. I knew somewhere deep down that no one had any clue what was going to happen. But it felt like, at least for the moment, we were all okay.

In spite of this, I went to sleep that night with images from TV all day speeding through my mind as if I had stood there. Images that were not from a horror film I had watched against my better judgment, even though I wished they were. They were real. This monstrous event had actually happened - not in my nightmares. I knew this impacted me permanently.

As I said before, I believe most of my generation lost some of our innocence that day, no matter where we were. We watched, feeling like we were intruding on something very adult and not permitted for our eyes, as towers filled with everyday working human beings fell to the ground in clouds of smoke - because of enemies none of us even really knew about. Since most of the reports were being live-streamed, nothing was edited out, and we watched in horror as people fell and jumped out of the towers - knowing they were falling to their deaths. It seemed completely inappropriate, and beyond morbid, to be watching these things.

It has been 15 years since that day, and that day still does not quite make sense to me. Yet some part of me internalized it enough to realize that humans can do horrible things. The magnitude of that tragedy - the generations of devastation it caused - was irreversible. Of course I realized that others on the planet were already unfortunately familiar with this level of devastation. But little me in my small town New York home surrounded by a family of teachers and musicians, did not know such destruction so up close.

I can't speak for prior generations, who lived through Pearl Harbor, JFK's assassination or Martin Luther King Jr.'s, or any other such traumatizing events. But, for me, seeing these evil forces destroying thousands of lives, on repeat for hours and days straight, was something that shifted my focus. Watching replays of people screaming and falling to their deaths was... unnecessary, to put it mildly.

But I felt a desperate grief for the victims, and it was as if watching somehow created solidarity. So I watched, and watched, and watched... We all did. But I believe, at some point... we needed to stop.

I knew we were no longer living in a time where we could just get on the train and feel safe getting to our destination. I knew no amount of patriotism, no number of concerts sung for America that fall, could heal the wounds everyone faced that day - especially those who lost loved ones, their lives, or their coworkers as they ran from the buildings. A big part of me learned that I simply couldn't trust that our country was safe anymore.

As I've gone through the 15 years since 9/11 - many of those years spent attending school near NYC, and living for 5 years there while working in midtown Manhattan - I've thought a lot about how different our lives would be if 9/11 had never happened. Surely something else could have happened (or would have), but imagine how much more courageous we could be?

I wonder all the time how my classmates have handled their lives post-9/11. Many of them have children now. Many are living right in Manhattan. How is life different? Do they have knee-jerk reactions when seeing anything they could deem suspicious on an airplane? Do they think about their safety when they sit in office cubicles?

Now I live here, in Amsterdam, next to countries who've been the targets of similar acts of gruesome violence. I am no stranger to terrorism anymore, even though I've (thank God) never been on the scene in person. But reports have come out saying that just viewing these acts on tv or through social media has created the very feeling the enemy hopes for: terror. They go on to say that by witnessing these kinds of attacks, we actually live them out in some way and suffer emotional trauma. We forget this, while we hunker down watching horror films for entertainment or binge-watching 'Stranger Things' on Netflix. We don't realize that it is a very different thing to view our real life fellow men and women being mowed down by ISIS, other terrorists, or just a local psychopath. Some part of the brain cannot be fooled: That's real. That could have been me, or my family or friends.

Every time something terrifying happens, it pours in within seconds - now, not just in the news on TV, but on my phone in the form of Facebook posts, Youtube, Instagram, Twitter... you can't run away from it. And it's almost as if I was trained in that day that the way to control the fear and "deal with" the events at play was to watch it, and get as much information as possible. I'm realizing how unhealthy it actually is.

Research has shown that those suffering PTSD after 9/11 include not only the victims and those at the scenes, but a hefty percentage of those who were just at home, like you and me, obssessively viewing footage of these acts. It sounds lame to admit that I think I was traumatized just by watching stuff on TV, but it hit another level. The problem isn't just that the footage is available constantly - it's that people often cannot help themselves from watching, even when they know it will be damaging to them.

In one of the replays, it even occurred to me that I was beginning to analyze things from the perspective of what these terror groups were thinking. Each of the news reports had a time stamp on them - "8:30 AM, 8:31 AM, 8:32 AM..." When watching the replays, I would notice the time stamp, knowing that the plane crashes would show up at certain times. I realized, that may have been exactly what Osama Bin Laden had hoped for: our eyes would be on our TVs, staring at WTC after the first crash, dissecting what the heck was going on. Then, plane number 2 was going to hit, just long enough after for everyone to be tuned in, but not so long that people weren't still staring. It was gruesomely brilliant. It captivated us all in the worst ways. And, worse yet - in my opinion showed how much these people enjoyed creating the absolute largest amount of fear.

After MSNBC decided to start annually streaming the live footage from that day every year on the anniversary, a report came out requesting the replays stop. (Slate.com report, September 8, 2016).  Simply put: This is not a Hallmark moment. When we flipped on the TV in Hilversum, Netherlands, and saw that there was literally an entire days' worth of movies and shows about 9/11, Bruno looked at me in surprise "Seriously? Who wants to watch all of this?" I shook my head, knowing that, sadly, this has been the case for years.

I'm angry for everyone, really. I'm sad we live in this world. But it's hard to say what the right way to grieve is. Some people would argue that if we hadn't seen the footage, we wouldn't be there to support everyone. Who knows, I have a feeling it is in our nature to need to absorb as much info as possible. We perceive the threats and want to understand them as much as we can to protect ourselves from future attacks.

But, the reality is that none of us is immune to danger, and never was. Maybe we are an older, wiser generation. Or maybe we are simply more fearful. But I hope in time, we will show ourselves to be stronger, more peace-loving people, and somehow find ways of growing in spite of so much tragedy and terror.

Time Traveling

Here we are at September - embarking on my absolute favorite time of year (particularly in the Netherlands), and diving into action.

This morning I find myself in Hilversum (by way of Amsterdam), securing some of the final steps of my Visa paperwork and beyond excited for every next step. After a way-too-short two week long vacation in the USA with my family and boyfriend, whom had never been there before, it feels a little like that trip was all a dream. The last time I recall consciously thinking "in no time, I'll be back in Amsterdam again", was somewhere along the coast of Maine a couple weeks ago. Almighty Time will never cease to amaze, especially when it comes to literally hopping across different time zones.

So where do I begin?

Months ago, late April to be exact, I was back in New York for three weeks to visit my family, when Bruno, (boyfriend), started talking about joining me for the next trip back home. Even though our relationship had just begun, (with many months of close friendship preceding), I felt confident that this was going to happen. I mentioned in a last post that he's Belgian, and he had never been to the USA, so I figured - what better time than the midst of Trump madness and political upheaval? Let's give him all those American extremes!

Just kidding. In reality, I prayed that we would be able to plan our trip back around my family's summer Maine vacation and he could hopefully hide among the craggy ocean shores eating Lobster and discussing New England's colorful history with my father. That's closer to what happened.

The weekend we boarded our flight(s) to Boston was Gay Pride in Amsterdam, the celebration for Euro Pride, and the most annoying train construction I've ever experienced. We grabbed a bus to Schiphol Airport rather than our usual 10 minute train ride, stood in a huge line to check in, and then calmly awaited boarding time. That trip was filled with delays - an hour delay from Amsterdam to Iceland, an hour delay from Iceland to Boston... But somehow this didn't cramp our style. We laughed and goofed off and chomped on cucumber slices and carrots we had packed in our carry-ons and the next thing I knew we were descending over Boston. Yay!!!! America!!

It was a very strange experience to bring Bruno, who was such an established part of my 'other world' (not to get too 'Vampire Diaries' on you), to meet my parents, in the USA, where I was raised in all of my quirky, crazy, rollercoaster-ride goodness. He already had an intermediate knowledge of my family from the crazy amount of stories I had told (and the unfortunate exposure to my brother and sister's nicknames for me via Facebook), but still, it was a little nuts! I think everyone was shell-shocked at first, but we headed to an Airport restaurant and started the two week journey through New York and New England. Bruno had his first ever 'clam chowda', I had a regrettable Sam Summer (which led to me passing out shortly after dinner), and my parents were beaming and excited to start showing Bruno the Norman version of America.

It became immediately apparent to me upon arriving that this was going to be a trip home unlike any trip home before. Part of this was, of course, I was bringing somebody to share it with me. But actually a lot of it had to do with how much had changed since the last time.

As I know I've said before, and at the risk of sounding terribly redundant... I never expected to wind up living in the Netherlands for more than a few months. I thought that I would maybe stay here for some time, audition and wind up in another European city by the end of my visa or back home in New York - which would be fine with me! And maybe it's because I had such a temporary approach to things, but all of a sudden now I'm looking at staying at least this next year, maybe (probably) a lot longer, and creating a foundation for a life I already love. That happened fast, unexpectedly, and perhaps... slightly before I felt 'ready' for it.

This time last year, I was back in New York packing my things up, taking a lot of deep breaths and making a lot of to-do lists, and saying "okay, see you in a few months" to my friends and loved ones. I felt rebellious doing it, as if I were cheating the system or playing hooky somehow, and also completely up for whatever came. This time, I felt the strength of what had changed right away: I was back with my family, in a place I will always call 'Home', but very aware that this time... my home is indefinitely in Europe.

None of this is a huge shock to me. I fell in love with Europe back in 2008 when I spent the summer babysitting and singing in Paris, alongside the same best friend who gave me a place to start a life in Amsterdam, babysitting (her girls) and singing here. Not everyone would look at this path and see how it works. But I did - I always have. I have found more profound meaning in sorting a tantrum out with a three year old and discussing why butterflies only come out in summer (all managed in more than one language), than some of the longest hours of my life spent in meetings and conference calls.

That doesn't mean I don't attend meetings or hold conference calls anymore. But they don't run my life - they're in attendance. They are accompanying the train rides, horrific attempts at Dutch, the hours writing in a journal and holding hands with the little kids, and big kids, of my life all day, singing through nerves in front of crowds of people who probably really don't understand me, and constantly, daily standing in awe of this world.

Last night, Bruno and I biked along the canal to get to our dinner reservation at 8:30 in a hopping neighbourhood near the red light district. The sun was setting, casting a pink glow on the water beside us and as I followed close behind him I said "sometimes I'm so amazed by the beauty of this place that I don't even care if I accidentally fall in." I'm pretty sure these words invited future attempts of Bruno dumping me into the canal... but I meant it in more ways than one. I've fallen hard for this city. For the way it has welcomed me. For the quirky, dry sense of humor found on every street. For its persistent acceptance of every human being. For the days I wondered what the hell I was doing here, only to look around me and see 100 reasons staring back. Europe may be a complicated place, but it has never once failed to show me solutions I didn't think of. Or, even more adventurous, who I really am.

So this time, when we hugged goodbye in Boston and I broke down trying to thank my incredibly generous parents for everything they did for us in two weeks time, I was able to laugh at how cheesy I am and know that this is manageable. I wish I had a private jet to go see my family every weekend, but the distance is easily bridged and the home on either side is more than I ever expected for myself. The uncertainty and adventure of this time has been worth it in more ways than I can count. And all this before being fluent enough to understand what people are really saying around me each day....

Language Barriers

Here is what I'm learning about my life so far: Once I declare a certain path, life tends to take me down a different one, all for the same exact goal I had to start off.

So, I haven't fully addressed a lot of different things here - mainly because this is, well, a blog. Not my diary, and not an autobiography. What I have noticed about people, no matter where I go in the world, is that they like to know (and understand) WHY I decided to move to Europe. Or, why I moved to NYC back in the day. Why I uprooted myself to come here. I never really know what answer to give them, because I have at least 5 different ones.

In the end, yes, I moved to Amsterdam because someone said to me "Hey, you should come here and sing more opera!" and then someone else said "Oh and here is a steady job to give you a visa and keep you here". Fine, that was the zero-hour, decision-making reason, and I've told that story many times.

But the real, personal reason: I wanted to see just how much could happen if I left what I knew in the States and made a huge leap to come to Europe. I gave up the reigns of control in NYC (which of course were imaginary), and gave my total faith to the 'crazier' option. There were absolutely no guarantees when I came here. I was not promised success, financial wealth, or that I would survive the depths of darkness that were the winter months. But I had faith that my path had led me here for bigger reasons, and that has been proven true time and time again in the year since.

But how often do we find ourselves tailoring how we tell our stories to people based off of what we think they want to hear? Or based off of how we want to be perceived? I never knew how much I did this until recently, and it's now becoming my personal mission to stop doing that as much as possible.

Over the weekend, I visited my boyfriends' wonderful family in Grimbergen, Belgium, to celebrate a birthday, meet his inspiring Grandmothers, and stumble all over my very amateur French. Bruno is originally from there, which makes him Flemish, and he is constantly astounding me with his ability to swiftly jump from English to French to Dutch (and Flemish) and communicate with pretty much anyone he wants to. A superpower I can only hope to achieve half of in my life - maybe by standing near him a lot I'll succeed through osmosis? 

Bruno, his beautiful Mom and Grandma, in Belgium. 

I therefore struggled a lot this weekend with "how I am perceived." Where I normally would gush thanks to my hosts for letting me stay in their home, feeding me, handing me slippers or a sweater if I got cold, filling my glasses with wine and champagne and just, in general, making me feel like part of their family... I was forced to repeat my basic phrases, desperate for another way of showing gratitude. I couldn't ask all of the questions I wanted to, and found myself catching the topics of conversation about five minutes after the topic had passed, time and time again. (Suddenly laughing out loud at a joke that had been made 15 minutes earlier, though well-intended, can make one seem crazy rather than friendly...) 

I eventually gave up on 'seeming' anything and decided to let it go. But it showed me just how often I am conscious of how others might think of me. How often I talk about certain things so that I 'come across' strong, or intelligent, or interesting, or successful, or [insert personal goal here]. 

Bruno, being not only multi-lingual but also quite wise, reminded me throughout the weekend that I cannot expect perfection of myself, and that people can tell a lot about each other despite the language barriers. I know this is true because I often gain a similar sense of who a person is at heart before even exchanging words - but it is so difficult to remember that when you yourself feel potentially judged. But to step outside of my insecure, self-conscious little bubble is a little like giving up the reigns of 'control.' It's scary and requires that I have a lot more faith in myself than I allow myself to have sometimes. 

Life here is filled with challenges I didn't even see coming - but the reward is in standing at the point I am at right now and looking down at the view: learning (and speaking) new languages, singing in foreign places I never anticipated singing in, falling in love with someone I would not have met if I hadn't realllyyy moved past my life in New York, my 'comfort zone' and my control, and so many more. No matter what story I tell people about why and how I moved to the Netherlands, I do know that the risk was ultimately far more rewarding than staying put would have been. 

Anyway, today I investigate classes in Dutch for the fall ;), and am setting a personal goal to stop the self-criticism. The barriers seem to always be imaginary, or put there by myself. 

Terrorists.

This morning I woke up to my overly-chipper alarm after a nightmare in which I was running in circles in a building, attempting not to get shot by some invisible force behind me.

This was a nightmare I had after scrolling through Facebook and reading all-too-vivid news reports of the Orlando shooting. I wasn't at all surprised I had this dream.

When the Paris attacks happened in November, I remember a similar sickened feeling as I read survival accounts of what took place at the Bataclan during a concert. A war zone at an event filled with innocent people, most of whom would absolutely never go to war or harm another living soul.

Most of us never want to hurt anyone.

But so many of us are getting hurt.

A wealthy privileged Stanford athlete gets away with 6 months in jail after violently sexually assaulting a woman at a party... but 50 + innocent, most likely loving, non-violent party-goers are sentenced to immediate death in a nightclub. Just for living their lives. For loving who they love. For being who they are - who they have every right to be.

What disturbs me the most is that not everyone sees how wrong this is. Not everyone sees how these deaths, even if they were gay, a different religion, a different race from you, effect EVERYONE. It means none of us is safe. This kind of mass murder has happened in Kindergartens, in mosques, in colleges, in nightclubs, in public parks, in restaurants in Paris, in stadiums, no matter who you are, no matter what you believe, we live in an era where we are killing one another for no reason. No matter what sins or crimes you committed - even if you've lived your life without doing a single wrong to another human being. You are a target - everyone is. Everyone.

This is the time we live in: we are the terrorists. Not ISIS, or the mentally unstable who shoot up 26 people in an elementary school, or the police, or whomever-else-you-want-to-blame. Humans have become terrorists.

Electing Donald Trump is not a fix.

Facebooking your political, religious, or just plain ignorant opinion of how people should live their lives is not a fix.

Getting rid of guns will not be a fix (although, it would've helped if that asshole couldn't get his hands on an AR-15-type assault rifle. But whatever, details.)

Me writing this post is (obviously) not a fix.

Moving away is not a fix (believe me).

As long as we hold onto our ignorant, limited, hateful views of one another, this will continue. It may not be the same group of people inflicting pain each time, but it will always be linked with one thing: Hate. Judgment of others. A need to be right, to control, to condemn.

The only fix I can see is to look inside ourselves and find the ways WE each are terrorists. Who do you judge, blame, hate, dislike, or hold anger towards? Who have you imagined hurting, even just a little, even just with words?

All it takes is that small amount of hostility within each of us. Born of fear, bred into the worst kind of evil. Not one of us is right, or purely good. I'm not - I'll admit I've held on to blind anger towards others, even hatred. Maybe I've never wanted to make anyone suffer, but it's there, and without dealing with that accurately or in a healthy way, it goes wild. I'm just one person, and I've been given a life filled with therapy, self-observation and encouragement to view others with as much of an open mind as possible.

Maybe we didn't carry the assault weapons, or carry out the attacks.. But we are all guilty, and we are all responsible. And today, to say "I'm sorry" for the hundreds of brothers and sisters I have lost in the past year feels pathetic. I'm not sorry. I'm angry - at myself, at humans, and at our inability to evolve as a race. It's on us at this point if we want to survive or dwindle into extinction.