Taking Flight Amidst Uncertainty; or, Morocco, Part 1

 

Helping one another open our hearts to the journey. Photo by Heidi Roland http://www.heidirolandphotography.com/site/

About a year ago, my friend Meghan, yoga teacher and owner of Aluna Adventures, asked me to co-lead a yoga adventure to Morocco. At that particular moment in time, I had believed my traveling days were over due to some drastic shifts in my life. I was feeling lost and unsure in my path, but immediately felt this was something I was called to do. We spent months envisioning and crafting our trip. My anxious mind kept manufacturing things to fear; anything from no one signing up, to the Ebola outbreak spreading north, to surges in the saharan scorpion population. Thankfully, none of my wild speculations were correct, and on March 27^th, I found myself at JFK International, with the intent to fly to North Africa.

Trying to get grounded by going upside down. Photo by Heidi Roland.

I was excited; I was hopeful. I met up with Meg and our group, and we snacked together by our gate. Everyone was buzzing with energy and anticipation.

Our wonderful group.

I fed off of their energy, but as time went on, my excitement became peppered with a flavor of fear I hadn’t expected to experience.

For half a decade prior, I had been in a loving and supportive relationship, during which my love of travel was born. Though I had returned home from afar by myself before, I never embarked “on my own”, and had zero experience going to place as foreign as Morocco. Traveling with a partner was an emotional security blanket that I no longer had.  I was surrounded by wonderful people I trusted,  yet the fear swelled up in me. Could I be a good leader? Could I be there for others without having someone who loved me unconditionally at my side? In my every day life, I had dealt with this and become stronger and independent. With the new catalysts of international travel and leadership, my insecurity emerged once again. When we were called to board, my stomach dropped. In that moment, I didn’t actually know if I could go.

But, I did. We all did. One step at a time, we boarded the plane. Meg gave me a reassuring, loving look as we went to our respective seats in different aisles.

The cabin itself felt like a foreign country. An Arabic song with a haunting, wailing, minor melody played as we shuffled into our seats.

On the plane, there was an option to add Mecca to one’s flight map- a clear indication that we weren’t in Kansas anymore.

In English, the pilot proclaimed the plane would arrive in Casablanca at 7am. The Arabic translation was a bit different. Though I don’t speak the language, I was able to ascertain this much: “Inshallah (God willing), the plane will land in Casablanca at 7am”.

“Jesus Christ,” I thought, “That’s not particularly reassuring”. Everything felt up in the air. Everything was up in the air, as it was supposed to be, and the flight was quite uneventful. I spoke to an American man of Moroccan descent who gave me some insight into the country, and eventually faded into some strange twilight state until our breakfast was served.

The descent into Morocco. Photo by Heidi Roland.

When we touched down, Casablanca was enveloped in a thick fog. At the airport, there was no jetway- one walks down the stairs directly to the tarmac.

Exiting Royal Air Maroc Flight 200. Photo by Heidi Roland

In my exhausted state, something shifted. I smiled at the pathetic fallacy as I emerged from the plane, and let the misty, humid air surround me like a cocoon. I wasn’t supposed to see what was ahead, and even more, I didn’t need to. I just had to respond to what was directly in front of me. It wasn’t necessary for someone to hold my hand to do it; I just needed to be present. As I’d soon discover, Morocco all but commands one’s full attention. I steadily descended off of the last step, on my own, and into the mist.

Follow my blog for more tales of Morocco to come!

Have you traveled or faced something difficult despite fear or insecurity?  Feel free to share your experience in a comment, on Instagram @purefire, or on Facebook at Being and Becoming Blog.

 

Street Art in Paris

It’s common knowledge that Paris is a city of art.  Some of the world’s most regarded and beloved pieces of art (the Mona Lisa, etc.) in the world reside in Paris’ 150+ museums.  But, the creative pulse of the city can’t seem to be contained solely within buildings; it flows onto them and around them.  Over the past few months, I’ve photographed a bunch of street art that has caught my eye.  Below, you’ll find just a few of the strange and beautiful pieces that the canvas of Paris hosts.

“I am a wise woman”. I’ve seen these throughout the city, encouraging women to step into this identity.

Outside of the city, in the village of Orsay.

Anything can be a canvas.

“Look at the sky…”

This piece is a reproduction of “The Floor Scrapers” by Gustave Caillebotte.

In response to some large conservative demonstrations.

Something like “pleasure is good for your health”.

I wonder how many others photographed this one.

“Yes”. I love the feeling of whimsy and freedom this piece emits.

One of my favorites, by the canal St. Martin.

Nature listened.

Rue Oberkampf.

I love these.

Sure, let’s hang a chicken.

Montreux and the Swiss Alps

Glion, Switzerland.

I vividly remember the first time I laid my eyes upon the Alps. It was my first time out of the US- I was in Nice, France, in January, and it was the first and only fully radiant sunny day of the trip.  The Mediterranean sea had set something in my heart aflame, and I wanted to travel along it the entire day.  My guy and I decided to rent bikes, and head east toward Monaco on a coastal road.  The entire time, I was overcome by the glistening turquoise water.  I didn’t think it could get more beautiful, until we rounded a corner and saw snow-capped mountains in the distance.  I braked, stopped, and stared in awe- I had never been so close to a mountain before.  I was so absorbed that it didn’t occur to me to take photo.  It was one of the best days of my life.

I hadn’t thought of the Alps in a long time, but last month as my guy and I went back and forth for weeks about where to take our first European vacation (we are terribly indecisive), something clicked inside, and I abruptly declared that we should take a train through the Alps to the closest country we’d never visited- Switzerland. We promptly booked tickets to Geneva.

I soon realized that the Alps didn’t start as far west as I thought, but on our ride from Paris to Geneva, we were still blown away by the Jura mountains as we sped by.  After some research in a cafe, we decided that we would take a day trip to Montreux, a town on the other side of lake Geneva, at the foot of the actual Alps.

Zooming past the Jura and a mountain highway en route to Geneva.

Montreux, it turns out, is a very musical place.  It’s known for its yearly jazz festival, but also as the place where Freddie Mercury and Queen recorded their last album, “Made in Heaven”.  There’s even a statue of him by the lake, and the first week of September of every year, the city of Montreux has a celebration honoring him.  Mercury allegedly once said, “If you want peace of soul, come to Montreux”.

Image from http://tuczytam.blogspot.fr/2011/08/freddie-mercury-biografia-definitywna.html

Montreux is also where Deep Purple began recording their album “Machine Head” at the Montreux Casino. Their experience watching it burn down inspired the famous song “Smoke on the Water”.

Our train took a little less than an hour to arrive from Geneva-it was sunny and in the mid-fifties!  After staring at the lake for a few minutes, we began our ascent through the town, eventually discovering the hillside stairs, making our way onto roads in the town of Glion, which presides above Montreux.  We walked through windy roads until we reached a muddy trail toward the town of Caux, rushing to get a clear view of some mountains by sunset.  We made it just in time.

Mon Dieu.

No picture can capture the sight we saw as the fog cleared, and we realized just how gargantuan the mountains really were.  I was humbled and awed. I found something very freeing about realizing how small I am.  It took away my thoughts, my hopes, my fears. We stood, we breathed, we stared.  Seeing something like this is a very quick way to experience what the practice of meditation and mindfulness is getting at- total immersion in the moment, and nothing else.  We then made our way down in the dark, using our iPhone flashlights, and eventually had an extremely well-deserved fondue meal before catching the train back.    Below, you’ll find more pictures of this beautiful place.

Taking a breather.

Mountain selfie.

The town looks so small.

The flow of traffic below.

Swiss dinner.

 

 

This Week in Paris, Part 1- King Cake

This week was the celebration of “Le Galette de Rois”, or The King’s Cake.

The tradition has roots going all the way back to the ancient Roman celebration of Saturnalia, which began at the end of December and ended in early January.  Saturnalia was kind of like opposites day, and things that were normally forbidden were allowed.  One of the main role reversals was between a master and a slave, with the slave becoming king for the day.  This slave was determined by a piece of cake- a large one was baked, with a bean hidden inside- whichever slave received the bean would be crowned king.  The tradition survived throughout tumultuous French history (during the French revolution, it became the “Equality Cake”, as all things royal were despised), and eventually became associated with the Epiphany, occurring on January 6th.  For more information, check out my source, which also includes a recipe, which you might want upon finishing this post.

Now, in northern France, the King’s Cake is often a delicious croissant-y, round puff pastry with an almond (frangipane) filling. Inside, a tiny trinket is baked in, and whomever finds it gets to be king for the day- parents will usually rig it so that a child gets the honor.  This tradition has made it to America (especially in New Orleans, but as a Mardi Gras cake), but the cake is often of a different style.

Of course, I absolutely had to try it.  Thankfully, the bakery I went to had a two-person version- many cakes were huge!

Cutting our petit cake.

I ended up finding the trinket.  There was a paper crown, too, but it did not fit on my head.

It looks like a stamp.

Also; the cake was insanely delicious.  The French are really, really good at this.

The aftermath.

We celebrated on January 5th, and missed the crazy lines on the 6th- almost every bakery had a line out of the door.

Everyone wants a King Cake.

Now, there are many leftover cakes at a discount, and I’m very much considering a second round.

Why am I Doing This? / The Art of Becoming

 Aside from the obvious reasons why one might want to move to Paris (beauty, chocolate, art, poodles, functional public transportation), I’ve come here to perform a giant experiment.  It’s pretty simple- I’m going to see if devoting my life to the things that matter most (and make me feel most alive) will help me become the person I want to be.

Many of these things I write about below absolutely could have done at home. But, as a perfectionistic procrastinator, I recognized the opportunity to move to Europe as an opportunity to eliminate my recurring distractions and excuses for my avoidant behavior. Here, I have the time to do the things that matter most to me. Now that I’m settled in, I could not successfully argue otherwise.

I do not want to waste this opportunity; So, I’ve written down exactly what I want to do while abroad- . How I will live, what I will do, and what I want to become. This is my plan to live my passions.

In the next year, I plan to…

4) Take advantage of my location and explore the world. My wanderlust and desire for new experiences has been steadily rising for years. I want to wander through the markets of Marrakech, get bundled up and see the Northern Lights, dip my feet in the Mediterranean from multiple different countries’ coast lines. I want to find new inspiration and ideas.

The very first time I stepped into the Mediterranean sea. January, 2011.

3) Research and experiment with ways to cultivate creativity through different media. I want to become an expert on ways to unleash creativity. In my work as a clinician, I always felt that unleashing creativity and using creative endeavors as a way to facilitate sublimation could help people in pain find agency, accomplishment, and emotional freedom. I often wish I studied art therapy. This will be my independent study. I will be the guinea pig, but I invite you, the reader, to experiment along with me.

How could painting make you a better writer? How could dancing make you a better musician?

2)Deepen my understanding of yoga through practice, reading, and reflection. I also want to integrate more creative development into my teaching.

Photo by the talented Joe Longo.

1) Devote time EVERY SINGLE DAY to practicing music, and become proficient enough to play on stage without issue. This is the single most important reason I’ve left everything I’ve established;this means so much to me, that in the past, it was easier to not devote time to it than devote a smaller amount of time and risk failure. Though I have a larger goal, the main emphasis will be to do it every day- to be with it, with out attachment to the outcome. 

It’s flamenco and/or psych-rock time.

So, readers, I invite you to publicly state the dreams and passions closest to your heart- to put it out there, to allow your vision into the mind and hearts of others, and we collectively witness and support one another as we move into action. I would be honored and excited to read what you would like to become.

On Leaving

Today is the day that I begin my journey abroad, and I am feeling a lot of ways.  Exited? Check.  Terrified? Absolutely.  Like I’m going to throw up? Every other minute.

But there’s also a persistent undercurrent of sadness in leaving the people (and pets) that I love.  Many times in my life, I’ve dreamed of picking up and starting anew to escape something. But here’s the thing; things are great, I’m feeling accomplished in my work, and I’ve cultivated a community of friends who make my life full and enriching.  To step away from the known and the good in my life feels like a gamble, and my heart aches when I realize today will be the last time I hold my cat and dog for a very long time.

 (Seriously, look at these faces)

But in leaving, I’m trusting the part of me that feels wonder, that feels purpose, that is ready to explore the world (and myself!) and become different.  In “The Sheltering Sky”, Paul Bowles writes of a character,

“Whenever he was en route from one place to another, he was able to look at his life with a little more objectivity than usual. It was often on trips that he thought more clearly, and made the decisions he could not reach when he was stationary”.

I’m looking for new views, but also new eyes.  I think moving thousands of miles away might be a good start.

So, with a few tears in my eyes, and a lot of hope in my heart, I embark on a journey through the world, and through myself.