My friend, I'll say it clear...

Here’s the truth: I was in Miami on my actual birthday. I woke up at the crack of dawn, glanced at my watch and read 6:10 a.m.- precisely a half hour to the exact minute I was born thirty short years ago. So what did I do? I cried. I let a few idle tears slide off the sides of my face and onto the pillow- I silently whimpered a final goodbye to my 20’s, telling myself that yes, we had a good run.

When I was done with my gratuitous blubbering, I got out of bed, tiptoed downstairs, opened my mom’s sub-zero fridge in order to eat what was left of my Publix birthday cake- every last hot-pink butter cream rose. Although I felt sick for the rest of the day- it was well worth it. I had told myself that in my 30’s- I would be more health-conscious, I would be happier and not wallow in unnecessary self-pity, and that I would (continue to) live my life to the fullest. Well, at least I got the last one right.

In my teens- I wanted to be older. I longed to be able to drink (without the use of my fake ID), to vote, to drive, to get a tattoo…I wanted freedom: no curfews, unlimited television time and financial independency. In my 20s I wanted love. Now, I’m in my 30’s and I don't have a curfew, I can watch as much TV as I want (albeit in Italian), I have a tattoo that I totally regret and I am (pretty much) financially independent. I have found and lost and found love again…many times over.

30 is an age that has been creeping closer for a few years now. When I turned 28, I vowed to make the final two years count. When I turned 29, everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, reminded me that it was my last shot at my 20’s. Then, as the final few weeks flew by and my birthday skidded closers and closer, I tried coming to terms with the fact that the mathematics don't lie: 29+1=30.

I have to say, now that I have finally hit the big 3.0.- I don't feel any different. I am not wiser than I was yesterday. And although I don't feel older, I did look in the mirror and happen to notice a few more wrinkles…but when I asked if this were a good age to start considering Botox, I was told I was nuts- so that contemplation was put to rest.

Somewhere amongst my journals, hidden away, I have a list that I made regarding what I planned to have accomplished by the time I was 30. It’s probably a good thing I can’t find it. Although, as best as I can remember, my goals were not unreasonable. I think, more than anything, I wanted to be a published author- a novelist, by the time I was 30. That didn't happen. I hoped to live abroad. That did happen. I wanted a master’s in business. Got that done. My own puppy. Yep. And I sought happiness. Check.

Now is the time, I suppose, to reassess my goals- and possibly put a few to rest- push harder for some- and bury others, pretending that they never even existed at all. I have to admit, it's a bit confusing when I consider what it is I want to accomplish in my 30s. Part of me says that if I haven’t done “it” yet, “it” will never happen. The other part says, go for it- this is really the last chance. I look around and in truth, it’s hard to judge, based on experience and influences, what I should or should not be doing. At 30, a great number of my friends are married- many with kids. Other groups are starting new careers or embarking on solo-ventures. Some have already made their millions, others are just beginning. I suppose, as opposed to the 20’s filled with education and career decisions- what we do with our 30’s is more of an individual choice.

Looking back, the 20s were amazing. But then again, everything is amazing “looking back.” However, I still think I had a good time. I managed to get a Bachelor’s and a Master’s degree from two great universities, I moved from Miami to DC, to Italy, to NY, to England, to Russia to Mexico to Dubai, back to England, to Barcelona and wound up in Rome. Beyond that- I traveled throughout the world. I met so many incredible individuals that they are hard to count. I’ve had experiences I never even dreamed of having. I’ve learned a million and one things- from making pasta from scratch, to the basics of many world religions, a number of languages and how to change a tire. I gained “non-transferable and thus highly valued business skills” (thank you Steph) and I now know how to care for a bonsai. I’ve climbed glaciers, jumped out of planes and seen my byline in global publications. I have slept under the stars in the Sahara, cruised the Mediterranean and saved endangered sea turtles in Central America. I’ve been chased by a zebra on Safari in Kenya, been skinny dipping in the Redwood Forest, seen the Taj Majal at sunrise and gone on a camel ride around Pyramids of Giza. I’ve taken a boat trip down the Mekong Delta and planted a tree in Israel. I’ve walked through the ruins of Pompeii, Ancient Rome and Greece and spent three days ambling through the temples of Angkor Wat in Cambodia. I’ve bathed in the oldest Hammam in Istanbul and drank too much tequila looking over the Zócalo in Mexico City. I tuk-tuked through the colorful markets of Jaipur and witnessed to a ping-pong show in the Patpong district of Bangkok. I am a godmother, a daughter, a sister, a girlfriend, a best friend, and I hope- a good mother to my puppy. I sang Karaoke in Beijing and visited the clay warriors in Xian. I sailed a felucca down the Nile and drank far too many pints at Oktoberfest in Munich. I’ve gambled in the casinos of Macau and Monte Carlo, and seen Mt. Kilamanjaro from the sky. I’ve been scuba diving in the Red Sea and later, off the isolated islands of Malaysia. I learned to wakeboard in Sardegna, to surf in Costa Rica and to play pétanque on a small island in France. I’ve crawled through the Cu Chi tunnels in Vietnam and sailed along the Norweigen Fjords at springtime. I hope I’ve been a good friend to some- and maybe even made a difference in the lives of others. I’ve laughed till I peed and cried myself to sleep and now, I feel like I'm singing the final lines of Sinatra’s My Way...I did all this- and not in a shy way. And I’m only 30.

Part of me is scared. I can confidently note that I happen to be happy where I am now and I can see myself here for a while- but then sometimes, I wake up and think “is this it?” Is this where the journey ends? I could say that it’s been a good ride and leave it at that. But I know- in my heart of hearts- that I’m not ready to put away the compass and maps yet- that I can’t say that I’m done- I’m not even close to being done.  So I guess this is my personal message to my 30’s: Get ready. Here I am!

birthdays

The blog is 3 today. I'm 30. I have no words. Other than the fact that "they" say the 30's are the best. Here's hoping...

Images of India

After a trip to Kenya about three years ago, I realized that my greatest regret was not having a camera worthy of the shots I was snapping; lions on the hunt, water buffalo migrating and elephants enjoying communal baths. Therefore, I did my research and learned all I could about pixels, ISO capabilities and image processors for color reproduction. Then, the ideal moment arrived and, at long last, I got myself a monster of a camera. With my acquisition, I was entirely certain that I would never again have another missed photo-op plaguing me throughout the duration of my photoshopping, printing and framing life.

Well, guess what I forgot to take to India? My f*cking camera.

I DID, however, remember to bring enough medicine to restock a pharmacy, enough clean underwear to cover the bottoms of a small nation and enough hand sanitizer to wipe out an entire colony of flesh eating bacteria. Yet, I forgot my camera. And now back home- I still have a full suitcase of unused pills, serums and sprays- but what I don't have are the photographs on the camera that I had painstakingly spent months and months learning how to use. Not one. And why? Cause I forgot my camera.

Luckily, my sister had her point-and-shoot with her. And even though she left it on the plane as soon as we landed (I guess absentmindedness is genetic, after all)- a man from the flight crew was compassionate enough to look through our snapshots, identify the two tall blondes in the photos, wait for us outside baggage claim and relinquish the object to its rightful owners- simply out of the goodness of his heart. (told you…I love Indians!)

Point is- we still managed to get a number of great photos- so here they are…

भारत गणराज्य* a.k.a. India

I went to India and did everything I could in the short time I was there. Then, I came back from India…and now I am sitting here wishing to g-d that I had stayed longer.

Nothing I had read- and nothing I was told- could have prepared me for that country. My expectations- although not completely off base, were misguided. I expected to feel suffocated and uneasy- to be agitated. Instead, I felt tranquil. Everything around me was sheer pandemonium, yet inside- complete stillness. I was happy in India- it agreed with me.

The major cities are crowded and dirty- but the crowds are swathed in dazzling colors that dot the streets like little bits of sunshine. I didn't see the litter and pollution- I saw the silk shawls and satin saris waving in the wind, brushing the feet of the women walking in their hand-woven leather sandals. India smells- but it smells alive- a powerful mixture of spice and stink in the air- so potent that its hard to discern what it is coming from or where it is going – and you never know whether the next waft will make your stomach moan with hunger, or completely rob you of your appetite.

Next to every five star hotel, is a slum- a makeshift community of littered paths and huts formed of materials found in the streets and strewn among construction sights. The abundant poverty is a glaring reminder of the fact that India, alone, is home to 1/3 of the world’s poor. But even though nearly 50% of the population falls below the international poverty line- they all smile. I swear, I rarely saw anyone without a beaming grin across their faces and friendly open arms. And regardless of income bracket or mode of transportation- Mercedes, rickshaw or donkey…everyone welcomed us- wanted to share something- whether it was a cup of tea or a simple word. The people of India received us- and took as in as if we had always belonged.

Of course, one must be careful not to drink the water- and I, for one, had a suitcase filled with antibiotics to cure any stomach ailment that has ever plagued humankind- but India was a feast of gastronomic delights. It was a banquet of tastes and flavors and smells. And as a lifelong vegetarian- I had found my culinary paradise. It was the first time in 26 years that there were so many options on a menu, I had trouble deciding. India may be loud- horns honking, donkeys baying, people haggling and animated friends eagerly signaling and saluting one another. But I don't know if anyone can tell me that they don't hear the same amount of noise in Manhattan. I quickly became accustomed to the racket- and within a few hours- I loved it. It was different from the chiming bells of Italian churches- but it was a constant reminder that “yes, I had finally made it to India.” And what a good reminder it was…

Amidst the chaos and the inescapable shifting of people and objects and animals- I felt at peace. And I felt safe- I had a sincere sensation that no one there could hurt me- or would hurt me. Of course, there is always the threat of being run over by a tuk tuk- but that would be sheer carelessness. And unfortunately, our trip coincided with the onset of some major terrorist threats- but that could happen in any nation- to anybody- foreigner or national. So I can’t blame India for being targeted.

What I felt in India was like an alarm clock- but one that wakes you from a dream where you slowly realize that the reality is so much better. Not the other way around.

I know that I have become complacent over the past year. My life is incredibly easy- and good. But I don't take risks…I don't venture out of my comfort zone. In fact, it’s hard to- when an entire country seems to have been created simply to satisfy every human desire on a daily basis.

The India trip, in contrast, was not meant to be comfortable. I wouldn't have wanted it to be. It was fast-paced, stressful and dirty. It was incredible.

India is wild and chaotic and so noisy that it is almost deafening. Traveling in India is a bumpy ride- anyway you look at it.

The vast subcontinent, with its outstanding diversity of cultures religions cuisines and languages would take a lifetime just to get to know. But in that lifetime- one would realize that there is a unity between geographical locations, castes and religions- and it's a harmony I had never felt before in any part of the world. There is an incredible sense of pride in it’s people- a dignity synonymous with honor and delight about its history and heritage- and although I am the first to admit that I have only just touched the tip of the great wealth of wisdom India and its people have to offer, what I do know is that I am hooked. And I can’t wait to return.

I wish I could report some big change in myself but unfortunately, I wasn't there long enough to undergo any transformation. Instead, it was a reminder of why I have always wanted to see India- why I travel, and why I plan to always travel. There is a lot to be said for having a home- someplace to come back to and be enveloped in- and Italy isn’t a bad place to call that “home.” But in this life of comfort and ease, challenging oneself to embark on a few adventures is a priority. I think a lot of lessons can be taken from the people of India. They are kind and welcoming. They enjoy as much as they can and they smile continuously. In India- family is important, self-respect is abundant and beauty is boundless.

I used to travel and hope to change myself in some way. I traveled for inspiration and I traveled to broaden my knowledge and understanding. Even though I still do that- I still hope to learn more about myself and the world- I’m beginning to think that I’m done changing. At the same time, I’m not focusing anymore on becoming a different person. But maybe I’m making a mistake. Because after just a few short days in India- I realized that I could live my life in a better way.

While traveling, a quote by Gandhi kept coming to mind: “I do not want my house to be walled in on all sides and my windows to be stuffed. I want the cultures of all lands to be blown about my house as freely as possibly. But I refuse to be blown off my feet by any.” Listening to what Gandhi said, and applying it to my own life, I think there is a great lesson to be learned. That no matter where our homes are- or what they are made of- it would be a sin to close ourselves in, under our roofs with our locks and keys- pretending to protect ourselves from whatever is out there in the great wide world- ugly or beautiful, dangerous or safe. It’s all there to discover, absorb and ultimately understand. We should accept whatever may cross our paths and learn from it- but to remain true to who we are. 

And when I return to India, it is with these thoughts in mind that I will confront, yet again, one of the most magnificent places I have ever been. 

And a New One Just Begun

I was wondering…how does one welcome a new year with enthusiasm when the old year was already so good?

Truth is- I would have been perfectly content sticking to 2010. The arrival of 2011 means that I am less than a month away from hitting 30…an age I was planning on avoiding…

2011 means that I graduated from my MBA “last year”- not “this year”- soooo…..no more excuses.

2011 means that if the Mayans were right- this is it. Our final year. Our last remaining chance to do everything we told ourselves we would. And even if the Mayans were wrong- the New Year means we are all (me…you…them) one year closer to the inescapable finality of our time on this earth.

I have never been good at making resolutions- and even worse at keeping them. I.e. Eat less- sleep more. Bitch less- write more. Spend less- smile more.

Truth is- whatever resolutions I would have made- had I bothered to make any- would have been the general rules I attempt to live by on a daily basis.  (And usually come up a bit short).

But enough of my unconstructive ranting. As with every dark cloud- there promises to be a silver lining. Therefore, my resolution this year will be…(drum roll please)… to seek the light out from the dark- to live within the silver lining- you know, glass half-full kind of thing.

Instead of moaning about the Christmas lights coming down and the dumpsters full of half dead pine trees- I’m perusing the stores, making a check list of all the goodies I plan on buying when the sales start in 3 days. And yes, I may be getting older- but I am convinced that I am also wiser. Plus- although the New Year means that I have no more time to fit anything into last year- I am told that we all get a clean slate- that we are absolved of our past transgressions and indulgences- saints and sinners alike- and everyone in between…

Other than that, the transition from one year into the next means what it always inevitably does- a chance to celebrate.

Being that my life, currently- is pretty much a infinite holiday- one big, fun stimulating feast of extravagance and excess…it was a bit hard for me to allocate too much importance to New Year’s Eve. But it seems that everyone else around me insisted- so in normal Italian New Year’s fashion- I attended a fabulous party with fabulous people at a fabulous locale- I ate too much, drank in excess, danced just enough, had my new years kiss and managed to not burn any body parts with sparklers. And due to the horrible man walking around with a bottle of Sambuca- pouring that syrupy sweetness down the throats of innocent party-goers (including myself)-I spent the following day ringing in the New Year comatose on the couch- nursing a hangover and begging Dudy not to pee on the floor until I had the energy to get up and take him outside.

Now that the festivities have officially come to an end- and I have finished complaining- I can only hope that 2011 brings me as much excitement, happiness and pleasure as did 2010.

Happy New Year! And may all your resolutions come true…

Christmas Lights

The Christmas lights have, at long last, been threaded throughout the dazzling streets of Rome. And as I walk along under the evening light, gazing at the beaded illumination, glowing sparklers and shimmering ribbons of bulbs- I experience a mixture of emotions- joy, nostalgia and regret. Joy- because how can one not be joyful in Rome around the holidays? Nostalgia- because…well I don't really know why. Maybe I just miss my family. And a bit of regret- because I am leaving for India in three days- which means I will fully miss out on the three most important Italian winter milestones: Christmas, New Year’s Eve and the Winter Sales (sigh…particularly due to the latter).

Right now- Rome is so beautiful, so festive- and so incredibly charming. But I’m sad- and as I sat on the couch attempting to find the words to explain how I feel, with MTV blaring on the television in the background, I heard Chris Martin’s familiar voice singing a new song, Christmas Lights. Coldplay sang… “Doesn’t really feel like Christmas at all.” Good song- just about how I feel- have a listen below…I guess I would call it my 2010 Christmas anthem. I have to say, its much better than Train’s overplayed Christmas song, “shake up the happiness, wake up the happiness, come on ya’ll…it’s Christmas time.”

I mean, come on. Seriously?

To make matters worse- I just found out that Limewire is under a court order to stop distributing software. Which means no Christmas music on my new hard drive. Sorry Mariah.

Of course, I am thrilled to be leaving for India- it's a trip I’ve been anticipating for the greater part of five years. On the other hand, having spent nearly 15 days of the last 30 in the Indian Embassy has not proven been the best launch to the magical experience I have in mind. In Shantaram, the author mentioned something about the Indians being the Italians of the East. Now, I haven’t yet been to India- but I have spent days waiting around the Indian embassy- and I can honestly say, based on first impressions (from a bureaucratic standpoint) that this statement couldn't be more true. I laughed when I read it. Yet- I cried when I realized it was true.

I have been completely at the mercy of this incredibly unfortunate culture clash. Simply put Italians (disorganized, slow, stubborn, proud, fiery and aloof) in an office, add a few Indians (indifferent, smug, stubborn and apathetic) and voilá- welcome to inefficiency and a lot of unanswered inquiries. Finally though, I am happy to report, I did manage to get my visa. Please don't get me wrong- the larger fraction of my favorite people in the world consist of both Italians and Indians- I am purely speaking on my experience with the employees of the Indian Embassy of Rome on Via 22 Settembre, 5 (in case anyone was wondering how to find where misery lives…)

I suppose one good thing about Italy is that its national colors are already green and red- therefore, only a few changes have to be made in invoke the “Christmas Spirit”- a snowflake here, a silver bell there- and there ya go. Along with the lights and the trees and the Santas in store windows- Rome is utterly freezing- but like .01 degrees too warm to snow- which is the worst. This weather means, to me; blue lips, walking around in my ski clothes, three horrible days of the flu and the interminable waiting for snow like Waiting for Godot. I am so pumped full of medicine it’s hard to really bask in the Christmas joy of hanging lanterns and glittering palazzi. I did feel good enough today to go to the dog park in Villa Borghese, where a baby Dalmatian maimed Dudy’s perfect little nose so badly I think he’s going to be disfigured for life. But as my friend Stephan says, I’m building up my sh*t capital so that the India trip will go off without a hitch. (here’s hoping…)

Oh, and I spent last weekend in Naples for the Baptism of my Boyfriend’s niece. We went to the family church in the tiny city outside of Pompeii where Antonio grew up. That was interesting as well. Here’s how it went (I’m going to do this in English):

Antonio: “Morgan I want to introduce you to the priest. He basically raised me” (at this point- I should have known to run)

Morgan: “OK”

Priest: “Hi Antonio. How’r’ya? This the girlfriend? Ah well, Antonio- I was watching you, you didn't cross yourself in the manner you were raised. (looks at me all knowingly) You should teach him.”

Morgan: “I’m Jewish”

Priest: (looks at me with an expression between shock and disappointment) “hmmmm ….well….(looks at Antonio) Are you going to convert?(Looks at me) I guess….you are still waiting for your God.

Whatever that means…

Morgan: (speechless)

Aunt of Antonio: (Interjects) “No she has Allah.”

Morgan: (still speechless)

Antonio: (babbles something inaudible)

Really? That was news to me…

So that was fun.

Now...I’m going to go out, eat pizza, and snap a few shots of some dangling lights before I leave for the third world. 

A dopo….

Giorno del Ringraziamento

Another Thanksgiving sans family and sans turkey…(not that I eat it anyway…)

While as I woke up this morning with a twinge of longing for my family and the beautiful November Miami weather, I can’t say that I’m not contented here. 

In the last few days I have taken long walks with the pup- one beginning from Piazza Navona to Piazza di Spagna, ending in a fountain on Via Margutta- which was fun, but the clean-up wasn't. I attended a Unicef gala with a Ballet by Bolle and his troop that was so poignant it made me want to take dance classes again. One evening, I cooked Zucchini Flowers I found in the market and Eggplant Parmigiana for friends who came over to dinner. I’m writing a business plan with a friend, eating tons of pizza, watching the puppy lose his teeth, eat them and grow them back (not due to the ingestion of course).

And in between all the action- I have read three books:

Loving Frank, by Nancy Horan

Love The One You’re With By Emily Griffin

And

One Day by David Nicholls

All great stories. All worth reading- all taking time away from my writing.

Dudy is growing at an impressionable rate and is the best puppy ever- except, of course, for the weekend spent in the hospital hooked up to tubes due to the packet of ibuprofin he ate while I was sleeping. Fortunately, he survived…and is thriving.

It’s truffle season in Italy and I am certainly eating my fair share- particularly the white variety, straight from Alba- requesting shavings on everything- pasta, cheese, asparagus…etc. I would put them in my coffee if I could.

Life is good- Rome somehow seems to get more beautiful by the day and as winter approaches, the lush fur coats in all shades from ivory to rich browns and blacks pass under my windows in droves screaming- “whats PETA?”

So this thanksgiving I wont be standing on any chairs singing the American national anthem- but you may find me in Villa Borghese- with Dudy- humming Va Pensiero to myself…

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!