Happy & The Holidays

I wish the stain of losing people we love (to suicide, overdose and strings of unhealthy choices that could lead nowhere else) would fade, just a little.

Bright and shiny holidays are smeared.  Special occasions chipped.

I'm so fucking tired of the missing, the grieving and the sadness.  

I'm so fucking tired of making the best of shitty situations.

I'm tired of a Christmas song coming on and instantly reminding me of my mum, bopping around in our kitchen making our house smell like magic.  

I'm tired of my eyes filling up with tears totally against my will.  

I'm tired of sitting here, stunned still, that the holidays I miss so much will never be again.

And I'm tired of wanting that so badly because my rational mind knows that we must create our own version of holidays now and keep moving forward.

But how does one wake up each morning and choose to move forward "happily" when people they love didn't even choose to stay?

With a lot of energy, hard work and discipline, that's how.

With a lot of unanswered questions, too.

My pendulum swings with ferocity some days.  

It might sound fun but trust me, it isn't pretty.

I go from happy to sad, pissed to glad in a blink.   It's like an ultimate spin cycle but without choosing it.

Holidays magnify the spin.

Holidays magnify everything, actually.  The happy moments, the sad moments, the wanting and the missing.

The holidays are fucking exhausting.

I think I need to go back to bed and try to choose "happy" one more time.

:: Always from under the same sky ::

Tara

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Phoenix Rising

Close to a month ago I heard all this yelling and commotion next door.  I had just gotten out of the shower, threw clothes on and hustled outside to find nothing but silence.

A few minutes later my other neighbor, my hippie-botanical-boho-buddy, Jim, came by all worked up.  He told me the dog next door had attacked a cat (it was the owner I had heard yelling to try to stop the dog).  Jim had intervened, did his best to save the cat by prying it out of the dog's mouth and putting it over my fence, to safety.  He asked if he could go out back to find it and I followed him to our wall of areka palms.  Which is where we found her.

I could see big, fearful eyes in the dark of night…and that's about it. She couldn't move.  I wrapped her in a blanket and we carried her inside, getting her settled into a nice cozy spot in the garage (safe from my 4-pawed tribe).

By the time Bobby got home I had already did my best to clean her up and sooth her a bit.  We both believed her to be feral.  Bobby didn't want to say it but I could tell he didn't think she had much of a shot at surviving.

I was worried about managing her pain but I had a feeling she'd be ok.  We agreed to nurse her overnight as long as she appeared to be managing ok and see what her status was the next day before bringing her to the Humane Society where I worried they'd rush to put her down (potentially being feral in an area that's overrun by feral cats).

Well, several weeks later I'm happy to report that she's a purring, nuzzling and eating machine!!  Her legs are little wonky still but I guess that makes sense when you have a boxer clamp down on your hips and try to crush you.

Truth be told - she's a survivor!

I have eased into leaving the garage door open for extended periods of time uncertain if she's in a hurry to go back to wherever she came from…but each time I make my way back to the garage to check on the status of Phoenix, there she is, just looking at me as if to say "you don't want me to leave, do you?".

Crazy Cat Lady status is inching toward red alert.

:: Always from under the same sky ::

Tara

The Hurt

Sometimes The Hurt comes rushing in with the force of a tsunami.

Merciless, destructive and with the art of surprise on it's side, it takes you under upon impact.  

You try to find your way to the surface but The Hurt is so heavy, you find yourself sinking, fast.

You are going down and you know it.   

As you tumble, your lungs tighten, your heart aches and the tears fall but in this current, they are uncatchable.   

Instead, you watch them scatter into the chaos, arm outreached as if there was once a chance to recollect them.

This is not unfamiliar territory.

You've been swept up by this before.  

The Hurt has taken you for many a ride.  

By now at least you know the only option is to let it flow over, in and through you.  

You don't bother fighting it.  

The Hurt doesn't lose.

You have to let it take it's course.  

It rushes madly through all of your cracks and open wounds.

It leaves you no option other than to cling and float upon the raft of Hope.

Hope that it passes quickly.  

Hope that your breaks and battle wounds are healing.

Hope that The Hurt won't return too soon.  

Hope that someday you will be stronger than The Hurt.

Penny For Your Thoughts

I have this special spot on Memory Lane.  It's at the crossroads of Truth, Chaos, Uncertainty & Hope Streets.  It's a hell of a 4-way intersection that could use some better lighting and certainly a cross walk.  But none-the-less, even though it's tricky and sometimes hazardous....it's still special to me.

During the launch of the most chaotic chapter in my life, I found myself a continent away from home and spinning my way through a wide range of lessons (also known as mistakes).

I'm no stranger to following my wanderlust and this night I did exactly that.  I had accidentally separated from my friends after claiming a dance floor in Dublin.  It was a beautiful night, crisp and cooling to my warm (post-dancing queen) skin, so I opted to make my way back to the hotel by foot.

My route brought me over the River Liffey by way of the Ha'Penny Bridge.  I made my way to the center and found a spot against the railing so I could take in the view of my fellow night owls against the backdrop of the illuminated city.

This is the exact spot where Time seemed to stand quietly still and I allowed the world to catch up to me.

All the spinning came to a halt.  I didn't have this overwhelming need to sprint to or from anyone or anything.  No twirls of avoidance or plots of destination hopping. Instead, I just stood there and allowed Presence to walk up to me, take my hand and simply enjoy the view alongside me.

It's a moment that is both haunting and heartwarming. A single and powerful moment that I needed then as a reminder to keep Hope and one that I still draw on now to reinforce how proud I am of how far I've come.

I can tell you from experience that getting lost to get found is an amazing adventure.

:: Always from under the same sky ::

Tara

Images courtesy of (from top to bottom):

http://www.ballsbridgehotel.com/upload/sequencer_images/attractions-3.jpg

Hostess with the Mostess

Hostess with the Mostess, reporting for duty.

You might be asking yourself how someone could possibly give herself that title. Well, look, it simply must be the case because I've been hosting some pesky barnacles for several years now. I've asked them to leave, begged them, pleaded, cried, screamed, whispered, tried to charm them with witty banter...and nothing! They just won't budge.  So I have to assume I'm a pretty awesome host in order for them to want to camp out for so long, right?  

Well, it's something like that but before this story unfolds please allow me to give a special warning:  If PTSD, Anxiety, Panic and the mother of all barnacles, Depression come knocking at your door you better lock it, deadbolt it, switch the blinds and sound an alarm because once they are "in" they are Stage Five Clingers!

(And all this time you had been thinking a visit from your Mother-In-Law was tough.)

The Arrival

It was just over six years ago that this gang swept in under the cover of darkness, completely undetected.  You see, my dad had died by suicide and the sun had disappeared from sight.  I couldn't see them, hear them or feel them when they arrived.  In the chaos of mourning, I must have left the front door wide open because I just awoke one day and there they were, at home within me.

To be clear, I don't mean guests that are so kind and helpful while they are visiting that they are always welcome to make themselves "at home".  I mean the out of line, way too cozy, settled-in version where their muddy feet are up on the couch, the remote has been hijacked and dirty dishes have been scattered about the house - kind of visitor.  

Now you can understand why I call them barnacles, right?  So, how does one get rid of them? Well, like I said, I begged and pleaded for them to bolt.  I collected their belongings, packed their bags and left them at the door. I packed a meal for the road as an added gesture but they just would not leave.

Then what?

My answer:  Hell if I know.  (Ha, I'm just kidding.)  But in all honesty, at first I really didn't have a clue what came next.  All I knew is that I felt awful all the time.

How awful?  Well, for me it felt as if the gang would pass me around in circles. Anxiety had me in his clutches for the majority of the day.  Once he was satisfied he'd hand me off to PTSD so I could get a good slam in the gut by a flashback (or string of them) that hurt like hell and would render me motionless.  Occasionally Panic would get his hands on me, which was always an epic show.  Under his direction I'd be spinning in worry, with my heart racing, tears flowing and rationale on vacation.  When Panic was in charge I was certain the world was ending.  I'm not sure which one of them was responsible for the blockbuster nightmares I had every night for longer than I care to admit but they could battle Scorcese for one of those coveted golden statues any day.  And finally, there was Depression.  He was the biggest, the baddest and the worst of all. He would blanket you in a toxic cloak of cloudy skies, bone-chilling breezes, a constant state of disinterest as well as complete and utter sadness.  Food didn't taste good, sights didn't look good, sounds didn't sound good and feeling anything wasn't really part of the deal.  He is the vacuum that sucks the life out of you.  Every emotion loses its luster.  Every drop of color is stolen from your world until the only thing you see is an underwhelming sea of gray.  That's who Depression is ... he's a bully and he's an asshole.

Needless to say, I just couldn't navigate it all.  My Spirit had bloody hands and banged up knees from crawling so far for so long.  Until ...

Enter Jane, Stage Right

After an ER-worthy panic attack I landed in my therapist's office.  She was a tremendous gift to me at that point in my life.  I had whittled myself down to the bone.  I was emotionally bankrupt and spiritually void.  More than anything, my whole essence was truly exhausted.

So, she and I began waging a mighty battle on my uninvited guests.  I chose to do so holistically, kindly declining medications to assist me in the journey (however, that was a personal choice and although I'm happy with my strategy I absolutely value and respect the fact that I had a choice and the fact that you or others like us do as well.  Choose wisely friends.  These barnacles are not one size fits all.)

As time progressed, so did I.  Soon I began doing tiny, minuscule things that sparked a recollection of a person who wasn't shattered into pieces.  

I would journal, a lot.  Just write and write and write until I had no words or ink left.  I would devour magazines.  I needed visual inspiration, color and beautiful images more than I needed air.  I would listen to music that felt good and avoid the downers with everything I had.  I would crave weekend afternoons sitting on my patio overlooking the ocean even if it meant I had to be wrapped in 4 blankets and bundled like an Eskimo.  In the morning, I relished sipping on tea as if it were laced with gold. All of these things, so insignificant to some, were the anchors of which I held on to with a life force.

In time, that supremely dark phase began to come to a close and a new one was beginning to bloom.  My house guests and I were moving right along.

Re-finding Yoga

I had found yoga many years before when I was trying different types of workouts on for size (similar to the way others try on shoes before buying them).  I was always a fan of yoga but never had I fallen as deeply in love as I did at this juncture.

This time, it was different.  This time I was different.

It was a new year and I was committed to the next phase of my therapy.  Yoga was going to be my foundation.  So there I was, in my first class back on the mat in what felt like eons.  My body was tight, my mind was chaotic and my Spirit was war torn but none of that mattered because the most amazing thing happened.

Yoga took me by the hand to places my heart didn't believe existed anymore.  It lead me to a spot where all those racing thoughts quieted, where my mind slowly stopped spinning and by the grace of everything holy I was able to focus for a collection of moments.  It reintroduced me to Breath and the power it had over the gang of bullies taking up residence within.  It lead me to Presence and that allowed me to be in my body rather than solely inside my pain.  But most importantly, it lead me to Hope which I thought was lost forever.

Somehow through the magic of my yoga practice, I was able to convince the barnacles to "sit in the corner and be quiet" before stepping on my mat.  Somehow I was able to breathe my way through an hour and a half of practice without being bullied.  Somehow, through practice, the gang began to back off - not just when I was on my mat but throughout my day - and I was able to regain strength, light and the pieces of me that were battle-scarred but still true.

Yoga is what taught me that PTSD, Anxiety, Panic and Depression might have moved in but that didn't mean they were in charge.

Yoga taught me how to silence the chaos, how to muzzle the uninvited guests and how to keep moving forward even with my baggage.

Now we all coexist fairly peacefully.  I don't believe any of them will necessarily leave me for good.  So instead of putting my energy toward their departure I just check in to make sure our Treaty is still signed.  Yes, of course there are flair-ups and occasionally one of them will run amok but now I use each and every one of the tools I collected along this bumpy road, in therapy & within my practice and I apply them to the best of my ability.  Especially those handy muzzles.

:: Always from under the same sky ::

Tara

Images courtesy of:

Tara Mazzeo

Gemini Rising

The other night I found myself assigned to the middle seat on my flight from Boston to Fort Lauderdale.  Normally, I'm a window person but like The Stones say, you can't always get what you want.

So, without any huffing & puffing I squeezed myself into my cozy (which really means claustrophobic) seat and got myself situated for the trip.  For me that means the following ritual: text messages sent, phone off, scarf wrapped around me, bottled water nestled in the seat pouch in front of me and a brand new book in hand. My last step is always a "slow the heart rate, you made it" exhale (since I've missed a flight or two in my day).

You should know in advance that it's not unheard of for me to make long-time friends while flying.  In reality, it's commonplace (once a social butterfly, always a social butterfly).  However, there is no person on this fine planet who could have prepared me for the most unexpected contrast of conversations that were about to take place between myself and my row-mates.

And so it began...

As I was in the process of my pre-flight exhale the passenger to my left greeted me with a warm hello.  He was in the coveted window seat but I got over that as quickly as our conversation began.  He asked about the book I was reading (The Happiness Project) of which I explained I just purchased it so I couldn't speak to whether it was good or not quite yet.  I soon learned that he was in his early 20's, from Russia (Belarus), has been in the States for a year, works his ass off and plans to see as much of the US and Europe as he can before going back to Belarus to settle down. He was incredibly sweet (the un-jaded, early 20-something kind of sweet) and I instantly liked him.  

In the kickoff stage of our chat the person assigned to the aisle seat, to my right, made her entrance.  I was alerted to her arrival because her purse landed on my lap as if a personal trainer had tossed me one of those extra large weight balls without a heads up it was coming.   She plopped herself into her seat along with her Beyonce inspired faux eyelashes, anti-gravity hair and super-sized personality.  Once she was situated she apologized for the intimate introduction, I smiled, responded with a sincere "no worries" and continued my conversation with my Russian acquaintance.

Somewhere along the way, Lady Grace also asked me about the book I had in my hand.  The Happiness Project had proven itself to be quite the conversation starter and before you knew it we were off and running in conversation as well.

She asked if I had read a few other soulful books and soon we were talking about the making & breaking of habits (both take 21 days),  Zodiac signs and what type of music we listened to.  As soon as the rapper Eminem's name was muttered a light bulb went off for her.  She must have known she had an audience.  At this time she proceeded to excitedly excavate her purse.  She started digging through it with her crystal encrusted acrylics, found her iPhone and began click-clacking her way through her files.  It was clear she had something to show us and it appeared to be important.  Once she found what she was looking for, she handed us her phone and said "read this".

And so we did...

It took a moment to fully understand what I was reading but then it suddenly dawned on me...she was a lyrical poet in the form of a gangster rapper.  Her words were so gangster I wasn't even sure I knew exactly what she was trying to say.  All I know is that her "boo" meant a lot to her, she was really pissed off, she didn't want him to go anywhere with anyone (especially some other gangster girl rapper who had some colorful nicknames) and that she was willing to go the extra mile to keep her boo happy.

I looked up at my Russian acquaintance wondering what he might be thinking as he read along.  He was just looking at the screen with a blank stare as I did my best to follow the story this hardcore poet was so eager to share.

When we finished I handed the phone back to her and decided to focus on our shared love of writing, which seemed like a common denominator.  I asked if she ever went to Open Mic events to share her work.  She responded with a sincere and heartfelt "Oh, no girrlllll - I don't spit".  It took me a moment to break the trance her faux lashes had me under (I mean, I was only inches away from them and could feel the wind with every blink of her eye).  I found myself just nodding as I watched them flutter and did an inventory of the slang options for the word "spit".  She must have realized I was processing something so she just gave me a moment as she sipped her vodka drink.  It turns out Lady Grace was a unique mix of gangster and lady wrapped up in one aesthetically crafted bow.  

As the hours passed and with the elegance of a ballerina I switched from conversations about growing up modestly in Belarus to Lady Grace's time as a stripper.  Only to switch again from homesick thoughts of the sweetheart the Russian acquaintance had waiting for him in Russia to the racy boudoir photos and selfies that Lady Grace was eager to share from her iPad.  

Somewhere in the last hour of our flight, everyone quieted down.  My row-mates fell to sleep and I sat there with a huge smile on my face wondering how I was going to give this experience the voice it deserved.

As I sat pondering it all, I realized that not everyone has the interest or ability to follow, receive and respect such diversity in one sitting.  I mean, let's just accept the fact that my conversational pendulum had spent hours swinging from one extreme to the other.

It was in this moment it dawned on me that had I not been a Gemini (with the gifts of duality, flexibility and multitasking) it's possible, if not likely, my mind would have been blown somewhere over North Carolina.    

::  Always under the same sky ::

Tara

Image courtesy of:

Gemini Illustration Courtesy of Silver Ridge Studio

Faith

Life isn't perfect.

Life isn't easy.

Life isn't even pretty, at times.

That's right.

At times it's hard.

That soul-straining, heart-wrenching and hope shattering kind of hard.

It withers you down, leaving you with but a sliver of Faith.

Your battered and war torn shell holds that remnant tightly.

It's all you have left.

You are weak and unstable yet you rise to your feet.

You realize you mustn't stay here.

You must leave this unforgiving place.

You must not live in Grief forever.

You have to keep going.

You lift your gaze to the road ahead.

It looks as tortured and unkind as the spot you stand in now.

It's wild, overgrown, dark and bitterly cold.

Yet, you decide to move forward anyway.

Faith, so fragile, nearly transparent, refuses to stay behind.

You go, together.

Your hesitant steps take you through "Unthinkable" and beyond "Impossible".

In time, those steps turn to strides and you go over "I can't" and around "Regret". 

Soon, something unexpected happens.

You find yourself in a clearing.

The once unwavering gray clouds part.

Your eyes seek safety.

You feel a blanket of unfamiliar warmth surround you.

It is in this moment you realize how numb and how cold you been for so long.

Your fingers slowly loosen their bare-knuckled grip.

Your eyes open, ever so slowly.

And there it is...

You found the light again.

You allow it to wash over you.

You drop the heavy load of armor you bear.

An exhale escapes.

A smile blooms.

A prayer of gratitude is whispered.

Tears fall downward along your sun-kissed cheeks.

You are acutely aware that these tears are of a different breed.

They are not for protection.

Instead they are gifts.

They are offerings of relief, of healing and of renewed Hope.

These tears are in dedication to your kind and loyal companion.

The one who never abandoned you.

These tears are for your true and unbreakable Faith.

........ ........ ........

:: Always from under the same sky ::

Tara

Images courtesy of (top to bottom):

urbansavior.com/instant-inspiration-25-inspiration-quotes-help-you-through-your-day/

Tara Mazzeo

Tara Mazzeo

cwarrendesign.com/blog/tag/hand-lettering/

Miss Independent

Contrary to popular belief, Independence (mine in particular) was not a phase to be grown out of but instead a way of life to bloom into.

I have crystalline clear memories of fighting my mum tooth to nail on outfit selections when I was getting ready for my busy days in "Smile Class" (aka: preschool).  She would be red-faced and flustered by the end of the "time to get dressed" ordeal and I would either be puffed up & proud as a peacock for my victory or totally distraught because my creative freedom was being stifled. (It's no wonder my parents decided to put me in an elementary school that wore uniforms.  She saw the red flags and flashing lights and she yielded to them.  Her days of wrestling a 4 year old with the will of a rhino were over. Well played, Mum.)

As the wonder years progressed, so did my desire to stretch boundaries.  Let's keep in mind I didn't really grow up in an overly strict household, so the boundaries that I speak of were pretty reasonable.  However, my evolution to Miss Independent didn't really pay homage to the good old boys of R&R (Reason & Rationale).  Instead I was bursting at the seems to go-go-go and good luck to anyone that muttered "no", "not a good idea", "you probably shouldn't do that" or anything that resembled a warning to move ahead with caution.

(I should add that in addition to a burning flame of independence, I was also host (still am) to the fun, the daring, the always exciting Defiance and Curiosity!)

Now it's really time to party!!!!

Now that my motley crew of characteristics is out of the bag you can imagine what an exciting journey it's been.  High School hiccups and my Twenty-somethings filled to the brim with trip-ups segued beautifully into Mistake Mania and the Who Knew Hullabaloo.  But in the end, I wouldn't trade any of it.  None of the wrong turns, detours, the "are you kidding, how did you even get here?"s.  Not even the what-ifs (though I must admit that those make me pause on occasion).

So what's the bottom line?  Well, life has been far too juicy for me to trade any of it in. My independence lead the way along with my defiance and my curiosity.  Was it easy? No, it wasn't. Was it a direct route?  Absolutely not. In fact, it might have been the most indirect route possible to where I am today. Was I a nightmare for my parents, siblings, level-headed friends and my sweetheart of a fiancé?  You bet your ass I was.

But that's all part of what makes me, Me.  You have to give me the room, the space and sometimes the time to get there on my own.  Don't try to change me, don't try to talk me out of it (we all know that's code for talking me into it, anyway) don't try to dissuade me just because.  All I need is a little belief and I'm certain I'll make it to the point where your path crosses with mine (unless I took a detour, then we might have to rejig the plan...but you get what I'm saying, right?).

As a parting gift to all my friends who share their lives with my fellow Independent Spirits, take a deep, cleansing breath, smile and have a little faith. And when those moments appear when you might need a little more than faith, just remind yourselves that free spirits are not meant to be wrangled.

:: Always from under the same sky ::

Tara

Imagery courtesy of (from top to bottom):

"Miami Supreme" by Tara Mazzeo

"Little T" by Tara Mazzeo

"Do Not Enter" pin via Pinterest

"Curiosity" by Jon Bertelli

Little Dancer George W. Gardner Photography - Gallery - New Orleans, Louisiana. 1972

"A little bigger T" by Tara Mazzeo

Cecil Beaton quote via http://mrsamberapple.tumblr.com

Trail of Turquoise

My best friend introduced me to the white sands, swaying palm trees and turquoise waters of Florida when I was 13 years old.

It was on a sweltering August day that my plane touched down with a thud.  I unbuckled my seatbelt and thought to myself "I made it!".  It's all I could do not to clap my hands and shout in glee, like the child I was trying so desperately not to be.

As passengers began to spring to life, I stuffed my camera filled with prized images of clouds (it was my first flight, give a kid a break) into my carry-on and with all the strength my tiny frame and oversized ego could muster, dragged my loot toward the exit.

After being collected by my best friend's family at baggage claim, we made our way outside.  It was within a few steps and one upward glance that I was greeted by two things I had been anticipating for some time: The majestic sight of my very first palm tree and the wall of humidity I thought I might have to scale in order to get to the parking lot.

For that moment, I stood there, giddy with excitement and without doubt, head-over-heels in teenage love.

As my years and story unfolded, my love affair with Florida never faded. There was no doubt that we were in a long-term, long-distance relationship, Florida and I. Time was split, a weekend here, a week there, always pining for the next visit. Always flirting with the idea of moving there "next".

As always, The Universe has an amazing way of working things out because somehow, someway "next" happened.  I no longer have to rendezvous with my sweetheart.  Now, I'm here, full time, soaking in the smell of dewy grass in the morning, looking up at the swaying palms in pure delight and gazing out at the turquoise waters in as much awe and love as I did through my sparkling teenage eyes.

You might be wondering what the moral of all this is, right?  Well, that's an easy one...

Love lasts, friends.  Don't let anyone tell you differently.

:: Always from under the same sky ::

Tara

Imagery courtesy of (top to bottom / left to right):

Silver-blonde.tumblr.com/post/47038487177/d-o-l-c-e-coconut

Store.mollusksurfshop.com/collections/san-francisco/products/510-hess-lola

The Gingham Owl via Etsy

Sea-gypsy.tumblr.com

Shop.holstee.com

Eatdrinkchic.com/post.cfm/vintage-apothecary-bottles-free-labels

Colorfulvansanddarktans.tumblr.com/post/6047434965

Cardigansandcookies.tumblr.com/post/12666175466

Road Trip, Baby

How many of us have said: "I'd love to drive 'cross country someday"?  

If you nodded your head or raised your hand that means we are one in the same tribe.  

I've had the electric experience of doing this drive a number of times.  Each trip motivated by a consuming desire to see, feel and breathe it all in.  And by "it all" I mean every single thing you could squeeze into a trip all while driving a moving truck, jammed beyond breathing space with everything you own, towing your car behind you and continuously soothing your pissed-off cat with herbal remedies to calm her from the hatred she has pumping through her veins because you are doing this....again.  

Just know that the heavy load, continuous need to stop for gas and the hissing feline sidekick didn't stop me from a constant drip of the word "WOW", the feeling of wonderment or the urge to hop out of the truck and take photos of every-single-thing that made my eyes (and heart) open wider.

Truth be told, I just couldn't soak it in fast enough.  The green pastures, blue skies and friendly cows of Nebraska are vivid in my mind's eye along with hills rolling in like a welcome wagon as you make your way into Wyoming.  And then there's Utah, there's a pocket of space there that literally took my breath away.  I fell so fast and so deeply in love when I think of it today I smile sweetly.

The day I saw amber waves of grain still gives me goosebumps.  I can recall watching it, as I rolled by, completely in awe and saying it out loud as if the lyrics to America The Beautiful were suddenly sitting on my lap.  It's one of my favorite moments. 

The Mars-like terrain tucked in-between the southern California/Arizona border continues to weird me out.  And to date, I have yet to see a sunset that beats that of the Arizona desert.  In my humble opinion, the desert is the King of Sunsets.

Colorado took me by the shoulders (and ego) and gave me a good shake (visualize one of those 1950's fat burning machines).  His steep inclines along with my heavy loaded truck made an ass-kicking recipe for screaming breaks that pitched a fit that could battle any toddler.

Of course, I can't find words to describe the grandiosity of the Grand Canyon. All I can recommend is that you go.

(However, please note:  Do NOT go there driving a 20 foot moving truck towing your vehicle behind it.  At least do NOT go to the North Rim via this monstrosity. I count being able to keep all 8 tires on that incredibly skinny, loop-de-loop, death-defying road one of my luckier days. There was no question that the belly of the canyon was licking its chops just waiting for a morsel to fall. It's an epic story to tell but let's just say that I'm well aware I'm here today simply because Lady Luck was squeezed into the cab of the truck, alongside me, as we each wiped the sweat from our brows.)

You see, the thing is, I could keep sharing little bits of nostalgia from each mark on my Map Of Travels but that's not exactly the purpose of this post. The purpose of this post is to spark some inspiration in you so you can go and start marking your own map with pin drops of memories.

This great country has so much personality and so much variety that makes up the collective fabric that is US.  Sure that includes the Big Players like NYC, San Francisco, Miami and Chicago (all of which I love) as well as Boston (the only place I call home).  But I also need to point out that some of the spots that took me by the hand and made a life long impression were far off the beaten path.  They were shy whispers of Americana, not just the flashy big brothers. They included small town smiles and country hand-shakes. These spots were found by taking dirt paths that lead to ghost towns and covered bridges that lead to kaleidoscope mountaintops. These hidden gems were the pieces that really captured me.  

And so, I'm holding onto good ol' Hope here, that this might have you digging out that dusty old list that you labeled "Places To See" so you can giddy up and hit the road!

(Oh, and don't forget to report back. You all know I'm a sucker for epic road trip stories!)

::  Always from under the same sky ::

Tara

Imagery courtesy of (from top to bottom):

Spell & Gypsy Collective

Luna the Sidekick by Tara Mazzeo

America The Beautiful: NCSU Libraries (http://d.lib.ncsu.edu/collections

Vibrating Belt: http://diettogo.com/blog/15-crazy-fitness-contraptions-past-100-years

North Rim by Tara Mazzeo

Pin Dropping 1 & 2  by Tara Mazzeo

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