My life is the stuff of which movies are made.
Lifetime movies perhaps, but movies nonetheless.
Sure, we all have our crosses to bear but let's be real - some of us are dealt far different hands than others. Now, I was not born into a country where the oppression of women is sanctioned, regardless of how you feel about the recent election results. And I am very grateful that not only do I possess all four limbs, but they all function with a fair amount of ease and reliability.
But sometimes , having your arms and legs is just not enough (see: Lorelai Gilmore).
Life is hard. And when life gets hard you have two choices, you can grin and bear it, it you can run.
My natural inclination is a position teetering somewhere between the two, so after two months spent within the four walls of my Northern Manhattan compound doing nothing but bearing (grinning was far less frequent) - I ran.
Two days ago I booked a ticket to a place that was warm and inexpensive. And today, I am on a plane, dressed in a maroon sweatsuit looking far more ready to enter the hallowed halls of Bada Bing than headed for Southeast Asia.
Cambodia to be exact.
A country known for it's majestic temples and genocidal tendencies, it offers 80 degree temperatures in December, 10 dollar a night accommodation and 9000 miles between me and my real life.
With my life, and my wardrobe, spread across 3 states I was not as prepared for this spontaneous voyage as I typically am, so I had to forego my trusty backpack and go to travel staples for a personalized LL Bean oversized tote, filled with a smattering of spandex based clothing, a pair of chucks and my camera.
There are many suggestions on how to get over heartbreak; how to grieve the loss of a loved one; how to bounce back from personal tragedy. When you spend a couple months in self imposed isolation you might come across an article or two telling you to eat well or spend time with friends. Start new projects or meditate. My father was always adamant with the adage 'don't isolate.' I can recall his repeating of this simple statement numerous times throughout my life but, without him here to enforce it, I was left to my own devices.
On a plane now, wedged next to a genial man from Virginia, after an early morning ride to Newark, a 6 hour flight to SFO and a 6 second layover before hauling ass to the terminal leaving for Seoul, South Korea I am no longer alone. I'm trapped in a tin box with a thousand Koreans and no access to the outside world. An ancient tin box with no personal television sets built in, a necessity when on a 12 hour flight. Little relief is experienced by watching the single small television mounted to the ceiling playing videos of NKOTB, Hall and Oats and a non-descript girl with a bob and a bralette from the early 90s. The fact that the feed freezes and skips only adds to the excitement. No WiFi and no end in sight.
Just when I thought things couldn't get worse and I couldn't get anymore uncomfortable the flight attendants offered a turbulent beverage service all over my new Sopranos inspired threads, which at least shook things up for a moment.
If this is what being back in public is like I'll gladly retire to my couch.
But now I'm in it, half way across the world living my ''Oprah best life,'' trying to make a semblance out of the rubble from the past couple of years, and all I can think about is love lost. 12 hours with no distraction and a mind that spins and wanders even when Netflix and Hulu are only a finger tap away is a dangerous thing.
The poor portly fellow next to me who must wonder how I go from the charming butterfly I am one moment to a woman on the edge of crisis in a tearful cocoon the next. Though he is a man, so perhaps he is oblivious.
After an excruciating 12+ hours fraught with stale air, indifferent flight attendants, repulsive cuisine and a major lack of entertainment we made it - the majestic mountains of Seoul draped in undulating fog greeted us just before landing in a hazy cloud of smog, making it all the more clear why some of our friends from the Far East wear surgical masks as their favorite accessory.
A quick goodbye to my new travel bestie Dexter who was off to simulate war crimes for a living with the government up North and I was headed to the international wing for a 7:30pm flight to Phnom Phen, but not before sampling some udon noodles that tasted of fiery hot pepper and fish - delish.
With mere moments to exchange my paper ticket that said United seat 20 a to a paper ticket that said Asiana Airlines seat 20 and to admire the beautifully cherubic children scurrying around the terminal it was on yet another plane. My third of the day. And my last, hopefully, for a while.
5 more turbulent hours, both emotionally and otherwise and I was in Phnom Phen, where I was met with a 30 dollar visa charge, not one but two Burger Kings and a throng of Cambodians as impatient and unaware of personal space as they were sticky from the tropical night air.
On the road in an open air tuk tuk and I gotta say, as hesitant as I often am to hop a plane to nowhere with no plan and no friends, for the first time all over again. Part of it always feels like coming home.
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