The Portuguese call it coração partido. The French know it as la douleur exquise. Latin Americans translate it as la congoja; while the English know it simply as heartbreak. Heartbreak transcends cultures; it is a unanimous feeling that doesn’t discriminate. We have all had a broken heart; have felt that intoxicating rush of falling… [Read More]
I blame it on Lonely Planet. I was solo traveling when I grabbed that city guidebook and sat down next to the handsome Italian in the hostel common room. If it hadn’t been for Lonely Planet I might have never gotten involved beyond a cursory glance and passing smile; yet, I did get involved… [Read More]
I had traveled abroad with my boyfriend, Jeff, before to Colombia, the Dominican Republic, London and France for quick trips here and there. Each trip proved different–some more relaxing and luxurious, others fast-moving and urban–but our European adventure would be unlike any previous trip. For almost a month, the two of us would… [Read More]
It’s been almost a year now and time has given me the gift of perspective as I reflect back on my decision to not walk down the aisle. Like the calm after a storm, the dust has settled and today this 27 year old runaway bride has chased her dreams of travel writing from Colombia to France.
Sometimes words fail me at a time like this when emotions are simply too blinding to be contained by mere syllables. You have lit up my life like a shooting star that dazzles the darkest of nights and holds all the promise and whimsy of the world. I have traveled throughout South America, kayaked with… [Read More]
In this make believe world of our own making, this love we share is warm and innocent, wide-eyed and whimsical, impervious to the trials and tribulations life can so often toss in the way of new love. My need to protect this love is how I imagine a parent must feel when holding their newborn in their arms for the very first time. That same awe-inspiring adoration, that same unwavering and unyielding love and that same inherent desire to keep something so pure and so beautiful safe and protected.
The house I grew up in had a brick ledge that marked the entrance to my parent’s flower garden. I could climb to the top of this ledge, high above the vibrant red roses and black and yellow bumblebees and watch as life unfolded in our quiet, suburban neighborhood outside Chicago. Most afternoons would find me perched… [Read More]