Dumb Choices by the Banks of the Ganges

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This is a cautionary tale told in too many words and with poor quality cellphone photos. Not for the squeamish or those who are my parents. While traveling I'm often faced with having to make the "smart decision" or "dumb decision." I have often chosen to make the "dumb decision" and it's ... Read More

Happy Holi!

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This post is full of cellphone quality photos. Sorry about that. Friends! Surprise! I was in India! Believe me when I say that I am as surprised as you are. There were times during my first trip here a few years ago that I said (possibly out loud to anyone who was within earshot) that I would ... Read More

A Tiny House Trip

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A few weeks ago Airbnb posted a photo of a snowy, tiny-house on their Instagram feed. I loved it, but loved it even more when I saw that it was in Maine. After watching "Tiny: A Story About Small Living" I have been going through an intense tiny-space phase. I've been whittling down my ... Read More

Why I’m Mad at Delta

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Get ready. Because no amount of free Biscoffs can fix this. Over the past few years Delta has continued to make changes to the way travelers can earn elite status. I hadn't paid much attention to it because I knew I'd always get there through my business travel. But, then all my wanderlusty dreams ... Read More

Kratie is pronounced “Crotch-eh”

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You're not rid of me just yet! Over the course of the last three months, I wrote a number of posts about where I was and what I was doing. I didn't always have great wi-fi, so I couldn't do much photo uploading and didn't want to force you all to actually have to read too much. So, I'll post these ... Read More

What Leaving Feels Like

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I've been sitting on this post for a week. Exactly a week. Almost to the hour. I'd planned on keeping it for myself, but figured I'd already told you about eating bugs and going into a bank without pants. What's one more thing? I've been back for a week. Almost to the hour. And the truth is that ... Read More

Khmer Girlfriends Ain’t Easy: Phnom Penh Part Two

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NOTE: After writing this post, I feel compelled to tell you that the title has little to do with the content here. Sometimes your post ends up completely different than you imagine. In Cambodia, all roads seem to lead to Phnom Penh. It's the central hub for getting from South to North and back ... Read More

Kampot: Part Two

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Despite having misled Kamala and Samon's Village about my motorbike riding skills, everything went just fine. On Day #1 we drove up to Bokor National Park, home to the old French Bokor Hill Station. The trip was incredibly beautiful and it was my first look at some real greenery in Cambodia. Rainy ... Read More

From Paradise to Pepper: Kampot Part One

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The title is a bit misleading considering that Kampot is also paradise and my new favorite place. If there's any place I could live in Cambodia, it is Kampot. Athough, I think I really could live many places here. Kampot is green and small and quiet with little adventures waiting to be had. I loved ... Read More

When Koh Ta Kiev Koh Ta Kicked Me Out

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I'm going to follow up the bummer post about genocide with a nice story about sleeping in a tent! On a beach! The first part of this will be about the island, the end will be about how the island got rid of me. After a few days in Phnom Penh I hopped on a little van headed south to Sihanoukville. I ... Read More

My latest Instagram photos

  • I do this thing when I get dropped off at the airport - I take all my things out of the car and put them on the curb and make sure I have a clear view of the road to the exit. I hug people and then I stand on the sidewalk and wait until they pull away. When they do, I wait for their hand to come out of the window to wave and then I wave without stopping until they’re out of sight. . The people who love me most know not to pull their hand inside until I’m out of their sight. And the people I love most know I won’t stop waving until they’re out of sight. . I do it to Harvey and Dottie every single time. Once, when I was traveling to Florida a lot for work the Delta skycap on the curb at Ft. Lauderdale said, “wait, I remember you from last week - I don’t think they’re coming back to get you this time either.” That’s the intensity of my wave - it must look like I’m waiting for someone to come back and get a frantic me. . And I always think of that Jack Kerouac quote about next adventures being spread out before us. Even when I’m just flying to Boston. . Anyway, if I ever wave you down maniacally after you leave me at an airport you shouldn’t come back. Just know how much I love you.
  • The 5th annual October 3rd post. Every year I evaluate where I am on this day. Five years ago I was walking out of my NYC advertising job for the last time. It’s something everyone does at some point, but the timing and the season held so much weight for me. . I say it every year, but I’ve woken up in tents in Colorado (plural because TWICE!), I was in India, I was in Chicago. I was in England after camping for a month. Today I’m in Nashville with a group of writers I’m connected to after taking on a freelance job just after the second October 3rd. I thought that job would last a few months. Instead it’s been with me for just about everything. I’ve written from the Himalayas, from a farm in Italy and from hospitals. . It was the first commitment and structure I went back to after my mom died. . Most of my post-college life has allowed me to guess where I’d be in a year. Give or take an agency. But the last five years I haven’t known. Almost all the things I’ve guessed have been wrong. Part of that is missed chances because of fear and part of that is due to moments of no fear. Cautious recklessness and cautious caution. . The last few months have been hard and I won’t lie and say I’m as happy as I’ve been on other October 3rds. But that first October 3rd was hard too. And here I am. . In Nashville, wearing a dress, knowing that on October 4th we start all over. Just like every other day.
  • I’ve been hating Instagram lately. All of it. I even deleted it a few weeks ago. I can’t quite put my finger on why, but I don’t want to think about it too much. So here’s a photo of a bunch of TVs that I imagine were very broken, but also maybe they weren’t. This was in Laos after I paid thirty cents for the novelty of crossing a rickety bridge that washed away every rainy season. You know what I stopped doing about 45 days into the trip where I saw these? I stopped going to visit monasteries. One day I decided I’d seen enough and sat by a river and read a book all day instead. I’ll still pay thirty cents to cross a dilapidated bridge though. Any day of the week. Okay, that’s all I got. Having a hard time with Instagram, love bridges, done with monasteries.
  • This week has been messy. I’ve been impatient and indecisive and rude to strangers. All the things you were not. In two months we’ve gotten through Father’s Day, your 45th wedding anniversary and the 4th of July, but your birthday yesterday brought a whole different feeling that I can’t quite explain. It has weight, but of a magnitude I can’t quite understand. . Last year on this day I called you in the dark from a campground in Belgium and felt a twinge of regret. I thought “next year I’ll be there.” And I was. Except you weren’t there. I’m sorry we couldn’t coordinate that better. . We wanted to do things you would have liked. I got my nails done. We went to lunch at Subculture Coffee and shared the sugary coconut cake that I got mad at you for wanting a few months ago. Back when I still thought it was possible to control things out of my control. The last time I deemed the cake unnecessary for us you said “I’ll have it on my birthday.” Sorry for blowing that one, but we had it for you. We toasted forks and cried and it was horrible and delicious. . We talked about how nuts it is that you’re not here and about fake leather car seats and about my life. We stayed for two hours. . I’m not sure what I expected. To feel triumphantly capable of honoring you? I didn’t. While I’m not sure what I was hoping for, we did manage to get through the day. We ate coconut cake and we were together and it was the most raging party we could muster. . Happy birthday, Mommieokee. Hope you saw us and felt happy. I hope you felt known.
  • I didn’t really want to post what I posted a few days ago. I did it because I was tired of posting things that felt sad. And I missed talking about traveling. But in reality I really just wanted to say something about my mom. About how I say good morning to her every morning and about how sometimes I ask in my head “are you here?” I wanted to tell the story of trying on a dress and being undecided and realizing I would have texted her a photo except her phone is sitting on the kitchen counter and I would have been the one to see it the next time I visited my parents house. Or, rather, the house of my parent. I’ve thought about explaining that my voicemail is forever full because I have 23 voicemails saved from her dating back to 2013, assuming that one day I would obsessively listen to them but now I can’t stand the idea. I would have said something about hiding out in the fitting room of the tiny store so that when I came out and bought the dress no one would say anything about me wearing sunglasses inside. I could have mentioned that the dress didn’t really fit (it’s a little big at the top for those who come here for the fashion content 😂) but I got it because she would have. . What I really wanted to do was tell a bunch of internet strangers and internet friends that nothing feels quite like me and I can’t stand small talk or Taylor Swift anymore. That I only want to be around people that don’t know me very well to remove the pressure of being some version of normal. That I only want to be around people that know everything about me so that I can get away with just keeping my mouth shut and disappearing in the background. Mostly I just wanted to express that I have no idea how to be because I mostly feel like I’m in a little rowboat with the exact right number of oars but no idea how to use them. . In January I had an opportunity to hang a bunch of my photos on a few walls. My mom must have asked 20 times if I was going to use the photo of the monks. I never knew exactly what photo she meant, so here’s every photo I’ve ever made of a monk. All three of them. Just in case.
  • I booked my first trip to India only because I loved Darjeeling Limited. The bright colors, the sweet lime lady and the soundtrack with all my favorite songs by The Kinks had me sure it was my place. But it wasn’t my place. I half hated it. So I went again. And that time only a quarter of me hated it. So, of course, I did it again. My third trip lasted nearly two months and included a few instances of having to push a Royal Enfield uphill. There was also a rip-roaring night of fun sharing a room with a giant Huntsman spider and a few of his smaller pals. Unsurprisingly, despite all that, I’ll go back. . The last time I was in Varanasi I stayed at a place tucked into one of the winding alleys. It was so well tucked that at night the only way to be sure I was heading in the right direction home were these guys. They sat in a smoky concrete room playing a game that, from what I could tell, only involved smoking, coughing and yelling in quick angry bursts at your best friends. I watched them every time I passed and the last night they motioned for me to come in. This guy in white was the ringleader and while he looks like a grumpface, just a second before this photo he was smiling.
  • All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again! . // from “Death Is Nothing At All” by Henry Scott-Holland
  • My mom kept her perfume in the refrigerator. Maybe it was a result of living so much of her life in a hot place like Miami. They’re all still there. . As a tiny Michelle, when she put one on in the kitchen I knew I’d be spending the night eating pizza and watching movies with a high-school neighbor. And despite being pizza nights for me, those evenings felt so fancy. . I go into the refrigerator and smell them now. She still has all the scents I remember her wearing. Chanel No. 19 for nights out, Cabochard for other occasions. Issey Miyake for work just before she retired. The Jo Malone Mimosa and Cardamom I bought for her at Heathrow two years ago. She had ripped a sample out of Elle Magazine knowing she wanted it because my mom knew what scents were meant for her. . My parents bought me Mademoiselle Chanel when I graduated from college. It was meant to be my first nice scent for the job I was about to start. While I loved it, I somehow veered off course. Now I wear a lavender essential oil on normal days. This makes me feel like I failed her, but here we are smelling how we smell despite it all. . This is what it’s like. A trip to the kitchen to get water is actually a journey through the scents of life with my mom. I can’t remember specific instances, but they all smell exactly like every single memory. The last few years she just smelled like her. Clean, kind skin that always tried to be what I wanted her to be. And she totally was.

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