I was introduced to a lovely woman through a mutual friend back in February of 2010. Immediately upon saying hello, it became clear we weren’t really paying attention to the “business” that our mutual friend had brought us together to discuss. I did ask for her phone number (rather I stole it from my friend’s phone). In fact, I texted her “here’s my phone number. use it to ask me out sometime.”

I think that counts, right? Either way, I’m crossing off #77: Ask someone for their phone number, call it, and ask for a date.

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With Tika on our foreheads, we can't help but smile

Travel affords ample time to be introspective. It is perhaps the reason that many people succumb to their wanderlust. To give themselves permission to indulge in the conversations that are usually pushed aside by a Vanilla Latte, briefcase, and the subway. I’ve learned much about myself as a traveler. One of the introspective conversations I’ve been having with myself while on this particular trip has been about being “Adventure” and the concept of having “boundaries.”

I very much long to be someone who is perceived as adventurous. Working in the travel industry or entertainment, you have to be. You get on the Amazing Race by being willing to eat a bug. Application videos for travel competitions underline the importance of a candidate being willing to try anything. If I want to do this as a career, I’ve got to do it all.

It has therefore been rather alarming to have two very different occasions help me to learn the difficult lesson that I do, in fact, have limitations to my sense of adventure.

The first seems so silly in retrospect. There are decorative wall hangings available in many stores here in Bhaktapur. They sparkle and glow with vibrant colors and patterns. After salivating over them for the past couple of weeks, Patty and I each decided to indulge and buy ourselves a present.

I entered the shop with an idea of what I wanted; I pictured my standard earth tone color scheme- brown, brick, copper. When I emerged 40 minutes later with a bright green wall hanging, I told myself I was being adventurous. I wanted to challenge myself to buy something that was unusual for me. But it didn’t sit right. I literally squirmed over the decision for at least two days.

Why was this bugging me so much? We’re talking about a piece of art, here. While only mildly expensive (US $50), it was the internal struggle that alarmed me. Could this fabric be indicative of a larger issue? Was I too narrow-minded? Did I only go with what I knew would fit? Shouldn’t I also be able to be a “green” person?

Alas 48 hours later, I returned to the store and exchanged for a wall hanging that fit. I immediately felt a sense of relief; this is going into my home and I love it. I can’t wait to hang it proudly on my walls. If I had purchased the green one, I fear it would have remained in a packing tube under my bed. Plus, having had the two day struggle involved, the art piece has an even bigger story behind it.

I was sitting with this revelation when the second circumstance to challenge my internal dare-devil presented itself. Patty and I were invited to attend a sheep sacrifice. It was just Diwali here in Nepal, and offerings are made to the gods. There are many ceremonies and rituals that take place, including animal sacrifice.

We cautiously agreed to attend the sacrifice ceremony the following morning. It would make great footage after all. We’d be able to say we’d done it. Cross it off the list. At least that’s what I told myself.

But the more I thought about it, I remembered my high school grad trip to Europe when my friends and I purchased tickets to a bullfight in Barcelona. It was barbaric and stirred our stomachs for hours afterward. There was nothing pleasant about the experience, regardless of whether I could cross it off the list.

I bravely confessed my trepidation to Patty. Attending a sacrifice was not something I was comfortable with. In fact I was terrifed. I had already seen an animal die as part of a cultural celebration. I had already crossed this off my list.

Again, did this mean I wasn’t adventurous? Brave? Did it make me weak? These questions bombarded me, but I stuck with my instincts. This wasn’t for me.

In retrospect, I don’t regret returning the wall hanging and not participating in the sheep sacrifice. Traveling, at least in my current state, is still a leisure activity. I get to choose the best and worst parts of my experience and share them with my audience, make recommendations, and encourage them to live their own journey.

After all, I am brave and adventurous in other ways. During the first three weeks of this trip alone, being a girl who rarely eats red meat, I’ve eaten buffalo and mutton. In fact, I even ate buffalo intestine as part of one of these sacred ceremonies. In that same ceremony, I bit the head off and ate a dried fish. I rode 20 kilometers on a speeding motorcycle without a helmet to get a good shot of Kathmandu traffic. I’ve filmed, photographed, and written about it all… I have nothing to be ashamed of.

I just have boundaries. I get tested and I have to remember to allow myself to be human. To remain proud of my joie de vivre spirit, while simultaneously declining an invitation on a very rare circumstance. I have to give myself permission to have preferences.

I believe what sets me apart as a travel guide is that I am willing to share all parts of a journey like this. The decisions I make… and why. The places I go… and how they made me feel.

Next week on Journey with Janelle, I am paragliding off the Himalayas. Though I may have boundaries, you can still call me Adventurous..

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A gymnasts head seems to be missing

Everyone talks about them, but what actually qualifies as a “coincidence?”

According to Wikipedia:

“Coincidence is the noteworthy alignment of two or more events or circumstances without obvious causal connection. The word is derived from the Latin co- (“in”, “with”, “together”) and incidere (“to fall on”); in the more literal translation coincidence can be used to describe the order of events as observed but without explanation of causal connection; the recorded order of facts.

Fascinating.

Another shot gives a man an extremely long arm

There is also such thing as “coincidence photography,” which is when a photograph seems to capture the impossible, usually because of depth perception or camera angle. The gymnast and soccer player are examples.

In my case, I’ve had two little “messages from the world” recently that strike me as oddly (but pleasantly) timed. All related to my “Life To Do List!”

As you avid readers may know, two items on my to-do list involve me re-watching and re-reading some of the classic Documentary Films and Classic Novels I visited as an adolescent. The goal here is to refresh my “artistic well” and observe my reactions to these stories with new eyes.

The first “co-inky-dink” occurred a couple weeks ago when I re-watched “Hearts and Minds,” The Academy-Award winning documentary film from 1974 about the Vietnam War. Often listed as one of the top five documentaries of all time, I of course watched it while in Film School. I remember leaving the theater because I was so upset at one particular part in the film. You can see from the trailer that it’s not an easy film:

The walkout is only relevant because it prevented me from watching the film for weeks. You see, when I created the “Life To Do List” and added the documentary film item, I almost dreaded re-watching this film. War time. Brutal death scenes. I knew it was full of heavy material that wouldn’t sit well. I checked the film out a number of times and had to pay late fees because I kept avoiding actually putting the disk in the DVD player.

Finally, my BFF and I sat down with a glass of wine to watch the film. I had a pen and paper in hand and observed the various camera shots that the editors spliced together to make their wordless commentary on the War. The cinematography and editing were once again striking.

The coincidental part of the story is that just days after re-watching the film, there was a Newsweek article about it. Some 35 years after the film won the Academy Award, NEWSWEEK’s Jennie Yabroff spoke to director Peter Davis about his film’s lasting relevance and about it’s impending re-release. Literally DAYS after I had just re-watched it, the film was featured. I’d had the film in my possession for weeks and only finally tuned in the week of it’s anniversary re-release. Weird.

Now that isn’t that HUGE of a coincidence, I know. But timed with the second item I am going to discuss, it seems all too oddly timed. Another item on my “Life To Do List” includes reading (and re-reading) some of the classic novels. I’ve already re-visited Pride and Prejudice, Catcher in the Rye, To Kill a Mockingbird, and most recently, Wuthering Heights.

In my blog entry about “To Kill A Mockingbird,” I spoke about the importance of re-reading these important novels. As you grow older, the story says something very different to you. I advocated for reconnecting to books many of us just read because we had to in High School.

While I am visiting my folks up in Northern California this week, I visited their library. One section of this library contains all the books I read in High School, many of which are my reading list. I pulled five books from the library, including George Orwell’s “Animal Farm.”

The random ad that showed up

Then today, as I was looking at one of my favorite websites, I noticed the following ad:

Crazy, huh? Now tell me that isn’t a co-inky-dink!

Some people think that coincidences are messages. In the Matrix, a “deja vu” meant a glitch in the system. Regardless, the very occurrence of these odd moments forces a pause for reflection.

In my case, I am going to absorb these occurrences as messages that I am doing what I am suppose to be doing. Both circumstances served as a sort of “pat on the back” to me that revisiting these incredibly stories will serve me well.

While doing some research for this blog entry, I also came across this fun blog entry about the “20 most amazing Coincidences.” Definitely worth a read. I love the very idea that as big as the world is, odd and uncommon timing can be extremely entertaining.

In my case, I’m off to read “Animal Farm.”

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My children, Stanley and Sassy

This week, I moved back in to my home.

My Sanctuary. The room and the furniture and the world art that is so familiar. “Home,” and the concept thereof, is a crucial part of my success. I am incredibly lucky to have always had a stable, loving home. My parents are still married. They still live in the house that I grew up in. I went to school with the same kids from Kindergarten through High School graduation. It was Americana. It was easy. And because I never had to worry about these “givens” in my life, I was able to be a successful and passionate student, traveler, and leader. The stability gave me confidence.

As I’m now almost a decade out of high school (yikes!), the importance of a stable home in my life has not waned. While I’ve moved around Southern California a number of times, I’ve had an incredible apartment for almost three years now. It’s huge. It has a balcony overlooking the Hollywood hills. There’s ample parking– which you know is HUGE if you’ve ever lived in L.A. This is my space (as opposed to MySpace)… and I love it.

No stereotypes please

What’s been difficult about having such a lovely home… is that it’s made it hard to leave. To challenge myself to seek the unfamiliar. A crutch, if you will.

That’s why the past six months of my life have been so crucial for me. I packed up, found a subletter, and moved to Ohio. Then I traveled to New York. Then DC. Then back to New York. Then back to San Francisco. I couch surfed in Los Angeles- only .7 miles away from my own apartment while my subletter finished up her time here. I lived out of my suitcase and off the generosity of my friends and family.

And now am I home again.

I unlocked my storage space and sifted through the items I dubbed “unnecessary” for my survival six months ago. And it’s amazing to me how many of these items are still unnecessary. In fact, that’s been my favorite part of returning. The distance between myself and my material belongings has allowed me to reassess my relationship with these possessions.

My talented Gramoo's artwork

And then the CLEANING started. If I didn’t remember that I owned it, I threw it out this week. If I hadn’t missed it… it was gone. It was a therapeutic way for me to create the space around myself that I need to thrive. Deliberate. Methodical. I asked myself important questions about what I wanted to be surrounded by. And it finally feels right.

And it feels like home again.

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It’s 1:30 in the morning and I’ve just watched a documentary about a young man with diabetes. He’s frail, got acne, and has worn glasses since he was a young child. He’s incredibly depressed and repeatedly retells stories about being ostracized for ADD as a young child. In the course of the documentary, we see that he is not much happier as an adult.

He gets so excited about simply meeting “some of the guys” from work for dinner at a restaurant on a friday night. He gets dressed up. He gets there early. He chooses the best table at the restaurant. And then the kids from work cancel. Who knows why… but they don’t show up and this young, frail, diabetic young man eats dinner alone.

I can’t describe how hard it was for me to watch him eat alone. I thought back to mean tricks that were played on me when I was younger. I cringed at the thought of anyone I love ever eating alone because they felt like they had no friends. And then I cried when I saw his mother cry herself to sleep because her “heart broke for her son.”

He shares that one of the reasons he does not take care of himself is because he is so depressed and lonely he can’t think of a reason to feel motivated to be better. He wants to be closer with his father. He doesn’t realize how much stress his mother is under because of her fear for his future. It’s just the most heartbreaking of stories.

I began to feel really lucky. I began to just feel overwhelmed with appreciation for the people whom I have in my life that have been there for me. For my parents who know I am sick and BOTH stopped on their way home to get me cough medicine. For my friend who shared with me that she feels inspired when we get together. For my constant rock who makes sure to always have icecream and Cold Case episodes at her home so that whenever I show up, there is merriment to be had.

To those who have helped me when I’ve been at my lowest and given me a reason to keep going. I am just so thankful that you exist.

There are some people who don’t need others. I am not one of them. I am a person who needs people.

Ironically enough, I watched the Kennedy Center Honors earlier today. Good ole Babs (Barbra Streisand for those who have been living under a rock) was one of the honorees. I’ve worshiped her since I was a young girl. And one of my favorite songs is “People.” And there is an infamous line that strikes me in particular after watching this documentary tonight:

People. People who need people are the luckiest people in the world.

And it is so true.

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And what a perfect segue to the topic I’d like to discuss right now: Impressions You Didn’t Know You Left.

Three times in one week, I have been reminded that I do make an impact. In separate and completely unsolicited circumstances, I have thrice been extremely touched by folks I rarely see. These people reminded me that when I feel down, and like I am insignificant or am not doing enough to make an impact on the world around me- that in fact I will sometimes never know the impressions I leave. I have to keep faith that someone is reading, someone is remembering, and someone is celebrating me.

Before I go on, I’d like to pause and avoid the “self-aggrandizing” reaction. I do not write this so that anyone reading will say “awww, Janelle… I think you’re great!.” I write this to say thank you to those who have helped me remember that I do have a responsibility to continue doing what I am passionate about. I write this to remind anyone who is reading that when they are down in the dumps, they might consider taking a bit of solace- someone has been touched by them.

Story One: Eating, Praying, Loving

The first story is about a woman I met when I was in Ohio. She is twice my age, lives alone, loves cats, and is just plain nice. When I met her- I could see through her forced pep and spark and knew that deep down, she was unhappy. She had a well-paying job that she hated, but it paid the bills. She was active and well-known in the community, but sought companionship. She was still afraid of her mother’s disapproval (does that ever go away?)

When I arrived at her doorstep one October day, I was in the middle of a journey. I had just quit my job. I had just challenged myself to follow my dreams and my passions. I had just read Eat, Pray, Love . I was the epitome of free spirit and cheerleader of the dream-followers. My Ohio friend noticed this, but never said anything specifically other than that she enjoyed working with me on such a historic project.

I received a call from her last week out of the blue. Something compelled me to pick up the phone, though I had not spoken to her in weeks and was not particularly “close” to her. Perhaps she dialed my number on accident? I picked up and said a surprised hello! My friend shared with me that she was going to quit her job. That she had saved enough money to last her six months and that she was going to pursue her passion of writing grants for non-profits. She was finally going to do it. She wanted the name of the books I had read to help me along my journey. She wanted to ask me how I got up the nerve to do it.

I was so touched that she thought of me. So touched that she was inspired by my story and that it helped her (in some small way) to take her future into her hands. I am so proud of her and so happy to know I could cheer her along in her journey. I never knew that the leap I was taking- and it was a difficult one- would give someone else a nudge over their own obstacles to happiness. What a gift to have the opportunity to know I made a difference for her.

Story Two: Me Too

On Facebook, there is something called the “people you may know.” Based on mutual friends, the computer suggests opening a line of communication with someone you may know. I added one individual after realizing we went to school together but barely spoke. Today, I get a message from this individual and we begin to chat online. He joined the Army after graduation. He is in Iraq. A soldier of war. I imagine an alpha-male in fatigues dodging bullets and immediately wish him a safe and expedient journey home. I realize we have nothing else to speak about.

Then he mentions my work with GLAAD. I believe his words were “I never thought you’d work THERE.” I question him about this. Did he mean he didn’t think that I’d work on behalf of the LGBT community? Was he secretly trying to ask me whether or not I am gay?

I begin to puff up and prepare for the predictable “so you defend fags?” or “I thought you had a boyfriend?” comments that usually follow this line of questioning. Instead… he comes out to me. He is gay. He is a gay soldier.

Slapped me across the face. Immediately made me feel guilty for assuming the worst. He’s across the world defending my right to protest in the streets and he can’t even be open about his sexuality because it will end his career. And he felt safe enough to share with me. He then said “you know… I don’t remember much about school. I remember a lot of kids were really mean. I remember that inside I knew I was gay and that I couldn’t face it. And I remember that you weren’t mean to me. That when my dad died, you made sure to send your condolences. That you were one of the nice ones.”

I had to fight back tears. For all the stories and memories this LGBT community has about bullies… I am just so happy to have been a voice that told him it was going to be okay. What a gift to feel that I have something in common with someone who is fighting in this war. To know that we are both fighting battles. Some are similar. Some are very different.

Story Three: My G-dson

If you’ve never heard the crazy story about my two friends Adam and Jen- then it will take too long to write about it here. Basic jist- one of my LONGtime Jewish friends ended up becoming engaged to and having children with one of my LONGtime childhood school friends. These friends were each hung out in very different circles in my life- my “school” friends vs. my “temple” friends. The only time they crossed paths was at my Bat Mitzvah over a decade ago. Crazy small world: I get a call a couple of years ago after they’ve already fallen in love and realize one night they both grew up with me.

Jen and Adam have just celebrated the first birthday of their second son, Zionn. With both of their babies, I have played the role of happy best friend who visits whenever i am back in my hometown (where this family still lives). I dote on the kids. I show up at the hospital with mounds of gifts. I bring my camera whenever I visit and spend hours snapping pics of these babies.

Mind you- both Jen and Adam come from LARGE families. Jen, in particular, is one of five sisters. Both children are lucky to be growing up with parents who are surrounded with happy, successful, loving families to support them. Suffice it to say, I was stunned and unbelievably touched this evening when they asked me to be Zionn’s G-dmother.

While I’ve known these two kids forever… and now of course love and celebrate their own two kids… I never imagined I was significant enough in their lives to be asked to fill such a role. I am so deeply touched and honored that they thought of me and that I get to be a part of their baby’s life. I know my own g-dfather has been critical in my upbringing and I hope to make them proud.

______________

What a gift. During this holiday season. During this economic melt-down. During a transitional time in my life… to be reminded that I have the capacity to make an impact. Have you experience something like this? I’d love to hear your stories…

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