Twenty twenty started off strong. That is, of course, until the universe laughed at us. Enter, global pandemic. Thankfully, we were able to get away in January before COVID-19 reared its ugly head into our lives.
Here are some photographs from our most recent adventure in Playa Del Carmen.
Bienvenido a Mexico.
Until next time,
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Friday, August thirty first. We watched the sun rise over Lake Moraine. Mother Nature danced across the landscape with a mixture of colors as the sun rose up and up and up. Brian took a sip of his coffee and leaned his head back to accept the warmth of the sun. I stayed, watching him. Everything about that morning made me feel alive. The smell of the water. The chill against my skin. The breeze as it swept against my cheeks and kissed the clusters of lilac fireweed good morning.
You know, I’m a firm believer in signs. Brian hates when I talk about the universe and what he refers to as the meant-to-be-crap, but I really believe it. If you take the time to listen, you can find the signs which speak to your exact situation. It happened to me right before this trip, a little over two years ago. A lot had been weighing on me. I had been feeling cloudy. I had been feeling distanced. Then, one day, I was reading a book during my lunch break and the following words leapt from the soiled pages of a paperback: it’s all just a bit too loud.
That was it.
It was all too loud.
Brian and I arrived in Banff at a time when we needed it the most. We were at the tail end of one of the most difficult years of our relationship. For those of you who know, Brian and I decided to remain long-distance until he completed his medical residency. Facing three years and three hundred miles between us, we mulled over a multitude of factors before reaching this decision. To be clear, though, just because you make a decision doesn’t mean that it’s an easy one to make. This one?
This one was tough.
Being away from the person that you love is damn hard. I felt as if a piece of my heart was missing. It drove away with him that June and wasn’t returned until last summer. I felt myself change. The spark about me faded. It was difficult to carry the same conversations because, honestly, I didn’t have the energy. I would oscillate between periods of sadness and periods of gratitude. I missed him so much and yet felt grateful that I had him in my life at all. I consumed my mind with work because if I thought about him for just one second, I would remember how much I missed him. Ultimately, I began to fight against time. I wanted to speed it up and, then, I felt bad rushing it. I would cross each date off the calendar with glee, a fiery orange through the middle of each day. A bright color as if to make it more real.
I began searching for answers. How could I be present and savor time while looking forward with the same intensity? How do I find myself again?
Sometimes, you don’t find the answers that you are looking for until you hear them in the silence.
In the sound of the wind as it whispers to you at eight thousand feet.
in the smell of the water.
in those quiet moments right before a rainstorm.
Banff quieted the loud which surrounded us. In fact, the final leg of our trip included an overnight stay at the stunning Moraine Lake Lodge. We were given a gorgeous, one bedroom cabin overlooking the turquoise waters. The best part? There was absolutely no cell service. Spoiler alert: it was fabulous. Brian and I went to dinner at the on-site restaurant where we shared a bottle of wine and good conversation. We ventured back to our room, started a fire and spent the rest of the evening talking and laughing. In our little room in this small part of the world, all was quiet again.
Life is beautiful but it can be messy. As much as we may want to believe, there is no secret handbook to living your best life. It is a constant and ever-shifting lesson. Sometimes, we pass and we continue on the right path. Other times, we fail and we fall off course. For me, the silence taught me a lesson in positivity. In those sucky life moments, it is so easy to dwell on the negative. While others were posting about fabulous outings with their spouse on social media, I was at home watching Netflix with my dog (to be fair, he is a great cuddler). Woe is me mentality that I couldn’t shake. However, the reality is that I have this amazingly supportive husband who didn’t want me to lose the career that I worked so hard to achieve. A husband that stressed “we can do this” before he drove away that June. A husband that would text me “good morning beautiful”, every day, from three hundred miles away.
We found ourselves in the mountains that month and, on the third of September, we left. My fingertips strummed what remained of the mountain air outside the passenger window. I accepted it. One last time, I thought. The snowy peaks. The turquoise water. The quiet. It disappeared into the distance and melted into our memories. And, back there, somewhere in the middle of the clusters of larch pine, deep beneath the underlayer of aged leaves covered, soon, in the season’s first snow, lay our worries. We smiled at each other as we crossed into Calgary. We both knew. We both knew that a piece of our hearts remained at those rocky shores and that, one day, we would be back again to feel the chill of that mountain air.
Until next time,
P.S. A more in-depth travel post on Banff National Post to come. I hope you enjoyed my story!
You know, I’ve been trying to write this post for two months. I would experience a fireworks show in my head; flashes of images from our wedding day which would swirl and circle and explode into colorful illuminations of what I would say and how I would say it. Then, I would sit at this very laptop, place my fingers on the keys and, well, anything that settled onto the screen was never good enough. For this wasn’t just an ordinary day.
This was the best day of my life.
If you are getting married, or have been married, you know that people will tell you what to expect and will offer their best advice. They tell you that it will go by so fast. They tell you to enjoy every second. What I found was that, when you are right smack in the middle of it, your wedding day feels almost like an out-of-body experience. There were moments when I felt completely present, yet others when I felt as if I was walking through a fog or watching myself from above. I remember the first moment when I felt it. Like, really felt it. That holy crap I’m getting married moment. It was the morning of my wedding and I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror in my hotel room. I was just standing there and staring at myself. My hair was thrown into a makeshift bun and I was wearing my white floral robe. As I stood there, I was swarmed with overflowing emotion and I could almost hear myself in my own head. This is it. Everything you have ever dreamed about. Everything you have ever wished for. It’s happening today. And I started to cry. I was standing there, in front of my bathroom mirror on my wedding morning, crying my eyes out. I would oscillate between allowing the tears to flow to reminding myself that there are photographs to come and that my eyes can’t be too puffy. It was real. It was really happening. I was getting married.
I dreamed a long time about this day. When I was a little girl, I would never wish for Barbie’s, or doll houses or ponies which I could ride around and brush its mane and name it Abigail. I would wish that, one day, I would be happy. That’s all that I ever wanted. To be happy. I felt happiness before Brian, sure, but once you find “the one,” any happiness that you have ever felt is intensified a thousand times over. Suddenly, everything makes sense. When you find that person, for the first time, you gain the courage to look forward and, for the first time, you gain the courage to look back. You look back with a fresh set of eyes and with the understanding that, yep, everything that has happened has led me here. For the first time, you are thankful for everything that has ever happened to you, good or bad. And for the first time, you find yourself surprised for even saying that.
So, I breathed it all in.
That afternoon, I met Brian at the fountain for our “first look.” He faced away from me but beneath the sunshine. My left palm grasped a flowing spring arrangement of spring roses and cherry blossoms. My right strummed an ivory tulle veil, which gracefully lifted at the hello of a two o’clock breeze. With each step towards him, I breathed every step that I have ever taken to find him. I breathed the little girl who dreamed of happiness. I breathed the young adult who made the mistakes and, sometimes, drifted farther away. I breathed the woman in her thirties who finally found it and, then, fought like hell not to let it go. This walk along the path was a symbolic one. I was walking the path of my story. This is who I am. This is where I’ve come from. This is my past. And I walked towards my future. Excited and elated and full of hope and promise and possibility, I walked that path towards my husband.
Later that evening, we made promises to each other in front of our closest family and friends. Above us, the birds sang the song we all gathered to hear. The trees swayed in applause. During our ceremony, Brian and I stared deep into each other. We leaned into every word. And after we were pronounced husband and wife, I looked at him. I wiped from his lips the first kiss remnants of pink. We made our way through a cheering crowd and, as we took that walk, that walk together, I realized that I needed a new wish. No longer did I need to wish to be happy. So, on the eighth of April, I made one. Not for me, but this time my wish was for him. For my husband.
I hope that I am always enough.
When you are having the best day of your life, when you are swimming in the depths of your biggest accomplishments and your greatest successes, I hope that I am enough to share that joy with. In those moments, I hope that you will always look to find me, ready to share in your laughter and to dance in those moments when you are so happy that you can’t sit still.
When you feel like you are having the worst day of your life (which I hope is rare if not nonexistent), I hope that I am enough to give you comfort. In those moments, I hope that my words are enough to ease your worries. I hope that my touch is enough to calm you. I hope that my love is strong enough to help you through.
If you ever find yourself confused or uncertain or questioning where to go next, I hope you can always look to me with reassurance that we will figure it out together. In those moments, I hope you know that you are not alone. I hope that you take my hand and walk with me.
Most of all, I hope that you will never, ever, need to wish for happiness.
And that you will always find it with me
as I have with you.
Photography credit: Rachel Pearlman Photography
Tagged: blogging, inspiration, journey, life, love, marriage, photography, wedding, weddingday
Does it ever get easier to say goodbye? I tried practicing, you know, to make it sting a little less. Goodbye. I said it straightforwardly. You know, ripping the consonants and vowels out like a band aid, hoping for a momentary sting that quickly dissipates. Nope. That hurt too much. I tried a circumvented approach, carefully selecting words which meant the same thing but were not as harsh. See you later. A little better, but the sting is still there. No matter how I sliced and diced, regardless of my meticulous choice of words, it all still meant the same thing (goodbye), and the wound left behind just the same.
I paused at the doorway. A quick scan of an empty space. Living room. Dining Room. Décor. There it all laid, three hundred and sixty five days of memories wrapped, packaged and sealed, resting atop the hardwood floors of 3502. You know, there is something about the word “goodbye” which is innately painful. Even if you know with absolute certainty that you will see someone again, goodbye denotes an ending and, let’s face it, endings are pretty darn rough. And that’s what we faced, Brian and I. The sixteenth of June. It represented the day when we would say goodbye to the apartment we shared during the last year, Brian would head off to begin his dream medical residency (5 hours away) and we would live apart for a short while. Of course, love knows no boundaries and distance meant zilch to either of us. But, still. There was that sting. There would come a time, when he would stand beside the car with the door open, giving me one last hug before setting off. The moment I would have to say it.
You know, a lot changed when we opened the doors to 3502. It was an exciting beginning for us. The first crank of the apartment key unlocking a year’s worth of beautiful adventures. We changed zip codes and perspective last June, seeing the world in a new shade of “our.” I remember the first time we used that word, too. Our. It flowed so smoothly from our lips, almost as if we’ve been practicing for years and finally had the chance to say it. Our couch. Our dining room set. Our home. Everything we spoke about, everything we planned, was exhilarating and enthralling, each time as exciting as the first. It’s what happens when you find “the one.” You can’t wait to begin.
And this was our beginning.
As I faced it, I dreaded goodbye because I knew that beginning would turn into an ending. Whether good or bad, I just felt as if it coincided with change. That we would have to adjust and find a new normal. And, to be honest, I liked this normal. I liked seeing him every day. I liked pillow fights on Friday nights. I liked Sunday morning breakfasts. I liked being close to him and now hundreds of miles lay in between us. I went to work a sobbing mess after he drove away. Three seconds later, I missed him already. Three seconds after that, I looked forward to seeing again. And one month later, it was time.
I hopped into my rental and onto the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Set as destination. I was on my way. Five hours, countless solo karaoke sessions, one caramel frappuccino, and two-hundred-and-seventy-five miles later, I arrived … and my heart felt whole again.
And there we were. Right in the middle of it. We stood in the kitchen and talked for an hour. I rested my head in the middle of his chest. His heart beat to the words. Welcome home. I was surrounded by love and familiarity. The furniture from our old apartment, resting on new floors. His smile. Just, him. Right in the middle of it and, yet, I knew the time would come again. After the smiles and laughs and dinners and pillow fights and pancake breakfasts, I would need to say it again and I cringed at the thought of it.
I will spare you the completely made-up story about how saying goodbye wasn’t so bad this time around because, well, it was. I did all I could to stall, you know. My brain frantically churned one topic after another (regardless of its relevancy). Work. Weather. Flavor blasted goldfish. If I keep talking, I said to myself, I can stay. However, no amount of stalling could change the inevitable. I would need to go. Set as destination. This time, two-hundred-and-seventy-five-miles in the other direction.
Alright, bye.
Yep. The sting was still there. But do you know what I realized? The “hello” after one month of not seeing Brian made me smile more than the “goodbye” ever hurt when he left. I suddenly realized that the focus has shifted. Of course, I am sad to leave each time (I cry for about the first hour on the drive back), but I look forward to seeing him more and more; we look forward to our wedding; we look forward to our life together and understand that we are working towards a future when we never have to be apart.
We see beginnings in every ending.
So, does it ever get easier to say goodbye?
Honestly, I don’t think so. But I think I may have found the key.
Maybe goodbye isn’t about watching the door close and missing what’s behind you. Maybe it’s about watching another open and looking forward to what’s next.
For us, the road ahead is laced with excitement. For what’s in store for us is even greater than anything we’ve left behind.
So, goodbye.
And hello.
Tagged: blogging, goodbye, inspiration, lessons, life, love, loveandolives, motivation, writing
Cricket. Cricket.
Yes, I know. There has been some silence from loveandolives, but for good reason, I promise! I am in the process of revamping the website, so please stay tuned for a new layout and, of course, new content. Can’t wait to update you all on what has been going on in my life within the past few months. Looking forward to connecting with you again soon! Xoxo, Olivia.
Every year, I learn more. I learn more about myself. I learn more about others. I learn more about this crazy journey of life that we are all coasting through and trying to figure out. And this year was no exception. This year, I’ve learned that life is full of surprises, some big, some small, and some of the best which happen when you least expect them. I’ve learned that you should always begin each day with love in your heart. With a start like that, every day is bound to be better than the last. I’ve learned that nothing is more important than family; the family you are born into, the family you are married into (332 days :)) and even friends who feel like family. You should cherish them all. I’ve learned that change, albeit frightening, can make you stronger. I’ve learned that distance is only a number, whether thirty miles or three hundred – and that love has no boundaries. Three hundred and sixty five days, and not one without heart bursting love.
Welcome, 33. It’s going to be a great year.
Tagged: 33, birthday, blogging, inspiration, life, love, motivation, writing
Happiness overload. I said “yes” to the dress yesterday, the sixth of February, at the famous bridal paradise in New York City – Kleinfeld. Another cheek-hurting moment added to my memory reel of happy days. Walking through the tall, glass double doors was pretty much like walking into heaven on earth. A blanket of white. The most beautiful gowns in all different silhouettes, all floating like clouds. The experience was everything I ever imagined it to be. I cried – twice. Once, when the veil touched my shoulders in the fitting room and I experienced that “holy crap I’m a bride” moment. Second, when I was asked the question I’ve heard a million times before, yet never imagined would be directed towards me.
Olivia, are you saying “yes” to the dress?
A once in a lifetime experience
and I am so grateful for it.
Today, I want to talk about my happy reel – my memory reel of happy days. It’s a rotating wheel of memories, a revolving collection of the happiest moments of my life, one after another, one by one. Now, I want to talk about cheek-hurting moments – when you smile so much that your cheeks hurt. Happiness is defined in those moments. In those moments, it’s not just your cheeks which feel it. Your heart smiles too. I live for moments like that.
And that’s what my happy reel is comprised of – memory after memory of cheek-hurting moments. The past few years have been the happiest of my life. So, my happy reel started with the day I met him, on that warm, July evening, and has continued –
to that night in New York (our third date), when he stopped me in the middle of the street to kiss me, and then asked me to take this picture – our first picture together.
to when we packed up a U-Haul and started a new journey.
to when he asked me to marry him.
Cheek-hurting moments.
This is my happy reel – my memory reel of happy days. As another cheek-hurting moment is added, I will post a follow-up entry. What does your happy reel consist off? Does it include memories of the birth of your child? That time you got a dog? When you purchased a home? I encourage you to write about it. Write about it, then leave a comment below with a link to your post.
I hope your weekend is filled with a ton of cheek-hurting moments.
xoxo,
Tagged: blogging, inspiration, life, love, loveandolives, mtoivation, photographs, writing, writingprompt
“Gladiatrix” is the female version of a gladiator. Did you know that? Well, I didn’t until Sunday. For the past few weeks, I’ve been dealing with a whole lot of that ugly, totally unnecessary yet all too often existent state of mind: stress – and, boy, a lot of it. At 6 a.m. on Sunday, the piercing vibrations of a radar interjected itself into my dreams with its glaring repetitiveness; a rude inception. One. Two. Three. The weight of a thousand stones. At least, that’s what I imagined was keeping me down. Four. There was no more time. I had to face it – the literal and metaphorical wake-up alarm which was gnawing at my eardrums and at my life.
Well, hold on. Before you go calling a search party, I’m totally and completely okay. You won’t find me climbing the Swiss mountainside to broadcast to the world from the highest of heights, my voice funneling through an alphorn and echoing to village communities near and wide: worst week ever (think: Ricola commercial). On the contrary, I had simply undertaken a motherload of responsibilities and, well, the pressure of keeping up with it all began to weigh on me – hard. Will I have enough time? What do I do first? Will I disappoint someone in the end?
Stress is often the product of really good intentions. Anyone who has overfilled their plate with delicious to-do’s will probably say that they really wanted (cross their hearts) to juggle everything and make it work. Sometimes, we simply want to do it all. Other times, we don’t realize that we’ve committed to doing it all. How could that happen? Well, at that point of committal, that ambitious I’ll do it moment, we don’t know what additional responsibilities will arise in one day, week, month or even year. These additional responsibilities are never preferences, for you can easily say “no” to preferences (actually, attending the midnight viewing of Star Wars before my 5 a.m. flight to Hong Kong sounds like a terrible idea). Catch my drift? On the contrary, these responsibilities are almost always necessities, life musts, like caring for your children or your family or your own health. You commit to one necessity, then another, and after a while, the weight of a thousand stones. Just like that.
You know how appliances have a max fill line? Just like that, we all have an emotional threshold or, what I like to call, a stress summit. Sometimes, we just reach a point where we need to take a step back, breathe and regroup before everything boils over.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Let’s try this again.
For me, that point was Sunday.
On Sunday night, I was sitting in the passenger seat of my Tucson, the only comforting elements being the seat heaters and the reassuring words Brian whispered as I poured into a handful of napkins. Due tomorrow – the words jumped off my iPhone screen and into my gut where they wrestled each other for a few minutes. How can I possibly accomplish that? I tried to do it all. I tried to do it all and I will most likely fail. At least, that’s what I told myself. That’s how I felt. Of course, it’s wasn’t just the deadline that made me feel this way. It was an accumulation of many necessities: work, trying my hardest to be there for my family, all of that with an added deadline. Stone on top of stone. I had reached my max-fill line, my emotional threshold, my stress summit – reached it and was frantically waving from the peak: caution, overload. At that moment, I heard the words, the familiar yet distant words which echoed through the car and my mind: You’re a Gladiator. You got this.
You see, “Gladiator” is a term which Brian routinely uses in giving me hortatory pep-talks before big events. It stems from the use of the word to describe Olivia Pope’s lawyer clan on ABC’s Scandal. To Brian, however, the meaning of the word extends far beyond the plot of a primetime drama and a 32-inch T.V. screen. It represents what he sees in me: a fighter. In the Roman Empire, gladiators faced the most violent confrontations under the lens of an arena full of spectators, all collectively hoping for either a glorious victory or an entertaining loss. To walk through the stone gates and onto the sandy stage, to stare a lion straight between the eyes, that requires real courage. That is what Brian means when he calls me a “Gladiator.”
Before any big event, he always says, “You’re a Gladiator. You got this.” The night before my interview for my current job: You’re a gladiator. You got this. Before a dentist appointment or something as simple as a dreaded Monday morning: You’re a gladiator. You got this.
A gladiator is strong. And fierce.
A gladiator is what he sees in me.
To save for our upcoming wedding, Brian and I decided to exchange only ornaments this year and to begin a new tradition: each year, new ornament. What did he get me? A hand-crafted Gladiator, er, Gladiatrix (check out her cool braid in the back). Brian wanted this ornament to represent the big changes in my life during the past year. He wanted me to remember all that I swore I couldn’t do, and all that I accomplished in the end: new job, new apartment, a shinier and happier me. If you recall in my post about change, I filed through a ton of doubts before accepting my position at this new firm. Was it the right decision? Will I make it? Will they like me? Well, as it turns out, I made it (and, as far as I know, they like me). All I needed was a little confidence in myself, and to invoke that inner Gladiator screaming to fight for what’s hers. She was there all along, that bronze, shiny fighter: me.
I learned a really important lesson on Sunday night. First, that there is nothing wrong with expressing your emotions when you feel overwhelmed. Instead of keeping them bottled up inside, let them out. In fact, unaddressed feelings have a very short shelf life (eventually, they will get pretty smelly in there). Second, and perhaps most importantly, we are stronger than we sometimes allow ourselves to realize. I needed help remembering that, and the assistance came in the form of a bronze colored, vertical three-inch plastic ornament and a handsome man who gifted it to me.
Due tomorrow. Suddenly, the words didn’t appear as intimidating as they were before. Instead of asking, “How can I accomplish that?” I committed to myself: I’m going to do this. Do you know why? Because I’m a Gladiator, that’s why.
Yes, we all experience that ugly “s” word (stress) at some point in our lives. Sometimes, life necessities piled atop other life necessities make us reach that summit faster than we can scream overload. Of course, we aren’t running to the stress sign-up list to enthusiastically place our John Hancock’s under “sign me up.” It just happens, c’este la vie, and at different levels and for different reasons, too. Despite these differences, though, what we all have in common is the strength we carry inside. It’s there (that inner Gladiator), screaming to fight for what’s yours. So, when it happens, when you’ve reached that threshold, lean into it and then let it out. Just remember, that no matter what the struggle, if you search, if you dig deep, you, too, can find that inner force strong enough to get you through the toughest of times and fight off even the biggest obstacles – like that lion facing you in the stage.
You are strong. And fierce.
You’re a Gladiator (or Gladiatrix)
You got this.
Quote by A.A. Milne. Gladiator by BM. Photo by mua.
Tagged: believe, blogging, inspiration, life, motivation, strength, struggle, writing
Today, Love and Olives has reached one thousand followers. One thousand – and, my, you’re a beautiful and talented bunch. When I hit “publish” on my first post two years ago, I never expected my everyday stories about life and love to resonate with so many of you. And, yet, you’ve stuck around – through the ups, through the downs, and through everything in between. For you, I say thank you. Thank you for stumbling upon my page and reading. Thank you for your beautiful comments and kind words. In my “About” section I asked you to grab a beverage and stay a while. Now that you’re here, grab another and stay a bit longer.
xoxo,
LOVE AND OLIVES 