on emotions and language.

If you’ve spent any time with me over the last 30 years, you know I am full of emotions. I experience so many moments of deep deep (tear inducing) laughter. I am the first to cry at a wedding. I love to celebrate the happy moments – new life, promotions, moves – both in my own life and in the lives of people around me. I smile at the small things as I walk down the street in a new city or as I make connections with new friends (read: strangers). I am always the first person to cry in a disagreement. I can be quick to feel frustrated and I am easily offended. I really know how to FEEL things.

And many times I feel frustrated by this fact in itself; that I feel things so deeply. And then I am reminded by sweet people in my life of the blessing that it is to experience the world in this way. I’m still working on loving that part of me.

Based on how deeply I feel, you can imagine how much feeling I’ve done in the last two months (WHAT?!). There have been so many highs, so many happy tears, so many beautiful moments and concurrently so many tough moments, too. And in living at least 90% of my day in Portuguese, I’ve been reflecting so much on the relationship between emotions and language. It’s been an eye-opening, frustrating conversation with myself that I am trying to have from a place of self-love.

I am currently experiencing a HUGE disconnect between my emotions and my language. Here’s an example. I was invited to a churrasco (Brazilian BBQ) last week and I just couldn’t pull it together to go. I’ve been pretty darn good about saying yes to every invitation as I know that’s the only way I’m going to meet people here. But last weekend, I just didn’t want to go meet a bunch of new people. My introvert side caught up with me and even just thinking about putting myself in a social situation put me over the edge. It was nothing against my friend or the nice people I’m sure I would have met. I just didn’t have it in me. And then here’s the frustrating part – the reason I’m writing this post. I just couldn’t find the words to tell my friend who had extended the invite that I just wasn’t up for it. I simply said “I’m sorry, I think I’m going to stay home today.” And that just kills me. I wanted to explain why, I wanted to tell her that I’d still like to be invited to the next barbecue, that sometimes last minute invites are hard for me to accept, that I needed the afternoon to regroup by myself. But I couldn’t find the right words. And that left me feeling a bit empty. Like I wanted to say more – I wanted to explain my emotions.

I’m happy to report that I’ve since redeemed myself and spent this past Saturday afternoon at a churrasco. I even (gasp!) enjoyed myself and I’m proud of myself for getting out there. And then on the topic of emotions – I’m now stuck in a place where I don’t have the words to properly express how appreciative I am of my friend for inviting me into her home to meet people who have been lifelong friends of hers. I don’t have the words to express how fun it is to see how thousands of miles across the world, I can chat with strangers, have shared interests, eat delicious food, and belt out the words to Hey Jude. So I simply said today “Thank you so much for the invite. I had a great time.” It’s just not quite enough.

The best way I can explain this disconnect between my emotions and my current Portuguese language skills is that I feel like a three year old. Full of feelings and emotions and knee deep in experiencing the world and yet short on the actual words to explain all of the waves running through their brain. Have you ever stopped to think about why babies and toddlers cry and laugh so much? It’s because they have not yet developed the language skills to ask for what they need, to process their emotions, to share in their joy with those around them. So that’s how I’ll be here for a while, like a Brazilian toddler, still figuring out all the right words to express myself with those around me.

I know in good time I will have a better ability to process my emotions and share my feelings in Portuguese. Until then, I know there will be more tears (both happy and sad). And for now, I’ll come back here to explore my feelings, I’ll write notes to myself in my phone. I’ll scribble out my feelings on my to-do list. I’ll call those of you at home who have been so supportive and loving and willing to process things with me (in English).

And I will continue to take comfort in knowing that we all, in our own way, are still learning our own language of emotions.

até mais,

mariah

on the “in between”.

Knowing you are right where you are supposed to be, and also knowing that inherently means you are missing things somewhere else. Do you know the feeling? 

I’ve been feeling it a lot this week. As I settle into my apartment here in São José dos Campos. As I cook more in my own kitchen. As I do my laundry. As I try and create some normalcy in my life here. As I search for my favorite grocery store in town. As I go on a quest for the best pizza, the best cappuccino, and the best place to buy cleaning supplies (TARGET I MISS YOU). I am so happy and I also miss things, okay? I can feel both. You can too.

The “In Between”.

It’s the knot in my stomach when I see photos of fall in Colorado and Minnesota and I know exactly how the season makes me feel. And I miss it. I can feel the cool breeze on my skin, I can smell the newly crisp air. I can hear the leaves, fluttering in the wind and crunching beneath the soles of runners in Wash Park, one of my favorite places in the month of October. And at the same time, I feel a different shift in the seasons myself. I notice the cloud cover slowly fading away, the daily afternoon rainstorms shortening, and the evening chill slightly less noticeable. I notice the warmth of the sun coming through the kitchen in the morning. And I delight in the transition to Spring here in the southern hemisphere. 

It’s the tug at my heart when I hear a song on my Spotify playlist and it instantly reminds me of someone, somewhere. It’s the feeling when a song reminds me of a season of life. And the next minute a song matching my current season of life plays and again, I am transported. It’s the back and forth. The reflecting and the anticipation.

It’s the knot in my stomach when I receive a call from a familiar voice. A voice that speaks English. It’s the Facetime calls with family, friends, and even coworkers who know something (read: anything) about me. The “In Between” is the longing for familiarity and also the excitement about people, places, and things that are right here in front of me. I want it all. The connection, the comfort, and also the challenge and the desire to get to know new people and a new language and culture.

It’s the knot in my stomach when someone invites me to something with their friends or family. The wanting to go, the wanting to accept, the wanting to be seen, known, and to be welcomed. And the feeling of not wanting to need an invite. The feeling of not wanting to be a burden. The hoping that invites are not just for pity. The hope that I won’t show up too early or too late or dressed in the wrong attire. And the simultaneous memory of times when I’ve been able to be the one to do the inviting. The joy that comes with welcoming new people into my sphere. The excitement of sharing stories, culture, and language.

I am balling as I write this, by the way. Heavy, salty, wet tears dripping down my freshly showered face onto my freshly laundered shirt. And I turn to the mirror beside me and cry/laugh some more as I think about all of this “In Between”. And I allow myself to feel it. To feel it all deeply. I don’t know any other way. I know I am lucky to feel an “In Between”. To have so many places and so many people that I love.

Daily, I am reminding myself of the beauty and the brokenness of this adventure. And how they can both exist, simultaneously. 

Will you do something for me today? Will you let yourself notice your own “In between”? Let yourself sit with it. Accept it. And maybe even appreciate it just a little bit?

From the “In Between” – Mariah

on romanticizing life.

On Monday afternoon, I sat on a bench near a woman practicing tai chi in a relatively secluded corner of Ibirapuera Park (390 acres). On Tuesday afternoon, I passed this same woman on Avenida Liberdade, in the middle of the city’s crowded Japantown, her posture and gait making it clear she was the woman practicing tai chi in Ibirapuera park on Monday afternoon.

On Tuesday afternoon, I spent some time inside of a bookstore in the basement of Sao Paulo’s iconic Edificio Copan, designed by the famous Oscar Niemeyer. In this small bookstore in the heart of the city center, there was a young man browsing the shelves of this bookstore. I noticed him because he, too, appeared to not be from here. Today, I walked into the Museo de Arte São Paulo at the exact same time as this gentleman. We literally walked through two exhibits almost in lock step. Neither of us said anything, but I know it was him.

In both of these encounters, I paused. Chuckled inside. And then thought about how truly crazy these encounters were. 1 in 26 million. I am choosing to believe that these encounters are signs from the universe that I am welcome here. I am choosing to believe that despite the size of this city, the possibilities for connection are endless. I am choosing to believe that each person we come across in this life has an opportunity to impact us, and us, them. And in doing this, I am choosing to romanticize this life.

I’m choosing to smile and laugh and cry at the moments that make my heart swell. Like the brief but fulfilling conversation I had with three older women this afternoon at a coffee shop I stopped at on my way home from the museum. They walked in and couldn’t find a spot for three. “You can use the extra chair from my table, if you need”. They smiled and said thank you as I pulled the extra chair up to the table. “That was so sweet of you” said the woman seated closest to me. I assumed they were in their late seventies and I immediately started eavesdropping. They spoke amongst themselves, wondering what was on the menu. They saw the little QR code on the table and one of the women pulled out her phone. Opened the camera. Took a selfie (or 8) trying to figure out how to pull up the menu. I leaned over and asked if they needed help. She said “Yes, but show me how to do it, I need to learn”. That is something my own grandmother would have said. And something my mom says, frequently. We started chatting and the woman with the phone looked at me and said, “You look so familiar, like someone I know or someone I’ve met before”. I told her I’m new to the city and that was not likely, but that I do get that a lot. I’m choosing to let her comment be a sweet reminder that in each person we come across, we are reminded of someone else in our lives. And we often remind people of loved ones in their lives, too. Isn’t that a beautiful idea? That we are all connected in that simple way – of recognizing someone we care about in everyone we come across. To all of you back home in the US, I see each of you in the people I interact with here on a daily basis and that carries me. Knowing that each of you may be physically far away, but you are also here with me – guiding me in my new journey here in Brazil. 

Some days here are long, some are hard. My language snafus are abundant and my cultural ones, too. But each day has been beautiful in its own special way. In part because I am choosing to romanticize many moments in my new life. And I only wish it didn’t take an international move to do so. But with physical relocation as a catalyst for change, I’m going to romanticize the crap out of each day.

Ate a prossima,

mariah

on life in limbo

As I write this, I’m sitting in my hotel room, eating cold leftover pizza from Sunday night and some trail mix leftover from my flight. Because choosing a place to eat, ordering an Uber, trying to figure out the ‘rules’ of the restaurant, sitting alone at the bar and finding something that hits the spot just isn’t in the cards tonight. And that’s okay! Just don’t ever let anyone (myself included) convince you moving to a new country is glamorous, because it absolutely is not.

Lots of things are in limbo this week. And this life, if we’re being honest, right?. Let me share a few things that stick out:

1. The fantasy football app still works on my phone here in Brazil (2-0 baby), but my banking app won’t let me log in and the exel energy website doesn’t want to let me cancel services for my apartment in Denver. I’m still getting notifications for sales at Target and yet I’m trying to fill my google maps with places to try in my new home. I haven’t been able to sign up for local delivery apps because I don’t have a Brazilian cell phone number yet but I’m learning to live in the world of Celsius and military time. And none of this limbo is life altering, it’s just… noticeable.
2. My body is still trying to live in the mountain time zone but the sun is setting at 6PM here in the state of Sao Paulo this week. Thankfully, it’s only a 3 hour difference. But still, I’ve had a nap every day since landing here in Brazil.
3. My brain is still thinking in English, I’m writing and reading in English and yet everything around me is in Portuguese. At dinner on Sunday night, I started reading ‘An Onion in my Pocket’ and my waitress asked me what I was reading. ‘I’m reading a book in English, but it translates to ‘Uma Cebola em Minha Bolsa’. She said, oh, you’re practicing English? I chuckled. ‘No, I’m practicing Portuguese, but I’m reading a book in English, still’. Did I really trick her into thinking I was a native speaker learning English? I must have just misunderstood. This morning, my Uber driver said “Congratulations on your Portuguese, you’re doing great”. And then just a few hours later one of the waiters at my new local bakery looked at me like I was an absolute nutcase when I asked him to repeat what he said because I didn’t understand (he was just asking if he could take my plate away). I think it’s because I quite literally asked him “Can you speak again?” Like a freaking two year old would say.

It feels fitting that this week (tomorrow) will officially mark a change of the seasons. It’s the first day of Spring here in Brazil. The first day of Fall at home in the United States. To me, the shift into a new season is a gentle reminder that we are a) often (read: always) in transition and b) are never alone in transition. Look around you today. We are all experiencing change. We’re just experiencing change in different ways. For some, spring is a rebirth. For others, it marks the end of a favorite season. For some, the shift to fall is painful and dark and for others, it is peaceful and calming and a reset going into a season of joy. I think the same could be said of all life transitions; some are easy, some are hard, some are slow, and others are rapid. All are beautiful. Heraclitus once said “The only constant in life is change”. And boy, wouldn’t life be a little more beautiful if we could appreciate the limbo a little more? Promise me you’ll try along with me?

abraços,
mariah

trust and travel.

I knew I couldn’t leave Italy without a tour through the Italian countryside. So I convinced my sister to take me back to a castle where she did a vinegar tour and tasting when she first arrived in Florence. And to the castle did we go. Hoping to get a more “authentic” experience,  we hopped on a local bus and headed into the Tuscan countryside. After escalating the hustle of the city, the hills started to roll and fill with vines. It felt like a movie.

I was reminded of one of the most important tricks of travel on our way up to the castle: trust. An important trick of life, really. But especially important when traveling. We knew we we’re supposed to ride the bus for about 50 minutes to a stop named Greti. After leaving the city limits, the stops ceased to have names. So to ensure we got off at the right stop, I asked the woman in front of me. “La fermatta Greti?” The driver acknowledged by broken Italian and made a gesture to suggest that the stop wouldn’t be for a while. After another 10 or so minutes, I made eye contact with the driver. He must have seen the concern in my face because again he gestured, “not for a while still”. Five minutes later, he said, “Greti, la prossima”. Add I finally knew all along he was watching out for us, making sure that we got to our destination.

Trust yourself, and trust those who you ask for help- most of the time they will have your back. It is very refreshing when we finally understand that we are all just waking though life, ultimately each of us attempting to arrive at some final destination. Sometimes, we just need a little help getting there.

un cappucino, per favore.

I love the coffee culture of Italy. A cappuccino in the morning alongside a croissant or another pastry. In the afternoon, a simple caffé (espresso). No frills. No complex flavor profiles, no slow pour overs, just espresso. Sure, put sugar in it, if you want. If not, don’t. Drink it fast, drink it slow. Stand at the bar and have a conversation with the barista or move off to the side and read the paper. Pay afterwards. Just enjoy. 

from pisa to rome; the beginning.

(march 16th, 2014)

I sit here on a train at sunset passing through the Italian countryside. I see men smoking in their backyards, women washing clothes and hanging them out the window. For a while I saw the sea. I imagine a place where young Italian men and women jump carefree into the ocean. I hear Nona’s making pasta in the kitchen. I watch Nono’s helping to make sauce for the pasta; Nono’s just like Sergio I met on the plane over here. Sergio is an old Italian man, in his late 79’s I would assume. He is an Italian citizen and a Canadian citizen who has been in Toronto for the last few months with his children. He smelled of afternoon coffee and smoke; he coughed like it too. Although Sergio was a bit chatty, he did teach me a few things on the ride over. They include: 

Life’s not that easy, but it’s not easy for any of us.

When you have problems, leave them where they come from, don’t bring them with you.

One glass of wine with every meal is wonderful (read: necessary), just never get drunk. 

 

It’s Sunday evening and I sit here on this train dreaming that I could speak Italian. I did properly answer the question “En que carrozza siamos?” which I hope translates to “what car are we in?”. “Cinque”. But still, I’m left craving to know more.  I’m dying to know another language that is beaming with emotion, character, and passion. 

 

As I write this we’re passing by mountains. Foothills, a beautiful backdrop for the vineyard, olive trees, and other train cars I see. The little villages nestled in the foothills make me want to spend years here. They make me want to know the people who peer out the shutters, who sing Italian and cook garlic. They make me want to know the stories of the people of Italy. Good thing I’m here for a week to explore a lot of what Italy has to offer; people, language, food, and wine. and everything else i can only dream of.

on stories.

today i came to a simple conclusion. stories are important. 

and we’ll never hear stories if we don’t put aside our busy lives and just listen. i came to this realization today as i was waiting for my sandwich at whole foods. as usual, i asked for a suggestion, took the suggestion, and was looking forward to what today’s sandwich man would come up with. and then i pulled out my phone and started to check my email. 

and then i paused. i felt as though this sandwich man had something important to share. so i put my phone away and asked him a simple question. “how has your day been?.” 

“good, nothing special though,” he said. and then we started chatting. i asked him if he was a father and if he had any special plans for today. he said that he had no big plans, that his kids were far away right now: one in bangkok with her pilot boyfriend and the other somewhere else in the nation. “both of them called and let me know they were thinking about me, and that is what is important.” 

robert, today’s wonderful 60-something sandwich man told me a lot about his life. he grew up in DC and moved out here to denver when him and his wife separated because she had moved out here and he missed his kids too much to stay out east. he worked in restaurants for many years after school and had a graphic design business on the side. after a while, he went full time with his graphic design business and did a lot of work for many of his friends in the restaurant industry. i asked if he was still doing any design work and sadly, he said no. he said that when he started he was on the cutting edge of technology, he was a pioneer in the field and was very successful because of it. he said to go back into that field today would be tough. “i’ve got a lot to learn. but thankfully there is a three year program at metro state that i’ve looked into so, we’ll see.” 

i can only hope he gets back to doing what he is passionate about. there are too many people in this world not doing what makes them happy. [[“don’t ask what the world needs. ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” – howard thurman.]] 

so, the moral of the story. put your phone away. ask questions. hear people’s stories. you’ll never know what simple or profound thing they will teach you about life.

most days, it’s the small things || steam espresso bar, denver

“enjoy the little things in life, because one day you will look back, and realize they were the big things.”

i’ve been sitting at steam all morning: thinking, drawing, researching, and planning. getting excited about this creative journey i’m embarking on.

steam, a new coffee shop that opened in denver just a couple months ago has found a special place in my heart. and not only in my heart, but the hearts of many other locals, it seems.

hani, the owner of thisphoto studio turned espresso bar himself is a character transformed; an international starbucks barista turned coffee aficionado. he really has made this place a gem. the brick walls, wood floors, beautiful wood community table, elegant but not over-zealous chandeliers, handled kerr jar mugs, and outdoor patio make this place irresistible to platt park’s local hispters, businessmen, entrepreneurs, and socialites.

next to me this morning, two men chat about their companies database and account management system, across the shop, a mom and daughter catch up over an iced tea. in the back corner, three veteran businessmen plan their next venture. outside on the patio two twenty-somethings giggle and gossip about their weeks and weekend plans. a man in suspenders and a crisp button up fills a silver tray with macaroons that were just delivered from a local bakery. and it all happens so seamlessly, so naturally. it is no wonder people love this place.

it is all of the little details of this place that make it what it is.

and that is the perfect reminder that in life, it is the little things that matter. it is the little details, the small gestures, and the simple words that have the potential to make a difference.

i say this for two reasons, for two experiences i have had here today.

ONE: the men seated next to me this morning [the one’s who were working on the database], asked if i would like the piece of cake that they had been eyeing all morning. i asked hesitantly why they weren’t going to eat it. “we’ve already had breakfast and we’re on our way out. hani gave this to us because he messed up our coffee order.” after accepting the slice of almond cake and taking a bite, i realized quickly another reason why people come here, stay here, and c

ome back here day after day. hani takes care of his customers. the almond cake was spongy with a sweet but not-too-sweet layer of sugared almonds on top. definitely worth a try.

an hour later, hani approached my table with a beautiful latte adorned with latte art. ‘i’m just practicing’, he said, ‘would you like a latte?’. i may be shaking from caffeine overload, but i’m totally okay with it. hani’s personal customer service and that of his suspender wearing-staff do not go unnoticed here at steam.

 

SO – wandering down pearl street? in the wash park-ish area? make a special trip here. you’ll be very happy you did. and while you’re here, take a moment to notice all of the little details, all of the little things that make this place an incredible addition to the neighborhood.

cheers,

onesmallgrain

craving.

as the year comes to a close, i have a lot of writing to do. academic writing, that is. writing that doesn’t let me express frustrations or excitement. writing that doesn’t let me express any emotions, for that matter. and i haven’t written here in a while, but i’ve been craving to. and so, as a classic method of procrastination, here goes nothing.

frustrations, as of late: i’m feeling lost in an overly competitive world. i’m feeling as though so many people around me are always competing. competing to be faster, better, stronger, and smarter. and i feel like i just can’t win. and it’s not that all i want to do it win, i just want to feel confident. i want to feel strong and i want to feel smart. but the external pressure drags me down. i am a true believer in encouragement and feel as though i spend so much of my time supporting and encouraging others and more often than not, it is not reciprocated. i’m learning to be strong and to continually encourage and support myself. i’m learning how to not get bogged down by the overwhelming amounts of competition around me.

excitement, as of late: i’m curious. i’m looking for passion. i’m looking to do something different. to be creative, to start something, to finish something. and i can’t put words on what this thing is that i’m craving. but it’s something very different than what i’m doing now. i’m excited to do more thinking about what this things is. i’m excited to have support in starting this and finishing it. and i’m excited to see where it will take me.

all i can ask for is a little support. a little encouragement, and lots of love. i know this is just a season of frustration and it will pass. also sometimes, it takes a little frustration for passion to emerge.

so here is to the end of a season of just that; an end to the frustration and the emergence of passion!