Good Friends

With my brother and his wife, Angi, my oldest friend

My entire life I've been blessed to have great friends. I'm in touch with friends from every stage and phase of life. My oldest friend I've known since the fourth grade and she is now married to my brother and the mother of a niece and nephew (never could have predicted that one!). I am in contact with friends from elementary school, middle and high school, and from my college years. I have friends from my years in the Army and all the various units I was assigned to, and friends from when I lived in Boise, ID. And of course the host of fantastic friends I've made over these past 16 years I've been living in Colorado.

Elaine, Nancy, me & Katie

There is no true way to appreciate how overwhelmingly supportive my friends have been over these past six months. They watched me map a new, and completely unpredictable, path in life, and at a breakneck speed. When an email reply included, "mind if I catch my breath on that one?," I always reply with, "but of course." 

I know how many intellectual and emotional somersaults I've been doing, and therefore I can appreciate the mental gymnastics that I am forcing others to move through. And yet, I want to thank them.....for hosting Zorig and I for a meal, for listening to me tell the (incredible) love story yet one more time, for texting me in the hours and days after his departure to make sure I was okay. 

With Julie

Yes, I am blessed with damn good friends. 

Which brings me to the reality that I will be moving far away from all of them. Though both a curse and a joy, we will thankfully have technology that allows us to stay in touch. From email (yes, those of us over 35 still use this form of communication fairly regularly) to Facebook to Skype or Facetime. 

With Carl & George, whom I served with in Army NG

But I will miss my wine dates with Elaine, my hikes and trail running with Julia, my talks and 90210 dates with Katherine, my close-the-door-let-me-fill-you-in-moments with Anita, honoring truths with Avery, bonding over 80s movies and music with Katie, dancing to 90s hits with Jen, and ALL the talks over wine or coffee or food with each and every one of the lovely individuals in my life.

In 122 days I depart for a new place, a new home. I will make new friends, MORE friends. I'm already expanding my Facebook circle with Mongolian friends both here in the US (a kind and helpful Mongolian woman living in Denver that is helping me ship my stuff AND offering some very good advice) and in Mongolia (Z's friends and family members). While I don't yet know many of them, they are overwhelmingly kind with messages like:

• We are waiting for you. Welcome to Mongolia!
• Congratulations on your engagement. I am excited to see you soon.
• I wish all the best for you and your family.

With Mallory.

And they comment kindly on all of Zorig and I's photos. I can't ,of course, yet read most of them.....but Z is kind enough to translate and fill me in. They are accepting and inviting, wishing the two of us the best in our love and future life together.  I'm anxious to meet each and every one of them in person come summertime. As I gain the Mongolian language, then my circle of friends will expand. 

Additionally, I will make friends at the school where I'll be working as a school librarian, the American School of Ulaanbaatar. It will be good for me to have an English-speaking circle of friends and acquaintances. I've also joined up with Internations.org, an online community where expats can connect and share information. Not to mention the numerous Facebook group pages that exist for expats in any given country. 

There is a quote that goes something like this: "Friends are the family we choose." I couldn't agree more and I thank each and every friend in my life. Friends from my past who were there for me, present friends who support me in the now, and the future friends I don't yet know.

82 Hours

Journaling in the Bayangobi, July 2014

If you've never encountered Susan Cain's book Quiet, or at least heard her TED Talk about "The Power of Introverts," then I highly recommend you do one or the other immediately. Two years ago Quiet was our faculty's summer read here at Fountain Valley School of Colorado. I'd always identified myself as an extrovert and think most people that know me would do the same. However, upon taking the brief quiz at the start of the book I discovered that I'm what has been coined an ambivert. The dictionary gives it a very basic definition which lacks the real unique qualities in this personality identifier. 

You see, I crave social interaction just as much as I need quiet, alone time. I spend my days and weeks toggling between the two sides of this swinging pendulum. After a couple of nights with social engagements or commitments, then I need a night off where I can be alone with my thoughts. 

This past weekend we had a snowstorm blow through Colorado. On Friday night I attended our school musical (The Man of La Mancha) to see the great work of two of my advisees, and then promptly drove home and parked my car which wouldn't move for 82 hours. While my weekend had originally been slated to include coffee with a girlfriend, a gathering of prior work colleagues for a potluck party, and then a Sunday brunch with another dear friend, one by one each event was canceled because of weather. And so I spent 82 hours alone in my apartment. An apartment that until three weeks ago had a nine pound cat prowling around, and until two weeks ago had a man that slept late, ate oranges in the wee hours of the night, and watched movies in Russian. I confess to missing them both very much. 

But with Mona adapting to her new family and Zorig back home in UB, it was just me rattling around the rooms of my nearly 1K square foot apartment. At first I was thrilled to consider that I could sleep until I wanted to get up, drink an entire pot of coffee while I journaled and listened to Bon Iver on repeat, and then read or watch movies or clean and sort. Or whatever my little heart desired. And Saturday was blissful....watching the snow fall and being warm and cozy inside. I began the hard work of sorting the stuff of my life and wrote not one, but two blog posts. I felt inspired and motivated. There was stuff to throw out, stuff to pass on to family or friends, stuff to sell (I even created a "I'm Moving to Mongolia" Sales Catalog!), stuff to take to Goodwill, and then the stuff to carefully pack for shipment to my next home. 

On Sunday, I trekked outside to take a couple of boxes to the dumpster. It was cold and not at all conducive to a walk which surely would have helped me avoid feelings that began to quietly descend as a strange and shifting fog. I watched some of the Oscars while I continued to sort through old letters and mementos. While I've never been a pack rat, I was surprised at how much random stuff I've kept over the years.  From concert ticket stubs (Chris Ledoux, Juice Newton, Chicago) to military challenge coins to old journals. From elementary school writings (about unicorns and wizards, of course!) to middle school awards (America & Me Essay contest--Second Place) to a marathon finisher medal. And then the stacks and piles of cards, and letters, and even notes that had been passed in the halls of Gaylord Middle School. 

For the most part, I chose to enjoy the memory and opted to then discard the said item. Because really, what's the point? While I can appreciate a trip down memory lane, I'm also conscious of the fact that if I am lost in memories, then I am not fully living in the current moment. And if we are not present in the NOW, then we are missing out on something or someone, aren't we? We've heard a lot in recent years about mindfulness. Until recently, I confess to seeing it as a bunch of new-age hogwash. But as someone who has completely revised her life over the past six months, I have a new appreciation for mindfulness and being completely in the NOW. 

If I hadn't embraced the NOW of my father and I's epic trip to Mongolia, then my life would not be what it has become (And I am happier than perhaps I have EVER been, and I am experiencing a second round of that feeling we had--just as we finished high school or college--when the sheer number of roads ahead of us was intoxicating and made our hearts race with joy and excitement). 

But as my Sunday stretched into Monday, a day which I self-declared a snow day because the roads were so dreadful, I began to suffer from a strange feeling of isolation and loneliness. Oh, I was still happy to sleep late, eat whenever, and drink loads of coffee, but something else began to take hold of me. By not interacting with people for so long, I began to suffer melancholy. This is not a real sadness or depression, but rather a feeling of unease and uncertainty. I'd had far too much time walking the halls of my own mind. And sorting my life had brought up a not too distant feeling of fear. I don't know why I thought that I was done being scared about the upcoming changes to my life. What a silly assumption. I see now that the coming weeks and months will continue to throw fears at me (can I really do this? how hard is it REALLY going to be? have I bit off more than a person can reasonably chew? How much change is too much? Is there a thing as too much?). 

When I came to work on Tuesday there was an incredible feeling of relief to once again be amongst people. To hear the sound of my voice outside my head and in my ears. To think about other people, events, and things. While I think one or two days of utter solitude can do my soul some good, I know that 82 hours is more than I require. Next time, I'm walking to King Soopers to buy something from the deli, if for no other reason than to hear the sound of others voices. 

The Stuff of Life

In 2005 I read A Whole New Mind by Daniel H. Pink just before he came to Colorado for a speaking engagement in our school district. While I like the book for many reasons, the fact contained in this quote box has never left my mind. My mother has always stored stuff in self storage. Sometimes renting multiple units. In fact, she and my sister Robin are currently in the process of condensing a couple of units. In looking at the footnote that this quote connects to, I visited www.selfstorage.org to look at current statistics. In 2013, the self storage industry generated more than $24 Billion in U.S. revenue. To provide something a little more visual, consider this (from the Fact Sheet on selfstorage.org): 

"Total self storage rentable space in the US is now 2.3 billion square feet (as of Q4-2013) [approximately 210 million square meters].  That figure represents more than 78 square miles of rentable self storage space, under roof – or an area well more than 3 times the size of Manhattan Island (NY)"

It's because of numbers like this that I am vehemently opposed to personally choosing to store my own belongings. Don't get me wrong, there is a time and place to do so. For example, a soldier being deployed can rent a storage space cheaper than maintaining an apartment he/she won't be inhabiting. But to own or rent a residence AND have additional storage seems wasteful to me. Either the stuff matters in your life, can be useful, or it doesn't. Until now, I've always packed up my belongings and moved them into the next home or apartment. I've always had the necessary space. 

Stuff being sorted and packed today.

But moving over the Pacific to another continent is not the same thing as packing a Uhaul and driving from PA to ID, or from the house on Prado Drive to the apartment at the Knolls. When you are looking at paying $50 per box or rubbermaid crate to travel 45-60 days by ocean freighter, then you have to be critically selective. 

It is, of course, important to have family mementos and those things that remind you of your childhood and youth. It's important to have things that will make you feel at home.....in a new, and at least initially foreign, home. Right? But I also can't take it all. Some books I loved, but will I really read them again? (Yes for Jane Eyre....she absolutely makes the cut!) I don't need 8 copies of that publication I made while deployed in 1998-99; two will do. And all those notes passed from friends while in middle and high school? Well, I am enjoying the memories now, with a glass of wine, but then they go in the trash (perhaps after taking a picture with my phone and sending it via fb messenger to said old friend). And pictures? Well, I don't have the time nor the patience to scan them all....so they make the cut and will ride the Pacific waves to be delivered to my new home in Ulaanbaatar.

So on this snowy, wintry February weekend in Colorado, I chip away at the Stuff of My Life (to date). What matters? What doesn't? Is reliving the memory contained in that old letter today, enough? And when I'm dead and gone will any of this stuff have meaning to anyone? Or is its sole purpose to simply bring joy and comfort to the life I am walking and breathing in this time? 

I don't know the answers. And my answers could be different than yours. I'm figuring this out as I go, as I navigate this previously uncharted course. But one thing I've discovered for sure--packing up one's life is not a speedy or simple process. It takes time and energy. And music. And wine. I miss My Love very much (oh so very much!), but this Time is needed so that I may reflect and remember. Time to process and prepare. 

My good friend, Julia, recently shared the following with me:

"...winter is the perfect time to go deep and internal, to go underground before reemerging in the spring. This is your winter. I can only imagine how much you miss him already, but you will be on overload once summer hits. Reflect. Refuel. Prepare."

She is right. 

So I shall pour myself some Malbec and sort that next pile. 

All the while imagining what it will be like to unpack it in my next home. I always liked the putting away of things in a new space. That's the best part!

family / ger bul

It is Tsagaan Sar time in Mongolia. This is their Lunar New Year Celebration and one of the two major holidays that I will be celebrating with my new family (Naadam, in mid July, being the second). This year Tsagaan Sar is being celebrated Feb 19-21 (next year it falls earlier, on Feb 9-11). 

Zorig's immediate family

This picture includes Zorig's immediate family. From left to right: Majig (Zorig's mother), Togtoh (Zorig's father's mother), Zorig, Enji (Zorig's son), and Borkhuu (Zorig's father). For the purpose of privacy, I'm not posting the picture that shows the entire family, but will tell you that the count was about 26 people, from toddler to elderly. And not everyone had arrived just yet! Zorig tells me that a number of his cousins speak English, so until I can get some Mongolian under my belt, I won't be standing quiet in the corner (and really, who has ever known me to do that?). But I can tell you that I will be the only Western face in the picture. While Zorig's sister is married to a German man, she lives with him and their children in Germany and only visits Mongolia on occasion. 

Tsagaan Sar is a time when the family, ger bul in Mongolian, gathers together, beginning in the home of the eldest living family member. For us this will mean the home of Zorig's grandmother, Togtoh, on his father's side of the family.

Majig and Togtoh

In addition to lots of food and fellowship, gifts are also given for Tsagaan Sar. 












Here are a couple pictures of the food spread. I confess I don't find it especially appetizing, but then I'm not yet there and can't smell or feel it. Next year will be so much better when I can participate in the festivities. There is dried yogurt which I had the opportunity to try for the first time not so long ago. Honestly, I wasn't sure if I liked it. It was both sour and sweet. It may require further testing to decide. :)



With the exception of the gifts, Tsagaan Sar seems more like our Thanksgiving--gathering together with family and eating a little too much. :)

I was happy to be able to celebrate New Year's with Zorig on Dec 31/Jan 1. We did that at my father's house in Michigan. A new year for a new life. 

One Word

Zorig & Heather, Feb 1, 2015

As a reader and a writer, words are the air of my mind, my intellect. With Zorig, I even gave myself the nickname of "Wordy Girl." In the months of our online courtship (via Facebook Messenger, International texting, and email), he would ask a simple question and I would respond in paragraphs (he would kindly ask for time to read and translate). Just as I found his broken English to be beautiful and moving, I hoped he'd find my wordiness to be endearing, and not a chore. We've made it to here, so I guess it didn't deter him.

But let me get back to words......

Over four years ago I read an article in Guideposts magazine by author Debbie Macomber (whom I've never read) in which she shares about her tradition of choosing a word to reflect and meditate upon each year. She's been doing it for well over 30 years. I was inspired and shared the article with some friends. This is my fourth year to choose a word. 

In 2012 I chose Frontier. In late April of that year I happened across the posting for Head Librarian at Fountain Valley School of Colorado. It became my new frontier and was a dream job come true. 

In 2013 I chose Imaginative. I desperately wanted to become more artistic. I didn't. I guess I needed more imagination and a PLAN to get there. Oh well. 

In 2014 I chose Prayer. That year started strong. I prayed more often and was intentional to pray for big things as well as small. Then in April I put prayer to the test. I ended up in the hospital for a week, and home for another two weeks of recovery, from major surgery (that was completely unexpected). I prayed to survive the surgery, the recovery, and to be as strong or stronger than before. All of those prayers were heard and answered.

I didn't spend much time ruminating on my word for 2015. I was busy with other thoughts and plans. Just nine hours before Z was to arrive into Colorado Springs, I found this quote and posted it to Facebook:

And my friend Elaine commented, "And you might have your word for 2015."

Zorig and I were preparing to find out if all we'd been building and creating, hoping for and wanting, was going to be real. It was the critical moment. To be or not to be.....that's what faced us down. 

He caught an earlier standby from Denver (after being given a hard time by immigration, I might add) and I was rushing around doing my hair, making sure dinner would be done, making final cleaning sweeps around the apartment. I arrived to the airport and watched the plane get delayed by 10 minutes, then another 20. There were no pillars to hide behind, so I stood as close to the TSA signs as one could. Delayed another 10 minutes. I had my ipod on and listened to "My Heart is Open" by Maroon 5, over and over and over again. I was nervous. I was scared. I was excited. No one knew me. No one knew who I was there to meet. No one knew that I was waiting to collect a man I had only spent 6 days with. There were moments I couldn't believe I was doing it. 

But then the moment arrived. I saw him turn the corner, and he saw me, and smiled (Oh that smile that I remembered so well). It was all happening in this moment. He was really and truly here. In the USA. To be with me. 

He was exactly as I remembered him to be, wearing clothes that were familiar. We hugged, and as cliche as it is going to sound, he simply felt like home. We'd found, no--he'd made---a way back to me (and may I never forget that). 

We kissed. We hugged again. He held my hand on the way down to baggage claim where we hugged and kissed some more. I don't know what a single other soul in the airport looked like or did, because all I saw and heard and felt was him. 

And then........I was no longer nervous. 

Not walking to the car. Not on the drive home. Not once we arrived to my apartment. The two of us standing together in a time and place, face to face, was all I needed. My heart and soul understood....he was the resonance I'd been needing, longing for, waiting for, my entire life. 

And because of his resonance, my transformation has begun. 

Fear

Fear is something I've had to encounter or hold throughout this journey to date, and I'm sure it will be my constant companion for many months yet to come. I think much of what we do or don't do in life is motivated by fear. When I started doing Crossfit a couple years ago, I came across this quote from Rich Froning, a competitive Crossfitter (here's the clip to the motivational video, quote begins around 2:45; update on January 29th 2017, that video has been removed. Here's the link to another, quote begins around 2:30--different guy, not sure where the quote originated at this point, but love it just the same): 

Cheers to Fears

".....find a fear. That fear will either create you or destroy you. I love fear. Reason why? Behind every fear is a person you want to be. Fear is self-imposed. Meaning it doesn't exist. You create it. You can destroy it too. It's an intangible. If you face your fears guys, you'll realize it's not that big."

When I begin to feel uneasy, or scared, I ask myself, "what is the fear?" Once I identify it, then I try to see who I could become if I can work past the fear. If I can destroy it or make it disintegrate. Sometimes the person I see on the other side of the fear is unfamiliar and I'm not yet sure how to reach her, or how to assimilate her into me, but I push through anyway. I trust that there will be a reconciliation and keep faith that what I don't yet know or understand will become illuminated. 

But something that has served me well across these past 193 days is to put a name on fears. When I feel unquiet in my mind, or what I refer to as twitchy, then I know that it is time to journal, to WRITE IT DOWN. To put an actual name to what it is that is making me uneasy. The simple act of writing it down immediately lessens its power. Perhaps it's in the act of discernment and naming that the unknown element is eliminated? Which reminds me of FDR's famous quote: "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." Yes, once you name your fear, then fear is no longer that scary monster under your bed that has no shape or form. It's far easier to slay a dragon once you know what type of sword you'll need and from which angle to approach. 

Here are some fears I've laid out in my path along this journey (beginning this fall as we communicated online):

• What if this (the love) isn't real?
• What if it is?
• How can we be together?
• Will he come here? 
• What if I go there?
• Will we understand one another well enough? 
• Is having a cultural divide in a relationship too much to overcome?
• What will I do for work?
• What will my family say? My friends? 
• Is it all just a midlife crisis?
• Can I learn a language at this age? 
• Mongolian seems so hard!
• Will they accept me into their world? Their culture?
• Will his son like me? 
• Will his parents accept me?
• Is is possible to assimilate into a completely different world?
• Can I really box up my life and move 6K miles away?
• Am I crazy to want this so much?

There are so many, many more. But these are some of the thoughts, the fears, that rattle around in my brain. Sometimes they are fleeting, like a dandelion seed on the wind, and other times they take root and grow like Russian thistle...until I name them and yank them out, and then they become tumbleweed that are blown clear from the fields of my mind. 

Yes, you must face your fears. But first, you must name them. Give them a form, a shape. Then you decide if you are going to walk through them to see whom you might become. It isn't always the time or place to do so, only you can decide that. But do not allow them to be monsters in your mind, growing larger with the energy of darkness. Bring them into the light, and choose your course of action. 

I will leave you with a few other quotes about fear:

• "Fear keeps us focused on the past or worried about the future. If we can acknowledge our fear, we can realize that right now we are okay. Right now, today, we are still alive, and our bodies are working marvelously. Our eyes can still see the beautiful sky. Our ears can still hear the voices of our loved ones."  ~Thich Nhat Hanh
• "We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light."  ~Plato
• "I have learned over the years that when one's mind is made up, this diminishes fear; knowing what must be done does away with fear."  ~Rosa Parks
• "Always do what you are afraid to do." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
• "One of the greatest discoveries a man makes, one of his great surprises, is to find he can do what he was afraid he couldn't do."  ~Henry Ford

Dropping the IM for what's POSSIBLE

Iargo Springs in Northern Michigan

When I considered packing up and moving to Idaho at the age of 21, my mother gave me some very useful advice about life. It went something like this, "When considering a major life change, Heather, you have to imagine what the worst is that could happen. Play it out in your mind. And if you can live with the worst result, then you should go for it." 

I used it then. I thought if I moved to Boise and I hated it, well then I could always pack up and move back to Pennsylvania. 

I used it again when I packed up and moved to Colorado from Idaho. This time for a man. And the worst that could happen, well, it was that things fell apart with the man. In that case I figured I'd either stay in CO (if I liked it and was established), or I could always move back to ID or back to PA. 

Yes, this motherly advice has served me well over the past 20 years. I have passed it on to friends and students alike. And I believe it yet and still. Ultimately it asks one to consider what the backup plan is if/when things fall apart. You see, us Americans are fairly skeptical in the grand scheme of life. We have a plan, then a plan B, and sometimes even a plan C. I would argue that a majority of us expect things to fall apart, and like those Choose-Your-Own-Adventure books from my youth, we follow each and every rabbit trail to its end, to see what we might have to face or endure or gain. Sometimes we can anticipate where the path goes astray and avoid the potholes or fallen trees, other times there are blind spots and no way to see around the bend in the road. But I think we ultimately have an escape route......a way out in which we can protect ourselves (from what, I ask?). 

Contrarily, the Mongolian attitude towards life is ultimately optimistic. They are not skeptical. They do not expect things to go astray or awry. They do not have back up plans (though they are quite ingenious and resourceful if things do go wrong). It is because Zorig never had a doubt about me, and about us, that he was able to make me believe in what I perceived as impossible. If you can put your faith and trust completely into another and then OPEN YOUR MIND, well then, the im falls away and you are left with just what is possible. 

My upcoming life changes will require a great depth of commitment. Moving across an ocean and 6K miles to a different country, a different continent, to become part of a new family will require seeing not months or a year into the future. To have this succeed (and who defines/determines success?), I must not consider a way out, a retreat. 

Moving one's life to assimilate into another culture requires that you go ALL IN and let go of the American default to have an escape route. Therefore, there are no rearview mirrors on this vehicle, there can be no reverse gear. I must look at the potholes immediately in front of me and navigate carefully, but my eyes must always be clearly focused in the distance, on the crest of the steppe that awaits me and us in that grand adventurous future that we have imagined together. It is green and bright. The wind will blow and the sun will shine under that eternal blue sky. While I know there will be dreary days and unexpected frustrations along the route, I must remember that they too, shall pass. Becoming distant memories that fade with the dust that settles behind us.  With love as our fuel, we can always move forward. 

Wanting to be Better

This morning's musing will be short and sweet. Take a moment and refresh your memory of this scene from As Good as it Gets:

I remember this movie and the scene and being moved by it back in 1997 when it came out (and I was a young 23 yo!). I mean, what's better than a person admitting their shortcomings or vulnerabilities and wanting to overcome them or make personal changes. However, it wasn't until I met and fell in love with Zorig that I truly understood the feeling that Nicholson's character is expressing here. 

I watched Z look after my mother while we were in Idaho, making sure she had snacks within her reach and restocking her supply when necessary.

• This made me want to be less self-centered, less selfish. Or perhaps the better goal is to be more aware of others needs than my own. I've become strangely aware of how self-focused I have lived my life until now. 

I heard Z say, "let's not talk about it anymore," and then effectively drop a disagreement/conversation that was going nowhere, or what was ultimately a cultural misunderstanding that got us stuck in some impasse. But then.....he really and truly DROPPED IT. (We would return to it later if it was a cultural issue and while we can't always relate, we both worked to understand.)

• This made me wonder why I push so hard to complete certain conversations or disagreements. Ultimately, it is either to (a) be right or (b) to convert someone to my point of view (which is really just a different way of saying a, isn't it?). 

I would be lying in bed and going to sleep (since I had to get up and go to work), when I would randomly get a facebook message from Z, who was a  hallway away that simply said, "Thank you." When I asked, "for what?" He replied simply, "for all things." And I felt loved and SEEN. I felt that I mattered and that we were connected.

• This made me recognize how little we take the time or make the effort to appreciate people for the little or big things they do for us. It takes no more than a few seconds to say it or a couple of minutes to write a card. I suppose this is an extension of my first point......getting outside oneself to validate others. I want to do it more!

I could go on......but you get the point. This man makes me want to be a better woman, a better human being. I want to spend more time appreciating and valuing and recognizing others for what they bring to my life or the world at large. Ultimately, I want to be better because I never want to stop winning his heart. He brings things out of me that I didn't know were there, OR they've been dormant for a very long time. It's time to awake from hibernation and go forth into the world with grace and gratitude. 

Who has made you want to be a better person? And what attributes or characteristics are you looking to develop?

On Becoming a Girl

Thanks to technology....I know where he is.

At the moment, my Love is past the halfway mark of his 13 hour flight from Chicago to Beijing. I have not heard from him since he boarded the plane here in Colorado Springs at 6:20 am. I am exhausted from the late hours we kept these last five nights, three of them in Vegas, and am feeling emotional to say the least. 

The apartment is hollow and empty. No Zorig. No Mona. Only me and the memories of our time together these past 50 days. But what a wondrous 50 days it was. I am still in awe of the reality that in a world of 7 Billion people, Zorig and I found one another and not only connected, but in a short six months have been able to solidify the relationship and make a definitive plan for the future. He is the man I've been waiting for my entire life......but had never really expected to be a reality. You see, us strong and independent women of this modern world struggle to find a man that can be our match, a true partner.

I've always been proud to be a strong and independent woman. My parents raised us all to believe that anything is possible. With a good education and hard work, we could become anyone or anything. I tried new things in school. As a high school junior, I stepped out and joined the Army National Guard. After a couple of years in college, I broke out on my own and moved West to Idaho. I've acquired degrees, been deployed overseas, tried various jobs, made my own way in the world, never doubting that I could figure things out. I never expected someone else to take care of me--choosing instead to stand waist deep in a pool of self reliance and pride. These are not bad qualities to possess; however, they can create barriers to experiencing the softer side of being female. In some ways we have the feminist movement to blame for this....but that's a whole other rant. 

It's not been easy to find men that can hold and love a strong and independent woman. Oh, they like the idea that she can bring in a good income and is proud to get her own door. They are attracted to her strong sense of self and the way she walks and carries herself. The fact that she knows what she wants and isn't afraid to express it. He may brag about how his woman is low maintenance and a real go getter. But if HE is not also a strong and confident individual, then there will be trouble down the road. 

I speak from experience. My previous relationship started with two strong and confident individuals being in love and making a life together. But over the years my independence and confidence degraded his strength and masculinity. It was not intentional, and is both our faults. I didn't allow him to take care of me, and he didn't require me to. In our days of falling apart he looked at me and said, "you know, Heather, it's always been 'you and i' to you." I heard his words. Processed them and simply said, "you know, that's true." A sad thing to realize that after so many years, I had never really seen us, as an "us." We were simply two individuals coexisting in a space together. With two incomes there is a raised quality of living, but because we knew and understood each other less over the years, the richness of our relationship diminished. 

What makes us let go of the individual to embrace the us? I'm not saying we should lose ourselves--our sense of self--in a relationship (we've heard far too much from our mothers' generation about sacrifice of self on the altar of marriage), but we should be able to simultaneously see our "self" as a whole and complete entity that together with another makes a new and different kind of whole. A part of something new that is created when two people make a life together. 

At Safari Club International Convention in Vegas.

The most surprising thing about my new relationship is seeing myself through Z's eyes. He sees me as strong and independent. On a daily basis I hear him call me smart, beautiful, honest, and brave. My confidence and self surety are part of what attracted him to me in the first place (you should have seen us argue about who would carry my bag into the ger camp in Binder!). BUT.....he also sees me as completely feminine and not only allows me to lean into him, but pulls me to do so. I feel loved and cherished and honored. I not only let him hold me, but crave the safety of his arms around me. For the first time in my life......I can allow myself to let go because I know I have someone who is not only strong enough to catch me, but will know exactly what I need to hear and how to hold me so that I feel safe and secure. In our love and in the world at large. Now I see how an "us" is possible--I just never had the faith and trust it required. This man's strength of spirit inspires me and in his communication to me, I am guided into this new and lovely frontier. A wide open space in which I am learning much about myself and where I feel free to let go of expectations and be freely myself, even when I don't yet know who I will become around the next bend. While I travel this new and uncharted path, I work to embrace moments of discomfort as well as joy. 

Seeing Z off this morning was no walk in the park. I cried all the way home. Not from any real pain, but rather the thought that for another 140 days he will be so far from me. That I can't hug him. Can't kiss his cheek. Can't breathe in his smell. Can't see his smile. Can't hear his laugh. Can't be annoyed by the orange peels left on the floor. Can't feel his hand warming mine. Can't watch him sleep beside me. 

Yup.....I'm officially becoming a girl.......

.....because of who he is, 

...........because of who I can finally become......

.........................and because of the "us" that we create together. 

The Dwindling hours

Yesterday we returned from our final side trip and tomorrow, in less than 22 hours, Z will depart Colorado to return to Mongolia. These 50 days together have flown by so quickly. Just yesterday, it seems, I was standing in the airport awaiting his arrival, filled with questions, fears, doubts, and nervousness. Now the future is determined and I am sure of him, of our love, and of our future life together.



Fremont St in Vegas

Fifty days is enough time to have a hiccup or two. Or three. We've had misunderstandings and disconnects. We've had differences of opinion that are rooted in our cultural backgrounds. And we've navigated through each of them with respect and a desire to understand. And with love. I cannot imagine spending seven weeks on the road, away from my family and work and home. He's never complained and has met friend, after friend, after family member. He's been a gracious host in our home and a lovely guest in everyone else's home. Yes, these 50 days have been a gift of time together to solidify our couplehood.

As I drove to the airport last night to collect him on his return from Vegas, I was suddenly overcome with the reality that in just 31 hours (now 22) I would make the same drive to send him home. I was listening to the same song (My Heart is Open by Maroon 5 and featuring Gwen Stefani) that I played over and over the day I awaited his arrival and I suddenly felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. I will miss having him in my every day. I will miss his smile, his chuckle, his happy eyes. I will miss his attentiveness and thoughtfulness. I will miss hearing him on my phone and speaking Mongolian (of which I really only recognize "za," which means alright). I will miss the smell of oranges. I will miss his lips.

After tomorrow, it's 140 days until we meet again. In UB. It was 140 days between when Zorig saw Dad and I off at the Chinggis Khan International Airport and his arrival to the US. Now we spend a second stint of 140 days apart. I suspect I may shed a tear or two tomorrow. But once we part this time, what comes next is different. It is not the building up of a possibility or a dream, but rather the seeing-it-through. I like that I have a plane ticket purchased. I like that I have a job. I have a home and a new family to get to know and love.

But before I get there......I will have a lot of packing and work to do. These next 140 days will be filled with preparations as well as time spent with family and friends. So I will cling tightly to these next 20 hours with Zorig. Then I will relish in the times I spend with all those that love and have supported me thus far....and continue to do so. And then, on a lovely afternoon in early July, I will arrive into the UB airport--a place I thought I'd never see again--and return to the arms of my love and continue this most unexpected love affair.

Enjoy your moments....your hours....wherever you are spending them. You can't rewind and repeat them....so make them count. 

Coincidence or Destiny?

I've always been a person that leans heavily on reason and common sense. I'm a planner and Type A. I rationalize things and make carefully weighed decisions after considering all possible outcomes and factors. But I'm also someone that, at the age of 18 while laid up in the Kenner Army Hospital with a broken tibia and fibula, began to believe that things happen for a reason. There is a strange tension between (a) the roads we are presented with and (b) our power of free will. There are people to which LIFE happens; and there are those of us that happen TO Life. I believe strongly in our power and responsibility to make choices in life and to own those choices, for better or worse.

But today I want to know......are you a person that believes in signs? Do you think things happen for a reason? Is there something greater at work in the Universe that guides us, somehow, towards the path we were meant to travel? Or is everything in life merely chance and coincidence? Do we simply SEE signs where we want them to be? In the end, this is a question we each answer for ourselves. I'm not here to convince you what your belief should be; however, I would like to indulge a little in why I've come to believe that Destiny is a truth for me.

When Zorig first said "I love you" to me, I thought he was crazy. Or at least a Casanova or Playboy of some sort. He was seeing my father and I off at the Chinggis Khaan International Airport in Ulaanbaatar. We had spent only six days in one another's presence and our knowledge was limited to say the least. And yet, there was something between us. A thin green line stretched across the Pacific and we were tenuously tethered. In the weeks and months that followed, he won my heart. But that's a different story. I want to lay out here all the signs that I think led me to believe in him and in us. The things that thickened that tenuous line of connection. And then the signs that have popped up, left and right, throughout these last few months to provide affirmations along this most unexpected journey.

The picture that pulled me to Mongolia.

People have asked me WHY MONGOLIA? There is no easy answer to that. Ten years ago I am not sure I was aware of it as a country and certainly knew nothing of its people and their way of life. But in 2009 my father went to Mongolia on a hunt. My cousin, Marck, accompanied him. On their return I saw pictures from the trip. They were all beautiful, but there was one particular picture that spoke to me. There is no other way to describe the effect that picture had on me other than to say that looking at the landscape, I felt an undeniable urge to GO THERE, to put my feet on that land. Gobi. Mountain. Steppe. I wanted to feel that part of the earth under my boots and to breathe its air. While my father invited me to go to Scotland or South Africa with him, I replied with nothing but disinterest. In all the world, Mongolia had become the most exotic place and I wanted to see it. So in October of 2010, my father and I declared our dream to visit Mongolia and began to make our plans.

Fast forward to this summer. Dad and I spent 21 days and 20 nights in Mongolia (2 of which were in Siberia on Lake Baikal). Our final six days was the fishing trip in the Hentiy Province. It was this trip that provided the opportunity for Zorig and I to meet and begin to know one another. They were a lovely six days, rich with laughter and adventures. But I never expected my entire life to be overhauled as a result.

Z made his desire to have a life with me known on the streets of UB during my final night in the country. He said what he said at the airport. I hoped maybe, someday, our paths would cross again. But I wasn't holding my breath.

But then, strange things began to happen. Here is a short list of some signs (others are too personal for general consumption) that I saw along the road I traveled this past autumn that allowed me to increasingly believe in my new and bright future:

• My book club read "The Snow Leopard" which references the merry attitudes of the Mongols (which I was very much drawn to during our visit) and mentions the shaggy Mongol ponies;
• On Oct 31st, while attending an adult Halloween party here in Colorado Springs, CO, a man walked in wearing traditional Mongolian clothing--a deel and gutul (boots). I guarantee that no one else knew what/who he was;
• I received this fortune while out with my advisees one day for lunch, during a period when I was doubting whether this relationship could really come to be;

  

  Fortune perfection?

• One of my nicknames (and NO, you can't tease me about this and prefer it not be referenced at all) is queen. After I moved into my apartment in late October, I discovered that the liquor store in the nearby shopping center is Queen Liquor;
• The very first family I approached about adopting my beloved cat of 10+ years, said YES;
• Twenty-one days ago I applied for a HS English position at the American School of UB (one of two International schools in the city). As I am not AP qualified, I was not a good fit. However, the hiring consultant (whose last name happens to be Diamond--Z and Dad, you should know that connection/sign!) made me aware of a position that hadn't yet been posted on the website--Elementary School Librarian. Now tell me, what are the chances that a Qualified Librarian would be looking to move to UB at the exact moment that a Librarian position was opening up? If that isn't confirmation from the universe that I'm traveling the right trajectory, then I don't know what is. Oh.....and I was offered the position today! :)

I have a couple of friends that think I lead "a charmed life." I don't know that I believe that, but I do feel beyond lucky in this moment. I am in love with an amazingly kind and strong man who happens to love me back with the same breadth and depth of feeling. I have parents that taught me that "anything is possible," and siblings that cheer me on and reinforce that belief. While they are certainly scared for me as I move forward into this new life, they are 100% behind me and share in my excitement and fears. And I have phenomenal friends and colleagues that have been encouraging at every turn. Because I am surrounded by good people that happen TO LIFE, they are able to bolster me in moments of doubt or uncertainty. What a gift!

So I wonder......what do you believe? Is it coincidence? Or Destiny? Serendipity or Fate? Or God's plan? Or nothing? My beliefs have changed over the years. Perhaps yours have too. But as I prepare to simplify my life to pack up and move to Mongolia, I feel strangely sure that all previous paths were training for this current trail I tread. Strangely confident that this is the man I've waited my whole life for...and excited to be embarking on my greatest adventure. To date. :)

The first hard goodbye

Tomorrow I will take my cat of 10.5 years (she was a year old when I adopted her), Mona Minou,  to her next family and hopefully her forever home. Many have asked why I am in a rush to adopt her out. It's not at all that I am ready to get rid of her (though I won't miss the 5 am wake up calls for breakfast!); but let's get real here, there will never be a good time for me to say goodbye to this sweet, little 9 lb beast that has napped next to me, followed me around my home, licked my cheeks, and talked back to me over the years. She has always been a momma's girl and our bond is tight. I will miss her dearly and in fact, I tear up as I type this. She snoozes right next to me now, clueless about what tomorrow has in store for her. 

Just this afternoon, a little nap on me

When Zorig returns home to UB in nine days, my apartment will be hollow and empty. Instead of three living and breathing beings--it will just be me. Alone. I know I will miss having Mona's furry face to come home to; however, I know that giving her time to adapt to her new home/family sooner, rather than later, is the right thing to do. There is no reason for me to selfishly cling to her, using her as security blanket to help ease my melancholy over being once again apart from my Love and as a comfort in the coming months while I prepare to wrap up my stateside life and to begin the big move. 

While I'm sure I will cry tomorrow when we leave her, I am 100% confident that she is going to a GREAT home. She will be loved and cared for. I have known this family for 6+ years and have been in their home numerous times. They were the first people I offered her to and were definitely my first choice. Mona will be their primary pet and won't have to contend with other cats or deal with a dog. She's always been the sole pet in my home. She likes her humans and doesn't want to share us with anyone or anything. She's grown quite attached to Zorig over the past six weeks. The minute we return from being out and about, she lays down and stretches herself out, her eyes pleading Z to "massage" her, as he calls it. This is unique to how he pets her....she never lays down and rolls over for me. 

Unlike any other cat I've ever known, Mona has the personality of a dog. She's rarely off in the corner and aloof, but instead chooses to always be closer to me and talks A LOT. Her vocal range is quite impressive and I've often thought she reminds me a lot of Gizmo, the mogwai, from the movie Gremlins. Most nights are punctuated with a serenade--she carries around one of her many small stuffed toys and sings aloud to them. She's been doing it for years. Sometimes for just a minute or two, while other times carrying on for 10-15 minutes. 

So tomorrow at 12:30, we will deliver her and all of her accessories and toys to her next home. We'll hang out maybe an hour or so, chatting with the family while she hopefully begins to wander and acquaint herself to her new surroundings. She adapted to my new apartment within a couple of days, so I know she will be fine. I hope to be able to visit her a time or two before I move and I know I will get email updates about how she is doing and how they are loving her and taking care of her. Perhaps I'll even get a picture from time to time.

Sweet, sleeping Mona Minou

And so I march forward towards this major life change and begin to do the hard and necessary things. There is no easy way to say goodbye to this cat that has been my constant companion, and no easy way to have her absent from my life. Yet I know that taking her with me would be foolish. Moving across the ocean, for those of us with limited means, requires that we truly evaluate each and every thing that we own to discern the value and importance. While I will sell all of my furnishings, it will be the books and personal effects that will require some serious thought. What can be replaced there? What can't? And does this item have significant value for my future? Will it bring me comfort?

Mona has been the coolest cat I've ever known. She would be impossible to replace, I think. So tonight I pet her soft fur, listen to her purr, and think about the 10+ years we've had together (remembering too, all the puke I've had to clean up!) and I am thankful for her presence in my life. Soon she can be that for three lovely people. I wouldn't be surprised if she had another 10 years in her.