Author: shewasmadetowander

Can you remember the last time you saw something for the first time?  I recently traveled to Brazil and visited the Iguaçu falls.  Miles and miles of massive water falls.  Holy cow, I had never seen anything like it!  Had it not been for the crowd and the pushy lady behind me trying to rush me to take my photos, I would have remained transfixed there for hours.  It was truly an overwhelming moment.  It was in that moment that I realized, I had not been filled with that sense of awe and wonder in years.

And then I became an aunt.  The first moments of holding Baby Girl in my arms was unforgettable, and also seeing the look of joy on my sister’s face (I think my brother-in-law’s face was a mix of joy too but also deer-in-the-headlights nervous!).  Since then, I have been charmed with daily updates and photos of the new faces she’s making.  Her eyes seem wider every time as she takes in her new home.  If only we could remember what it was like to see our world for the first time.

I know that it’s biologically normal to develop like this.  Our brains are most malleable during the first years of life, and it’s important for infants to take in things that stimulate all their senses.  But I just love seeing the expressions on their faces as they experience these things for the first time, filled with both awe and curiosity.

We lose that over time don’t we?  It’s understandable and I’m guilty of it too.  It’s really only when I look over and see a child looking at the same thing, with their fixed gaze and open mouth, that I’m reminded to appreciate even the little things in life.

I know there are plenty of reasons to fight against the inevitable.  Fear of the unknown, slowing down, infirmities, grey hair and wrinkles.  The reasons are not all superficial.  Perhaps there are regrets, things left unsaid, or disappointment in what life turned out to be.

It’s not easy for the younger friends and family members either.  For some reason, the elderly are some of the most stubborn sons of guns on this planet!  (That was supposed to be a bit of humor and a subtle jab to all you AARP members out there) They refuse to eat better, change their routines, go to the doctor, take the medicine, or downsize.

The struggle for everyone involved is real.

One of my favorite things to do on trips is capture the candid shot.  There’s always a mystery that accompanies these photos.  When I was in Poland, I saw this gentleman sitting alone on the park bench.  I didn’t linger long, as I didn’t want to be “that guy,” but I couldn’t help but wonder, “Is he waiting for someone?” “Is he just sitting and thinking?” “Is he happy?  He doesn’t look happy.”  Hands folded, he sat and looked in the same direction for several minutes, maybe longer, but I didn’t stay long enough to keep count.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but aging is inevitable, so why not just embrace it?  If you have regrets, make the amends as best you can.  And forgive yourself.  If you have ailments, do your best to get healthy without sacrificing the present moment.  If you have untold stories, write them down, put those thoughts in a letter, or call the friend or family member and share with them.  If you have wrinkles and grey hair…well, I think you’re still beautiful.  If only we could use our eyes to see souls, how differently we would view beauty.

The other truth is that time is fleeting.  Who says that time must be spent alone?  We all are aging, and while we can’t control all that life throws at us, we can choose to age gracefully.  We can choose to enjoy the moments we have as best as we can.

Since beginning this blog, I’ve had the chance to look over my photos from years gone by, and every time I look at the ones from Auschwitz, I realize that I stop every time and hold my breath.  I’ll never forget the slow walk through that camp and the one that followed at Birkenau.  It was the end of November, 2015.  I was bundled up with lined boots, a heavy coat, scarf, gloves, and a hat.  None of which mattered because the air cut right through all of it, and by the end of the day-long tour my toes and fingers were numb, my ears stung from the icy wind, and my back ached from all the walking in the bitter cold.

Yet, I couldn’t complain.  In fact, I don’t remember saying a word the entire day.  All I remember from that day was thinking, “they didn’t even have gloves.”  Stripped down, shaved, and starved, the prisoners had nothing to shield them from the biting Polish air.  The prison buildings were nothing but wood, bricks, and glass.

As I walked from room to room, I saw pieces of people’s identity passing away.  Their luggage – taken, and the contents dumped out and separated.  The elderly and crippled were deprived of their prosthetics and wheelchairs.  In each room, I saw mounds of personal items – clothes, shoes, and combs.  Anyone with long hair was taken to a room and shaved.  I was later told that the prisoners were forced to make blankets with the collected hair.  We rounded the corner…and I saw the blankets.  We were not permitted to take photographs of that room…but I promise, you can’t unsee an image like that.

For some reason, I couldn’t think of anything else other than, “they had to have been so cold.”  That seems silly right?  With all there was in that camp to fear – the gas chambers, the firing wall, starvation, disease, and medical experiments – I have no idea why was I so fixated on the cold.

I did not hear laughter that day.  Come to think of it, I did not hear any crying either.  It was just silence apart from the voice of the guide.  I thought of the children, parents, and grandparents.  The train ride.  The confusion.  The terror.  Innocent lives not only deprived of their personal effects, not only deprived of their loved ones, deprived also of the chance to live their life with purpose, outside of that barbed wire fence.

I heard a story once about this camp…it was probably fictional, but maybe not.  A prisoner was walking through the camp one day when he turned and saw another prisoner kneeling down to pray.  “What are you doing?” The first prisoner asked.  “I’m thanking God,” the praying man responded. “What could you possibly be thanking God for?” Asked the first man. “I’m thanking God that I’m not like them,” answered the second man.

In the bitter cold, on the frozen ground, could there really have been such a man with a heart that remained warm enough to feel gratitude?

If someone was to ask me why I enjoy taking photos, I would not be able to sum it up in just a few words.  They would need a coffee or tea, and at least an hour with me to fully understand why I love photography so much.

And let’s be clear.  I don’t like all photography.  I like natural, raw, and candid photography – nothing in a studio and nothing staged.  

So, let me begin.  I heard someone say recently that “ if we hunger for things that exist – then why does life constantly leave us hungry for something more?”  You don’t see lions or any other animal constantly changing its diet or trying to “branch out.”  It feeds off of what it has, and though it cannot speak, the animal seems content.  Humans are different.  We are constantly developing new hungers, new thirsts, constantly seeking something beyond what we have and are able to currently obtain.  Rarely, are we content.  We work hard at the gym, at the job, at the class, because we maintain a hunger for something “beyond.” I would argue, that we will not satisfy that hunger on Earth. Rather, we are filled with a hunger for something greater than this world can offer.  That is why in every corner of the world, you see religion.  People turn to religion because they recognize that there is something greater than what they have, and they set out to find it.  

I am constantly at odds with my career.  I probably frustrate every supervisor and friend who cares to listen to me because I cannot settle.  I am never satisfied with what I am doing.  I am never fulfilled.  Why?  I believe it is because I have a higher expectation of work.  It needs to bring meaning into my life.  But more often than not, doing the work I am commanded or tasked to do, does not give me meaning.  Especially, when I do not see the – fruits of my labor.  I start to question why I am killing myself, sacrificing the best years of my life for something that I believe in less and less.  When you feel like a hamster spinning its wheel in yet a bigger hamster cage with larger spinning wheels, you find yourself questioning what is the meaning of any of this?  

Anyone can make up whatever argument they want to try and convince me of why we go to work every day, but it is likely not going to convince me.  As I spend time, as I often do, in self reflection, I realize that what is truly important to me is knowing that I am making a positive difference – that I am adding beauty to someone’s life, that I am helping them to find their meaning nay (yep I went there) even their value.  I feed off off making people feel valued.  It’s difficult to do that sometimes when you’re constantly at the grind of work or school.  But that is what feeds my hunger.  

Placed in the wrong environment, which has occurred many times over, I lose myself in making a person feel loved and valued.  Given the wrong friendship, the wrong relationship, the wrong dynamic with a person, I will sacrifice everything to help someone recognize their worth.  But when they don’t want to believe what I say, or if what I offer is not enough, I can find myself either abused or abandoned.  

So, why did I fall in love with photography?  Because for me, it is the simplest (and maybe safest) form of recognizing beauty and purpose, and then sharing that beauty with anyone willing to look.  Maybe they are someone who sees life as a dark and lonely place.  Could a photo renew their outlook on life?  

I prefer taking raw photos.  If I have to edit a picture, it’s only to further convey the same message – look, here is something beautiful.  But I set out to leave the photo in its rawest form.   Studio photography saddens me because in that environment there is an overuse of photo editing – teeth whitening, wrinkle reducing, scar removal, body slimming, etc.  To me, there is beauty in the raw!  That is why I have written this blog and chosen the photo above.  This woman did not need to be trimmed or modified.  I saw her walking through the streets of Amsterdam, and it was her smile that caught my attention.  It was so genuine and full of light that I approached her and asked to take her photo.  

Friends, if you stay on this blog long enough, I hope the effect it has on you is a renewed perspective of what is beautiful and meaningful in your life.  There is an abundance of it, but the grind we call our day-to-day often causes us to lose sight of that beauty.  This is true even for me.  While we continue to hunger for what lies beyond, let us not forget to live today with meaning and purpose.  This is why I have found myself praying for just one person, one person each day on whom I can shed a little light, a little grace, a little love.  Make today about being what is beautiful in someone else’s life. 

“You need to get lost in Venice,” said my Italian friend, “turn down random corners and wander away from the crowd. Only then will you see true Venice.”

If there is any common theme you will observe in my blogs, it will be the encouragement to wander. I know that can sound daunting, and I would never encourage you to be reckless or unsafe. However, there is SO MUCH more that can be added to an experience if you’re willing to veer off from the beaten path. Turn the corners, step away from the crowd, climb the heights, observe from afar, and look around the next corner. If you stay with the flow, your experience may still meet your expectations, but my blogs are intended to exceed your expectations. Don’t rush. Take your time and soak in what you’re seeing.

Venice is safe place to get lost in. You can’t go too far, it’s an island! But if you veer off the main routes, you’ll discover parks, kids playing soccer in the streets, and mothers hanging laundry across the alleyway. You may also discover a local cafe or restaurant. Speak a few words of Italian to them, “buongiorno,” “come sta?” And see the magic that happens. Italians are generally welcoming when they see your interest in their culture. But you have to take that first, brave step.

There’s a difference between culture and tourist culture. You’ll only find the genuine culture, when you veer off the path.

Of course I can’t help but put a spiritual spin to this. Life is riddled with an expectation to live a cookie cutter life. But when you sit down with people, you realize that everyone has a unique story, a unique struggle, or maybe an untold tale. They fear exposing this side of them because it feels taboo, and they fear no one will relate to them. So, they quietly march to the same tune and follow the crowd. Be BOLD! Veer off the path and live the life you are actually living. Trust God through the process, and let him take you through windy paths. In doing so, you will enrich your life!

This one will be a long one, but the story is SO beautiful! It actually involves two encounters with the man on the right. The man on my left is my father, and both men are heroes.

The first encounter with this man occurred back in 2012. I wasn’t yet what you would call an experienced traveler yet. I was still getting my feet wet. My sister and I had planned a trip to Austria and Ireland. We started in Vienna and planned for 4 days traveling from Vienna making various stops along the way until we reached Bavaria. One stop was in the most unassuming town, really not close to any major tourist spots, but we stayed here after visiting the Austrian concentration camp Mauthausen. The town was called St.Valentine, and this was also where I met the man in the photo.

You see, when we arrived in Vienna, I was greeted with a nasty sore throat. By day two I could barely swallow, and I was also feeling achy. This was going to ruin my trip! I didn’t want to slow down my sister, but I felt terrible. Not to mention scared! I didn’t know what to do in a foreign country when you had strep throat! I texted my parents and asked them to please pray for me…and hoped for a miracle. Well my father prayed but also did more than that…

By the end of day 2, we reached St. Valentine. Our reservation was at a bed & breakfast, possibly the only one in the town. It was a tiny town! We walked in and greeted the boy, literally maybe 16-17 years old, who was at the reception desk. I had made the reservation, so I greeted him and gave him my name. He repeated my name and looked down at a piece of paper. Then he put up a hand and said, “You are Lyndsey? One minute.” And he disappeared. My sister and I looked at each other, confused as to what was going on. A few minutes later the man in the photo came in from the back door. He had a brown paper bag and gave it to me. Inside was medicine! He didn’t speak English, so he asked his son to translate. Apparently, when I texted my father, my dad pulled up our itinerary and contacted the gentleman in the photo, who happened to be the owner of the Bed and Breakfast. He explained his daughter was very sick, and she needed a certain kind of medicine to get well. The man was willing and able to go to the local pharmacy and get the medicine! How, I will never know, and I also didn’t bother to ask.

That night, my throat was still on fire and I struggled to fall asleep. I found myself laying next to my sister, who was fast asleep, staring up at the ceiling. Then, as the rest of the hotel grew quiet, and other tenants went into their rooms, I could hear the faint sound of a piano playing. At first I couldn’t tell if it was someone who was drunk at the bar and just hitting keys, but the the more I strained to listen, the more it sounded like the person knew what he or she was doing. I slipped out from the covers and quietly left the room, locking the door behind me (I’ll get back to that in a minute). I carefully walked down stairs and followed the sound of the music. The music was coming from the dining room. I pushed through the French doors, and my eyes fell to the center of the room, where there was none other than the owner of the bed & breakfast. He sat by himself at a baby grand piano and was playing a beautiful piece of music.

I didn’t want to interrupt, so I quietly seated myself in the corner. He heard me nonetheless and turned his head. He didn’t stop playing though. He just smiled and turned back to the keys. When he finished, he turned again to me and said, “this is how I *exhale*,” and he let out a deep sigh. I smiled and said, “beautiful.” He went back to playing, but he continued to try and speak to me in English. He played a few songs I was familiar with, like “What a Wonderful World” and then he played a song for me that he wrote for his daughter who just had a baby. Then he finished with one of my favorite songs, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” It was indescribable, and I found myself crying. What kind of moment was this? Just me and the owner of the Bed & Breakfast. This owner of a bed & breakfast, who was also a phenomenal pianist. All in this little unknown town in Austria! After he finished playing, sometime around 1:00am, he stood up, went to the bar in corner of the room, and reached up and brought down something from the shelf. It was a CD. “A gift for you,” he said and handed it to me. I looked down, and it was a CD of his music. I put it to my chest and said, “thank you.” By then, it was time for both of us to go to bed. I stood up, wished him goodnight, and went back to my room.

Meanwhile, during that magical moment, unbeknownst to me, I had accidentally locked my sister in the room. She had of course awakened when I left the room, and found herself unable to leave the room to search for me! I had left all my belongings in the room, including my passport, and the slew of scenarios was going through her head as to what may have happened to me. So, I returned to my room, with my heart full of joy, only to have the light snap on, and there lay my sister, in tears. “If you ever leave me like that again, I will never travel with you ever again!” I rushed to the bed and basically laid on top of her, held her as she cried, and apologized over and over. I reassured her that I was fine, but the damage was done. Great story, but BIG MISTAKE!

Okay, now fast forward a year and half. My parents came to visit me, and we planned to make a few stops in Austria and Italy. Of course, my dad asked to go to St. Valentine. I tried to make a booking, but unfortunately, there wasn’t any availability at the little B&B. Nevertheless, we traveled out to see if the owner was still there. When we arrived, the place was closed. I don’t remember if I tried to call, but we waited around for awhile, just hoping that maybe just maybe we’d see him. We peered through the windows, and suddenly we saw someone walking through. We knocked on the door and the person let us in. It was the owner! I wasn’t sure if he remembered me, so I showed him a picture he and I took together the day I left. He didn’t seem to need the picture. He put his arms around me and gave me a hug, and my dad shook his hand, and then asked for a picture too.

Great souls are found all over the world

I’ll get to the pretty photos and exciting adventures here soon, but one of the best parts about traveling to new places is making new friends. This precious dog was my very first neighbor in Europe. Initially, I thought he was abandoned, mainly from his mangy fur and gaunt look. However, his owners merely kept him here because here was “home,” and if they took him to the new house, he’d just come running back here. Still, I wasn’t sure that he was being fed; so, each day I brought him food and water, and he greeted me with licks and tail wags. His name was Pepe.

Funny story how I met my actual neighbors. They owned the house right next to me, but they lived elsewhere. The gentleman was a widower and had two young boys. After his wife passed, it was too sad for him to stay in the house. So he literally left with the kids and began again. Left – as in left everything. All the furniture, pots, pans, it was all still there at the old house. And he took Pepe with him too. Except Pepe couldn’t start over. Home was home.

Well, I had been living in the house next door for a few weeks and was getting worried that Pepe had been abandoned. I had heard about this happening in Europe. Families leave and can’t afford to take their animals. So they do nearly the cruelest thing in the world and just leave them behind. I didn’t know if Italy had animal shelters, so one day I asked a friend who worked for the local police what I should do. He made a call. Apparently, you just call the cops.

Later that day, I pull into the driveway of my home, and what do I see but my neighbors! They had stopped by the house for one reason or another – one of them was probably to feed Pepe. I stood there and chatted with my neighbor for a few minutes, using my best Italian, while all the while my head was spinning since I had essentially called the cops on this guy just hours before! To make matters worse, as I turn to enter the house, the cops actually pulled up! Thankfully, no lights and sirens. They just parked and casually sauntered up the sidewalk. I did what any good person would do and hightailed it into the house and then like a classically nosy neighbor, I cracked the window open so I could listen in! I overheard the cop ask one of the sons how often he came by and how often he fed the dog. I was mortified! Way to go Lyn (my nickname whenever I used to get in trouble)! Get to know your neighbors by calling the Po-po on them.

Thankfully, it all ended without any fines or handcuffs. And I was very grateful that my cop friend had made the phone call and not “some young American woman who spoke broken Italian.”

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

Well, I suppose I should get started. The beginning may be a bit of a stutter start, much like my first rental car when I moved to Europe! I had just graduated from Italian language school, and I was bound and determined to use the language at the very beginning. My skill sets were advanced enough to get this 16 euro a day fiat, complete with missing side mirror, front passenger hub cap, and manual windows. Not to mention I had to brush up on driving a manual. So, my start was truly stuttered in more ways than one!

Unbeknownst to me, this start to my time in Europe was the beginning of an adventure. One that I’d like to take you back through if you’re willing!