I made it black and white so it could be even more flattering. You’re welcome, Sabrina.

I’m happy to see her go. She’s exactly the type who needs to travel the world and have adventures, and she’ll be an excellent ambassador for the West.

On several occasions she tried to convince me to go with her. I don’t have the money saved… but the thought catches me. Could I leave again? Instead of moving abroad, could I take the plunge and go RTW?

I don’t know what I “feel wildly unqualified for”, but I do feel like I need to face my fears and do SOMETHING. But WHAT.

I’ll be meeting Sabrina in November, after my sister’s wedding, in Vietnam. My hope is to travel with her a while, then detour to Taiwan for a week, then head back. However, depending on my life at the time, I could see myself doing my own version of a shorter RTW.

I just don’t know. I thought by now, nearly a year after moving back to the States, my life would have a clear direction. I’d be dating, hoping to soon move into my own mortgage and life of roots and comfort zones.

My life is blessed and I’m happy. There’s something missing, though, and it’s deep and profound. I feel like I won’t find it until I leave Dallas. That mindset is poisonous; the grass is always greener, and Shangri La doesn’t exist. Location shouldn’t matter as much as my drive to grow as a person and make my life interesting anywhere matters.

Why am I so unsettled?

All the women have crossed legs and look ridiculous standing like that. This is the type of thing I’m most concerned about these days: marketing and advertising.

I am happiest right now when I’m active and participating in endurance events. When Julie and I ran the Wounded Warrior 10K a couple weekends ago, neither of us had trained properly, and everything was against us to succeed.

The start line. My phone was in a Ziploc bag when I took this picture because the clouds had opened up: it was a little wet.

However, we both crossed the finish line, got our medals, and I was high on that accomplishment for a week. I was so sore I could barely walk, but my spirit was overjoyed.

I have a huge support system here, one I couldn’t be more thankful for. I enjoy my coworkers,

Frances was transplanting a picture of her supervisor’s face onto a picture of ferrets to make him laugh when he returned the next day. This crew takes care of each other like that.

I enjoy my job,

In the atrium of our office building, there’s this water feature and sculpture supposedly dedicated to a man decapitated by a propeller. I find the sculpture represents the way the man died a bit too well.

I enjoy living with Mel and Mikey and their lovely family,

I was slightly (very) intoxicated while celebrating Mel’s 30th at the Glass Cactus. This is the most terrifying picture of me ever, and a fantastic shot of Mel’s fingers.

I enjoy being close to my family,

I bought these to wear at my sister’s rehearsal dinner. They’re as heavy as they look.

I enjoy my friends,

I was fairly emotional when I was telling her about my 10K – Rachel was the first person I texted when I finished.

and I enjoy Dallas’s convenience. My life is enjoyable.

But I’m not full of joy.

So. What to do now? Sevenly, a great organization that raises money for different causes, posted the following quote today:

“We believe many of you have untapped gifts that could change the lives around you. So we felt compelled to ask what talent could you use to bless someone else?”

That quote is the direction I need to take. Now. What?

I haven’t written in months. Currently I’m not collecting maps, and I’m not traveling, save for the driving I do around Texas.

North Texas. I’m currently living under all that red. That night was a special occasion: it was the first time I’ve ever heard a tornado siren. Outwardly I kept my cool. Inwardly, I was cowardly.

It’s kind of been nine months of a pity party, if I’m being completely honest. I don’t know what to do with myself, with my career, with the next several decades I have left.

Texas. It’s hard to see, but that sign has a person riding a horse with a red circle-slash over it. That means No riding horses in this park. Yeehaw!

Then, one day last week, while perusing my feed on Facebook, I came across a blog with a not-for-the-fainthearted-or-children title, full of self-help without the floofy sugarcoated baby talk. She cusses. It makes me laugh.

Monday the 13th, she posted “Fill In The Blank: I’m Not a ‘Real’ ____”, and I laughed, nodded along, and got back to work. In the back of my mind, though, it sat, and I thought about it. I read it again later. I found myself wondering what my Real ____ was.

Texas. 15,000 people can fit in this building. It’s not a community college or a sporting arena: it’s a church. Welcome to the South, where churches are larger than most towns.

Yesterday I was late to work and in a slight panic because I couldn’t find my ring. Thin, gold, unremarkable… but I bought it, and it has sentimental meaning behind it; it’s my ring. I bought it. I wear it when I want to feel like I’m in control – I can take care of myself. It’s my Me ring.

The room was set to be vacuumed fifteen minutes after I found it. Can you see it?

I was explaining to my coworker the significance of the ring, and I figured it out… I think. I figured out my Real ____. I’m not the Real Me. Kind of. I’m not the me I want to be. Nicole Antoinette (ALLB’s author) asks this: ““What are the top three things that I believe make someone a real ____?”

I read self-help blogs and, instead of seeing an expensive therapist, I go punch things.

What are my three things?

1. The Real Me is an athlete. She regularly participates in endurance events and grins when she feels the muscles in her arms from doing perfect-form chest-to-deck pushups.
2. The Real Me has a full passport. My current one expires January 1, 2015. I need to hit up a bunch of little countries all in a row or something.
3. The Real Me doesn’t live paycheck to paycheck. She has a savings account, and she saves! She has money for a rainy day! She has money to hit up a bunch of little countries and fill her passport!

None of these are surprises, I know. The title of this post could be “Mandy says stuff I already know”, or “Duh”. But this is my new map: my map to me. It’ll have to do until I get back to the passport business and blog about Mandy traveling and collecting road maps, instead of psychological maps.

You know who probably doesn’t need a map? This limo’s driver. He parks at the end of my friends’ street. I wonder what his life is like.

I’m working hard on the athletic thing. I go to boxing/therapy twice a week and try to get a jog or two in the other days. I have a 10K on June 9th -

- but wait, Mandy! I thought you were signed up for a half marathon! Well… I am. Yeah. But I’m “downgrading” to a 10K. If you’re going to judge, I’ll meet you out there June 9th and you can jog next to me and tell me all about your feelings. -

- and I want to get back into triathlons.

Post run. I’m wearing toe socks. The saleslady told me they would make me run faster. Lies. Or maybe she just said they were comfortable. I dunno.

Later this year, after my sister gets married, I’ll hopefully be taking a trip with a friend of mine. The wanderlust monster has me in its clutches. And as far as the financial stability goes… well. Buy me dinner and I’ll tell you all about it.

My dream is to put all this space to good use. An athlete would have a bike or a canoe in here. Sweaty boxing wraps and my workout bag don’t really fill it up.

In the meantime, I’m happy. Great friends have taken me in give me a bed and a place to shower. I love being within walking distance* of my sister; especially after my grandfather’s passing, my priorities have changed, and my family and close friends are more important than ever.

It’s an interesting time, and I’m struggling with being impatient. I want to know how everything’s going to turn out. Until I know, I have my map. Mandy travels – to realness and emotional stability! Huzzah!

*6.5 miles. Walking distance for an athlete.

I left Taiwan September 1, and it’s now November. Being back for two full months: you’d think I’d have the hang of it by now. For the most part, I guess I do, but there are times when I’ll suddenly get a craving for food from a Hsinchu restaurant. Or I’ll miss my friends and turn to Facebook, instead of my phone, to check in on them.

After spending a lot of time complaining about Taiwan and having my battles with my life there, I’m happy to say I look back on my two years there fondly. Sure, I remember the frustrations, the pain of being separated from those near to my heart. More, though, I remember the people, the experiences, and the joys that helped make me the me I am now.

Taiwan, I love you. Thank you. I’ll be back to visit soon.

I guess this means it’s really over.

Seeing how it’s 1:04am now, that means I tried to sleep for an hour and a half, to no avail. I’m sleepy, my eyes warm with the urge to stay closed, but I toss and turn. Left side, right side; on my stomach with my legs in marathon-runner position; arms under the pillows, on top of, hanging off the edge of the bed.

It doesn’t come. I blame myself. Earlier, I ate and drank what I knew would keep me awake so I could work on some applications. When I decided to quit after just one, I thought I could handle the caffeine searing through my system, and I lay down, in a state I would describe as “extremely tired”.

And then my mind started its gymnastics, leaping over thoughts and tumbling through every idea.

Me: “I’m tired. Calm down.”
Brain: “THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS. What was that noise? Feelings! Overthinking.”
Body: “I’m cold. This position is uncomfortable.”
Me: “Quit staring out the window. Fall asleep, please.”
Body: “I’m hot.”

This is the idiocy I’m facing right now. It’s 1:13am. Nine minutes, and all I’ve typed is absolute nonsense.

Under normal circumstances, I’d be dreading tomorrow because it would start in less than five hours, as I would be crawling into the shower and getting ready for work. In Unemploymentville, there’s a different dread. It’s the dread of waking up and having no purpose. I’ll wake up, carry my phone and laptop downstairs and, after checking various sites, face down the job applications for the day.

People who haven’t ever visited Unemploymentville are a little in the dark about what it’s actually like here. Imagine showing up for a class every day, putting forth a ton of effort, and failing the class. You spend hours on assignments, but you fail. After a while, it’s all you can do to keep going; it all feels like a waste of effort.

I’m applying to jobs for which I’m fully qualified. I study company sites and make sure they know why I want to work there. I include facts and figures and references. If I want a good job, I need to put in the effort in my application. There are 36 unique cover letters on my computer, and those don’t include several more letters written online, instead of in Word.

Trust me: I’m trying.

Being unemployed doesn’t mean I’m lazy. It doesn’t mean I’m weak, underqualified, undereducated, or unworthy. It doesn’t mean I’m not trying hard enough. I get the feeling sometimes that people who have never been unemployed think it’s a matter of not wanting it enough. I hope they never have to go through what I’m going through. It would be nice if they could “get it”, though.

I’ll be fine. It’ll happen. I took a risk in moving back to the States without a job, and I don’t regret it. That said, it’s been scarier moving back than it was to move abroad. I’m home-of-my-ownless, gratefully filling guest rooms at friends’ houses for weeks at a time. My savings from Taiwan are slowly draining.

This “time off” isn’t relaxing or fun. I’m not able to focus on myself or do much beyond think about how I’m going to make it past this month, then through November.

Unemployment is lonely. It’s rejection after rejection and hours of time alone working on job applications. First, I was the weirdo because I lived in Taiwan for two years, so my thought processes are a little different now. Now, I’m an even bigger weirdo because I’m also unemployed. Very few people understand one or the other. Fewer still understand both. It’s ostracizing.

It’s being awake at 1:35am, knowing that the only item on the docket after I finally do fall asleep, then wake up late tomorrow morning, is job applications.

1:41am.

Still wide awake. Maybe I’ll write another cover letter now.

During Caitlin’s entire stay, Typhoon Tembin was like, HEY! I wanna hang out, too! Thus, this lovely little storm circled back for a second trip to Taiwan. Luckily, it didn’t affect her trip too much.

Friday (August 24), her first day, I’ve already detailed: we went to Taipei for the National Palace Museum, Modern Toilet, and the Xilin Night Market (where we visited a large temple).

Saturday (August 25) we went back to Taipei and went to the top of Taipei 101 and visited the Jade Market.

Sunday (August 26) was spent in Hsinchu. We had brunch with many of the fine ladies and gents of the foreign community. Since it was raining, I’m pretty sure this was the day we saw ParaNorman! at Big City.

Monday (August 27) we traveled back to Taipei to fulfill a promise I’d made to a friend to take pictures of a missionary’s grave at Christ’s College in northwest Taipei. The weather was beautiful, and Caitlin and I both marveled at the mountains. After we visited the college, we took 45-minutes’ worth of metro rides to Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial Hall. We intended to see the Salvador Dalí exhibit there, but our timing was off. It didn’t matter, though; the memorial grounds were beautiful and welcoming, and it was there that I spent my two-year Taiwanniversary.

Tuesday (August 28) I showed Caitlin the two main temples in Hsinchu. For dinner we met up with some of my students, Sunny, and Annie’s Mom at the Train Station Night Market. Caitlin tried stinky tofu, and I gagged down some, too, at the kids’ insistence.

Wednesday (August 29): Sunny, Jack, and Jessica picked Caitlin and me up at 8am. Annie’s Mom, Annie, and Ting Ting were in a car behind us. Our crew drove to the other side of the island to Yilan, where we played in a river, saw a waterfall, ate incredible seafood at Su-ao Pier, prayed at a temple, visited a cold spring, and had shaved ice. We returned to Hsinchu at around 8pm, and I immediately jumped on my scooter and joined Yvonne, Polly, and some other work friends for dinner at a restaurant.

Thursday (August 30) we joined Hannah for dinner at a delicious Thai restaurant downtown. Other than that, I packed, ran errands, and tried to get ready for my move back. I had drinks with a few friends at Chocolate’s bar, but it was a very mellow day overall.

Friday (August 31) was similar to Thursday. I transferred my scooter to my friend Amanda, who promised to love and cherish it. That evening we had dinner with several friends to say goodbye, during which there were back-to-back earthquakes centered in Hsinchu/Miaoli. During the first, I punched Caitlin in the arm out of excitement.

She experienced the full Taiwan: typhoons, earthquakes, west coast, east coast, Taipei 101, Taiwanese hospitality, stinky tofu, street food, night markets, temples, scooters and trains and the metro and traffic. She did it all. Posts with pictures from Hsinchu and Yilan are on their way.

And then, it was all over. Early Saturday morning, September 1, 2012, I boarded a plane and left Taiwan.

Her trip coincided with Typhoon Tembin’s attack on Taiwan, though we lucked out with great weather and very little rain most days. The first full day she was here, Friday, we headed north to Taipei. We visited the National Palace Museum, where I finally viewed all the exhibits (and didn’t see Steven, sadly). After a long afternoon there, we went to Modern Toilet, a restaurant near the Xilin Night Market. We then walked through the market, stopping in a temple hidden behind several stalls. Not too much later, we headed back to the metro station: we had a metro ride, a train ride, and a long scooter trip ahead of us, and we were both exhausted.

All photos taken with my Nikon D5000 with my nifty fifty lens.

→ ONE

→ TWO

A man travels the world in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.
- George Moore

→ THREE

The Curse of the Traveler

“The more places you see, the more things you see that appeal to you, but no one place has them all. In fact, each place has a smaller and smaller percentage of the things you love, the more things you see. It drives you, even subconsciously, to keep looking, for a place not that’s perfect (we all know there’s no Shangri-La), but just for a place that’s “just right for you.” But the curse is that the odds of finding “just right” get smaller, not larger, the more you experience. So you keep looking even more, but it always gets worse the more you see. This is Part A of the Curse.

Part B is relationships. The more you travel, the more numerous and profoundly varied the relationships you will have. But the more people you meet, the more diffused your time is with any of them. Since all these people can’t travel with you, it becomes more and more difficult to cultivate long term relationships the more you travel. Yet you keep traveling, and keep meeting amazing people, so it feels fulfilling, but eventually, you miss them all, and many have all but forgotten who you are. And then you make up for it by staying put somewhere long enough to develop roots and cultivate stronger relationships, but these people will never know what you know or see what you’ve seen, and you will always feel a tinge of loneliness, and you will want to tell your stories just a little bit more than they will want to hear them. The reason this is part of the Curse is that it gets worse the more you travel, yet travel seems to be a cure for a while.

None of this is to suggest that one should ever reduce travel. It’s just a warning to young Travelers, to expect, as part of the price, a rich life tinged with a bit of sadness and loneliness, and angst that’s like the same nostalgia everyone feels for special parts of their past, except multiplied by a thousand.”

I’m exhausted. After negotiating all things baby today, even though I wasn’t even the primary, it’s 10pm and bedtime.

There are photos to post, thoughts to write, stories to tell. They’re coming. Some of them are even worth the wait.

Right now in my life I have one concern (save for the whole unemployment thing): I think I need a mentor or, at the very least, someone I can look up to.

I think finding a mentor will be harder than finding a job.

Someone I look up to, but can’t mold my life after for various reasons, is Sebastian Junger. He’s a writer. Find him here. Want to read about someone else who’s amazing? Here.

10:50. Time for bed. Lots to think about.

I landed in Dallas, made my way to baggage claim, and found my family holding signs with my name on them. Seeing them was great, and being back really exciting. Again, though, with the wrinkles: it didn’t feel real. Why was I at the airport? Did I really just get back from two years in Taiwan?

Apparently I was in Taiwan, ’cause here’s Flat Mandy owning the mountains of Taipei from the world’s second tallest building.

My first night in Dallas, I lay in bed and counted to myself in Mandarin. I knew some Chinese, so I must’ve really been there, right? I could mentally scoot through Hsinchu, turning down familiar streets and lanes, passing other scooters.

Still, though. It doesn’t feel real. None of it feels real.

You know what else doesn’t seem real? Typhoons that come back for seconds. Really, Tembin?

I email friends in Taiwan. That feels real. I giggle at memories and past conversations and stalk Facebook pages. I see that my old room is for rent. The description is a little generous, but I loved it there. Save for the 35C temperature during the summer, that small room was my place of solace for a good while.

Three days ago I drove for the first time in a while. My sister sat shotgun, and I drove with the wild abandon of a sloth.

Of course, soon enough, I was back to my former excellent driving standards. Oops.

Then, two days ago, I ran an errand, driving for an hour within the city limits of Dallas. I merged onto 183 and was immediately caught in a parking lot; finally, fifteen minutes later, I slowly rolled past a pickup truck, an SUV, and two cars that had gotten in a bumper fight. Considering the truck was a mess and was facing the wrong directio, and the SUV was crumpled entirely into the front seat, I was amazed that everyone seemed fine.

Ambulances, with their sirens blaring and their lights flashing, can make me cry. It’s a weird reaction, I know. When I passed the wreck, I started getting emotional. I choked up. Then I realized there was no ambulance in sight, nor were there any emergency lights or sirens. I swallowed my emotions and wondered what my problem was.

I think now, at 8:41am, after being wide awake for four hours, I might have a clue. Looking over this rambling post, and finally thinking a little clearer than I have in the previous few days, it makes a little more sense.

What always makes sense? A gigantic dog sleeping on top of you, and a second, far smaller dog sleeping on the couch by your feet.

From my lost time on the flights, to feeling like the past two years never happened, to seeing a major wreck and not knowing how to react: I feel a bit lost. Not in a Xanax kind of way, and not even in an anxious kind of way, but I feel directionless.

Time for an analogy so I don’t get a worried call from my parents:

Bear Grylls supposedly got dropped in the middle of nowhere so he could make his way back to safety: no map, no GPS, nothing but his wits and cameramen. Well, I’m Bear Grylls. I’m not scared, and I’m pretty excited about figuring out where to go. Right now, though, I’m still in the dramatic opening scene where I look to the sky, the camera (obnoxiously) spinning around me. The viewer is saying, “What will she do?”

Take Bear Grylls, add a little reverse culture shock, and you have me. It’s going to be an interesting journey. Who knows just how blog-worthy it’s going to be… the fate of this site is, as of right now, unknown. I’ll figure that out later, though. Right now, it’s time for me to look heavenward and keep moving forward.

Now, at 2:04am, it’s time for bed. Does Bear Grylls suffer from jet lag, too?