Yes. Goats on a Roof. This little shop located in Tiger, Georgia is known for its star attraction — the adorable goats who hang out on their roof.
The shop features homemade fudge, jams, mining, even a little fire pit to make some s’mores. And, a herd of goats. On the roof. Complete with hay, toys and more. I kid you not.
Have you ever been to a place like this?
Self. Birth. Transformation. Relationships.
Those four cards stare at me on the animal hide table in the little room of Betina Lindsey, the shaman at Red Mountain Resort.
“Well, this fits,” she says.
I close my eyes. I can only hope she’s right.
Betina is my last resort. She is my little glimmer of hope that, with this shamanic healing session, I can somehow overcome the sadness that has been eeking the energy out of me, leaving me so empty. So exhausted. So dead inside.
When I walk into her office, an old hotel room converted into a place of comfort, complete with crystals, photos of shamans, spiritual paintings and more, I try to let go of the preconceived notions of what I am about to do.
I’ve never been into any of this stuff. The cards. The crystals. It was only yesterday, with my reiki session and utter lack of energy, that I realized there was something out of balance with my body. That my chakras were clogged. I didn’t even know what a chakra was until yesterday when Cynthia told me mine were basically blocked.
The smell of sage permeates the air as she guides me to the little chair which sits in front of a table covered with a golden animal hide.
“Let me get a reading on you,” she says. “Sit and close your eyes.”
I do.
After a moment, she speaks. “You are too accommodating.”
Yes. Yes, I can be that.
“You are at a point in your life where you are on a plank. You can’t walk back, but you also can’t move forward. You don’t believe in yourself enough. You won’t take that jump.”
My eyes well up with tears.
Yes. I am paralyzed. I can’t move because I have nothing but hatred for myself. I can’t stand who I am. I can’t stand the person I have become since I returned from my travels. This is not the life I want. And yet, I can’t break free from it. I can’t heal myself.
I reach for a tissue and wipe my eyes as she begins to place cards on the tiny table.
She uses six decks of various cards, including tarot.
Then, she does the reading.
Everything she culls from the reading is accurate. Spot. On.
I sit and blink.
I’ve been trying to like myself. I’ve been trying to get over this. It’s taken me months, and instead of feeling better, all of those things I have kept bottled up and now have discovered weigh on me more than they did when I was blissfully unaware.
I don’t know how to do that.
Again, I feel the tears burn. I want to explain to her how hard I have been working. How frustrated I have become. How all I want to do is run. To escape. To go sit with elephants in Thailand and be relived of thinking about myself for a few wonderful moments.
She leaves one card face down on the table as she escorts me to another area in the room.
“Here,” she says, lifting up a plate full of different crystals and rocks. “Pick a stone that speaks to you.”
I reach for the amethyst.
“Now, I want you to take one thing you want to get rid of from your body and focus all of your energy on it. Send it from your body into the stone.”
I squeeze my eyes closed as hard as I can, forcing the one thing I want out of my body more than anything else: the self-hatred.
As she chants, I imagine that feeling of disgust moving its way from my heart, from my mind, through my veins and out my fingertips and into this tiny rock which has become hot in my palm.
Leave my body. Get out. Never come back.
Then, Betina gently guides me to another area in the room where a bear hide covers the floor.
“Lay down,” she instructs.
I oblige, letting my head sink into the soft fur. She begins placing stones on different points on my body — the places where my (not flowing) chakras are.
“Now, I want you to close your eyes and imagine you are with Little Diana. She’s four or five years old. Imagine being with her. And I want you to sit with her, talk with her, tell her she is beautiful, that you love her, and then I want you to take her with you on a journey through your life. Take her with you to the beautiful places you have seen. Show her all of the amazing things you have experienced. Honor her. Let her know she is with you, always.”
Then, she begins to chant in a language I don’t understand. While she chants and uses the crystal bowls, I find Little Diana.
I see her perfectly. She’s wearing a little blue dress, blonde hair with short bangs. A little nose. Big, brown eyes. Little D is sitting in her bunny wall-papered room on beige carpet. I find her and kneel down to sit with her.
She looks at me and smiles.
I know you.
I smile back and take her hand.
“Hi,” I whisper to her. “How are you?”
She says nothing.
The mournful sound of bowls echos in my ears.
Hand clenched in mind, I touch her soft little face.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper to her. “I am so, so sorry. I stopped thinking about you somewhere in my life. I got sidetracked. I got angry. I got sad. Really, really sad.”
Little D’s grip tightens in my hand.
I breathe deep as Betina softly chants.
“I love you. You are beautiful. You are wonderful. You are strong. You are everything you ever wanted to be. And, I am sorry for not honoring you a long time ago. I am sorry for not telling you these things.”
Then, as the music from Betina gets louder, I move from my old bedroom with my old self to Portugal.
Little D and I sit together on the golden sand of Lagos, as the sun sinks into the Atlantic Ocean.
“See, look where you are. On the other side of the world!” I say to Little D.
Then, we are in Spain, listening to flamenco music. We are watching F-1 from the stands in Valencia. We are trekking for gorillas. We are sitting on the roof deck of a riad in Morocco, watching as the buildings glow pink and listening to the call for prayer echo throughout the ancient walls. Together, she and I walk with elephants.
At some point, the tunes from the bowl turn into bells in my mind. And, now, the bells signify the death of a part of me. I can feel it leave my body as I take Little D around the world with me.
The hatred flows right out of me.
And, something else comes in. A feeling of calm. Of peace. Of love for myself.
As Betina finishes, I cough. “Sorry,” I murmur.
“It’s normal,” she explains. “You are getting rid of what you need to get rid of.”
I stand up slowly.
“How do you feel?”
“I feel … different.”
She stands me in the center of the room and does a Native American prayer with me, turning me towards different spirit worlds, blessing me. Then, we move back to the table where the last card lays.
I flip it over.
“You know what this means?” She asks me.
We both do.
I hug her and walk back out into the Utah afternoon.
An entirely different person.
Located in Transylvania, Brasov, Romania is a small city (and one of the most visited in the country). Here, people can explore the nearby mountains and local Dracula lore, rent cars and go on day trips, even wander the narrowest street in Europe, measuring a whopping four feet across.
My favorite thing to do while visiting Brasov was head to the Town Hall Square to simply look around. The square features some magnificent examples of color baroque architecture, and historic landmakrs like the Black Church, the largest gothic church in Romania.
Cynthia taps on my chest.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I can feel those taps reverberate through my body. I can hear the sounds echo in my ears.
“OK,” she says softly, powering up the massage table to a sitting position. “How stressed are you?” she asks, her gentle eyes full of concern.
I bite my lip. I fight the tears I know want to spill out at that question.
I’m beyond stressed. I’m clawing at rocks 10 feet below the ground and can’t come up for air.
“Oh, I’m pretty stressed,” I remark. Then, I panic. “Oh my god, did I give you bad energy?”
After a 50-minute Reiki treatment at Red Mountain Resort, my practitioner smiles calmly.
“You are very stressed. There were some points during your treatment where I tried to find energy, and nothing was there. That tapping? It was me trying to stir something in you …”
“And nothing happened?” I ask, my eyes closing. My heart sinking. I know the answer. There’s nothing inside of me anymore.
I can’t go through life like this any longer.
“You need to get this stress out of your life. You need to give yourself permission to remove whatever it is that is causing you this stress out of your life. It’s not good for you.”
I can’t. Not yet.
I don’t explain my situation, the fact that I am at a career cross-road — I have a part-time job that attempts to pay the bills, plus all of my freelance travel writing that is going into the online piggy bank I have created.
I don’t tell her my struggles with depression throughout my entire life. The struggles I am currently facing as I try to come to terms with so many things that involve changing the way I think, the way I live my life, the dreams I have.
Instead, I simply ask: “What can I do?”
She explains I would benefit from lymphatic drainage. That this light touching procedure will help ease my stress and relax my body.
Then, she warns me. “If you keep this up, you won’t live past 50 or 60. You can’t live your life this stressed out. It isn’t healthy for you. It impacts every part of your life.”
Again, I nearly cry.
If she only knew.
She wraps her arms around me, sending some positive energy into my body, then says goodbye.
“Tonight, don’t write. Just go sit outside and look at the stars in the sky and relax.”
I promise her I will, then I head back out into the starry Utah night. A world away from Las Vegas.
For two days, I am situated at Red Mountain Resort, a gorgeous slice of outdoor heaven about two hours from Vegas, nearby St. George in the tiny town of Ivins, Utah.
And, by tiny, I mean tiny. Compared to Las Vegas’ huge population, Ivins only has 5,000 residents.
After I grab a healthy dinner in the resort’s restaurant, I head back to my suite (a gorgeous 1,100-square-foot villa), throw on my swim suit, and head out into the chilly night.
I sink into the bubbling hot tub and look up towards the darkness.
Above me, clusters of stars, some so tiny I can’t barely see but know by the soft glow, they exist, twinkle.
Relax, D. Breathe, D. Life doesn’t have to be so hard. You don’t have to be so stressed out.You don’t have to put yourself through this.
I focus on the stars, trying to clear my mind.
During my reiki, Cynthia instructed me to go to my safe place to clear my mind. Until that moment, I’d never had a safe place. I didn’t even know where to start.
“What’s yours?” I had asked.
She told me, and then I tried to find mine. After a few moments of debate, I settled on Thailand and the elephants. As she lightly touched me, moved her hands above my body, I imagined myself sitting next to Faa Mai, singing “Que Sera, Sera” and petting Medo on my last day at Elephant Nature Park.
But under the stars? I can’t clear my mind. All I keep thinking is there is something so inherently wrong with me. I can’t unwind. I can’t relax. I can’t just be. And, now, it’s slowly killing me.
I crawl into my king bed that night and close my eyes. I try to quiet my brain, but instead it chides me for being absolutely emotionally and physically exhausted. There is no sleep.
I remind myself tomorrow is a new day, a day of promises, of hope, in this beautiful place. And, a meeting with a shaman for some spiritual advising and sound healing.
At this point, I’m game for anything. I just want to find my happiness again. Even if it means letting my preconceived notions wither away and embracing something entirely different from the norm.
Travel was instilled in me at a very young age. Growing up 20 minutes from Washington, DC, meant there was always something to do, always something to see.
I was very fortunate to have a family that wanted me to see the world around me.
On weekends, my dad would bundle up my brother and I and we’d head out on Adventures. These could be anything from taking the Metro down to the National Mall (a landmark I learned very quickly was not a shopping mall, but a vast expanse of land in the heart of the nation’s capitol) to sitting on the Metro platform watching planes take off from National (now Regan) Airport.
All of these adventures have one thing in common: we always took the Metro. Whether or not we were going to a national museum, to gaze at the cherry blossoms in April along the tidal basin of the Potomac, or simply to go to Union Station to see a movie, this mass transit option always makes me smile.
Rwanda is filled with dramatic images. From gorillas playfully rolling around in the depths of Volcanoes National Park to children hiding next to ramshackle huts on the tiny island of Nkombo, there is always something to grab attention.
The scenery, with the dark volcanoes rising up from the deep green grass and clouds shrouding the peaks, is no exception.
Plitvice Lakes National Park, located in Croatia, is one of the most beautiful places I have ever had the priviledge to explore.
Seriously.
The park, which is the perfect (and gorgeous) day trip, features 16 stunning bright blue lakes packed with waterfalls rushing down cliffs.
Blue-green lakes, which change color depending on what’s going on in the water, pop against the bright green foliage, creating amazing photo opps.
Even the clear water astounds, mixing above-the-surface life with below.
Sadly, the park is not without sad history. In 1991, it is where the tragic Yugoslavian war began. Here, rebel Serbs took control of the park’s headquarters, killing a Croatian police officer. The hotels in the park were converted into barracks. Four years later, the park once again opened its doors to tourism.
Travel tip: Allow for an entire day at the park. There are plenty of paths to wander. But, be sure to stick to the paths. The eco-system is fragile.
Skip forking over the money for a high-priced hotel room at the park. Instead, book lodging in either Zagreb or Zadar. Wear comfortable shoes, there are miles of hikes to enjoy. And, be sure to bring water and snacks. If you are traveling with luggage, hotels at the park offer storage of your items.
Getting there: Hop a bus from Zagreb or Zadar. Both trips take about 2 1/2 hours.
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I realize just in writing this how entirely lucky I am: I spent St. Patrick’s Day in Ireland in 2010.
Damn. Lucky.
However, while I was lucky to be there, I did have one tiny problem during my five days in this charming country (Dublin and Galway). My liver hated me. Despised me. Was ready to fall out of my body, shrivel up and die.
I attribute this to the copious amount of drinking I did with fellow blogger, Abbey, and her friends. Between a raging first night in Temple Bar to being one of the official whisky tasters at Jameson, to the Guinness tour and the perfect pint, to the random drinking thanks to being a stubborn Irish lock on St. Patrick’s Day Eve to the grand daddy of them all, St. Patrick’s Day, by the time I left Ireland, I didn’t think I could drink ever again. That lasted about 22 hours.
When it came time for my one-year anniversary with my company this past winter, I went in, ready to ask for a raise and full-time status.
Despite the fact that, only a few months earlier, when I was suffering from horrific jet lag, my bosses informed me I would no longer be able to take a vacation which took me away from my e-mail.
It wasn’t for the fact that I wanted to stay with the job. It was never my plan to stay in Las Vegas for too long. I wanted to satiate my travel addiction. I had absolutely no desire to do any such thing, like making this job my career. In fact, the more time went by, the more I began to loathe walking through the kitchen to my little back office. Even if it was part-time.
But, when this meeting finally arrived, I had a plan: to stick it out through Thanksgiving and then hightail it out of there and go travel again. My parents and I had discussed my travel plans: to head back to Europe, teach English, house-sit and continue my freelance writing (which I was doing to counter the part-time status of my day job). Simple. Easy.
However, as the months between the discussion and my meeting continued on, I hit a roadblock.
Myself.
Even with my plans being at least outlined, I felt trapped. As my job moved more and more towards babysitting and less and less towards what I was hired to do, I grew more and more miserable. I stopped going out. I stopped spending time with most of my friends. I would wake-up, go to work, come home, do my freelance writing, turn on the TV, then head to bed and toss and turn until sleep finally took over.
I was depressed.
The only good thing I did for myself in those months was seek help in the form of therapy. And, I’m not ashamed of it. Together, my therapist and I tackled a lot.
However, in January, instead of getting better, I got worse.
During my meeting with my bosses, they told me they were not prepared to give me a raise, or promote me to full-time. While the company was growing, they refused to let me grow with them. Despite the fact that I had no desire to grow with them, to see them through their successes beyond November, it was a slap in the face.
We like what you do. You do a great job. But, you aren’t valuable enough to reward you for your hard work.
I went from being able to smile to not being able to contain my tears.
Just like in Atlanta when I was in the prime of my 30-Life-Crisis, I had hit a place I hated.
The walls were closing in on me. I couldn’t breathe. I had no way out.
Until I did.
D Travels 'Round