Winter is Coming. Finally.

DAY: 45
LOCATION: Koh Samui, Bangkok, Moscow, Berlin

The alarm sounded quietly at 5:45. I looked at Fritz still asleep, not ready for the long travel day, the winter weather, the return to work. I kissed his forehead and climbed over him.

“Stay,” he pulled me back into his arms. “You don’t have to go.”

For a brief second I seriously considered his request. I could miss my flight, go back to Phangan, change the course of my destiny…

“I’ll visit you in Amsterdam,” I stood up. “This summer.”

For as spontaneous as I might appear, I had my limits. This was not the first time I’d fantasized about extending my stay in another country indefinitely. France, Japan, England. It wouldn’t be that hard to say “fuck it,” to finally turn away from LA and start fresh.

But I had a responsibility to David. And then there was Levi. And India. And my cat and car and little bungalow with all of my stuff. As tempting as the Vegan Homeschool Colony sounded, this wasn’t my time. Europe beckoned.

Maybe soon though. Up in the air, Samui in full view, I reflected on what the last six and a half weeks meant. This was when I was supposed to be returning to Los Angeles, when I presumably would’ve learned the lesson I set out to learn. Which was…?

I create my reality. Something I already knew, at least intellectually. But now I was understanding what it meant. If I wanted to be a yoga teacher, travel writer, work at a vegan restaurant in paradise, these things were all possible. Not only possible, these ideas felt magnetized, full of that sparkling energy, calling me forth.

I just needed to surrender. Like last night. Oh how sweet the surrender had been! How freeing and empowering, how aligned with my higher self! How would I explain it to my friends? “It wasn’t even sex! It was… something divine!” I groaned at their imagined responses.

And yet, The Law of One understood it perfectly. In synchronistic fashion, the very next page on my iPad discussed – I kid you not – sexual energy transfer. In Ra’s peculiar verbiage, they described exactly what I had experienced, a transferring of universal love with no expectations or desire for possession that opens the chakras. Mind blown, I closed my eyes and drifted into the warmth of knowing what existed.

The dream ended in the Bangkok airport. The flashing Dior ads and luxury stores assaulted me with their empty promises, their outrageous price tags offering so little of value. My body tensed, my thoughts darkened – this is what our vast intelligence and potential has produced, $10,000 handbags made from tortured animals and $1,000 chemical face creams.

Somewhat hypocritically, I escaped into the lounge for some tea and a final Thai meal. I needed to brace myself for what was coming – meetings with wealthy executives, world-class dining, conversations with the one percent. I couldn’t let my current disgust prevent me from doing my job, from representing David well. I needed to focus on the possibilities, like maybe being able to positively influence these industry movers and shakers, planting seeds of awareness and shared humanity. At the very least, this would be a test of my ability to stay in my own vibration and not get sucked down like I had by the deadness of the duty free shops.

The flight to Moscow provided ample time for Law of One and Guenon binging. The more spiritual texts I could mainline into my eyes the better. Besides, I didn’t speak Russian or Thai, so conversation with my neighbors was out.

We touched down on Russian soil around 8:30pm to great fanfare. The descent was a bit bumpy, but not enough to warrant the clapping and cheering from the passengers. However, it made me smile to see everyone’s collective enthusiasm over our survival. Yey, Aeroflot pilot!!

The cold air outside the plane shocked my system. I was wearing the warmest things I had – a pair of jeggings, a long sleeved Underarmour shirt, a lightweight jacket, and a scarf – but these could obviously not protect me from 9 degree weather. I’d be dead in an hour.

Inspired by my freezing hands, I double checked the FedEx order on my suitcase Johnny had shipped over. He’d sent it a few weeks ago, back when I was in Singapore, but there’d been a hold up of some sort, which I’d taken care of a few days ago. Or at least, thought I had.

“Fuck!” I slammed down my sparkling water in the Sheremetyevo lounge. A gruff businessman straight out of a Guy Ritchie movie stared at me. I groaned and dialed the 1-800 number on Skype.

“Hi, yeah, I’m calling about an order I have that’s being held in German customs?”

My bag was on the border in Cologne, awaiting a clearance form to be filled out by me and a copy of my passport. The office was about to close, and I was on the verge of a breakdown. Why hadn’t they contacted me about this earlier??

After an hour of back and forth with Fedex, the concierge of the Grand Hyatt in Berlin swooped in for the win. With his ability to speak fluent German and English and his use of ALL CAPS in his very serious email correspondence with Fedex, he managed to sort out the situation. Unfortunately, I still wouldn’t have my bag for another 48 hours, at the earliest. Hello hypothermia.

I sort of slept / watched a movie / had anxiety on the flight to Berlin. Needless to say, I felt less than rested and high vibe after traveling nearly 24 hours straight. The tantric energy could only carry me so far and keep me so warm in the snow.

But Ubering through the city, texting David, excitement once again stirred inside me. I’m in Europe! And it’s winter and it’s beautiful and I’m at a film festival and I’m staying at another Hyatt!

I once again felt haggard and inappropriately dressed as I checked in, and once again was treated like royalty. Setting aside the pretentiousness of the clientele, I was beginning to understand why people stayed in luxury chain hotels. You knew exactly what you were getting – impeccable service, excellent facilities, and ultra-clean rooms.

I wanted to pass out instantly in the fluffy white pillows, but David beckoned me downstairs for dinner. At 11pm. I wasn’t in Phangan anymore.

“Sorry, I ate all of the fresh wasabi. Have you ever had it? It’s really rare and expensive,” he handed me a menu.

“I guess not,” I replied, the non-stop fine dining experience underway. “Sorry I look like shit, it’s been a long day. But I made it!”

“Nah, you look fine. Just cold. Order some miso, it’s vegan,” he said.

As I sipped soup and noshed on 20 euro seaweed salad, my anxieties subsided. Yes, the next few days would require me to put on a face, but this was David, my friend who I went to movie screenings and restaurants with. Just because he was now paying me to assist him didn’t mean our relationship would have to totally change.

Right?