by Amy Newmark
The best part of trading houses, besides the savings, is being able to experience a new city more like a resident than a tourist. Having a kitchen means we can do a lot of our own cooking, shopping at a local market for groceries. We often find a favorite coffee shop nearby, and it quickly becomes “ours” with repeat visits. We find that when we slow down and enjoy the new atmosphere, we begin to feel the unique rhythm of the city or town we’re visiting. We are happy to spend a lazy morning on the patio reading the paper, not feeling that we have to rush to see the major attractions.
Yes, house trading did begin with our desire to travel on the cheap, but it’s become so much more than just a way to save money. It’s thrown us smack dab in the middle of the true sharing economy, reinforced our faith in the goodness of people, let us get glimpses of places we might never have explored otherwise, and confirmed our decision to choose a lifestyle that values time over money. We all learned to share by the time we were in kindergarten, right? It’s not too late to rediscover that basic lesson on a whole new level.
~Marjorie Woodall
Trusting Serendipity
Don’t be a tourist. Plan less. Go slowly. I traveled in the most inefficient way possible and it took me exactly where I wanted to go.
~Andrew Evans
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have just landed in Helsinki,” said the flight attendant as our airplane rolled to the gate.
I looked at my boyfriend, Robin, who responded with a cheeky smile. He knew that I was nervous.
I was not nervous because of the trip. I was not nervous because we were about to spend a few days in Finland where I could not even pronounce the street names. I was nervous for a much darker, scarier reason.
I had not made any plans.
Over the years, I had developed and refined a routine that I used whenever I travelled to a new city. For weeks before the trip, I would obsessively read everything I could find on the Internet. What were the most important attractions? Which regional delicacies did I have to try? Which operator gave the best tour of the city? Whenever possible, I would order maps of the city from the destination’s travel office. I would watch promotional videos of the city. Then, I would start making lists: a list of things that I absolutely needed to see; a list of “nice to see, but not need to see” places; and a list of foods and drinks I would taste.
Once I arrived in the city I had been wildly fantasizing about for weeks — or even months — I would start squeezing these lists into a schedule based on the weather and other factors. Go to Museum X on Monday morning and then eat at Restaurant Y that is in its vicinity, and so on and so forth. After all, my short time in a foreign city had to be optimized. There was no way I was going to leave it with regrets. That only made sense, right?
Robin thought otherwise and had suggested that we make absolutely no plans for our trip to Helsinki. In a moment of weakness, I had agreed.
So here we were, in the Finnish capital, with no plans, but armed with a map, which I had insisted on bringing but had not been allowed to open before our arrival. Compromises are an important part of a healthy relationship. A kind airport employee explained to us the bus connection to downtown Helsinki, and off we went on a public bus.
As we rode from the airport to the central train station and from the central train station to our host’s apartment, I was glued to the bus window, taking in the atmosphere of the Scandinavian metropolis. I tried to look at some street names but the bus drove by too fast, and anyway they contained far too many vowels for me to remember, let alone pronounce them correctly.
The sun had set by the time we got off the bus in a residential area. We found our apartment relatively easily and were greeted by our host, Taras. Taras was a twenty-something Ukrainian expat with a friendly smile and warm brown eyes. He showed us the room we would be staying in and invited us to have tea with him in his small but cozy kitchen.
Robin, Taras and I spent the rest of the evening chatting in the kitchen. I opened my map of Helsinki, spread it on the table and eagerly asked Taras if he had any recommendations for our stay. This obviously did not count as planning, since we were already in Helsinki. Taras gladly gave us tips, marking our maps with dots and crosses. He looked like he had already done this with dozens of other guests but did not seem to mind.
I slowly sipped my tea while he told us where to find a traditional sauna and where we could get the best view of the city. I automatically started constructing mini-itineraries for the next few days in my head. When Robin and I excused ourselves and went to sleep, I carefully took our precious annotated map and put it in my purse for the next day. I fell asleep dreaming of saunas and elks.
The next morning, Robin and I had breakfast and headed out towards the city center. Our first stop: a café with one of the best views of the city. Unfortunately, the café was closed. I was disappointed but Robin said we could certainly get nice views of the city elsewhere. We headed east on foot. The next target on my list was Helsingin tuomiokirkko, Helsinki’s famous white cathedral and perhaps its most well-known landmark. A must for our photo album.
Why was I so set on cramming our vacation time with commitments until it did not feel like a vacation anymore?
Suddenly, Robin started pulling me to the left, when we were supposed to go right.
“Let’s check out that building; it looks cool!”
He was pointing at a tall, funny-looking wooden building. I quickly checked the map.
“Taras didn’t mention anything there.”
“Come on, what’s the rush?”
I could not answer that question. I was on vacation, but somehow still felt like the slave of my precisely scheduled itinerary.
“Fine.”
We ventured into a large square that was bustling with busy-looking people in suits and approached the mysterious construction. It was a massive and asymmetrical wooden cylinder, which looked swollen in the middle. Its facade was made of smooth, wooden planks.
We entered the building and found ourselves in a small lobby. Some pamphlets indicated that we were in Kampin kappeli, the Chapel of Silence. Intrigued, we entered the main room of the chapel.
It was empty and breathtaking. The ceiling was as high as the building and the walls were made of the same beautiful curved wood as the exterior of the chapel. The furnishings were minimal: a dozen pews and a plain pulpit. The most striking feature in the chapel was the complete absence of noise: the buzz of the city, the cacophony of traffic and the chatter of pedestrians were all completely blocked by the soundproof walls.
We sat on the floor for a while, in awe. I grabbed Robin’s hand and smiled at him.
We left the chapel a few minutes later, and I felt a wave of pure excitement overcome me, as if our trip was starting anew.
During our quiet meditation, I thought of how we had stumbled upon this wonderful chapel and realized that there would be plenty of other amazing surprises awaiting us around every corner. Why was I so set on cramming our vacation time with commitments until it did not feel like a vacation anymore? My pet phobia, the fear of missing out, suddenly seemed less scary than the prospect of spending my vacation marching from one popular attraction to another like a zombie. Fewer plans meant more room for pleasant discoveries.
I considered ripping my beloved annotated map as a symbol of my newfound sense of adventure, but quickly decided that it was not necessary and that it could still come in useful if we got lost or kidnapped.
We spent the next few days wandering through the city. We ate cinnamon rolls, we got lost, we explored an abandoned fortress on an island, we biked through the city, and we were attacked by seagulls. And, most importantly, we had fun.
~Terri Kafyeke
Birthday Blast
Teaching kids to count is fine, but teaching them what counts is best.
~Bob Talber
“I want a superhero birthday party,” my nephew Eli announced one evening when I was at my sister’s house. We were all aware that his tenth
birthday was approaching. He had been reminding us daily, and his parents planned to invite a few of his friends from school and serve pizza, with some cake and ice cream for dessert.
“Okay,” replied my sister. “What exactly is a superhero birthday party?”
“I want Batman to come to the party,” Eli explained enthusiastically. “And The Flash, Spiderman and Wolverine. I want all the kids from my class to come and I want chicken tenders with ranch dipping sauce to eat. Oh, and chocolate cake with chocolate marshmallow ice cream.”
“That seems like a lot,” my brother-in-law said.
Eli smiled. “C’mon, you guys, I want a good party like everybody else.” He carried his empty plate and cup to the sink and then headed to his bedroom to finish his homework.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked my sister, rolling her eyes. “Where did these extravagant ideas come from?”
“Unfortunately, he gets those ideas from his friends,” I said. My sister and brother-in-law both worked weekends, so I was the one who took Eli to his friends’ birthday parties.
One boy had a party with three of those giant inflatable bouncy houses and a magician that walked around on stilts.
Another boy had a drone party for his birthday. His parents hired guys to come and help the kids fly actual drones around the backyard obstacle course. Even I thought it was cool.
A girl in Eli’s class had a princess party. Her parents put up a huge tent behind the house, decorated it with balloons and twinkle lights and had teenage girls dressed in gowns and tiaras, carrying scepters, who introduced themselves as Princess Anna and Princess Elsa.
“Wow,” replied my brother-in-law, as he got up to pour himself another mug of decaf. “When I was a kid, one of my friends from school had a piñata at his party and we talked about it for months afterward.”
“I remember my favorite birthday party,” said my sister. “It was when my cousins came over for pizza and we had a sleepover.”
“My best birthday was when my dad took me camping for a weekend,” I said.
“Birthdays are supposed to be fun,” complained my sister. “It seems like these social extravaganzas are turning into competitions.”
Then I had an idea.
I shared it with my sister and brother-in-law; they agreed wholeheartedly. Then I told my nephew.
“Going camping for my birthday?” A horrified look came over Eli’s face. “That doesn’t sound like any birthday party I’ve ever been to.”
“That’s the idea,” I told him.
Three weeks later, on the evening of his tenth birthday, Eli and I were sitting on the shore of Hidden Lake. The setting sun was turning the sky over the surrounding forest pinkish-orange. The breeze was lightly rippling the water.
I had taken a few days off from work and, though Eli complained the whole time that this wasn’t the birthday party he wanted, I had enthusiastically insisted we pack the car and head out on a camping trip. This was going to be fun! Eli did not share my enthusiasm.
However, his mood improved after we started hiking and we found the trail to the lake blocked by a fallen tree. We had to climb over it; Eli commented it was just like the cyborg army guys in his video game.
We came to a wide, shallow stream that intersected the trail and, not wanting to get our shoes wet, we decided to attempt to cross it by using the steppingstones. Unfortunately, the mossy stones were slicker than I expected; I slipped, fell to my knees in the water and soaked my pants. For the first time since the trip began Eli and I shared a laugh.
When we reached Hidden Lake the afternoon sun was high in the clear blue sky, so we pitched our tent in a shady clearing in the pine trees, I changed into dry pants, and we spent the rest of the afternoon fishing.
Now, surrounded by the stillness of approaching twilight, Eli was anticipating starting his first campfire to cook our dinner. We hadn’t actually caught any fish, just lots of snags, but luckily my practical-thinking sister had packed some hot dogs in a small cooler we had brought along.
“It seems like these social extravaganzas are turning into competitions.”
“Look.” Eli pointed. “Those ducks are all in a line.”
A procession of mallard ducks, a mother and six ducklings, paddled in the water in front of us; their wake split the calm surface into an ever-widening V-shape.
“Yeah,” I replied. “They’re having a parade for your birthday.”
Eli laughed and waved at the passing ducks.
We were quiet for a while more; then Eli said, “This is an awesome birthday, Uncle David.”
“There’s no inflatable bouncy house,” I said. “There are no drones. There are no superheroes. We don’t even have any chocolate marshmallow ice cream. Are you really sure it’s awesome?”
“Yep, I’m sure.” He nodded.
A slight melancholy tugged at me. I knew that in a few years my nephew would be grown and celebrating his birthdays in his own way; I might not even be involved in the festivities, other than to send a card or call him on the phone. I felt satisfied that at least for this one birthday, I was able to make it something meaningful for him.
I guess what my father had taught me many years ago was still true — you don’t need entertainment, a fancy cake or even a piñata to make a birthday memorable. You just need to share it with someone special.
~David Hull
Letting Go and Moving On
It always seems impossible until it’s done.
~Nelson Mandela
Each time I paced around my sizable home and realized how much work was ahead of me, I became over-whelmed. My heart would race, my head would hurt and I didn’t know where to begin — and so I didn’t. It had been just a few weeks since my youngest child left home to join the Air Force and in only three more weeks I was to make a significant move. Before that could happen, I had to dispose of at least half of my household goods.
After twenty years of single-parenting three children and equal time as a hard working pastor, I was about to embark on a new chapter in my life. The one thing I was determined to get was very simple: a good rest. It was time to simplify my life and begin anew with ample time for me to take care of me. I had arranged to take a sabbatical leave of one year, which I would spend at a spiritual retreat center in another state. I would live in a tiny cottage on the grounds and work a small number of hours to assist the retreat center in their work. My plan was to refocus and prepare for the next phase of my life — one that I hoped would still be full of meaningful purpose but at a slower pace.
Before I could accomplish that move I still had to deal with all that stuff. In the three weeks that remained, I had to be out of town for one. It was crunch time! There was no time to have a sale, so I began to give things away, even things I was reluctant to part with. Friends generously helped me and encouraged me when I found it difficult to wade through yet another closet. Day by day, it became easier to part with possessions while focusing on what I felt was most important to keep. Because I lived on a very busy street, I could easily put items on the curb and they were gone within an hour. Often a person would check with me as I carried more items out to be sure I wanted to give such good items away. As I saw their delight, I began to take vicarious joy in their discovery of a new treasure.
The time was rapidly slipping by and on one particularly hot day, I faced the challenge of giving away several items of furniture that I truly loved but knew I must part with. My family room was full of wonderful, if somewhat battered, mid-century furniture: a curving three-section sofa, blond wood end tables, a dining room table and chairs, and a favorite contour recliner. I knew someone would love them as much as I did and so we began to move them to the curb. A car with three twenty-somethings pulled into the driveway, and the friends began to talk about who would get which pieces. “Are you sure you don’t want any money for this?”
I continued to give away possessions until I only owned what would be useful in my 700-square-foot cottage.
As I moved the dining room set to the driveway, an older woman stopped by. She was so elated that she positively bubbled over. “I have dreamed of having a set like this since I was very young.” She thanked me over and over. She promised to return quickly with her husband and their pickup truck. As I waited for them to return, I had a flash of what felt like divine inspiration as I thought about this tall, beautiful woman who had so touched me with her sweet gratitude. When she returned, we loaded the furniture on the truck and I asked her to wait for a moment. “I have something for you.” As I carried the special gift to her and put it in her arms, tears began to flow down her cheeks. “No, you can’t mean it!” she said. It was a long, like-new fake fur coat that I’d had for years — one that had never flattered me but I had loved nonetheless. She ran her hand over the soft coat and slipped it on over her stately figure. She was stunning! We both wept as she proclaimed over and over, “You’re such a blessing, such a blessing.”
In that moment, I knew that my real “letting go” had truly begun. My one-year sabbatical turned into a three-year stay in a beautiful place that helped to restore my depleted self in every way. Although I still moved far too many things in my initial move, I continued to give away possessions until I only owned what would be useful in my 700-square-foot cottage. I kept the things I most loved and became very creative with how I used them. Several years later, I still live fairly simply and far more thoughtfully. Do I have a use for it and a place for it? And do I really love it, or would someone else love it even more?
~Kimberly Ross
Fire Drills
You know you have reached perfection of design not when you have nothing more to add, but when you have nothing more to take away.