Hummingbirds are everything to me. They are the reason my Glamping business is successful. These beautiful spiritual creatures give an insight to another realm. Indigenous people have used the images of hummingbirds as spiritual creatures for centuries. They can fly in reverse, suspend in the air, fight each other like warriors, and live a life of solitude. They only interact at hummingbird feeders, or when they are sitting on the eggs fertilized by a brief encounter.
They shine brilliantly when the sunlight captures the colors of their feathers. They captivate anyone watching them flit about, even those who don’t birdwatch. They are magical. They are fierce. They can make the most cynical person stop and reflect. They can heal a hardened heart by watching them interact. Fascinating in a way that cannot be explained.
They are famous without knowing they are. People from countries that don’t have hummingbirds are enamored. Everyone falls in love with the hummingbird.
I have fourteen registered species at my hotel. I am now an eBird hotspot. All birds are interesting. The hummingbird is the one that will always win the Oscar for birds.
Sometimes, when I look at this ring, my heart hurts, but I feel joy from those same memories on other days. It is the ring I gave Misha when she was four years old with her birthstone, a garnet, and tiny diamond chips. I remember her delight in having a ‘big girl ring’ and how much she loved it. I found it in a jewelry box left behind after her death. I was surprised it fit my finger, yet my mom had tiny hands, and I do too.
From this same jewelry box are gold earrings that I wear with hearts. I feel closer to her when I have something of hers touching my skin now that she is gone. She had a lot of beautiful jewelry that went missing after her death. Her roommates took her things. It caused me distress because I knew that it was a robbery. I had one say to me that she has the cross that was given to her at her first communion, again with the same birthstones, and I have seen photos of her wearing it. I was so broken at the time of her death I didn’t fight for her things and accepted these thefts. But now I wish I had them to give to my granddaughter; her baby was two years old when she died.
Amaya is 16 now. I wish a lot of things for her. I wish I had the wedding dress I married Misha’s father in. I wish I had saved more of my designer clothes for Amaya. I wish I had the christening gown I gave Misha when she was pregnant. I bought it in Ireland. These things are gone, and I don’t know where.
My mother was so good at saving things for me. I have my old Barbies and even a Skipper and Ken doll. They are worn from use as I let everyone play with them through the years. I have albums of pictures in the basement, yet I have not looked at them for years. I want to organize them, but the hurt comes back, and I suppress it by not sorting through everything. Someday I will. I know that I have a lot to say, and I need to put all of my blogs together into a book.
Old things bring back memories, and memories bring back sadness, which causes me to stifle my feelings. I know I will someday sit here and write everything down—every feeling, every memory, all of my simple thoughts, my complicated thoughts—everything. It will be cathartic. It will be an autobiography and a memorial, all in one book. It will be years of my life coming together, represented by many old things that are left behind.
Mother’s Day brings me to a dark place where I feel incomplete because Misha isn’t here. I will start putting all of my blogs together soon. I will have a name for my book: She Left to Begin Again. I will describe how I have found peace in Colombia while telling my and Misha’s stories together. I promise that is on my agenda. While I am wearing her old things, I wish she was still here with me.
The other day, I was in a taxi chatting with my driver. He asked how long I had been in Colombia. I did the math and was amazed when I answered twelve years. He responded: “You’re a Colombiana!” A lifetime has passed by in the last thirteen years. Some of those years were not easy for me, but I persevered. I have found my peace after so much time has passed. Stress is not part of my life anymore. My life revolves around my business and nature. What is better than earning money while living at home? I can wear my yoga clothes, drink wine, and discover new friends who come to enjoy my glamping cabins and lodging. I go to bed at night feeling grateful, although sometimes tired from my increasingly busy glamping business. It is far better to be exhausted from days filled with adventure and nature than to be tired from a long day without purpose. Nature brings out the best in people. Nature also heals the soul. It has been over thirteen years since the death of my daughter, Misha. I think of her every day, wishing she hadn’t left this world so abruptly and too soon.
This blog has been therapy to me during all the years that have passed. I have always written about what was on my mind, in my heart, and in my life. I have made decisions based on my gut feelings and inner knowledge guiding me. This last year I have found that I needed my blog less because living the life I do balances peace, activity, and accomplishment. Of course, I will always grieve for my daughter’s life, but in some ways, it is less forceful. I look around at what I have built and know Misha would have loved it here in Colombia. Misha is the reason I have been relentless in my pursuit of a business that I can pass on to my son and my granddaughter. I feel her gentle push to keep going with my future vision of what my Glamping Place can grow into. When I hear the birds singing in the morning, my heart smiles. I am ready for a new day, a new adventure, a new beginning to my life story.
As I move forward, I find forgiveness in ways I never thought I would be capable of. There are people we can never forgive in our lives, such as the murderer of my daughter Misha. There are people in our lives who do something we can not understand, and perhaps we do not want to forgive them, but we do because it is better than holding on to negative thoughts. Forgiveness clears the mind. Some people become distant, maybe they have a lot going on in their lives, and we should reach out to them. We all have pasts that include glorious moments or moments we might not be proud of. We all have made choices that were not the best ones. But we all get to start every day anew. Now, I am living my best life. Even with all the ups and downs I have experienced along this road I have traveled, I realize my life has been good. Let a moment be what it is. Embrace it when it is good, and don’t dwell on it too long when it is terrible. Give up that wish to impress. There is no need to show what you have to everyone. Post a little less on social media and immerse yourself in real life! A flock of parrots living in a nearby tree causes me to pause throughout the day to listen to them. As I grow older, I become quieter, and the moments in my day when nature shows itself humble me. I think this is why my nature retreat is successful. When people experience these moments, they feel humbled, too. At night, when I am in my room after a long day, my cat is lying at my feet; I think about happiness. What is happiness? Is it the feeling of contentment? Is it the feeling of satisfaction? Is it the feeling of a good life, a fulfilled life that brings joy? I think happiness does include all these things, but it is also about accepting what has happened in your life, both the good and the bad. Not caring about what others think because you know you are doing and being the best you can be. My mother used to say the grass always looks greener on the other side, I am too busy with my grass to notice if yours is greener!
Palmira, Colombia, is a small city, but the congestion and traffic are intimidating. I remember being afraid to drive when I first arrived in Colombia. I was terrified by the traffic, the crazy drivers, and the motorcycles that passed on both sides when they sped by. It is still like that! I am thankful for these struggles that I have overcome. I didn’t let them break me! I drive myself everywhere now, always listening to good music that calms me. The secret to my life here is letting every situation be what it is instead of what I think it should be. I made the best of it and gained my independence. I have made friends in all the stores I visit while doing errands. My imperfect Spanish has served me well. When I arrive home after my chores, contentment fills me up. Independence is satisfying when you have moved to another country. Something we take for granted becomes a challenge when we move out of our country of birth. I haven’t waited for the perfect path to appear because tracks are made by walking, not waiting, and for that matter, I walk a lot when out and about—something we don’t need to do when living in the United States. Many people would miss the easy access life provides them in the USA. I don’t. It is all part of life for me now.
After twelve years in Colombia, I think of life like a budget. I cannot afford stress, envy, negative vibes, or doubt. I will only receive peace, love, positivity, trust, and loyalty. Life for me is no longer about having several friends but the quality of my friends. I love people who get excited about sunsets, hummingbirds, birds singing in the morning, a full moon, a beautiful view of the Valle del Cauca, heart-to-heart conversations with kind people, and people who don’t mind a rainstorm or the noise of parrots chattering. This is my kind of life. I am grateful for where I am today. It was a new beginning back then. Now it’s where I want to be. I embraced uncertainty when I moved here, and I know I still have many chapters left. Branches that will unfold year by year. I have given myself space to listen to my inner voice and not the noise of the world surrounding us all. Maybe I am living in a bubble, but it is a lovely bubble I have created through perseverance and unrelenting strength. I choose what matters and what doesn’t. I relax, I breathe, and I stay positive. I control my life and how I respond to all situations. Thirteen years after Misha’s death, I am blessed with the wisdom acquired through hardships, learning, and life lessons. I have messed up, but I got wiser; I have gone to bed at night in fear of the future, but I didn’t give up. I have let go of what doesn’t serve me. I am grateful for where I am now. Every day is a new beginning. That is how I live thirteen years after my daughter’s death.
Riding Honey, my cousin’s horse. I was around 14 or 15 years old.
My fifty-year high school reunion is coming up in November, and it has me thinking about my life. Where is everyone now? What have they done with the fifty years that slipped by in what feels like the blink of an eye?
When I need to make sense of something this big, I write.
When I graduated from high school, I did it on the sly. I skipped the whole cap-and-gown ceremony that fills social media feeds today. Instead, I quietly packed my bags, headed to Tallahassee, and enrolled at Florida State University. I wanted to graduate early and start college, so I did.
Just like that.
My parents, who always encouraged independence, trusted me enough to let me follow my own path. Looking back, I realize that moment set the tone for my life. When I decided to become a flight attendant, I did it. When I decided to move to Colombia decades later, I did that too.
Just like that.
Maybe that’s been the story of my life. I didn’t follow the expected path, but followed the one that felt right to me. As this reunion gets closer, I’m not just wondering where everyone else ended up. I also appreciate the unexpected road that brought me to exactly where I am today.
17 years old at Smith Hall …Florida State. It was the only dorm open when I entered FSU in the Spring semester of 1976. It was really ugly and looked like a prison.
While I was in college, I made good grades and did what my parents expected of me. But if I’m being honest, dancing was still the most important thing on my mind.
Saturday Night Fever had hit the theaters, and disco fever had taken over Florida State University. I spent my nights with a great group of friends dancing at Big Daddy’s, where we thought life would always be that carefree.
I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, so college was as much about growing up as it was about getting an education. More than anything, it was my first taste of freedom. After years of living with rules and expectations, being on my own felt like heaven.
Then life threw me a curveball.
I got sick, had to take an incomplete, and returned home. Surprisingly, I wasn’t worried. I figured I’d recover, work for a while, and head back to FSU. I took a job as a receptionist while I waited to re-enroll.
But my mother had other plans.
She suggested I apply to be a stewardess. Yes, that’s what we were called back then.
Little did I know that by spring, just after my twentieth birthday, I would be the youngest person in Delta Air Lines’ training class.
Sometimes the biggest chapters of our lives begin with someone else’s suggestion.
My classmates and our instructor at the Delta Air Lines graduation
At the time, there were only two airlines that hired flight attendants at age twenty, and Delta took me into its family. I applied the moment I was eligible, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Getting hired wasn’t easy. Even then, Delta was known for being incredibly selective, and earning a spot in a training class was something to be proud of. After surviving the rigorous training program, I traded textbooks for wings.
For the first time in my life, I was completely on my own. I was earning a good salary, traveling the country, and making my own decisions. It was the career I had dreamed about for as long as I could remember, and suddenly, I was living it.
Looking back, I realize that the seventeen-year-old girl who quietly left home for college had no idea she was about to begin the adventure that would shape so much of the next chapter of her life.
At the pool. The apartments were a dump. We didn’t care. College Park was not pretty in 1978. Now it is very trendy.
Living with a house full of other “stews” in College Park, Georgia, was an adventure all its own. After training, we were all assigned to Delta’s Atlanta base, and suddenly, we were a bunch of twenty-somethings learning how to navigate adulthood while flying all over the country.
It was an exciting, unpredictable life.
I can still picture us lounging by the apartment pool on our days off, our beepers never far from reach. At any moment, one of them could go off, and we’d jump up, throw on our uniforms, grab the suitcases that were always packed, and head to the airport.
That was life on reserve.
We never knew where we’d be flying that day—or even if we’d make it back home that night. But at twenty years old, that uncertainty wasn’t stressful. It was exhilarating. Every beep held the promise of another adventure, another city, another story waiting to happen.
Japan. I was mobbed by school kids because I was tall and had blue eyes. I felt like a celebrity. They would make me take my sunglasses off to take a photo of my eyes!
It was a wonderful way to earn a living because I had so much time off. Flying back then was very different from what it is today. It’s still an admirable profession with wonderful benefits, but the pace and the pressure have changed dramatically.
When I signed in for a trip during those first months, I was on reserve and usually paired with senior flight attendants who quietly continued my training. They showed us the little things you could never learn in a classroom; the tricks of the trade, how to handle every situation, and how to take care of passengers with confidence and grace.
Sometimes we’d end up in San Francisco. Other times it was Los Angeles. The really exotic layovers usually belonged to the senior “mamas,” but every trip was an adventure, and those experienced flight attendants took us junior newbies under their wings.
When I wasn’t flying, I was usually out with my friends, most of whom were flight attendants too. Let’s face it… it was one great big party, both in the air and on the ground.
With all that time off, I traveled whenever I could. Europe. Japan. New York City. Los Angeles. The world really was my oyster, and I couldn’t wait to see what was around the next corner.
Marriage wasn’t even on my radar. Adventure was.
And I had found it in a career I truly loved.
Europe. Princess Diana stage of dressing
After Atlanta, I transferred to Miami. Once again, I found myself living in a questionable apartment complex this time it was in Kendall. But honestly, none of us cared. It was full of other flight attendants, close to all the trendy spots, and life revolved around flying and having fun.
We went out constantly. Flight attendants were welcome at all the best clubs, and we knew exactly which nights were the ones not to miss.
By then, I was finally holding a schedule called a “line” in airline lingo. Imagine getting paid to work only three or four days a week! Even better, we could bid trips with our friends, so many flights felt more like hanging out than going to work.
We really were our own bosses once those aircraft doors closed.
I still remember the excitement when the first L-1011 arrived at our Miami base. To us, it was pure luxury. It even had an elevator! The service carts glided effortlessly down the aisles, and on longer flights we’d serve full meals, complete with ice cream sundaes, fruit, and cheese. Cleanup was easy because everything stacked neatly back into the carts.
That was a far cry from my first flights on the DC-9. Back then, we carried heavy trays loaded with ice and drinks up and down the aisle, hoping the ride stayed smooth. If turbulence hit, it became a balancing act. We’d barely finish service before racing to our jump seats for landing.
The stretch DC-8 had its own challenges. We worked assembly-line style, passing trays down the aisle while someone in the galley shoved them back into narrow metal compartments as fast as they came in.
By the end of the flight, we’d often be wearing more barbecue sauce than the passengers had eaten.
Looking back, it wasn’t glamorous every minute of every day. It was hard work. But we were young, we loved what we were doing, and somehow even the messy days became some of my favorite memories.
Fast forward a few years, and my life was full of close friendships, much like it had been in high school. We bid our schedules together, flew together whenever we could, and spent our days off together. We were always doing something fun.
People often ask if I wanted to settle down back then. The truth is, I wasn’t in any hurry.
Looking back, I realize what an incredible lifestyle I had created for myself. I had a career I loved, enough seniority to enjoy a great schedule, wonderful friends, and the freedom to live life on my own terms. I didn’t need anyone else to build a good life.
My dad found me the perfect little studio apartment in Fort Lauderdale, it was a big upgrade from my Kendall days. I bought myself a sporty little car, and I honestly felt like I was living the life I’d dreamed about as a young girl.
Of course, I dated. One of my boyfriends was Frank Diaz, founder and producer of the group Exposé. We’re still good friends all these years later, which says a lot about the kind of person he is.
Then one of my best friends introduced me to the man who would become my first husband.
Even then, I wasn’t rushing toward marriage. If anything, I was perfectly content with the life I had already built. But sometimes life has its own timetable, and before long, I found myself engaged… and eventually married.
Frank and I in the early 80’s
I was my most important investment in life. Everyone should invest in themselves, and if someone comes along who invests with you, that is even better!
Amsterdam. Best vacation ever. Met a cute guy…and we kept in touch for a long time.
One of the greatest gifts my airline career gave me was independence. Every woman should know what it feels like to stand on her own two feet, support herself, and realize she doesn’t need anyone else to build a happy life. If she chooses to share that life with someone, it should be because she wants to not because she has to.
When I did get married, my first husband wasn’t the best choice for me. If only we’d had Google and internet sleuthing back then! I probably would have asked a few more questions before saying “I do.”
He was a good person with flaws, as we all have, but he also had legal troubles that made our life together far more difficult than I had imagined.
Even so, I don’t look back with regret.
That chapter made me stronger than I ever thought I could be. It taught me resilience, confidence, and the importance of trusting my instincts.
During those years, we lived in Newport, Rhode Island, where I met Shannon, who would become my best friend for life. I also enjoyed a wonderful lifestyle and continued to build a career that gave me opportunities most people only dream about.
Looking back now, I realize that every chapter, even the difficult ones were shaping me into the woman I would eventually become.
Misha with her biological father, Timmy
That chapter came to an end when my first husband went to prison for a white-collar crime. I stuck by him through his prison term, but when he came home he wasn’t the same person I married.
But because I had built a career before I ever got married, I wasn’t starting over with nothing. I had my job, a condo that became mine in the divorce, and, most importantly, my daughter, Misha, the greatest gift to come from that marriage and the love of my life.
My parents, as always, stood beside me and were ready to help in any way they could. Knowing they were there gave me comfort, but it was also when I realized I had to take the reins of my own life.
Looking back, I can see that my independence wasn’t just something I enjoyed when I was young, it became the foundation that carried me through one of the most difficult seasons of my life.
Sometimes the choices we make in our twenties don’t just shape our happiest moments. They become the very things that help us survive our hardest ones.
Fashion was always part of my life
I was a single mom, but I was able to build a good life without feeling overwhelmed. I had a nice condo on the water in Fort Lauderdale, a cute little car, a career I loved, and those wonderful friends who worked with me and played with me.
Most importantly, I had my daughter, Misha. She was my pride and joy and the center of my world.
As I started over with a young child, I didn’t feel the pressure to find another husband. I had already checked those boxes. I had been married. I had my precious daughter. I wasn’t looking for someone to complete my life because my life already felt complete.
So when I dated, I never carried that desperate energy that so many people feel after a divorce. My attitude was more like, “Been there, done that.”
If the right person came along, wonderful. If not, I knew I’d be just fine.
Looking back, I realize that confidence came from something I had learned years earlier as a young flight attendant. Independence isn’t just about earning your own paycheck. It’s about knowing that, no matter what life throws at you, you’ll find a way forward.
The family I always pictured in my dreams
I have never been much of a planner or someone who constantly looks toward the future. In other words, I’m spontaneous.
Sometimes I wonder if that’s been one of my greatest strengths or one of my biggest flaws. Looking back, I realize I’ve landed on my feet more times than I probably should have. Decisions that could have ended in disaster somehow became some of the best chapters of my life.
Especially the decision to move to another country.
Spontaneity is a backpack I’ve carried my entire life, and I imagine I’ll still be carrying it until the day I die.
When I married for the second time and welcomed my wonderful son, life seemed perfect. I had everything I thought I wanted; a loving husband, two beautiful children, and a career that allowed me to work part-time as a flight attendant while still being present for my family. I had the best of both worlds: I could be a working mom and a stay-at-home mom.
Life doesn’t stand still. It keeps moving while we’re busy believing everything will stay the same. We never see the next chapter coming.
I certainly didn’t.
After spending most of my life in Florida, I never could have imagined that one day I’d pack up everything I owned, leave the life I’d always known, and begin again in Colombia.
But that’s the thing about spontaneity.
Sometimes it quietly becomes the road that leads you home.
Jumping forward to now, I have been asked to help with my 50th high school reunion. It got me thinking that I really am in a place I never thought I would be when I graduated all those years ago. Not just geographically, but emotionally and spiritually too.
High school days, 15 years old.
When I arrived at Florida State University in the spring of 1976, many of my high school classmates were getting ready for prom and graduation. I had already moved on. While they were celebrating the end of high school, I was discovering college life.
And what a life it was.
I had already been to enough proms to last a lifetime, so I never felt like I was missing out. Instead, I was dancing until dawn with my new college friends, walking runway shows as a hair model, and finally learning how to tame my wild curly hair into a style that actually worked. It was the disco era, and I embraced every glittering minute of it.
Whenever I went home for breaks, my parents could barely keep track of the young men who called or stopped by to see me. It was a fun, carefree time, and I was loving every minute of my newfound independence.
But the best thing that happened during my first semester wasn’t the parties or the fashion.
It was meeting Mark.
The first photo in this blog, standing on the roof of Smith Hall, captures a seventeen-year-old girl just beginning her journey. The photos that follow show how I grew into someone who loved fashion, music, and expressing herself without apology. Mark had so much to do with that transformation.
He introduced me to a world filled with disco, style, confidence, and joy. We’d spend hours practicing our dance moves, trying to perfect every spin and step. Thanks to him, I’m still a pretty good dancer today.
Hair model show at FSU
More importantly, he taught me that life should have a little flair. That it’s okay to enjoy fashion. That confidence can be joyful instead of showy. He helped me become comfortable being exactly who I was.
Mark remained one of my dearest friends for the rest of his life. When he recently passed away, I lost someone who had been part of my story for nearly fifty years.
Even now, whenever I hear Donna Summer or the Bee Gees, I’m right back on that dance floor with him.
Some friendships never really end.
They simply become part of the soundtrack of your life.
He also named my daughter. One of my favorite memories of him still makes me smile.
I remember riding in a convertible with him, dressed in black capri pants and a black A-line top that hid my baby belly perfectly, a scarf tied around my head, and big black sunglasses. We were playing Basia through the car speakers, the soundtrack to so many good memories. We came up with her name. Mikel Cara, Misha.
Mark and I strike a pose.Misha was only one month old, and I spent New Year’s with Mark.
What if I had known back then, like in Back to the Future, that I would one day be living in Colombia?
It sounds more like a Netflix series than real life.
Who would have guessed that I’d learn another language, buy a beautiful property in Colombia, and turn it into a thriving business… all in my fifties?
Life has a funny way of surprising us.
I write from my soul as time passes and life’s lessons become memories—some joyful, some heartbreaking.
I write as if I’m the only one who will ever read these words. But the truth is, I hope my son, my granddaughter, and the grandchildren I may never meet will read them one day and think, “Wow… Grandma was kind of a badass.”
Maybe that’s why this blog has meant so much to me over the years.
It helped me survive the greatest heartbreak of my life, the loss of my daughter. Writing grounded me and still does here in Colombia. I have found healing, purpose, and a life I never could have imagined.
I can’t help but wonder what that seventeen-year-old girl would think if she could see me now.
I think she’d be surprised.
I know I still am.
Because the best parts of my life were never the ones I planned.
I write about the life I never planned.
Disco days. 20 years old. Record in my hair.Me in the 80’s. Big hair was so in.
This edition of Notes from Paradise is all about the personal happenings in my life here in Colombia. It’s only been a few weeks since my last newsletter, but so much has happened! So sit back, grab a coffee or a glass of wine, and catch up with me.
First of all… I sold my truck.
Who knew she would turn out to be so valuable? She was not pretty. In fact, as they say in Spanish, fue muy feo.
I constantly had to lift the hood to add water just to keep the engine running, and every time I filled the gas tank, I also added a quart and a half of oil. We are talking ancient.
Did I like this truck? It’s complicated.
Did I drive it with fear? YES.
The mountain roads here are steep and narrow, and I always imagined she might give up halfway up a mountain. To be fair, she never did, but that thought haunted me for years.
When I first moved to Colombia, my farm needed a rugged vehicle because the roads were all dirt, mud, holes, and ditches. She handled it perfectly. But over time, the municipality paved most of the road, and my life here changed too.
My glamping business has become more peaceful now. People come to unplug, enjoy the views, and relax in nature. Adventure can still be arranged, just without me driving an ancient truck that sounded like it was falling apart.
The moment I posted “One For Sale,” she suddenly became desirable again. I sold her in two days. Adiós!
I’m hoping the new owner sends me photos after restoring her. In the meantime, I bought myself a beautiful, gently used car that fits my style perfectly. Now she’s getting her own little garage because, unlike my old truck, this girl deserves a roof over her head.
¡Bienvenida, Dorothy!
Last month, I also had the pleasure of hosting a remarkable woman at Cristal House. Gabriella is an ophthalmologist with a generous heart and a beautiful habit of giving back.
She arrived in Colombia carrying a huge suitcase packed with eyeglasses and medical supplies for people in Valle del Cauca. Customs apparently had many questions when she arrived.
Before beginning her volunteer work, Gabriella and her friend stayed at Cristal House for a few days. They hiked the countryside, visited coffee farms, watched parrots gather in the pine trees at dusk, and even attended a community meeting.
During that meeting, Gabriella invited people from my pueblo to come for free eye exams she would be giving in Palmira through the nonprofit Sight Is A Right. This nonprofit takes donations and volunteers if you want to “see the world”!
Small acts of kindness can make a world of difference
When she arrived at the clinic, every appointment was already full. But she still made time to see every single person from my area who had traveled there.
Seeing faces that light up when the world comes back into focus
That, to me, is the true meaning of giving back.
In a world where so many people ask, “What can I get?” it was refreshing to meet someone who asks, “How can I help?” Gabriella arrived with a suitcase full of glasses, but she brought something even more valuable: kindness.
And finally, two of my most interesting guests recently arrived looking for adventure.
They came roaring up my driveway on brand-new motorcycles that looked ready to conquer the planet. Turns out, that was basically the plan. They had bought the bikes specifically to tour South America all the way to Ushuaia, Argentina, the famous “End of the World.”
I stayed in touch with them during their journey, and wow… what a ride they had.
They reminded me of myself when I first moved to Colombia: chasing beautiful views, surviving mishaps, and meeting unforgettable characters along the way. The only difference is that they packed their chaos into a few months. I’ve been living mine for fifteen years.
Along the route, they sent me incredible photos, crazy stories, and updates that occasionally made my heart stop. One of those updates involved a serious accident that left one of them with eight broken ribs.
While riding Route 40, the longest route in the Americas, they hit loose gravel on a high mountain pass. Rain had carved a deep wash across the road that appeared out of nowhere.
There was no time to stop.
Mark hit it hard, flew over the handlebars, and the motorcycle landed on top of him. Ken thought his friend was dead.
Then Mark started moaning.
Thank God for moaning.
A jeep tour luckily appeared and rushed him to a tiny clinic, where an X-ray confirmed multiple broken ribs. Most people would have gone home.
Not Mark.
After only two weeks of rest, he climbed back on the motorcycle and finished the ride. I still cannot imagine how.
Not every part of the journey involved near-death experiences, thankfully. Along the way, they met hilarious new friends, including a couple of Chilean riders who taught them how to sneak onto a sold-out ferry by casually waving the wrong tickets at the ticket collector.
Somehow, it worked.
Later that night, everyone ended up squeezed into one tiny room with one bed during a rainstorm in the middle of nowhere. Between couches, chairs, and the bed, they somehow made it work and traveled together for another week.
The adventure continued with broken motorcycles, bridge construction, weather delays, detours, and all the unexpected chaos that comes with trying to ride to the end of the world.
In the end, they never made it back to my place for the return trip. But they promised that next time they’re on my side of the Equator, they’ll be back.
And knowing adventure riders, they probably will.
“If you enjoy these little glimpses into my life in Colombia, subscribe below. I promise there will be more stories, more laughs, and probably a few more surprises.”
Recently, something unexpected landed in my inbox, one of those moments that makes you stop and read twice.
A message on Facebook Messenger. From my niece.
I hadn’t seen Renee since my daughter’s funeral in 2010. Back then, she was just a baby. I don’t remember much from that week. Grief has a way of blurring everything. And yet here she was, years later, reaching out across time, distance, and the long silence my brother left behind.
“Are you my Aunt?”
She explained that she didn’t know much about me or, really, much about her father’s side of the family at all. Just fragments. I lived in Colombia. That I had an inn.
And then the part that made me smile:
“I found you by searching ‘Inn in Colombia, South America, Michele.’ A review came up with your name. Then I found your Instagram and Facebook and thought… what are the chances?”
What are the chances, indeed? I love that my little resort is so well known that she could find me with just a first name and a country. Sometimes the internet works beautifully.
Now, you might wonder how a family becomes this disconnected — how a niece grows up knowing almost nothing about her aunt. The answer isn’t simple, but it isn’t new either.
My brother has always operated this way. If he disapproved of a choice I made, he would disappear. Not for days or weeks but for years. When I became a flight attendant, he decided it wasn’t a worthy profession. Gone. When I moved to Newport. Gone. When I divorced. Gone again. And like clockwork, he would resurface as if nothing had happened, and I would let him back in, because he was my brother.
He did this to everyone: our parents, our cousins, anyone who didn’t fit neatly into his idea of how things should be. When I told him I was moving to Colombia, I got a speech full of old American stereotypes — cartels, danger, fear. The Colombia I know and live in every day is something else entirely. But that was the last real conversation we ever had. And when he faded out of my life for good, he took Renee and her sister with him. They grew up without knowing me, without knowing any of us on that side of the family.
I wish it could have been different.
I’ve never lived my life according to what other people thought I should do. My brother said it best himself, once: “You have never lived a boring life. You always do what no one else would dream of.” He wasn’t wrong. But living freely has a cost, and sometimes that cost is distance from the people who couldn’t follow you there.
What I didn’t expect was this: back in December, I had been thinking about Renee and her sister. I can’t explain why. Just a quiet wondering — what do they look like now? Who have they become? It felt like nothing more than a passing thought at the time.
And then, a few months later, her message appeared in my inbox.
Life can be mysterious that way.
We’ve been chatting since then, slowly filling in the gaps. Renee had no idea she had a cousin, my son. She also didn’t know about Amaya, my granddaughter, her first cousin once removed. My son is looking forward to meeting her and her sister. There is still so much to find out about each other, and that is exactly what makes this feel like the beginning of something, rather than the end of a long silence.
I’ve invited both girls to visit me here in Colombia, and they want to come. The thought of sitting together in this place I’ve built, sharing stories over good food with the mountains and hummingbirds all around us, feels surreal and deeply healing.
My brother kept us apart for years. But his daughter found me on her own with nothing more than a vague search, a first name, and her own curiosity.
Some threads, it turns out, are stronger than the silence. Life has a strange and beautiful way of returning things to us just when we think they are gone forever.
Thank you for reading my story.
If this touched you, reminded you of someone you’ve lost touch with, or inspired you to reach out to a loved one, I’d love to hear from you. Please leave a comment below and share your own experience.
And if you enjoy stories about family, healing, life in Colombia, and the unexpected ways life brings us full circle, be sure to follow my blog so you don’t miss future posts.
Sometimes the most meaningful connections arrive when we least expect them.
I’m so glad you’re here. I wanted to start with something real from my life here in the mountains of Colombia.
In February, a bad storm came through, and it made one thing painfully clear: I was not prepared for disaster. In a matter of moments, that storm turned everything upside down. It brought emotional turmoil and damage to my glamping place, and my community in El Meson was hit hard, too. We were all suddenly in the same situation, trying to deal with what had happened.
Looking out from the side of my Villa. The view opened up. You can see the damage on my neighbor’s side of the structures.
In the aftermath, I’m still waiting for the man who handles all the work here at Villa Migelita Ecolodge to arrive, along with the insurance adjuster to assess the damage. Living high in the mountains has taught me many things, patience being one of them. There’s no rushing repairs when your options are limited. I can only do what I can, and stressing about it won’t change the outcome.
For now, I explain the situation to my guests and keep moving forward. I need a new balcony roof, but the room is still rentable — as long as guests don’t mind skipping the balcony if it rains. At the moment, the damaged roof is being held up by one very strong wire, which feels both slightly concerning and very real life here.
Thankfully, my workers removed the fallen trees right away— they know this isn’t just my home; it’s my business.
So while I wait, I’ve started removing the trees near the house that could cause future damage. One worker finally wrote me and said he would be arriving. Hallelujah! And honestly? There’s a bright side. The sunlight pouring into the property now is incredible. I’m seeing light and views I haven’t noticed in years. I’m planning to turn the leftover branches into bird feeding stations and use some for my orchids.
When disaster strikes, all we see at first is the damage —until later, when the positive side begins to reveal itself. My views are now incredible from every side of the property. The trees that fell on the neighboring land opened up the mountains in a way I haven’t seen in years. What once felt like destruction is slowly starting to look a lot like perspective.
As my mom always said, make a plus out of a minus.
My views are beautiful and far-reaching again
Sometimes life clears away what we didn’t know was blocking the view.
The morning LB left, I realized I felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted. It was still early, the sun not yet visible as the soft light of dawn slowly appeared. The stillness around me was comforting. The hummingbirds began to flit near the feeders, starting their day, while my dogs gathered around me, ready for their morning meal.
I stood watching them eat, then wandered to the balcony, where I watched the hummingbirds move quickly and effortlessly, exactly where they were meant to be. I felt something shift inside me. I didn’t feel sadness, nor relief. Just clarity—that quiet sense of knowing I was exactly where I wanted to be, without the need for another person to define my life.
The life I had built in Colombia came back to me in that moment—shaped by my instincts, my intuition, my mistakes, and my decisions. Standing there, looking out over the mountains, I realized how much I loved this life.
And for the first time, I allowed myself to fully accept something I hadn’t said out loud before: I didn’t need anyone else to fill the space beside me.
Christmas brought rest after a busy month of hosting guests at my glamping site. LB was with his family in the U.S., and we were back to sending memes on WhatsApp. I felt rested, finally free from his constant neediness—the disrupted sleep, the phone in hand at all hours.
As December came to a close, I was busy preparing for New Year’s Eve, one of my busiest times of the year. Every room was filled. And yet, I felt content.
My life in Colombia had healed me in ways I hadn’t fully recognized before. I no longer felt the need for someone else to complete me. If someone wants to join me on my journey, they would have to be an equal—grounded, self-aware, and whole in their own right.
I have spent years building this life, shaping it through reflection, growth, and hard-earned clarity. And I know how important it is to protect that.
LB had returned to his life in the United States, but I noticed a quiet shift in our communication. He would let my messages sit unread for long periods or respond with a simple heart. Then, after hours of silence, he would send a string of memes, most of them centered on love.
I had been thinking about how to talk to him about his habits during his visit in December. I knew I couldn’t have him back without some honest conversation and meaningful changes. As I mentioned in my last blog, he had said he would visit every month, but never said when he would return. I wasn’t asking by then—I already knew my feelings had shifted while he was here.
Then I got the text that changed everything.
It started simply: “I don’t understand why you aren’t reading my messages.”
His reply was: “I don’t appreciate being chastised for not immediately responding like you’re an unhappy client.”
Just one dismissive message. That was enough.
In that moment, I realized continuing the communication wasn’t healthy for me. I don’t do drama. I value my peace. So I responded the way I always do when something feels off: I stepped back into silence.
It wasn’t just the text—it was everything that had been building beneath it. And suddenly, I no longer felt the need to address any of it.
Later, he sent me an email. He argued at length that he had always been direct with me, that my blogs misrepresented him, and that I had never raised my concerns in real time.
I had planned to do that gently, in my own way, but his reaction to a simple question had already shown me how those conversations would go.
Reading his email, I noticed a pattern. He focused on what I hadn’t done, not on what had actually happened between us. In that moment, I knew I didn’t need to respond in detail. I already understood enough.
I found his idea of love interesting. He said his feelings were genuine, that he was the thoughtful one, and that his love was real—yet there was never any accountability. The text he had sent was simply ignored, as if it didn’t exist.
I had to laugh.
He tried to provoke me, calling me a “mess” as a joke, and I replied, “Maybe you should add saying ‘I’m sorry’ to your resume.” He didn’t know how to read me at all.
Then he quickly replied, asking if I would write a fourth blog titled, “What if the Love Bomber Really Loved Me?” and signed it, Warm Regards, The Love Bomber. I actually laughed out loud.
When we first met in Bogotá, he told me he didn’t like predictable women, and that I wasn’t one. Yet in the end, his behavior was entirely predictable. Instead of taking responsibility, he continued to shift the blame.
His last email was well written—I’ll give him that. Maybe someone else would have found it convincing. But for me, it only confirmed what I already knew.
So I did what felt right. I stepped back, I reflected, and I wrote. I share my experiences not to convince anyone, but simply because they are mine.
The ending wasn’t dramatic. There was no big confrontation, and I’ve realized I didn’t need one. We’ve stayed in touch, but nothing we’ve said has changed how I feel.
I don’t need him to understand. I don’t need an apology.
What matters most is peace—and I have it.
Sometimes, love doesn’t fail for lack of feeling. It fails when one person cannot meet the other where they need them to be. LB liked to say he was being direct, but I’ve learned that “direct” can often be a mask for hurtful words.
“What I thought was an ending was really a return—to myself, my life, and my peace.”
PS: LB is the Love Bomber. He has the traits of someone who isn’t fully secure, yet he is a decent person. I hold no grudges. Some love stories end suddenly; others quietly fade away.
Either way, I am still me—still laughing, still living my life, unbothered and one step ahead.
Some relationships don’t fall apart all at once. Sometimes the cracks appear quietly, in small moments you try to ignore.
If you’re new here, I recommend reading my first blog in this series, “Love Bombed, Maybe.” Please click the link to read it and subscribe by email if you haven’t yet. In this post, I’m sharing more about my experience with love bombing and some new insights. Love bombing doesn’t always look the same. Some people go all out with gifts and compliments, but my experience was different, even though a lot of what I’ve read still applies. After the relationship ended, he still hovered on my social media stories and even replied to my last blog post on Facebook. He commented that my memories didn’t align with his. We had agreed to keep things off social media, but now that I’ve shared my story, he’s made himself known. I don’t think he liked my criticism, but I stand by what I wrote and will keep calling him LB. If he wants to comment again, that’s up to him. My thoughts come from notes I keep on my phone, and I haven’t exaggerated anything. Our relationship was still new, but I felt like the new-love feeling was fading. After he left Colombia, he became distant with delayed responses in our text chats. I’ll talk more about that later, since it connects to the patterns love bombers exhibit. For me, it was a signal to reassess the relationship. Life is too short to let anyone disturb your peace.
In my last blog, I mentioned how LB was rude during a meal at a restaurant when my son had joined us, making little effort to connect and keeping his headphones in. This was the start of his trip to visit me in Colombia. After dinner, we went home to pack for a two-day trip to Nevada del Ruiz. I love exploring new parts of Colombia, especially places known for biodiversity. The drive from my area, Valle del Cauca, is long. I was looking forward to a break from my glamping business. I decided not to dwell on the night before or LB’s behavior around my son. I was beginning to see a pattern with him, and it always occurred when others were around. I try to live by the idea that no one can take my peace unless I let them. Which includes starting drama, and my son had told me it wasn’t a big deal. I closed my place for two nights, and my son helped by checking out the current guests when we left. My best friend in Colombia, Alvaro, agreed to drive us on the five-hour trip. The drive was pleasant, with sunny weather. I had the back seat to myself, and LB chatted with Alvaro from time to time. I noticed LB seemed comfortable around him. Alvaro is a lot like me; he’s friendly with everyone. He met LB last year when he visited and drove him to different tourist spots.
When LB visited last year, he was a guest who paid to stay at my hotel and glamping place; he paid Alvaro to drive us on this vacation and cover all expenses. However, there was a huge difference this time. He was in Colombia to visit me and continue our relationship. LB wasn’t paying me to stay in my hotel. I had made the arrangements in advance for this trip after confirming that LB wanted to do it. Alvaro was super busy the week we left, but he did this as a favor to me. We made a quick stop in Buga along the way to pick up a crucifix of the Black Jesus, and then at other roadside places. It was not a hurried timeline. When it was time for lunch, we were near Salento, in the department of Quindío, where there is a shop with wonderful one-of-a-kind boots. I was there with my best friends in 2024 and bought boots. Alvaro reminded me and asked if I wanted to stop for an hour. I squealed with excitement, “Yes, I do!” We stopped, and LB said, ” Let me buy the boots for you for Christmas.” I allowed him to, but I was surprised that he came to see me without a Christmas present. His birthday was on the 16th in two days, and I had spent time ordering presents and arranging for my son to buy a birthday cake while I was on this road trip. I thought surely he had brought something else for me. I had also bought him Christmas presents. After the stop in Salento, we continued to Manizales, Colombia. We checked into the hotel and met downstairs later to go out and explore the town.
Manizales was decorated so beautifully, with colored lights and embellishments trimming every street and town square. The city glittered in the December night, and for a moment I let myself feel hopeful, as if the lights were sparkling promises just waiting to be kept. We hailed a cab to get to the trendy area where we decided to have dinner. When we were let out in this quaint neighborhood alive with people and holiday spirit, it truly felt like the magic of the season surrounded us. I felt the joy in the air and said, “Let’s go get a shot of tequila!” Alvaro, who never drinks because he is usually driving, decided to partake, too. We found a cute little bar and had a shot. There were so many different restaurants in the area, and we wandered by them until we found one we all liked. We got a table outside on a cozy little terrace along the street. We sat, and just like at lunch, LB sat across from me, and Alvaro sat next to me.
Alvaro and I have been friends for so long that we share food and talk without reservation. I explained in my last blog that LB doesn’t participate in conversation, and once again, he had his headphones in and his phone out. As the night went on, it dawned on me that the bright lights around us stood in sharp contrast to the growing shadow at our table. To be honest, it felt like I was on a date with Alvaro this particular night. We ordered another shot of tequila and looked at the menu together because we were sitting next to each other. We decided to share two dishes. LB was given an English menu, so I didn’t need to help him with translation. The tequila came, and we did a shot again, just as the waiter’s wife stopped by with their two dogs. One was a puppy, a Golden Retriever, and a Husky. They were beyond adorable. Alvaro is my favorite photographer, and he took pictures of me kissing and petting the dogs. Our meals came, and I really felt like the holidays were upon us that night. I wasn’t working at my hotel; I was just having fun with two men I loved. My boyfriend and my best friend. It was unfortunate, I thought, that my best friend was more engaged in this delightful evening than my boyfriend.
LB on his phone
Alvaro and I shared our meals while LB listened to his phone. There it was again, the divide I always noticed, sitting right in front of me at the festive table. The conversation moved around him. The warmth between Alvaro and me seemed to highlight just how separate LB was, caught up in his own world. The food, the laughter, the energy of the night: all of it seemed to pass by him, untouched. I felt the absence growing, even as I did my best to ignore it. Alvaro and I ordered a dessert to share. He knows me so well that he said, “Michele, you know you don’t finish anything, so we will share.” The three of us finished our desserts and wandered the city a little more before taking a cab back to the hotel. We said goodnight to Alvaro, decided to meet at 8:30 for breakfast, and then drove to Nevada del Ruiz.
I want to share more about Nevada del Ruiz. It is an active volcano rising 5,321 meters above sea level in the Central Andes of Colombia. Part of Los Nevados National Natural Park, it is known for its glacier, unique wildlife, and the stark beauty of the páramo landscape. The volcano is under constant monitoring due to seismic activity and gas emissions, and access is sometimes restricted for safety reasons. At that altitude, the air is thin, and the cold is sharp. Many visitors experience altitude sickness. The landscape feels almost otherworldly. It looks like a desert, yet it is freezing. The plants that survive there have adapted to the harsh páramo ecosystem. Among them lives the tiny Buffy Helmetcrest hummingbird, thriving in conditions that seem impossible. When we arrived, photographers were everywhere, capturing the biodiversity that manages to flourish in such extremes. We stopped at the park entrance to take photos before continuing to the main visitor area. As we climbed higher, the temperature dropped, and the vegetation became even more fascinating. Park rangers greeted us and explained that we could walk toward the volcano at our own risk. It is still active. Alvaro and I were eager to walk for a while, but LB began feeling the effects of the altitude. Instead, we watched the visitor center’s highlight film with English subtitles and asked questions afterwards. Even without hiking far, it felt like a once-in-a-lifetime experience for me. Afterward, Alvaro had arranged for us to visit a nearby hotel known for its hot pools heated by volcanic water. We drove there for lunch and time to soak in the naturally warmed baths. The water flowed directly from the volcano, with no jets, no artificial heat — just nature. I am always cold, so slipping into those pools felt heavenly. Surrounded by foliage and small tables set for lunch, it felt peaceful and almost surreal. LB was smiling in the photos we took in the pool. Looking at them now, I see warmth in his face. At the time, I let myself believe that despite the moments of distance I had noticed, we were building something real. After lunch, we made the long drive back to Valle del Cauca and my villa. It had been a beautiful two-day adventure, and I carried with me the quiet hope that we were moving forward together.
We awoke the next morning tired from our road trip. It was LB’s birthday, and I wanted the day to be all about him. We had no plans other than to relax and enjoy the sunny weather, the mountains in the distance sparkling against a clear blue sky. His phone began lighting up with calls and messages from family and friends. I had the day off before guests were scheduled to arrive at the villa the following afternoon. We thought about going to a nearby nature park and restaurant, but it was closed, so I made lunch instead. We sat outside on my covered balcony. There was no need for constant conversation; just being there together felt easy. My dogs lingered nearby, and my cat perched on my chair, poised to jump into my lap at any moment. It felt picture-perfect — peaceful, warm, content. I was looking forward to giving him the presents I had carefully chosen, small things I believed reflected that I had been paying attention to who he was and what he liked. As a December birthday, he had once mentioned that growing up, it often blended into Christmas. I wanted this one to stand alone. There was a cake waiting, just for him. We opened a bottle of wine, and the conversation flowed. I always enjoyed when LB talked; I just wished he did it more often. My son came upstairs with a surprise — three Cuban cigars. Later, when we lit the candles on the cake, he joined us again. Everything felt light and easy.
LB was staying at more than a house — he was at a small resort wrapped in nature, something I had built with intention and years of work. I wanted him to see that. I wanted him to understand that hosting him wasn’t effortless, even if I tried to make it look that way. The thing about generosity, though, is that when it goes unnoticed, it begins to feel less like giving and more like erasing yourself. I wasn’t asking for grand gestures. Just awareness. A small acknowledgment. A simple offer. Instead, I found myself quietly adjusting — covering the extra help, planning the meals, filling the silence, smoothing the edges. I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. That this was just what you did when someone you cared about visited. But somewhere beneath the hummingbirds and mountain views, a small question had started to take root: Was I hosting a partner… or accommodating a guest? I have friends and family visiting often. I am usually very clear about the costs. I should have been with LB also. Staying at my resort is not the same as using an extra bedroom, like we do when we visit friends and family. My place is organized and needs to be run with efficiency. There is a lot that needs to be cared for all day, every single day. This is why I need someone there at all times. I cannot just up and leave on a whim. It takes careful planning. Again, LB paid the last time he visited; this time, there was no mention of any compensation.
We decided to visit another nature reserve nearby in my little town for lunch. Guests were arriving later, and the rest of LB’s stay would overlap with my Villa’s reservations. I had lost some money by closing for a few nights, so I wasn’t going to do that again. My employee was scheduled for most of the remaining days of his visit. When we got home, I made a couple of tequila-and-lemon drinks for us to enjoy by the lake. We had spent a lovely day together — just the two of us at lunch, then mingling briefly with the guests when they arrived. They were from New York City, like LB. The evening continued with a light meal, after which we went upstairs to sit and have wine. LB was getting a bit drunk — not in a bad way, just happy and relaxed. When he was in that mood, he could be incredibly charming. His laughter came easily, and for a while, it felt like we had settled into something comfortable. I suggested we watch a Netflix series I thought he might enjoy, although I had already begun to notice how rarely he seemed genuinely interested in the things I liked. We watched one episode, and just as I was starting to relax into the stillness of the night, he turned to me with sudden intensity. “Let’s get married. I’ll sign any paper you want to say I want nothing from you. Tomorrow, let’s go to town, get a license, and just do it. We can find a lawyer. I love you so much. What do you think?” He was drunk, but not sloppy — just euphoric. I was a little buzzed myself. Still, I wasn’t going to agree to marriage. Even in that softened, wine-warmed moment, he could not sway me. This wasn’t the first time he had pushed the idea so forcefully. And as he spoke, I found myself wondering whether his urgency was coming from love — or from something else entirely. I didn’t hesitate. “I’m never getting married again,” I told him calmly. “You know that.” He did know. I had been clear about it from the beginning. Marriage was not something I wanted — not now, not ever again. There was no wavering in my voice, no romantic pause to consider the fantasy of it. I meant what I said. Looking back, I sometimes wonder why the idea of marriage seemed to matter so much to him. The more firmly I stated my position, the more often he returned to it. It wasn’t romantic to me; it felt urgent. Almost as if my refusal unsettled something in him. I couldn’t understand why, if that’s what it was, love needed a contract so quickly. And I wasn’t going to bend on that boundary.
The next morning, after breakfast, we went shopping for clothes. LB wanted to buy lighter clothing that fit the tropical paradise where I live. As he picked out clothes, he casually suggested that he would leave them in my closet when he flew home. That way, he wouldn’t need to bring a suitcase next time he visited. Maybe only a backpack. His suggestion made me pause. I wasn’t ready for permanence like that. I wasn’t ready to end the relationship, but my enthusiasm was dwindling. I had told myself that being in my environment together would reveal a lot about each other. And it was. We continued shopping, and I had been noticing changes in him physically as well. When we exercised together in Bogotá, I told him how much I liked that he enjoyed exercising the way I did. Lately, I could see he had gained weight. It showed when we tried Yoga, and again that day in the fitting room mirrors. It wasn’t simply about appearance; it was about lifestyle alignment-about whether we valued the same things. Also, it occurred to me that he had brought up marriage again the night before. I didn’t know how to address the fact that he asked me to marry him when we stopped for lunch. I hoped to do it in a humorous way while still getting my point across.
As we ate, I brought up the subject of marriage when I said, “Hey, I thought we would run by city hall to check on how long it takes to get a marriage license. What do you think?” The look of surprise on LB’s face was priceless. I tilted my head couquettishly and waited. He actually smiled a real smile and then laughed. “I was just caught up in the moment last night.” Maybe he had said things like that in past relationships. Maybe other women found them romantic. I held his gaze and smiled back because my point had been made. I didn’t just let his easy dismissal slide. There was a pattern: big declarations, then easy brush-offs. I felt like he was giving me little tests to see how much I would accept.
The Saturday before he left, I had guests and wasn’t available to keep him company. He spent his time out on the balcony that had become his favorite place to sit. There were wine glasses, coffee cups, and his computer clustered around him. I was growing used to picking up after him, brushing aside my annoyance. That night, I gave him his Christmas gifts as he was leaving early on Monday. Again, like his birthday, I had planned them thoughtfully. He had nothing for me. During his entire visit, I had been making sure he was comfortable, entertained, and cared for, the way I would for a paying guest. Yet I couldn’t recall where he considered what I might need during his stay. It dawned on me that this is who he is, a person who consistently took but didn’t give.
His last day was more accommodating of what he had asked for before he visited. He wanted a BBQ. I had arranged for my dear friends to come over to meet him. These two young people are the ones I like to call my Colombian children. I adore them. They are part of my close circle of friends here in Colombia. They speak perfect English. I thought we would have a fun day of interacting and that they would get to know LB. As you can imagine, it wasn’t that way at all. LB had no interest in intermingling with Kevin and Katherine. He had asked for this BBQ! BBQs are about grilling together, socializing, talking, and sharing. It wasn’t even close to that. LB barely made an appearance, except when the table was set for lunch, after Kevin had done all of the work grilling, his girlfriend had done all of the preparing, and Adriana had done all of the effort of arranging the table on the balcony. LB joined the table, sat down, ate without saying a word to anyone, then got up and left. That was it. I was stunned. I had sprained my ankle the day before and had not been helping because I needed to rest it. I had mentioned to LB that we love to play games, and I hoped he would join in the fun. Nope, he got up and left the table. Kevin and Kathe asked me if I wanted to play Rumicube with them. I said no, and I don’t know why. I felt confused by everything about his stay, his bad manners, his indifference, and his social ineptitude. I was embarrassed. I knew if I sat there and played games, I would blurt out how upset I was by his behavior. The same as when he acted that way at the beginning of his visit, and my son joined us at dinner.
to be continued….have you ever looked back on a relationship and realized the warning signs were there all along? I’d love to hear your thoughts or experiences.
A lot of what I’ve read about this whole subject seems overblown in today’s world of hype and buzzwords. It didn’t feel manipulative to me, maybe because I realized right away it might be what people call “love bombing” when he sent me a romantic song to get my attention. I think for him, sending memes and songs was easier than talking, since his persona was definitely introverted, while I’m the chatty extrovert. Although I apparently lack the social skill known as texting etiquette, I text like I talk, too much, which I will address later in this blog. I know these social media terms get thrown around as another way we can get hurt in today’s world. People cancel each other for the most ridiculous reasons, and I always take a wait-and-see approach with anything new. He appeared in my life at a time I was ready for a diversion after focusing on my business and personal growth for many years. Anyone who has moved abroad like I did and figured out life in a foreign country has faced more than most. It has given me the kind of independence that comes from finding out everything the hard way, surviving, adjusting, learning another language, and trusting in myself. I am resilient, and my confidence is part of my personality. I know what I have accomplished, and I also know that not many people could do what I have done. Any man entering my personal space needs to know this, too. I’m always ready for something new and see life as a continuous process, but I control my life. I am not an easy target for anyone. In fact, I think anyone who has a relationship with me figures that out.
He visited Villa Migelita Ecolodge last year with a family member. We had known each other on Facebook for years, and I was curious to meet him in person. They arrived in the early morning hours after a long flight, so I made pizzas and opened some wine. The conversation was pleasant, and the views of the Valle del Cauca were as beautiful as ever. I love it when anyone from the USA sees what I take for granted. Views at night from my balconies will impress even the most jaded person. Over the week, I saw that he’s serious; in fact, I don’t recall seeing him smile much. Spending a day out with him and his cousin, he showed a lighter side, but was still kind of stuffy. I would later find out that his social skills lack warmth and effort. After a few days, they left for another part of Colombia. Occasionally, I’d get texts from him or his cousin, which is normal for guests who visit my Glamping place. One day, his cousin messaged while I was at the hospital with my son, who had a medical emergency. I replied briefly, explaining I had no time to chat. Love Bomber messaged me kindly after hearing about my son and kept in touch. My phone constantly lights up with messages, so I wouldn’t know when someone’s interested in me. Then he sent a Luther Vandross song—my favorite. That’s when he caught my attention. The songs he started sending were fun and increasingly love-oriented. I would then send back a song that was even thirstier. As we continued texting, I realized he had a repertoire; for someone I remembered as sort of boring, he seemed deliberate in his use of this technique. These gestures didn’t fit the person I recalled. I also realized later in our relationship that he doesn’t listen to music, unlike me. Did he have these songs in a PDF file, ready to use when needed?
As I look back on the initial phase of this flirtation, I realized that Love Bomber was a pro at texting, but only with songs. Then came the memes and only memes. He didn’t talk unless he called me. Then it would be me carrying the conversation, not him. If I spoke about my day, which is always filled with guests and interesting happenings, he would just look at me without engaging. If I spoke about him and his life, he would talk. I like the old-fashioned way of chatting. Let’s talk on the phone, or send real thoughts, not songs, not memes. Looking back on our text conversations, there weren’t any. I would send him a couple of short paragraphs. As I said earlier, this is not the way social media experts think is appropriate. I should have answered with a short, witty sentence, as they advised. I would receive a heart and another song or meme. I found it weird, to be honest. No real words or connection, just these silly reels and memes. Because I am who I am, I didn’t care. I accept people as they are if I like them. To me, it was all in fun. I’m perceptive, and I looked at this blatant manipulation of romance as entertainment once I realized his intent. Those big gestures were priceless; in fact, the more obvious they were, the more absurd the songs or memes I would send back. It became a game in my mind. He was writing a book, and he started sending me chapters. I am a writer, so I was interested. However, he wasn’t interested in anything I had to say unless it was about him or the book. He started calling me his muse. I didn’t mind helping him, but being his muse added some work to my day, in the form of reading and dissecting his book. Yet he could never send me a normal text. Not a “How was your day?, I know you are busy. How are the dogs?, How is your son? What is the weather like?” Nothing. As I write this on my blog now, I realize it is not normal not to ask about the other person. Maybe this is why I feel the need to share this story. I am a busy person, but I loved the attention he was giving me. I admit to that. However, if you are the type of person who really wants a love interest, I can see where this attention could draw you into a situation where you might get hurt. Make sure your expectations match reality. I know life is not a fairytale; I have been through a lot. As I always say to prospective suitors, “I never want to marry again!” and LB (love-bomber) knew that from our first, as I call it, three-day date in Bogota.
He invited me to meet in Bogota for a few days. I had to close my Glamping place down, but my son was living with me, so I could leave. I met him in Bogotá, and as soon as I walked outside of baggage claim, he was touchy-feely, taking my hand, hugging me, and kissing my cheek. I am not demonstrative at all, so it felt unnatural to me. I give warm hugs as a greeting, but prefer to leave it at that. As we drove in the Uber, he kept up the affection. I was worried. What had I done? We arrived at the hotel and had lunch on a beautiful terrace. Wine at lunch made me feel less nervous. I knew he was a normal human from his time staying at my hotel, so I began to relax. I explained I needed my phone for hotel inquiries. I felt bad because I don’t like being on my phone when with others, especially while eating. I would later learn that LB was the most phone-addicted person I had ever been around, including younger people, but he kept it in check during this trip. He needed sleep, so I caught up on reservations while he snored in the other bed in our suite at the Sheraton. I kept wondering why I left my comfort zone, especially while sharing a suite. I told myself I needed something new, which I think women talk to themselves like this when they should not. In hindsite I realize I don’t need anything new, because my life is pretty perfect. I knew it was going to be tough at night since I’m a light sleeper. I had an ex-husband who snored, and believe me, I love being single and not having snoring in my life! When he woke up, we went out to dinner and enjoyed Korean BBQ. When we returned to the hotel, I literally had no sleep that night. My thoughts were, “Why did I do this? I do not like to have my sleep disturbed. I hate it, and my thoughts while I lay awake half the night were not kind, nor ready to start anything with him. But the next morning, after I slept fitfully, he suggested going to the gym on our floor. I liked that, because fitness is important to me. He seemed to care about staying in shape, which is also a requirement for any man in my life. I did Yoga while he worked out; my unkind thoughts about my lack of sleep weren’t as bad now.
If you look up love bombing, you’ll see that people who do it avoid social interactions and focus all their attention on their objective. YOU. This does match some of what I experienced, but what I want my readers to know is that not everyone will be affected the same way. They do shower you with affection—holding your hand, putting their arms around you, being overly attentive —but LB was limited in one-on-one social skills; he really could not carry on a conversation with me. I didn’t notice this at first because I was translating for us, and to be fair, I can carry on a conversation for another person and me without a problem. I can see how someone might get caught up in the initial phase and feel over the moon from all the attention they receive, even though this attention was mostly nonverbal in my case. His behavior was over the top, but flattering, too. And I want my readers to know that love bombers usually focus on someone who is lacking something in their personal life. Maybe they’re lonely, missing companionship, or have never had a real relationship before. Maybe they want to be swept off their feet, and the love bomber comes along and does just that. I thought he must be infatuated with me, nothing more than that. I was enjoying a break from my usual routine. My life is wonderfully full, filled with what I have made for myself through lots of effort. For me, it was a vacation and nothing more. One-on-one with LB wasn’t bad, but I later realized that was the only time I enjoyed his company. A relationship has to be more than just the two of you; it has to be shared with others. He is not good with other people, not even a random smile to a passing stranger. I also found him secretive, though I couldn’t figure out why. I would ask him a question, and he was really good at deflecting. There is something strange about someone who doesn’t initiate contact with others yet overshares on Facebook. Facebook seemed to be his comfort zone. We all know that many of the posts we see on social media don’t tell the whole story. I also noticed that his Facebook friends were only connected to him; no one was connected to anyone else. For instance, I have friends I share on Facebook with over 100 other people. Looking back, I think this should be a warning to anyone. Why didn’t he share any friends with others?
We visited Monserrate in Bogota after working out together in the morning. We enjoyed some wine and beautiful views before heading out to lunch in the Candelaria district of Bogotá. He actually talked to me a bit, and when we went out to lunch, we discovered we liked similar light meals. Again, I want to add that this could be another trait of love bombing. They will mirror everything you like to make themselves more integrated into your psyche. On the second night, as we walked through a trendy part of Bogotá, I felt uncomfortable. We found a great restaurant, but there was only silence between us as we walked the streets, which is unusual for me. He didn’t seem to notice how uncomfortable I was; he kept clearing his throat, and I was worried he was getting sick. That’s when I realized he didn’t mind not making conversation, not even when the silence felt heavy. I was dressed up and felt good, but he didn’t seem to notice. Later, he’d say our trip was perfect, but I remember that night as a red flag. I loved sightseeing in Bogotá, but that dinner wasn’t fun for me. I remember it as a contemporary place, without any romance from the person who had been showering me with attention all day. On our last day, we visited the salt mines, which were fascinating. We were at the back of our group, and when a woman spoke to me in English, he didn’t engage with her. I love meeting new people. She was a Colombian living in the USA but visiting Colombia. We walked together for a little while, with LB sort of holding back. I didn’t know this was normal for him until later. We had a driver who took us to another colorful pueblo for lunch. I ordered a lot of food, tapas style. LB became cranky when his Coke didn’t show up quickly. I had to go and find out where it was. He was arrogant and a bit rude. I didn’t like that. When we both left the next morning, I thought what would happen next was up to him.
After Bogotá, he was attentive to me via text, again with the songs and memes, and asked to meet up. He sent me a round-trip ticket to the Northeast since I wanted to see the fall leaves. After a long journey from Cali, Colombia, to the NYC area, I was excited to visit my best friend in Newport, and LB drove me there and went to visit his aunt. I appreciated that he helped me reconnect with my friend. Shannon and I laughed like old times. When LB joined us, I finally realized he didn’t like being around people he didn’t know, and he seemed uninterested in being friendly to my friend. Shannon tried to get him to talk, showing him local sights like Fort Adams, and still managed to keep things light while engaging him in a one-sided conversation. Later, Shannon said she knew our relationship wouldn’t last based on our conversations; I did share what could be construed as red flags. That day, with LB and Shannon, reminded me that while moments of excitement when LB focused only on me can be welcome, staying true to myself and being honest about what I want matter most. At this point in the relationship, I was learning things about LB, and he was learning things about me. There are no hidden meanings when you allow people to be who they are. True freedom comes when the mind is not chained to outcomes. Seeing that LB was not comfortable with my best friend was a warning. Not necessarily a red flag.
After visiting Fort Adams in Newport, we had lunch by the water at The Moorings. We ordered a bottle of wine and enjoyed great seafood. With the wine, LB became a bit more outgoing, but not in a way I’d call warm. My thoughts were, “Remember, Michele, not everyone is like you and Shannon; they might not be as outgoing.” Once we said goodbye to Shannon and got back on the road, LB returned to being charming and affectionate—holding my hand, kissing me, and giving me lots of attention. I couldn’t help but wonder why he acted so differently around my friend. We drove to a hotel because he had planned a day of leaf viewing at the Rockefeller State Park Preserve. It was a long drive, and I badly wanted to put on some music, but I couldn’t because I didn’t have internet on my phone while out and about in the USA. I found it strange that he didn’t play music from his phone through the speaker. After all, we did nothing but send each other songs. I had the beautiful fall colors to look at, but something about the music bothered me. I realized it was because the night before, at the hotel, I had put music on from my tablet. We heard a song that he declared would be our song. He said this should be a wedding song. Then said, “Oh, yeah, you never want to get married again.” I didn’t say anything because I had made that clear. However, right before that, he had chastised me for interrupting him at lunch earlier. He doesn’t talk to anyone enough to actually interrupt him. He also told me he loved me that night. That was a definite chaotic turn of events in my mind. I couldn’t keep up with the topsy-turvy way his mind worked. I also was dreading going to sleep and hearing him snore. I put in the earplugs I brought.
When we arrived at the park, the weather was perfect. A cloudless day awaited us, with the leaves all changing colors. I couldn’t have been more content. I had come to see the beautiful fall colors, and he had delivered them to me perfectly. We wandered the park, holding hands, and I lost the unease I sometimes felt around him. We were both quiet in a good way and stopped to have a small snack while sitting in the woods. As a glamper all of my adult life, I could not have had a more perfect morning. Nature parks are my forte. The scenery itself was like the joy I always take in when I am at my own place in Colombia. Small pleasures are how I live in the present at all times. I took in the colors, the clear skies, and the sounds of children laughing. I love being stimulated by my surroundings. We had sandwiches waiting for us in the car for our ride back later. We were going to spend the night in New York City. I could not have been happier. I had not been to the city in years. I found I had no appetite and was starting to get a headache. We arrived at the hotel in the late afternoon, right under the Brooklyn Bridge. I had to lie down immediately because the headache was horrible. I felt nauseous. I wanted to feel better so I could go out in the city that night. After rest and a Tylenol, I forced myself to get going, but it was very hard. The cold air really helped. When we left the hotel, the young hotel receptionist looked at me and remarked on how cute I looked. It was another curious moment for me because, just like in Bogotá, LB seemed not to like the attention I got when we went out; he never remarked on my looks or my style. I have always attracted attention because I have always dressed with flair. Everything I have read about love bombing is based on how they want to be the ones who give you all the attention you need, so you crave it and look to them for that dopamine hit.
That night in Brooklyn, looking across the Hudson River at the skyscrapers of New York City brought back memories of layovers from my past as a flight attendant. The weather was cold, but not overly so. It was helping me to feel better. We found a crowded, popular restaurant and were given a quiet spot in the back, since the only table was near a door. I loved that too, because whenever the cold air entered, I felt better. I didn’t know why I felt so off, but I did. After dinner, we walked around and then drove through some areas from LB’s past growing up in Brooklyn. It is so interesting how times change neighborhoods, and they become so swank when they were once the projects. LB was the most talkative I had ever seen him be. He loved showing me where he grew up and places from his past that were now restaurants or fancy buildings that had once been liquor stores with apartments on the top floors. For me, it was wonderful being in the city. I couldn’t wait to go out the next day and experience more. Back at the hotel, I fell asleep quickly with hopes that whatever was bothering me would leave by the next day. When I awoke the next morning, I felt better. After breakfast, we were off to see the One World Observatory. I had always wanted to see this towering structure built after the tragedy of 9/11. As a retired flight attendant, I felt a close connection to that day. It was, to me, the best way to end my vacation in the United States. I felt a quiet synchronicity inside my soul, visiting this sacred site, which represented so many who died that day. We had lunch at the very top, overlooking the breathtaking views of New York City. I could almost hear the song New York, New York playing in my mind. We ended this wonderful day at a bar in SoHo, drinking Tequila with an old college friend of LB’s. I was completely over whatever caused my headache. The next day, I had an early flight home to Colombia. After I arrived home, Shannon called and said she had COVID. I wasn’t sick at all, but we figured I must have been the one to give it to her. She came down with it on my last Sunday in New York City, and I must have had COVID when I had that headache on the Saturday before. I had a test, so I took it, and sure enough, I tested positive. I had never had COVID that I know of, so I isolated. I called LB and told him to test. He said, ” No need, I have no symptoms.” I didn’t either, but still, you can spread it to others; he didn’t seem to care. Wow, a big red flag waved in front of my eyes. Who goes out and spreads COVID?
I won’t lie, a long-distance relationship takes work. We didn’t have plans to see each other until LB came to Colombia in December. That would be more than a month of texts and calls. Since he had made it clear to me that he was in love, I knew we would have to stay in regular touch to keep that energy going. I told him I loved him, but I wasn’t sure. I wanted to be in love; I liked the romance of it. But, did I really love him? The memes and songs can only go so far. We would talk on the phone occasionally. As I look back on that month by reading my WhatsApp, it was just more of the same. Love songs, back-and-forth, memes, and then one day he didn’t contact me. I had never spent time with LB outside of these vacations. To think he was in love with me and I with him seemed premature to me. I knew the only way to tell was for him to come back to Colombia and see how he was day to day with other people around him. I wouldn’t be with him all the time; I would be taking care of my business, and we were entering the busiest time of the year for the tourist industry. I was already booked into January, and it was only November. I remember the date because it was the day before Veterans’ Day. I had noticed his texts were falling off, maybe mine were too, but I tried. He hearted something I sent, then nothing for almost two days. Being me, I didn’t send anything else. I know it was Veterans’ Day, and I should have said something to him because he was a Veteran, but I knew he was not contacting me deliberately. That man was always on his phone. He never put it down. So I ignored him, too. This is the way I look at these things. I do not have time for nonsense. I am too busy in my life to play stupid games with anyone. I was tired of not talking on the phone like regular people. He posted a Photoshop image of himself on Facebook as a much younger, handsome version, and he received accolades all day from friends. If you have time to post, you have time to say hi to me.
After that long period, he called me. He asked me what was wrong. I said I was wondering the same. I explained that as the owner of a successful business, I don’t have time for bullshit games. I make time for him, and he should make time for me if he really wants this relationship to work. It wasn’t the longest nor friendliest call. He said he would have to think about it. I was fine with that, because why waste each other’s time? The next day, he called me and said he wanted to make it work and would make an effort to stay in touch every day. Finally, he would call me once a day, and there weren’t as many memes doing the talking for him. The only thing is, the calls always had to revolve around him, his day, his book, his work, him, him, him. Any time I brought up anything related to my work, it was quickly brushed aside. If I called him, he would say I have to call back at his convenience, after he ate or whatever. Meanwhile, I was running my hotel and would take his calls when I was eating or working. Again, I guess this isn’t the etiquette required in this social media age, but I am not like that. I am who I am; I don’t go by any rules except my own rules of life that I live by. In the back of my mind, I wondered what it would be like when he arrived in December, and I had guests. I chatted with my brother from another mother and told him what was going on. He, of course, scolded me: “Michele, look at what you have done! You moved to another country and opened a hotel, and speak another language. Don’t let some random man make you think of moving, marrying, or changing one thing you have accomplished!” I knew that was true, and sometimes LB would send memes about getting married. I would always say, “Now you know I never want to get married.” I never waivered on that. Also, LB was a divorce attorney! He would know better than anyone about why I was turned off to marriage, after two failed ones in my life.
He arrived in December, after almost 1.5 months apart. I knew this relationship wasn’t going to succeed if we always had to wait that long to see each other. One can only take so much of these memes. At least when I was with him, there was a break from that. Also, there was too much about him that I didn’t know. Sometimes I would try to get him to open up about his past, but crickets. I, well, all I do is share about my past. I am an open book; I have had this blog for years now. We both agreed not to publicize anything about our relationship on social media. I have to be honest: his chat style, filled with romantic references from songs and reels, was too smooth not to think there might be someone else. I was already thinking I might not want to keep this going, but I would be honest about it. With him, I wasn’t so sure. Especially after he arrived. A few days in, and my thoughts were, what does he do with his life when he is in the States? That phone was always in his hand with a headphone in his ear. He was messy, which I didn’t really notice when we were traveling because we were staying in hotels, not my clean glamping place, which he was treating like a hotel on the road. I would get up between 5:30 and 6:00 am, and he would be sleeping. But then he would expect breakfast to be served to him, all meals while he was here, unless we went out. He never washed one dish, picked up his clothes, and threw wet towels on the bed. He barely acknowledged Adriana, my employee, but expected her to wait on him and do his laundry. My son was here, and he barely spoke to him. He spent most of his time in my Suite or on the balcony adjacent to my room. Of course, that phone was attached to him as if it were part of his body. He complained that I would sit with him for a while, then jump up and go do something, leaving him alone. I don’t care whether I am in a relationship or not; I am not responsible for entertaining someone by being with them constantly. This, to me, an independent woman, is absolutely horrifying. Then we went out to dinner on the first Saturday after his arrival, and I knew that this wasn’t going to work even if I wasn’t ready to admit it to myself.
We had plans to go on a two-day road trip to Nevada del Ruiz the next day. One of Colombia’s most biodiverse areas. I was able to go because my son was going to run my place for me. LB had only been here for a couple of days, and I was already feeling exhausted from running my hotel and taking care of him. We made plans to go out to dinner. I invited my son to join us, but he declined. I drove us down the mountain to this popular restaurant in La Buitrera. This restaurant has beautiful aesthetics but really bland food. They serve a good cocktail, though. I ordered a blue margarita, and LB ordered a mojito. We placed an order for food, and my son showed up to say hi. I was so pleased because I knew he had come by for me. LB said hi, while my son tried to engage him in conversation. I thought, let’s see how this goes. I love my son more than anyone in this world. He is my number one person, my love, my defender of everything. I can assure you he didn’t want to be with us. I had seen how LB had been so withdrawn, with no interaction, in the two days he had been here. When I say I was shocked, I mean it politely. LB put on his headphones and listened to whatever he was listening to while my son tried to engage him in conversation. I tapped LB and said, ” Take your headphones out.” CJ tried to talk to him about football, anything, it didn’t matter, LB mumbled answers. So CJ and I talked. LB put his headphones back in, and I realized that this was f**ked up. CJ hurried through his meal and said goodbye, and off he went. LB took the headphones out when he left. We ordered another cocktail. LB chatted away with me like he hadn’t been the rudest person ever. We left to buy some wine for the week in another shopping area, and LB got mean to me. He made fun of me for having blue lips from the cocktail I had been drinking. All I could think was he never says how nice I look, but he sure loved saying I had blue lips. To think I had ten more days with him. When we returned home, I found my son and apologized.
To be continued……..
Have you ever experienced something that felt like love bombing, or wondered later if it might have been? If you’re comfortable sharing, I’d love to hear your story or thoughts in the comments.
Let’s face it, life is an ebb and flow. We lose relationships and gain new ones. We look through photo albums and remember how certain people were so important in our lives, yet now we have no contact with them. Doesn’t it make you sad? Of course, for some, we look for them on social media, find them, and reconnect. Others, we sigh and say Oh well, what fun it was when we were friends. For me, I totally changed my life. I left and moved to Colombia after my daughter died and found a new beginning. Some friends didn’t like that I left my son with his father, and found me to be a bad mother. To be honest, it hurt me because some of the people I respected were among them. But I do not live my life for other people’s opinions, nor for what society deems correct. I live for what makes me healthy and whole. What I did may have seemed hurtful at first, but it turned out to be a wonderful thing for my son later, when he needed to live with me here in Colombia and heal. You know, as I have said many times, the death of a child is devastating in ways no one can understand. Only those who have experienced it firsthand can comprehend. I myself have been healing for almost 15 years since she died. I think perhaps I am healed. But then, the New Year is upon us, and it will be another death anniversary where I remember her death as if it just happened. With that acknowledgement, I go to the subject at hand. What relationships have a positive impact on me?
Anyone who is authentically independent. My daughter was that way, I am that way; anyone who is focused on their own path, standing by their own choices, even when they are unpopular, is alright with me. How can we be happy in life if we live to only please others? When we decide to change to please others, we start giving away pieces of ourselves. No one should do that. As my mother always told me, “Be original, not a carbon copy!” I honor her words every single day, because anyone who knows me knows that I am who I am…good or bad, you will have an opinion of me.
I like people who are culturally aware. Those who have a need to look outside of what their world is and try to understand that others live differently. I appreciate the people around me who are intelligent enough to look beyond their own lives and realize there are other perspectives in this great big world. I live that way, so I can comment on it honestly. I am a foreigner in Colombia, which has given me more cultural awareness than I could glean from any book, fiction or nonfiction. I am so grateful I have experienced everything that I have while living here in Colombia. Some things are not so good, and some experiences are so amazing that I will die and relive them on my deathbed.
My relationships are genuine, honest, and real. I love relatable human beings. Engaging people are interesting, they laugh, they uplift others, and joy is part of their daily life. They show gratitude in life. They try not to be complainers. I chose not to complain when the worst happened to me. I still live that way. I try to wake up smiling, and it has gotten easier over the years, living in the little paradise I have created. I can speak Spanish; I am loved, and I am bold. Be bold, people! Unfortunately, today’s world is not for the meek. It is not what happens to you but how you react to it, good or bad. As I enter a New Year, I have realized that the only person who controls me is me. Those who are in my inner circle know I never stop, I cannot sit still for long because I am constantly moving. Why? I don’t know, but it is who I am, maybe it is the past trauma I experienced, and when I do relax, it is with a glass of wine. Who would ever think I would change my life so drastically, and that it would turn out okay? But it did. After almost fifteen years in Colombia, I am still finding myself, but in a good way. I wish the same for all of you!
I have nothing I want to do less of or perhaps to a smaller extent. I have spent this entire year changing some of my habits, and it has worked for me. Everything I do has a purpose, and this year was significant for me. Last year on New Year’s Day, I made a few promises to myself, and I have kept them. I have found myself enjoying my day-to-day activities even more lately, and I think it is because I made these minor adjustments in my life. Obviously, there are many things I could improve, such as writing more in my blog.
I have stopped watching American news channels on YouTube. It has been so liberating. I no longer spend my days feeling anxious about things I cannot control. I do read the news and allow myself one time a day to catch up, but only for a short time. What a difference it has made. I have started listening to podcasts that are not political or my favorite music. I also love audiobooks. Did you know that many are available on YouTube for free? I recommend you look up the title of a book you might like and see if it pops up for you. I walk around my place all day, filling hummingbird feeders and putting out bananas for the birds, and it really helps when I am enjoying listening to something I like. Maybe it will help some of you to do the same, and you can find yourselves accomplishing more in your life with just a slight change.
I have stopped worrying about things I cannot control in others. I recommend this to everyone. Have you heard of the Let Them Theory by Mel Robbins? You can find it on YouTube. Go have a listen to her podcast. It will make all the difference in your life. It allows you to let go of control over others. Let’s face it, we all want to get involved in many things that we see happening in the lives of people we care about. Usually, we do. Just stop it! Let them do what they want, because once you give them all the control, you free yourself of the stress. Let them do what they want; it is freeing to you. There are so many ways to do this and get your peace back. It isn’t that hard if you can stick to it. Of course, this doesn’t mean you have to be a doormat, but this really doesn’t involve you personally. Let them help you let go of your need to control others! It is really an excellent tool. Someone tries to pick a fight with you, let them, just stay silent and let it go. You go to park your car, and someone takes your space, let them, go find another. Your child isn’t cleaning their room and has dirty clothes. Let them; they will have to figure out how to put the clothes in the laundry. The list is endless. Why waste your inner peace over little things, and sometimes big things too. Remember, you should always come first in your life. That doesn’t mean being selfish; it means putting yourself first for your happiness.
I made a promise to myself to post less on social media. It can help with daily time management. Actually, it is almost like the time before we had to have a phone in our hands all the time. I do have my phone with me for business, as I am constantly contacted by people making reservations. I still love posting in my stories on social media, but only if it is something fun and cheery or related to my Glamping business. I sometimes miss things my friends post, which is the only downside of posting less. However, as I tell everyone, you can always contact me on WhatsApp, and we can catch up by chatting or by phone; it is free for those who don’t have the app. Here in Colombia, we all use WhatsApp!
My only bad habit, which I don’t think is so bad, is wine, and I have cut down on it. But as long as my doctor doesn’t admonish me, I will be drinking my favorite beverage. As always, I try to be kind, and so should everyone in their daily life. Kindness is never overrated, and you can tie it in with the let them theory mentioned above. It is always easier to stay silent when you want to say something that will hurt another. You never need to be less compassionate or caring in the world we live in. I always incorporate a smile and courteous words into my daily life, whether I am greeting my hotel guests or running errands. I try to smile at anyone who makes eye contact with me. Remember, you can be the reason someone has a good day. Some people don’t have any reason to smile, and you might change their day.
I am sorry I have neglected my blog this year, and perhaps I should have done more of them. I know many of you look forward to my blogs I will have another one out for New Year’s 2026 to tell you all about 2025 and the good things that happened in my life. This blog is more of a catch-up for those who have missed my musings. My business is still number one in Palmira, Colombia, my hummingbirds are still thriving in my nature reserve, and I, well, I am in a perfect place in my life. Love is all around me, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Merry Christmas to all who celebrate. May you all be blessed with health, happiness, and love in the coming year.
If you could have something named after you, what would it be?
As many who follow my blog know, I already have something named after me: my Villa in Colombia. I came here and bought a tiny little house on a 2-acre property. I called it Villa Migelita. It then evolved into a 4-story home. The day I looked at it, I knew it was my future home. I have never regretted a second of living here. Well, maybe once, when I moved in, a bunch of worms descended on the ground floor. That freaked me out, but they left, and I have never seen them since. I also know the history surrounding the original owner as the granddaughter visited me here. A loving family lived here and built the original small structure.
You might ask why Migelita? When I took Spanish in grammar school, the teacher couldn’t come up with an exact Spanish name for Michele. She decided Miguelita would have to do it, as Miguel is Michael in Spanish. I took artistic license when naming my place and removed the U because it looks elegant and more simplistic. Now that I have my glamping place, I get many questions about how I came up with the name Migelita. I tell my story about removing the U to everyone. I have found out since I started speaking Spanish that Spanish is very grammar-oriented, and no one who speaks Spanish understands why I left out a vowel. I like it, so that is all that matters.
I don’t want anything else named after me because, hopefully, my Villa will stay as it is, and my son will continue living here long after I am gone. Properties like this stay in the family in Colombia. Now that I am becoming a Colombian citizen, I like the thought of following that tradition. I also like the idea of my son having somewhere to live outside of the United States. Once I gain my citizenship, he can work on getting his. Maybe he will continue my small business, or perhaps he won’t, but I know he will leave the name of Villa Migelita.
In Colombia, all country homes are given a name. We do have an address, but it isn’t used. If I am going somewhere, even when traveling, the place’s name is always given along with the location on Google Maps. The address is standard in the city, like anywhere else with numbers. I don’t even get mail here at Villa Migelita Ecolodge. I use my hairdresser’s address for anything I have shipped here. He is in the city. It took me a while to get used to this, but the way of the world is online now, so I don’t need mail for much of anything.
Who would have thought it would become a brand when I named my place years ago? It is well known in my area of Colombia, even if the spelling is not precisely Spanish correct. It looks good when a princess gets a photo shoot done here, and it looks perfect when I think that 14 years ago, I had just moved to Colombia and had no idea where life was taking me.
When I bought my Villa, it was named La Casa Blanca (The White House). I am pleased with my name, and I hope that in many years to come, people will talk about the gringa who moved to the Colombian countryside and bought a home, which she made into a legacy property that will survive and thrive for generations to come.
