When the shaking finally stopped, I was almost more frightened than I had been during the earthquake itself. I stood there, trying to process what had just happened. I knew there could be aftershocks, but I had no idea what I was supposed to do next.
The electricity was out. I had no internet. And outside, my pueblo was strangely silent.
Still.
Too still.
I needed shoes, so I entered the Villa. The scene inside was the first indication of just how violent the shaking had been. Paintings were scattered across the floor. The kitchen glasses had shattered, leaving shards of glass everywhere. I went upstairs, found my shoes, and began checking every floor of the house.
Things had fallen everywhere.
In my office, picture frames had crashed to the floor, along with more broken glass. I put the dogs out on the patio and closed the doors leading outside. Then I found a broom and began sweeping.
It felt absurdly ordinary.
There I was, standing in the aftermath of an earthquake, sweeping broken glass off the floor because I was worried my dogs might cut their paws.
Then I checked the Cristal House cabin. Shattered windows. More glass.
The wooden Adventura Treehouse cabin was still standing, although items had fallen onto the bed and floor. The suspended bridge needed bolts because the vertical tubes were hanging at an odd angle. The stables looked fine, but one end of the roof sagged.
At least everything was still standing.
My front gate was locked, and Yesid, my employee, had arrived almost immediately. But I was in shock. I hadn’t even thought to unlock the gate.
He could see from outside that my house was still standing. He could see Cristal House, too. He knew I was alright.
I wanted to go out and find out what was happening, but another thought stopped me. What if I got stuck on the road? What if trees had fallen? What if the road was blocked?
So I stayed. And I waited. With no electricity and no internet, I had no idea how bad the earthquake actually was. I had no way of knowing what was happening beyond my little corner of the pueblo.
I didn’t know that Colombia had made news around the world. I had no idea many people were trying to contact me. I didn’t know yet how badly Cali and other parts of Colombia had been affected. I would find out later. All I could do was wait and hope the electricity would return and, with that, my internet.
Those two minutes turned into a long day without information. I didn’t go to my neighbors because my knee, which needed surgery, kept me from walking long distances. I didn’t want to drive anywhere because I didn’t know the road conditions.
My family and friends knew more than I did! I was desperate to know what was going on.
Yesid came by after lunch and gave me a lot of information. He had a radio and was listening to earthquake notices. I finally found out it was a magnitude 7.4, and at my Villa it lasted over 2 minutes. At the time, it felt like an eternity. I now knew many people were worried about me. I could do nothing but wait.
I had damage, but my Villa and cabins were still standing. I realized how blessed I was to have made it through such a strong Earthquake with repairable damage, and, most importantly, to be okay.
When the electricity returned, my phone was blowing up with messages. I answered everyone I could. I told them I was alive with only minor damage at the Villa.
But I wasn’t fine. I was traumatized, and it has only gotten worse since the Earthquake happened. I started thinking about the year I’ve had and the weather events that had occurred.
I had damage from the first two storms, and now I have more damage. My neighbor’s trees fell on my fence, and they haven’t fixed it even though it is their fault. I have lost a friendship over that. I know that if I had damaged someone’s property, I would take care of it.
Then the earthquake caused more damage to what had already been repaired from those first two storms. It also damaged my bridge and the roof of my stables. I need to file another property damage claim with my insurance.
Many of you have written to me because you saw my posts on my social media sites where I put my place up for sale. The damage, the shortage of good workers, and being alone when these weather events hit helped me decide to downsize.
I want to thank each and every one of you who have contacted me. I am the same old me. I know this place is unique and beautiful. I have created a paradise, and I am very proud of that. A wonderful couple from Colombia is taking care of my listing.
The story of how I found them makes me sure they are the perfect team for my needs. I knew that night after the Earthquake, I wanted to sell. I spoke with my cousin, an excellent realtor in West Palm Beach, and she found this couple for me in one day. Not only did she find them, but when she spoke to them, they were at the airport on the way to Cali, Colombia! I met with them the 4 days after the Earthquake.
I believe in manifestation: it happens when you want something and work to make it happen. When those first storms hit at the beginning of the year, it occurred to me that I should sell. It has been on my mind all year.
So now, I have started the process. I don’t need to do much but let my realtors take over. I have done all the work in the last 15 years. My place is well-known; I believe it will sell itself.
I know that selling might not happen fast, although from all the people contacting me, you would think I had already sold my place. In Colombia, nothing happens quickly. In the meantime, I have made a few changes to my business.
I am now offering long-term stays here. If you or anyone you know wants to come visit, I have a very affordable monthly stay PDF with my rates in Colombian pesos. You can stay in Colombia up to six months without a Visa.
If you enjoy your time here, there are many ways to get a Visa, especially a pension Visa. I would love to host a few senior women in my Villa and make a small community, but anyone is welcome. If you know anyone looking for a change, it would be a perfect place to start. After all, I’ve made changes in my life several times. It has always worked out well for me.
This newsletter is about finding paradise in ordinary moments. I don’t write about extraordinary things. I write about noticing ordinary things that most people rush past. When people arrive at Villa Migelita, many of them eventually take off their shoes. They don’t do it because there’s a sign. They do it because something shifts. They relax. They slow down. They feel at home. And they walk barefoot in the grass.
There’s something about the people who stay here. By the second day, many are walking barefoot. No one tells them to.
It just happens.
Maybe it’s the grass. Maybe it’s the mountain air. Maybe it’s because, for a little while, they stop worrying about looking polished and start feeling present.
I think that’s what paradise is. Not luxury. Not perfection. Just the freedom to kick off your shoes. I’ve realized I’ve become a little barefoot too. Not just in my shoes, but in the way I live. Less rushing. Less proving. More noticing.
.
Nature always has a way of bringing balance to our lives.
Lately, I’ve been adopted by not one, but two Western Emerald hummingbirds.
One lives at the feeders outside my suite, and the other has claimed the feeders in the social area. If I’m not quick enough filling them, they don’t hesitate to remind me. They follow me to the kitchen, trail me down the stairs, and sometimes buzz around my head like tiny Fourth of July sparklers.
This isn’t the first time.
A few years ago, I had a little Western Emerald I named Magic. He lived here for nearly three years. Every time I drove home, he somehow knew I had arrived. I’d open the truck door, and there he’d be, waiting to greet me. We had our own little routine.
When Magic stopped coming, I missed him more than I expected. It’s funny how attached you can become to something so small.
Now, these two little emeralds have taken over the job. They greet me every day, chatter at me when breakfast is late, and yes… I talk to them.
How can I not when they make sure I know I am not fast enough to fill their feeder?
Here in the mountains of Colombia, I’ve learned that nature has its own language. Sometimes all you have to do is slow down long enough to hear it.
I’ve written before about how different homes are here in the Colombian countryside. Most of us don’t have air conditioning or central heat. Instead, we live with our doors open to the balconies, inviting the breeze to wander through. City life may be a little different, but not by much.
Living this way means accepting that nature doesn’t stop at your front door. A bee might buzz through the kitchen. A hummingbird may accidentally find its way inside. A giant grasshopper—considered good luck here—might appear on the wall. Every now and then, I’ll spot a witch moth quietly resting in a corner. And yes, the downstairs bathroom occasionally has a tiny toad tucked behind the door.
It isn’t unusual. It’s simply part of life.
The Witch Moth
There is no darkness at my house. Only light, glorious light.
Sometimes a butterfly will land on my hand
Every morning, sunlight pours through the open windows, and I wake to the warmth of a new day. The breeze wanders through the hallway and across the balconies. It’s impossible not to feel connected to the world outside.
I believe there is something deeply healing about living this way.
We spend so much of our lives trying to separate from nature, when perhaps we were meant to be part of it all along.
My guests seem to understand that. They don’t complain about the occasional visitor with wings or long legs. In fact, many embrace it. I’ve watched couples head out after sunset with flashlights in hand, eager to discover what comes alive after dark. They’re not looking for luxury; they’re looking for an experience.
Paradise isn’t perfect. It chirps, hops, buzzes, croaks, and sometimes flies right through your front door.
And somehow, that makes it feel even more like home.
You know what surprised me this week? Reading about the “simple” trend.
Apparently, I’ve been living it for years.
Everything here is simple. My life isn’t perfect, but it is peaceful. I still have problems. We all do. The difference is that I have a place that reminds me to slow down long enough to figure them out.
Maybe that’s what paradise has been trying to teach me all along.
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.
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.
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!
This is a short excerpt of the book that I am writing about my life and adventures. My book will include using my skills as a flight attendant to open an Ecolodge in the Andes Mountains of Colombia. I have never thought of myself as an entrepreneur. I worked for Delta since I was 20 years old until I retired in August of 2008. I was given the best training to open and own a business in the tourist industry. I will expand on the stories and memories I have shared with many more tales in my upcoming book which I am actively working on. I am still working on a title of my book. However, I often think of calling it “Two Empty Seats” because I have been to hell and back since my daughter was murdered in 2010.
Original DC-8 Chairs from Delta Air Lines
At no time would I think I would find pieces of my past in Colombia. They are in a Museo Aereo Fenix . I visited this museum and saw silverware, cards, uniforms and more from Delta Air Lines. This museum left such a lasting impression on me, along with my 30 plus years as a flight attendant for Delta Air Lines, I decided on a name for my book after visiting and spending hours checking out the museum. I realized I have had a very interesting life, which will include my time as a flight attendant for the best airline in the world, Delta. I grew up with Delta. I am sharing a blog that I wrote as a guest writer for another blogger below. I hope you will enjoy. It will only be one chapter in a book that will include more than just my time as a flight attendant.
Flight Attendant Living
As a retired flight attendant I look back on memories of my life as a hostess in the sky with fondness. I was hired at the age of 19, by Delta Air Lines, then I started training when I was 20 years old. The year was 1978, and air travel was still elegant and the job was considered glamorous. I had always wanted to be a flight attendant since I read the book, “Coffee, Tea, or Me,”when I was quite young. I took a trip to Europe with my elementary school and I was quite fascinated with the stewardesses who were all so pretty and elegant. I remember the plane ride like it was yesterday. I really wanted to travel the world like they did.
In 1978, the interviews were held at the corporate offices of Delta in Atlanta, Georgia. I was sent a ticket to Atlanta and really had no idea what the dress code was nor what was expected of me. I was very fortunate to get an interview and it is still very difficult to get hired by Delta Air Lines. I arrived at the interview with a dress I found to be quite pretty. It was brown, with a Chinese style jacket, and a delicate embroidery. I had on 5 inch heels that matched my dress. I walked into the waiting area and 40 other people (mostly women in those days) turned and looked at me with surprise. They all had on the same clothing style: a plain navy suit, including the men. I was a little intimidated by that. I have always been my own person, so I felt I could do well by standing out as a unique individual. I met with the first interviewer and she immediately brought up my outfit! I explained I was a disco dancer and this is how we dressed when dancing. That was the only style I knew. I was hired and my nickname in training was “Disco.”
After graduation from training, a group of us were put in the Atlanta base, although we did have a base in Miami. We all rented in the same place that was close to the airport and we waited to be called for work since we were on reserve.
Seriously, look at the place we graduated at. An RV in the background. A Gas Station, times have changed since this photo was taken!
We carried a “beeper” when we were not near a phone. We had to always have a bag packed for trips and be ready at all times for our job. It definitely took getting use to. I remember my first flights as hectic, but I have always been a quick learner. I worked very hard to do my best.
I became proficient quickly, and even was made flight leader rapidly. I received a base transfer to Miami and was again living with a group of flight attendants who rented at the same apartment complex in Kendall, Florida. One of those flight attendants was in the famous crash of the Air Florida Flight 90 that hit a bridge during a snow storm leaving Washington National Airport. Her name is Kelly Duncan and we were friends, her father was a captain at Delta. Kelly survived, and I will always remember watching her on television being lifted out of that icy water still in her flight service smock. We were all so young and didn’t look at our job as scary. This changed all of us at our apartment complex. We realized we were not just in this job for fun and travel, we were there for safety more than anything else.
I was the youngest in my class and at my base in Miami; however, I acquired seniority quickly. Many hired after me would stay on reserve for years, but I held a “line”as it was called back then in my 6th month of flying. I held really awful routes, but I knew my schedule. I always ended up with New York City layovers, and I was the A line quite often, which id what the flight leader was called in 1978. One time I was on the DC ‘stretch 8’ as the A line flying home to Miami from La Guardia airport and the engines caught fire as we started taking off. The was aborted immediately. I was only 21 years old. I did as I had been taught for emergencies and spoke with the Captain immediately. He said have everyone remain seated. I walked back through the cabin and looked out the windows and saw we were surrounded by fire trucks. Then we were towed back to the airport. The passengers were taking photos, and they didn’t panic. However, they did complain a lot about the delay. We changed airplanes and made it back to Miami that night. I think when this happened, I really grew up and into my job. To this day, I don’t panic when there is a situation that requires attention or there is an emergency.
Many people think of flight attendants as waitresses in the skies, but nothing could be further from the truth. As I continued on with my life as a flight attendant, I remained based in Miami and Delta had opened a base in Ft. Lauderdale. I moved to Ft. Lauderdale because this where I grew up and I had many friends. We often buddy bid together, and swapped trips to fly with each other, or to change our schedules. Then the unthinkable happened. Flight 191 from Ft. Lauderdale to Dallas, crashed with all of my friends working that flight. This crash resulted in the longest aviation trial in history and many movies, documentaries, news articles were written about this horrific crash. To this day, I am friends with many of the same people and we always recognize this anniversary on social media. The friends we lost impacted all of us greatly. We were all changed forever by the loss of our friends. Three of our co-workers survived. I am friends with one of them. A lovely courageous soul who wasn’t injured, but had to watch fireballs flying by and see others dying. She was one of the last to leave the tail section that had broken away from the other part of the Lockheed L-1011 aircraft. She had to get help to get another survivor from he plane. We all had done this trip before. They should have ended up in Los Angeles International Airport, a favorite layover spot for all of us at the time. I was in Dallas on a layover when this crash happened. I remember taking off and flying over the debris of the crash. It was there for a long time. When I arrived home I had a voice message on my voice recorder from Diane Johnson, a flight attendant killed in the crash. It haunts me to this day.
Many wonder what life is like for a flight attendant. What we do on layovers, how hard is the job, do we mind going away from our families, what is it like for boarding and deplaning, our work rules and more. As I continued with my career, times changed and so did my job. I was able to hold nice layovers, and as usual, I flew with my fiends. The job is not easy. We have to board and set up the plane before the passengers enter and wait until the last passenger leaves before we either go on to another flight or a layover. I flew domestic for most of my career and LAX layovers were always the best to have. We would always have celebrities on our flights back in those days. I had so many bands, singers, politicians, sports-players announcers, actors, a prince and even a President. Richard Nixon flew on my plane, and I have an autographed personal card from him. Prince Albert of Monaco was another guest in first class. He did like to flirt and he did with me when I served him. Most celebrities are really nice, but I had Coretta Scott King on my flight and she would not even speak with me or order her own food or beverages, but her bodyguard gave me an autographed pamphlet. Huey Lewis is one of my favorites and he spent most of his flight in the galley chatting with us flight attendants. I had Bill Gates and he was super humble and nice also. You just never knew who would be showing up on any flight, but as progress took over , we would get manifests that would show who the first class passengers were and we would know beforehand sometimes. Joan Rivers was a hoot, and she was so tiny. I remember her eyes watered the entire flight like she had just had surgery on them. Sometimes a famous person would give us tickets to shows or invite us out.
What do we do on layovers? If it is short, we sleep. If it is long, we go out and have fun. I flew International during my final years and we had to set an alarm when we would arrive because we flew all night. Two hours was the limit we would sleep and then we would meet and do fun things, I have seen a lot of the world. Rome is a favorite, any layover in South America is always fun. I have ended up living in Colombia as an expat because I enjoyed my time spent in Guatemala, Buenos Aires, Chile, and Peru. Because of my training customer service, I have opened an Ecolodge in Colombia for those who enjoy nature and adventure. Paris is a lovely city that I never tire of, so is Dublin, Ireland. Ireland just opened an embassy in Colombia! Who could get tired of traveling to other countries? I enjoyed many fun layovers in Germany also. My favorite domestic layovers were California, Arizona, NYC, Boston, Seattle,and Savannah, GA. However, there were always fun things to do everywhere, if we had enough time. I loved my San Diego layovers, many times I would go with fellow flight attendants to visit Tijuana, Mexico. One time we rented horses and rode on the beach in California. The only problem was our horses were untrained and went crazy on us. They took off riding in the direction of Mexico. Picture this, people sunbathing and seeing 4 horses out of control running on the beach, all the people were running away, or entering the water! I was holding on with my hands, thinking I am going to fall off! I had ridden horses since I was really young, this was something I have never experienced since. I will never forget the loudspeaker “GO BACK YOU ARE ENTERING MEXICO!” and all of the people running into the ocean just like a real movie scene. I still can’t believe we weren’t arrested. I finally got control of my horse and we all turned back and entered United States soil again. But the horses were sweating and horribly upset. One horse escaped. So we had three horses and 4 of us. We tried to get two of us on the same horse but that didn’t work. Slowly we started back, and all of a sudden an all terrain vehicle came up and took our friend with them. We returned all the horses, the one that escaped was already back and we drove our rental car to the hotel. Just one adventure of many in my 30 years of flying. A memorable one for sure.
My last day of flying
As I grew older, I found my patience was thin for the demanding passengers that seemed to feel that with their tickets they bought the airplane and the crew. Cellphones and computers were always on even when people were told to turn them off. People wouldn’t follow instructions when there was turbulence, and the days became longer. Delta could keep us on duty for over 16 hours if they called irregular operations. This is a part of the job passengers have no idea. There were many times all I had to eat were the snacks offered to the passengers. I did take a bag of food with me all the time, and it isn’t easy to pack an entire food bag for a 3 day trip. When the terror attack of 9/11 happened, everything changed. The fun camaraderie enjoyed by flight crews of all bases ended. We became like soldiers in the sky. We were often told in our yearly training classes for updated security and safety, to look for the danger that now is a part of our job experience. It was still fun to get together with others on layovers, but the job was one of intense briefings before flights, and many flight attendants took it too far. I can say I have lost friends over their actions on the plane towards their co-workers. People who fly often don’t realize we are not paid during boarding. We are paid when the door closes, and the pay stops when the boarding door opens. The boarding process is the most stressful part of our job. They became mini dictators, and I didn’t like it. As flight attendants, we are the boss of ourselves in the air. The flight leader gave the briefings, but many became different. Mini drill sergeants with ridiculous expectations. The fun for me left. I was offered a buyout at the age of 50. I had always been young for my seniority and I retired with 30 years and 4 months. I can never describe what my job as a flight attendant gave me, except to say, I am doing well operating a hotel in another country. I have even learned to speak Spanish. I thin a person who takes on the job as a flight attendant has a special part of their soul seeking adventure. I am certain that describes my outlook on life completely. Adventure is the world for all flight attendants.
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That time I went to jail I have never written about. People who are close to me know. I am writing a chapter for my book now about my 36 hours in Broward County jail. It is still so fresh in my memory. It was horrible, I was shown a side of society I didn’t know existed. Jail was something I read about in books, or watched in movies. The reality is very different. No matter your place in society, the treatment is disturbing from the moment you are arrested to the time inside the jail, the lack of compassion, the complete cruelty I experienced by the police and the people who worked in the prison. However, the other inmates were pretty darn cool with me. It was obvious to them I didn’t belong there. They comforted me, they gave me a lot of reasons to write it down, but I never did. I have never written about it before because it shows my daughter in a way that is not flattering, something that I have not wanted to do. I need to heal myself, recent events have made me realize I have not done that. Even with therapy, my move to Colombia, these moments in time exist and they bring me to places I only think about when I awake at night and cannot sleep.
I was arrested on false charges. I was an innocent to what the rules are when the police show up at your door. I had no clue about anything about police visits to your home. If I had known, this experience would never have happened. It was a nightmare that you dream and then wake up with your heart beating fast inside your chest. Surreal, incomprehensible, I am sure my mug shot exists somewhere even though all charges were expunged. I didn’t even understand that they were taking my mug shot. I was sobbing uncontrollably. I didn’t understand all that was happening and it was very harsh, with a lot of merciless treatment by all involved who work in the system of Broward County, Florida.
Now I am writing it down in a chapter for my book. I am leaving nothing out. The dreadful side of my daughter, the crappy friends she had, one who has my sweet grandchild in her care right now without any legal papers of custody. I am telling the story. All of it, the lessons I learned from experiences I had no control over. Including my daughter meeting the father of my beloved grandchild. I am going to tell you the entire experience from the time of my arrest until I was let out to the street outside the jail of Broward County without a charged cell phone, no shoes, and no money.
A wonderful cab driver gave me a ride with my promise of payment if he could just take me to my house. I didn’t even have a key to get inside my own home! I will always remember the kind treatment I received from the other inmates, from that cab driver, the father of my grandchild: who when he heard what Misha had done made her immediately go to drop the charges. This is hard just to say in a blog. I went to jail. I was 50 years old, I could have lost my job, that is what Misha did. Wait for it. Coming soon to all who want to buy my book. I am writing the chapter now. It is funny at times, but it is also very terrifying to anyone who might think it could never happen to you. It can and I experienced it.
