Contemplations about Life, Love, & the Pursuit of Meaningful Existence…

A Part of My Soul Remains…


You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart always will be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place.” ~Miriam Adeney


I sincerely apologize for my lengthy absence. Although I’m home from my recent journey throughout Turkey, Israel, Egypt, and Greece, a part of my soul remains. Each faltering attempt to convey my experience has left my heart further fragmented. How do I adequately describe human suffrage at depths I’ve never known — and never will? I gravitate toward positivity, but doing so temps me to replace reality with photo-ops like the one featured. Expertly orchestrated. Perfectly contrived. We so wanted to aid our Egyptian guide’s cause. A man who sat knee-to-knee with us atop well-worn, ornate prayer rugs inside Cairo’s Alabaster Mosque and elicited tears by sharing ardent family traditions, religious misconceptions, political frustrations, and dreams he’d likely never achieve (but maybe his son would one day). This 14-hour excursion with our charismatic Egyptian friend touched us on so many levels, compelling us to paint Cairo as a grand destination — and yet…

Just six days before our guide snapped this photo, he’d lost his close friend — a fellow guide who was inadvertently killed by his country’s own military when they mistook him and the Mexican tour group he was leading for ISIS while they picnicked in the Bahariya Oasis. Hence the reason the pyramids were virtually empty. Tourism had already plummeted post-2011 revolution and was just beginning to make a teensy resurgence. Unfortunately, the Russian airliner bombing truncated an already meager recovery.

And that’s just one story…

How can I forget the haunting despair of staring into the eyes of malnourished, shoeless orphaned refugee children in Istanbul? Or strolling the sweltering, dusty, potholed, garbage-filled streets of Alexandria, strewn with butchered animal carcasses bleeding right next to pedestrian traffic? Or passing heavily armed police men and women along the impoverished, graffitied, sand-coated, apocalyptic-looking back roads of Jerusalem and Tel Aviv?

I promised myself then and there that I would never complain about “first world problems” again. But, back in my comfortable surroundings, how swiftly I’ve rejoined the choir, eagerly adding my own petty verses. Why?? I’ve never been oppressed, persecuted, or brainwashed by my government. I’ve never stressed over where my next morsel of food or sip of clean water might come from. I’ve never had to speculate where I might sleep, much less wonder if I’d live to see another day in the manner countless big-hearted, hard-working, beautiful souls around our globe do every single day.

Bidding an emotional farewell to our Egyptian friend, we confessed how inconsequential we felt. How we wished we could do more to help. “Your presence here means everything,” he said, embracing us like lifelong friends.

Sadly, since our September trip, ISIS and its evil predecessors appear to be growing more emboldened daily, stealing innocent lives, destroying families, raping, pillaging and ravishing livelihoods in the region we visited and beyond. With each bloody news alert, I think of the hospitable, gregarious, respectful people we encountered, from Cairo schoolboys flocking around me to take selfies, to the young women smiling curiously from behind colorful hijabs, to the gentleman rescuing us in Alexandria when our animated map-pointing failed to secure three taxi drivers in a row — and a plethora of generous souls in between.

An open heart is humanity’s greatest resource, mutual compassion bridging two very different worlds.

Suffice to say, a part of my soul remains….




Broken Girl Behind the Airbrushed Smile


“We are all broken, that’s how the light gets in.” ~ Ernest Hemingway


I buried this calendar in a storage box long ago, too ashamed to share the truth behind its airbrushed illusion. But, more and more, I’m reminded how swiftly attacks on one’s character can escalate to levels that elicit rash, unthinkable decisions. If revealing my public humiliation and personal meltdown could help even one person — I’d be a petty coward not to do so…

💔 💔 💔

In the spring of 1987, I was honored to represent my sorority competing in Pi Kappa Alpha’s annual calendar contest to raise money for United Way. What should have been a highlight of my college days would soon turn my little world upside-down.

The contest was at the end of my junior year, and this photograph was taken shortly thereafter. The photographer creatively captured various settings and wardrobe swaps. Perusing the proofs, we agreed the best shot was one of me leaning against a white picket fence, long dress billowing in the breeze. But the ultimate selection was not ours to make.

I returned senior year to this surprise cover. Not my choice — but I was proud to be part of such a great cause. I attended all the PR events, signing calendars and whatever else I could do to support the PIKE’s wonderful philanthropy.

And then it happened: I became the poster child for the date rape problem we were having at the university. Our campus newspaper featured my “suggestive pose” above a female journalist’s scathing article. This quickly morphed into a free-for-all forum, prompting a seemingly inexhaustible rant from those who disliked the Greek System. Their harsh criticisms grew more derogatory with each passing week.

Making matters worse, I’d been elected pledge trainer that year, which meant promoting academics, philanthropy, and — yes — code of conduct to our newest sorority members. As my good reputation was being ambushed, I stood week after week in front of girls who must have wondered who the hell I was to lecture them on morals. Walking around campus, I’d hear snickers and see people point and whisper. Suffice to say, I became quite crafty at fabricating excuses to hide in my room.

Stress ravaged my exterior to match the ugliness brewing within. My hair fell out, and my face erupted. People I’d never met had decided I was a promiscuous tramp perpetrating a deplorable issue — and in my silent suffering I relinquished the keys to my soul. I felt irrevocably tarnished, sinking into a pit so vast the surface was no longer visible. I deferred final exams, returning to my parent’s house prematurely for Christmas break.

But how did the girl who appeared to “have-it-all” explain my torment to anyone?? I was surely a trite fool with zero excuse for being depressed. Shame engulfed me. This girl was down for the count but mortified to ask for help, fearful of disappointing those who believed I had my act together. Stubborn pride made escape seem the only viable option.

Fortunately, a force more powerful than my ego swooped in that dark day — something I still struggle to  adequately verbalize  — and saved me from my utter hopelessness…


In hindsight, I have nothing but gratitude for those who drop-kicked me out of my superficial existence. Because of them, I boldly reject careless judgments, unfair generalizations, negativity, and hearsay. Because of them, my life has been enriched by countless genuine, upbeat, supportive, humble, loving souls I may have otherwise failed to fully appreciate. Because of them, I can spot pain behind the cheeriest smile. And I will forever defend the downtrodden and voiceless, breaking my arm if that’s what it takes to hoist another upward.

So, for those convinced you’ve fallen so low you’ll never claw your way out, I say this: Get help now!!! Talk to someone — anyone! There’s absolutely no shame in admitting your load is too darn heavy, and so many of us are right here, eager to help. But don’t you dare allow a misguided few to define you. You’re far too powerful and wise to be caged in their pathetic traps.

The good and decent people in this world love you!

💞I love you!!!💞

And the story of your irreplaceable soul has untold chapters remaining…


“Place your hand over your heart

Can you feel it?

That is called purpose

You’re alive for a reason

So don’t ever give up”

~ Unknown

The Price of Bypassing Motherhood


“You chose not to have children?”

“So…you don’t like kids?”

“What do you talk to your husband about?”

“Is there something wrong with you physically?”

“Being a parent requires an enormous heart — not everyone’s cut out for it.”

“What on earth do you do with all your free time?”

“I used to be selfish too — then I became a mom.”

“You’ll change your mind.”

“I can’t imagine worrying only about myself.”

“You’ll never look at the world the same again.”

“What a lavish lifestyle you must lead with all the money you’re saving.”

“Who’s going to take care of you when you’re old?”

“I can’t fathom missing out on a child’s unconditional love.”

“My children are my — everything.”

“Maybe it’s the mother in me, but I care more about our planet than ever before.”

“You don’t know true love until you hold a child in your arms.”

“I never knew I could love something this much!”

“Do you have nieces, nephews — a pet at least??”

“You wouldn’t understand — you’re not a parent.”


It’s true

I chose to bypass motherhood

Or maybe it was fate

Either way

I’m extremely well versed in what some believe I’m missing

And yet

The undistracted affection I’m able to give my soulmate

(a man who grew up motherless and fearful he’d never find genuine, lasting love)

Feels good and right and true

Like I’m pointed in the precise direction I was meant to go all along…

But going against the norm makes me an anomaly

Or — more truthfully — a permanent outsider

Swiftly discounted for failing to follow life’s greater purpose

My choice sparks conflicting emotions

Pity, concern, envy

Conclusions drawn in hushed whispers

(the poor, unfulfilled, self-centered prima donna — is she really taking another vacation?)


Whether spun of carefully weighed risks

Or faith-laden leaps

We all weave unpredictable tales

If your journey has brought more than the occasional misstep

Perhaps a blindsiding detour or two

Stay strong

You may feel as if you’re traversing a deserted road

One you never imagined you’d be navigating

But others have survived these challenging curves

Growing more resilient around each bend

Breathe deeply

You’re not alone

I see your light

Can you see mine? 💕



Love Always Wins

rainbow love (1)

“If love is universal, no one can be left out.” ~ Deepak Chopra


Celebrating sixteen years of perfectly imperfect marriage this week, conflicted feelings wash over me. While I’m thrilled for my gay friends who finally share the right to marry in this country, the disrespectful dialogue generated by the ruling has been bewildering. Although derogatory commentary is sadly the norm these days, hearing the hypocritical roar from the so-called “religious” sector hollowed my soul.

Shouldn’t we be focusing on treating one another with dignity rather than groveling over marital definitions? After all, we’re an extremely diverse nation with a myriad of beliefs. Can’t we simply agree to disagree and respectfully move forward? Maybe even celebrate our differences and learn a wee bit along the way??

Heck, my husband and I said our vows on a beach and chose not to have children. In the eyes of some, we’re not “truly” married. Thankfully, we never had to go to court to argue whether our love was worthy of the marriage label.

With negativity dampening spirits aplenty, I keep returning to what I believe is a universal covenant:

I am a mere human, placed upon this earth to judge no one!

As a flight attendant, privileged to interact with hundreds of amazingly unique humanoids on a daily basis, I know how rapidly my day deteriorates when I fail to honor this fundamental principle.

Will I open my mind or open my mouth?

Endear or alienate?

Leave a peaceful trail or one of dissension?

Spread love or animosity?

Despite routine stumbles, whenever I don my compassionate heart, joy colorizes my life beautifully…






Harmony Begins With Me

Travel-wormhole“Peace begins not with countries, not with nations, and not with governments. Peace begins with you. Peace begins with me. Peace begins with each of us. It is within us.” ~ Prem Rawat


Wandering foreign back roads

Sans news bombarding me from every angle

Away from depressing snippets and soundbites

Construed to perpetuate division and unrest

I’m blissfully off the grid!

Society’s maladies forgotten

Replaced by a celebration of shared commonalities

Soaking up universal love

Strangers morphing into new friends

Eager to share stories of their homelands

Time condenses

A single afternoon reshaping my heart

Strolling enchanting cobblestone streets

Swapping mutually respectful gazes

Studying exotic features

Stunningly unique

Appreciating cultural nuances

Savoring the international pulse

Rather than having it interpreted for me

I’m reminded

Peace is not something wished for from a distance

But rather an empowering choice made with each encounter

Whether thousands of miles from home

Or in my own backyard

I must give my best

While seeking the same in others

Or risk living a sad life

Where I’m continuously offended

Immediately jumping to conclusions

Making examples out of every deemed wrongdoer

Leaving a dense cloud of negativity in my wake

Dearest Angels

Please draw me upward

Whenever I’m tempted to fly so low

Please open my eyes to just how rewarding life can be

When I remember

I’m obligated to find peace within my own heart

Because harmony begins with me…


💖Dear Treasured Readers, I sincerely apologize for my perpetual absence here. I’m having trouble “returning” from my travels — I promise to catch up with you lovely souls very soon!!

**photo from our recent Balkans adventure: Sibiu, Romania

When Parents Opt Out

Precious times two

“They say that abandonment is a wound that never heals. I say only that an abandoned child never forgets.” ~ Mario Balotelli


Working the last couple flights of a three-day trip, I’m organizing the back galley when two little girls, I’m guessing to be around seven and four, come back to say hello.

“Are you our flight attendant?” the older one asks.

“I am.” I smile, a stack of napkins slipping from my fingers.

They rush over. “It’s okay, sweethearts. Don’t touch the dirty floor.”

Too late. They’ve already scooped them up, proudly dropping them in the trash.

“You look really pretty,” the younger girl says.

“So do you,” I say. “I love your pink shirt. That’s my favorite color.”

She giggles. “Mine too, but this is actually my pajama top.”

“Well, it’s perfect — and it matches your shoes.”

She beams.

“Where are you going?” (I’m thinking Disneyland based upon our destination.)

“California,” the older girl says.


“I’m not sure.”

“Are you getting off at the first or second stop?”

“The next one.”

“Then you’re going to southern.”

“Okay. ” She shrugs. “That’s beautiful.” She gently taps my bracelet.

“Just like both of you.”

They blush in unison, and I follow them to their seats, eager to compliment the folks responsible for raising such charming children.

“Are these your daughters?” I ask the woman they quietly slide past.

She purses her lips. “Oh, no.  I’m just escorting them to a new home. They’re foster kids, and I’m their case worker.”

My lungs lock. “Well, they’re adorable,” I choke out the words.

Her eyes dart in their direction. “Yes, I suppose so.”

I flee to my galley, tears of disbelief pooling. They should be going to Disneyland — NOT a “new” home!!!! What happened to their parents? Why are these precious dolls floating around the system? And what if things don’t work out this time? Should I call my husband and tell him I’m bringing home two angels to shower with love — and anything else they’ve spent their tender years going without?? I write down my name and number to give the social worker.

But my head interjects, giving my heart a run for its money: This is none of my concern. Who am I to interfere? I probably wouldn’t even qualify as a legal guardian — I’ve never parented anybody!

And so…

I do nothing but serve them drinks and peanuts, all the while marveling at their sweet demeanor and impeccable manners.

An hour later they wave goodbye, sparkly eyed and grinning. They seem so happy so — well-adjusted.

They’ll be fine.

I tell myself

over and over

just fine…





🌺For many, Mother’s and Father’s Days trigger more feelings of loss than joy. I dedicate this to ALL those who’ve had to grovel (like my husband) for the parental love I’ve taken for granted.🌺

***Luggage Lady is off to the Balkans. I’ll return with more stories soon…😘

(Photo: From our 40-mile hike to Machu Picchu, Peru 2013 💕 Incidentally, this darling boy had two doting parents hovering nearby…I just loved the picture.)

My ‘Just in Case’ Letter


💔Every day someone kisses a loved one goodbye and doesn’t make it home💔

If only I were a perfect wife…I wouldn’t dare part ways with even an ounce of hostility lingering. I’d honor, cherish, and pour my heart out like there was no tomorrow — never, ever taking love for granted. So, when I read Marie Tillman’s heartrending book, The Letter (and finished mopping my tear-soaked face), the little writer in me had an aha moment: What if I penned my own letter and tucked it inside a crisp white envelope, ensuring my husband never doubted for a single second just how much he meant? You know — just in case…


My Dearest MTD,

When we first met, I knew my soul had arrived home at long last. But never in my wildest dreams could I have written the story I had the privilege of living. You loved with such constancy and patience. Even when I struggled to find my greater purpose you endured my frustrations in your upbeat stride. You were always my first choice. Although we both carted our own bit of baggage into the fray, I loved you as I had never loved before.

From renovating homes to flying airplanes, sailing, and your extraordinary culinary talents — I can’t recall much of anything you couldn’t do. Oh, how I adored watching you prepare your magical meals. You’d go to such lengths to procure the precise ingredients, coming home with an armload of your favorite sunflowers and a huge grin because you’d found the ideal wine to pair with dinner. I’d light the candles and queue Linda Ronstadt or James Taylor on your meticulously installed and perfectly tweaked sound system. We’d talk and laugh — and talk some more.

And all those adventures you so tediously planned??

Jumping out of airplanes, scuba-diving, sailing around the world, hiking Machu Picchu, kayaking the open seas, zip-lining, bike riding to the top of Delphi — seriously?! Sure, I’d traveled a tad before you, but these activities were spectator sports, things I’d nestle on the couch and read about. You nudged me outside my comfort zone and produced brilliant travel videos so I had proof! Without you, I’d have remained as flat as a paper doll.

‘Without you’ was the one journey I never wanted to embark upon.

I’m not exactly sure where I am, but you know from our countless late-night “what’s-it-all-mean” conversations that I’ll always be with you. Just promise you won’t curl your pillow over your ears and assume for even a solitary moment that the squawking crow interrupting your slumber is me!

For an orphan boy, you certainly had a knack for family and gave so much to mine. My relatives and friends adored you. Your enthusiasm for life’s smallest pleasures was contagious. I’ve never been so delightfully infected by anything in my life. I beg you — don’t ever stop spreading your boundless spirit!

You’ll find love again. And when this happens, don’t look back. View this next phase as you would a new country — different, yes, but an exploration to savor.

You were my best friend. Every moment shared with you was a gift, but if you don’t get out there and keep living to the fullest, I’ll be forced to send in the crows — a murder of them! ;)

Eternally Yours,

Nani Kat


(*photo: Saint-Malo, France)

You Are My Other Self


“You are my other self” ~ traditional Toltec greeting


What if

Before each encounter

I paused?

Allowing Toltec wisdom to wash away


Negative energy

Fears of being rebuffed or of overwhelming?

Might everyday interactions become valued affairs

Rather than ordeals to endure?

What if

I envisioned hearts sharing the same tender beat?

Might compassion and patience take precedence when going about my daily tasks

Unveiling another’s brightness by honoring them with my best?


Dear Universe,

When self-absorption engulfs

And I fail to acknowledge those around me

Please jar my senses

Guiding me back to what matters most

Initiating connectivity

Generating goodness

Be it a smile, helping hand, or chipper word

Never alienating

Bridging spirits

Thereby enriching my own

Imparting sunshine

Ever cognizant:

You are my other self


Dedicated to my treasured readers.

Thanks for your vitalizing support — my heart is full because of YOU! 😘

(💗Post inspired by M.J. Ryan’s life-enhancing book, 365 Health and Happiness Boosters💗)

*Photo: Temple of Zeus — Athens, Greece

To My Cherished Airline Passengers,


First of all, I want to thank you for making my job so rewarding. Many of you have visited my galley to share tales of love, loss, hope, heroism, military sacrifice, business innovations, health hurdles, medical miracles, travel recommendations, and lifelong dreams. I treasure every inspiring conversation, laugh, and occasional tear we’ve shared. I strive to ensure your journey is enjoyable and stress-free. So, when you leave my airplane smiling, it warms the cockles of my heart.

Aviators tend to be perfectionists, and my husband is no exception. He prides himself on thorough communication, comfortable cabin conditions, and flying finesse. If he can grease his landing for you, it makes his day. He wants you to walk off his aircraft relaxed, knowing your safety and well-being will always be paramount.

We’re a seamless team, looking out for you and each other on every single flight. When emergencies arise, we have each other’s backs more than ever. I may work with different crewmates each week — but the paradigm never changes.

Add to this synergy, the way you selflessly volunteer when we need medical assistance or respond in some other gallant manner — like the time two of you saved me from hitting the ceiling during clear air turbulence — and you can understand why it’s devastating to have the trust between us compromised.

I don’t wish to marginalize the Germanwings tragedy. I just want you to know, as perplexing and appalling as the disaster is, it only reinforces our bond. We’re truly in this together. Which is why, every time my colleagues and I welcome you aboard, we seek to honor that trust by doing everything in our power to take great care of YOU.


Your flight attendant (aka: Luggage Lady)

* * *

Dedicated to the beautiful souls of flight #9525 — we carry 💗you💗 in our hearts, always…

Travel’s Priceless Souvenir


“I’ve orchestrated my life around travel because nothing else truncates imaginary woes or realigns perspective so stealthily.” ~ 💗Luggage Lady

✈ ✈  ✈

Two weeks after graduating college, I tucked a second-class Eurail pass into an overloaded backpack and jetted off to Europe. I saw the opportunity as a luxurious postponement of reality, but my ‘delusions of glamour’ shattered the moment that plane skidded to a halt. Far from lavish, the summer of ’88 revamped my sheltered mindset and fortified my coddled heart. Not a day goes by that I don’t thank my lucky stars (and my parents) for this gift.

Twenty-seven years and 56 countries later, here are a few introspective observations:

🌎 Hunkering in Dachau, Germany’s dank concentration camp gas chamber, death’s stench lingered in my imagination. Sickened by such incomprehensible horror, I focused on those who’d somehow survived the senseless carnage, praying they’d gone on to lead wildly fulfilling, dignified lives — complete with every well-deserved amenity.

(I have never experienced true suffering and have no excuse whatsoever for not adding positivity in my brief time here.) 

🌎 Swaying on unsteady legs in an African AIDS orphanage, jet-lagged and longing for caffeine, the guide announced the arrival of his American friends and the children swarmed. Frail arms clung to my knees, giant eyes gazing upward. I bit my cheek until I tasted blood to keep the pooling tears from falling and knelt down to join them.

(I know nothing of hardship. Overfed, overwatered, and otherwise overindulged — I have absolutely nothing to complain about — ever!)

🌎 When my Guatemalan tour guide asked if he could show me his new house, I agreed but worried what he’d be omitting from our tour as a result. I can barely recall the rain forest, but touring his minuscule cinderblock home, as he proudly pointed to the concrete floor and explained how he’d had dirt flooring his entire life, is something I’ll never forget. Shame prickled in my gut for all the creature comforts I had — and took for granted. Yet, there he stood, with his shy wife and cooing baby at his side, all of them beaming.

(How few material possessions we need! Family, love, friends, and the dreams we build together represent real wealth.)

🌎 I’d already been advised not to wander out of this Turkish port town’s tourist area and shooed from a mosque. Instead of visiting the woman’s designated prayer trailer, I roamed the residential back streets. My heart froze when I heard voices chanting, “American, American.” Before I knew it, a giggling boy and girl were grabbing my hands — just wanting to say hello.

(Political and religious zealots may capture the headlines and fuel fears aplenty, but they rarely represent the spirit of the people.)

🌎 As we prepared to sail away from Thailand’s Phi Phi Islands my husband smacked his empty back pocket and gasped. He’d forgotten his wallet in a massage parlor the previous night. The cynic in me thought we were more likely to be struck by lightning than to ever see the contents of that wallet again. Not only did he get it back, but when he offered a tip of gratitude, the business owner vehemently declined, saying, “You come back and visit me again — that will be my thanks.”

(Most people are good and decent and moral — and cynicism is such an unattractive waste of energy!)

🌎 Beyond the rear gardens of St Petersburg’s Summer Palace, my husband spotted his ideal food venue: a shish kabob cart packed with locals. Turned out, the chef/owner was Armenian and thrilled to have Americans patronizing his establishment. He brought a complimentary sampler platter to our table and sat down. The only problem? His English was extremely limited and, as you can probably guess, we didn’t speak a lick of Armenian. But, boy oh boy, did we ever have a blast communicating about his family and how he ended up in Russia, where we were from and what we did for a living…

(The desire to share one’s story is universal. Cultivate magical connections whenever possible.)

🌎 A darling travel mate was inspiring some Cuban school children to smile for our photographs. She shouted, “Cheese!” Seeing their confusion, she repeated the word in Spanish: “Queso!” Her sweet, albeit — completely lost in translation —  effort sent our group into giggling fits. The vision of middle-aged gringos practically rolling on the ground elicited enormous grins from the kids. Mission accomplished!

(A friendly demeanor and hearty helping of humor can overcome just about any barrier.)

🌎 Whether marveling over the Inca’s artistry at Machu Picchu or rocketing across the sky at roughly 600 mph, I can’t help but stand in awe of mankind’s ingenuity. From architecture to innovation, brilliance abounds! 

(Next time I start flapping my jaw about spotty internet coverage, or shrinking airplane seats, or any other deemed ‘inconvenience’ — may I honor humanity’s achievements by respectfully clamping my teeth over my tongue.)

✈ ✈  ✈

Travel’s Priceless Souvenir??

The empowering realization that we awaken our best selves each time we stretch outside our comfort zones and engage another, whether interacting globally or within one’s community: Greeting, smiling, listening, learning, and appreciating the diverse souls populating our planet, while celebrating how similar we truly are — hearts beating and breaking, just the same.

Machu Picchu -- WOW!

(photo from our Machu Picchu 42-mile hiking adventure 2013)

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