The epic journey: finding love, gratitude, and forgiveness, in a Country that broke your heart.

'The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.' -Marcel Proust

Two weeks ago, I was so happy to be on a much overdue trip, and highly needed vacation,  to my ancestral homeland of Latvia. My extended family and I all gathered to honor my Grandmother's 80th birthday, in addition to Ligo, the Mid-Summer celebration that EVERY Latvian awaits for each year. A Country that spends most of it's Fall and Winter in the oppressive shadows of clouds, where the sun comes up at 9 and goes down at 3 (I may be exaggerating slightly), the Summer Solstice is a celebration of light, of tradition, of not sleeping until the sun comes up, and of course...a lot of drinking. This Holiday could possibly be more anticipated than Christmas! Shops close down for the entire weekend, extended families gather, tables of food are made, the kegs are stocked, and the girls journey into the fields to pick flowers for the wreathes they will soon wear on their heads. You spend all night eating, laughing, sitting by the bonfire (sometimes attempting to jump over it), honoring your ancestors, and signing until the sun comes up, which isn't as long as you'd think it would be.

The sherbet colors of the fading sun, the smell of any type of pickled food you could think of, the feel of the smokey fire on your face, the smiles on my sister's faces, the allure in all things natural, the beauty in honoring the sun, and the celebration of the long days, it finally began to settle in, that this place was home. A fact that I for so long tried to fight and for years, tried to accept, it wasn't until my 22nd year of visiting this place, that I started to allow, to permit myself to exist, and belong.

In about 1993/1994 (the years blend into one) my family and I started venturing to Latvia, the foundation of my Fathers entire familial history. The Soviet Union had fallen, which meant Latvia was granted their independence, once again. This time, it looked like it would stick, so my father began his diaspora back to the land of his family, to seek opportunity, and feed his curiosity. All seemed great, yet a little awkward at first. In droves we packed tooth paste, toilet paper, sugar, all the necessities we as Americans take for granted, yet things that were extremely hard to come by in a new Country that was under Soviet rule. It was so fascinating exploring a new land, a somewhat new culture. The jet-lag always sucked as a kid, butt eh adventures were vast, the money ever-flowing, and the love abundant. That was, until the love broke. My parents soon split up, for whatever reasons, few, or many, are really none of my business, and are honestly a story I have been trying to re-write internally for years. But what I do know, is that what I knew of a family, what I felt, all came crashing down. Those years, are a blur, everything fades into one landscape. Time is irrelevant here, as I remember only bits, and pieces. But what I remember the most is heartbreak, not only with me, but most importantly, my rocks, my younger sisters, and my mom.

From that point on, and like I said, could have been a few months, a few years, I just don't know, but what I know is that my sisters, my mom, and I, we moved back, and my father stayed, in a house, that was built for us. Over the years, we all dealt with that trauma in different ways. Some of us drank, some of us resented, some of us allowed hate to take over, while some of us just remained confused. The brand new shiny Country, house, experience, clouded over, and like the way oil covers those sad ducks in oil spills, the love became sticky, and non-desirable.

Like most split up families, we lived with our mother during the School Year, and were shipped off to the exotic land of Latvia, every summer, for the entire summer. As a kid, this was exciting. What middle school kid gets to say they flew with their 3 sisters, by themselves, across the Atlantic Ocean?? Not to mention, our dad was, and still is, a 'yes' man. Every fun thing we wanted to do, he said yes. This included exploring a foreign city on your own for hours at a time, getting your belly button's pierced, going to clubs at the age of 14, etc. Don't get me wrong, there was of course a specific boundary never to be crossed. We played countless days in the middle of the city, never appreciating what was around us, but more what Subway we wanted to eat at, where we could meet cute boys, what movies could we fill our time with, we did our best to keep our cultural experience as American as we could. But for me, there was this all knowing feeling that the excitement, this love, it would pass, and then you would be faced with the emptiness that was inside your heart, the guilt that the one person you loved the most, your mother, was not around to enjoy it with you. All the reminders of what you once did as a family, in the house, within the city, in the Countryside. The scars were everywhere and it was impossible to see past them.

Impossible up until last summer, when I made my first visit back in eight years. It was as if it was a new Country to me. Regardless of my countless visits, regardless of living there for an entire year, it was a new place to me.

The house has always been the same, at least for the past 20 years. The people have not changed, just slightly older now, and the Country, pretty much not so demographically different, other than some new shopping malls, the cleaned up the Art Nouveau architecture and removing what remained of the Soviet Union. The main difference, was me. The way in which I allowed myself to see what was in front of me, to open my eyes, more like clear the dust, remove the stories, and truly, finally, have a different perspective of what has always been there. Don't get me wrong, this wasn't all by 'accident', but took a lot of years of self-reflection and re-programming.

 The scope of our view is so limited, a narrow lens at the end of a minuscule microscope. What we chose to see, what we want to believe, it's all a confined idea to what is truly going on around us, what's able within us.

Yoga teaches us to become the truest observer within our lives. We begin to stop fighting our past and accept what has happened by finding the beauty in all things and by finding unconditional gratitude for it. Through this shifted awareness, I was able to clean off the stained glass that was dirtied from my history; to broaden the lens in which I allow myself to see, in which I want to see. We start finding appreciation for every path we go down, every piece of suffering, all the bright spots of joy, and rather than being 'right', or 'wrong', it just is. Because what fun is it just having one pair of glasses, when you can have many?!

I ask you, are you willing, just for a minute or two, to see your life through another lens? And if you do, would you begin to heal, would you begin to love, would you begin to understand, you are not alone?

So much love, gratitude, and light, for every day of this life.