It isn’t often that I discuss porn and hotels in the same breath.

This time I couldn’t resist.

It’s no surprise I’ve partnered with HostelBookers, but was honestly not expecting such luxuries when I got to Puerto Princessa.

I was barred from visiting the Underground River, because Typhoon Washi hit the Philippines with 90 kmh winds, killing 436 in Mindanao.  The usually packed caves were flooded and I was adrift.

After the sad news of that many deaths and stalled plans, solace had to be my best friend.

In the frenzy of moving around, I sipped from the cup of hotel porn, because dammit, I deserve a soft mattress and a steamy, hot shower once in a while.

Hostels can cause a woman to feel downright celibate.  House of Rose threw open the floodgates, so to speak.

After that intense affair, I didn’t think it could get any better.  Once I arrived to El Nido, Lally and Abet’s Beach Cottages nibbled on my neck and seduced me.  It was an attractive mix of everything I love about the ocean – salty, wet, zen and daydreams.

It was also Christmas, which was the honey to my mint tea.

(Inhaling a cigarette.)  Mmmm… yes, sorry.  Where was I?  (Rolls over in bed to face her audience.)

I feel satisfied.  Was it good for you?

The concept of this post rings deadly true for me.  When I began planning my cubicle escape, I had to re-imagine my life and how it would look.  When we move to change things there has to be a new picture, one that you create.  Sally Hope can inspire you to do just that.  Enjoy the fourth video in her Rockstar Life Series.

Greetings Nomadic readers!!

I’m Sally.  A life coach, but don’t hold that against me.

Coaching is all about creating the kind of life you want, and really, how awesome is that?

I am so glad that Jeannie invited me to talk to you guys because hopefully I can help with some of those ol’ pesky “How’s” in your life.  Like, “HOW do I get the things I want in my life?” and “HOW do I go from where I am now, to where I want to be?” As a life coach, that’s my job.  To help you get crystal clear on what your big vision is for your ideal life, help you come up with a plan to execute it, provide accountability for you so you’ll actually do it, and be here with you all along the way to give you virtual hugs and encouragement, and cheerleading and to say, “YEAH!!! You can do this…frickin GO FOR IT!!!”

When you are “going for it,” I like to call that “creating your Rockstar Life.”  To me, a Rockstar Life is all about living the kind of life you want, creating your own rules, and not taking ‘no’ for an answer.  It’s about being willing to go out of your comfort zone.  No rockstar got where they are without taking risks and deciding that their life was going to be the way they wanted it.

And that’s what I’m here for.  To help you realize and create your Rockstar Life.

This post is the fourth installment out of a five step series on how to “Create Your Rockstar Life.”  The first three steps were: 1) Leave the House,  2) Feel The Fear and Do It Anyway, and  3) Don’t Wait For The Right Time (because it will never show up).  Today’s post is called “Create Your Own Rules.”

When we have big dreams for ourselves, they are always going to seem scary and intangible.  And what’s worse, you will probably have people in your life that have told you in the past or currently tell you a million reasons why your dream is a bad idea.  And what’s even worse is that you have your OWN messages that you tell yourself as to why you can’t have what you want.

All of these things are “other people’s rules.”  Maybe your parents have told you that you should get a stable and secure job, even though in your heart, you want to be an entrepreneur.  Or maybe you had someone tell you that you’re not good enough or won’t be able to create your dreams.   Or maybe your own negative thoughts prevent you from moving forward on your dreams (“how will I pay the bills?” “that’ll never work,” “I must be crazy”, etc).

Being a rock star is the opposite of listening to any of those messages.

In order to have the life you want, you have to create your own rules. Walk your own path.  Do what feels right to YOU,  regardless if anyone else is on board.  The only way to have a uniquely YOU life, is to do it YOUR way.

So, I have a little exercise for those of you who have a dream:

1.  Write down your dream.
2. Look at it what’s written down and see what messages show up surrounding the dream.
3. Now on a separate piece of paper, make up your own rules surrounding your dream.  Rules that you would make if you knew that everything was going to work out exactly how you wanted it to.
4. Have a blast!

Does any of this sound familiar?  Have you let other people’s messages, or your own negative messages stop you from having something you want?  Leave a comment below and share your experience. 

Who I Is:  Sally Hope is a Blogger/Love and Life Coach who loves hot-pink lipstick, knives, and cowboys.  A former Rockstar, she has taken her show from the stage to the road by traveling around the US in an RV while coaching her clients and inspiring people to live their own Rockstar Lifestyles.  Her latest obsessions include traveling, country swing dancing, motorcycles, LOVE, chips and salsa, and adventuring.  Whatever it is you are wanting in your life, she will help you get there faster, with a good butt kicking, a wink, and a smile.  You can find her at her website or Twitter or getting ridiculous on her YouTube channel.

Since I announced my intention to take a breather from constant movement, it’s been a nail-biting few weeks.  Of negotiations.

I certainly never pictured myself as a scholarly type, molding myself against what Noam Chomsky once said about academia: “Go to any elite university and you are usually speaking to very disciplined people, people who have been selected for obedience..”

Obedience leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.  At my corporate career, I was the imposter, the bad girl in class who gazed longingly out the window, far more intrigued with what lay beyond the glass than the mind numbing tasks before me.

My wanderings around the world taught me color, a vibrancy that academia never provided.  That humans are more complicated, yet relatable. That politics can weave its ugly tapestry that affects families to the poorest level.  How broad, varied, tragic and fantastic this planet really is.

Sadly, a girl has to eat.  And stop for a while.

I must have set aside my ‘bad girl’ status briefly, because I’ve been hired to teach English at a real Chinese university.

I’m very satisfied with the decision because it’s a short contract of five months, part-time hours and happily, I’m provided with accommodations.  That I have to clean.  Cook.  Those will be some interesting posts – how a bad girl cooks and cleans.

Starting in February, for the next few months my shingle will be hanging in Wuxi, China, approximately an hour from Shanghai.

Wuxi is considered a massive suburb of Shanghai and get this; has the third largest lake in China (Lake Tai)!  Lots to explore, much to adjust to, but I feel fired up, very ready.

There I am in the above photo holding all the documents I need to get my work visa in Hong Kong.

This new chapter is thrilling and you will benefit from it.  There is never only one way to explore being abroad, so hopefully I can be your guinea pig.

Will I adopt tweed?  A fake British accent?

One thing I hope to do is inject some sass in the classroom, stir these kids to embrace the wonders of English pronunciation.

Because Mr. Chomsky also said this of young minds: “..If children['s] normal interest is maintained or even aroused, they can do all kinds of things in ways we don’t understand.”

Sometimes the lone female is riddled with worry.  We brook caution at things like safety, security and peace of mind.

When it comes to accommodation, these factors come to the forefront and plague us with questions.  Is there a decent lock on the door?  How secure is the front entrance?  Are my bags and person safe?

Traveling on a long-term basis has allowed me the opportunity to try several kinds of accommodation options.  I use to sway towards the budget-minded tools, exploring things like house-sitting and couchsurfing.  Both were beneficial and rewarding.

Then, in a state of panic last summer, I tried Airbnb and felt the touch of ‘local’ instead of concentrating solely on the budget aspect.  It was wildly successful.  I could actually let down my high alert guard.

In an effort to constantly expand my definition of home, recently I took a hard look at Roomorama.

Based in New York City, Roomorama has been in operation since 2009 and to date, have 30,000 properties listed worldwide.  Not surprisingly, Europe is a strong customer base for holiday rentals, but it might shock you to know Asia is a burgeoning market for Roomorama.

What differs Roomorama from Airbnb is a dash of sophistication for not only the discerning traveler, but for the independent traveler.

I played around on the Roomorama website and was delighted to discover a 7th floor,  67 square meter room with shower, pantry and dining area in Bangkok, for only $11 CDN a night.

If we return to concerns on safety, this is what I think Roomorama is promising.  The hosts range from individually owned homes to managed properties, which could equal to anything from an alarm system to extra locks on doors or even a security guard.  Case in point, the Bangkok apartment I just mentioned has 24-hour security.

Roomorama has employed a unique payment code system, kind of a fail safe.  When a room is booked, you are given a code that you submit to the host upon arrival. Roomorama holds funds until that code is released.  So many scenarios play on the moral principle of right or wrong.  In other words, if the house or room was falsely advertised or vastly unsuitable, there is an option available for you to opt out.

Maybe that elusive peace of mind can be captured and bottled.

Another thing I’m hopeful for with Roomorama is being steeped in a neighborhood that isn’t strictly targeted to tourists.  You know which ones I mean.  Situating myself in a building where everyone else lives, not just among other transplants is an exciting prospect.

Exploring the streets littered with local businesses and institutions is an egg of discovery waiting to be cracked.  Watching parents pick up children from school, gawking at teenagers rough housing and giggling loudly, or fawning over adorable seniors toddling to the corner market are all the things that I miss from home.

Shopping at the markets and cooking from local ingredients is an enticing alternative to always eating out, especially for this vegetarian who’s had constant struggles in countries like the Philippines or Taiwan.  Apparently, chicken or pork is vegetarian.

Roomorama is an appealing addition to the ever growing phenomenon of short-term accommodations available to the modern lady.

And sometimes, a girl just wants a break from the bawdy, disordered social atmosphere of a hostel or feeling like we just landed in the chaos of someone else’s home.

As Virgina Woolf stressed, a “room of one’s own” is important to a woman once in a while.

“15 pigs , that was my order.”

The only evidence that anything occurred were the successive rows of gray ash smudged into the roasting pit.

Joachim was talking about lechón, a traditional dish of roasted pig that’s served for special occasions.

December 8 in Bohol marks the fiesta of the Immaculate Conception.  This kind of fiesta is not of the Spanish variety.  The names may be similar, but the rituals have distinct differences.

Credit goes to the Spanish for introducing Catholicism to the Philippines from the moment of colonial rule from 1521 to 1898.

The Philippines has the largest Catholic worshippers in Southeast Aisa, alongside East Timor.

On December 8, households in Bohol decorate their sitting rooms, set up large dining tables and cook all night to mark the Virgin Mary’s ascent from original sin.

I found myself outside Joachim’s home by invitation only.  The unending benefits of staying with my friend, Anna are precisely opportunities like this.  It’s doubtful a hostel stay would have produced a fiesta on my lap.

Joachim’s was the last house on the fiesta rounds.

The first house was nestled deep in the Barangay of Baclayon.  The ruddy paved roads and dirt ditches were crawling with cars all intent on partaking in the festivities.

We parked Anna’s motorbike in a patch of grass.  The gate surrounding the house didn’t seem fit for protection, with its thin slats spaced far apart, like gaps in a set of teeth, perhaps it was merely to denote a property line.

A house made of cement blocks was the opening scene of my first fiesta.  The bungalow style with an A-frame roof brought back memories of home, houses of that nature were popular in Canada during the 60’s.

A mix of young and old mulled around the front and side.  We entered by the side patio, slipping off sandals, adding them to a growing pile of flip-flops.

It felt like the entire neighborhood was there.

The smell of oily pork filtered throughout the house as we walked inside.

The dining table was resplendent with pork and chicken dishes, pancit bihon, lumpia, salads and rice.  We dug in with relish and sat around the mismatched chairs taken from bedrooms and back kitchens.

When we talked to the hostess, she admitted to not knowing everyone in the room.

Such is the nature of the fiesta, no bullfights or fireworks, in Bohol, the emphasis is on community ties.

All are welcome and no one is turned away.  Stranger, friend, cousin, husband, child.

And the focus is on sharing a meal, indulging is another way to celebrate.

Wandering from house to house can go all day.  And so it went, we explored another house, until we finished the day at Joachim’s.

I might have been charmed by his nipa style home, or maybe it was bearing witness to the unknowable.  Sturdy bamboo walls surrounded us when I encountered my first lechón.

I wield a strong stomach for a vegetarian, since I was weaned on Alberta beef, so the sight of an entire pig was more fascinating than offensive.

An absurd amount of food weighed down the table, along with the lechón.  Supposedly lechón skin is crispy, but melts in the mouth.

That’s where I found myself talking about 15 pigs.  Joachim buys pigs by the kilogram, roasts them in a pit in his yard and sells them to families for such occasions.  Somehow, he delivered 15 pigs to families in the area.

A lechón can cost a family 4,000 to 5,000 pesos, a costly addition, when the average Philippine person earns 150 pesos a day.

That is a testament to their religion and commitment to kinship, some things are worth sacrificing for.  I began to understand why Bohol is called “God’s Little Paradise”.  Religious ritual connects more than sinners and saints, it can bring humans together in harmony, even moments of joy.

Joachim observed when I spotted a trio of young people lounging on a picnic table and drinking in his yard.

“Do ya want some Tanduay?” He shot me a toothless grin.

I smiled back.

For a full listing of the fiestas in Bohol, check out the calendar here: www.bohol.ph.

If only Portuguese explorer  Ferdinand Magellan knew what he was in store for him when he arrived to the shore of a series of interconnecting islands, to be later named after King Phillip II of Spain – the Philippines. He must have known it was paradise, because he greedily claimed the archipelago consisting of 7,107 islands as Spain’s territory.

Here’s what’s interesting about the Philippines, there isn’t a well treaded backpacker mill littered with hostel row, tossed plastic and beer bottles accumulating into untenable spaces or alleys devoted solely to selling trinkets made in China.  There are hostels, markets and beer, but it’s nothing packaged, sold and consumed.  It’s all a bit muddy and undefined.  There’s room for improvisation.

A sense of purity tickles the senses once you leave the metropolis of Manila and begin exploring the other provinces.

The Philippines offers the jaded traveler a chance at innocence again.  People from a spectrum of stratospheres readily extended friendship to me, without airs or ulterior motives.  Indeed, the reputation that the locals are welcoming far exceeds the illusion.  I never felt unsafe, scared or alone.

I fell in love with all of them, even though all they were doing was executing what they’ve learned from birth.  Niceness is a lost art that our current world could use a harsh lesson in.

As you pull away the curtain to reveal the delightful diversity of each province and revel in the laid back attitude of “Pinoy”, you mustn’t ever forget the Batad Rice Terraces.

First, Manila

When my colleague, Matt Gibson and I touched down at Ninoy Aquino International Airport in Manila, we hit the ground fast and hard.  Making it to the rice terraces was high on our list.

Though, for a moment we took a breath.  Manila garners a negative reputation.  Accounts I’ve heard label it as a sprawling, steamy, concrete mass of nothing.

Ouch.  I’m not so harsh.  To me, it’s simply a large city.  And like all other large cities, on hand are international cuisine, nightlife and urban spectacle.

Manila is divided into cities, each with their own mayor and dependant on the corruption level of that mayor, living in Shangria-la or demented hell is a thin thread.

We stationed ourselves for a two-night stay in Malate, an old district that has revolved throughout history, from a fishing village to Spanish rule and then into a thriving area for American expatriates who built themselves high rise buildings.  By the 80’s the district started booming with that city nightlife I mentioned.  A mass of hotels and pensions have revitalized the area for tourism, yet the run-off from neighboring Ermita, the supposedly former red-light district isn’t so former, when Matt was being ‘thrown’ a fleet of women.  Marketing usually involves a man standing on the street, holding a cardboard sign with pictures of girls taped on it, a smorgasbord of women.  One night I was unhappily included in the exchange.

“Mistah, do you and your wife want woman?”  A threesome, oh dear.  If only I were his wife, how tempting that would be.

Besides that, Malate does have an array of cuisine to choose from and walks along Manila Bay balance out those kernels of seediness.

What Malate does lack are a good number of budget minded accommodations.  There’s one hostel called Friendly’s, but that seems to be perpetually booked.  So, we were lucky that HostelBookers assisted us with our digs in Manila.

I was thrilled with Where 2 Next Hostel, run by two Filipino sisters who were raised in Melbourne, Australia.

When you’ve been toiling around the world for as long as I have, my list of must-haves in accommodation is actually simple, yet seems hard to achieve.

A hot shower.

Clean.

Staff who are knowledgeable and friendly.

Four things, and luckily Where 2 Next delivered all of my standards.

 Getting to Banaue

Banaue is the launching point for all the rice terraces, located in the province of Ifugao.  “Ifugao” refers to the people of this region as well.  Their livelihood, community and daily functions revolve around rice culture.  During rice harvesting season, elaborate feasts flow through communities, where the end of harvest concludes with tungo (day of rest).  Wild game, rice cakes, betel nuts and beer made from rice are shared and consumed.

Any hotel or hostel worth its salt will assist you with transportation to the rice terraces.  A common way to access the town is by bus, usually people book the night bus, but forewarning, sleeping on the bus was similar to standing in a meat locker for an indeterminate amount of time.  Bundle with blankets, a wool hat and socks.

Expect to pay about 500 pesos and steel yourself for a bumpy, cold, 8 to 10 hour bus ride, but once you arrive, the sights seduce away annoyances.

There are several Barangays that harvest rice, but only a handful are considered part of the UNESCO World Heritage designation. In order: Batad, Bangaan, Mayoyao, Hungduan and Nagacadan round out the five.

 Staying in Hapao

I felt lucky, because I got the opportunity to hike the terraces and also stay right by the Hapao rice terraces.

An astute Dutch businessman, named Graham Taylor, had the foresight to build an idyllic getaway aptly named Native Village Inn.

Though it’s a measurable distance from Banaue (9 km), the all girl staff and intense quiet propelled me back to sitting in front of a campfire, swapping tales or soaking in the chirps and rustling of a surrounding forest.

The huts themselves appear luxurious, but the sturdy wood emits a musky smell that can only be associated with sleeping outdoors.

Hiking to Batad

Rise early, is my recommendation.  Also, arrange a jeepney to take you there. Matt and I shared with people staying at Native Village Inn.

For a group, whether large or small, the price stood at 1,600 pesos.  We expanded the group as much as possible to cut back on costs.

The jeepney takes you through Banaue and beyond to an unmarked fork in the road where most people start the descent to Batad.

Two hours later, Valhalla reveals itself.

Due to my shaky knee, I had to opt out of hiking to the waterfalls, which are on the far side of the terraces.

I hung back and interacted with the Ifugao.

In particular, Rita.

Rita is in her 70’s and is the only woman left in Batad who practices an ancient weaving practice.  She hikes into the hills and retrieves tree bark that she breaks down until the material is malleable enough to weave with by hand.  She’s been teaching some of the younger ones in the village, but I sensed the practice might die with her.

Including Batad, all of the other terraces are estimated to be about 2,000 years old.  I think what’s significant about the terraces is how inventive the Ifugao people were, merging together design and practicality.  The irrigation system alone is wildly impressive.  Water is funneled from a canal above the beds of terraces.

It was sad when we were there, because the irrigation system was not functional, so growing season was halted, though it was under repair.  Tides of change were evident, as the village seemed fairly reliant on tourism and apparently this reflects in the younger generation.

Rather than farm rice, a growing number of youngsters prefer jobs in town or focus on tourism businesses. I only wish the lush, green hills and strong ties to community will help the Ifugao people retain their identity.  Maybe it will, I can hope.

Progress changes everything, so while the terraces still exist and draw visitors, go before anything else fades to the wind.

I’d like to extend thanks to HostelBookers for providing our accommodation in Manila and to Native Village Inn for providing our accommodation near Banaue.

Photos of Manila: Wilson Loo and Jun Acullador

Photos of me (except group picture): courtesy of Matt Gibson

Where 2 Next Hostel photos courtesy of management

It really happened by accident.

I was on my way to Taiwan to visit my friend and colleague, Matt Gibson, when he asked me the weirdest question by email.

“Would you be interested in being on TV with me?”

I don’t even own one anymore.  I got rid of it long before embarking on my travels.

Then I found out just what kind of TV this was.

It was for House Hunters International.

I confess much on this website, so here it is.  I had no idea what House Hunters is.

To me, reality TV is tantamount to bottom feeder television.  I’ve gotten sucked into a few shows here and there, for mindless fun.

Season one of America’s Top Model.  Season three or four of American Idol.  The one show I forgive daily is Project Runway.  I love fashion and creativity, so the fact that the contestants actually create something beautiful (or grotesque, dependant on the concept) is worth watching.

For those that don’t know, House Hunters International runs on the HGTV network and it’s about looking for a place to buy or rent.  We can all relate to that headache, but House Hunters takes the concept further by selecting international locales with foreigners as the stars.  The protagonist is new to the country and of course, like anyone, needs a place to live.

The premise is simple. The foreign transplant views three suites during the course of the show.  A real estate agent takes around his or her client and by the end of the show, a house or apartment is successfully selected.

So, the setting of my House Hunters is Tainan. The real estate agent was played to perfection by a talented Tainan photographer, named Lief.  And the foreigner who’s moving to Taiwan is my friend Matt.  And me?

Well, I’m the ultimate force who helps him decide to take the place.

Then, I freaked after agreeing to do it.

Too fat.

Not an actor!

What exactly is it that I’m supposed to do?  Talk for an entire half and hour show?!

Is there even a bloody script?

Then the day of shooting arrived.

Being in a TV Crew

I expected a few things.  Hair.  Make-up.  A new nose.  A large crew of director, producer, assistant director, grips, catering trucks and production assistants.

None of that happened.

House Hunters airs more than two episodes a week, which amounts to a massive amount of television.  Reality TV is also some of the cheapest television to produce, excluding popular shows like Survivor or Amazing Race.

What showed up were a director, a cameraman, one sound guy, a fixer and her assistant.

That’s called a lean crew, y’all.  I had to do my own make-up, my own hair and select my own wardrobe.

Which was fine with me, I still got to look like Jeannie.

What I also expected was an egotistical director full of his own air and an unapproachable crew.

I could eat those assumptions, because they were awesome!  Within minutes, we built a rapport and friendship that permeated the set.

The sets themselves were live spaces.  It is a travel show, after all.   They had us looking at potential suites for Matt in some charming neighborhoods of Tainan. They shot us walking the streets, buying food at the night market or recorded scenes of us approaching an apartment building.  The idea is to create a sense of place.

For all my grand judgments, the dialogue was improvised, the laughs were numerous and I got a dose of star treatment.  We were driven around in a van and lunches and coffees were courtesy of the amiable, Australian director.  Overall, I think the show touches on significant elements in the human psyche.  Exploring an exotic place to live and the fantasy of travel.

Most of all, I was given full permission to play myself.

In over eight hours of video, my jokes about “Japanese orgies” and Matt being cheap (his character had a budget) will likely hit the cutting room floor.

House Hunters is a clean show, and well, my mouth, not so soapy.

Check out some photos from the set.

We shot over two to three days, and it was filled with nothing but fun, as we also took the crew for nights out after a day of shooting.  So, this is movie magic.

I’m told by my newly procured agent that the Tainan show will air sometime in April or May.  You can watch the episode on the HGTV website.  This is turning out to be a far more interesting year than anticipated.

Oh, I also do live autograph sessions, but I won’t appear with dogs or children.

A reality TV star has to have standards, you know.

Some set shots courtesy of Paul Watters of Carnivore Films

I suck at anniversaries.  When I was “married”, I was the strangest woman on earth, because we never celebrated our anniversary. Not once.

Hmmm…  guess it makes sense why that one didn’t work out.

I’m a sensitive gal, but not overly romantic.  I also think it’s silly to make someone buy me things just because he’s lucky enough to sleep with me.

Hmmm… I should reconsider that policy, shouldn’t I?

When I realized yesterday that Nomadic Chick is two years old, I wondered if I should acknowledge it or let it pass.

It might just be time for some sentimentality.

In light of my recent announcement, I’m excited to see where this site goes.  If anything, I enjoy sharing all my exploits, successful or not, with you.

The upcoming year will have me actually living in a foreign country for a period of time, with spurts of travel planned.  I’m musing on more Europe at the moment or Africa.

I’m blinking in disbelief that two years has come and gone, that I fulfilled all my goals.

Anniversaries are odd events.  They force you to relive the past, and then prod you to peer at the future.

I could discuss everything I’ve done in the past two years, make this post all about me.

Nomadic Chick was never about me.  I may be the conduit, but it’s really about you.

Whatever you’re hiding, dismissing, yet longing to do, take this blank year to write your life how you want to live it.

During the holidays, we embrace hope, change and connection.  By February, it’s all forgotten.

Grab it… run forwards, breathless and stumbling, swallowing doubt and tears, until you reach the clearing and part the branches, where warm dribbles down your face and you realize it’s the sun blessing you with its rays.

My gosh, I am romantic.  Who knew?

Either way, Happy Anniversary to me!  And, to you.  2012 is gonna blow the roof off the house.

I was talking to myself again.  Which is not a surprising event.  I did this quirky thing in my past life, but this time the urge grabbed hold of me, like an unwanted hand encircling my arm and squeezing.

It all started with my hotel room in Fuzhou.  I started pontificating about the size of the bed, how large it was for one person.  I gushed with adjectives describing the dressers.  Modern and clean.  Or the first efficient closet I encountered in China had me in paroxysms.  The cleanliness alone was orgasmic.  Oh, and the shower, the first one I felt comfortable enough in to not wear shower shoes.  I rambled on about this startling discovery in extensive detail – to myself.

In the past, self-talk amounted to muttering under my breath if something displeased me, or cursing loudly in my car at the profound stupidity of Vancouver drivers.

The ghostly impression of that conversation in China haunts me, among other discoveries in the past six months.

I wrestled with a new kind of lonely, even seriously pondering changing my solo ways from one to two.  I hashed out my discovery upon meeting travelers in the past year and witnessing their off-kilter, sometimes shocking behavior, questioning my very sanity.  Have I changed for the better as I set out to do or have my worst traits suddenly become the forefront of my personality? Do I belch in people’s faces and laugh?  Act seemingly normal one moment, then lash out with some paranoid rant about aliens and the pyramids?  The prospect makes me shudder.

That wacky conversation with myself was a nail banging into the coffin of the horrible truth.

I’ve been bulldozing alone for too long.  It’s time to stop.  I’m getting irritable, even slightly panicky about replenishing my savings.  What saddens me the most is that I’ve lost something.  The spark that first ignited my thirst for other cultures has dwindled.  I want it back.  Maybe it will be slightly world weary, but it’s my spark nonetheless.  My lofty adventure to enter Taiwan by ferry taught me something else essential: I reached my goal.  And knowing that is nothing short of amazing.

I know,  I know… you are gasping out loud.  What does this mean for Nomadic Chick?

What does this mean for you?

I plan to stop for a set period of time, most likely in Asia.  And look for that thing you have to wake up for, moan about, drink away, because they gulp up treasured time.

A job.

Not just any job either.  Don’t fret.  All I want is to breathe somewhere for a bit, build some friends and a small community, earn some foreign denerio, then be able to focus on some writing and media projects that are swimming in my idea pond.  This might involve teaching English part-time or knocking on the door of a local English newspaper or magazine to sell stories.

It’s time.  Time to be nomadic standing still.

You knew I hinted at it once, but you never thought I was serious.  You might leave a scornful comment, or write a nasty email accusing me of pulling the rug from under you.

You sold a dream that you don’t believe in anymore.

I do, though.

I believed I could change my life through travel.  I did.

I longed to be hushed, in awe, and spiritually rewarded through travel.  I was.

I was determined to see magnificent places and meet varied, interesting humans who changed my viewpoint and prejudices.  It happened.

Constant movement bestowed so many benefits on me, but right now, I’m mentally exhausted.  It’s time to take a break.

What this means for you is continued insights on my adjustment to the expat life.  The dramas, intrigues and searing sex I will have.  Errr… a girl can dream.  About sex.

So, dear readers, before you pelt me with angry comments, let me pause as I stroke my 300 cats.

See, crazy never rests.

It’s the holidays, a time of renewal and wistful remembrance of the past year.  What would you change?  How would you change it? What would you keep the same?  What do you want to do now?  Sit down and plan out those resolutions, isn’t it time to do what you’ve been burying during the past year?  Sally Hope continues her fabulous video series on obtaining the life you want. 

Greetings Nomadic readers!!

I’m Sally.  A life coach, but don’t hold that against me.

Coaching is all about creating the kind of life you want, and really, how awesome is that?

I am so glad that Jeannie invited me to talk to you guys because hopefully I can help with some of those ol’ pesky “How’s” in your life.  Like, “HOW do I get the things I want in my life?” and “HOW do I go from where I am now, to where I want to be?” As a life coach, that’s my job.  To help you get crystal clear on what your big vision is for your ideal life, help you come up with a plan to execute it, provide accountability for you so you’ll actually do it, and be here with you all along the way to give you virtual hugs and encouragement, and cheerleading and to say, “YEAH!!! You can do this…frickin GO FOR IT!!!”

When you are “going for it,” I like to call that “creating your Rockstar Life.”  To me, a Rockstar Life is all about living the kind of life you want, creating your own rules, and not taking ‘no’ for an answer.  It’s about being willing to go out of your comfort zone.  No rockstar got where they are without taking risks and deciding that their life was going to be the way they wanted it.

And that’s what I’m here for.  To help you realize and create your Rockstar Life.

This post is the third installment out of a five step series on how to “Create Your Rockstar Life.”  The first two steps were 1) Leave the House, and 2) Feel The Fear and Do It Anyway.

Today’s post is called “Don’t Wait for the Right Time”.  Why?  Because it’ll never show up.

When we have big dreams and ideas for ourselves, we first get excited, and then we get scared.  We don’t know where to start, which steps to take, how we’re going to make it work, how it’s all going to turn out.  It’s all unknown and that is possibly the scariest thing most of us can think of.  So, what happens is that you tuck your dreams away for “another time,” because you feel like right now just isn’t the right time (not enough money, not enough time, too many obligations, etc).

The truth is, those are all excuses.

When you have big dreams, there’s never going to be a “right time.”  It’s never going to feel comfortable going out of your comfort zone, or doing something you’ve never done before.  So you shouldn’t wait until it “feels right” to do your dreams.  Because then it’ll never happen.

It’s okay to be scared.  Being scared is an indicator that something really matters to you.  What I want you to take away from this post is the next time you find yourself saying “I can’t do this thing because it’s not the right time,” that probably means it’s the perfect time.  So, go do it.  Cool?

Does any of this sound familiar?  Leave a comment below and share your experience.  Or tell us the last thing that you thought “wasn’t the right time” to do.

Who I Is:  Sally Hope is a Blogger/Love and Life Coach who loves hot-pink lipstick, knives, and cowboys.  A former Rockstar, she has taken her show from the stage to the road by traveling around the US in an RV while coaching her clients and inspiring people to live their own Rockstar Lifestyles.  Her latest obsessions include traveling, country swing dancing, motorcycles, LOVE, chips and salsa, and adventuring.  Whatever it is you are wanting in your life, she will help you get there faster, with a good butt kicking, a wink, and a smile.  You can find her at her website or Twitter or getting ridiculous on her YouTube channel.

One last thing!

To all my faithful readers, fans, friends and everyone I love:

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!