My secret beach in Carmel had beautiful, tall trees and flowers that kept trying to grow amongst the white sandy beaches. It was quiet, peaceful and beautiful. I’d go here when I needed to feel the same.

Then last week rough weather approached and for a few days the secret beach was dark and clung to desperately to its winter beauty. The clouds rolled over the regular beach, too, creating massive waves and ominous skies. But the beach, though darker, was unchanged. Although the winds and waves were kicking up, the white sand tried so hard to stay, hiding things underneath while letting selective things grow. It wasn’t ready for the change and tried to pretend nothing was happening.

It’s just winds and waves said the beach and those who came – this is how it always is. You think something will happen but really, it doesn’t. We pretend to ooh and ahh and watch the show but truthfully, it’s just show.

But then a storm really came; trees were down, power was out for two days, hurricane winds pelted down over 6 inches of rain in 24 hours. The view from my flat was usually beautiful but I couldn’t see through the rain or clouds and at night it was pitch black with no solace from a candle. It was an isolating, scary and humbling three day period because no one was really prepared.

When the worst of the storm was over the dog and I were itching to walk and so to our beach we went, expecting just to see some big waves and dark skies as before. Yet when we arrived we found the beach very much changed.

It was bare – there were no people or beach; just new cliffs with a small bit of sand below full of seaweed. It wasn’t safe to walk on, it smelled bad from everything washing out – then back – to shore. It was in transition and no one – and nothing – wanted to be there. And so we left wondering if it would ever be the same as before.

Of course it wouldn’t. Nothing stays the same after a storm.

A few more days later I went back to the beach and found it once again transformed but this time, into something much more beautiful and interesting. The cliffs were still there but now gave way to a new kind of beach. One that lacked all the comforting soft white sand and instead now had boulders everywhere that were hidden for who knows how long. They were beautiful, mysterious, filled with life in all their nooks and crannies.

And they were slowly being discovered by people who had returned after the storm and wanted to see the beauty of change.

Usually it’s a quick walk on the beach but today the dog and I lingered, even played. We got trapped on boulders, walked through the cold water, talked with some surfers who loved the new waves. I marveled at how quickly it had changed.

Even though the storm was scary terribly scary to be in and the transformation of the beach was hard to watch at first (I was sad to see my struggling flowers die), it produced a dramatic change back to what it once was. It just did it; no gathering of people to dig away the sand, no permission to get, no questions asked if it was ready – it just did it.

And that doing produced an old beach that had been hidden for so long and made it new again for itself and those who came to it. It became a beach that truthfully, was a little more fun than the last.

It’s not in me to wear a yellow slicker during storms but I still go out in them. I prefer not to wear hiking shoes whilst hiking yet have been to the top of more mountains than anyone I know. I don’t like pants when using power tools or putting up dry wall. It’s just not in me to be in anything other than a skirt or dress.

But people are often uncomfortable with this. I have friends who, for years, have tried to fit me in jeans or make me “hip.” Girlfriends who think because I wear a dress that twirls I’m prissy when I am only wearing one layer to their 5 (who put more thought in and worries more? Not I). There is an assumption because I dress like a girl, I must be limited to phrases such as “princess” and only wear pink. I have never used the word princess and I don’t own anything pink.

My adoration for dresses and skirts come for my love of pretty and my laziness. They’re easy, versatile and simply, me. And they’ve made me a target of a lot of people’s jokes, assumptions and insecurities. But that hasn’t ever changed how I feel about them.

Besides, wearing them on blustery days has given me great reflexes.

It seems as though everyone looks for “signs” as whether to do something or not. Let the stars guide me, they say. They’ll randomly flip through passages of books to find “words of meaning” and direction. They’ll count to 10 and if a bell rings they know to move forward. Everyone just wanting reassurance from some other super force that they’re on the right track.

But what I’ve noticed is when people look for “signs” they’re really only looking for the “yes.” No one really looks for the “no.” If they don’t get a sign, they try a new trick. Show me a sign that he loves me! I need a sign if I should move! Give me a sign to take that job! But if nothing happens, almost no one every takes it as a no. They just simply look for another sign.

I’ve always believed that when you ask advice, you’re really just looking for confirmation of what you already know but you’re just not ready to hear it. Sometimes I wonder if all the “sign seekers” already know the answer, too, but just aren’t ready to accept that they already have the answer and the power.

At a restaurant the other night I saw at a table just a bit away a man I once knew years ago. And when I say knew I mean that we were, for a few weeks, on set together and our interactions were always brief but always enjoyable. We never divulged personal information or had each over for holidays but we shared stories and laughed during the time we worked together. And I can remember almost every day so clearly and so many of the funny little thing’s he’d do – not in a smitten kitten way but because somehow even the mundane was interesting with him.

My first reaction upon seeing him was to say Hi and reconnect. But I hesitated; he wouldn’t remember me and if I just start talking like we know each other he’ll think I’m a crazy fan. Or if I ask about that project he wanted to want to do he’ll wonder why I remember that after all these years – am I a stalker? A loser? A User? So I kept to myself, not even mentioning to anyone at the table that over there was a man I once knew.

However, about thirty minutes later he approached and asked me if I’d ever lived in Vancouver. Yes, I said, for a few years in the mid-90′s. Then he smiled and said, “So nice to see you after all this time, Alex. Do you still have that skirt?”

This man is an A-List celebrity; he has met thousands of people from around the world as is bombarded with people daily. Yet he remembered a skirt I’d worn on set (it had layers and layers), a very bad joke the director told to us, the wiggly worm dance (you’d have to see it), the mittens, and the little cafe nearby that made the foam just so. When he recounted these events he did so with ease, as if remembering is just what we’re supposed to do and not traits of a crazy, loser, stalker user person. But just a fundamental human curiosity.

I remember so many details from years ago; about people, places, polka dots on wallpaper, the way the light hit, that dirty joke. I fall in-love with the little things, people’s mannerisms, moments in the every day but feel like I’m not supposed to. To remember or even notice in the first place has become a sign of obsession, weirdness, boredom, loneliness. After all, if you’re busy it means you must be doing well and if you have time to remember it means you’re not.

I’m busy, I’ve done a lot but I remember because I’m present with each and every person I talk to and am extraordinarily curious (probably far too much for my own good). I don’t half-ass this life – not even an every day conversation. That’s off putting to a lot of people (especially in LA when you’re always supposed to be looking for the next cooler person to talk to. But when I’m talking to you, I’m talking to you. When I’m writing, I’m writing. When I’m walking I look around and because of that I just notice so many things and just simply don’t forget.

But it’s not cool to care, it’s not hip to pay attention, it’s not top dog to notice others. So I have learned to keep quiet about all the little things I remember – especially about people. I can fall in-love so easily with little things about people and miss them almost the moment they’re gone. But I don’t think they’d ever know it as I’m told by most people I come off as aloof. However, I’m anything but. It’s why I still have a little note attached to the book that isn’t really all that interesting or funny; it’s just the thought of the note, the effort of the note, that is charming to me. And I want to remember the good of where that came from. Sounds crazy, no?

But after spending the evening dishing with my friend, my friend who should be Far. Too. Important. And. Busy. to remember the layers of skirt I once had, I felt a bit better about all the details I hold back on sharing. Not full on ease but perhaps I’ll send a note back or ask someone about the event that they probably don’t even think I heard them talking about.

It’s this view that I keep trying to get. Whenever I think of settling down and giving up my vagabond ways it’s this image I turn to. I understand life from this view point. Life in a small, quiet little town full of characters and charm but close to a city that is is alive and close still to a major city where anything is possible. And for the longest time, I thought I was getting closer to this view.

But today, after booking my 33rd flight this year (and actually just booked 4 more), I realise that whenever I am given time to relax, to be, to enjoy the view, I do anything but. I’m quick to fill up a calendar. I used to blame this on living in LA and knowing far too many people (yes I’ll come to your event, Yes I’ll support this cause, Yes I’ll work on that project) but upon booking a trip to Vancouver for just one event, I somehow ended up doing 4.

Right now I live in one of my favouritest flats ever; a large two bedroom with old world charm including a 1940′s stove in which I love to bake in. There’s large windows that look out into a garden {I’ve even got a few plants growing} and my bike can take me anywhere in town {beach, cafe, shoppes} so there’s no reason really to leave.

Which makes me question if I’m really trying to get the view or if I just admire the scenery because it’s so very different from my own.

I have, at the very least, been on 27 flights since 2007 began. That’s about 26 more than I’d like; I’m not a flyer. But I am the sort that likes to see new things and create experiences. So despite the fear, I keep booking flights, printing my boarding pass, and pray to little baby Jesus that nothing will happen.

And, truthfully, nothing bad ever does. The fear, the build up, it’s always for nothing. The plane touches down as do I and I begin my walk towards the new and always glad I came.

So here’s to one more flight next week. A one way ticket back home, home for at least awhile. Home to where things are brand new {new flat, new job, new eyes}. Am I scared? Well, I’m not a flyer but oh, how do I love to see and do new things…

Today is my 33rd birthday and I’m in Copenhagen to celebrate it. So far, I dig being 33. I’ll let you know how it goes.

I was 18 here and my best girlfriend and I had just arrived in Banff Alberta and were staying at Chateau Lake Louise. Because we were strange girls, I wrapped a tensor bandage over my face and she painted a face on top. She then dared me to walk around the famous, 4 star hotel that was filled with celebrities due to a yearly screening that was going on.

We got into the elevator and it stopped on the next floor. In walked Jason Priestly* with his entourage and they kept looking at us. We kept very quiet, trying not to laugh or say anything and he kept looking, probably wondering what the hell was going on with my face.

Finally, my best friend whispered to him, "burn victim" and he just got this very solemn look on his face and nodded. He got off the elevator before us and we busted out laughing for the next three floors.

I think I lasted a whole walk of the hotel – and it’s a big hotel.

*we didn’t know it was Jason Priestly at the time or who he was because we didn’t have television. We only found out later at an after party. When we were introduced he said I looked familiar and I had to tell him I was the burn victim.

Mr. Jack Darcy

It has been an intense week of meetings, talking, work and cold, rainy dark weather. So when the sun appeared today I decided that I needed to take some time off and head to the hill country for a long walk outdoors.

It was good to meander along the river, watching Jack drink from it for the first time and discovering that he loves water (which makes me look forward to swimming with him in the summer). Walking with him for the first time on a trail was an experience; he sniffed everything, discovered little trails I might have overlooked and not walked, sat to watch people and played with other dogs as they passed. Usually when I walk it’s at a pretty good pace though I thought I still noticed things such as who in my neighborhood has just moved in, who has new landscaping, a tree that’s fallen, where the mean dog is, where the nice kitty is. But on this particular walk with the dog and a slower pace, I began to notice even more. And I began to forget about the intense week and the one coming up and the chores that had to be done.

About half way into the trail, we met a young girl about 9 who stopped and asked what my dogs name was. “Jack Darcy,” I said and she scribbled it into her notebook. I asked why she was writing it down and she said, “I’m taking notes! Lots of notes. Four pages already! It’s full of interesting things. I noticed them but then I don’t want to forget them. It’s so easy when I’m bored to think I never do anything. This makes me pay attention and remember that I do.”

I asked her what kinds of things she had written down and she began to recite her whole list to me; the wooden squirrel, the horseshoe tracks, a broken tree (two actually), a dog named Sadie, a dog named Griffith who was missing a tooth, small fish, a very yellow butterfly, a rock with four wholes and so on. I asked her if they were in the direction I was headed to which she assured me they were.

So as I walked the trail I began to look for these things I might otherwise not have noticed. And I saw them – every one.

They say that children and dogs change you because they force you to look at the world differently. I didn’t realise when I met Jack just before Christmas how much I needed him to help change me back to me. I thought because I was always relaxed, easy going, happy go lucky, walked and noticed things that I was still that way. Because I had this idea in my head of who I was and clung to it I hadn’t realised just how fast paced my life had become. When friends called me a “Jet Setter” I’d always deny it because I didn’t see myself that way. When people kept saying I had the most going on I’d down play every bit of work because I wasn’t a workaholic. When people kept noticing details I was missing I downplayed it that I’d notice them too if I cared and I didn’t care (but I did). The truth is – I just didn’t have the time because I’d become consumed by being “busy” and just hiding behind the fact that I loved what I did so busy wasn’t bad. But it was. It usually is.

There is a scene in the movie Tuck Everlasting that has haunted me since I first saw it; it’s when the Tucks are making a cherry pie and they take each cherry and individual pit it. Think of how many cherries it takes to make a pie and there they were, pitting them one by one. When I saw that scene I knew something was off with me because I wanted that experience but at the same time kept thinking what a waste of time. So I slowly began to incorporate slow living back into my life. I resisted having a microwave, a blender, a beater so that when I baked and cooked it would be as manual and slow as possible so I would be in the moment and not rush. However, I very seldom did this and ended up eating out all the time instead. So I could be in the moment when it suited me which just wasn’t very often.

But today, today I can say with certainty that I was once again. Things slowed down, I slowed down. And that didn’t mean that things weren’t done or tasks fell to the wayside or that I’m never going to work or jet set again (I have four big meetings coming up, two transcon trips and one to Denmark all in a matter of 16 days!). It’s just that there’s a place and time for everything. And sometimes there’s just time for looking for horseshoe tracks in the mud and sometimes for working out business deals. The trick is to being present and truthful in both.

Last week a woman came into the store, grabbed one of the “stay in touch” cards and walked off. Half an hour later she came in, handed me the card then literally ran out of the store. Her behaviour was really odd and when I looked at the card, I understood why.

The address and name portion had not been filled out but there was a note on the back that was pretty sarcarstic and said something along the lines about how nice it was for us to send out our catalog after the Tsnuami to show that we care. It also said that they had just seen Al Gores “An Inconvienient Truth” and they were so glad to see that our store kept all its lights on all night long wasting electricity.

There was no contact information and she didn’t stick around to hear an answer to her concerns; she’d already made up her mind that the store was the problem. However, had she chosen to create a dialogue with anyone who worked there over what she thought was wrong (a store that didn’t care about Tsnuami Victims or electricity) she would have learned that the store had donated hundreds of thousands to the Tsnumami victims as well as clothes and supplies. And she would have further learned that the halogen lights the store kept on all night were run by solar power and that, for the most part, the store was off the grid.

I understand her concerns and agree with her on trying to do something about them, but I didn’t understand her tactics. I find so many people point fingers at the wrong places or wrong people and continue to do so because they never ask questions or listen to an answer that might not be what they want to hear. Had she really been concerned she would have asked the question and stuck around for the answer – but she wasn’t open to actually changing something. She was open to attacking and feeling “right.”

And that’s almost as futile as not doing anything at all.