As I stepped out of my clothes the other day before taking a shower, I caught a glimpse of my newly formed tan line that marked where my tank top rested during my run that day. Normally, such a sighting calls for a day of mourning which includes slathering every inch of my body with sunscreen, donning shirts, pants, and socks that cover every inch of my body, and spending the rest of the day indoors with the curtains closed. Then I berate myself for not having that same sense of urgency on a daily basis when I should wear sunscreen. My ideal running weather. I'm a white girl. My skin is pale enough that I can use baby powder to set my makeup. Skin cancer runs in my family along with the blonde hair and blue eyes. I often tell people this when they wonder why I'm sitting at the beach under an umbrella with a double-sized towel wrapped around my long-sleeve shirt and sweatpants. It's a lie, but the truth is embarrassing. The truth is that when I look at my naked body i

In seven hours I am leaving the country and returning on Tuesday to start a new chapter in my life. I'm sitting here right now looking around my home and making notes about the final tasks I need to complete before loading the car and heading to the airport. I have laundry to do, dishes to wash, and some items to write for a client, but I cannot stop the thoughts ramming against the inside of my head. Todo va a cambiar . Everything is going to change. He told me that recently, and I'm painfully aware right now just how true that is. For more than two years we've waited for this moment. We've weathered an international relationship through endless text conversations, a few video chats, and monthly visits interspersed with a few extended moments. We made it through the stressful visa process. We survived the interview. Can we survive living together? That thought alone has me fairly convinced I will not be sleeping tonight. Honestly, I cannot remember the last time