The cold air coated my lungs as I hopped off the shuttle. Instantly, the smell of hot dogs and cider flooded my nostrils as I watched children ice skating in the center of town. It’s holiday season, and I’m exhausted from taking an eight-hour bus ride. The song “Amsterdam” by Guster is on repeat in my head. I’ve finally arrived, and I’m standing in front of a Burger King to meet the guy who’s letting us crash on his floor. He arrives, and we head up to his tiny apartment while he runs off to bartend at a local pub. We decide to wander the streets and envision what people our age do here.

The night is young in Amsterdam and every night is a party. Streets in the infamous red-light district flood with young people, tourists and foreigners looking to get laid on the infamous strip. Red lights frame each pretty little body on the main drag. The women are in skimpy bikinis and different outfits—some neon bikinis, strips of cloth and fishnets. Anything kinky in the bedroom is fully revealed here. The girls sway and look you in the eye. Only three feet away, I can’t help but feel more than a million worlds apart from the woman behind the pane of glass separating us, encapsulated in a tiny room with lube, a sink and a small bed. The snow begins to fall heavier.

We decide to head down the side roads, to the “blue districts” as they call it, and it morphs into a relatively frightening circus show behind the glass, filled with artificial body parts and smirking faces. The beautiful women have transformed into something much more eerie, and I want to laugh and run at the same time.

Every store is a sex shop, and the river in the center of the road is dotted with beautiful swans and tiny rowboats. The swans are enveloped in the red neon lights of lust and deviants as it reflects off the water and they ripple it, as if trying to show me that there is still beauty in some of the most morally conflicted situations. We then hop into one of the many pubs, and try drinking warm German wine. We meet Irish girls who love to party and Cali girls studying abroad. We encounter some very funny guys dressed up as Santa and his workers for a last hurrah before he gets married—Christmas tradition and a bachelor party all in one. We take pictures with them, talk and laugh. I’m tired and one of the Irish girls keeps yelling quite loudly, so we decide to head back to the apartment.

The next day the snow is even worse, but we journey to see Anne Frank’s home. Anne Frank’s house is one of the most interesting and reflective stories to see. You hear the stories of the Holocaust and this infamous family, but to see where they have stepped automatically transforms you into a compassionate person. The tiny writer banned from a life and robbed of everything. You journey through the history of how they were before, when the Nazis invaded and how life was living in an attic. Her journals are at the end of the museum tour. A room filled with notebooks, pages, journals all covered in ink. All covered in her thoughts. I was overwhelmed at how dedicated she was to writing. If only I could apply this heart and soul, I thought. The words of a 13 year old inspire me to change. I want to cry.

My next visit is to the Van Gogh museum, which is four floors of the works of Van Gogh and his colleagues. The rooms themselves become a textured medley of art, with people all over the world glittering the floor, trying to find the meaning behind the infamous sunflower painting. “If you loved someone would you send him or her a piece of your ear?” I ask myself. Heading outside, we found the infamous huge AMSTERDAM sign. I pose in between the letters like any other tourist. I am in Amsterdam. I decide to head back home for a power nap in the apartment. I awake, still in a dream-like exhausted state, to head to the coffee shops. The coffee shops blow California medical marijuana out of the water. It’s pretty weird having hot chocolate and a joint in public. I find myself wandering the Red Light District again, getting lost and seeing the shops and the ladies dancing in the window.

The guy I stayed with said getting lost is easy, and he was right. I don’t mind getting lost in my skewed fairytale world, where the snow glows pink. Even though there’s a sex scandal at every corner. The poor boy I stayed with is lethargic because of a fever, but needs to work after fleeing his country. He’s kind enough to offer me his floor to sleep on. And Anne Frank put a picture of Ginger Rogers on her wall and dreamt of a more glamorous life writing novels. The hookers will continue to hustle in the windows so they can feed their children. And Rodin cut his ear because of a broken heart.

I realized no matter how ridiculous, terrible or disgusting things become, life still goes on and the swans still float peacefully in the river… knowing at the end of the day, the world still secretly glows a fairytale pink. And if I see the beauty in things even when I’m lost in the dark, I think I will be just fine.

“Success is a journey, not a destination. The doing is often more important than the outcome.”

-Robert Ashe, Jr.

20 hours and five in-flight movies later, I finally arrived in Nairobi, Kenya. I stood at the baggage claim, praying that my checked-in duffel bag would roll down the conveyor belt, as my experience has taught me that this is not a guarantee when it comes to international flights. As I stood there, I saw a tall man donned with brand new hiking boots and an overstuffed backpack, and my intuition told me we were here for the same reason. I turned around and asked if he had plans on climbing a mountain. His eyes lit up and I immediately knew my intuition had served me well. He, too, was a member of the 2011 Accenture-Voluntary Service Overseas Mount Kilimanjaro Corporate Challenge, and had been on my final connecting flight.

As we sat in a cab from the airport to the hotel, I tried to balance my attention between my new friend and the view from the window. It was almost as if I had an internal chant in my head…We are in Nairobi, Kenya. Nairobi…Kenya. To climb Mount Kilimanjaro. Mount…Kilimanjaro. We are here. I am here. This is happening.

Day one primarily consisted of getting checked into the hotel and having dinner with the trek group. As we got to know each other, it was clear that we were quite a diverse bunch, as we represented different cities from around the world, spoke different languages, fell in different age brackets, and held different positions within the firm. Even with all these variances, I felt a sense of harmony around the table, of compassion, competitiveness, and excitement.

In the morning of day two, we regrouped and headed out to visit one of the projects, the Kenya Association of the Intellectually Handicapped that benefited from the Mount Kilimanjaro Corporate Challenge trek. We spent the day understanding the goals of the organization and had the opportunity to get to know some of the volunteers and beneficiaries. The day reinforced the reason why we were there and brought the real goal home.

Day three, we crossed countries from Nairobi, Kenya to Marangu, Tanzania. Between mini-naps, I noticed that the 10-hour drive exposed us to attractive forestry and plains. We mentally prepared ourselves for the next morning where we planned to embark on our trek, beginning at the Rongai National Park gate.

Day four to eight, we saw both extremes of vegetation, from beautiful, lush rainforests to dry, barren desert land. Days would begin with warm temperatures that required only t-shirts, shorts, and layers of sunscreen and would end with brutally cold nights that required at least four wool layers of clothes to survive in our frost coated tents. We were left with only the most meager of resources, where the luxury of a warm shower was only a dream and nourishment was only enough to sustain us for our grueling journey.

Day nine was the day that we would finally achieve our goal of reaching the Summit, which would have to be earned in one of the most exhausting physical and mental challenges that I have ever faced. We left camp at midnight to commence the trek up the steep scree slopes to Gillman’s Point, continuing around the rim, passed Stella Point and onto the highest point of Africa – Uhuru Point. We experienced a snow-ice-rain storm that continued on for 36 hours. We climbed for eight hours in -10C degree weather and heavy snow, and quickly learned that the only way to get through it was to keep our heads down and let the light from our head torch guide the way. Summit night included nausea, darkness, extreme cold, and a throbbing headache due to the altitude. We focused on matching the stride of our leg to the swing of our arm with our walking pole. All of us were pressed to our limits, and in spite of their valiant efforts, we succumbed to mountain sickness, exhaustion, and some of the many perils of our journey. Nevertheless, the majority of us were able to reach the Summit of Kilimanjaro with the help of supportive guides and amazing porters, most of whom climbed the mountain at least 10 times.

Ridiculous.

There were 25 of us that were part of the Corporate Challenge, many of whom met their threshold on that mountain. Six of the 25 capitulated before reaching Uhuru Point due to exhaustion or altitude sickness. I never heard and saw so many people regurgitate. Throughout our climb, we took two-minute breaks to fuel our bodies with protein bars and water droplets from our frozen bottles.

As I reflect back on how I was able to reach the summit of 5,895m, I have come up with 4 reasons:

1. Charity: I kept thinking of the volunteers and beneficiaries that we met our first full day in Nairobi
2. Friends/Family: The generous fundraising supporters
3. Trek Group: We looked out for each other on that mountain
4. Personal drive: There is no way I flew all this way, and for the last five consecutive days, slept on rocky slopes and stuffed myself with porridge and energy bars without reaching the top.

We spent only 15 minutes at Uhuru Peak. We stood on the roof of Africa, and took pictures, tried to hug each other over down jackets, and just breathed—with the little oxygen that we had. Although everyone’s hair and clothes were weighed down with ice, and our muscles screamed at us, we all felt so alive! We were infected with excitement and a sense of achievement. We made it. Shortly after, we started our descent at record speed, where we were able to literally ski down the loose volcanic scree trail. The day was a total of 11 hours of trekking.

Day 10, we set off early to trek to Marangu Gate. It was a mixture of happiness and relief that got our exhausted bodies moving forward for our last walk. After five hours of trekking, we reached the gates at Marangu, where our bus waited to take us to the hotel for a well-appreciated shower and celebratory dinner.

Day 11, we were on a bus for 10 hours, returning to Nairobi. We spent the day recounting what we had seen and how we felt. We looked at each others’ pictures and agreed that the entire trek was lined with panoramic views that we did our best to capture on memory cards. As trying as the adventure was, we all felt a sense of connection to the mountain, to each other, and to the charity. I remember the drive back being very peaceful.

It was a rewarding experience that will never be forgotten. This epic journey reminded me that life is a marathon, not a sprint. And I could not have asked for a better group of people to share this journey with. As a group, we raised almost $150K and still counting! This certainly could not have been done without the thoughtfulness and generosity of so many friends and family members.

I am extremely grateful for the opportunity to climb the world’s largest free standing mountain with such amazing people in support of an incredible charity. It still feels surreal…

The year you were born will affect everything about you—from the TV shows you watch to the clothing you wear, as well as your political views. Coming from the Y Generation, I never truly got a full glimpse into the lives that sandwiched my most formative years.

My parents were both born on the very early side of Generation X. I knew I was a glam rock fan, but other than that, there wasn’t much to think about until I dated a late Gen X-er. He was a hard working cynic who was a wild child growing up. He’d tell me stories of how he used to pencil in a fake birthday on his I.D. to get into clubs (that would’ve been nearly impossible in my era—ID scans, black-lights and stamps scare the crap out of you). He would fill his van with the aroma of freshly lit joints, only to receive a simple head shake from police officers that chased them down. Generation X was post-baby boomers and just off the edge of the sexual revolution. There was the hippie era of the ’60s, the punk rock ’80s and ’90s, and the questioning of morale and world security that still looms over my generation to this day.

Political events can shape a generation like a freshly opened jar of Play-Doh. Generation X was no exception: the fall of the Berlin Wall and the end of the Cold War quickly replaced by the War on Drugs and facing new recessions, oil and energy problems.

My history teacher in high school once described social practices like a pendulum. It swings back and forth, slowly with each decade, swaying from more conservative to more liberal and back again. Post ’60s and ’70s, this generation would be swinging back to being a bit more conservative, but not enough to regress fully. The lack of education on the AIDS issue would probably be my biggest issue with this generation.

Socially, people freaked about the AIDS epidemic. This wasn’t just your LSD dropping hippies anymore, as crack-cocaine intertwined with rap got into the hands (and ears) of young teens, especially in New York. The baby boomers were fearful of contracting something from a toilet seat and gasped at the backlashes on religion.

People were more educated than ever before, and divorce rates were at its peak with many of the X-ers being raised in single-parent homes. Generation X represents a more heterogeneous generation, with diversity in race, class, religion, ethnicity and sexual orientation more than ever before. Gender roles were challenged, as more women entered the workforce. This acceptance and cultural exchange would expand with every year (my generation would pick up the slack, and spark the gay rights movement).

Technology started its full-fledged world domination. Gen X was the first generation to experience more in media than any previous generation had. Happy Days, All in the Family, I Dream of Jeannie, Three’s Company—and the foundation for modern sitcoms was set. Comedy took on a new life with SNL. From the amazing slasher film craze to films like the Clerks (What’s up New Jersey?) and the ’80s-tastic film family, i.e. Breakfast Club, Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Pretty in Pink and anything else with Molly Ringwald, the generation had its share of well-known cult classics. The Star Wars saga became a lifestyle choice faster than you could say Death Star. Michael Jackson made headway with turning music videos into art and having specific formats and MTV was on in every suburban living room,’80s rock (long hair, tight pants, glitter, cross dressing, groupies, drugs and rock n’ roll). The punk rock scene from the UK surging over to the US, which became a counter-cultural trend that was a force to be reckoned with.

As I grew up, the older kids were slowly shedding their flannel from their Kurt Cobain-phase, and pop came flowing in. Wildly inappropriate underage boys and girls created the foundation for Gen Z’s Mileys and Biebers. Barney gave hugs to overtly happy children and told us we were special. The ’60s were awkwardly regurgitated with low-rise jeans, bell-bottoms and neon-colored peace signs. Clubs were flooded with flashing lights and X. Computers were in every home, and bulky cell phones were at the ears of the white-collared workers. Gameboys, Tamagochis and N64’s were the coolest new techie toys.

Beanie Babies “mighty morphed” into Antique Roadshow items for about a decade and Nickelodeon kept kids glued to big screen TVs. Adults watched Bill Clinton deny stains and relations. And we all waited for the Y2K bug to eat everyone alive.

Then the first African American president gets elected (mostly because of the Gen Y votes). Surviving and coping post-9/11was just as difficult for victims’ families as it was for the entire nation, as we regained our balance and bonded together. As smoke loomed over the water, kids cried at school, hoping their parents would come home from work. This then transitioned to the “War on Terror” that most of us probably don’t understand. Animal influenzas and diseases worried our parents, and Vietnam-esque anger surged through Gen Y. They became even more confused about big corporations, insurance, student and government policies. Homosexuals began fighting for equality and are still battling for it today. Today, Occupy Wall Street is a protest of primarily Gen Y-ers, hoping to inspire change like the young people of Cairo recently have. Women began to dominate both the workforce and college classrooms, and are still climbing to reach the top of Fortune 500 companies. The recession left the educated dissatisfied with many choices made by this country. Growing up, the economy was great and we could be whatever we wanted to be. Some people would call the late Gen X and all of Gen Y the Generation “Me” era. We felt invincible. Now I’m starting to get some of the cynicism that my “X”-lover had.

Although we did not have spaceships or cool suits as the ’80s had hoped, environmentalists found that cars were harming the planet, and the green movement blossomed. The world literally shook as we witnessed some of the most catastrophic natural disasters ever recorded. Scientists began playing God more than ever with stem cells, cloning and artificial hearts. We were lol-ing, brb-ing and ttys-ing more than ever with anyone having the ability to communicate anywhere via text, video or voice.

As the Y-ers go on, I wonder, how will my next four siblings, some of which fall into the Z category (’93, although this can be on the cusp of Y depending on who you ask, ’99, ’01 and ’05), I wonder how they will get on. Pluto’s been shunned from the planet list in classrooms, along with sweets to hopefully fight obesity. Everyone’s going to college but without the easing whisper of parents and Barney thinking everything will be perfect. Whiney yet privileged, the Z’s are in the middle of exploring their footprint on history.

They are fully plugged into technology and globalization via online tools is something that is natural to them. Film inside a camera is completely foreign, and compact discs are now found in the Museum of Modern Art. Napster pissed off some musicians, and created the gateway for online music sales.

Music globalized genres and sub-genres, and a multitude of challenges to music cultures was concocted on countless platforms in the double O’s. This is the era of Blu-rays, On-Demand, Netflix, touch screens, Facebook, Twitter and YouTube. In response, X-ers would be slapping them across the face and Y’s would be shrugging their shoulders and sighing “Get real,” since their dreams seemed just as real seven years ago.

There really is no conclusion to what has been or what will be. Everyone has experienced different things, seen different things, partook in events in various ways. We are a few decades away from a textbook passage, an analysis, and a conclusion.

Only the generations to come will truly know our impacts and mistakes. We cannot truly reflect back from an unbiased view if we experience it firsthand. My only hope is that the environment becomes sustained, the wars worldwide end… and that I get a full-time job (spoken like a true “Me” generation-er, eh?). One thing to remember: leave your positive, powerful mark—even if you don’t know what it means yet.

Europe has always been the powerhouse of fashion on the runways and on the streets of culture. Haute couture in 1860 Paris was represented by the fashionable wardrobe of queens, and eventually fashion houses like Balenciaga, Chanel, Dior, Givenchy, Jean-Paul Gaultier, Hermes, Lanvin, Celine, Chloe, Yves Saint Laurent and countless other fashion icons got their start in the same city.

These designers have the ability to make your mouth water if you have carnal instincts when it comes to the best of couture. Chanel’s designs in the 1930s carried over to America, creating fashion that encompassed the general look and lines from 1920s to 1930s, both in Europe and in France. Yves made his mark by taking over Dior and then in the ’60s by creating the “beat look” and the infamous “smoking suit.” He then ended up handing his label over to an American: Tom Ford. With French fashion, I can go on and on about the history, textures, colors and successors, but clearly once Americans got their hands on a sewing machine, like music, fashion became more globally accessible—crossing over, meshing and molding into something that channels the historicism of fashion evolution along with new and transformative ideas that pulls from all walks of life and culture.

American fashion was a bit more slow-moving (blame the pilgrims for not getting here fast enough). But like California wine, American fashion eventually became a frontrunner against powerhouses like France. Donna Karan, Marc Jacobs, Vera Wang, Calvin Klein, Carolina Herrera, Diane Von Furstenberg and Tom Ford are undeniably power players in the field of fashion, each setting a distinct mark on fashion trends in the states as well as Europe. Everything from clean-cut polos to crazy party frocks to wedding gowns to anything in between, Americans started to establish their couture creations right in their own backyard.

Street fashion in Europe stayed relatively consistent in France, keeping blacks at the forefront with boots and scarves. There’s an odd, effortless beauty about the Frenchwoman: always donned in head-to-toe black, with possibly a pop of color in a scarf and practical, yet perfectly fitting boots. Her skin is flawless, and where hair free flowing with a tinge of frizz that reminds you of Kate Moss. She looked like she rolled out of bed with that fabulous outfit, sporting no makeup and a mysterious pout.

When I was in France, I had to sacrifice my mesh t-shirts, holed jeans, band shirts, my hooker heels and Jersey Shore casual club wear. I traded it in for black dress pants, blazers and brown, black or blue t-shirts. There, I always looked grand and well put together, even fooling Frenchmen of my origins until I opened my mouth and a rumbling Jersey accent that sounded like a scratched record to foreign ears came out. So I sported my bruised shades, noirs and scarves (I used to despise scarves at home—I always felt like there was a noose around me).

I was envious and confused as an American, subconsciously pulling at my clothes as I strutted the streets of Paris, blending in with my bruised blues that mimicked the cloud-coated sky. Seeing a pop of color on the metro or on the street was like spotting a tiger in the suburbs. It was one in a million, and gave me flashbacks to the eclectic New York fashion that was free and highly frightening at times. The United States is a regurgitation of European fashion on acid. Our country was a late-bloomer in population; hence, fashion had a bit of catching up to do and trends to claim. From Fashion Week all the way over to Burning Man, Americans have never been afraid to break molds while still admiring the lovelies of Europe. We certainly are a melting pot when it comes to fashion.

A combination of the dark skies and the darkly clothed beautiful women was chic, but sometimes a bit depressing. Maybe it was because I couldn’t get to know any of them. Maybe it was because I couldn’t be my loud-mouthed USA self, in my wardrobe and in my language. I was unwillingly silenced, well, because even though I lived there, I was still a tourist.

French fashion is very fashionable and very practical. Form-fitting, yet comfortable. Stylish, yet without blisters and an ability to navigate cobblestone and dog droppings. Fashion is always evolving, yet cyclical. We can see the garbs of people from 14th century France transformed into a modern gown. We see trousers from the 16th century. We see purses from the 17th century. It’s endless. Along with that we see fads travel in and out as fast as an espresso in the morning. And at some point, we might ask ourselves: Who am I? Why do I dress the way I do? Am I merely a product of my fashion environment or do I strive to deeply express myself through fashion?

The alarm rings. It’s 3AM. Mouth is dry and adrenaline is pumping as I grab coffee and head to the airport. I’m feeling achy, but it’s going to be worth it. Leave early, but not too early…The fear of missing a flight is like when your feet fall asleep.

I take it all in. Wait. Scan shoes. It’s only been four months after coming back from Europe. Thank God America has a quicker security check.

Traveling alone is like getting a bug bite. Once you’re bitten, you can’t help but scratch. I was scratching after a winter of boredom. What do you do when you’re trapped in New Jersey in need of filling a void after the thrill of being out of the country? Live vicariously through your pictures, and that’s about it. The computer screen of the towns, cobblestones, monuments, nightclubs, sunsets melt down your throat like day-old coffee. The taste isn’t the same but it’s comforting for a while. So, I decide to hop on a plane to Cali.

From above, the towers, buildings, bridges become a flashback to my adolescent years of tiny Polly Pocket pieces in my hands. I can’t help but imagine something going wrong in the engine and the plane plummeting back to earth. That thought quickly smashes my innocent flashback. I’m alone, so at least none of my friends or family would be hurt. I can sit in my own fear and be oddly content with it.

Traveling alone is almost an existential experience. You’re alone with your thoughts, no one to shoot dialog of excitement to. No pong-like conversation in preparation for an awesome time.

Being alone has its perks. There are no quarrels on the day’s agenda, no pressure to be entertaining or choose the best restaurants or sites. You can sit in the silence of a new place and take everything in. It becomes a sensory experience. It’s sensual, film-noir-esque and transcendental. It’s lonely, slow and sometimes I wasn’t sure how to take it all in. Sometimes I wanted to break down and cry, and other times the air escaped my lungs.

Those are the moments of my traveling that are the most vivid. The colors, tastes, textures all flood back to me. Walking alone, letting the world slap you in the face forces me to stand a bit taller. There are no shields, no blockades between you and public perception. I become oddly vulnerable. It’s as if I was shedding old layers of myself with every new step alone.

Watching people live in a place that seems so foreign; eating mille-feuille at a table outside in the cold; wine and foreign tongues that aggravate your ears and eventually evolve into white noise; sleeping inside a tiny cabin in a docked sailboat during a thunderstorm that felt like my life could be taken at any moment; wandering to Long Beach and finding a shoe store that John Wayne used to shop in; experiencing life in a country home in Italy; talking to the most wonderful French girl you will ever meet while eating paninis; making jokes with strangers or gazing at them just to see if you can get a glimpse of who he or she truly is…

For a long time, my eyes had been foggy and it was as if a film had been peeled from my eyes. Every new experience is a new warm cup of coffee to hold in your hands. Traveling alone is really traveling to find yourself. You learn to become content with your shell. You learn to hold your head up and stare the world in the face without the safety net of a significant other or a friend to fill in the space. And undeniably, nothing is more rewarding than the long awaited embrace of arrival upon landing.

It’s been several months since Japan’s nuclear tragedy at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear plant shined a critical light on the risks that were pretty inherent to the global nuclear power industry.

The Fukushima Daiichi nuclear disaster is only the third in history to reach a Level 7 on the International Nuclear and Radiological Scale (INRS), which means the devastation is about as severe as the infamous Chernobyl nuclear disaster.

Believer it or not, we are all facing a serious energy dilemma here. There are over 6.3 billion people on the planet and we all want energy. And one of our most promising sources of energy is nuclear power with all its good benefits. It emits low levels of greenhouse gasses, making it favorable over other options such as coal-fired power plants, and nuclear power yields rather high amounts of electricity just from a single plant.

But, in the days immediately following the Japan disaster, the whole global nuclear energy sector was on high alert, causing many nations to reevaluate their nuclear programs. The United States was trying its best to convince Americans that our 104 nuclear reactors were safe. Germany had decided to halt all nuclear energy plans. Switzerland and Italy came to the same conclusion, halting their nuclear plans as well. Indian scientists wanted to halt their plans for nuclear development but the government was reluctant, citing the desperate need for energy in that country. Even China—a nation that currently builds as many nuclear power plants as the rest of the world combined—put a halt to nuclear development (CNN.com).

The major downsides to nuclear power are clear. For one, the half-life of nuclear waste can be more than 10,000 years, making safe disposal a problem. This nuclear waste can then be used to create nuclear weapons. The world supply of uranium—the energy source for nuclear reactors—will only last another 30-60 years. Because of the time necessary for regulations, planning and building, it takes 20-30 years to build a new nuclear plant in most western democracies, which means nuclear is not a quick fix for energy shortages (www.timeforchange.org).

What’s more? Nuclear accidents can spew contaminants over large swaths of the planet’s surface while making the immediate area uninhabitable for the foreseeable future—and this is the most significant risk of all.

It’s been several months since Japan’s nuclear tragedy grabbed the headlines, and one could almost be excused for thinking the matter has settled down altogether. But in some nations, the issue is just heating up. Case in point: Just this May, Germany announced that it will phase out all of its 17 nuclear reactors by 2022. This is a pretty dramatic move when you consider Germany gets 23 percent of its electricity from nuclear power.

Yet despite Germany’s bold move, most nations that halted their nuclear ambitions days after the Fukushima disaster, have reengaged their nuclear programs in earnest. France, a nation that derives over 75 percent of its electricity from nuclear energy, has 58 nuclear plants with two under construction.

India, a nation where 40 percent of households have no access to electricity, just announced that it stands firm on its nuclear ambitions. Currently only 3 percent of India’s electricity is derived from nuclear energy. They government hopes to quadruple this by 2020.

Nearly 80 percent of mainland China’s electricity comes from coal. China wants to reduce its reliance on fossil fuel, closing down older, inefficient coal plants and replacing them with newer coal plants and nuclear reactors. China now has 14 nuclear reactors with 25 more currently under construction. Sill more will be under construction soon.

And we can’t forget about the Netherlands, Britain and Poland, who are all committed to their nuclear plans as well.

So what do we as a society do? Do we continue to tap this seemingly plentiful yet risky energy resource? Or do we abandon it, seeking other alternatives, possibly raising prices and denying power to millions in the process?

I, for one, do not have an answer. I can see the rationale for nuclear energy—it provides cleaner energy to millions of people who need it, many of whom will be getting access to electricity for the first time in their lives. I can also see the arguments against it—nuclear waste that we have no idea how to safely dispose of and tragic accidents that will continue to happen no matter how hard we try to prevent them. There is no easy answer here.

So I put it to you. How would you recommend resolving this dilemma? Please comment below and let us know.

Entering into the world in swirls
Into the mind, unconfined and free
Liberated spirit, speak my mind.
All the commotion
Moving so fast like a locomotion
In slow motion
Promotion becomes a demotion

Don’t be afraid to ask the essential questions
The oblique, the unique, the deep
Desperate and drooped like wheat
Hope–all smoke without one thing,
The One thing.

I love the bright, beautiful day in LA
Kites fly high
So free
Break dancers in a contortion
High fives
Raw emotions, a potion
Free to be,

Free to be…

The world is still reeling from Japan’s 8.9 quake that killed more than 10,000 to date, and I became alert again—as I was after 9/11, as I was after the Haiti quake, as I was after a friend’s suicide, and as I was after any disaster or accident that came with no prior warning.

My unconscious MO was to take a sip of reality only when there was a tragedy. Then I’d let indifference creep in, and the cycle would start all over again.

I decided, not this time.

What happened to my motto to live intentionally, to dream, to not have compassion fatigue, to not put things off until tomorrow, to constantly ask myself questions whether this or that or every decision I make is worth it?

To live like you’re living, to challenge the status quo, to struggle and fight, to search for the answer until you get it—the time is now, before it hits closer to home.

Because you never know what will happen tomorrow…

In a new survey released by Travel & Leisure, LA ranked number one as the rudest city in America—not New York. Blame it on the car culture (the excessive horn honkers in Beverly Hills) and notorious traffic (the I-405 that moves 4 or 5 mph), which may be half responsible for all the meanness, but what about the other half that spills out when we’re on foot? Are we really ruder than the “saucy” New Yorkers?

My first visit to New York was four and a half years ago. I remember taking the bus from LaGuardia Airport to Times Square because a taxi had been out of my budget—I was still barely out of college and broke. At the first stop, a man entered, almost fell from the sudden thrust during takeoff, then confronted the bus driver and all hell broke lose (while the bus was still moving). “Don’t be tellin’ me what to do! Once you pass the white line, it ain’t my business. Just go sit down and shut your mouth!”

On our second day there, we asked a passerby or two where the TKTS booth was and they completely ignored us. And that’s when the stereotype was confirmed—New Yorkers are mean people, period. Then I moved to New York two years later and changed my mind. I admired their drive and energy. People were honest, not mean. Focused, not angry. They were considerate, minding their own business.

It was like this: New Yorkers were comfortable stabbing people in the front while Angelinos were more comfortable stabbing people in the back. But at least those in the Big Apple were being truthful. So what was up with LA?

And then it occurred to me. LA is comfortable and laid back. We have the beaches, the sunny weather, wide open spaces for privacy and the entertainment industry that can make us spoiled, lazy, narcissistic and superficial as a whole. Meghan, a food service worker spoke the bitter truth on KPCC’s Air Talk when she commented,

Angelinos are the rudest customers: the most impatient, the worst tippers, the most ready to complain about prices for food as they pull their designer wallets from their designer jeans. As a customer or visitor to many areas in town, I’ve noticed that there is a certain sense of exclusivity that dictates the reception of customers in stores or restaurants. If you don’t look like you belong there, good luck getting a “hello.”

I know I’m writing this for an LA audience, so you might be wondering, why all the negativity when you should be showering the city with love and all the good things it offers like the food, the shopping, the weather and the free-flowing way of life?

Because maybe it’s time for us to take a step back and ask ourselves: Do I contribute to the stereotype of a rude Angelino…in the city of Angels?

What do Belize, Honduras and Nicaragua have in common? A lot, but one commonality is that all of their oil is imported. And during a year, it can really add up. The large amount spent on this energy exits the local economy and enters into a foreign corporation or nation, never to return—a one-way, linear flow.

There are many ways for developing nations in the Caribbean and Central America to boost their economies, but one of the most effective is to fully utilize what’s already there. This is best done by replacing imported energy with domestically produced energy.

In theory, when money is spent on imported energy, these dollars leave the domestic economy and boost the coffers of another country, another company. However, if money is used to purchase locally produced energy, the dollars circulate within the local economy, helping it grow.

As an example, Belize imports approximately 7,000 barrels of oil per day, according to the CIA World Fact Book. If we assume that in August of 2010, a barrel of oil on the world market sells for roughly $150 (Belize), Belize is spending $1,050,000 (Belize) every day on imported oil, or $383,250,000 every year (Bloomberg.com). The Belizean economy thus suffers a hard loss, or lack in monetary gain for importing such a necessity. If that money was spent on locally produced energy rather than imported oil, the local economy will profit and better allocate their gains on energy costs regardless of the source.

So why not make this money work twice as hard by spending it on locally produced energy?

There is a complex relationship that exists between imports, exports and economic development. Many developing nations are in a position where they must import most or all of their oil. These nations will export raw materials to increase income and offset the money being spent on imports, but attempting to balance the trade is difficult—it’s very hard, if not impossible, for most nations exporting the less expensive raw materials to offset the import of finished goods/energy.

Below are three different scenarios for acquiring energy and the effects each one has on the importing nation’s economy:

1. Importing refined oil while exporting raw materials (sugar)
2. Importing refined oil while exporting ethanol made from sugar
3. Replacing imported refined oil with domestic ethanol

* Numbers are used for purely hypothetical purposes.

Scenario 1: Importing refined oil while exporting raw materials.

This scenario is actually occurring in developing nations around the world. They do not have the resources, facilities or infrastructure to produce and refine their own oil, so they have no choice but to import. Meanwhile, these same nations must also export their raw materials to other nations (that will process such materials) in order to make significant, if any, profit.

So how does this process really work?

For this particular example, let’s say a liter of imported gasoline costs $2. This is $2 that will leave the economy. In order to offset this loss, a nation will export another good, such as sugar, to a nation that can transform the good into another profitable product, such as ethanol. Also, the bulk sugar price for enough sugar to make a liter of ethanol may be $0.15.

The chart below indicates the export of raw sugar will only offset $0.15 of the $2 spent on a liter of imported oil, and thus $1.85 per liter leaves the local economy and goes to an overseas interest.

Scenario 2: Importing refined oil while exporting refined ethanol.

A more progressive approach to the import-export trade problem is to export a finished product such as ethanol. When we export a finished product, the jobs required to take raw materials to produce the finished commodity are supplied in-country, which in-turn, provides local citizens with work and trade-skills in contrast to outsourcing those jobs.

Unfortunately, exporting finished products is a step that is often missed by developing nations that are rich in natural resources but lack basic infrastructure. What then develops is an extraction relationship with between the third-world country and a more industrialized trade partner. An extraction relationship simply means that a trade partner takes, or more like extracts, the natural resource in its cheapest, rawest form, and then has the resource manufactured elsewhere. The final product is then sold for more than it was obtained from the country of origin, missing out on fair a profit.

There are numerous examples of scenario two all over the developing world: exporting crude oil instead of refined oil; exporting cotton instead of clothing; exporting coltan and other rare minerals instead of microchips; and exporting sugar and coconut oil instead of ethanol and biodiesel; and the list goes on.

The problem with the extraction method is that the nation with the natural resources is stuck with the most basic and laborious jobs, such as picker, digger, miner, small farmer, etc. Meanwhile, the jobs that create the finished products are done elsewhere, jobs such as engineer, designer, business manager, researcher, programmer, skilled tradesman, and assembler. The more skilled the job, the more value that is given to a product, and is thus awarded the highest salaries in the production process. These are the jobs a developing economy should keep at home.

In scenario two we would produce the ethanol domestically, keeping most of the revenue within the local economy. Let’s say that a liter of ethanol can be sold for $1.40. We now have $1.40 to offset the $2 being spent on imported oil, but as you can see, even with a revenue of $1.40, the purchase of imported oil still results in $0.60 which leaves the local economy and goes into foreign markets.

Exporting a finished product is preferable to exporting raw materials. In the case of imported oil, it is likely that the price you charge for your ethanol exports will be much lower than the price you would pay for your imported oil. The result, illustrated in the following table, is a trade imbalance of about $0.60 per liter leaving the local economy.

Scenario 3: Substituting imported refined oil with domestic ethanol.

Scenario two demonstrated that a nation can yield significant benefits by keeping much of the production domestically. While exporting this energy-commodity would be profitable, it would not be nearly as beneficial to the local economy as it would be if used to substitute imported oil in the form of ethanol or biodiesel. The key is to deter from spending the $2 on importing oil all together. By eliminating the expense of imports, all of the money spent on a liter of domestic fuel will stay within the local economy.

Realistically speaking, it is unlikely most nations will be able to offset 100 percent of their imported fossil fuel with ethanol and biodiesel alone. It is important to understand that substituting as much imported oil as possible is the next step in strengthening an undeveloped economy.

In scenario three, all of the benefits of domestic manufacturing still apply, but there is one significant difference. Manufacturing yields may have the same economic benefit, and the $2 per liter that would be spent on importation is no longer leaving the country. This is because the imported energy has been replaced with the domestic energy.

The chart illustrates how this has a tremendous impact, turning a net loss of -$0.60 into an economic benefit or a gain of $1.40 as the money cycles within the local community.

Most developing nations seek to improve their economic circumstances. But one of the major obstacles of economic growth is that they are not taking an objective analysis of factors that hinder their own growth. They aren’t looking for solutions that benefit the greater good of the local communities. Substituting imported energy is a powerful tool for these countries—it’s the best way to give them a true and healthy boost of energy.