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“My Gutsy Story” by Lois Joy Hofmann

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Don’t be afraid to go out where the adventure begins!

Lois Joy Hofmann

“Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing at all.” Helen Keller

During the 1980s while living in Minnesota, I decided that I wanted to plan my life rather than being thrown about by external events.  I had always wanted to retire in San Diego.  Why not move there now, avoid the harsh Minnesota winters, and find my soul mate? My business partner lived in Arizona, so he agreed with the move. I began to set up clients in San Diego.

When you set out your goals, be prepared for them to be fulfilled in ways that will surprise you!  There are no accidents! You set the mission and objectives, with God’s help, and the strategy will take care of itself as events unfold to propel you toward those goals.

One Sunday, during one of my trips to San Diego, I hired a sailboat captain to take a client out for a day.  During a horrible accident, I was thrown against the lifelines; my liver almost split in two.  I was rushed into surgery. An internal medicine specialist, on call that night, saved my life. He warned me, however, that my recovery would take two years. He advised me to resign my clients and quit flying all over the country. “You’ll never be in that venture capital business again. Maybe an outdoor job, like being a mail carrier, will give you the fresh air and exercise you’ll need!”

I sold my Minnesota home, resigned my clients there, and moved to San Diego to recover. I hiked the trails and worked out in the gym, chocking up four hours per day of aerobic exercise. That cut my estimated recovery time in half. Meanwhile, I researched the burgeoning biotechnology market. During that process, I met Dr. Günter Hofmann, a physicist and inventor. The rest is history.

Lois and Gunter Hofmann

I joined Günter’s company, which had been operating out of three townhouses and two garages. I changed the direction of the company from making and selling laboratory research instruments to developing drug and gene delivery systems. Then we raised many rounds of venture capital, finally taking the company public. All went well; the company grew to over one hundred employees and another hundred associates around the world.  I had fulfilled one of my life goals, that of becoming the CEO of a publicly held company. We had J & J as a pharmaceutical partner. Clinical trials were looking good. Patients were being helped.

Then another setback occurred. Günter and I were ousted from the very company he had founded in a traumatic coup. We were devastated. Of course, we contacted our attorneys. Our choice, in the end, was to fight or flee. Many advised us to duke it out.

Our decision was radical and unexpected. We decided to sail around the world! Thus began an eight-year odyssey to assuage our anger and hurt, and to fulfill a far different dream. It would be a better life—one in which we would be truly independent and self-sufficient, answering to no one. We would be back in control of our own destiny. We were open to change. We were ready for new beginnings.

We learned many lessons during those eight years of sailing. Our Maiden Voyage, the topic of my first book, was all about control. We were forced by the wind and weather to change schedules and to delay crew. Even though Pacific Bliss was a new boat, equipment broke down. And we faced a Force 10 storm off the pirate coast of Colombia. Force 12 is a hurricane. A 43-foot catamaran cannot survive that!  After that voyage, we realized that there is a certain peace in being out of control. It reminds one of how much there is to lose, and how fast one can lose it.

Lois on board Pacific Bliss in the Marquesas Islands

I am a different person now. I have a certain calmness underneath my skin that I didn’t have before. My life has all been worth it. I have no regrets.

Maybe you think it’s too late to pursue your passion, to stretch yourself to that place where adventure begins. Life went on. Age just crept up on you. And somewhere along the way, you lost the plot. Well, I have news for you. Günter retired at 65, the year we ordered our Catana catamaran to be built. I was 58. Günter turned 70 on the Passage from Bali to Singapore, with two years of our circumnavigation yet to come! You’re never too old to live your dream! I encourage you to cast off those dock lines, to pursue your passion, and to live your dream, whatever that may be. To do that, you will need to overcome your fear of the unknown.

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Lois Joy Hofmann

Lois Joy Hofmann retired after a 35-year entrepreneurial and management career. Then she completed her circumnavigation with her husband, Gunter.  Intrepid adventurers, the couple now embarks on more conventional travel with the goal of understanding countries and cultures that they omitted the first time around.  When not traveling, Lois resides in San Diego, California, where she enjoys writing, speaking and photography. She launched her first book in the nautical trilogy “In Search of Adventure and Moments of Bliss: Maiden Voyage” in March, 2011. The book won first place in the San Diego Book Awards, travel category. Lois is currently writing the second book in the series, to be called “Sailing the South Pacific.” Lois also serves on the Board of Directors of UPLIFT  a faith-based organization working to improve the well being and quality of life of San Diego’s inner city population. Learn more about Lois on her website  and subscribe to her blogs.

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Thank you Lois for sharing your amazing story of courage and being Gutsy in life, regardless of  age, as you pointed out. Please leave your questions and comments for Lois in the comments section below, and she will be over to respond. Also visit her website for more photos and to learn more about her book.

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Do you have a “My Gutsy Story”?

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (NEW VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

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PLEASE VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE DECEMBER “MY GUTSY STORY”

Read their stories here. Winner and the prize they selected will be announced on January 12th.

“My Gutsy Story” by Ian Miller

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The last day

For summer vacation, some people go to the beach, some go to touristy places, but in 1968, I elected to take my little near-clapped-out Ford Anglia behind the Iron Curtain. Early in the morning of August 23, 1968, the day my Czech visa would expire, I left Praha and headed south. The day matched my mood: sombre and deflated. The heads were down; the protests were over. I had a small Czech flag tied to the aerial of my Anglia, and where before this had given me quite amazing support from the Czech people, now it was ignored by the very few people who were venturing out.

I had memories that would last forever: while driving at high speed in the dark, narrowly avoiding colliding with a tank parked in the middle of the road with camouflage netting; entering a Russian military base from the rear, which was unguarded because the road behind had been deemed impassable, then driving through, flag still flying; heading a procession of tanks into Praha and forcing them into continual graunching gear changes while hundreds of thousands cheered, and even threw flowers; the rattle of machine guns; people hugging the walls while I walked unconcerned (the noise was clearly in another street, and I favoured the gutter if necessary); a marriage where bride and groom emerged, looked around and burst into tears; protestors marching into Wenceslas Square to be confronted by a yellow line painted across the stones and about a hundred men with submachine guns on the other side; me leaving and shortly after, the rattle, the screams, the ambulances; talking to a Major on Charles Bridge while the soldiers below took off boots and I noticed they had rags wrapped around their feet rather than socks; the Major wanted to know why the people were removing the food. Then there was that which cheered the Czechs and annoyed the Russians more than anything else. One town only refused to protest and meekly did everything ordered by the Russians: Lidice.

Finally, a night in an apartment with the Heitlegnerovs (I apologize for the spelling if it is wrong.) The father was a Jew, who had spent the war in the forest resisting Hitler, he had helped organize the Communists come to power, then he was back into the forest in a hut with a dirt floor and no heating because he was a Jew. With Dubcek, he got this neat apartment, and now he feared, back to the forest. I was given one task in return for the bed: he had a daughter on holiday in England and I was to take her best belongings and carry the message that she should stay there.

About twenty minutes short of the border on the road to Linz I picked up two Czech hitchhikers, who were carrying a petition with about 250,000 signatures that they wanted sent to the UN. Would I smuggle them and it out? My problem was, I was involved. I had stopped knowing they wanted to get to the border, so I could hardly just up and leave them. There was no way I could conceal them, but I thought I could manage the petition, so I agreed to let them off 100 meters short of the border. I would wait on the other side for so long, assuming I got through. Then the decision: what to do with the flag? The guards were Czech, so I left the flag and hoped it would work. I wrapped the petition in a large plastic bag and put it in the bottom of a large box that I was using for storing waste.

At the border, the guards searched, and when they got to the rubbish box, they took out the rather dried rye bread I had not eaten, then over-ripe fruit, then smelly empty tins, and they asked me why was I carrying these? As I pointed out, there are no public rubbish receptacles behind the Iron Curtain, or if there were, I never found them, and I did not want to dump rubbish. They accepted that, and I was half through. All I had to do then was to enter Austria.

Then I saw the two triumphant Czech faces and a border guard who knew. I can still almost scream. They thought the Austrian authorities would support the Czechs: how stupid!

Those days in Czechoslovakia were days I shall never forget. It almost certainly strengthened my individualistic tendencies, and it certainly diluted my desire to be with a group of tourists. Now I have taken up writing fiction, there are perhaps three influences over all else. Big events, violence, etc tend to be very sudden, except to those planning them. The second is that groups do not necessarily behave the same as individuals, and that is an issue that literature tends to steer clear of. The third is that I want to explore why some people want power over others, how they get it, and why others let them have it. This makes my writing somewhat different from others.

Alenka received her belongings, stayed in England for about 6 months, then voluntarily returned home. I pray she lives long and has prospered.

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I am a semiretired independent research scientist (chemistry) who has taken up writing fiction. Besides a strong interest in scientific theory and work on seaweed polysaccharides, including the development of skin-care products, I have been working on and off on biofuels and recycling for most of my career. The intermittent nature of this has been due to the corresponding interest, or lack thereof, in the provision of funding. This habit of governments to ignore problems that do not have imminent consequences has influenced my fictional writing, and I am intending to self-publish a series of futuristic thrillers. I am married and live on the Western Hills of Lower Hutt, New Zealand, and the photo shows us with our front yard in the background.
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Thanks Ian for sharing your Gutsy adventure back in the 60’s. As you mentioned, those days in Czechoslovakia influenced you and your writing. We look forward to reading your future novels. Please check out Ian Miller’s website, and join him on Facebook.

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Our second poll starts January 2nd-January 11th to vote for your favorite “My Gutsy Story” of the month.

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Do you have a “My Gutsy Story”?

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our 8 Sponsors (including two new ones)  on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (NEW VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.


Please leave your comments and questions for Ian Miller below and please share his story.

“My Gutsy Story” by Cheryl Stahle

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Just Another Religious Festival

“OK”.  And with that one word, my 15 year marriage ended.  We had both given up so there were no fights or last hurrahs to save our union.  I wanted our son.  Done.  He wanted his pension.  OK.  We actually negotiated the division of property at Starbucks over lattes.  Dutch treat!

It doesn’t get any better than that for a friendly divorce.

However, I had spent the previous 15 years as an ice hockey mom and school teacher for at-risk teens.  For this 70s throwback of peace, love, rock and roll, violence didn’t fit with my belief system; however, circumstances dropped it into my lap daily both at home and at school.  Along the way I disappeared while serving the needs of everyone else.  I couldn’t even remember what I enjoyed doing and I didn’t know where to start in creating Cheryl Version 2.0, middle aged edition.

Slowly I experienced rebirth, dabbled in online dating (just don’t!), raised an amazing son and developed deep interests in yoga, reading and writing. My regular haunts included Starbucks, yoga studios and bookstores.  Not exactly the life of a thrill-seeker but joy appeared in subtle ways through the perfect backbend or a well written novel devoured over a latte and cookie.   I was restless though.  After so many years living in ice rinks and never taking a vacation I had to blow off some steam and this lovely life I had created did not include adventure.

Three weeks.  That became my gift of time and for once in my adult life, I had freedom.  Throw caution to the wind, this was a childless adventure.  My friends thought I’d head to the shore with a stack of books when I shared the news of a getaway.  Not this time.

The Festival of San Fermin!  That’s where I chose to go so I planned a vacation around that religious holiday.  Traveling to the major cities of Spain introduced me to centuries old neighborhoods, gothic cathedrals, and fabulous museums.  I soaked it all in while spending siesta time sitting in plazas drinking cava.  Three weeks.  Time for me.  And for kicks, I went alone and did not activate international cell phone service.   No one to tell me when to get up, what to eat for dinner, or how to spend the days.

I enjoyed 2 glorious weeks traveling throughout Spain with my camera in hand.  I wandered through street markets, toured museums and palaces and chose to view only masterpieces at the Prado.  I even crashed a wedding reception.  Why not?  No one really knew what I was doing but me.  I enjoyed freedom for the first time.

Did I mention that the Festival of San Fermin is more commonly called the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona?   I didn’t tell too many people from home either.  I certainly didn’t tell my mother what adventure awaited me.  My guess was that wouldn’t go over too well.

The bulls in Pamplona

A train ride later, I entered the tiny village of Pamplona.  The annual kickoff food fight had fortunately already ended by the time I settled into my hotel but the partying had just begun.  I began to realize that my standard glass of wine was not going to be the norm for the next few days.

Mardi Gras looked tame compared to Pamplona during the festival.  Dressed in obligatory whites with red sash and scarf, I elbowed my way through the crowds to enter the streets.  Once there, African conga drums played, strangers pulled me into their arms to dance in the street and mimes entertained all.  Music poured forth from stores and vendors filled the streets selling t-shirts and flags. The streets provided sensory overload but once I got into a rhythm, the crowds became invisible.   Callemucho .  The drink of San Fermin poured freely usually by flask or 2 gallon jug.

Cheryl Stahl in Pamplona

After a night of partying and no sleep, the actual festival began.  Fueled with over a decade of pent up energy, I  chanted “let ‘em loose”  in my mind.  Catch me if you can.  But I’m not quite as foolhardy as it appears.

First, most of the people running had imbibed for at least 24 hours.  I chose to toss back just one flask of Callemucho (cheap wine and soda).  Juts for courage I thought but my balance remained rock solid.  Next, a plan.  I wasn’t about to run on a cobblestone street the width of a standard American alley full of drunks without knowing the lay of the land.  I watched the first day, safely ensconced on a balcony two stories above bull level.

Day 2 however I joined the crowd in the street.  My earlier reconnaissance showed that the end of the run was safer as there were fewer people (still packed shoulder to shoulder), a bit more space on the street and a fence to leap over should the need arise.  So that’s where I planned the start of my run.

I heard the shot indicating that the bulls had left their pens, waited my 17 seconds for them to arrive, and then hit the street.  There they were, 10 agitated, magnificent 2000 pound beasts and me soaking wet at 115 pounds.  This sister ran fast, smelled their musky odor as they swept by and breathed a sigh of relief as I choked on their dust when they roared past.  My 2 seconds of glory.  Not trampled, not hurt and only a slight glow of perspiration on my brow.   I ran with the bulls.  Feel my power now people!

This single mom can do anything these days.   When life gets tough or when I’m feeling a bit beaten up, I don my red sash from Pamplona, look at the photos I took of the bulls on my desk and smile.  I found my inner courage again.  I’m getting to know myself too.  Life’s not so bad as Version 2.0.

 

Cheryl Stahle, memoirist, author and founder ofYour Best Writing Group (www.yourbestwritinggroup.com) lives in Doylestown, PA with her son.  Cheryl consults with aspiring authors to guide them in telling their life stories.  She has a special interest in working with adoptive families as an adoptive parent herself.

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Thank you Cheryl for giving women the courage to do something so unique and spectacular for themselves. I am a firm believer that when you get out of your comfort zone, you get that special feeling that you can accomplish anything in your life and you are a perfect example of this.

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Do you have a “My Gutsy Story”?

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (NEW VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

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Jill Fales, winner of our first “My Gutsy Story” contest, picked the following prize:

  • Spectrum Specialties and Awards just joined on 11/2/11 with a wonderful prize: 1000 14pt business cards with UV coating, full color process, & double sided print. I am so thrilled as I know they do quality work.

Rhonda Hayes, came in second. Since she was the first to submit her story and since this was the first contest, she also won a prize and selected a chapter critique from Angela Ackerman..

  • Angela Ackerman offered two choices: a first chapter critique or a blog consultation offering her expertise on your blog layout, content, etc and offer advice on tweaking it to improve, draw in visitors, increase visibility, etc. Winner can choose which would benefit them more. Angela and Becca have put together the most helpful blog for writers called The Bookshelf Muse.Check out their emotional thesaurus, weather thesaurus and so much more to help writers.

    Angela Ackerman

 

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Voting for your favorite December “My Gutsy Story” starts on January 1st-January 11th. The December winner will be announced on Thursday January 12th.

Please leave your comments for Cheryl below.

“My Gutsy Story” by Karen van der Zee

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Go to Africa? Marry a Foreigner? What Was I thinking?

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Karen van der Zee (aka Miss Footloose)

 

“If you don’t go, you’ll never know,” my mother says. It’s the perfect answer to the question I’ve been struggling with: Should I get on a plane and go to Africa to be with the man I’ve only known for a short time? He’s an American Peace Corps Volunteer and I’m a Dutch girl, in love, and dreaming of adventure. But we haven’t seen each other for six months and is he really the one? This is risky business, I’m sure you agree. Maybe I should just stay in Holland and marry a dentist and have a safe and unadventurous life in a nice, clean Dutch suburb.

But, no, I get on a plane to Kenya. Kenya is not Holland and I find it all a great adventure.  And I’m in love with my Peace Corps hero. A couple of months after my arrival we decide to get married and purchase two 9-karat gold rings, the cheapest we can find because we are poor.

On a sunny tropical morn, my hero and I walk to the District Commissioner’s office in the town of Nyeri for the joyous event, at least we’re expecting it to be joyous. It turns out to be rather bizarre but we don’t know that yet.

Our wedding party of twelve strong awaits us at the door, a hippie lot consisting of one Swede, one Brit, a couple of Kenyans and several Peace Corps volunteers, all dressed up in their finest jeans and cleanest shirts.

We squeeze ourselves into the small office, a humorless space devoid of festive adornments and full of stale air. Behind the desk stands the District Commissioner, a man of solid build and serious demeanor. Also present are two mystery maidens, pretty Kikuyu girls in neatly pressed frocks. We do not know who they are, but soon discover they’re here to serve as our witnesses in case we don’t have any. We do, but the girls do not leave because (I assume) seeing wazungu (white people) getting hitched in this town is not a daily occurrence.

It may well be a very rare occurrence because the DC, wearing a suit and tie as is befitting his status, is sweating bullets.  Not only from the heat, because along with the sweating he is also trembling and displaying a nervous tick.

After various solemn greetings, the ceremony commences. The DC directs himself to my man, ignoring me.

“Do you understand,” he asks, his cheek twitching, “that this is a civil ceremony and not a tribal one?”

My husband-to-be says yes, he does.  So do I (this is, after all, Africa), but my understanding is of no importance apparently. I am not amused.

“And that under civil law, you can only have one wife?”

My man says, yes, he understands.

The DC’s hand trembles so much he drops his pen.  “And do you understand that if you want another wife under civil law, you must first divorce the first one?”

Ye gods. Is this an omen? Am making a terrible mistake? We are talking about getting rid of me before I’m even married. How cool is that? I’m standing here in all my bridal glory, miniskirt and all, and the DC is talking to my man as if I am not even here. I’m overwhelmed with emotion at this sacred matrimonial moment. I’m sure, dear reader, you can identify.

My not-yet husband says he understands about divorce. (He hails, after all, from America.)

I’m aquiver with nerves. Should I get out of here, go back to Holland?  Marry a dentist instead?  What was I thinking, traveling to Africa, marrying a foreigner?

“However,” the DC continues, cheek twitching some more, “in the event you want a second wife but don’t want to divorce your civil-law wife, you’ll be allowed to marry a second one under tribal law.”

This is good news!  My man won’t have to get rid of me if he wants another wife!  I’m overcome with emotion. (This is, after all, my wedding day.)

After some more of this scintillating discourse, we finally get to the one single question I have the privilege to respond to:

“Do you take this man . . . . ”

I say yes, I do.

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Years have passed. So far no second wife, tribal or otherwise.

Getting on that plane to Africa was risky business, but I ended up with the man I wanted and together we live a globetrotting life, which is never boring.

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NOTE:  This wedding was not a recent event, and I am sure that the ceremony I have described has been changed and modernized.  So if you want one just like it, you are out of luck.

 

Karen van der Zee grew up in the Netherlands and has cooked, shopped, mothered, traveled and written romance novels and stories in Africa, Asia, Europe, the US and the Middle East. You can read about her (mis)adventures on her blog Life in the Expat Lane (www.lifeintheexpatlane.com)

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Thank you Karen for sharing your Gutsy marriage in Kenya. We’re glad to hear there is no second wife, tribal or otherwise. You can find out more about Karen van der Zee, her travel adventures and her present expat life in Moldova on her blog.

So far, the stories are all very different and “Gutsy” in their own way. We shall select one a week and feature it on Monday. Please comment, and the more comments a story receives, the more likely it is to be selected as the “winner” of the month.

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can do so at Join the “My Gutsy Story” contest.

Here you can find out more about our sponsors and prizes for November 2011 contest.

Thank you to those who have already submitted your “My Gutsy Story” to Gutsy Living. We  are saving them for future posts and have four sponsors for November. We shall be getting more exciting sponsors in the future.

Questions? Comments? Please share, and Karen will check back to respond.

How to satisfy wanderlust from your couch

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I have two favorite places to sit in my house, what about you?

Mine are:

1) In front of my computer

2). In front of my TV

No, I’m not a lazy bum, but I admit that there are two things I love, other than my husband of course (although I don’t mean to call him a thing) and that’s:

  • The Internet
  • HGTV’s House Hunters International (preferably with a nice cold glass of Chardonnay.)

As far as the Internet, I’ve taken up way too much time discussing this whole social media thing lately, and just in case you need to make sure you don’t fit in the 6 % category, I urge you to check out Sandra’s step-by-step guide to overcoming digital overwhelm.

Anyway, coming back to my second favorite seat in my house: the one in front of my TV, this is where I could easily spend hours watching HGTV’s House Hunters International, but thankfully the Internet has saved me from becoming a TV addict.

What is House Hunter’s International? and what makes it so exciting?

If you’ve never heard of the program, here’s a brief synopsis:

“House Hunters globe trots from Sao Paolo to Prague. Home hunters and their real estate agents check out all sorts of architectural styles and work through the idiosyncrasies of buying real estate in other countries. In any language, home buying is an emotional experience.“

My explanation of why I love this show is simple; it’s about wanderlust with a twist.

“Wanderlust is a strong desire for or impulse to wander or travel and explore the world”

What better way to escape our depressing economy and job market than through “pretending” that we’re on vacation looking at potential homes to buy. Not surprising, the number of viewers has been growing with an average of about 1.37 million viewers between Sept. 28, 2009, and Sept 7, 2010, and here are some reasons why I believe more people are flocking to this show.

  • we want to escape our busy life
  • we dream of a vacation home
  • we’re nosy
  • we like to snoop around the inside of people’s homes
  • we like to see how houses are furnished in other parts of the world
  • we want to immerse ourselves in another culture, architecture, and way of life
  • we want to see what houses cost in other parts of the world
  • we want a good deal in a foreign country
  • we want to taste new foods, meet new people, see new environments and learn from others
  • we get bored in one place and crave adventure (that’s me and my Gutsy side)
  • we’re looking for another place we could move to (now that’s my real reason for watching House Hunters International)

The other night I watched several back to back episodes of HGTV’s House Hunters International. The one that interested me the most was a couple from Washington DC, who were looking for a house in Botswana. Now I have a blogger friend, Lauri Kubuitsile,  who is a prolific author living in Botswana. I was so excited to see her country and had no clue how beautiful Botswana truly is. Do you really have zebras strolling in your back yard?

Gabarone is the capital with a population of around 186,000.  The American husband on the show was offered a teaching job at the University in Gabarone and I turned towards my husband and said, “Duke, couldn’t you get a job teaching business or law there? Perhaps I could teach French in a school in Gabarone.” He didn’t seem too keen.

The three homes they showed in Botswana were gorgeous. It could have been southern California, as far as the vegetation and the outdoor swimming pools, as well as the price tag for renting which shocked me: $1,800- $2,200/month. Then I thought, “Perhaps the teaching jobs pay well at the University.” A little disappointed, I did expect rent to be much lower but often I’m surprised by house prices and the rent they’re asking on these shows. For example, $5,800 in Budapest. All I can say is I have a feeling they inflate the prices for the show. I know for a fact that the price of condos and houses on Ambergris Caye, Belize, where my family lived for a year, are much higher on the HGTV show than when you actually go there, rent a cheap (hut) and become familiar with the island and the local realtors.

I did a search on HGTV for an episode on Belize, and found one video which I think you will enjoy as it shows why so many seek a second place to escape their work life. A stressed out woman from San Diego wants a second home on Ambergris Caye. She wants to unplug from her busy life in the U.S. This video made me want to move back to savor our slower-paced life on Ambergris Caye, where we lived in 2004-2005.

Do you have wanderlust? In what way? Is there a particular country or place you’d like to move to, have a second home or anything else you’d like to share?

 Photo credit above (Tambako the Jaguar)

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