Dear Mom and Dad,

When I grow up I want to be an explorer entrepreneur. I want to meet people I never imagined I’d meet. I want to be challenged and learn something new every day. I want to wake up not knowing where I’ll end up.

Sincerely,

Anna

People always talk about the dream of being your own boss. I’ve never been driven by that dream, perhaps because I’ve never had a terrible boss.

Lately I’ve been aching, pining, yearning, dreaming of starting and running a business.

It’s not out of a need for control – I am happy to follow orders when necessary, and when you think about it the risks are greater than in any other job. It’s not because I want to work on something alone, if anything I am driven by the those I surround myself with and I can’t imagine not being surrounded by amazing people who motivate me, teach me and spur me. I want to experience success with people and I want to fail with them. Succeeding is nothing if there is no one to share it with and the lessons learned from failing are best shared.

So what is it?

It’s the energy. The energy I derive from people who step up and take control of their lives, people who take a risk and go for it knowing they can fail.

It’s the belief. The belief in that we have something more to offer the world, that there is unexplored potential. There are things left to be done and by working tirelessly towards them we can make a difference – entrepreneurs are the explorers of today.

It’s the challenge. The risks are higher and the rewards are higher. The territory is unexplored and anything can happen.

It’s life. I believe I’ll regret the things I don’t do, not those I do. I promise to do everything I can to minimize the regrets.

When I was younger the thought of spending Christmas anywhere but at home made me so upset that I successfully thwarted not one, but four of my parents attempts to go on a family cruise or a trip to the Bahamas. 

But at some point my feelings changed, I changed. I think it had to do with moving to New York and going to college. I had moved many times before, but always latched onto a deep sense of melancholy and mourned at the past houses, gardens, apartments, neighbors and neighborhoods. 

When I moved here my parents moved to the Philippines. I opted against spending Christmas of freshman year there, instead spending it with some distant cousins I only see once a year. I thought it might be terrible, but it wasn’t. In fact it was kind of nice. I wasn’t the center of attention (byproduct of being an only child), my mother wasn’t stressing out about cooking, and it didn’t matter that everything wasn’t just right, because in most ways nothing was right, and more importantly, I didn’t expect anything to be right.

Ok, long intro over. 

Now to the new traditions. I had never celebrated Thanksgiving before moving here in the fall of 2007. My first Thanksgiving I got onto a Greyhound bus and headed to Philadelphia to my newfound friend Claire’s house. I didn’t have any expectations, but the days there, with her lovely mom and dad and little brother Stewart were amazing. The food was awesome too (Claire is the co-president of the Columbia culinary society, and her mom is an awesome cook). But the best part was watching Ratatouille afterwards, going for a walk during the day and sitting around the table talking. 

Thanksgiving part 2, i.e. 2008, was even better than the first. Two other friends joined and instead of the Greyhound bus we took a Chinatown bus (an adventure deserving of its own post). I insisted we keep certain traditions alive (one year old traditions that is), so we went for a long walk, we watched a movie and we played Apples to Apples. By the time we left it was settled - we’d be back. 

It only took two times, actually it might only have taken one, but Thanksgiving for me is now synonymous with Thanksgiving at Claire’s house. Her family’s traditions have become mine (I have copies of the great recipes used) and I take for granted that I am welcome there for Thanksgiving for years to come. 

I love how quickly we can form new traditions. Our innate ability to adapt to new situations and to accept new norms and forms is what will carry us through the turbulent and ever-changing world we live in today. Family is a wider and less exclusive term than ever, and in my family it’s been made clear that my friends are welcomed at events that were previously seen as just being for the family, such as Christmas.

I hope I’ll shamelessly continue to adopt and create new traditions - with the international width of my friendship group, I might even end up with 20 holidays more than what I celebrate today, and who doesn’t like a good holiday?

In Swedish we have an expression called smultronställe, directly translated it means “wild strawberry place”, but that’s besides the point. A long time ago Ingmar Bergman made a movie called Smultronstället (full disclosure: I haven’t seen the film), with the English title Wild Strawberries. I have always been bothered by the English title, because it doesn’t have anything to do with the original title. Smultronstället means “the wild strawberry place” directly translated, but in Swedish it’s an expression that refers to a secret hideaway, a hidden sanctuary. We all have hidden gems. There are places we go when we’re feeling down, or when we want to celebrate our successes, or when we need to think about an important decision.

I have many smultronställen. Most of them are in Sweden. I have a spot by the water near my house in Stockholm where I go to think about important decisions or to spend quality time with my dog. The water is therapeutic and soothing and the shimmering sun makes it glitter more than the diamonds on any New York socialite or in Tiffany’s fifth avenue window ever could.

One of my smultronställen in New York is a small bar at St. Marks place. There are a lot of places that could fit this description, the first one the comes to mind is Continental, a trashy bar (perhaps the trashiest of them all) with a facade covered with a banner reading “5 shots of ANYTHING $10”. I mention Continental because I’ve always had an absurd fascination with it. I remember seeing it for the first time when I visited New York as a naive 16 year old and thought how I wanted to go there the second I turned 21. Things change, and since then the appeal of Continental has completely disappeared; the bouncers are apparently very racist, and I’d rather spend $10 on a bottle of wine. My bar of choice is around the corner from Continental, behind an inconspicuous Japanese restaurant.

Angel’s Share is behind an unmarked wooden door at the back of the restaurant. Upon entering you’re greeted by the house rules; no loud talking, no parties with more than four people, and no drinking while standing. The rules are strictly enforced and help create an atmosphere of calm and recluse - an urban escape looking out over bustling third Avenue and the drunk freshmen outside an NYU dorm. But the real reason I return is, of course, the cocktails. The bar is Japanese owned and inspired and the menu is seasonal. All syrups and infusions are made in house and the mixologists are experts at their trade. If you’re with only one other person, sit at the bar - trust me, you won’t regret it. Each cocktail is made with love and precision, every drink is tasted before being passed to the guest it was crafted for. Big chunks of ice are used, so as to not water down the drinks, and the rhythm of the bartenders’ shaking shows exact control. 

So what to get? You can’t really go wrong. Anything with the Earl Grey infused vodka is divine, assuming you like Earl Grey of course. The Dark and Stormy is served in a gorgeous brass goblet and the Innocent, with elderflower and lavender conjures up relaxing summer days on even the rainiest of nights. Having tried many of the must haves on their speciality cocktail menu, I tend to opt for the seasonal cocktails. This summer I sipped a cocktail consisting of a made to order kiwi and lychee sorbet topped off with elderflower liqueur and champagne upon serving. Off their fall menu I’ve sampled a cocktail with tones of artichoke — don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it!

There you go. I’ve shared one of my favorite spots in the city with you - now tell me yours! And do yourself a favor; grab a close friend, or two, but definitely no more than three… and head down to Angel’s Share. 

Played golf this morning. Felt very in tune with my bourgeoisie side. Wore a Ralph Lauren knit to blend in. Might hate myself a little now.

That’s all.