Sometimes things break.
Glasses. Plates. Windows. Skin. Levies. Relationships. Spirits.
Sometimes we can patch them up. With superglue. Duct tape. Band-aids. Apologies. Bending. Molding. Adapting. Changing.
Sometimes not.
Usually that line between when one should keep mending things, or take the broken pieces and start anew, is fuzzy and grey.
A crack in a foundation: is it merely a sign of a little wear and tear? Or a fissure that will widen over time - a signal you should put a halt to all construction?
How do you know the point between the 'before,' when you can still walk away with most of the pieces still intact, as opposed to the ''after'', when you have broken it so many times, tried to bend and mold and patch it over and over because you can't bear to let it go, that the original is in such tiny or altered fragments that it is unrecognizable, its potential for future use diminished?
We never really know where that line is unless we wait to cross it. Unless we wait until the levee breaks. Or until the building crumbles to the ground because it was built upon a shaky foundation.
No one wants to wave the white flag without a good fight. But no one wants to step over that line to the point of total destruction. As with most things in life, finding that line is a balancing act coupled with a little bit of rolling the dice. I try to live by the principle that tenacity is a virtue. Yet mixed with an overabundance of pride and stubbornness, it can quickly turn toxic.
No, we never really know.
I think we all perpetually have things in our life that are cracking, breaking, crumbling. Such is life. Nothing is permanent. And that arbitrary line of ''before'' and ''after,'' that point when we're willing to accept the pieces as broken and make a change... well, that point differs for all of us.
But once we are able to see it clearly and are courageous enough to be honest with ourselves and move forward with the broken pieces, there is an up side.
Broken pieces aren't all bad. They can be sharp and powerful tools if we use them in the right way. Michelangelo didn't carve the David with a dull chisel. They can be tools for positive change, tools for meaningful growth, giving us an edge we don't normally have when we are in a place of comfort and complacency.
I meet a lot of people on ''the road'' (my current address) who are carrying around really big, chunky broken pieces of their lives. Many people would describe them as broken. Directionless.
I shared a 2 hour bus journey with a 35-year old journalist the other day. She was in the 50th week of her year-long trip around the world. She impressed me massively with her stories of the remote and unexpected places she has dared to go and the things she has experienced by getting off the well-beaten tourist trail. I expect to see a book out of this woman in a few years.
She said to me, ''I was in a rut with my job as a reporter and wasn't sure how to get out of it. I knew I could make small changes, but they would be band-aids, not getting to the root of the issue. I took this trip because I knew that the only way I was going to know the right next step for me was to really shake things up until it fell out."
I hear you, reporter woman, I really hear you.
She commented that maybe that qualified her as ''directionless,'' but nonetheless, it was the right thing for her.
I shared with her my theory on the topic.
Directionless is characterised as wandering aimlessly, looking for something outside yourself. I know what it looks like. I have seen that in many people I've met ''on the road.'' I am pretty sure I've also been that at some moments in my life. I reassured her that neither one of us fit in that category.
It's a very different thing to accept and admit that your fire has burned out and something has to change. Instead of just sitting on those sharp broken pieces and complaining about the pain, or trying to convince yourself they don't exist, you've picked them up and used them to help you cut through the weeds and carve out a new path. You've stepped away and started doing all the things that you know will re-ignite your fire and you're willing to be open to the possibilities of where that may take you without closing your mind to a rigid set of expectations for the sake of having the security of a well-defined plan.
You're in the uncomfortable place. That's okay. It's one of only three options: 1) uncomfortable place, 2) waiting place, or 3) acceptance place, and to be honest, the only places I like to hover are number 1 and number 3. Dr. Suess couldn't have put it better when he warned of the perils of the waiting place in one of my all-time favorite books, Oh the Places You'll Go:
''...a most useless place. The Waiting Place…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to
come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting
around for a Yes or No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just
waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite or waiting
around for Friday night or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake or a pot to
boil, or a Better Break or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants or a wig with
curls, or Another Chance. Everyone is just waiting.
No! That’s not for you!''
Thursday, 23 June 2011
closing the chapter on cambodia
Back in Bangkok, 64 days later, waiting for a flight again. And saying goodbye to Southeast Asia... for now.
For me, Cambodia will always be the place where I finally turned the corner and started smiling from the inside out, for the first time in a long time. Cambodia, my unconventional sanctuary of dusty roads, rusty bicycles with sticky brakes, bare feet, monks grinning from ear to ear, gecko pets in my room, naked young children running in the streets, ant bites that made my foot swell to twice its size, power outages and an endless supply of genuine smiles.
Cambodia, the place I learned, by way of forcefully self-imposed design, how to be comfortably alone for the first time in my life. And I mean really alone. And I mean really the first time in my life.
Cambodia, the place I learned, through practice, how to let go gracefully. To gently let go of people I love, in a loving way. To gently loosen the reins and relax my incessant desire to control the future and the unknown. To gently tune out the voice in my head echoing the judgment of others, both the real and perceived.
It was the place I learned to start to appreciate myself for precisely who I am. And be reminded of precisely who I am. It was not without some painful and humbling moments. I won't dwell upon those. I will just acknowledge that they were all part of the process.
It will always be the place where I caught a reflection of myself one day walking down the street, pleasantly surprised to realise I was donning a smile as my natural expression. (For the past few years, my boss has continually stopped to hover over me and my computer screen to remind me that burrowing my eyebrows causes wrinkles.) There I was, walking down the street, in the smouldering heat, in my own company... and naturally wearing a smile. That's the day I knew I was definitely going to be okay.
I had help. From some constant sources (who should not be underestimated - you know who you are).
But also from some fleeting yet incredibly powerful bursts of energy. Some that came into my life before I left London... some after.
K&S, warding off the Wilson syndrome
There were K and S, the English and American girls I met during my first week in Cambodia who were at a crossroads in their lives similar to mine. Two girls who had both experienced marathon relationships in their 20s that ended with a brave goodbye, and who were seeking something more meaningful professionally. Two ladies who had stepped away from a life that looked perfect on paper because they knew deep down something wasn't right, and who had both embarked on journeys similar to mine in order to figure it all out.
Everyone needs someone to relate to, especially when they feel like an island. These girls joined me on my island for a while. They, among other similar characters I met on and off for the following 10 weeks, certainly helped me avoid the temptation to draw a face on a soccer ball, name him Wilson and carry on a conversation with him at night, Tom Hanks style.
D, the ''one drink'' cure for bitterness
There was D, the English chap about two heads taller than me, with the deepest voice I've ever heard, and the first non-type A, non-corporate type I think I have ever gone on a legitimate date with as an adult... not to mention the first 'first' date I had been on since circa 2004. Even months later, I am still in awe at how the stars aligned to create this perfect and nothing more than temporary set of interactions which somehow served to dissolve some of my disappointment and cynicism toward relationships, as well as restore my faith in the possibility I would ever someday bother with trying to love again.
I was heading in the exact opposite mental direction before he crossed my path. My emotional reserves were running on empty and I knew I had no business getting into a relationship or probably even dating, one of the many reasons I was sending myself to Cambodia. I agreed to go for one drink with this guy, simply because I thought I needed the practice. Okay, maybe I also had something to prove to myself. 2004? That's a long time.
I fully expected it to end at that. One drink. However, he really intrigued me. And there was safety in the fact that we both knew our interactions had a pre-set expiration date, defined by my ticket out of London in mid-April. So I agreed to go out with him again, and again, until I left the UK. For some reason, I could effortlessly talk with him for hours on end. And the experience reminded me that permanently cutting myself off emotionally from the world, male species included, was not an option. It ended with a very pleasant goodbye. Haven't spoken with him since, and didn't expect to, or even really want to. We both were complete wildcards with at least one foot into new paths we were pursuing. The beauty of it was in its brevity. That little crack he put in my hardening shell changed me for the better.
L, my gift of purpose
God knows I can certainly roam. But aimless roaming... can't do that for long. So thankfully there was L, the 25-year old Cambodian girl who I worked with day in and day out for two months. Who to me, will always be the most wonderful and beautiful and funniest and most charming Cambodian girl I've ever known because she validated my initial purpose for being there and the risk I took by stepping away from the familiar. And because she became a daily source of smiles and laughter.
Every day, she thanked me for coming and leaned on my shoulder and begged me to stay longer. She called me srey shah - Khmer for ''pretty girl.''
I have fond memories of riding on the back of her motorbike around Siem Reap, particularly the day we followed a guy with a pig in a wooden cage on the back of his bike. I asked her if it was still alive. She said, ''yes of course'' and then abruptly pulled to the side of the road to buy us palm sugar juice from the man with the cart on wheels, which she insisted I had to try. Flies and bees were swarming everywhere around that machine that was grinding the sugar cane, and I wasn't sure of the source of the ice, but I drank it anyway, because she so generously insisted on buying it for me. We rode back to the office, sipping pure liquid sugar from a straw in a plastic bag, Asian style.
L was without a doubt the brightest part of my time in Cambodia. She made sweating my ass off and walking around the office with bare dusty feet begging to be preyed on by evil fire ants every day a priviledge and a pleasure.
There were many others. Maybe we'll never know all the small ways we changed someone else's life for the better just by being exactly who we are. May this be a testament to the fact that it happens anyway. And a reminder to stop to tell someone when they change yours.
Thank you Cambodia.
For me, Cambodia will always be the place where I finally turned the corner and started smiling from the inside out, for the first time in a long time. Cambodia, my unconventional sanctuary of dusty roads, rusty bicycles with sticky brakes, bare feet, monks grinning from ear to ear, gecko pets in my room, naked young children running in the streets, ant bites that made my foot swell to twice its size, power outages and an endless supply of genuine smiles.
Cambodia, the place I learned, by way of forcefully self-imposed design, how to be comfortably alone for the first time in my life. And I mean really alone. And I mean really the first time in my life.
Cambodia, the place I learned, through practice, how to let go gracefully. To gently let go of people I love, in a loving way. To gently loosen the reins and relax my incessant desire to control the future and the unknown. To gently tune out the voice in my head echoing the judgment of others, both the real and perceived.
It was the place I learned to start to appreciate myself for precisely who I am. And be reminded of precisely who I am. It was not without some painful and humbling moments. I won't dwell upon those. I will just acknowledge that they were all part of the process.
It will always be the place where I caught a reflection of myself one day walking down the street, pleasantly surprised to realise I was donning a smile as my natural expression. (For the past few years, my boss has continually stopped to hover over me and my computer screen to remind me that burrowing my eyebrows causes wrinkles.) There I was, walking down the street, in the smouldering heat, in my own company... and naturally wearing a smile. That's the day I knew I was definitely going to be okay.
I had help. From some constant sources (who should not be underestimated - you know who you are).
But also from some fleeting yet incredibly powerful bursts of energy. Some that came into my life before I left London... some after.
K&S, warding off the Wilson syndrome
There were K and S, the English and American girls I met during my first week in Cambodia who were at a crossroads in their lives similar to mine. Two girls who had both experienced marathon relationships in their 20s that ended with a brave goodbye, and who were seeking something more meaningful professionally. Two ladies who had stepped away from a life that looked perfect on paper because they knew deep down something wasn't right, and who had both embarked on journeys similar to mine in order to figure it all out.
Everyone needs someone to relate to, especially when they feel like an island. These girls joined me on my island for a while. They, among other similar characters I met on and off for the following 10 weeks, certainly helped me avoid the temptation to draw a face on a soccer ball, name him Wilson and carry on a conversation with him at night, Tom Hanks style.
D, the ''one drink'' cure for bitterness
There was D, the English chap about two heads taller than me, with the deepest voice I've ever heard, and the first non-type A, non-corporate type I think I have ever gone on a legitimate date with as an adult... not to mention the first 'first' date I had been on since circa 2004. Even months later, I am still in awe at how the stars aligned to create this perfect and nothing more than temporary set of interactions which somehow served to dissolve some of my disappointment and cynicism toward relationships, as well as restore my faith in the possibility I would ever someday bother with trying to love again.
I was heading in the exact opposite mental direction before he crossed my path. My emotional reserves were running on empty and I knew I had no business getting into a relationship or probably even dating, one of the many reasons I was sending myself to Cambodia. I agreed to go for one drink with this guy, simply because I thought I needed the practice. Okay, maybe I also had something to prove to myself. 2004? That's a long time.
I fully expected it to end at that. One drink. However, he really intrigued me. And there was safety in the fact that we both knew our interactions had a pre-set expiration date, defined by my ticket out of London in mid-April. So I agreed to go out with him again, and again, until I left the UK. For some reason, I could effortlessly talk with him for hours on end. And the experience reminded me that permanently cutting myself off emotionally from the world, male species included, was not an option. It ended with a very pleasant goodbye. Haven't spoken with him since, and didn't expect to, or even really want to. We both were complete wildcards with at least one foot into new paths we were pursuing. The beauty of it was in its brevity. That little crack he put in my hardening shell changed me for the better.
L, my gift of purpose
God knows I can certainly roam. But aimless roaming... can't do that for long. So thankfully there was L, the 25-year old Cambodian girl who I worked with day in and day out for two months. Who to me, will always be the most wonderful and beautiful and funniest and most charming Cambodian girl I've ever known because she validated my initial purpose for being there and the risk I took by stepping away from the familiar. And because she became a daily source of smiles and laughter.
Every day, she thanked me for coming and leaned on my shoulder and begged me to stay longer. She called me srey shah - Khmer for ''pretty girl.''
I have fond memories of riding on the back of her motorbike around Siem Reap, particularly the day we followed a guy with a pig in a wooden cage on the back of his bike. I asked her if it was still alive. She said, ''yes of course'' and then abruptly pulled to the side of the road to buy us palm sugar juice from the man with the cart on wheels, which she insisted I had to try. Flies and bees were swarming everywhere around that machine that was grinding the sugar cane, and I wasn't sure of the source of the ice, but I drank it anyway, because she so generously insisted on buying it for me. We rode back to the office, sipping pure liquid sugar from a straw in a plastic bag, Asian style.
L was without a doubt the brightest part of my time in Cambodia. She made sweating my ass off and walking around the office with bare dusty feet begging to be preyed on by evil fire ants every day a priviledge and a pleasure.
There were many others. Maybe we'll never know all the small ways we changed someone else's life for the better just by being exactly who we are. May this be a testament to the fact that it happens anyway. And a reminder to stop to tell someone when they change yours.
Thank you Cambodia.
Thursday, 9 June 2011
my strange and wonderful life
I am leaving my role at this NGO soon... I think... I keep saying I am leaving soon, but keep staying. I must be liking it. Monday, it seems, will be the day. Where I am going between then and 23 June... not yet sure.
The power goes out in this country, constantly. Tonight, it went out from 6-9pm. Not the best time to be out of power. I did find myself resorting to very very strange forms of entertainment by the end - it was dark outside, couldn't walk down the street to meet anyone, couldn't call anyone because my phone has no credit, too early to go to bed, already had dinner, head hurting from straining to read with my baby flashlight and candle, no one to talk to in the lobby, computer was dead, iPod was dead - but the camera phone was working. So (obviously!) I took a video of my candle. And the strange nature sounds coming from outside. Really surprisingly loud nature sounds. I wish I could post it for you. It is very creepy. But I can't find the adapter. (Don't judge, until you also go without power for 3 hours with no one to keep you company.)
Thankfully it came back on shortly after my strange filming episode and I as soon as I booted up my computer this lady in Roatan, one of the Bay Islands in Honduras, was ringing me on Skype. This is the third day I have tried to have a call with her - 9pm my time, 8am her time. Something always goes wrong. Today, besides the power episode, I also couldn't hear her talking. So she suggested that I talk, and she type. (This was a weird dynamic... talking in this format to someone you have never met before.)
Well, either way, her typing must have been good - as I think she has persuaded me to come there from mid-July. She is currently partnering with an accomplished photojournalist (I googled him, of course) to prepare a photo essay / funding proposal which she wants me to help with, which hits on a number of my interests, at least on paper, so it is worth a shot. This is one of those things that could be really amazing or really awful, but if it all goes to crap, at least I will be on a beautiful and relatively affordable island where I can snorkel every day and practice my Spanish until it is at the right level to move on to the next thing. I have a few other offers on the table after I finish in Roatan. Looking forward!
The power goes out in this country, constantly. Tonight, it went out from 6-9pm. Not the best time to be out of power. I did find myself resorting to very very strange forms of entertainment by the end - it was dark outside, couldn't walk down the street to meet anyone, couldn't call anyone because my phone has no credit, too early to go to bed, already had dinner, head hurting from straining to read with my baby flashlight and candle, no one to talk to in the lobby, computer was dead, iPod was dead - but the camera phone was working. So (obviously!) I took a video of my candle. And the strange nature sounds coming from outside. Really surprisingly loud nature sounds. I wish I could post it for you. It is very creepy. But I can't find the adapter. (Don't judge, until you also go without power for 3 hours with no one to keep you company.)
Thankfully it came back on shortly after my strange filming episode and I as soon as I booted up my computer this lady in Roatan, one of the Bay Islands in Honduras, was ringing me on Skype. This is the third day I have tried to have a call with her - 9pm my time, 8am her time. Something always goes wrong. Today, besides the power episode, I also couldn't hear her talking. So she suggested that I talk, and she type. (This was a weird dynamic... talking in this format to someone you have never met before.)
Well, either way, her typing must have been good - as I think she has persuaded me to come there from mid-July. She is currently partnering with an accomplished photojournalist (I googled him, of course) to prepare a photo essay / funding proposal which she wants me to help with, which hits on a number of my interests, at least on paper, so it is worth a shot. This is one of those things that could be really amazing or really awful, but if it all goes to crap, at least I will be on a beautiful and relatively affordable island where I can snorkel every day and practice my Spanish until it is at the right level to move on to the next thing. I have a few other offers on the table after I finish in Roatan. Looking forward!
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