hacky thoughts

i was sitting in an airplane a few weeks ago, thinking how much i wanted to write.  i have been missing the process, the effort, of casting my thoughts outwards.  i had just had an interesting conversation with the lead flight attendant, the majority of which i have already forgotten.  as i sat there, i considered the coming lose of the thoughts embedded within that conversation.  i knew they would slip away, left to float in the clouds over the great wall of life.  i wondered if the next time we bumped into each other we would even remember that we had met, that we had shared the conversation and smiles it evoked.  was the banter worth having, worth trying to save in any form, even just a memory, or should it be allowed to be lost in the wind.

i have not been writing at all.  it has not been intentional, it just has not come.  my process of writing is to have a random thought and to feel it bounce around inside my head until i get a chance to let it out.  before throwing it out there, i wonder if i could expose the thought to my inner circle.  these are the people who i make the effort to share with.  they are the ones that when i am not with them, i take the time to tell them what i am doing.  they are the ones i imagine around a table enjoying unstructured randomness together.  my circle is not surprised by the randomness, they see it come towards them and they step up and kick the thought in a new direction.

this inner circle is not elitist or ceremonial.  it's not difficult to join, you just help keep the thoughts floating through the air, adding your own spin as you take a turn.  we are like an slacker collection of oddity on the quad, or the relaxed skaters hanging out in the park below trinity church.  people come and go, they join or leave the group without structure or formality.  it's all about keeping the ball in the air and being nimble enough to react to the new direction of a moving thought.  when the thought does hit the ground, there is a laugh, a bit of teasing and someone helpfully adds a new thought and throws it back into the mix.

but what does a player do when there is no circle.  sitting alone watching other jets zip by at the combined speed of modern travel, wondering if there is someone over there looking out their window with their own thoughts, considering what would happen if you had the chance to stand together and share.  randomness comes, but no one is there throw in with.  you might be standing among a group and consider if they would appreciate it when you reached into a bag to take out a colorful package of thoughts.  would they hack in, or stand there wondering why one would want to play?  writing is my attempt to keep that circle going, when time and space keep it apart.

lately, i have not been writing because i have been too busy; which is a convenient lie covered by truth.  i have been busy, but the therapy value of massaging thoughts usually gets prioritized.  the honest reason i have not be writing is that i don't know what i want to share.  i am blocked by an anxiety of the clock.  i remember being in the playground and rather than playing, i was watching for the streetlights to come on.  this was our neighborhood's sign that it was time to go home.  when the streetlights came on, we would burst towards our bikes as the game came to an abrupt end regardless of score.  i have not been playing, because i am watching the streetlights.  i am in the park at the top of caswell ave, it's almost dark but the lights have not come on, the rules say i should be in the game, but i know it's almost time to race.  i have been focused on the ending, because of my inner clock's ticking.

in the mean time, the game is being played around me.  i have been felt my turns for randomness come and go.  i have thought about sharing and have simply let them pass.  the lights have not yet come on, and the game is not ready to end.  playground rules say these moments matter most, playgrounds do not have clocks for a good reason.  having the ability to play, and seeing friends send that thought back through the air is worth ignoring the anxiety of formality.  now is not the time to take yourself out of the game and watch the lights.  the game will end, but for now it's time to hack in and remember that the circle matters.

that flight attendent came back to my seat as i was considering the germ of these thoughts.  she might have thought she was asking about my tea cup sitting alone, untouched, when she asked, "are you done?".  that was the question i have been considering without really knowing it.

i looked up at her and smiled as i replied, "no, i am not".

second shot

i started writing this blog... a long time ago.

i started writing this blog to raise my voice and keep a record.  it gives longevity to thoughts that might otherwise be lost.  i am doing this for me, and for a very select few who i actively want to share with.  i have never thought of this as a forum for general consumption, it is too personal and frankly too boring.  these are the thoughts that bounce around in my head, the posts have given them a vehicle to escape into the wild while also being stored safely for later.  but, mostly, the posts allow half-thoughts to be worked into a completed form, my version of cleaning up a workspace.

my first opening volley was more of an invitation than a thought.  it was the commitment to carry on with a goal.  it may feel like one and a half lifetimes ago, but was truly just a moment at a cross road.  for anyone who has been following, i am warning you now that i am at a cross road again.  i remember hearing that we change every seven years to become a different person, and although i am in the middle of the calendar cycle, change is looming.

i am declaring the close of one phase and the opening of another.  as i sit on a balcony overlooking the south china sea, i am feeling like a nordic athlete soon to be transitioning from skiing to shooting portion of the biathlon.  i know i need to lower my pulse rate before i transition, my legs are tired, i am dripping in sweat and my fingers are tingling with the effects of adrenaline.  it is almost time to stop and focus on the target, the driving effort has to be tempered, so i can take on the shot and avoid a penalty.

if the metaphor of biathlon while hiding in a resort on borneo doesn't work for you, stop reading now.  i am going to write; long, strange and personal, because it is what calms me.  this is my way of settling myself down for the effort.  this is my race, and i want a record of it for later.  i want to be able to look at the tape and see my form as i took that hill.  it's not for others to see me win or lose, but for my inner coach to monitor and remember how i felt on days like today.

this is my second shot, let the new chapter begin.

good life

i woke up this morning to the quiet sound of falling rain. i love rainy days, but while on vacation in paradise, rain is a mixed blessing. today it would be a good thing, because my skin is crispy, painful, red and itchy from too much sun. rather than giving up on the beach, i decided to ride over to have breakfast. kopi bali and jaffle pisang was the thought, but just spending the time on the sand was what i was hungry for.

the day has been slipping by, and it's lunch time now. i just finished a wonderfully simple burger. it was served dutch style with mayonnaise, to which I added soya. empire meets local; or east meets west on the crossroads of trade. enjoying is all about finding the fusion. after this long in asia, i have given up on the idea that american burgers are the best way to eat. it's impossible to find them consistently, and using the local ingredients just make it taste better. i did skip the sambal sauce, there needs to be limits in life.

while sitting on the beach this morning, the third squall of the day passed. most of the other early beach-goers had abandoned hope during the second squall. it had lasted more than an hour, and prolonged tropical storms while sitting on the beach are just too much for most people. i waited it out because i had a feeling it was going to clear. at the first short break, i hopefully moved down to the chairs. minutes later the third gentle squall came through with another extended rain that brought visibility below VFR. i sat under an umbrella not made to protect anything from more than sun, and listened to the rain and surf. water dripped down my back, as i laid comfortably within the white noise cocoon.

as i walked back towards the cafe, i was coaxed into a visit to the beach-side massage hut. i amused myself by playing with a local kid whose mother was telling him to take a nap, while getting massaged by the aunties. it's hard to remember that they are my age. after 20+ years on the beach they look as though they have a generations head start on me. the beach community is a village of families who watch each other, we are just visitors to their lives.

it's when i experience others lives up close that i think about how blessed i am. i get to travel, but have people i love to keep in touch with while on the road. i never feel as though i am alone. my major fear 7 years ago. but while learning to enjoy being solitary, i also learned that out of sight does not need to be out of mind. distance does not need to limit connection; if you work on it. technology helps; sms, email, youtube and voice have all been used in the past few days to allow holidays around the world to be shared.

these are good days. the sun is out and the rain is losing its 60% chance of impacting beach time. i am drinking storm and i can feel the energy levels rising. it reminds me that i have been playing doom with a red light flashing; warning me to take cover. the trip feels like i have slipped into a quiet room, steel door protecting me from attacks, and i have found an energy pack to bring me back to health. just in time, because one more blast and i could have lost this level.

when ash was here this summer she told me that I was living large. she meant that expat housing, jockey parking, friends who own restaurants and the ability to slip away to the beach should be appreciated. sometimes i forget that, and i should apologize for my semi-occasional tantrums. i am not one of these 9 year olds, working on a beach selling bracelets and hoping for good luck to make a sale today. but sometimes, i do feel like the distracted kid being told to take a nap.

i get to have connected travel. i get to relax with my storm. i get to talk to the aunties, or strike up random conversations with nice strangers. i can go back to my hotel and take a hot shower, send my wet clothes to laundry, order a car for tomorrow's angel, and think about what i want for dinner. if i add in apple store purchases, and coming christmas presents, i know my bug is right. i am living large.

all I needed was a few days under a wet umbrella to realize:

this is the good life.

wishing you

i am at dinner in a local restaurant with a sign board that promises mexican food. it also has indonesian, italian, chinese and seafood listed, so i am not sure what to expect. the staff appears to speak english and russian equally well, not sure if this is a hint that mexican should not be the feast of choice, but then again, that is what this whole trip is all about, exploring.

i spent the day at the beach. hiding under the umbrella, reconsidering the need to add sunblock to my packing list for the beach. i wrapped myself in a sarong-tudong and wondered how I had gotten so far without SPF enhancement. the days of sunblock magically appearing are gone, time to take responsibility for my own skin.

as the day wound down a large crack of thunder in the distance got me headed back. already late, i took a few intentionally misguided turns and ended up in a small back-road village. the sales-kids on the beach had told me about a barong tonight. there was an old gentlemen in a crisp white outfit I have seen at temple festivals. i slowed and asked him if the barong was here. he shook his head no, and pointed around the corner.

there was a crowd of men loitering next to the temple. one was holding a rooster dripping blood from its legs. money was being passed back and forth between the men; somehow i had found the islands christmas night cockfight. i guessed this was a different form of cultural event, just not one in the guide books. given the theme of the week, i parked my motorcycle and tried to merge into the crowd.

that merge was not simple, my presence was clearly unexpected. it caused more than several looks, and a few whispered comments. this is where common sense kicks in for most. in a village that the 5-star hotel crowd never sees, my peers would neither get here nor intentionally stay. i tapped into my inner gonzo journalist and started talking to locals in a rough english-indonesian mix and did the polite thing by placing a bet.

the next contestants were both scrappy looking. liking it dark, i bet on the black cock with psychedelic green coloring on his sides. as they brought the birds together to snap at each other, i noticed the size of the white cocks claws, and knew i had made my first cock-fight mistake. there is some saying about big feet and winning cocks, but the action was ready to start and i needed to focus. i decided to let the contest play out; my bet more of like an entrance fee than a wager.

the "fight" lasted about three minutes. the white bird kicked my colored bird's ass. my guy left with a chunk of his neck missing, but alive and able to lose another day. i had visions of being deep in mexico while watching the combatants, they seemed more beach-asian, with a laid back surfer approach to fighting, than the gangsters they and the homies could be mistaken for. back on the road i knew there was a lesson to be learned, i still haven't figured it out. it will come to me.

it rained while i napped and showered. it was dry by the time i was ready for my christmas feast. i rode over to the place i had seen the day before and found it mostly empty; with a local guy playing christmas songs on his guitar. music to go along with my natal enchilada.

"feliz navidad" was interesting because he sang the english parts with a thick accent and the spanish memorized without accent. i was singing along so it was the second verse before I actually listened to him and heard:

i want to miss you a merry christmas. i want to miss you a merry christmas. i want to miss you a merry christmas, from the bottom of my hot.

i was sure he was doing it that way on purpose. it's the perfect end to this day. semi-yoga, cafe, beach, cockfight, motorcycle, sunburn, nasi goreng, madi-kutu in the afternoon and acceptable mexican food with bintang besar and a guitarist that mistranslates to improvement.

this is the best release ever; wish you were here.