Stagnation

There's been a topic of conversation hover crafting over my recent escapades around the states. As I see friends in different locations, engaging in a pursuit of various life tracks, it seems that many people are evaluating their experiences based off of a fear of stagnation. We are young; we are like rivers of change and emotion, charging through unfamiliar territory and carving out paths as we course through this world. So, as we look for "what's good" and attempt to identify and understand our direction - whether we believe it is predetermined or established and adjusted constantly through our actions and choices - most people around me seem to be running from stagnation.

Stagnation: the state or condition of stagnating, or having stopped, as by ceasing to run or flow.

After reading that definition, it seems very fitting that I chose to compare us to rivers. The fact is that after the world has been "revealed" to us through academia or the traditional American university experience, some people seem to revel in that educational mind expansion insofar as the diploma is hanging in front of them like a carrot and then "call it quits". At least, this is what it looks like to the army of good liberals who then wish to strike out into the world and further that intellectual inquiry. The notion of settling down and establishing oneself in a career track, popping out the 2.5 kids, and holing up behind a white picket fence world with another good college graduate seems like shackles, and we shun it in attempt to understand what gives meaning to this world. So many twenty somethings embark on a wanderlust journey defined by the road, traveling in a restless world to avoid the stagnation cloud hovering overhead. But, as I question the placement of organs like hearts, and foundations of "home", I also wonder where on this road we find actualization? Is there a place or location that is in alignment with our needs for identity and can offer our restless minds the intellectual stimulation for long enough to keep us avoiding a bland existence?

Coming back to Flagstaff, and falling for the place all over again begs the question of - is this enough? Is there an adequate amount of stimulus here at 7,000 feet to keep us from feeling stagnant? For my friends who reside here, the overarching consensus is that it does not. The gap between the college aged youth and the young families doesn't leave breathing room for the twenty somethings who are looking for movement and challenge. Perhaps due to the lack of jobs that would allow for upward mobility, Flagstaff seems to have a gap in opportunity for those "fresh out of college" types. In any case, those who find themselves in northern Arizona after parading around in a cap and gown, seem to have stagnation on the brain - a fear of getting "stuck" in both a physical and mental sense.

I don't think this is unique to Arizona. I don't think that pine trees and route 66 mark the spot for floundering. I believe that we are all faced with the fears of stagnation at one point or another, regardless of location. I felt the same thing in Thailand, just as I converse with friends about the topic here. I worried that I could get stuck on a tropical island and never push myself to grow, just as I could surround myself with mountains and follow the same screenplay. The reality is that we can be stagnant no matter where we are. Here's the thing though, but I'm starting to think it comes down to like-minded accomplices. I think we can keep the stagnation storm at bay as long as we surround ourselves with people who challenge us. For myself, it has always come down to finding like minded people to help cultivate intellect, encourage pursuing those "out there" ideas and crack pot notions. Can we be deep and intellectual on our own? Sure, I believe we can. I don't think the classroom is a prerequisite for intellect, nor do I believe we are defined by others, however I do believe that these feelings of stagnation can be diminished by the right kind of environment.

Flagstaff might not offer that, just yet, at least. It might be a place I could come back to 10 years down the line and feel satisfied, but for now, the need for a greater community of "on the same page" people is calling me away, just as it is for my friends here. It's good to identify that. It helps me to understand what my priorities are.

So, for the next bit of time, I relinquish my decisions to the power of the water. The monsoons here - the music of the raindrops, cracking lightening overhead, and the rolling thunder consume my thoughts, remind me of the restlessness of my ways, and keep me charging forward, directed by the course of the river within me.

Question of the day: what do you do, in your life, to avoid stagnation?

Searching For My Heart.

On this side of the Pacific Ocean is a beautiful place called Flagstaff, Arizona. It's full of IPA beers, urban trails, local DJs, organic food, and climbing friends. It looks mostly unchanged, except for the mob of people who pour out into the streets and to the bars on a Friday night. I look through this throng of people out searching for drink specials, and hope to see a couple of familiar faces. I look for those who started the university experience with me in 2006, those who influenced my views and perceptions of the world each year beyond that. I look for bearded gingers and a long haired man almost imitating a wizard as he tore through the campus on his rasta painted road bike, adorning bright green headphones, and blasting pretty lights on his way back to our little nook. I look for beautiful girls dressed in neon and glitter, same as me, taking over local clubs with ridiculous dance antics and overall shenanigans. I look around for penguin suits, cartoon character friends, and morph costumes to give me a sense of home, but things have changed. I don't see the faces that remember my own. I remember a time when I knew most people in this place, and though that was part of the reason I left this little town, it seems a little empty without the same crew of folks taking over this place and painting it red.

When I've talked about home in the past, I've always attempted to pin point what it is that makes me feel that sense of belonging that only a "home" can provide. I've attempted to assert that home is where your friends are, where your heart is, or where you see yourself feeling settled. At the end of my travels, I found that my home was in me and it was with me when I packed up my backpack with two years worth of belongings and traipsed across the world. However, I did believe that when I ended up in the Grand Canyon State, that I would find a little bit more that made me feel connected to this place.

A newly acquired friend asked me, "are you finding that there is nothing left here for you now?"
I think at the time I told him that that was, in fact, the case -that there isn't anything left for me here except for the people. That maybe I had romanticized the place and that perhaps, I didn't have anything tying me to northern Arizona anymore. Then, I took to the trails this morning; I headed into open space to run around and get some perspective. In the wide openness of the wildflower fields underneath the ol' "sky blue sky" juxtaposed with beautiful caldera mountains, I realized that I am still romanticizing this place. And, I'm fine with it. In fact, I do love Flagstaff. I love the town and the beauty of the location, paired all of the things that I have been missing - the handful of friends I have here, family dinners, good local food, the peaks, the red rocks, and the overall funkiness that is so signature to Flagstaff. It makes me laugh. It makes me smile just being here and people watching. At the end of the day, I love this little mountain location, but I think I came back here to find my heart and it isn't here.

So if my home is in me, then where is my heart?

Finding "Me"

4 Days.

My friend, Tim, and I were sitting around chit-chatting about my upcoming trip home and Tim turned to me and inquired about my feelings of readiness regarding leaving Thailand. “Four days,” he said. “Four days until you head home. Do you remember what you were doing four days before you came to Thailand?”

I thought for a second. Yeah, holy shit. Four days before leaving for Thailand I was exhausted, emotionally exhausted.

Here comes some memory lane shit...

Four days before leaving for Thailand, I was dealing with my parents and the divorce/separation shenanigans for the first time. It was wintertime. Mid December, I packed up my car and moved myself from Flagstaff to Los Alamos to spend a couple of days with my family before I shipped off to Thailand. What I was confronted with when I arrived in New Mexico, was a reality bomb that tore through any shred of holiday spirit. Though Christmas has never really resonated well with my family, that year's festivities were devoid of any merriment as it was my first time seeing my parents since my Dad had moved out. Four days before Thailand, I gave my Dad a letter I had written to him in which I poured out my heart. It's hard telling your parents they need to be different, but it's harder when you realize the futility of the effort in the same step. At the same time, I was trying to consolidate my life to fit into my backpack and leave that broken place. Though looking forward to the next adventure, I was riddled with guilt over the whole enterprise. Thailand felt like my golden ticket, but I left for the train station without my Dad and it felt like a betrayal of our entire family-ness. Never have I embarked on a big move without him there; I didn't leave for college without him and I never imagined that I would ever have to pick and choose my cheering section as I embarked for Thailand. He was always there. Excluding him from goodbyes was like pulling on a scratchy over sized sweater, heavy with divorce, and trying to figure out how to make it fit. I felt like I was drowning. I dyed my hair brown and asked my mom to cut it inches from my scalp. I wanted to blend in. I didn't want to be noticed; I didn't want to be seen; I didn't want to be a blonde girl traveling on my own. I wanted to disappear. I was running. I was nervous, no, I was scared as hell. I wanted to get out of New Mexico and away from my family, but I didn't know what awaited me on the other side of the world. I had romanticized Thailand for years, but I didn't know if hiding in South East Asia could help me find light in all of the darkness. I just wanted to stop hurting. I wanted a new beginning. I wanted to be able to find out who I was and what I was made of. I wanted to get back to me. I needed to get back to me.

When the bottom falls out of your brown paper bag world, it's hard to get all the pieces back in order. I think it is best captured by Nick Hornby in A Long Way Down: “Hard is trying to rebuild yourself, piece by piece, with no instruction book, and no clue as to where all the important bits are supposed to go.” I was trying to get it all back together – organized and situated, but I felt as though I had been lost. And, perhaps, I really had. I had been pushed aside during an attempt to be the parent, to be the bigger person, to be the one they could lean on, to be the big sister, the friend, the confidant, the councilor, the mediator, the strength, the hope, the optimist, the rock, the foundation, the embodiment of dreams everyone was giving up on, the protector, the brave face - the everything.

When I sit down and think about the pain that I was in four days before Thailand, I think – “no wonder I am a little nervous about going home!” Arriving in Phuket, I put on a shiny little smile and tried to choke back sadness, stifling emotions with every forced laugh and carefree action, but there was a darkness that sat heavy and cold with me. That darkness still emerges when I think about the goodbyes shared with my mom and my sister as I boarded the sleeper train to Los Angeles, after that hell of a Christmas. I still feel the heartbreak of leaving my sister for a year and a half, of her not talking to me when I left, of her being angry with me for leaving, of the guilt of leaving her. It remains an open wound. My sister, the only one who could understand what I was feeling as we cried in each others' arms on December 25^th instead of opening presents, seemed to resent me for leaving, and I didn't blame her. Feeling waves of despair, desperation, and loneliness, we had sat holding hands and fighting back kiddie pool sized tears that streamed down our frostbitten cheeks. That winter was a cold one and I was warmed then only by her presence and the comfort, or relief rather, of watching us get to, what looked like, rock bottom. The whole, “the only way left to go is up” kind of deal, was meager optimism, but I clung to it regardless. Now, I've learned that rock bottom, like Dante's inferno, has many faces and levels, and though I'm afraid I've only seen a fraction of that reality, of that hell, I came to Thailand with a golden ticket, a love that lay guarded, but a commitment to prevail, and I have.

I spent a year and a half trying to find my smile. I spent a year and a half trying to find myself. I spent a year and half sorting through the changes in me and trying to put all the pieces back in the right spot. It has taken some time, but four days before leaving Thailand, I'm realizing that I'm a different person.

I still feel a sense of nervousness. I still feel apprehension and fear regarding being back in that place where I will be faced with emotional insecurities and struggles once again, however, I know I am stronger now. I no longer feel the impulse to run – to bolt before I feel anything. It's time I started feeling.

Now, I know my trip back home is going to be emotional. I know that going home is going to be intense, in many senses, and that it will force me to feel – blah! Yes, feel feelings. However, I'm ready for it. It took me long enough – a year and a half – but, I'm finally beginning to accept what I can not change and to grow stronger in the face of this adventure's challenges. Though sometimes I don't understand the reason for the negative and trying times, I believe that things happen for a reason – to teach us. As long as we move forward from each trial and tribulation with the willingness to learn and a commitment to accepting life's lessons, I believe we will be okay. I love this passage in Shantaram -

“The cloak of the past is cut from patches of feeling, and sewn with rebus threads. Most of the time, the best we can do is wrap it around ourselves for comfort or drag it behind us as we struggle to go on. But everything has its cause and its meaning. Ever life, every love, ever action and feeling and thought has its reason and significance: its beginning, and the part it plays in the end. Sometimes, we do see. Sometimes, we see the past so clearly, and read the legend of its parts with such acuity, that every stitch of time reveals its purpose, and a kind of message enfolded in it. Nothing in any life, no matter how well or poorly lived, is wiser than failure or clearer than sorrow. And in the tiny precious wisdom that they give to us, even those dread and hated enemies, suffering and failure, have their reason and their right to be.” - Lin (Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts)

Four days before leaving for Thailand, and the bottom was falling out of my world. But, over a year and a half down the road, I'm ready. I'm strong; I'm capable and I'm still standing, world! I remember boarding that plane, scared, nervous, and unsure about the choices that had gotten me to LAX - bound for Asia, but I was running and I thought I just needed something “new” to be okay. What I thought I'd find was a world free of pain and hurt – a clean slate and a fresh start. I didn't find that. I didn't find a “do over” button or something that could sever my heart strings, but I guess it was never really about that anyway. What I found, instead, was that only in the darkest night can you see stars; that in our darkest times, there is hope, that the chance at a new beginning was already in me, and that I was made of a lot more than I thought. I spent so much time running from those four days before Thailand, but on the other side of this epic adventure, I've gained something more valuable than I would have ever dreamed...

I've found me.

My House Is In Me

This weekend I'm moving out of my house and I'm synching up on a final week in Thailand. During this time of big changes, it is unavoidable, as I begin to sort through all of the random memorabilia that I have collected during my travels and condense it into a backpack, that the reminiscent train starts chugging.

Books, currency from random locations, yoga mats, tents, climbing gear, all of my nick-knacks, a plethora of clothing (dear lord!), and memories are all getting pulled out of the closet, down from shelves, and out from cabinets, as it nears the time for me to make some moves.

It's funny, you set yourself up in a place, you surround yourself with the familiar, and you create a sense of home wherever you go. For me, as I took down pictures and sorted through old papers, I started to realize, that I was without a home. Is my home in New Mexico? Is it in Flagstaff? Is my home in Phuket or in my next destination? Is my home in Denver, a place I've spent so many good times and definitely tied myself to during my summers? Where is my home? Then, I began to think about people in my life. Is home where my family is? Well, I have family in Thailand now, in Santa Fe, in Flagstaff, and in Denver. I have family across the states and around the world. Does that mean that I just have homes everywhere? I guess that's the curse of the traveler jungle girl with a mobile family. When you are moving around and exploring new places, it can be difficult to feel like you have a permanent residence or a home base. It amuses me to think that my "home" can be consolidated and packed up into the same pack that I carted with me to this country some 19 months ago. I had no idea what I was getting myself into then, that's for sure! And, now, as I begin to set off down the road again, my feelings haven't changed. Maybe all I'm doing is trying to find my home. 

I ventured off to visit a friend of mine in Phuket Town. Jill, my beloved climbing companion and good friend was getting settled into a new apartment and I had to stop by and see her. It's funny, but this girl has the ability to create a calm living space no matter where she is. Smack dab in the center of town, I walked into her new place, just a simple room with a small bathroom and deck that overlooks the Portuguese style structures that encircle it. There's something about the attitude of those buildings that I have always found so artsy, funky, and intriguing. It has to do with the grand arches and wooden carved windows, the two story buildings that curve through Phuket, and the Chinese and Portuguese architecture coalescing in a way that gives you the feeling of wandering down Spanish side streets, hunting for hideaway boutiques and coffee shops, but while discovering a completely new art form laid out before you. Images of red Chinese lanterns adorning Thai art galleries absolutely captivate me, but it is all so easy to overlook amidst the chaos of the place. Chaos, that is so easily parted by Jill. 

She hadn't quite set up her watercolor pictures that usually collage her walls, but crossing the threshold and finding myself in the little room, with yellow light streaming in from the window on the far wall, it felt like she had been there forever. It had the feeling of peace and calm and simplicity that Jill somehow manages to unpack in each new location she finds herself in. I took a deep breath and released it out slowly. "This feels right, Jill. I like this space. This is a good room for you," I said and attempted to drink in the energy of the place. I sat down on her little bed and my eyes drifted around the space. "How does she do this", I wondered. "She can materialize home with such ease."

I then told her that I was worried about my own life. I didn't understand how she could just set up shop in a new place and have "home vibes" bouncing around it so quickly. Now, Jill, being from the Philippines, is an excellent English speaker, but her way with words is completely different than a native speaker's. She tends to use phrases and explanations that emerge like the most beautiful metaphors - shear poetry as she attempts to find terms to describe herself and her emotions. It has always blown me away - the stuff she comes up with, and this day was no exception.

As she listened to me explain my problem of a lack of home, she looked around her little space and began to tell me about how it felt for her to leave her last apartment, a place she had become so at ease with. She said that on her last night in her other place, she lay on her bed staring up at the stark white walls that were usually blanketed with her artwork. It's her artwork that, I had thought, gave her room the completed "home" feel. Yet, Jill said that instead of feeling sad about leaving her home, she realized that she wasn't actually leaving at all. The change that had originally been unsettling was no longer scary as Jill found that she didn't need her artwork on the walls. She didn't need her closet filled with yoga mats, clothes, and climbing stuff. She didn't need her memorabilia, her nick-knacks, or her things set out just so. She lay there and looking around her barren home, realized she was okay.

Jill turned to look at me. "My house is in me," she said. She paused for a moment, then continued in the most thoughtful, "You have a house in you, also."

We don't need things, we don't need belongings, we don't need a particular location, or environment to feel home. We are grounded through our love and that's enough. What I'm realizing is that it doesn't matter where I go or what I do, my home is inside of me; my house is in me and through that I am home. If I need calm and peace around me, I must look inside of myself first and that's where I find my permanent location. It's in my heart that I find my base, my center, my calm.

No matter where this next adventure takes me, no matter what happens to me, I have to remember that my house is in me.

But, you have a house in you, also.

Thanks, Jill. 

Traveling With Your Head At Home

It doesn't matter if you are sipping long islands on a tropical beach, climbing a high mountain peak, or backpacking across the Asian continent, you can participate in all of these activities and still never be there. 

Never be there? Now, I'm sure some of you are thinking, "Nicola, what on earth are you talking about? Umm, are you going through some sort of metaphysical crisis over there?"


Well, maybe I am, the jury is always out on that one, but on a very simplistic level, I'm merely attempting to discuss the fact that our physical bearings have little to do with the location of our thoughts. I mean this in the sense that commonly, people travel with their head at home; though experiencing new and exciting things, their ties to their home prevent them from ever submitting to the entirety of their adventure. Family, boyfriends/girlfriends, jobs, and responsibilities back "home", prevent people from ever getting "involved" with their new location. Yeah, they see some sights, take some pictures, start feeling tough and adventurous, maybe attempt some new words, eat some weird food, and get a little lost in the hustle and bustle of a new city, yet, everyday, their head is in America or elsewhere.

Sure, we can not divorce ourselves from our homes - our homes are in us, they are what contribute to the magic of traveling - the culture clash, the chaos of it all, the unexpectedness, the changes that are inspired within us, the growth, and the lessons that are picked up along the way, are only made possible through our remarkable and individual selves. We think that changing location gives us a "fresh start", that we are able to "start over" and reinvent ourselves. I say, "bullshit". Life and its experiences mold us into the individuals we are. In my opinion, we don't have the option of a "clean slate", not ever, but we can dramatically influence outcomes by imputing or applying our experiences and lessons in a way that results in change and personal growth, thus creating a new sense of self.

We can not, however, lose who we are. I can't stop being me or sever the heart strings that tie to me various places around the world. This is kind of like Vigo Mortensen in the film, A History of Violence. Though Vigo claims that he "killed" his alter ego, mafia killer self, in the desert and therefore transformed into a model citizen, he still smashes people in the face with a pot of coffee during a diner holdup at the beginning of the movie, therefore demonstrating to us that though he makes choices to alter the course of his life more towards being a good father and less like The Godfather, he never truly rids himself of his past. Now, I'm not saying that people who once ran with the likes of Vigo Mortensen are destined to be stalked by Ed Harris for the entirety of a Blockbuster film, but I do believe that everything that happens to us, every experience we have, contributes to who we are at the very core.

 So, traveling with your head in another place, eh? Well, with Skype, the iPhone, Facebook, and in general, the internet web that crisscrosses the planet, it is very easy to stay "plugged in" to life at home. You can be texting your bros back home while bumping along in the back of a tuk-tuk as it careens through Thai traffic. You can Skype your boyfriend every morning and night, giving him hourly updates via Facebook about the shenanigans of developing nation living, if you so choose, but it's your decision. It's the focus or the priority that we give to other places - hey, before I moved to Thailand, my head was already here, meaning, I had checked out of being in America. I knew I was checked out, because it was beginning to matter less what was happening around me there and I began planning for life abroad. Well, now I'm experiencing that in reverse. With two weeks left, I'm checking out. I'm beginning to tune out of Thailand and I'm working hard to keep my head on the island. Though my time here has been remarkable and has changed me tremendously, due in large part to my submission to all aspects of Thailand life, sticking in more than just a toe from even the beginning, I'm finally feeling ready to leave. I'm finally feeling like I'm reading the final chapter of a good book, and I'm satisfied.

I used to judge people who came to other places and didn't ever submit to the place - wondering to myself why they were wasting their time, but I understand now how it happens. If I only had a week or month in a new place, perhaps my head would still be floating around, thousands of miles away, in my home, however, I believe that we should fight to be present where we are, take the experiences as they come to us, and leave the future to tend to itself. You miss a lot of beauty when you close your eyes and dream of someplace else. You have to let yourself be present. Otherwise, why not just change the screen saver on your computer to a Hawaiian sunset and stare at that for a bit. Hey, you could even change your Facebook banner to something adventurous and it would save you a whole lot of money and time feeling jet lag.

All of which I was almost ready to do. I even concluded a conversation with a friend today, reiterating my previous "head back in America thoughts" -  I don't really care what I do over the next two weeks before I leave. I said, "I've already done so much here, I'm happy with what I've seen and what I've done. I can just go quietly now." I was typing with her online, trolling on Facebook, and thinking about friends back home, when I glanced up to see the sun was beginning to set. Closing my computer, I stood up to search out my hiking shoes before tramping next door to get my neighbor's dog. I needed to fulfill some pet sitting obligations and take it out for a walk. The little dog was thrilled to see me and I barely got her on the leash before she was pulling me towards the complex system of hiking trails that cover the mountain where I reside. With the dog leading the way, we weaved through the papaya trees and past groups of mangosteens decorating the jungle. We zigzagged over thick vegetation glowing vibrantly and glittered with freshly sprinkled raindrops. Drinking in the peaceful dusk air that encased us, we traipsed over the rolling hills and down a steep hill to an open meadow. Right as we reached the clearing, I stopped short; Jurassic Park/Dr. Seuss trees towered over head and I stood mesmerized by their size and fantastic shapes. I was baffled by the beastly trees, but not only because of their sheer greatness. Instead, I was astounded by the fact that this was my first time seeing them. I've been living on my hill for 6 months now, yet my "I've seen all I need to see" attitude, has somehow hindered me from experiencing the incredible environment around me. I didn't move for a couple of moments, I just gazed up at the trees and tried to take in the whole scene laid out in front of me. The jungle looked so beautiful and I was seized with happiness that I was experiencing it. Finally, the little dog grew impatient with my lack of motion and as darkness circled, we made our way back to the bungalows.

I was laughing to myself as I climbed the steps back to my house, laughing at my naivety.

"This world is so big, girl, you haven't even seen the beginning."

Even with 2 weeks left, I've got to remember to let myself be here. America will wait for me. In the meantime, I've got things to see and a little more Thailand living to do.