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A month of fun: Day one

September 1, 2011

When I was on the road, each day was an adventure. I was meeting new people, sampling new foods, seeing new sights and opening my arms to every new experience that came my way. In short, I was having a blast.

It’s no surprise then that coming home has been a little bit of a bummer. It feels like the same boring, old thing because it IS the same boring, old thing. I haven’t done anything new or different or exciting in a month.

This morning, however, I woke up to an apartment full of love notes from The Husband. It started with a Post-It on the coffeemaker, which led to a note on my computer, on a book, on the front door and so on.

And no, it’s not our anniversary. He just did it for no reason at all.

It was so sweet it practically made my teeth ache, but it was also downright fun to make beautiful discoveries in what would have been a normal routine. That’s when I got to thinking: I bet there are fun things all over my daily life. I just haven’t been open enough to explore them.

There’s only one thing that controls how vibrant my life is. ME. It’s not about where I am. It’s more about who I am.

And that brings me to my new project for September: Do something fun every day.

I’m borrowing the idea from a couple other bloggers who did it first, documenting their months of fun in July and August. (So I’m a little late to the party … what’s new?) Every day, or as often as I can, I’ll report back and tell you how the project is going. Hopefully you’ll tell me about the fun you’re finding too.

I’m head over heels for this idea already. It’s about making the deliberate choice to embrace adventure. It’s taking a hammer to the old routine and smashing it into bits. It’s about being inspired.

Today’s fun thing: I visited The Husband at work and brought him lunch.

This won’t be a regular thing, unfortunately. It won’t be long before his days will be filled with students, parent-teacher conferences and paperwork, and he’ll be squeezing peanut butter and jelly in between his other obligations.

But today none of that was a concern, as it’s still early in the year. He’s still sticking posters to the wall, organizing books, setting up computers. So I surprised him in the middle of the day, we pulled a couple of school desks together in his classroom and enjoyed a meal together.

More power to ya

August 22, 2011

As I said before, I’m doing this running thing. (Which, to be clear, is not really running at all, but more of a rapid walking/falling shuffle, as if I keep catching myself mid-trip on a rug.)

So my inner information gatherer has been driving me to research all kind of running-related things. Eventually that led me to the Nike+ program, which appears to be a glorified pedometer. I have not purchased this gizmo yet, because all of my Apple products are too ~~ancient~~ vintage to be compatible with the Nike receiver.

Still, I am in love with one fantastic concept from the Nike+ gear — the power song. Tap a button and Nike+ instantly plays your own pre-programmed “power song,” for those moments when you need a little extra oomph.

That got me to thinking about my own power songs — the tunes I turn to for extra motivation. (And manually select from my iPod playlist because my mp3 player is ~~so old it belongs in the Apple museum~~ vintage.)

This song goes on all of my workout playlists because it has a sassy beat, it makes me want to dance and I love it. But I wouldn’t say it’s the most motivational song on my iPod.

(NOTE: This video is probably not suitable for work unless your boss is cool with Abraham Lincoln in sensual situations. And if that’s the case, your job is AWESOME.)

On the other hand, I think this tune is motivational even though I can’t identify with the lyrics (“I took the bullets outta Fifty and put ’em in my .45.” I mean, I can’t even remember the last time I did that.)

A friend put this on a mix for me when I was going through a particularly difficult personal time, and it helped to scream at the top of my lungs, “Hate it or love it the underdog’s on top, and I’m gonna shine, homie, until my heart stops!”

Sadly, Fifty Cent’s rhymes are so slow, they bring my feet down to a crawl.

So I’m leaning toward this as my power song. It’s fun, fast, brash and an old favorite.

Extending the concept a little, I’d have to look to Sonic Youth for my Life Power Song, since every little girl I know wanted to grow up to be Kim Gordon. But forget about running to this music. Just slink around and look awesome.

I will also take this under consideration. I know it’s one of those sappy songs that every girl lists as her favorite, but I can’t help it. This part gets me every time: God help you if you are a phoenix and you dare to rise up from the ash, A thousand eyes will smolder with jealousy — while you are just flying past.

Sing it, sister!

Now tell me. What are your power songs — either for working out or just living life? I’m also curious to hear any feedback on the Nike+ thingy. Do you use one? If not, how do you stay motivated during your workouts?

Home is where the sad is

August 8, 2011

Well, I’m officially back in Palm Springs, but I’m having trouble readjusting to life here.

Part of that is because I’m not returning to the home I left behind. Just before I began my year-long trip around the world, The Husband and I moved into a smaller, more affordable place. (It was pointless for him to live in a two-bedroom, two-bathroom condo by himself, and it was easier for us to financially manage a small apartment.) We moved into this apartment just a few days before I hit the road.

While I was gone, The Husband unpacked all the boxes I left behind. In order to squeeze everything into dollhouse-sized closets, he vacuum packed all of my clothes. He erected metal shelving units to hold everything that wouldn’t fit into drawers and cupboards, he developed a special folding system for the bathroom towels, and he found the most counterintuitive location for the coffee mugs. He really did a lot of work to turn this apartment into his home.

Toss me into that recipe, and it’s confusing. I’m a stranger here. I don’t know where to put away my pajamas, I can’t locate the can opener and I shut the shower door in a way that causes water to leak all over the floor.

Then there are the inevitable weird, awkward, wonderful bits about being back in the Western world. In no particular order:

* I forget the water here is safe. I hesitate to run my toothbrush under the tap. I instinctively ask for no ice in my drinks. I can’t believe I can drink straight from the tap.

* Toilets flush. (And you can put toilet paper in them!)

* I have more clothes than I know what to do with.

* When I have to charge my electronics, I can plug them in without a converter.

* I don’t have to carry a roll of toilet paper in my bag anymore.

* Most everyone speaks English.

* When I wake up, I know exactly where I am.

* Severe sticker shock. Everything feels incredibly expensive here, which makes shopping miserable. Plus, I look at price tags and mentally calculate how many rural Ugandans could be fed for the same amount.

* The abundance of everything everywhere is overwhelming. And those who take it for granted make me angrier than I ever thought possible.

* Things here feel complicated, crowded, commercialized.

So, yeah. This has actually been the most difficult terrain for me to navigate. Roaming gave me a direction I never had when I stayed in one place — so now that I’m officially in one place, I don’t know where to go. People keep asking me about my “plan,” and I honestly don’t know what to tell them.

I’ve been very depressed, to a point where I don’t even enjoy interacting with other people or leaving my house. I don’t even know how to be social anymore. I don’t like answering superficial questions about my trip, and I know I bore people when I talk in-depth about the things that feel important to me now. I know I’m supposed to be happy and content here in the U.S., but surprisingly, this feels like the most foreign place I’ve been.

On one of my first days back, a friend asked me a question about my trip. I started to respond, “Well, when I was in Thailand …” She cut me off and mocked me, saying, “Oh, so now you’re one of those insufferable people who starts stories by saying, ‘Well, when I was in Thailand …'” She made me feel like trash, as if I have to squelch the all experiences that have been so invigorating, motivating and challenging in the past year. That kind of thing makes me wonder why I came back at all.

To be clear, not everything is bad. I’m thankful for hot showers, Twizzlers, swimming pools and real coffee. It’s really nice to crawl into bed without checking for cockroaches first. And I love spending time with my real-life husband, not just an image on Skype.

Of course I’m grateful for all the adventure, fun and surprise I’ve had during my travels, and I don’t regret anything about this trip. It’s just that after spending 12 months pining for Palm Springs, I thought this part would be easier.

I wish they made a Lonely Planet guide for home.

Finding my balance

April 16, 2011

I lost my balance in Dahab, Egypt.

Physically, I mean.

I was staying at the amazing El Salam Camp and Yoga Shala. During marathon late-night yoga sessions, in an idyllic setting where night and stars rolled in on the Red Sea waves, I found myself inexplicably toppling over on the mat.

: This photo was lovingly ganked from the El Salam website.

It was very strange. Even when I can’t do bendy poses, I’ve always been able to hold my own in the balance asanas. Maybe I can’t slip into lotus or touch my toes to my head in scorpion, but I can rock a motherforking tree pose.

: Not me doing tree.

Shifting my weight to one leg, rooting myself into the ground, gently balancing the sole of the other foot against my inner thigh, keeping my eyes focused straight ahead — I got that.

Except in Dahab. For the first time ever, I couldn’t keep my balance. My leg was unsteady, my posture unstable. I tipped over. I fell. I tried again. My knee shook, my leg wavered. I faltered. I fell.

I’m embarrassed to say that it took me far too long to draw a connection between my physical loss of balance and my emotional one. Because during that time in Dahab, my grandmother passed away, followed a few days later by my mother’s death.

No wonder I couldn’t hold a tree pose. I could barely hold a toothbrush.

Those days were all itchy and unsettled. I slept with my eyes open. I dreamt when I was awake. I was detached, like some kind of alien pretending to be a human. A lot of people offered me love, and I didn’t know how to accept it. Even my body felt lonely, because there was nobody inhabiting it.

Instead of being compassionate with myself, I tried even harder to achieve balance. But as you probably know, the more you try to force something the more elusive it becomes.

I’m in a different place now, both physically and mentally, and a couple pages on the calendar have been torn away. I wouldn’t say my wounds have healed, but they’re slowly getting some scar tissue.

Yesterday I took another yoga class, this time at Wild Rose Yoga in Chiang Mai, Thailand. The instructor told us to focus on the theme of impermanence. He used the Thai new year festival of Songkran as an example — when you’re in the thick of the party and the water-throwing action, you’re giddy, elated, excited. But it’s not long before the fun stops, the wind kicks in, the air gets cold — pretty soon you’re unhappy, grumpy, uncomfortable.

Everything is impermanent.

The way sunrise and sunset effortlessly tumble through each day, so it is with our feelings. Our emotions are fluid. Happiness doesn’t last. Pain and sadness don’t either. They just feel like they do.

At one point in the class, we were all holding chair pose, a squatty posture that kills your glutes in two seconds flat. As everyone groaned and sweated, the instructor reminded us that physical sensations are impermanent too. He said that 10 seconds from now, we’ll forget the burn was ever there at all.

He was right.

My balance is back. I held tree pose for several minutes tonight just to prove it to myself. But now I accept these things are constantly in flux. Maybe I’ll fall over tomorrow. Maybe I’ll get back up the day after that.

This is life — shaky and unstable — and I’m just doing my best to keep up with the flow.

: Dakini, the rockinest yoga babe out there.

** A special shout-out to all my yoga stars, every teacher and friend I’ve met on the mat along the way. As I travel around the world from class to class, you have all taught me incredibly powerful lessons. Thank you for your insight, your love and your light.

10 essential character traits for long-term travelers

April 12, 2011

I have a lot of people tell me that I’m brave for traveling around the world.

I feel a lot of things, but brave isn’t one of them. However, it got me to thinking about the character traits that do make for a good long-term traveler.

Open

It seems like this would be one trait inherent to every traveler, but that’s not always the case. In Bangkok, I met a Swedish woman who was just starting a six-month trip around Southeast Asia. She wanted to join me for dinner, and I recommended a great street cart nearby. Her response? “Oh, I don’t like Asian food.” Can you imagine how difficult the next six months will be for that poor girl? I’m not saying you have to lose all your inhibitions and give every experience a shot — I’m specifically thinking about that ashram in India where they have big, freaky orgies — but at least inch your way out of your comfort zone. Start with a plate of pad Thai and move on from there.

: I had no idea what any of this was … until I ate it.

Polite

I am appalled by the travelers I meet who are condescending, even downright mean, to the local people. A good traveler is respectful and understanding. They realize that every culture is beautiful, even if it differs dramatically from their own. Also, please and thank you make a world of difference when you communicate with others, even when you do it in another language.

: Respect the local customs.

Humble

At home I know how to mail a package, order food, visit the doctor. On the road, however, even simple tasks take major effort. Sometimes you will seem like an idiot. Sometimes you will feel like a child. Sometimes people will laugh at you. It can be incredibly frustrating, especially for those of us who like to pretend we know it all, but you’ll just have to suck it up. Also, now you know how it feels when someone visits your home country — and I bet you’ll be a little more understanding.

: Syed helped me send a package in India.

Adaptable

Sometimes you have to make do with what you have. Switch to a different bus. Arrive in a strange country at 4 a.m. Take a bucket shower and towel off with your yoga pants. Sleep in a room with strangers. Accept the fact that you got ketchup instead of marinara sauce. Drink the warm beer.

: Ah, a refreshing warm beer.

Patient

My rigid, military dad would hate the bus schedule in Mbale, Uganda, for the sheer fact that there is no bus schedule. On the day I wanted to leave town, I stopped by the station at 9 a.m. and asked for the next bus. I was told there were no buses that day. I asked again. I was told there might be a bus. Not sure. So I said, “If there is a bus that left today, what time would that bus leave?” “Maybe noon. Come back later.” At 10 a.m. I returned. That’s when I was told there was a bus, but it would leave at 2:45 p.m. I decided to hang out on a bench and wait — and that’s why I was able to catch the bus, which actually left at 11:25. I have no idea why the bus didn’t adhere to a schedule, and I am still perplexed by how Africans do this on a daily basis. I just had to go with it and sit around until I got what I needed.

: You will also have to be patient when your ride gets a flat tire.

Shameless

Once upon a time, I turned on the tap whenever I used the restroom because I didn’t want anyone to hear me pee. I puckered up with stage fright if anyone even walked down a nearby hallway. Cut to a rainy night at a busy corner bar in Kigali, Rwanda. I had to use the toilet, which was basically a hole in an alley, surrounded by a few tipsy pieces of corrugated tin and some cardboard. There was no roof, and the rain was coming down hard and cold. One of my English students took me by the hand, shielding me with a pink child’s umbrella. Another student braced herself against the metal sheets, keeping the tin from falling over in the nasty wind. Squatting and giggling in that alley, I realized I had become less high-maintenence and slightly more audacious. But in a good way.

: Francoise held the umbrella.

Persistent

In Ethiopia I came across this phenomenon where I would ask for directions, and the person would tilt their hand from side to side, often moving their finger in a circle. Sometimes I had to ask 14 people the same question just to get down the block. It demonstrated the necessity of asking a lot of questions to get the answers I needed, something that applies to a lot of travel situations.

: Even the mannequins don’t know which way to go in Ethiopia.

Trusting

Repeat after me: There are more good people out there than bad people. The good people are generous, they like to show off their city, they are interested in learning about you, and they are quick to help. When you turn yourself over to a place, open yourself to the people there as well, and you will be rewarded.

: This family in Mysore, India, treated me like one of their own.

Compassionate

It’s not like you have to solve a huge humanitarian crisis. You don’t even have to volunteer if you don’t want to. Simply taking the time to educate yourself about a nation, a city, a village and the issues they face is enough. Maybe it’ll inspire you to help someone out with a kind word, a helpful hand or a dollar. Or maybe you’ll pack your stories away to inspire someone else someday. Either way, showing concern for others will help put your travels in context and give you a deeper, more meaningful perspective of the places you’ll go.