move

The last week in Thailand just disappeared... Back to the States. So strange. So exciting and yet so so strange. Even though we knew the end was coming and both Emily and I were actually looking forward to the change, it was hard to process how fast it arrived.

Naturally I became broody, and spent the better half of our last week battling my anticipation for home and my resistance to leaving. It was touch and go there as I did my best to stay in the moment rather than with my thoughts flitting around to the future and the past and back to the future again...until the last day when we arrived in Phuket. An insane drive through the city. One of the sharp turns and narrow misses we made in that van threw some sense into me (or knocked some sense out of me, depending on your views of that whole sort of thing) and I was absolutely present in Thailand. The sun was going down behind heavy wet clouds as the neon lights of the citystreets illuminated a smoky dome of neon glows and tourists and locals and bumpertobumper and a whole lot of bass, all rising from the streets under the tires of our windy ride. I felt nostalgic for the familiarity of that chaos.

The Phuket drive was a total throwback to a specific taxi drive in Bangkok, a moment that stands out to me now as one of things I love most about Thailand. A taxi drive making that much of an impact? It might not make a whole lot of sense, but the crazy spirit of the drive was full of everything I loved about being there. It caught me off guard and made me appreciate the present (which, I realize time and again, can change its tone from moment to moment).

We were stalled for thirty minutes in the middle of Bangkok waving down a taxi, while our time to catch a bus was slipping away with each denial. We were getting increasingly desperate for help. The guy who finally gave into my pleas, Buddhist bow, and promise to be the best passengers of his night (despite his reluctance to brave the traffic en route to the southern bus terminal), he was my favorite random friend. He swerved and sped and created VIP traffic lanes out of thin air, all the while filling the car with the best soundtrack for the spirit of our rush. He was the first guy who didn't try to get more money out of us than was fair (so we tipped him 50%). Fate denied us the other drivers who brushed us by.

And there in Phuket with another driver who took his soundtrack seriously but laughed at life in general, shouting out his windows, veering around cars in a way that should have made me fear for my life but instead assured me that we were in safe hands. It brought the whole Thai experience full circle for our last night there and I couldn't stop smiling.

But of course we realized only minutes after my romantic revelation that our real last night was the night before because, somehow, we had remembered the dates wrong. Our flight was in 6 hours. Ah well. 

We concluded our travels with an Indian dinner, a harried departure, and then an excruciatingly long day of travel. (Longest day of my life--no exaggeration--December 18th will have lasted for 31 hours for us when all is said and done. I consider this further proof that Time is no respectable unit of measurement and hours, minutes, and seconds as we know them are merely fantastical constructs of the human imagination.)

....I am currently in the 20th hour of December 18th and on the second plane, this time traveling from Seoul to Tel Aviv. (The flight paths laid out for us are just as nonsensical as the hours.) To think that only days ago I was simply worried about mini buses and ferries. 

In fact less than a week ago, Emily and I were squeezed into the umpteenth mini bus of our trip, traversing the jungles and en route to another island. The islands of Thailand were languid and delicious but molasses-slow, slower than anything else we saw in Thailand (and slower than anything we're getting into now, on our way home). There was also the rainforest, and that was a world away from anything else, a destination outside of Thailand, deep in Thailand: tree temples, hidden stone chambers, sparkling walls glossed by watery sheets pooling into a rushing stream on a cave tunnel floor. We trudged through mud and over fallen logs, until we were waist deep--chest deep--neck deep in chilled water from the jungle. Another world--and we were only on the edges.

But no matter where we were, the trip always moved on before we were settled, much too little time for all that we wanted to see. Emily and I ended the rush and noise of the trip with a quiet oasis of an island, bringing everything down into a low hum. Maybe it's because Koh Lanta was our last destination, but our time on the island felt much longer than any other portion of our trip. Time swelled into a silent calm. We rode bikes down the main street (as far as I know, the only street) of the island, slicing through red puddles of mud as the rain soaked our clothes through to the skin. What else is there to do when a warm rainstorm is crashing your plans? It was exhilarating to surrender to the elements and another opportunity to laugh at our misguided planning. After so much excitement, our closing ceremonies took place with books, wine, and rain.

In retrospect, better to end on that sort of note...the rain washed away anxiety, the stillness prepared me for the silent meditation of transition, and then hours later...still writing on the same piece...I'm seamlessly in another country in another time zone (and in hours I will be in yet another). The transitions are neverending, but the most important movements are happening within. Words seem a bit superfluous at this point...

Keep walking, though there's no place to get to.
Don't try to see through the distances.
That's not for human beings. Move within,
but don't move the way fear makes you move.
--Rumi

mama

I graduated in May, yet this past summer was just as packed with growing pains as my years in college: a bonus semester, free of charge. In the span of a few months, I found myself in a new work environment, newly single, making new friends, and then moving to a new condo. I didn't have much time to stop and panic, so it is only in reflection that I am able to see how fluidly those changes transpired. As it turns out, when I'm strapped on time for over-analyzing, my instincts are remarkably reliable. This, my friends, is exciting news to me.

My monstrous move (So. Much. Furniture.) did provide a few moments of panic, but they were minor compared with my excitement. I actively participated in the purchase and design of a home, which, although time-consuming and stressful, was an awesome and creative project. I am also now living with my favorite person on the planet, my sister, Emily. I’ll go ahead and take this opportunity to share that she is coming with me on the trip. This was a last-minute, best-idea-ever decision.

I was prepared to travel alone, which was very empowering, but I am happy beyond belief to go on this pilgrimage with my sister. Emily is the perfect travel buddy. (And as I said to one person who seemed shocked at the amount of time we have now determined to spend together, “It’s a good thing we like each other’s company.”)
 

Another person who I adore, who has always been a rock through my life's transitions, is my mother. She patiently helped me to pack my apartment while I melodramatically declared that I wanted to throw away all of my earthly possessions. She stuck it out through the stressful period of box towers and feng shui furniture shifting, until we entered the fun phase of hanging pictures and cooking nice meals. The woman is truly a saint.

This last week, on the final day of decorating, she showed up ready to help us close the job, as if she hadn’t done enough already. This was maybe her 3^rd or 4^th night assisting us with “final touches.”

When I opened the downstairs door to let her into our building, my first thought was of what a beautiful person she is, inside and out. At 5’2” she is still a force of nature, a tiny woman with voluptuous hips and an angel-sweet smile. She was wearing an ethereal tie-dyed dress and had in her hand an electric drill box. Both Mother Goddess and Ruby the Riveter.

Once we were inside, she fastened her loose curls into a large clip covered in fuzzy yellow, pink, and purple balls. It was a Dr. Seuss sort of accessory and a childlike contrast to the aged silver hair she proudly grew long, despite protests she heard from her age-fearing peers. This is my mom in essence: she pulls off the appearance of being fun and eclectic (which she is, undoubtedly), but underneath her playful façade she is also a wise and feminine pillar of strength. Strong enough to grow her hair gray, to wield a power tool with ease, to set aside her own obligations for her those of her daughters without a second thought. 

At one point, after running to the hardware store for the umpteenth time, she smiled at me and said, “It makes me happy to help you. I’m doing this because it makes me feel good to help my girls.” My mom can come across as sort of a “people-pleaser,” a quality that I can not only relate to, but have often considered a weakness of my own character. Yet when my mom said that making us happy made her happy, she was helping me to see that there is nothing weak or self-sacrificial about going above and beyond for those you love. My mom gives of herself because it brings something into her life that makes her feel more complete. She's a nurturer through and through.

My mom has always empowered me to be true to myself and trust my instincts, but the lesson seems clearer when I witness her example. She pours herself into everything she does--including how she loves--because she is unapologetically herself. I am grateful for her example, but also for her channeling all that mother goddess love into helping me through the tougher transitions. The madness of moving is finally at a close with her undeniable assistance, and that leaves me with nothing to do but finish preparing for the trip. We leave in ten days....just enough time to wrap everything up (but definitely not enough time to stop and panic). Let the next phase begin.