Do I really need a life-jacket?

Today, I was coming home from school and was struck by a thought I could not ignore:

"I still have a blog."

This thought came in the middle of numerous other ideas. I have a textbook to read, I have a letter to write, I have some chores to do, I have some mindfulness to capture (is that an oxymoron? Perhaps we reserve this for another post). 

Yet my heart desires nothing more than to write a few words here, today, four years later and with no intention of catching anyone up on where I have been or what I have done in that time. Let's just talk about today.

Via Barcelonia plays on my phone as I write. 

I am mostly comfortable, sitting in a chair that's a bit too hard.

I fiddle with the volume on my phone, the Goldilocks paradox being a daily part of my existence. "Too loud, too quiet, just right."

I broke up with my boyfriend a month ago. I tell myself not to count the days since we broke up, but I know it's 29 days give or take a few (from the day we said goodbye, from the day we stopped texting, who can ever say, and I know it doesn't matter in the end).

I was obsessed with him, he and everyone else knew. I had my reasons for ending it, but even so I was fully prepared to fall madly and deeply into the depths of despair. Those depths have come in waves, crushing and desolate, but I find myself more buoyant than I thought I could be.

I started by making my bed. What does this mean? Back up a bit, the first thing I did was not to make my bed. I rearranged all the furniture in my room, just so my body could forget where he used to sleep next to me. A desperate attempt to grab a life jacket that would bring me back to the surface, from those awful, soul-sucking waves. I couldn't even sleep in that room, I picked a different room in my house and camped out. I swear. 

Basically, when I became accustomed to the waves, and noticed that I always came up for air again, I realized that I had it in me to finally change some ingrained thinking patterns that I know are in place only to complicate whatever complex wounds come my way. I have always known about these patterns. They were there before him, and they remained there after him.

So now I am making my bed. What does this mean?

Every single day I go into my room at some point, to find the covers in Jackson Pollock contortions, twisted about in a pile that is cozy but just uninviting. I bawled inconsolably one morning, and then with whatever ounces of strength remained inside of me, I just depressingly made the bed. Blubbering and blue, I took one corner of my blanket up over my pillow, straightened out each other corner in sequence, and then gave it the final pat down of approval. There. Now to make it through this terrible day while my heart patters along behind me, like a toddler crying in protest, just struggling to catch up without collapsing on the floor in gut-wrenching defeat.

Thought nothing of it.

I come home from school that afternoon, head up to my room to change, and...what? What is this feeling? I open the door and the sight before me causes a bubble inside. Something is bubbling up. Could it possibly be joy? Peace? That insatiably sweet combination of those two emotions wrapped into one tender gift? I felt joy-peace. A glimmer of positivity. Which was strongly noticeable given the overwhelming darkness I had grown accustomed to, pre-, during, and post-relationship.

I think it was my neatly made bed.

So day two, wake up, sad sad sad, blue empty awful. The covers met their corners once again. 

I have made my bed for three days in a row and already my room, the room I was desperately escaping, the room I have cried in post-breakup and slept in restlessly, feels like a haven.

This is my first significant breakup. I am proud to say that I am a selective date, and there have been few others who grabbed my attention the way he did. I am a loyal and loving woman, and I will put undying effort into something I want to achieve. I wanted to get there with him, he wanted to get there with me, and the reality of losing our dream hurts me deeply. It will probably hurt many more times, somewhere inside of me hurts right now even though my eyes are dry (oh, how I praise the Lord when my eyes are dry), and that hurt is a necessary part of loving and dating. 

But my room, as a haven? This is a grand outcome. In the midst of the tsunami, I found the power to create even waters, for whatever moment in time as I look at my fresh bed. 

I can't control what happens in my love life, but I can create safe spaces in which to heal, grow, and love myself. I can find positive moments and cling to them as devotedly as I clung to my dreams with him. For the first time in my life, I feel in control. In the healthy way. In the way in which I can survive the waves. In the way in which I can have joy-peace, and then pain, and then joy-peace, and then gut-wrenching defeat. 

This was a lot to realize. For now, I am going to go look at my bed.

Sometimes the first draft of a poem is all you need:

You fell apart today
The opposite of what you wanted happened.
Somebody misspoke.
Your interpretations were false.
Though they may have been true.
Will you ever know?

You were wrong today
The meaning you had in mind got lost.
Twisted into truth.
It came across as it would.
Do you think you could have guessed?
Would it have made a difference?

You lost today
The things you are most afraid of seemed true.
You knew all along.
That you would be left like this.
There could be another option.
Will you open yourself to it?

Red Dirt

So it's been more than a week, I thought I would at least manage the once a week plan for like a month. Oh well, life gets unexpected sometimes so I officially retract my commitment to regularity...wow that was a cool string of words. Now, let me just tell you, I think I have never had a day as unique as the one I will describe right now.

Funnily enough, I don't remember what happened in the morning, I'm betting it was only the bus ride because we did do a fair amount of bus riding on this tour. So TO BE CLEAR this is just a half day memoir, not even one whole day. So much can happen in so little time.

Lunch was served at my tour leader's own home in Cianjur, a gloriously adorable two story yellow house with a marble courtyard entrance and the most lovely family living in it :) His mom made at least eight dishes, including spicy chicken, soy bean cakes, corn fritters, and kangkung (water spinach) in a sweet sauce. To go with this were three giant vats of rice, which we unfortunately could not even make a dent in. The generosity and kindness of these people was so touching. After about fifteen group pictures we left for the afternoon's activities, deemed "a surprise" by our guide. Incredible.

Seeing our tour guide part with his family was particularly touching. As the bus scraped through tree branched lanes that weren't built for large tourism vehicles, I let that cozy family feeling linger. What a blessing this trip was proving to be. And it gets better...

BECAUSE...Have you ever had one of those fish nibbling exfoliations in a trendy spa with a long tranquil pool and white stone benches that you sit on to dangle your feet? Neither have I. Instead of pool, think dark lake where you can't see the fish approaching, then replace the benches with six bamboo shoots strung together and barely off the surface of the water, and you're closer to my experience. At one point the fish bit my ankle bone and it was all freaky, but aside from that moment I got used to the feeling. This all occurred in the middle of a floating village  - yes, it is what it sounds like, a village that floats. On murky waters, with houses of such simplistic nature you can't even picture it unless you see a picture. We're talking hundreds of them. Connected by bamboo pathways that create grids in which the fish hang out.

In the middle of this alter universe there sits an island, not just any island, oh no. It's got a cocoa plantation! I was only mildly excited about this at the time, maybe because nothing tops a lovely fish exfoliation, but we got to pick a cacao pod and try the beans and SURPRISE OF ALL SURPRISES, the beans taste like bananas. There is this white fleshy coating and it's all slimy and gross but it tastes like bananas so it's all worth it. Having said that, I am probably not qualified to say anything on the topic since I barely nibbled the bean, still being paranoid about eating something exotic and falling ill. I was fine, of course. And so it was a neat discovery indeed. After our plantation island adventure we hopped on board a giant bamboo raft that was moved by men pulling it along a rope. It was on the verge of sinking the entire time but they said that was normal. All good. Once back at the mainland we walked through the same red dirt fields and crops that we'd traversed to get to the floating village, and I really couldn't get enough of that landscape.

Children surrounded us and held our hands and asked for pictures, as they had done when we passed through the first time. Hollywood's got nothing on these kids, if you want to be a celebrity you go to Indonesia. They were soooo adorable and it seemed they would just multiply and multiply. By the time we were back at our bus drop off point there were so many of them it was time for a game of soccer. Soccer in red dirt soon creates a red dust sandstorm, and you just go with it. Those kids were so skilled, I had only my height on my side and honestly that's not enough. It might help me get to the ball first but then they just steal it and look so cute that you just want to get to know them all and make sure they are ok and you feel like they are not ok but also recognize that this is the life they know. The dirt's not red to them, it's just dirt. I think I really noticed this during my time in Indonesia. We go as tourists to places that we wouldn't want to live, sometimes witnessing extreme poverty, observing it, calling that part of our vacation. It's a strange form of travel satisfaction, to get a glimpse of how the locals live even when they live in seemingly unhappy circumstances that you aren't there to do anything about, but then you still check off "local village" from the sightseeing list. It's just strange to me, haven't fully formed my thoughts on it yet. In this particular area I am not sure if they were impoverished, the children seemed healthy enough. Again, not qualified to comment, really.

Those feelings aside, I was truly heartwarmed to see how happy the children were, in their element playing soccer, and interacting with us afterward. When I waved goodbye to them from the bus, they mimicked my every gesture, so I started to blow kisses and they sent the love back. It was a moment of nonverbal beauty, and the chorus of tiny voices yelling 'BYE! BYE! BYE!' resounded long after those little darlings were out of sight.

As the sun set, we travelled to our household where we would stay for the evening. It was a little disconcerting getting there at first. At a rest stop on the way we had been crossing the street when a car bumped into me (I won't say hit, that's too much) and threw me for a loop a bit. I fell into my tour guide and it was pretty disorienting but I bought myself an ice cream, grabbed a few hugs, and determined to regain the nice feeling I'd experienced all day. Once dinner was served it reminded me once again of the warmth that would greet us everywhere we went in this beautiful country. The hot little room with the mattress and fan was actually the greatest little hibernation station, turns out, and I slept like a baby.

I would do that day all over again. But it wouldn't be the same. How lucky am I? I hope that my theory is right, that they are happy over there on the other side of the world in their very different lives, playing in dirt that has always been there.

The Other Side of The World: A Prologue

I have been travelling for 6 weeks.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now, a reflection on my travels. Because I did not do a travel blog, which would have been lovely, but impossible for me since I took only crappy electronics and promptly lost one of them in a pool, this will be a brief but potent recollection.

I love the word potent.

So, ok, where to start. How about day one. I travelled for over twenty four hours to get to Jakarta, Indonesia. The connection at Taipei International was a little bit alarming because everyone was wearing masks. You hear lots of stories about disease and it had occurred to me more than once that I might be exposed to strange things going to an entirely different part of the world, but nothing quite brings it home like people in masks. Why is that? Is it because there is no chance you will see them smile? I love it when strangers smile at me. I try to smile at random people all the time, and it mostly works out. Whatever the case, I just wanted to get on my plane. Then when I did, my seatmate was super friendly and offered me some sushi. How great is that? I politely declined, of course. But she was so sweet, and I got my stranger smile.

Now I had six more hours to contemplate my action plan for travelling alone in Asia. The most prominent thought I had was "I can't drink the tap water". Anticipating the need for bottled water everywhere just totally stressed me out. I know, I know, it's a totally first world problem, because I can afford bottled water in Indonesia (we can all essentially afford everything in Indonesia) and my reliance on clean tap water is second nature so much so that actively thinking about what I drink is a burden. Actually as I write this I almost wish I didn't have to admit that, you know what I mean? But there it is - when I got to the hotel, they had two bottles of water waiting for me, and I quite literally cried. With tears. "Now I don't have to go buy water tonight and I can just hide in this well furnished but unfamiliar room until I meet 15 strangers who might end up not being fun at all and stick it out for six weeks until I go home assuming I don't catch some horrible disease or get stung by box jellyfish in Australia" was my subconscious thought.

It got better quite quickly, as it usually does when you are a privileged and adventurous young person taking the advice of so many people who have said that travelling will "change your life" and "be the best decision you ever made". The next morning, after a wonderful night's sleep, I woke up with no jet lag, trotted off to breakfast, and met a girl who was on my tour - huzzah! And so began a very interesting and enriching six weeks.

The set-up:
Two weeks in Indonesia on a G-adventures tour, 16 people.
One week after Indonesia tour to go where the winds would take me, as long as they landed me in Cairns, Australia.
Two weeks on a Contiki tour of Australia's east coast, 50 people (yes, correct).
One week staying with my awesome Sydneyian friend (spectacular new word, well done me).

You know what, more to come. Why did I think I could write this in one post. You can't summarize something you want to savor. I am going to try and write weekly posts now, I think that would be excellent, and it would help me practice being in a routine, something I am neither fond of nor good at. That was too dramatic, amendment: something I get a bit restless with sooner than others would, or at least that's what I suspect. It's the reason I travel. And the reason I live. Change is scary, but it can turn out so good that I think it's worth going off the beaten path to find that refreshment. You can always come home in six weeks.

So UNTIL NEXT WEEK, I leave you to try something new, seek out a change, and enjoy your tap water wholeheartedly. :)

Time

At last! Inspiration! I definitely started this blog thinking I would not neglect it for two months after four posts..."life got busy" as they say. I actually don't really know how to respond when someone says that to me.

Here's why!

What are you busy doing? If it's watching TV or creeping on other people's facebook profiles, then I applaud you for this stellar use of time.
Working? I hope you love what you are doing.
Hanging out with friends? AM I NOT ONE OF THOSE FRIENDS? Thanks for the clear message.
School? Legit, but having just graduated I can tell you that once you leave the academic world you still need to fall back on yourself. Do you enjoy yourself and what you have to offer?

This is one of my biggest questions in life. Are we aware of how we spend our time? Are we connected, purposeful, and content? Does that even matter to us? Should it? I think being alive on this magnificent planet requires us to do a lot more than pass time mindlessly, or fret away the hours, particularly on this portion of the planet that is so affluent beyond belief.

Humor me, if you will, for a moment. I'm just throwing this out there:

Take a look around right now. Is anyone nearby? Are you expecting someone to come home later? Can you say something kind to them? Can you offer someone a hug? Who can you text a word of encouragement or praise? Smiling! How simply brilliant and effective. How many seconds did that take?
 
What do you have control over in your work/school/volunteering? Now, what can you change if you are frustrated, and what can you accept knowing that it is helping you accomplish a higher goal? Is your working time producing good outcomes for you?
Is that person who snapped at you today, yesterday, or five years ago really worth losing your peace over? Are you making yourself a victim? Is that helping or hurting you?  Do you give attention and amplification to the positive or the negative thoughts that fly through your astonishing brain? Do you feel like you must think about whatever comes into your head? What if you didn't?  Can you separate who you are from what you feel? Do negative feelings last forever? Are you a bad person if you encounter a horrible feeling? It takes time to dwell on thoughts and emotions, so are the ones you focus on worth it?

Be mindful and see where it takes you in a day, a week, a year. I'm wearing nice clothes right now and I just had lunch. How many people in the world can say that? There, three seconds contributed towards a mindset of gratefulness.

The Law of Happiness is just one of many easy reads on how to spend your mental time well. I believe nobody is effective when they are sad, brooding, or victimized. Is focusing on happiness selfish? No. Because when you like your life you are 100% more likely to make it count. Instead of draining from your relationships and circles of influence, you make the most of them. Instead of feeling sorry for yourself you recognize what you do have to offer. The greatest luxury in the world is the freedom to exercise the power of choice that every human has a right to. And we have it.
I would like to remind you that you are free to spend your time in whatever way you choose. Mentally, spiritually, and physically.

A Poem from Grandma's Refrigerator Door

I have only just a minute,
Only sixty seconds in it.

Forced upon me, can't refuse it.
Didn't seek it, didn't choose it.
But it's up to me
to use it.

I must suffer if I lose it.
Give account if I abuse it.

Just a tiny little minute,
but eternity is in it.

 

 

Odds and Ends (and some Deep Stuff)

I called this post odds and ends because I love that phrase. It makes me think of all the things I could get done in a day, all the little pieces that could come together. Some things will be odd (delightful, strange, scary, inspiring), some things will come to an end (they will get done; they were not meant to be). How cool is that? This weekend I felt like I was perhaps the most clever person in the world. It was a little odd, and it did end. Oh yes, I'm talking about Center of Gravity.

Center of Gravity! The infamous COG. This sun drenched drugs-and-alcohol rich party has never particularly appealed to me, as something to spend money on. Maybe it's because it comes every year in the town that I live in, or maybe it's because concerts make my ears hurt (bring on the earplugs). But then it occurred to me that volunteering could have a whole host of benefits, including working out manual-labor style and free free FREE tickets to artists I probably wouldn't mind hearing.

The concerts were fun and the sun did its job. What impressed me the most about this experience was its brevity. There was nothing I was really building. Sometimes I feel the compulsion to gain, to go places and grab on to opportunities. But I spent a weekend straddling the line between work and play. The festival wouldn't last, set up would become tear down. And it did. And I helped. But was there a point? I didn't make any money that I could save for future needs. I didn't search for a job with the 12+ hours I spent volunteering. I spent three hours picking up the garbage of people who likely consumed too much and hopefully went home safe. Everything about this experience was temporal. When you party with friends, or sit at home watching TV, you probably feel like you're connecting and recharging. When you work for money, you are clearly getting ahead even if its small step after small step. So why did I enjoy this investment of effort? Sure, I had concerts to look forward to, but not on tear-down day, and not every night. There must have been something else going on.

This is just a thought. But I'm going to venture that any activity, however pointless it may seem, is a step in the right direction if you're thinking positively inside yourself. I read a book called Hardwiring Happiness that riveted me. Since I am naturally interested in how psychology and biology interact, I can't get enough of brain stuff. What's particularly unique here is that anyone, in any circumstance, can experience heartfelt happiness. They just have to train their brains to hold on to and sustain healthy thoughts so that it actually becomes effortless. Effortless! How many things in our lives can we describe as involving no effort? We try to grasp at happiness or peace with a multitude of techniques, but the resulting fulfillment can be fleeting at best.

I'm just really enjoying the moments of my life lately. Not always, but at an increasingly frequent rate. I hope that people I know and then the people they know will feel the effects of unshakable confidence, as they build up their own inner resources by wiring their brains accordingly. "There was nothing I was really building". WRONG. We are always building something, we are always believing something, and we are always being something. Having no job right now, I am taking the chance that I wish I had taken years ago. I am looking inside myself to find what I had been looking for externally. If picking up trash can exemplify what I am learning, then maybe it isn't the most popular of ideas. But I'll keep focusing my thoughts on happy things. In the end, that is enough.

Gardening

A dainty white butterfly danced in the air, and the world held its breath for a second.

Never would I ever have predicted that I would choose to write about gardening. Ever. Because here's what gardening means to me.

Sweat! Oh, the joys of perspiration. I am one of those relentless sweaters, sopping wet after doing a push-up. Haha, jokes, like I've ever done an actual push-up. Oh, I've done about 15 bad push-ups, but what's with lowering the length of your body in a perfectly straight line, like my shoulder bones sag to the floor when I try and that's just how it is. Add the sun and a lawn mower and you've got yourself a severely cranky roasted Reyna.

Dirt! Ok, I don't mind the dirt in and of itself. In fact I like dirt, as I discovered during a house-building project in Mexico. Whereas I viewed myself as a person who'd be uncomfortable covered in grime from head to toe, I came to love feeling so connected to the earth, experiencing what it was like to physically toil under the sun. But hot red and chalky dirt is different from moist black and mysterious dirt like I have at home. Strange creatures live in this dirt, unspeakable things like worms and snails. GROSS GROSS GROSS! They're slimy and slippery and have no visible eyes so they can just keep living in there and I will just keep on living in the happy four walls of my home, thank you very much. This was the love I had for gardening up until this morning.

See, I was doing the obligatory lawn mowing like a good little person, and the mower kept getting clogged up. I had to take breaks whenever it stopped because it was just too frustrating otherwise. In my breaks I decided to pull small weeds from around our rosebushes, no big deal, takes two seconds. I eventually flipped the mower over, cleared out an accumulation of grass, and finished the lawn. 

By then, I was already sweaty and grassy so I figured I could pull this one long weed from the rock bed. Which led to removing some dead underbrush from the rock wall. Which led to a series of frenzied attacks on the wall, pulling out mostly weeds and a little bit of just-fine vine, and a bubble of elation welling up inside of me. I found an extension cord, pulled out the weed whacker, and trimmed the long grass that had been revealed. I took the whacker to the overgrown flower beds, devoid of flowers but blooming with undesirables. Then I went in with my hands, ripping and hauling and sweating and toiling.

The whole time all I could think about was how alive I felt. Metaphors poured into my brain, out with the old and in with the new, get rid of the weeds or you'll crowd out the good things. Was I doing this to impress the guests coming over this evening? No, we only need to impress ourselves, to be impressive. Was it this easy to feel invigorated? Yes, this is good to know. Why didn't I care that I was breathing in dirt and getting pricked by thorny plants? I couldn't quite say. But to celebrate my newfound pleasure, I did a cartwheel off my deck. I decided it was random and awesome. Then I ran over and pulled some more weeds.

Today I found five snails, stared them in the eyeless face, and did not throw in the gloves. This is serious. Gardening is heaven.

It was just for a second. But it mattered.