Thursday, February 24, 2011

Head space

"Try and take a few days out on your own, rediscover your head space a bit...
If you can even work out one solid thing about yourself, what you are looking for in your life, then you have done well."
             -Russell, 33

That's what Russell said to me in an email the day before I boarded a plane to Bangkok, alone with a netted mess of problems threatening to take over all the good things left in me. The advice, as simple as sunshine, could not have come at a better time or from a more beloved friend.

***

So I'm sitting cross legged on a tiled balcony floor waiting for my hair to dry under Thailand's comfortably bearable heat. My mostly solo trip ends in a couple days and I'll be flung like a tiny pebble in a slingshot back to the existence I was so ready to get away from.

Have I learned anything to make Russell proud?

It's easy to sit alone in the jungle, or on the roaring deck of a speedboat cutting across the water, or with the ocean at your side and think of all the possible ways in which to change yourself.  But it's when you get back to reality that all those goals go to shit.

Here is what I hope I have learned:

I am not proud of the person I am becoming. The excesses, the indulgences, the extreme selfishness.

The network I've kept for "passing time." You are all done.

I miss my family, the idea of them. This search for warmth.

And most importantly, I have learned that a pessimism has been planted inside of me.  I don't know when or where it got there, or how it grew roots and sprung so quickly, or what fertilized it to grow (maybe it's just getting older), but I'm afraid it may have become too thick to cut down. It will only grow more. And it won't stop.

Mum

I know I'm almost two weeks late but I didn't forget. I was in Chiang Mai in northern Thailand, staying the night with a tribe of "long neck people" from Burma.
After hiking four hot, trecherous hours strapped into all of my travelling gear, I make it to this hidden village.
Around a weak camp fire at night I find myself, along with a beautiful Polish lady, sitting with a mom strumming a guitar. Her song is ancient and her voice sends melodic sounds into the night sky. I suddenly think of you. So I ask my guide if he can ask her to sing a song for your birthday. I turn on my camera, her six year old son runs to my lap and I bribe love from him with cookies and chocolates in my bag. She sings to you draped in the night's quiet under an almost full moon in the sky.

So this, from someone else's mom, to my mom. Happy birthday.