Life Unraveled

Ah, 2012. It was a year of dreams, old and new, it was a time to sit in silent contemplation for ten days, to go deep, to let go, to suddenly feel like breaking free. It was a time to embrace myself, to accept all of it, to succeed and fail at this, to uncover some demons, to realize they were never quite as horrible as I always thought. It was a birthday present like no other, a phone call made to a friend for support, it was being too scared to make that final click on the laptop and then feeling absolutely relieved once I did, of wondering what I had just done, of knowing only that it was the right choice. It was a time of turning 39, of pensive reflection, of getting excited for change. It was talking to others about my future and getting caught up in a frenzy of contagious inspiration, of making plans and not really knowing what I was doing or saying or how it would all come together but somehow trusting, always knowing, that it would. It was saying goodbye to coffee, nine yea

I haven't felt like writing much lately. I don't know exactly what I want to talk about today either, but I know there is something to say, and my fingers are rolling along the keyboard, so let's just see what comes up. Ready or not... Life these days has been up and down, sometimes severely so. In other words, I guess I am guilty of being profoundly alive. I am definitely conscious, feeling everything, and certainly that kind of alertness has its moments. Like for instance, when I start to go into a full-blown panic attack over absolutely nothing, with no apparent trigger or logical reason for its occurrence. Heart races, breath quickens, pains emerge all over the body. Chaos ensues, mentally and physically. Not pretty. This kind of stuff has been happening for several weeks now. I have heard many Buddhist teachings about "leaning into" pain and suffering, encouraging you to dip your toes into its muddy waters even when it feels like the world may just

I went jogging this morning. Big deal, right? It probably would not have been such a headline news story except that I have not done so in several years. I'm not sure why I felt like doing it, yet today I woke up determined. Sometimes it is best not to question such impulses, but simply to indulge them. So I slipped on my sneakers, the ones that spend way more time in the closet than on my feet, clipped my Ipod to my t-shirt and off I went. I started off slow. Okay, that is probably an understatement. I felt more like the Tin Man, and a 90-year old version at that. My knees creaked. My ankles pulsed. I was cracking all over the place, my body threatening to give out at any moment and collapse into a pile of weary old bones. But I kept going. It was not a long run by any means (just down to the end of a rather long street near my apartment and back again), but it was good enough. I trudged along the canalside pathway, picking up a little steam. This wasn't so bad

I couldn't imagine being up on stage, debating the political future of the most powerful nation in the world. I would never win; I know this. I am too honest. I am way too nice. I don't know enough cold hard "facts" about the so-called important stuff to be able to lay the foundation for a successful political sparring match, and truth be told, that is more than fine with me. I don't like yelling, smirking or aggression. I despise liars. I don't like to be patronized, and the only flip-floppers I ever want to see are the comfy black pair of Scotts that I wear on my feet day after day in paradise. Perhaps that is why I don't feel compelled to write about politics very often. I don't have much to add to the ongoing arguments over the country's ills. I know the problems. I live here, for heaven's sake. But debating over how to fix those problems isn't what debates are all about, at least not at this point in our political (d)evolutio

I haven't been sure what to write since returning home to Oahu some twenty-three days ago. I actually haven't been very sure of anything, to be honest. Coherent thoughts have not been my forte. Neither has staying focused, motivated, or even remotely interested in anything for very long. At first I blamed it on the jetlag. Perfect scapegoat, that jetlag. It is scientific, hard to debate, and besides, it just made sense to everyone (including me). For several days after arriving home, I would need a power nap around 4pm. Sometimes those power naps turned into three or four hour extravaganzas. Oh well. It's just jetlag. Don't worry. No other explanation necessary. See how easy that was? Eventually I realized that my body was back on Hawaii time. However, things were still not quite right. I wasn't feeling anything. For me, that is the ultimate warning sign of trouble. I had my moments, but for some reason or another, I could never quite sustain any m

Those black marks on the soles of my feet tell the story. It is not dirt, but the dark rubber remnants from the singular pair of flip flops that has accompanied me through twelve separate countries in just over three months. They look like a permanent fixture, these dark stains, as if a part of my cellular makeup, but they aren't. On the last day of a truly epic and thoroughly fascinating trip across Europe, I feel kind of proud of them. I will eventually scrub it all off, probably when I have access to a shower for more than a few minutes once I return home (hostels aren't conducive to long, luxurious fits of bathing, in case you wondered). Yes, these slippers were made for walking alright, and have certainly accumulated some mileage while endlessly pounding pavements, trudging through hot sand, dodging puddles, and occasionally trekking up a few steep hills in the blazing summer sun. They performed their job function admirably. They owe nothing to anyone. Yet I feel a s

Let me get this out of the way first: Santorini's beauty made me cry. There, I said it. In a summer chock full of alternately interesting, dazzling, and thought-provoking European sights, this island of all islands goes instantly to the head of the pack. Santorini is a shimmering stunner, the sort of spectacle that generates a wave of awestruck, involuntary tears. It's that simple. But not the side of the island that I'm staying on, mind you. My hostel located in the hot, deserty town of Perivolos is merely a 15-minute bus ride away, but it's a world apart. There are no cliffs on this side, no magnificent vistas to take your breath away. A half-empty black sand beach is all there is to boast about over here--not as if that is anything to sneeze at--and it's the volcanic kind that I have seen during my years of living in Hawaii, but never quite like this. The dark gray sand stretches for miles, as far as the eyes can see. It may go all the way to Athens, I d

The email said to look for a gray Mercedes van waiting outside the train station at Empoli, which would then shuttle us uphill to our hostel tucked away in the heart of Tuscany. It seemed like any other communication from a prospective accomodation, but one thing in particular caught my eye. This email was sent by a man who called himself Guido. Though we are in Italy, this name sends massive waves of cliches through my head, and each one leads to a smile. Guido? Tuscany? Mmm hmm. This was gonna be good. At around 8:15pm, I think I see my ride approaching. On cue, it stops right in front of the station, and shortly thereafter someone emerges from the driver side. My first view of this man confirms it for me. This has to be Guido. Out spills an older, lumbering walrus of a man, his thinning dark hair slicked back (as it should be), skin tan and leathery, with dark sunglasses covering about 3/4 of his face. "Guido?" I ask rather assuredly. He responds in a smoky ra

Strolling around Nice, I can't help but envision a huge throwdown going on between Italy and France. Word on the European street is that these two heavyweights don't particularly like each other. True to form, after eight days in Italy, my first taste of France is jarring, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. If nothing else, these two distinct places seem to enjoy vying for the title of Most Influential European Country, and transitioning from one to another is proving to be not quite as easy as I thought it would be. Let me explain. You see, I think I must have gotten used to the daily "bongiorno", or the routine "ciao", or listening to the loud-talking, friendly locals speaking Italian at warp speed. Or eating food that had me oooohing and aaaahing several times a day, sometimes even to myself. Italy left an indelible impression on my brain, stomach and heart. There is a hypermasculinity that runs rampant throughout Italia that is both some

Venice is almost unfathomable. Does this place actually exist? Emerging from the Santa Lucia train station, head turning wildly from side to side, I lose my breath a little. It's stunning, and every direction I look draws me deeper and deeper into the mystique of this trippy city. Water taxis are the rule, not cars or buses. Naturally there is water water everywhere, canals in every direction, complete with colorful buildings lined up on either side of them with a front row seat to all the action. Oh look, there's the trademark gondolas. And there are the tourists--lots and lots of them--all with similar expressions of disbelief on their faces. Believe it. Yep, Venice is real alright, and for me it's love at first sight. Perhaps none of this is exactly surprising. After all, Venice is one of the most beloved cities in all of Europe. But this is my first visit to Italy, aka "the homeland", the mothership where my ancestors came from, my family tree's

Listening to your instincts while traveling does not just mean paying strict attention to your own gut feelings or hunches. It also means paying heed to every conversation you have along the way, giving credence to any advice that infiltrates your world, and knowing how to decipher what will work best for you versus what is simply another's (sometimes strong) personal opinion. My stop in Prague serves as Exhibit A of what can happen when you stay flexible and let your own internal strainer do the sifting. Once my filtering process was complete, what remained turn out to be a thoroughly enjoyable three days in the Czech Republic. Now, I must be honest here. The idea of going to Prague never even crossed my mind during the initial planning stages of this trip. But over time, everyone kept urging me to czech it out. I heard it all, from how cheap Prague is compared to the rest of Europe, to how incredibly beautiful and historic it is, and back again to how inexpensive it was to

Amsterdam is a gentle gem of a city. This is my observation while walking in the dark, chilly drizzle during that first evening in the Netherlands. Never mind the rain; night time is the right time to get my first taste of Amsterdam, the soft city lights reflecting off canals pinwheeling in every direction, lining nearly every street. There is a hush over the preceedings, the only nocturnal noises coming from the occasional ting-ting-ting from the bell of a passing bicycle. It's cold outside, but there is an underlying warmth here that is hard to ignore. Everything is on a very human scale, and even a late-night stroll around the city makes it clear right off the bat why so many have fallen in love with this Dutch wonderland. I immediately include myself among them. The buildings, the canals, the cobblestone paths, the deafening silence when outside the city center. It is just so darn cute here, I decide. In the pitch blackness of that first evening, without having yet exp

Two weeks have passed already. Amazing. Where has the time gone? Well, about a week or so went to England. Climbing on and off the Underground subway in London, minding the gap between the platform and the train while shuttling my way around the city, I congratulate myself early and often on being able to find my way rather easily through this expansive metropolis. Of course, the Underground, or "the tube" as they call it here is fairly simple to use, but I'm on my own in a strange city, and so getting from point A to point B without getting lost becomes major victory #1 for me. And what is London like? It is an old, gray, classy city which reminds me a bit of New York, only cloaked in a thin veil of British regality that seems to tone the pace down just enough to make it manageable for someone like myself to divide and conquer its vastness within a few short days. The Underground makes it all possible, and I quickly figure out which stops to get off at to satisfy

Nerves are a funny thing. As soon as I walked through security at Honolulu International this morning, I started to develop a mystery cough. By the time I reached the gate, this little tickle was becoming hard to ignore. It was turning into a full-blown hack, and a wet one at that. Stuff was coming up, big time. It felt like old stuff too, as if the phlegm of 40,000 years had waited for the perfect moment to emerge from its ancient, dark hiding spot in my lungs. Stepping onto the plane, I begin the search for my assigned seat, 31E. A dreaded middle seat. Cue more coughing. I locate it smack dab in the middle of the jam-packed 767, and to my surprise there is an elderly man sitting there, alongside a woman who I presume to be his wife. I kindly suggest to him that this is my seat, or at least that is what my boarding pass is telling me. He offers me a barter: 34G instead. I glance a few rows back. There it is. Right on the aisle, just the way I like it. I smile and nod in st

May 18, 2012. It's here. My last day at Starbucks. Drumroll, please. 2am: Woke up for the tenth time in three hours. Having a hard time sleeping. Did Santa come? Did he get my list? Wait. It's not Christmas. And I didn't make a list. No. It's my last day of work. That's all. Nine years. No real plans for the future. Excited. Nervous. Breathing very shallow. Adrenaline pumping, even though it's the middle of the night. Oh boy. 3:20am: Alarm sounds. Try to sit in meditation, and succeed for all of 30 seconds. During those 30 seconds, I breathe. Feels good. Breathing is good. Must remember to do this today. 3:45am: Bike to work for the last time. It's so damn early. How the @#! did I do this for so long? Who cares. It's almost over. Keep riding. 5:00am: Doors open. T-minus 7 hours and counting. 6:45-9:00am: The long line starts. Customers getting their Friday morning fix. I feel myself beaming. Holy crap am