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...