The Journal of his Delights

It occurred to me today that I’ve been in the Bay Area approximately six months now. How so much time has slipped past, I don’t know. It feels like it’s been a couple of weeks at most, maybe a month or two.

It also feels like, even though I’m not traveling, the journey is still continuing. An inner journey though, with landscape and characters just as varied, and requiring just as much energy towards confronting the unknown and the awkward.

I told a friend the other day that travel is “is a looking for opportunities that will stretch the conception of the world and ourselves, so that we can become bigger and accommodate more of life.”

Just because I’ve been staying put for the past six months (short as it feels), it doesn’t mean that I’ve stopped traveling.

I was bicycling home yesterday, not in a hurry and admiring the scenery, when it occurred to me: life is good.

I like where I’ve found myself and who I’m becoming. Yes, life will (always) continue to present difficulties—the challenge of learning my way as a writer; the inner work that’s so important to me, which is hard; and the fact that I still don’t have bookshelves for my apartment—but in a perverse way, I enjoy these (and the other) bumps in the road. Each is an opportunity to test myself against.

Isn’t life remarkable?

So I’m crawling in the dirt; struggling with writing fiction. I had stopped work on my novel, because I felt like my technique was not where it needed to be. I switched to short fiction as a way to learn, to improve, to practice. But then one of the shorts kept bucking to become a novel, and I was at a loss for what to do.

So I switched again; this time to poetry, which I understand much better. I know the ebbs and flows that come with playing in that ocean. And while poetry and fiction aren’t the same, it was an opportunity to build a foundation that supports writing in general; a disciplined schedule, a gratitude to the writers who’ve gone before, an opportunity to work with rhythm and description, and a confidence in my ability to write.

Now I’m back to short fiction, working with the same story, navigating a rocky path. But that’s good, because there’s a time to crawl in the dirt–when it’s right and proper to drag yourself forward, dust in your mouth and every pebble and rock a point of struggle.

American culture doesn’t much like this view. It’s all about keeping your head high and building self-esteem. But you’ve got to take it all apart before you can put it back together. Before you can fly, learn how to run. Before running, walk, and before walking, crawl in the dirt and struggle with the stones.

But it doesn’t have to be an actual struggle. If you flow around the stones like river water, eventually you’ll wear them down. How does that work? I imagine that the way is different for every person. For me sitting with the stones seems to work. Becoming familiar with them, understanding them and then using that accumulated wisdom to shift them.

It’s so tempting to try and break break through, but that just means you’re dealing with a multitude of smaller pieces. And I’ve never heard of an instance where arguing with stone was ever a productive experience.

No, for me, right now, wearing the stones down seems the best course. It’s a slow process, but sure. It requires a constant but flexible pressure against the stone. It needs patience and discipline, which is a funny thing to say about water, but true none-the-less.

So for the time being, I’m crawling, which is to say that I’m flowing; a muddy, rock-strewn river slowly finding its path. And you know what? As frustrating as it is sometimes, there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing. Nothing that compares to the satisfaction of writing and the discipline of water.

It’s been too long since I last updated. Mea culpa.

To be honest, though, the blog was suffering from an identity crisis. I wasn’t sure what I should focus on now that I’m not traveling around the world. My life? My writing? Making a difference in the world, the mundane, the absurd, all of the above, none of the above?

I didn’t have an answer, and I felt the blog needed a framework — some kind of structure to give it meaning. Or if not meaning, then at least a guiding principle or theme. Otherwise it was likely to become an incoherent mess and collection of random perceptions.

So I let the blog lay fallow; to give its landscape a chance to rest and become fertile once more. The result? I still don’t have a proper answer, but I do have the seeds of something; a sense of what I’d like to focus on next.

In the last few years, I’ve been interested in exploring human suffering. That’s one of the original reasons I went to London for the Masters in Development Studies. It’s one of the reasons I worked for over a decade with AI. But, consistent with all the changes in my life, it’s time for something new. Or not really new — more of an evolution.

Timelessness and change. That’s what I’m interested in exploring. I know they’re big topics, but then human suffering wasn’t exactly small either. And I don’t have much more beyond that — just the two seed words. But it’s enough for a start.

Of course, you’ll still get random perceptions, posts about food, photography, geekiness, and the like, but there’ll be a tendency to head in particular directions. And there will also be some changes, including moving the site to my own domain. I’d like to post some of my poetry, and I’d feel better if I had more control over the site.

I’ll also be focusing more on writing; one of the ways I’m changing my life. Also expect to see more posts about advocacy and issues of concern; to help with changing the world for the better. As for the timeless, well… that’ll be harder, but I’m willing to go looking. *grin*

So, I’m sorry for the lack of posts, but I needed to figure out where to head next with the Journal. I hope you stick around and enjoy the ride.

The measure of a human being’s life is not in what can be accumulated, but in what can be let go.

I have been extraordinarily negligent in updating the Journal - my most profound apologies for that. But there was an intention behind it, and a good one. Amazingly enough, I needed to teach myself how to rest again. The past few months have been so mad - the traveling around, the looking for work, and all the while sick and exhausted from being sick. I totally underestimated how much of a toll it was taking on my body. There were things I had to do though - survival things - and I paid the price. For four months, I paid the price.

Once I realized that I’d been ignoring my body’s demands, I knew that had to change. So for a couple of weeks, I did nothing. In fact, I did as much nothing as I could get away with. I lay in bed. I lay on the floor. I read. I played some video games. I lay in bed again. I did go to work - that was non-negotiable for me - but everything else was off the table.

And it worked. The cough is gone. Completely. My lungs are clear, and my energy slowly returned. I’m not quite 100 percent, but I’m close enough that I can smell the changes coming. Yoga again, bicycling, hiking - all just over the horizon.

I don’t regret what I had to do, though. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have the job, the apartment, the life beginning anew. It’s like an old martial arts instructor once told me. If someone knocks you down, stand up like a fighter. Let it be in your eyes and the way you rise from the floor. You’re there to fight, and there ain’t no mucking about.

Well, it was a bad time, and I had to fight to get to where I am. I was down, and down a lot, but each time I got up like a fighter. It was hard, but it worked.

And now that I got to here, whatever that is which I’m still figuring out, it’s time rest. I have a place now where it’s okay to open up to the body’s aches and the emotional bruising. A quiet place to rest, recover, and recharge.

So that’s where I’ve been. I haven’t even been writing. All the ideas about what my life should be like now - I’ve thrown them away. I realized that I was trying so hard to create something that I was getting in the way of its creation. It’s so much easier to just let it unfold. My body, my heart, my mind - they all know what they want and I should just trust them to find the way. And they do.

So, the lesson in all this? If there is one it’s this: stand like fighter, rest when it’s quiet, and trust yourself to find the way.

I love to share beautiful things with you, dear readers, so here is something clear, lucid, and human.

Tell me… will you hold my hand?

Before you read this, check out an insightful post by author Catherynne Valente on what a personal singularity might mean. It certainly got me thinking about my expectations in life, about the road I’ve been walking.

What’s clear is that my life has constantly been full of surprises, unexpected turns of event, and transitions. When I first moved to Portland, I fully expected to spend the rest of my life there. And you could say the same thing about Amnesty International. In a sense, I’ve already faced any number of personal singularities - moments after-which I would have no conception of what my life would be like. I jokingly sometimes say that I faced my first mid-life crisis at 19 and have had a handful after that to boot. It’s almost old hat now - how often my life seems to re-invent itself.

Why is that I wonder? Some of it is surely life’s twists and turns. Also, there is the maneuvering required to meet adversity and take advantage of opportunities. But looking back, it’s clear there was a searchingness going on. When I gave up writing fifteen years ago (for lack of clarity, lack of discipline, and a general dis-spiritedness with life), I needed to find something to fill up the hole it left in me. I thought I’d found an answer in photography and in Amnesty International, both of which were amazing. Each became a true home for me to dwell in, but as wonderful and worthwhile as they were, there was still a very personal piece missing. My heart’s desire lay neglected.
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I apologize for not updating in a while. It’s been over a week since my last entry. Originally, I was only going to take a couple-of-days break, but mid-week last week, I suddenly felt emotionally exhausted. Transitions are hard, and transformations are harder still. And that’s what I feel like I’ve been doing these past two months, six months, year, 2-3 years. One long continuous process of turning point after turning point, and this period in Fukuoka has been no different. If anything, I’ve been blessed. Lucky beyond all imagining.

My friend Lowie provided a safe haven. A place to stay and explore my opportunities in Japan. While doing that, I’ve been somewhat adrift. I would exert energy to paddle here and there, but in the end, I would end up in the same spot not having moved at all. No matter how many resumes I sent out, the timing was fundamentally wrong. What did happen, however, was reflection. Constant reflection on what I wanted, who I was, what I wanted to be. But having been set adrift, I got a chance to feel the waters. To sense the hidden rudder. And it may come as no surprise to anyone who’s been reading this blog, but what I felt… what I determined… was that writing makes me the happiest.

Yes, my time in Fukuoka has born fruit in a completely unexpected fashion. To be sure, I knew that I wanted to write, but what’s become clear is just how much I want it. And this is an old dream - one that I had given up on, and if anything, the realization that it is still well and alive is a shock. A scary one, because the path ahead will not be easy. But then again, when is life ever easy? And besides, I’m willing to test myself against this dream, this ambition. To do otherwise would deny a fundamental part of who I am. And I’m done with that. I’d rather walk into the fire and see what gets burned away in the crucible. To see what becomes refined as base metal turns into gold.

Anyway, getting to this place has taken a lot of work, and this is the long way of saying that I was tired last week. And the past couple of days, I’ve been saddled with a cough so I haven’t been sleeping that well. I’ve been taking it easy, so hopefully I’ll have it kicked by tomorrow or so.

If the above sounds a little reflective, that’s because it is. Since I wasn’t able to find a job by the time of my return ticket (1 December), I’m heading back to the United States. And while I’ll miss Japan (a lot), heading back is good too. That’s one of the great things about having only good things to choose from. In this instance, I don’t think there are any bad choices.

So what lays ahead? I’ll spend a week or so in Los Angeles to spend time with family and friends. All the while, I’ll be planning my next steps, and I’ve already started to look into some options. My strongest suspicion is that I’ll choose to do that which scares me most. But more on that later…

So many of them at the moment, but for this post I’m talking specifically about whether I continue experiencing life as traveler or not. It occurred to me that the last couple of months have been exhausting. I’ve tried to find rest where and when I could, but it was a tiring schedule and perhaps more importantly, it’s tiring to be consistently open. A time is needed, I think, to retrench. To take all of the experiences and let them settle.

Leslie, my yoga teacher in LA, has a great analogy for the human heart. She likens it to a flower opening with day and closing with night. Opening, closing, opening, closing - a cycle and process where both are necessary to the health and well-being of the flower. The same is true for being an explorer. Rest and time to process are just as important as being open to new experiences.

Yes, it might be time to rest my traveler’s eyes. Just for a time. Not that there won’t be new things, and I’ll certainly continue to blog my relocation to Japan. No, what I’ll do is scale back the intensity of the experience and focus more on building. Building a life, for as long as this stay in Japan lasts.

No need to worry - the explorer continues to live on, but every journey has and needs its rest stops.