Practicing the art of being real (no translation available...)

The next few days fly by faster than ever. Christine and I trade off using my wireless internet modem to work, in between jaunts into town to explore, we accompany Jo to a raw foods cafe and enjoy wholesome (and surprisingly delicious) raw tacos, ravioli and even a chocolate cheesecake. We all embrace the theme of just experiencing the moment, trying new things...anything and revel in the good, bad, ups and downs. Our days end with delicious dinners and animated/hilarious late-night conversations around the villa table, about life, dreams, travel. Every day starts and ends with plate fulls of fresh, juicy, perfectly sweet wild mango that sell for less than a $1 USD at the market. Already the three of us know we'll be traveling again in the future. It's been that kind of connection.

There's been little time to read or write. When I finally sit down to get caught up, I'm finding -- for days on end -- that I can't do either. The easy flow of words from my head to hands is suddenly uncomfortable and awkward. It feels forced. I've stalled on the post about staring into the eyes of an elder priestess at the wedding ceremony...and quietly breaking apart in an intense moment. Do I post this? Do I put these words in front of friends and strangers? Will they understand, will they relate? Or will they laugh or just brush it aside as Joya being melodramatic and emotional. Will it even make sense? Will anyone be honest with me and admit that sometimes life, even the best days, also have their downside. Or will they just ask for more goofy stories of the best times traveling around Bali.

Jo and I talk on the topic a great deal. It's these discussions I love the most. We talk about chasing happiness, only, in our early years (for her that's like last year...;), and slowly realizing now that it's facing the honest sadness, the difficult times that will test you and strengthen you. Pushing past comfort levels and into uncharted and sometimes confusing water that will help you grow. That it's being kind and honest with yourself and those around you that get you through these times. That understanding and trust start building in those moments when you let yourself break, fall to the bottom, and slowly, carefully, intentionally crawl back up until you're walking, running, laughing again. Never holding too tightly to either emotion, as life is a process of change. How those lessons are the ones we need most, how love and forgiveness is what we need to practice most. But when I put the words in writing, when I think of posting the thoughts anywhere else but my journal -- it feels like standing naked and exposed in front of a crowd. But at the same time, if I don't post, am I letting myself off the hook? I started this journey, I started this blog in an effort to practice being more open, more honest and more real. As I think, Indonesia continues to be amazing, each moment precious and rich with new experiences and realizations. But I feel numb and tired, worn. So I do other things, hoping this too will pass. It's another 90 degree day, when I forget to drink water regularly. I walk home my entire body nauseous and aching, I'm sad and disappointed and crave quiet time to think and be alone.

In the dark, listening to the tune of rabid frogs and electric chorus of bats chirping, I scribble out my hopes and dreams, my fears and doubts about the next few years of my life, in the journal I've carried with me for years. Good and bad, it all comes out. My birthday is tomorrow, and I'm eager to hit 31. I'm curious what the next years will hold -- as the last few, good and bad, have been more amazing than I could believe. When I turned 28, I spent a week alone, giving my life and who I wanted to be serious, new thought. I wasn't sure then on the specifics of how I would get where I wanted to be, but I realized I wanted to stretch to become much more than I was that day. I wanted to start building an intentionally different, new life. I called it the 5 year plan. At the end of 5 years, I hoped to be divested of corporate life, doing something on my own that provided sufficient income for a more "alive" life where I did more than just work. I dreamed of buying a little shack, anything with a pretty ocean view that I could fix up over time. There I could escape from time to time and enjoy a life not ruled by possessions, accomplishments, 60 hour work weeks, and indifferent disconnected personal interactions. Maybe someday there would be someone in my life who would understand where I was coming from, who could share the ocean view and this life with me. But I wasn't going to wait anymore. I decided to start building a new life at that moment. One I would consciously define and challenge myself to forge each day. I'm not sure how to get there, or if I can, but figure I should try and see what happens with this dream of mine. I paddle out to the surf the stormy day of my 28th birthday and she paddles over to me. The only other woman on the gray Oregon surf break, Leslie. Brown-black hair, athletic body wrapped in neophrene, graceful surfer, mountain biker, amazing smile, engaging energy. She lives in Bend with a husband she is crazy about, they spend weekends at their beach house overlooking this (my favorite) break. When I ask her what she does, she tells me she owns her own furniture store. It's like meeting the person you want to become someday. I see the life she's created off in the distance and it continually inspired me to walk bravely in new directions. It still does.

When I get home I hammer out a vacation rental business plan - positive this was the most attainable goal of mine while putting off finding another revenue source/job as the last thing on my 5 year list. Funny how life has other ideas sometimes. Two years later, I helped see my vacation rental plan work on a boyfriend's property and then put off a rental of my own to quit my corporate job to try out freelance marketing work using the savings I'd put aside (for the beach house down payment) as my safety net. There were terrifying moments when I honestly didn't know if it would work, if I had the strength to see through falling crazy in love, a log cabin remodel, a new business, a new life. But one day at a time, it all somehow works itself out. And I'm stunned how it just requires the simple action of putting one foot in front of the other. It's not always what I would have chosen, but I know I'm learning and growing and living -- and I wouldn't change any of this.

Getting this far now, seeing things I never thought would work become successes beyond my dreams, owning a little house with a garden, working for myself during the worst economic times, climbing mountains, racing bikes, traveling halfway around the world - alone - getting into writing, photography, and just doing these things now, feel like a surreal dream that I can't believe is coming true -- whereas, when I'm honest with myself, other areas of my life feel like failures. I'm still learning the art of relationships, and the art of being real and honest. I realize more than ever that this is an ongoing process. Not one that is presented, wholesome and complete -- but one that is molded, shaped, formed and weathered over days and months of good and bad. I hope that the people in my life understand this when I'm less than perfect, less than 100%. More than that, I hope that I am able to be that person who understands this in others. And then lately, discovering that a prescription I'd taken for the last two years was causing a gradual, chemical depression. One that, over time, strained relationships and suffocated my spirit. Like being slowly lowered into a deep well, the radius of light so gradually decreasing until suddenly there was nothing but unavoidable darkness surrounding me, with no idea how I got so low. It wasn't until things completely fell apart, it wasn't until I grew so physically ill after getting off the prescription, shaking with withdrawal and fever and severe nausea, day after day in a 200 year old bedroom in New Orleans that I knew something was just wrong. Winter turned to spring and slowly the medication drained from my bloodstream. Months pass and I hear myself saying to myself that I feel like "me" again. Energy, light, enthusiasm, happiness, kindness, wildness. I line up the symptoms with journal entries. The start and end of cycles with wildly varying physical side effects. Such a huge relief to find out I'm ok and safe from this forever more -- such huge confusion to wonder at the last two years of my life and love, lived in such a numbed, shadow. When summer arrives, I start one by one, mending strained relationships. Asking friends and family to see past what I was for these years, and look to what I'm becoming. I'm relieved to find love, forgiveness and acceptance. I work on trying to find the same for myself. Now I find myself in Bali. If not for these things, I would not be here now, realizing, learning, growing as I am.

I look at my hopeful smile, my bike scarred knees in the bedroom mirror. I take a breath and send a few emails to friends who will support me. I send one email to someone I'm not sure will -- but whose support I realize I honestly want anyway. I feel a huge wave of relief just putting out my honest request for support, insights and advice. I'm perfectly fine if none come back to me, here. I just know how the freedom, the strength in asking for what you need. Confident that either way, I'll find what I need I just have to take the first step to ask, instead of bottling fears down inside, as I have the tendency to do.

Within the afternoon, words of love, encouragement (even astounding praise of my words and pics) and a reoccurring reminder to just let go and experience what is, are sent my way. I apologize to Jo and Christine for being tired and sick the last day. For holing up while I write and think some things out. They both laugh and wave their hands at me -- after a few days here, with friends, they're sweetly impressed that I'm having one bad day in my weeks alone, after learning a new language, culture, people along with showing them the ins and outs of working in a strange place. You're only human, everyone has those days, and you're doing what you need to do to feel better.

I feel a huge wave of relief.

It feels good to be free to just be, to be human, and still be loved for that. In breaking down, I discover the beauty in simply, honestly asking for the things I need most. It doesn't make me weak or needy, just more honest and real. It gives the people around me the opportunity to give back some of the joy and compassion and kindness I hope I've shared with them. I feel like, more and more as I start to better understand the give and take of life, these people in my life get that. I stop questioning the last couple years, the inadvertent depression and resulting troubles. I feel confident these are all things that needed to happen to help me come to the conclusions I'm finding now. I feel like I'm diving into life and relationships with new understanding, I feel like I'm starting to chart a new course for my personal life. My words find me again, I post one moment after another, and the journey continues.