(another trek blog
http://daijalovestroy.blogspot.com/2006/10/day-five-continued-nanoseconds-before.html )
I know I’ve been seriously lax in my blogging. Thank you again for bearing with me, I’m sorry. But I swear there’s good reason. This has been a long, difficult month for both Troy and I; trials and tribulations, the worst we've ever endured. The glory of world travel has recently lost it’s seductive shimmer with these recent developments: We extinguished the supply of bananas ( no more morning, mid-day and evening smoothies) on the remote island paradise of Ko Kham and Troy had a crawfish bite his toe while snorkeling. Ok, no eye-rolling in the back there. Here’s what really happened. I’m trusting you with all the gory details…and that’s why you’re reading, right?
Dirty Laundry:
I’m irresponsible. You should also know I’ve never been known for my prudent choices. That’s probably because they’re not prudent, but rather, as J.D. Salinger says “conspicuously retarded”. My life has been an endless span of annoyingly unpaid parking tickets (which, evidently, do not sort themselves out?!), bounced checks, (like the cluster of 5 dollar ones written to Wok-n-roll Chinese restaurant in Tallahassee), non-sufficient funds, tardiness, surprised confusion, fender benders (induced by the decision to apply mascara rather than fretting over details of a moving vehicle) and my freshman year at FSU I inadvertently set the elevator afire by shoving a pair of hot pants in the shaft ( to keep it open while I moved my stuff, of course). I must plead your silence in that last confession, as I think they are still trying to figure out the mastermind who attempted to burn down the girls’ dorm. Anyway, in addition to the cataclysmic absent mindedness decorating my decision-making process, I also consciously make rash, poor decisions. I guess it’s partly because my choices are heavily pressured by expectations of ego and society, manifesting unpalatably, regrettably and ill-timed, like a schedule of unstoppable flatulence momentarily restrained at a dinner party.
My worst whoppers are often engendered with confident excitement, proclamations from apparently infallible research and a complete sodomization of common sense ( with the righteous feeling of shrewdly embracing it); closely resembling a certain government’s diplomatic" foreign policy. As I am decidedly not a proponent of the eloquent "this-ain't-my-first-Rodeo" Bush, or huge embarrassing failures, I’m not particularly proud of this.
Maybe I should have spent more time with my guidance counselor or a shrink?
Thankfully, I've been cosmically spared from the most dire consequences of my botched life choices. License to be dumb another day.
Anyhow,
I’ve also got this detrimental maniacal desire to move quickly, even (especially) when I don’t know where the hell I am headed; as if I could temporarily be a fugitive from Time. Impatience of epic and annoying ( ask Troy) proportions. But, why? Maybe just a desperate urge to fight off impotence, old age and interminable what-iffing in my life. Cruelly, this has doomed me to a life of bumbling confusion, emotion and constant change until I’ve made some mark on the world or find what I’m so fervently looking for.
But, will I ever?? Does anyone ever?
Donkey-punched by the all-mighty dollar, I repeatedly invest in what I don’t want to do, with precious little time truly thinking through, pondering the weighty: How shall I, how can I, how do I spend my life? I simply can’t bear waking up at 65 saying, “what have I done?!” Faint pangs of intuition endorsing the chase of pipe-dreams, head-slapping regressions into stupidity and pathetic monetary enslavement have governed the sobering sling-shot between boozed and bong-watered collegiate retard to almost-30, numbingly “responsible” payer of taxes, dutiful consumer, depositor to 401K, and consensual soul-selling corporate cog.
But can I eek away my life like this? Bored, political ass-kissing during the weekdays to gorge on fleetingly-pleasing plastic splurges on weekends? The Cambodian woman digging ditches all day would agree there are worse things. After all, it seems that capitalism and consumerism have hypnotized the world. But why, then, in my color-coordinated, brand-named comfort, am I so unsatisfied? Is having the ability to earn a living blissfully a spoiled notion of the pampered? Does anyone ever love their work? Or, perhaps, this is my mid-life crises come 20 years too early…
I had achieved the 3 C’s just as my mother fastidiously instilled: I had the career, the car and a sizeable down payment for the condo, but, alas, I had not a shred of contentment; which, at the heed of my annoyingly persistent soul, is the most vital, implicit “c” of all. (An aside**This should explain my blowing about 25k to aimlessly traipse far corners of the planet in a search for said “c”; the announcement of which, by the way, did not elicit congratulatory smiles all round, though my karma was boosted patiently deflecting inquisitions of my corporate career, wedding dresses, the apparent ticking of my biological clock and likelihood of future financial security. (Dreaming, maverick, aging, black-sheep: I commend your honesty, trueness to self. Don’t ever concede your individuality, sincerity, morality, grease up and grab those ankles, well, unless of course, it's for money. And lots of it -see Margomel? You did teach us
something!**)
I pursued stark directions, no matter their difficulty, randomly, intensely, and with short-lived alacrity, my flighty passion handicapped with a fear of failure and defensive poor follow-through. It won’t hurt as much, if I didn’t really try. Born were my roaring-twenties of constant change; studying for and taking the LSAT ( before I considered the hours and dry reading), recording a professional CD with a band ( which I subsequently abandoned), applying to international MBA programs (then realizing I don’t like corporations), investing 5 steadfast years in networking ( and being completely disenchanted), attempting to move to Hawaii (discovering vacation is separate from living). So, as you can see, I’ve quite the hap-hazard resume; not the stuff of dreams for an ambitious 27-year-old. And to think, a friend we met traveling thought I had it figured out!
Naturally, leaving everything I knew, (family, friends, career, car, and down payment on the condo) to pursue an inkling to travel far and wide, long-term, was one such impulsive idea which, given my past credo of decision-making, was a lot easier for me to heed than my emotional antithesis, my loving best friend and partner, Troy. Life was simpler when I was the only one bearing the consequences of my wild fancies. Now I handle the utter destruction of two lives...
To give you an idea, those who don’t know him, he is the closest thing to a quintessential son, brother, friend, and partner: intelligent, funny, sensitive and loyal. His trademarks are logic, sensibility and practicality; which only make his interest in me and acquiescence to cut loose all the more mysterious. Nothing seems to shake his imperturbable calm, (my screeching freak-out sessions in apparent vain) and you’d be hard-pressed to find someone praised by more mothers world-wide. Truly I couldn’t have engineered a better engineer. Yes, I count my lucky stars…
Despite his darned level-headedness, I’d launched a campaign of persuasion, as my sweetheart was markedly against leaving it all; his blossoming engineering career, family, friends and desire for financial perfection the opposing, angelic voice to my devilish prepositions. He was finally starting the adult life he’d dreamed of and prepared for, for so long. I, on the other hand, was plainly unhappy with my job (despite the ability to make money), enduring the mania of a gossipy pill popper appointed -in a resplendent act of corporate effenciency- to a managerial position, consequent tremors of my heart and sucking of all life from my veins. It must be noted, however, Troy was engrained with a singular, straight-forward, childhood calling, for which he was armed with an insatiable curiosity about the world around him and overwhelming mathematical prowess. He was always, effortlessly, to be an engineer. In addition, his work environment was vastly superior. So, it’s fair to say, I’m doing a wee bit more soul-searching than he is, unless those wigs, prosthetics and size 15 stilettos I found are his…that’s another story. ( just kidding, Lucas, Carlos and Debbie)
Certainly not a newsflash, but being in a long-term committed relationship changes everything, changed me, most notably due to the ten-letter relationship maker or breaker: compromise. More importantly, the desire to compromise. Any pair lasting longer than a few months can attest to this. How else could we share a lifetime when we’ve different tastes, goals, and dogmas; those which, after my bouts of commanding and supplicating, still remain disagreed upon? I’m conditioned to get what I want by years of successfully utilizing my velvet hammer and Gallagher-esque negotiation practices; family and friends duped into the front row, unhappily smattered with flesh, juices and other residual carnage before, pulling up their protective plastic sheet, resigned and weirded-out, leaving me to my strangely pointless destruction.
Obstinate and erratic behavior notwithstanding, Troy perpetually tries to make things work to make us happy: the hallmark of a truly fantastic friend or spouse. And, therefore, challenging as it may be, so shall I!
At a many-times-still-immature 27, however, redirecting the egocentric stare of teenage-dom outward has been a slow and painful enterprise for me, (even with patient encouragement from my Prince Charming) my well-trained attentions focusing constantly, reflexively on myself. Oh, the arduous charge of foregoing personal desires for someone else, someone you love. (I’m not talking about getting Captain Crunch when you wanted Lucky Charms, or watching ESPN when you wanted Laguna Beach, although those too are major relationship sacrifices.) I’m talking about real pain and longing evident in something you truly wanted, given up for your loved one. **an aside: I’m really starting to better appreciate the plight of the fortuitous trio – branded at 15 as self-centered, abjectly belligerent, simultaneous 1st, 2nd and 3rd comings of the antichrist but in the clarity of semi-maturity and hindsight, just doing their best - namely, my parents, who must be laughing loudly right now**
After much ado, he finally agreed to leaving our life on the basis that, at the end of one year, we both would return to the US, to work, rectify our finances and work towards our Masters degrees; rebuilding some semblance of establishment. A year ago, I assumed I would have discovered my calling, and subdued my itchy feet with extensive travel through 14 countries, however, on the cusp of this impending deadline ( much to Troy’s annoyance) that is not the case. It’s closing time, and like a spoiled child treated to, hypnotized by the vivid Technicolor, blustering merriment, endless excitement of a sugar-filled amusement park, I don’t wanna to go home L
Months prior, we’d briefly discussed setting up shop in Taipei, Sydney or even Auckland; for New Zealand we prudently obtained a working holiday visa back in May in Rome. Because the year-end was still far off, and not yet demanding of our attentions, the discussions were not entirely serious or fruitful. Time elapsed, as it has the rude tendency to do, and we were confronted with the austere dichotomy of closing this chapter of our life, returning home to the states OR staking out an exotic locale to pseudo-settle, complete with address and phone number, then continuing to travel. You can probably guess what I wanted to do.
And then there was Troy.
The past few weeks, we’d kept a dizzying pace, zig-zagging taxingly across Asia by way of reckless taxis, red-eye flights, dilapidated rickshaws, second-class stuffed trains, smog-choked tuk-tuks and 40-hour bus rides (apparently through hell), damned with ungodly sounds, smells and the deepest, most furthest stretching potholes in existence. All things you guys have heard about before.
In their newness, these things imparted culture shock and adventure; entertaining novelties, becoming a part of colorful memory as our first travel times. Now, they become quickly exhausting, intolerably stressful and all-together overwhelming, making me wish I’d a magic wand to instantly materialize somewhere else. This, in addition to living with a few tattered clothes from a smelly backpack, (never being able to dress-up) always eating out, always pinching pennies, not having a sanctuary, gym or routine of your own, and constantly changing cities, languages, cultures and countries has finally taken its toll. As a result, when you’re blasé about fantastic locations, you know it’s time to slow down, chill out.
Thought I’d never say that, didn’t you!
Full circle: the reason for our inertia and my lack of writing was this major life decision: Go home or stay abroad. Troy was hesitant, a tad homesick, needing to settle his finances, and leaning towards going home to Arizona. He was also, however, seduced by International work experience, and the idea of surfing, rafting, canyoning, snowboarding, and mountaineering abroad. With some much-appreciated parental assistance in selling Troy’s truck, my opinion was immediate. His took a little longer.
I spent the better part of 2 weeks explaining why I feel settling in New Zealand is the better option for both of us. We can get an apartment, transportation and communication again. We can settle into the routine and comfort of a normal life while still continuing to explore the world; Australia, Fiji, Philippines, Indonesia. We can live in a foreign country and gain valuable experience from doing so. I rationalized. I explained. I coerced. I pleaded. I tried to show him the US and his impressive credentials and resume are not going anywhere. We can always go back, when we want, if we need. I also conveyed that, although I really did not want to, I would accompany him home, back to Arizona, if that's what he really wanted. The ol' C-O-M-P-R-O-M-I-S-E
As I explained above, I've pondered salad dressings for longer than this. Troy, however, sensibly refused to decide. He needed time, thought, and advice ( from someone other than me) before he chose. He wrote a list of pros and cons, and weighed the columns. My little engineer.
It was a trying month, but I can announce we are in agreement and, YIPEE, moving to Auckland, New Zealand! Both Families, Ruba, Maki, Sascha, Kurt, Lucas, Tony: you guys all have a place to crash if you come to visit :)
In the next month we’ll hit Singapore ( again), Darwin, and Brisbane before settling into the north island, New Zealand metropolis.
Stay Tuned!!
xoxoxoxoxo
