What do I have to show for my time here?
At the beginning of the week, I spent time substituting in the EP--"Teacher Ow, Teacher Ow, you need go eat, too skinny!"
It would be really, really nice to trade my 7th graders for 4th and 5th.
I have a list of questions to ask employers. And I have a completely frivolous non-souvenir: a subwoofer with speakers. I also bought two shirts and three pairs of socks and two towels.
Otherwise, I've spent money on food, a couple of brief escapes, and training in Reiki and Thai massage.
I had to throw away the pants that shredded with the last motorbike accident, but I am even more proud of my Ritz Carlton shirt now that it has the bloodstained road-rash hole in the shoulder (I would've thought the stain would come out, but not yet).
What I really have is a degree of self awareness and honesty--for someone who's always fancied himself as strong and independent, it's hard to accept that I really need a close peer group to help share and validate my experiences, which can easily include a cell phone to reach the ready-made group back home. I need to respect the institution paying me or the pay I'm receiving or my coworkers. And I really, really need a cozy place to sit. A kitchen would be killer, but the barely-padded-when-new auditorium chair with a hole under my left cheek does not help offset a long, rough day of teaching.
What I do not think about is what is truly missing: mountains for hiking and biking, a wild world for fishing and hunting, water clear enough that you have to take a sip even after reminding yourself of giardia, the taste of evergreens in the air, the smell of wood smoke, work with immediate and apparent value--wood chopping, raking, gardening. What I know is that I want to live in the mountains. I can name half a dozen towns. But that's not an option right now--as much as I'm resenting the festering tropics, I have a job that meets the needs I still carry around.
I might have as little idea as ever of what to do once I get there, but I have a damn good idea of where I want to go, how little I actually need, and what I would like for reasonable comfort. It took a helluva lot to get that far, but I guess it's better to know.
The truly invaluable lesson came in reflecting on reflecting: for the first time in my conscious life, I feel good about pursuing what living I can, rather than feeling guilty about being given what I haven't earned. Damn straight I didn't deserve the mature and responsible parents who gave me as many comforts as I knew, even if I do envy those who grew up with an unshakable sense of a family unit. And maybe I didn't deserve the opportunities that came my way. But whether they came my way or I busted ass to get them, when I look at what it took, damn straight I've paid my dues.
Stateside, I loved sleeping on the deck in all weather and seasons. Not just for the love of the outside air, but I generally tried to avoid a sleeping pad as, in retrospect, I tried to create some sense of austerity in an otherwise too-easy life (and even from the midst of a stomach-souring nervously-stressy collapse, I knew it was all mental and only a matter of what I was doing/asking to/from myself [again, only in retrospect]). Now, I would love to sleep out in cold mountain air--Nepal here I come!--but it's going to be a long, long while before I turn down a soft mattress with a down comforter. And I would have no shame in admitting it to anyone and everyone in the world.
On the flight over, I titled a journal entry "Phoenix Rising." I might not've been right about the rising part, but by the time the EMTs put me on an ER gurney, there was nowhere to go but up, and I was encumbered with just about as little--physically or mentally--as it's reasonably possible to do without.
So it might've taken longer than I thought, and involved more pain and trauma than I would've imagined enduring on a still-operating basis or ever hope to experience again, but maybe--God, karma, Vishnu, the Fates, or rotten luck willing--I'm on the trip up.
So here's to life and the idea that guilt is for losing an opportunity, not for living as fully as life offers.
And the hope that one day it leads back to the mountains.
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