Yeah, so….about not updating this blog for over a month…sorry about that. Not sure that I have the energy or creativity to recount all the possible excuses at the moment, but trust me, they’re good, you would totally buy them and forgive me wholeheartedly.
One of those excuses could have been that I had a mid-life crisis with the passing of another birthday this past month, but it would be a total fabrication as it would 1) be presumptuous to pretend I have a clue when mid-life will be (I now can only say for certain that it wasn’t at 16 since I’ve made it past 32), and 2) I really don’t mind getting older. Scratch that. I enjoy getting older. I guess the better way of phrasing that is that I have greatly enjoyed this whole living thing and am in full support of it continuing. However, it's been pretty sweet, so if it ends 5 minutes from now, I'd be at peace with that too.
My life has been ridiculous. When I look back on the crazy, idiotic, ridiculous things I have done, I am filled with gratitude for being able to live long enough to become older and wiser and for having had the (for lack of a better word) cajones to have done every single one of those crazy, idiotic, ridiculous things. Those are the things that shaped me and led me to this place in space and time.
The things I thought I hated when I was young, like being in a military family where my dad was often overseas or where we moved again and again, readied me to lead the life I live, to learn languages and adapt to cultures quickly and easily; to open myself to new friendships and a new life, time and again, but to also to be prepared to say goodbye for now but also to master the art of never having to truly let go; and to be able to constantly live out of a duffle bag or suitcase and still feel somewhat at home. 
Something else I also thought I hated when I was young was my freak flag. I tried to fold it up and shove it in the darkest recesses of my closet. I was self-conscious of my unquestionable nerdiness and quirks. It refused to be contained and snuck out in bits as I dyed my hair every color of the rainbow, and that was when my head wasn’t shaved; I sewed my own clothes from crazy old moth-ball scented pieces I collected at the thrift store; and I tried to disguise my intelligence so it wouldn’t detract from what I hoped would appear to be my cool-factor. My first scientific research paper was published when I was exactly half the age I am now, and it was on neurophysiology and lexical access in the Journal of the Academy of Sciences. I represented the US for two years in the International Science and Engineering Fair. I was such a science nerd that one night while I was out to dinner with friends in Paris, a beautiful actress came up to me and swore she knew me from somewhere…..when at last, after another hour or two and a few bottles of wine, she realized she remembered me from my final year of scientific research. It had been almost a decade since she'd met me. I should win some sort of award for my nerd-notoriety.
I worked at the National Institute of Mental Health by the time I was 18 and trained under Nobel laureates and the National Science Foundation. Then I ditched it all to become a professional skateboarder (which, by the way, never happened). I lived like a rock star in Cali and loved every second of it. In my first week at my first Hollywood party on Sunset Blvd, I saw Tori Spelling doing lines of coke with Leonardo DiCaprio. I also became friends with some amazing guys who have changed my life and continue to do so. (I know about half of you read this, so – I love you guys and I am so proud of the incredible men you’ve become. And tell the other half I love them too even though they are too cool to read blogs. Or read at all.)
Then I ditched skateboarding to pursue a degree international politics in the UK. Then I went to Greece and fed cats bits from my gyros as I strolled around Athens each day. Then Australia for grad school, where adventures abounded. I hitchhiked for the first time. I was engaged for the first and only time. I swam with dolphins. I started working on the Thai-Burma border. Then I moved to Paris, where I had an adorable little apartment in the tenth district and could see the sun gleaming on Sacre Couer perched atop Monmarte each morning. I wandered the streets of Paris as they were blanketed in the snow, savoring streetside crepes and realizing how many loud, rude, obnoxious Americans are abroad that give us all a bad name. I will never forget you, large drunken man, who kept thinking that screaming that you wanted Hazelnut Schnapps louder and louder each time was actually going to help you get any.
Then, when I was 25, I fulfilled my lifelong dream to work for the UN. And it was nothing like I dreamed, but I did meet Paul Rusesabagina, which could count as the fulfillment of a dream. If you don’t know who that is, google him. I was the first person he saw on his 50th birthday. He and I snuck into the back of a crowded theater full of dignitaries, heads of state, and celebrities and wept together in the dark as we watched the horror he had endured reenacted on the screen. Angelina Jolie, who was honestly more excited to meet us than we were to meet her, showed so much sincerity and compassion that day that she overthrew any of the preconceived notions I had about her character.
I followed all that by doing what many people say everyone should do, which is to live in New York City at least once in your life. Gramercy Park. 25th between 2nd & 3rd. The first 6 months were the worst. The last 2 & ½ years were the best. My relationship with the city was like oh so many relationships I’ve had. Pretty unhealthy but absolutely spectacular nonetheless. I just needed to be with it, to experience the highest highs and the lowest lows that came with being a part of it. More exciting things happened to me and around me those few years than ever again in my life to this point. Bon Jovi flipped burgers for me at his lake house in the Hamptons, Tom Brokaw and George Clooney would pass by my desk in the morning, and Kofi Annan and his wife would join us at parties. (All that, and the moments that still seize my heart on reflection are of pacing the Met day after day, poker night with my girlfriends, and hanging in the park with a 7 year old who quickly taught me all I needed to know about fiscal returns and true friendship.)It is like being in the very heartbeat of the world, where the blood rushes and swells with pure vitality, good or bad, it’s the most alive I had ever been up to that point. The work I did for the IRC and Mercy Corps while I was there taught me so much about the work I had always dreamed of doing and helped me figure out exactly what I had to offer and what I was best at doing.
Leaving Manhattan was one of the hardest things I have ever done, and it’s crazy to say that, since when I first moved there I was ready to throw in the towel almost immediately. It’s a place that once it grabs you, it’s impossible to shake. It gets under your skin, into the very marrow of your being. Like a drug, it gives you the rush you think you can no longer live without, and being away for long leaves you trembling in withdrawal.
I grew up quite a bit after that. Some people don’t know when it happens to them, but for me, it was as a clear as a bright, sunlit morning. I got a good office job, where I often wore suits and made a more than reasonable salary. I worked in an office from 9-5, packed my lunch every day, and regularly happy-houred with my co-workers. Took the dog to the dog park in the morning. Snuggled with the cat at night. Shopped at the farmer’s market. Went for morning jogs. One would think I had finally arrived. Bt I was restless and all I wanted to do was run away.
And then I did. Run away that is. Or maybe it was more running toward something than away. But I did what I always dreamt that I would do. I moved to Africa. Now, I live in a small little town a brief brisk stroll from the Tanzanian border. I lack the things people find comforting in the states, like a grocery store, air conditioning, a television, constant internet and electricity. And like I have said so many times before since I first arrived here, I’ve never been happier. (Aside from/or perhaps including the deep, dark spell detailed in so many of these blog posts).You who know me well, know the embarrassing fact that I do actually love lying in bed trying to conjoin astrophysics and quantum theory. I wonder about invisible vibrating strings almost daily. And that somehow makes me think of this place, these people. I remember reading in a book that different places have different words that emanate from them. DC might be power or ambition or politics. Paris might be art or luxury, renaissance. People are supposed to keep looking for the word and its place which matches the word that vibrates and calls out from within them. Trouble is, we don’t all know our word, nor how to find the place that fits the beat of our hearts, the rhythm of our pulse. I couldn’t have told you where I would fit until I got here. The thought of leaving in a few months is currently unthinkable. The road hasn’t been smooth by a long shot. We passed some dark days here. Time grows short. As with all things, this too shall pass. Those words always pull me through the rough times and remind me to appreciate the beautiful ones.
My friend here, Vicky, talks of finding me work in neighboring towns so that we don’t have to separate, so that we can grow old near each other. If you met her, you’d understand why that seems like such a fantastic option. She is the pinnacle of integrity, self-sacrifice, and compassion. I’d be lucky to live near enough toher to have some of that rub off on me.
I honestly love the smell of the earth here. The smiles of farmers and their families. Walking to work in the morning amidst the bustling energy of a hard-working town awakening, the greetings and waves, and even the ‘howareyou howareyou howareyou’ of the children as I pass by are enough to get up in the morning. I love the sound of rain on the iron sheeting rooftop and waking to find lizards dancing in my window in the mornings. I love passing baboons on my way home from work and cooking meals for a group of my closest friends. The exuberance of life here is intoxicating. I am never more at peace than when walking through the surrounding hillsides with the people here who I have come to love.
It is time to start the hunt for a job once again and it will be difficult. This place is so remote that finding an organization that does the work I am meant to do near here would be difficult, if not impossible. I have to keep an open mind and an open heart, and know that somehow I will find my way back here from time to time even if the next step for me is somewhere far from here. These people have made such an imprint on my soul, I know I will never be able to stay away for too long.
So, I am 32 now. And the Kenyans still tell me I look 18. (Thanks to my lovely Thai mother for these slow-aging genes.) I love my life. I have clambered about on all but one continent. (And that's Antarctica, so it doesn't really count, right? : ) ) I have dined while sitting atop dirt floors in rural villages and danced the night away in gold-gilded embassies. I have dated the guys whose posters were on my wall or who wrote my favorite books or sang my favorite songs or starred in my favorite shows. I have befriended the likes of giants in this world in terms of brilliance and compassion, and seen the world as they do from perches atop their shoulders. I have loved the 'unlovable', seen the 'invisible' and heard the 'voiceless'. I have followed every dare I ever dared myself and I have never met the ends with regret.
32. I have about a year left to give Jesus or Alexander the Great a run for their money in terms of a llife fulfilled. It’s so strange to not know where I will be three months from now. What continent I will live on. What I will be doing. For a hyper-planner, I’m mysteriously at peace with the uncertainty before me. As Joseph Campbell says, If the path before you is clear, you are probably on someone else’s; your own path you make with every step you take; that’s what makes it your path. He also says, We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.
When I first got here, it felt a bit like the path dropped off before me. I was falling from a cliff side, full of both the rush and the fear, but overwhelmed by the awe of the beauty of it all. And now I feel like I am beginning to look up in wonder and to recognize just what type of a fall this was. So this is love.
I find rest with the sound of the vibration of strings in perfect harmony.
When I first got here, it felt a bit like the path dropped off before me. I was falling from a cliff side, full of both the rush and the fear, but overwhelmed by the awe of the beauty of it all. And now I feel like I am beginning to look up in wonder and to recognize just what type of a fall this was. So this is love.
I find rest with the sound of the vibration of strings in perfect harmony.
