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It took about half an hour, but my naive optimism had vanished. With each additional step I felt the straps of my backpack digging into my shoulders. What had started as a wonderful feeling of being grounded and pulled towards the earth was starting to turn into a ache in my lower back. As the 100th car drove past me without slowing down I started to wonder what it was that I was doing again.

It had all started out so easily once I left Chichen Itza. I was kinda timid at first, failing to raise an arm to the first car that passed. But within 15 minutes a frinedly long-distance truck driver named Alberto had stopped and offered to take me the first 105 kilometers of my journey back to Merida, the city I had left the day before.

He didn´t have too much to say, although we made some small talk here and there. I think he just liked having some company. He offered me a few cigarettes and stopped once and had me run out and buy two cokes. We listened to his cumbia CDs and although his truck was slow the ride went rather fast. When he dropped me off on the side of Mex-180 I was excited to catch the next ride on my way to Campeche.

I figured getting the next ride would be just as easy. So I started walking with my pack along the side of the freeway. The first kilometer went really fast, but as I walked passed the exit to the Centro where the bus station was I wondered if I should just spend the $9 on the bus that would take me to Campeche.

I´ve been reading the stories of characters like Dean Moriarty and Alexander Supertramp my entire life. And I´ve always had this romanticized, idealized notion of what it would be like to hitch rides cross country. When I met Nyasha and Munia in Playa del Carmen and they told us about hitching from San Franciso to the Arizona / Mexican border my ears perked up. When we met the tall German guy who spent three weeks hitching from Tijuana to Playa I was hooked.

Sure I had hopped in the back of a few pick-ups here and there and caught rides across town. But I had never actually travelled across any significant distances by using my thumb. I liked to tell everyone what a roaming vagabond I was but I never left home without my credit cards. It was an experience I decided I needed to have.

I used to think of myself as an independent sort, that squared away my debts and always did what was fair. But over time I have grown to realize that no man is an island unto himself. We all survive only through the grace of God, Allah, the Universe or whatever you wish to call it. I had experienced first-hand the kindness of strangers, and the truth of the matter was, we all depend on it to survive, whether we wish to acknowledge it or not. We are connected in ways we cannot even begin to understand.

But after about an hour and a half of walking the along the freeway trying to wave down cars with no luck I had my moment of doubt. Gonzalo and Dulce´s house was still only a few peso cab ride away and I knew I would be welcome with open arms. Or I could still just try to grab a bus headed to Campeche. I looked down at my feet and noticed the increasingly ridiculous looking tan line from my sandals. It was still early, about 2 PM and the hot Mayan sun beat down without mercy. But I set my intention, no, this was something I was going to see through, just to collect another life-experience and for no other reason.

After 7 kilometers I started doing some mental math. I had 155 kilometers to go, so at this rate that would put me in Campeche, approximately never. I stopped at the very next refresco stand I saw off the freeway exit ramp and regrouped. I figured if worst came to worst I could just sleep under a freeway underpass on my yoga mat or maybe under some trees in the median of the freeway. But I wasn´t going to give up on this stupid idea that easily. I kept waving down cars with zeal and then finally an old school red VW bug stopped right in front of me. I felt my eyes light up and I practically ran to the car.

The driver, Martin I would later learn, asked me where I was heading. ¨Campeche¨ I told him. He thought about it for a second and told me to get in. We started talking immediately just like old friends. When we saw a car broken down on the road in front of us he pulled over and offered to help change the tire. ¨No gracias¨ they said with a smile, they had it under control.

¨You´re a very helpful person¨ I told Martin. ¨Si?¨ he replied, as if he had never noticed. We traded stories about women and travels and jobs we´ve had and everything else. As we grew closer to Campeche he told me he was off to visit a friend about 1/2 hour outside of town and invited me along to meet him and to grab some tacos. ¨Si, como que no!¨ I answered, I had nothing else really to do. He told me he had met Carmello, a Pentocostal Minister a year ago, when he picked up Martin and his two boys while they were hitch hiking and since then they had become good friends. I mentioned how I thought it was funny how things come around full circle sometimes.

We pulled up to a broken down church in the middle of Pumach, a town of about 6000 people. I met Carmello and his wife Susana and their two adorable kids. And then it turned out there was someone from his congretation Carmello wanted Martin to meet, to see if he could help him get a good high-paying job on the oil rigs outside of Ciudad de Carmen where he worked. So we spent the next few hours socializing and tracking down friends and looking for food.

It was getting dark and I was wondering how I was going to get to the hostel in Campeche when Carmello asked if I had a place to stay. ¨No exactamente¨ I replied sheepishly. He told me I was welcome to string up one of their hammocks in the bulding they used for sunday school if I´d like and I accepted immediately. After dinner Martin headed back to Merida, having had accomplished what he came to Pumach to do. But not before we exchanged contact information and vague promises to keep in touch and come visit when possible.

I went home with Carmello and Susana and we sat and talked for a while, they showed me their wedding pictures while I played with Suri the cutest two year old Mexican girl you could imagine. Right before bed-time Carmello gave me a pocket Bible in English that someone else had given him. I already had explained my religious views to him, as best I could, but he told me everyone needs some guidance from above and I agreed with a heartfelt honesty that suprised even myself.

It wasn´t the first time in my life someone had presented me with a Bible, but I had never made much of an effort to read one before. As I lay swinging in that hammock I found myself more interested in flipping pages than heading off to sleep. The Gospel of Luke caught my attention. verse 6:38 in particular

Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

Karma baby, I knew that already, but I also knew how I failed to put it into action. How I kept score and resented when I did not recieve back as good as I gave. I marvelled how this family, how Martin, who had so little, welcomed me, a complete stranger into their home. Fed me, offered me whatever they had, embraced me as one of their own and refused all of my attempts to compensate.

The next morning when Carmello and I sat down to coffee he filled me in on the parts of Martin´s story I didn´t know. His job at PemEx involved being on the oil-rigs for two weeks at a time, away from home. About a year ago, he found out his wife was cheating on him and abusing the kids so they wouldn´t tell, burning them with cigarettes. When they divorced Martin got the kids, which is practically unheard of in Mexico. But in August she broke into his house and stole everything and kidnapped his two boys. He hasn´t heard or seen from them since.

My heart sank. How could this person, how just went through the most difficult time I could possibly imagine any person having to deal with, still maintain his faith in humanity? How could he maintain his sunny disposition, how could he be so willing to help everyone who crossed his path, even a complete stranger such as myself?

I spent the rest of my day there helping Carmello run errands around the church. They were getting ready for a party for the kids in the congregation. We bought food and sweets and a piñata. Susana cooked, we talked about family and our cultures and we all played with Suri. As the sun started to set, they asked if I´d like stay another day, keep helping around the church. But I told them it was time for me to head to Campeche. I knew I had to keep on my own journey.

With tears welling up in my eyes I told them if there was ever anything I could ever do for them, they need only ask. I had known these people less than 24 hours but I knew their impact would not soon be forgotten. As I boarded the bus to Campeche and paid my $2 fare I didn´t mind that I failed to complete my intention of getting to town without paying for a ride. I set off seeking adventure but instead I found grace.

A Friend Indeed

Right before Alex set off for the bus terminal I heard him talking to his Dad on the phone. After a few pleasantries, my name came up. "No Dad, I don't know when he's going to take off, probably tomorrow with Ricardo to head to Playa for New Year's." I felt a bit of concern. Alex had assured me that it was cool to crash with his folks for as long as I wanted, and even stop by after a bit more of my aimless wandering for one of Dulce's home cooked meals, a comfortable bed and a hot shower. And after being welcomed with open arms into Gonzalo and Dulce's house I felt it would be rude to not accept such a generous offer.

But when I heard my name mentioned my immagination immediately filled in Gonzalo's side of the conversation with something like "He's not going to stay too long is he?" I didn't want to be a burden, to put anyone out. But it turned out Gonzalo just needed to know if I was staying so he could figure out what to ask Dulce to make for dinner. I need not have worried, this warm Mayan culture couldn't possibly be more welcoming. And since I was their son's friend, I was golden and I knew I would forever be welcome in their home.

Alex and I exchanged a hug and he set off for the bus to Cancun so he could catch his flight back to San Diego. I still had no real idea what I was going to do, but I was starting to make a semblance of a plan. I took a moment to reflect on the past two weeks and how Alex and I had grown as friends. I'll be happy to get back to doing my own thing, devoting more time to my yoga practice and not feeling like I have to keep up with his hard drinking ways. But I'll miss the touch of chaos he brings into my life. We are two very different people, Alex with his work hard, play hard ethic. And me with my constant quest for moderation in all things. But our easy-going natures compliment one another quite well. And travelling together with someone for an extended period of time either brings you closer or tears you apart. And we are definately better friends now than ever before.

During this time travelling together, I've come to realize what makes us true friends is the fact that we both encourage and nurture each others dreams and ideals. Alex with his desire to build and create, developing those 11 acres of land in Jamul. And me with my desire to learn and teach and be in a constant state of introspection. We are the sorts of friends that work to help each other realize their dreams. That take joy in each others successes and accomplishments. And after this trip, those dreams are intertwined to the point where we can only succeed by helping the other realize their own.

As I came to that conclusion I also realized the flip side, all the other people in my life, who despite their friendship and love, only held me back from realizing my own personal story. The friends who itemized and counted against me each inconvenience that my escape caused them. The lover who by not wanting to be a burden, rejected the most precious gifts I tried to bestow. My own family members who only saw how my irresponsiblity put their own security at risk.

I've grown to understand that only by recieving friendship and love when it is freely given can you put yourself in a position to return it. For acceptance of that gift creates an implicit understanding that you must pay it forward, backward and to those all around. Those who refuse to accept the gift of friendship that is given freely do so because they don't want to put themselves in a position where they have the obligation to return it. And by doing so they lose out on the most valuable treasure that life has to offer.

I've tried to forgive those who've rejected the gifts I've given. Those who offered gifts to me inauthentically, and resented the fact that I accepted. Those who accepted willingly but never gave back as good as they got. I know intellectually that it does not matter, because in the long run the universe evens out those scores, karma still applies. But I've yet to transcend my humanity to the point where I can let go of the pain caused by the unskillful actions of those I've tried to pull in close. I still keep score because it's too hard to embody a true Bodhisattva nature. I realize that those unenlightened actions are only a result of their own unresolved fears and they can only be overcome by continuing to pour out love and friendship to those who have failed to hold up their end of the bargain ... but it's just too hard. So I choose the easier route, to pull away and keep at a distance those who refuse the embrace of a true friend.

And then ironically after Dulce got back from dropping Alex at the bus terminal, I saw that which I resent in others manifest itself in my own being. I was hungry, having not as of yet eaten. And she offered to cook me some eggs. My initial reaction was to say no, I will just grab an apple, I don't want to be a burden. And then I spotted it, my own inability to accept that which is given freely. So when she offered again, I smiled and said "Si, por favor." The eggs had just the perfect amount of grease, the beans the right amount of garlic and the croissants were toasted perfectly. No one ever goes hungry in Dulce's kitchen. And she sat with me while I ate and told me about the places she's gone. "San Cristobal!" she said when I asked her what her favorite Mexican city was, with a smile that lit up the room. And now I have a new destination on my journey and my own surrogate Mexican mother who will make sure I never get too skinny.

People often ask me why I travel. What it is that I do while I'm not doing what it is that I'm supposed to be doing. And I realize now, it's not for the things I see or even the people I meet. But rather the unfamiliar surroundings present an opportunity for growth and advancement. Usually it's two steps forward one step back, but that still gets you somewhere. And with this current journey, I'm curious to see where that will be.

What if you build it, but no one shows up?

Laying down wood flooring on top of concrete is no joke. First you gotta throw down a layer of goop to level out the uneven spots in the concrete, to make sure you have a stable foundation upon which to build. And like any good foundation, it takes a while to sit and cure ... to come into it's own.

The easy part is putting down the cork, or whatever else you're going to use to absorb the blow. To make sure the floor finds that balance between support and surrender. We've got something that looks an awful lot like sawdust lined up to do the job.

And only then can you actually start to glue and lock together the individual pieces of treated bamboo which will actually be the floor. Each piece is grooved on two edges and notched on the two. And they come together like a giant set of lego's to create what will become your floor.

I didn't set out to help lay the floor for a yoga studio, it just kinda happened. I'd been attending meditation and yoga at the Dharma Bum Center / Red Lotus Society / Ideal Hotel / whatever it is that they are calling themselves this week, for a bit now.

And I watched with admiration as a few doe-eyed idealists took an abandoned historic building in dire need of renovation and used their blood and sweet to pour a seemingly endless amount of love into this vessel. I watched their incremental progress week by week, and marveled how they could take on such a project in need of so much time and effort and proceed with quiet, unwavering determination.

Over time I realized that it wasn't blind optimism that made them trudge forward, one nail at a time. I occasionally saw frustration and desperation creep into their otherwise stoic faces when the challenges facing them seemed unsurmountable. When time, money and all other earthly realities seemed to conspire against their ambitious project. And I watched with awe as they cast them aside to return to the task at hand, sanding hardwood floors or digging a trench for the plumbing.

And little by little I got sucked in. It started by just dropping in whenever I was in the area for a few hours, cleaning up the remnants of the hard work of others. Then I'd mix it into my bike riding schedule on the weekends, why not just cruise through downtown as long as I'm riding around and see if there's another plaster wall that needs chiseling away?

I watched as an entire community came together around this effort. As people from disparate walks of life, different backgrounds and different belief systems joined their effort and energies in order to create something. I'm sure they all had their motives for coming, I certainly had my own.

I watched as the living quarters were transformed from forgotten ramshackle rooms into vibrant dens full of life and zeal. I watched as the space which housed seemingly nothing but dust and debris sprung forth into a zendo, a space for practice. And as I heard more and more of the grandiose plans I'd start to excitedly question the 5 Dharma Bums ... "what about the yoga floor?" ... "when's it going to be done?" ... "who's teaching classes?"

I knew they were dumb questions when I asked. These guys were trying to get through the next crisis, doing a remarkably good job not obsessing about the fact that they'd basically gone bankrupt and were knee deep into a project who's entire size and scope they were still coming to terms with. They didn't have all the answers, they just knew the next step in the path. Then Jeff asked me "can you help make this happen?"

The answer was painfully obvious immediately ... but I initially resisted. I'd spent my entire life avoiding investing and committing in things greater than myself, avoiding putting forth the effort into an uncertain outcome. I never managed to stand up and be counted for the fear that I would be the one left holding the bag.

I thought back to some of the first e-mails I traded with Dorian. In my best John Cusak-esque writing style I sent her a list of my Top 5 Dream Jobs:

1) Travel writer
2) Yoga instructor
3) Center fielder for the Cleveland Indians
4) Smoothie stand guy
5) Linguist

No one was offering me my own syndicated Travel Column, but here was a Yoga Studio that needed built and needed some teachers. In a sense my own practice is still very young. It's either been going on for about a year and a half or since my first breath ... I'm still not sure which.

But it's given me something that I never knew I needed before. A sense of calm, the ability accept the world as is and understand where my own inner turmoil is coming from. A sense of unity and a sense of understanding of how I am involved in this real world I inhabit. Plus my shoulder's have become pretty well defined and that's awfully cool. Sometimes it seems as if it's two steps forward and one step backwards, but such is life I suppose.

So yesterday morning before I took of for work Clay asked me to show him some yoga stuff for his back. I took it as a sign. A sign that in my naivety I thought I understood. I excitedly spent most of the day at work figuring out what sequence I would show him, how to dictate the pace of the class, how to enter each pose. I enlisted Dorian in this make shift class and when Crystal showed up I pulled her in as well.

And then reality happened. The outcome bore little resemblance to what I had imagined. Instead of practicing what might eventually become the foundation for my own class we just kinda kicked it and did some yoga. It didn't take too long, but I soon realized I was way too attached to my own vision of what this should be. I had failed to see my friends as my friends who I could show some cool yoga shit to, but instead saw them as a means to my own ends.

It's hard to let go of those expectations, to contain that sense of ego, maybe the hardest thing of all. And it's hard to pour time and energy into something not knowing where it will go. It's hard to open up and just give without having some assurance that you're going to get back as well. But maybe that's the real lesson I was supposed to learn.

There's definitely still a part of me, a large part, that would rather just throw my shit in a bag and be out the door. Avoid the disappointment of unfulfilled expectations by never bothering to show up. But I'm trying. I've been down that path before, it was good times, but ultimately it left me wanting. So instead, tomorrow, I'm going to help lay a foundation for a yoga studio, and see what happens next. Maybe I'll fulfill the number 2 spot on my list of Dream Jobs, maybe I'll never practice yoga again...

It's been 1 Year 6 Months 1 Week and 1 Day

Seeing Crystal's eyes light up when she got her iPhone got me thinking. Watching her pull up directions to random places she wasn't going to and waiting for YouTube videos to load reminded me of watching my nephew Muneer play with his new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figure. It only took him 3 hours before he snapped off Donatello's skate-board attachment and it wound up in his bin of seldomly-used toys.

But surely the iPhone is different. I know it is like the coolest thing in the world, but did I really need one? After my last few experiences buying fancy new expensive electronics, I came to conclusion that attachment to possessions can only result in suffering. Actually I think I came to that conclusion during meditation.

I remember being listening to Noah Levine's dharma talk about the Four Noble Truths and and the joy that comes from non-attachment to things. Then I remember him excitedly showing me his new iPhone and the protective case he had for it that would keep it in scratch-free. But Noah seemed to be good at appreciating the phone for what it was, without tying his own happiness to that material object.

Last night, our newest roommate Clay finally got his own iPhone up and running. "Has it changed your life?" I asked him? "Yeah, I'm less happy now" he replied and then broke into a huge grin letting me know that he wasn't really. It's not that I begrudge Clay and his iPhone but I wonder how the guy crashing in our garage and working at the pizza joint can justify dropping the beaucoup bucks on an iPhone and I still can't bring myself to do it. I mean, I am a highly-paid engineer who works on mobile internet applications after all, if anyone should have one it should be me!

I remember when I got my RAZR a year and a half ago, when it was the coolest thing in the world. And how neat I thought it was for the first month while I played with all the features, until I figured out that the version of iTunes on it really kinda sucked and how annoying the lack of proper Bluetooth support was. Disillusionment crept in quickly. I remember really desiring a LG Chocolate shortly thereafter.

I still use the RAZR, but the top row of buttons have started acting up. And once in a while it doesn't beep when I get a new text message in. But it works for the most part.

Life is kinda like that I guess, you see something awesome that you really want, you work to acquire it, enjoy it for a while, struggle to keep it in good shape, worry about having it stolen, a little time passes and you start all over again with something new.

San Diego has kinda been like that truth be told. I've never been happier anywhere I've lived. I've met a million cool people, some who I know will be friends for life, some I doubt I'll ever see again. I've taken up mountain-biking and yoga and and gotten myself in much better shape at the same time. I found a good job working on stuff I actually enjoy and my boss is really cool. I've rekindled my passion for finely cooked meals. I'm trying to learn to surf and speak Portuguese and all sorts of other random stuff I think is neat-0...

But

There's always this nagging feeling. Last night, Hetal the cool Indian dude from NYC that I ran into on the bus to Bangkok messaged me from Phnom Phen. "It's great!" he told me excitedly. Food awesome, super cheap, people friendly, way better than Thailand! He's getting a job out there and going to stay for a while he said, I made sure to get an invite to crash on his couch and an offer to show me around.

And I started to think. I would have to make sure to not activate my iPhone through AT&T and instead install the latest Jailbreak hack to make sure I can get it on whatever cell network they use over there. I'm guessing there's a way to have material possessions without attaching to them, without letting them be the cause of your suffering, but instead accepting them as things that provide you with some temporary measure of utility...I'm sure that exists. For now I'm in San Diego and I'm content, but in the back of my mind I know I can have my shit packed and ready to hop on a plane within 24 hours.

We shall see what happens I suppose.

They burned my barn and stole my horse

I saw the beard before I saw Greg. He was driving towards me and I had to stop and look twice to make sure my eyes weren't decieving me. But sure enough, it was my good pal. I had spent my last night in the US with Greg and Nicole, crashing on their futon in Chicago about 11 months ago. And now I was heading to their new place in San Diego to crash on their air-mattress. It's funny how the life takes you around full circle some times.

It was strange being back in the US. I cringed at the rows of cookie-cutter condos I scattered from Chula Vista up into downtown. When Greg and I went to the grocery store I marvelled at how one single store could have 30 different varieties of orange juice.

I had managed to make it into town 3 days before the Dylan show, earlier than I originally thought. But I was feeling ready to go home. The next few days were a blur of submitting resumes, arguing with the DMV, looking for an apartments, and trying not to let my spanish slip out at inopportune moments.

I talked to Bill and he told me of his idea to head to the northern beaches of Brazil. I talked to Sean and he told me he was heading back to Colombia for the holidays. Yanet was finally off to Mexico. And I started to wonder what the heck it was I was doing back in the US. I wanted to run, it was all just too much, too fast. And no matter how many times Greg and Nicole told me to just calm down and take it a little slowly, I just couldn't.

Nicole fed me with her excellent cooking and Greg did his part plying me with beer and his famous fried eggs. It was nice to be somewhere that felt a bit normal again. Greg was even generous enough to let me borrow his car while he was working, which happened to come complete with a copy of "Modern Times" my new favorite CD.

And soon enough the night of the big show was upon us. As Greg and I excitedly rushed off to the Cox arena to see the man in person. Before the show I told Greg, I need to hear "Working Man Blues #2" I wasn't a working man as of yet, far from it, truth be told, but when Bobby told me about the declining power of the proletariet or his inability to give away what he had, I felt it too. He played Watchtower, Like a Rolling Stone, Cold Irons Bounds and just about everything else I wanted to hear.

As we pulled away from the arena I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. And I knew without a doubt why I was here and what I was doing. It wasn't going to be easy, but there is just no price you can put on the company of a few good friends who get it.