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.

Homeward Bound

I don´t know exactly when it happened, but at some point between shrimp tacos in Sayulita and ceviche in Mazatlan I decided it was just time to go home, wherever that was. Swimming up and down the Pacific Coast of Mexico had proven to be lots of fun, but it was getting a bit tiring. Sure the water was perfectly warm, the food was generally excellent, the people nice (except for whoever nicked my bag while I was swimming in Sayulita) and the scenery beautiful, but I was just kinda done.

I decided against exploring the Copper Canyon from Los Mochis or reliving the history of Hermosilla. Instead I hopped a plane to Tijuana, perhaps the crappiest city in the world unless you happen to enjoy street prostitutes or 18 year olds drinking and yelling ¨woo!¨ It made a lot of sense at the time, I figured as soon as I had enough I would just head up to San Diego and get started on this whole return to normalcy thing.

I knew íf I gave myself a couple days to get used to the idea I could probably get started with all the stuff I need to get done. And if nothing else I´ve managed to convince myself that things truly are going to be alright even though there are about a 1000 questions running through my mind of what´s what.

But I head to San Diego tomorrow, and amazingly enough I even have a place to crash for a few days (thanks Greg and Nicole!) until I get settled in a bit more. And Greg and I have got tickets to the Dylan show lined up already, in just a few short days. A plane ride to Seattle Oct 28th is already purchased and a road-trip back to San Diego with a good friend a few days later is in motion. Thanksgiving in Madison with my family rounds out the plans, although who knows, I might make it back to the Carribean some time in between.

Now if I can just find a job and a place to stay it´ll really start looking like I´ve returned to the real world. But for now, I´m going to be pretty content to go visit some friends and see what the rest of the world has been up to fo the last year while I´ve been vagabonding around. Yeah I´ll miss the amazingly magical sunsets in Mazatlan and the calm tranquil waters of Bucerias but I´m sure there are new, as of yet unimagined adventures to be had as I settle in.

I Get By With a Little Help From My Friends

The two Scotish boys, the Irish boys and I piled into a cab and headed off to the bus terminal. They were heading off to Mexico City, I was going in the opposite direction, to the coast. We all had a brilliant time in Guadalajara, which has the reputation of being the center of the real Mexico. The home of tequila and mariachi bands. We even managed to take in a futbol match, a super-clasico no less (Chivas vs. Club America) and some Lucha Libre. That along with the Orozco murals, street side tacos and variety of cervezas made me feel like I had indeed experienced Mexico at it´s authentic best.

But after spending my last night in Guadalajara playing drinking games with the aforementioned group, along with a few Mexicans and Aussies I´ve decided I´m just too old for this shit. I can´t hang and I don´t really care anymore. A nice relaxing beach sounded just up my alley and that´s exactly where I was heading. Five short hours later I was in Sayulita.

I spent the bus ride like I normally do, staring out the window and pondering all there is to ponder in my life. I watched the landscape change from the blue agave cacti fields set among the low valleys of the central Mexican hills to the drier, more desolate, more sparse jungles of the Pacific Coast.

I`d just recently gotten to the point where the growing anxiety about what my life would be like when I returned to the ¨real¨world was begining to subsist. Find a job, find a place to live, move my stuff to a different city and visit friends and family and start a new life. I was trying to figure out how I was going to manage the logistics of all these contrary needs. I´ve spent much of this trip relying on the kindness of strangers to get by, and while there have been some really rough times it´s all worked out. But as of late a few good friends have decided to go to extraordinary lenghts help me out, levels which have suprised and humbled me.

Somewhere deep inside I had a sense of calm. Things were going to be ok, I reminded myself. They always had been in the past. I remembered to breathe and thought to myself as long as I can make it to the next stop in the road, everything else will work itself out. I idly glanced out the window and wondered where I was. I asked the elderly Mexican gentlemen next to me and it turned out this was my stop. I could see the warm welcoming water´s of the Pacific right around the corner and the next thing on my agenda was to go for a swim. Everything else was going to be alright.