Jeff D's shorts

Shortly after Jeff Darling left this world his family gave me his favorite pair of shorts. They were navy blue corduroy with a secret pocket for secret stuff. I only used it for weed and money. I wore them well that summer and when I moved to Thailand I took them with me. That was 5 years ago.

Today I finished painting the house of my adopted Thai family. A big, ice-cold beer was waiting for me. As I drank it I looked down at the state of these shorts that had been with me through the heavy heat of Thailand, the ruff n' tumble of India, the mountains of Nepal, the arid lands of northern Australia, the endless sandy beaches of Bali, the cold concrete of Montreal and the moist mornings of British Columbia, and I knew it was time to hang 'em up for good.
My half-ass sewing efforts kept them going strong for a healthy duration of travel and received quite a lot of compliments over time and place.  The chords are completely flat, the color is grey like E.T. when he got really sick and there is a huge hole in the left knee. But the main reason is that it's just time. The pattern I've noticed with the dawning of every new chapter of my life is that something of nostalgic importance always seems to wear out or simply disappear. And this is sad, but it allows room for more in my already minimalistic lifestyle. It leads me to new things- new nostalgia.

In 2 days I fly to Singapore. Then New Zealand. My backpack will be slightly lighter, but having written this tonight I feel content and ready for a new pair of hand-me-downs.
Respect.

Thailand khidt̄hụng ṭhex (I missed you)

October 18, 2013 
Bangkok

 The plane landed last night at midnight- almost 2 years exactly to the day I left for Australia.
I took a taxi to Rambutree road and recalled my vocabulary of Thai language with the driver on the way. Unfortunately it was too late to go to P'Toom's- the humble 5 foot king of Couchsurfing. Plus I had forgotten his address and was too tired to risk tracking it down. My dry mouth began to salivate in disappointment knowing that I wouldn't get to taste the spicy breakfast I had been longing for at the kitchen down the street from his house. But Rambutree road was a sure thing and all I wanted to do was take my backpack off and stand under an ice cold shower. It took almost an hour to get there. The driver told me it had been raining all day in Bangkok and the roads were nearly flooded. I didn't mind. The later and less cluttered Rambutree was when I arrived, the better. It was low season for tourists- that was good too. When I showed up the majority of the guest houses were closed but I kept walking, looking for the small green sign that read "My Guest House". It had one room available for 180 baht- approximately $7.00. I was back. Surrounded by it all again; the sights, the smells, the sounds, the food, the cold-faced warmness, the warm-faced coldness, the heat, the culture. My second home.

Now, after a day of drinking and playing ukulele on the street with a Swedish dude named Osmo, then a sleepy seven hour night bus ride south to Chumphon, I find myself back in my old bedroom at my adopted family's house. It's gotta be almost 5 in the morning but I don't wanna sleep. Feels like I'm eight years old and it's Christmas.

I'm not afraid of who I am.

Not afraid of being physically alone because I know I'm never spiritually alone.

1 is All & All is 1.

" I've been wondering all about me
ever since I seen you there,
on the cliffs of your wild cat charms I'm riding
I know I'm 'round you but I don't know where.

You have slayed me, you have made me
I got to laugh half ways off my heels.
I got to know babe
Ah, will you surround me
So I can know if I am really real? "

-Bob Dylan
(Spanish Harlem Incident)

Ten years to the day

   It was around 7:30 in the morning when the phone rang. It woke me up out of a light, un-easy sleep. I heard my Dad answer it upstairs. I already knew what the call was about. I got out of bed, walked over to the closet and picked out a nice button shirt and tie to put on. A natural numbness was already beginning to set in. I don't even remember eating breakfast. We were in the car, driving silently to the hospital- a man preparing to say goodbye to his wife and a boy preparing to say goodbye to his Mother. My Dad made a comment about my attire. “Couldn't think of anything else to wear.” I responded.

The two of us were trying so hard to be strong for each other's sake but it was evident we were both on the verge of breaking down. The road had no distance. The people had no faces. The day had no time. It was just us in a room. Dad by the window, Aunt La in the chair, Mom in the bed, me at her side, holding her hand. Absolute silence except for her breathing. I whispered “go.” And she did.
Then it began to rain in that room. It poured down in a variety of different tears; Despair and joy. Grief and peace. We took on a new pain as she was relieved of hers.

It was then that I noticed the sun shining through the window. And then we were there, outside in the warmth, walking through the concrete acres of the hospital parking lot. I couldn't stop gazing up. That warmth held me as if I was a newborn baby again in her arms. And at that moment I knew she was there. I knew she would always be there. So I smiled and put my arm around my Aunt, told her it was going to be okay, and we drove home.
Two days later I wept for the entirety of a night until I had no voice and nothing more to cry out.

I never shed a tear for my Mom again after that. And I never realized that fact until this year.

The memory of Valerie Wicks lives on in the heartfelt stories of my family and friends. She was a magnificent person who did a lot of good for a lot of people while she was here on earth. Over the last 10 years she has shown me signs, pulled strings, pointed me in certain directions, and saved me from bad situations. Some nights I even hear her voice answering my heaviest questions. She has become my Obi-Wan Kenobi, guiding me through the epic journey of life. This, I believe is proof that Love is truly the most powerful force in the universe. If you let it be. 

The best investments of late:

 

+ $2.35 < 100 yards of dental floss

+ $156.00 < Fender ukulele

+ $.50 < 'Walden' & Civil Disobedience' by Henry David Thoreau

It's all happening.

+ started a band with my brother.

+ learning Spanish.

+ learning to ride a horse bareback style.

+ working for Kingfisher Painting services (check em' out).

+ doing restoration jobs for fun and money.

+ still writing my book.

+ still discovering Vancouver Island.

Lesson Learned

I traded 10 dollars for 10 mangoes.

Because I love mangoes more than money.

Thoughts on the Past / Realizations in the Present / Thirst for the Future.

Baseball.

It was one of my first loves. Very boring to most people, but for me the game seemed more noble than any other sport. There was a lot more happening on the field than the eyes could see. It was mental and at times, spiritual. And besides all that, I just loved to throw. I played baseball for years, until eventually I reached the threshold of an opportunity to play at a very competitive level. And suddenly it wasn't just for fun anymore. It was the first of many crossroads in my life; Get serious or get outta here.

I remember my Dad telling me a story about a kid who loved the game so much that he threw one ball, hundreds of times every day, at a painted target on a brick wall. If he hit the target right on, the ball would come back to him. If not, he had to chase it down. Yeah, there's a metaphor in there somewhere.

The kid evolved into a phenom of his sport simply by repetition, experience and overall pure love for what he was doing. For him, it wasn't work. It was desire.

I'm not sorry to say that I didn't make it in Baseball. I obviously didn't want it enough. I had access to a ball and a brick wall and a can of spray paint. And honestly I didn't even really consider going for it. I chose my friends and the freedom of summer over committing myself to Baseball. It was an easy choice for a young dude. But I can't say that I didn't look back, because I did. I look back on other crossroads I've come to in life as well. I realize I've made some minor, not-well-thought-out decisions for sure, but when it comes to the big life decisions, I feel dignified with every direction I chose at every set of crossroads I've come across thus far. One of them was what lead me here to this moment, writing this.

I left Canada over three years ago. Before I boarded the plane I wrote a message to everyone stating that I wasn't coming back until I had really figured myself out and “found a career that I love as much as everything else that I love.” When I finally returned in August of last year I was sure of one thing:

My hobby, my sport, my career, my desire, my love is LIFE.

Family & friends, music, film, photography, cookin', drinkin', tokin', creating, painting, sharing, sweet hot loving, trading, playing, learning, teaching, and traveling.... these are the wonderful necessities I have to enjoy it successfully. And I feel beyond blessed to have all that I do.

Five n' a half months spent in Ontario provided me with an interesting review of who I was when I left and who I am now. I was able to see where I had been and what I had done abroad through the eyes of the people I cared about most. I had never felt so at home before being away from it. And the best part was the alleviation of my concern that my family wouldn't fully understand or support my decision to keep on traveling. Because of all the life decisions I've made, this was perhaps the easiest. It was easy because I know now what I'm here to do. Whether or not you believe in past lives, destinies or any of that, doesn't matter. I believe that this time I have here is all that I get and as far as destiny goes, this is it: Writing my story as I live it. So naturally, I'm gonna make it an epic one.

The year 2013 is still fresh and new. I'm thirty years young and officially into the next chapter of my life, which is shaping up to be the best one yet.

Another crossroads is waiting on the horizon. I can't hardly wait for it. I'm doing all the things I love to do and sometimes I even get paid. But if I'm not working for money, I'm working for me. When I'm working for both, I'm living the dream.

Lesson Learned

The more people I meet (whether I connect with them or completely oppose them) and the farther I go (both geographically and mentally), the more confidently I believe in myself and love everything else.

 

I'm beginning to jam on the ukulele in the same way that I like to explore a woman's body. In those moments after a sexual escapade where we are both so satisfied and floating comfortably. That's where it's at. I dig those more than the romp itself sometimes. I cover a lot of the body-map with my nose and kisses. I connect the dots on moles and beauty marks. I look for those dimples in the small of the back, and if they're there, I stay a while. I do a lot of other stuff too but I don't wanna give it all up.

Restless now. 

I started writing this because I was playin' around on the uke and I realized how familiar it's becoming to me and how I'm beginning to see it up close now. I feel like I'm right down there, wandering through each fret, jumping curiously from string to string. It's a fucking great feeling. But if a woman was beside me right now we'd really be making music.