dubious goal setting
Leaving San Francisco is hard for me. This past year I ripped my life apart to move back home to San Francisco so I could delve into community and deeper relationships and home. And here I am on a plane headed out on a 65 day trip to Indonesia, Denmark, England, Pakistan, Nigeria, and Botswana. Why am I doing this to myself?
I recently discovered a new run in San Francisco’s Marina. It’s so good it makes running the gauntlet of scoff that even uttering the words “The Marina” generates among the cool and hip worth it. I have been running along a dirt path in the Marina down to the base of Golden Gate bridge for years, even before they blocked off the base of that icon, a sure target of terrorists and other evil-doers, and stationed police officers there to spend their days watching surfers and joggers. I have my stripes. This run is as much a part of me as I of it.
So imagine the whole other world of loveliness that opened up to me when, just a couple of weeks ago I discovered that I could run about 20 feet to the right of the very same path I have been pounding for years. That 20 feet puts me on the beach. On the hard packed sand jumping ahead of waves, with San Francisco, Alcatraz, Angel Island, and the whole Bay Area watching over me. It’s best to go early when the tide is going out. This run alone is worth at least $60,000 of the San Francisco house premium. How could I have not ventured off the hard pack road before? (and no, I am not going to turn that into some deep metaphor dripping with life and meaning)
So my heart was a bit confused and heavy this morning as I sat in my friend Jess’s car, taking the always outrageous and fabulous Mila to preschool on the way to the airport. I mean, perhaps my friend C. had it right when she said she more interested in very local, very concrete actions. What are these airy-fairy macro papers I write for far-away countries ever actually do? And not for the world, but for me? “They” say that deep connections and community are the key and what can an airline stewardess serving me warm toasted nuts half-way across the Pacific offer me on this front?
I also worry that I am making my cat diabetic. He doesn’t like it when I leave. Once, when he saw me pull my suitcase out, he promptly peed on my bed. Now, he has started to drink inordinate amounts of water, which my vet says might be a sign of diabetes which someone once told me stress, like the kind of stress caused by an owner leaving, can give a cat. Fuck. There wasn’t even time before I got on the plane to take the cat back to the vet for the battery of expensive tests to determine if my negligence in providing a stable continuous home for my cat has led to diabetes or not.
And then I spiral out in that well-worn tract towards mountains from molehills. Why is my cat one of my biggest relationship worries? Shouldn’t I be worrying about bigger things? Like people? I now worry about the state of my life when the one that will miss me the most is a cat. I mean, sure, other people will miss me, but has anyone gone diabetic because I left? I think not. Cat: 1. Humanity: 0.
So I decided that once I got on this plane, I would write what my vision of “success” for this trip. To work my fears and worries out on paper and see how I can balance them with some good. In an interview, Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat Pray Love, talked about the “physics of a quest.” She said:
What I’ve come to believe (only because I can’t not believe it, given what this journey has brought to me) is that there is such a thing as “the physics of a quest” — which is to say that there is a divine hidden force behind human questing that is as natural and inevitable as gravity or equilibrium or mortality. That equation works something like this — if you really do commit to going out there in the world (or in there, deep down in yourself) on a search for truth, and if you really do bravely cut away all that is comforting and confining to you, and if you really are prepared to see anything that happens to you as expression of truth that has been offered up for your own benefit and learning — then revelation will not be withheld from you. You will be shown who you are and what it all means. And if revelation doesn’t occur, well, it either means you need to look more closely or that you weren’t really listening carefully enough. Or — worst-case scenario — that you can sue the universe for breach of contract…
So as my friend Jess drove me to the airport, I decided if I was going to be parted from San Francisco, I would be on a quest. I could hardly wait to get on the quiet of my airplane seat and write myself some quest goals. But only after I meditated a bit. Got down to my belly and in touch with my inner intentions, desires, and motivations. Maybe even levitated a bit out of my seat, just to freak out my neighbor. Unless my neighbor is a person with whom I want to connect. Then I might regret not getting up even earlier than my flight required to actually, you know, shower.
I am not sure if the following quite really meet the definition of a quest, but it’s what i want to get out of the next two months:
1. To laugh. To be in the moment and to enjoy life. To deepen my joy. I should probably add some deep Buddhist California hippy goal like to meditate or to breathe, when, in fact, I have given up on such lofty goals. And yes, I see the irony in writing off those labels while still making them a goal. If nothing else, it will be mighty hard to be stagnant on a trip like this. Perhaps I have yet to learn the art of destagnification in the mundane and, like a junkie, must find it in tropical and lurid environments. On the other hand, my friend Shell says she is at her best when she flows and travels. I would like to push myself to be at a new best. I want to come to terms with this lifestyle and define it and not let it define me. I am a 21st century warrior, fighting for my soul in this globalized world of inequality, hardship, and decadence. I want rise to the challenge of it and flow, flow, flow with joy, peace, and a couple of indigenous chatchkis for my mantleplace when I come home.
2. To write. And not crap, but sheer Nobel Peace Prize genius writing. Actually, at this point in my writing career, I will take writing anything at all. Is it possible to have writers block for years? Continuously taking writing classes does not a writer make, just a less healthy bank account, unless one actually, you know, writes. And I have not been.
3. To connect with some interesting people. I have to say that I have met some wild characters, the stuff of legends, while traveling to far-away places. Like the guy who had AK-47 rocket launchers mounted to the top of his Land Rover in Mozambique. Or the guy who bought and sold stocks in the back alleys that constituted the Romanian stock market at the fall of communism. Now, as much as I love and cherish the people in my life, I have to admit I don’t run into that brand of nuttiness back home, no matter how long I stand at the organic fruit counter at Whole Foods or bike at the triathlete spin class or even run along the beach in the Marina. I cherish the pioneers I meet when I step out of the ordinary, flow, and go.
4. To become genius at spinning poi. Last year, I set for myself six goals to accomplish in the next five years. This is a huge step forward for someone like myself who has never set a goal in my life. I just find it a frickin’ miracle that I can get out of bed and find my shoes in the morning. And now I have goals. Holy crap. One of the goals is that I want to be a fire spinner in the conclave at burning man. Them be some buzz words from that burner scene. So, I took a fire spinning class last fall, practiced hard, and, being the over-achiever that I am, was “the best one” in the class by the end (and that’s not just my IMHO – check it out). So in January, I started in on the intermediate class and suddenly I went from top to the worst student. New people joined our group who could actually spin instead of making those faltering movements of us beginners. Some from my previous class had suddenly “got it” and were jamming. I still flailed pathetically. In our final class, the one where we actually light up, I even managed to fling a flaming ball of fire across my face. Despite initial thoughts of, “well, this isn’t going to look good at Monday’s meeting,” I just seared some nose hairs. I have brought my poi balls with me and a poi video with me and plan on spending many hours in my hotel room practicing planes and turns and other spin moves. At the same time I fear that this solo hotel room practicing time will not just interfere with goal number three above but represent a complete failure of it. I guess I would like to figure out how to achieve both.
5. To figure out a bit more about my next step in my career. I sense a bit of a shift coming on. My interests wandering to new areas.
So there we have it. Five goals. 65 days. One life.
