Bali

Hi there,

I'm thrilled to share my journey through Bali with you. This trip was truly a transformative experience. It was my first big international solo trip; I met up with an "adventure travel company" for a week-long cycling tour before exploring alone.

Arriving in Bali was less shocking than I had expected. Instead, it was an old friend tapping me on the shoulder, whispering, "Remember me?" "Remember YOU?"

The chaos and the beauty of the drive were overwhelming…17 miles from the airport to the resort took 1.5 hours. From the backseat, I told myself to relax, breathe, and enjoy the pace the next few weeks would bring. To sit in the exhaustion and the elation of doing this brave thing.

My room is incredible, a four-poster bed draped in mosquito netting, a steel bathtub that opens to a private deck and pool, and an outdoor shower. I walked the seemingly endless grounds of the hotel to find views, sounds, and smells that my mind could have never conjured. At dusk, I opened a beer in my shadowy oasis and cried.

I cried for the warm air licking my tired body, for Lilly, for love, for longing, for the past and for what is next, for my mom, for my friends, for loss, for clarity, for uncertainty, and for the privilege of experiencing a moment so simple and so fucking powerful.

As I stir in my bed this morning, before the sun calls me outside, the tears still come. Today, I'll meet my companions for this week; I'll meet my insecurities and my power. I am ready to meet whatever awaits me on the other side of this.

—

I rode 30 miles today. It was hot and sweaty and exhilarating and wild and peaceful and magic. Before our start, we were blessed with holy water, and rice was pressed into our forehead and chest. A red, white, and black bracelet was tied around our wrists. The red symbolizes creativity and bravery, the black power and protection from evil spirits, and the white spirituality and goodness.

At one point, I separated from the group and opted for a longer ride with the local guide. Wayan led me through rice terraces and pointed out the workers weeding the rice fields.

—

When I was young, I had a recurring nightmare about counting pennies. In this dream, millions of pennies on the tiled bathroom floor required counting. My counted piles would tip over and become commingled with the uncounted, requiring me to start over and over and over. It was a hurried responsibility that could never be completed. I'd awaken full of dread and anxiety. This dream occurred to me as I passed the workers weeding these endless rice fields. A task that was never finished, but there was no dread, no anxiety. The fields were being tended with reverence and patience. At one point, when the ride became long and my legs tired, my guide turned to me and said, "Adeng, adeng." "Slowly, slowly."

—

We feasted on noodles and rice and salad and meats decorated with spices and flavors I'd never tasted. The locals presenting the meal to us observed as we ate and asked numerous times if we enjoyed the food. When we nodded in agreement with full mouths and stomachs, they smiled proudly, watching us with pleasure.

A few of us decided to ride back to the hotel instead of taking a shuttle. We navigated the madness of traffic, scooters, and trucks zooming by in every direction. Californians would never tolerate a group of cyclists in our situation. The Balinese, however, are incredibly polite; one honk to let you know they are behind you, and two to ask you to move over. There was never a moment of rage or irritability with us. Only smiles.

As I prepare to meet the group again to share another meal, I am so tired and so proud of the day.

—

My body hasn’t adjusted to the time difference. Waking at 3 am gives me lots of time to ponder the previous day's adventures and prepare for the day. I sip coffee and have the urge to connect with my people at home. Some guilt comes with having an experience like this. I don't want to appear boastful…yet it is so magnificent that it's impossible not to want to share. But I know not everyone in my life can participate in this joy.

—

I stumbled upon a piece I wrote in a creative writing class in 2018. In the piece, I considered turning 40 and contemplated, "Is this it?!"

I wrote about having success, experiencing a seemingly whole and comfortable life, and being completely dissatisfied.

As I type this from my bed with the sounds of the river outside, the light beginning to creep through the sheer shades, and a shy gecko chirping from some corner of my room, I am so thankful I asked myself that question. That was NOT it.