Afghanistan

Prologue

What I enjoyed about this exercise, researching and exploring the good side of Afghanistan is that it truly did add to my quality of life. It replaced things within me that may not have been in the fore front of my mind, but none the less had a place of prominence in my view of that area of the world. It calmed the bubbling muddy waters of what I’ve heard and knew about this country and its conflicts. It gave me an opportunity to allow the murky water to settle and for the water to clear somewhat so I could see beyond the polluted dirt and receive a purer picture.

This pursuit of mine is not about me plugging my ears, squeezing my eyes shut and shouting ‘la, la, la, la’ at the top of my lungs, I’m not ignoring the difficulties this world suffers, but rather I’m choosing to see it from a different angle; an angle that is much more loving and joyful, to bring more of that into my life and to balance out and overshadow the flow of negativity.

We rely so heavily on what is fed to us, accepting it, absorbing it and allowing it to settle within us that it becomes reality and fact in our psyche, cementing in negativity without an understanding how so much of it compounds upon itself until you are heavy with the damage of it.

I choose to break out of that mold and actively seek out what is hidden from us, but is as real and alive and bold as the bleakness that envelope us from too many angles. This is me running out, dedicating my energies to seek and with the knowledge that with loving effort that I will find.

Afghanistan

Superstitions:

So on to my first installment of the Joy and Beauty Network I want to start this blog with a few warnings. Dear treasured and loved and ones, please stay away from rainbows, and most definitely do NOT walk under one! According to Afghan superstition you will change sexes if you do! To clarify, if you walk under a rainbow boys will turn into girls and girls into boys. My goodness! Unless of course it is your life’s mission to do so and can’t quite afford to do it yet, then get out there hunting for those colorful magicians, I’ll even help you.

I hope you’ll be more attentive when doing your daily chores after reading this. Watch your feet when you’re sweeping up your children’s fallen crumbs and bountiful pet hair. For if your feet touches that said broom you will then be falsely accused of something! I say that’s quite the defense, one to pull out of the back pocket if someone points a finger at you charges you with a crime. “But your Honor, I understand why he is falsely accusing me, I was careless and I brushed my foot with the broom”. Case dismissed!

I know we all do things senselessly at times. Twirl your hair, bite your nails, bounce your leg, but if you want to keep life sweet don’t ever open and close scissors mindlessly, for if you do bad luck will befall your life. The universe cannot understand why one would open and close scissor without purpose, surely such a foolish act must be punished with bad luck. So only have those scissors on hand when you need them!

For new parents out there, a few helpful tips, you’ll need a few coins (clean ones!) for these. If your baby is, God forbid, born with an outie bellybutton, get out that clean coin and secure it firmly on top your child’s bellybutton for three days. When the coin is removed, your darling baby will no longer suffer from such a hideous deformity, for they will then have an innie. Another one that requires a coin; though you may want to be prepared in advance because you need a gold one this time, but make sure it’s clean (this is explicit!), is if your baby is born jaundice you let them lick a clean gold coin. Viola! worried parents and doctors, problem solved. You can thank me later.

These of course are but a few superstitions from this culture, but it was amusing to come across them and include them here as it’s a good example as something that connects us to a culture we feel we have no common ground with. We have all grown up with our parents or grandparents sprouting seemly ridiculous reasons why they are doing something or avoiding another. Shaking our heads at how people could possibly believe such absurd notions, but every culture has them, everybody has an older family member that gives you nonsensical advice with great seriousness with their long wrinkled finger waggling in your face. Whether it’s rooted in Canada or Afghanistan, we all have our irrational suspicions.

Poetry:

According to the United Nations statistics, Afghanistan has a 72% illiteracy rate. Without most of their people being able to read or write I discovered in my research this week that poetry is their main source of education, passing of tradition, history, stories and entertainment. This is a nation that has the hearts and souls of poets.

The Afghan people often use a term when debating or arguing a point: ‘Sha’er mega,’ meaning “The poet says.” They quote great poets to validate their opinion or idea. They lean on poetry for support and turn to them for answers that they believe in as strongly as their own thoughts and ideas.

They communicate in poetry, they teach their children the great Persian poets, their memory and history is entangled among words that have rhythm, rhyme and are spoken with a lyrical air that creates spoken music.

I came across many Afghan poets. Some philosophical:

The knowing , the perceptive man
is he who knows about himself,
for in self knowledge and insight
lies knowledge of the holiest.

If in his heart there is no fear,
his deeds are not those of the good,
pay no heed to one who’s skilled
in quoting the Qur’an by heart.

Some moving:

By blood, we are immersed in love of you.
The youth lose their heads for your sake.
I come to you and my heart finds rest.
Away from you, grief clings to my heart like a snake.
I forget the throne of Delhi
when I remember the mountain tops of my Afghan land.
If I must choose between the world and you,
I shall not hesitate to claim your barren deserts as my own.

Others thought provoking:

Who makes these changes?
I shoot an arrow right.
It lands left.
I ride after a deer and find myself
chased by a hog.
I plot to get what I want
and end up in prison.
I dig pits to trap others
and fall in.

I should be suspicious
of what I want.

And all beautiful:

Oh’ Great Mountain, reaching far into the sky!
How long will you find satisfaction in self love?
Though just a tiny butterfly, I am yet free,
To dance on a flower head while you remain shackled.

There was as time in our culture when poetry played a big role, my own mother used to exasperate us with very long poems she memorized from her education that would burst forth by some random word or phrase someone said. Poetry entertained the pharaohs of Egypt and regal royalty of England, recited in the rich households with expensive champagne coursing through their veins. But that is no longer the case; poetry is seen as an old art form. People don’t feel they understand poetry and certainly don’t seek it out or take the time to memorize them or recite them at the dinner table. But in the poor homes of Afghan, in a country torn apart by war, hate and fear they create or recite poetry to relieve, express, share, calm, entertain and strengthen themselves and each other. And I think that’s a mighty beautiful thing.

The Beauty:

Seeing a vision of beauty soothes cradles and lulls. It’s like silky soft sucky blankie being gently laid over your thoughts and feeling and saying ‘hussssssssssshhhhhhhh, go to sleep now.’ It quiets you and fills you up in one deep breath. It makes you feel the power of something bigger, and if you don’t believe in things like that, regardless, you suddenly feel a part of the bigger. It steals time, breath and negativity right out of you leaving you with physically feeling beauty.  As flowery as my writing can be, even I can’t put into words how beauty physically feels, but we all know how it feels, and we need more of it. So here are few pictures of Afghan’s beauty.

A Prayer to Afghanistan

When I think about how much hate, fear and ignorance is funneled towards you 24 hours a day, seven days a week, it makes me sad. So this is my humble contribution to send a little love your way; to the children who live in innocence, to the many poets who string words together to express beauty and deep emotions of your people. To the people of Afghan who love their country fiercely and to the people who live away from their cherished home and are bombarded with words of aversion and generalizations.

Forgive us; forgive me, for only allowing the negativity of your beautiful country to settle on my mind and heart. For choosing to accept what I heard and saw and never once sought beyond it. Now I am looking beyond the darkness and I have seen light; I have seen beauty and profound love and I am grateful that now blots out the many years of night that has cast dark shadows on my perception.

With love from me to you,

Becky

Epilogue

I hope you enjoyed this piece I’ve written about Afghanistan (I know how to spell that properly now), I thoroughly enjoyed my week researching and writing it. For the first time in a long time I had something to look forward to after work, something that made me excited, eager about, made new and interesting thoughts bounce around in my head. I hope that you too have the same thing that gives you the feelings as I’ve discovered. If you haven’t yet, if you want, it will come to
you.

Have a joyful and beautiful week.

Next installment: Akrotiri

The Joy and Beauty Network

There are times when it all builds up, when I’ve reached my saturation point, when I feel I simply cannot absorb any more of it; when my nights are filled with dreams of anxiety, spent tossing and turning and waking up trying to grasp onto the cause of this fretfulness. No theories seem to satisfy and the following night it begins again.

But I did find the source, I found that answer that rested my subconscious somewhat, but I still needed to find a way to lay its concerns to rest, quite literally. It occurred to me after spending another evening after work on the couch in front of the TV flipping through the channels. Through my rapid channel changing I was bombarded with sounds of firing guns, exploding building, shrieks of pain, maniacal laughter; over to CNN about war, terrorism and fear. Frustrated, I snapped off the TV and turned to my book of the week, Stephen King’s The Stand; where I read about murder, insanity and suicide; tossing that away I stumble to the computer and online news stories reported about governments failing their people, diseases seeming to bloom within a large unsuspecting and innocent population. It all made me want to sit on the cold tile floor and weep uncontrollably like a child who is just so overwhelmed and doesn’t know what to do with it all.

I felt weighted with this constant onslaught of violence, fear and pain. From the real life tragedies and suffering, to making it into entertainment to amuse us made me heavy with sadness and anger. I’ve been finding it increasingly difficult to balance it with joy in the face of constant woe.

Woe to me is best description for the way we feel every time we close the newspaper in the morning. When we turn off the late night news before we climb into bed, are you not afflicted with a bit of sadness and despair for what the news have told you the state of world is in? Don’t you feel troubled that generations of children are being entertained with images, games, books, movies, and TV shows filled to the bursting point with violence, fear and misery?

Now this coincided with a bitter sweet discovery about myself. The sweet part being I’ve achieved happiness. I’ve got what I’ve been working for all my life; a great relationship, a great job, a beautiful home, financial security, confidence, health and inner strength. Awesome…now what do I do?

Then comes the bitter part; I have truly left myself feeling embarrassed about this. I don’t know what I want to do with my life now. I don’t know what interests me, what direction I want to head, what goals I feel passionate about or things I want to pursue. I’ve spent my adult life fighting for security and all my fantasy and daydreaming was merely a technique to keep my head from dipping below the surface and drowning in the cold waters of my struggling life. I indulged in them because they sent me to a happy place that made me smile and distracted me from the strains in my life, but I never thought they could be reality; it was a mind trick, a soothing game to propel me through difficulties. Now I have the freedom, the security, the strength and confidence to achieve…but what do I want?

So I asked that question over and over again for days, feeling increasingly more frustrated, but one word kept bobbing in front my face. JOY. Joy, joy, joy, joy. I want to feel joy. “…as though you’d suddenly swallowed a bright piece of that late afternoon sun and it burned in your bosom, sending out a little shower of sparks into every particle.” —Katherine Mansfield. That’s how I’d like to feel please.

So how do I achieve joy? Well that brings me back to the first part of my ramblings, about feeling overwhelmed and bombarded with the dark side of life and noticing how it seems to dominate everything around us; images, radio, ads, entertainment, newspapers, magazines, books, TV, etc. Everything outside us has a deep and profound effect of how we feel and perceive from the inside out. When we see acts of terrorism and war we feel scared, when we see pain and suffering we feel sadness, when we read about tragedy we feel helpless; every negative image or word read elicit a negative feeling within ourselves. And the thing that has always nibbled away at me is there is so little goodness reflected back to us in the same way. Not that there is little goodness amongst all this negativity, but that the beautiful part of life is only showing in one theatre among the twelve, and it’s showing in the old theatre with crappy chairs, small screen and gummy floors. Get my drift?

There is so much joy and beauty out there and I feel it’s not getting the same attention its pal pain and suffering. Years ago I mused that there should be a network solely dedicated to all the good, beautiful and happy things that go on in the world. From the small acts of kindness, to the snuggling deer and dog (saw that one on YouTube) to things that make us laugh and images of breath stealing beauty. A network you could turn to and guarantee to make you smile and produces a much kinder feeling that warms instead of making your stomach ache.

So I’m starting my own version of that. I’ve decided to start with selecting a country of the week and researching it for unique facts, fun stories, recipes of their food, discover their landscapes, traditions and interesting stories and images of beauty. It will be for the purpose of allowing the light to shine on things that is mostly kept hidden to reveal joy and beauty.

I’m simply going in alphabetical order and interestingly enough the first country on that list of 257 is Afghanistan. I think a perfect place to start because when that four syllable word is uttered or read people have an instant thought or feeling about it and I’m betting it’s not a positive one. Well that’s going to change, if for anyone, I want it to change for me and I hope it will for you too.

So I hope you’ll come along with me as I begin this new hobby of mine. I feel excited about it, I feel like I’m on the brink of something…well something good. And since the idea came to me early this week my nights of anxiety are beginning to dissolve away.

Stay tuned for the debut of the Joy and Beauty Network.

P.S. I’m adding to this the following evening because I wanted to share how my night went last night after spending the evening researching Afghanistan for the first time.

It was filled with smiles and a few giggles very late into the night. I still had trouble sleeping but this time it was dominated by fun facts, interesting things I never knew about this country, traditions that sounded beautiful and images of their snow-capped mountain ranges played behind my eyelids.

Feelings that play out in my sleep are very often acted out by the children whom I am working with at the time. If I’m feeling anxious I often have dreams that they are sick or lost but last night my students danced and laughed around my classroom spouting facts and asking me to tell them more about this mysterious country.

So even though I still lost hours of sleep I didn’t begrudge it, in fact I joyfully gave it over. For I was having sweet dreams about Afghanistan! So tell me, who here reading this has ever had sweet dreams of Afghanistan? Yah, that’s what I thought.

The Green-Eyed Monster

I just won a lottery! I’ve lost 20 pounds. I have the perfect husband who worships me. I love my job; my boss is the nicest person in the world.

How do you feel when you hear these things excitably exclaimed in your face as they glow from the inside out with happiness? Perhaps you feel a bit green-eyed?

Here a few of my guilty experiences of envy. A friend designing and renovating her future home with future husband; a very talented writer has self-published his own work twice over, working on the third and quitting his job to write full time; family able to go to family
celebrations without a chance of me attending and one as silly as a someone
growing their own fresh, organic food.

That very talented writer is my brother by the way and I’m ashamed that I haven’t posted his blog address on here before. I humbly do so now: joshmartinink.wordpress.com.
Check him out and buy his books, he’s gifted.

What I’m getting at is this. When we hear of other people’s good fortune, admit it or
not, but one of your very first reactions is…I want that. You feel a little twinge of questioning why they got so lucky, why are they so successful, why do they get rewarded…why not me? And somewhere amid your applauding smile you feel a little bit of resentment towards that person.

This feeling came face to face with me this past weekend when I finally got around to
writing and congratulating my brother on his very exciting and bold endeavour.
The thing is my mom had told me an embarrassingly long time ago, but until I
wrote him I had not realized how limey my vision had become.

I congratulated him but also told him I was a bit envious as well. Once it was in black in
white that word crept off the page and into my chest and I didn’t like how it
felt. As happy as I was for my brother it wasn’t as pure as it should have been
because it was murky with a fine emerald mist of jealousy.

It made me pause and I found myself writing: Negative feelings breed negative thoughts which in turn create negative actions. Doggonit, you’re right Becky Martin! So I began to revaluate how I have reacted privately and quietly to other people’s happy news and I discovered I was having negative feelings and thoughts resulting in negative actions.

Never were the negative actions towards the person who I was genuinely happy for, but
often it would come out in others ways, like a bad mood, throwing off my
routines, being late, irritability and snapping at my husband.

So I’ve decided to heighten my awareness of my thoughts and feelings towards other
people’s successes, rewards, hard earned achievements, victories or good ol’
fashion good luck. Even though the person is never aware I have these feelings,
sometimes neither am I, I feel it can soil the positive thoughts and feelings I
am actually sending them.

I don’t like the way that little monster makes me feel or react to the joy of others, so it
stops today. Congratulations brother Josh for your many successes that has been
earned through courage and hard work. To my beautiful friend Karen who is
building her future home with her now fiancé (announced today!!), I know I’ll
build a castle with my king when the time is write to secure roots. To my
brother Damien who has acquired the knowledge and skills to become greener and
healthier, I hope to learn more from you in the future. To my family who puts
in the time and effort to see each other during times of celebration, I am
happy you are maintaining connections. And even though I can’t be among you I
have nary regret about moving here when we did because one cannot regret being
embraced by a place that opened me up, shook me, cleaned me out, and offered me
clarity. The peace and knowledge of that is worth a congratulations.

I’m Married to a Zombie!

I’m married to a zombie.

Now don’t be alarmed, I’ve known for quite some time, but it’s always amusing when I’m with Craig when his blood pressure is taken. When we gave blood in Canada they
always asked if he was an athlete, swimmer, runner, or close too. Craig has
only ever walked with me several evenings a week for some years now. Most
recently at our annual check up to renew our working VISA’s they took his blood
pressure twice to confirm it was right; the second time it was even lower. I
whispered in Craig’s ear as they were strapping it on the second time “You’re a zombie.” They asked in broken English (twice) if he exercised; when confirmed (twice) they nodded vigorously and released us.

Now I know a thing or two about zombies. Why? Other than being married to one, my respected husband is a tad obsessed with them. It was revealed to me our first Halloween
together when he exposed me to my first zombie movie Night of the Living Dead. The movie poster I ordered online about a year ago now hangs over our computer to commiserate that romantic evening of dismemberment, bad acting and mini chocolate bars.

Since then I have seen dozens of zombie movies and have had countless conversations about them and on many walks have had to plan our escapes, search for potential
weapons and vow to stick together if a zombie outbreak happened on that particular
walk. Another inquiry of where would we go if a zombie apocalypse ravaged the
world? And naturally we’ve had the very important discussions with one another
if we’d want to be eaten/bitten by the other if they became a zombie therefore
joining the other in the world of the undead and embark on whole new culinary
adventure together. Or would we be merciful and kill our spouse with a blow or
shot to the head to relieve them of their unaware torment. Depending on the day
sometimes I want to be a zombie with him other days I want to shoot him in the
head.

A dozen years in a relationship does interesting things to the respected couple. Before
Craig I had never watched a zombie movie, now I can confidently say I’m very educated
and knowledgeable about the undead and if there ever is a zombie apocalypse, I
strongly suggest you contact Craig and I, we know what to do. Trust us; we’ll
take care of you.

Sometime early on in our relationship Craig and I found out through discovering each
other, we discovered ourselves. I live inside out with Craig and have from the
beginning. Meaning I wear my heart, mind and soul as my clothes when we’re
together, but with others I cover it up as I do my body. And then somewhere
along the way you are the one who starts the conversation that you feel very exposed out on the boardwalk and don’t feel very confident about escaping a hoard of zombies if they came our way.  What did I say?!

There is something very apple crumble warming and sweet about knowing not only yourself through another person but knowing another person through you.

As exciting as a young love is I think one that has been baking for a while allows the
ingredients that you’ve put in it over time to mingle, compliment, sweeten and
fill a room with aroma. It will take thirteen, plus thirteen and perhaps
thirteen more years before this dessert is complete, but if willing, with any
dish you have created, you can always change it, improve it and make it better
over time.

Often you fumble with ingredients and rarely are the results what you expect, frequently surprising you, delighting you and making you laugh. I’m thoroughly enjoying stumbling
around, moaning and finding my way with my zombie lover and today I’d gladly
become a zombie to be with him over inflicting a mortal blow to his head.

Snowsilver Rose

I grew up in a household where the new was always piled on top of the old. If you grew out of a pair of shoes you didn’t throw them away, a younger sibling could wear them; the new stiff ones were chucked on top of the floppy seam busting old ones. If you wore the feathers right out of a winter coat and the color has gone from white to grey it was then deemed a Spring or Fall coat to shrug on to play in the yard, the new winter coat would hang over it. We had boxes upon boxes of scarves, mittens and toques; the mud room could easily keep a small village warm. Such was the life of growing up in a family of ten.

Another tidbit of growing up with seven siblings, quality time with your parents rarely existed due to their constant busy lives of caring for and supporting a family of ten. From managing a household (imagine washing 70 pairs of underwear and 140 socks a week, though it was terribly unlikely Mom could ever go more than few days before she had another load to wash), cooking and cleaning for the clan, working your day job then working at home to make the money required support that clan, well you can get the picture that there wasn’t a lot of free time for the parents of the house.

But it was beyond the overflowing mudroom and down the hall to Mom’s cluttered makeup drawer in the upstairs bathroom that my memory turned to yesterday where just opened lipsticks rolled around with ones worn right down to bottom. Dried mascara wands were assured a home in her drawer as nothing seemed to be ever thrown out. Powered blushes dusting the bottom of the drawer in a fine pink mist and some still in their cellophane coexisted together in harmony.

I recently acquired a lipstick poetically named Snowsilver Rose that I swiped on my lips for the first time yesterday and the smell of the Revlon product instantly reminded me of the smell of Mom’s lipsticks and the lip smacked toilet paper she used to blot her painted mouth.

My mother was never a fashionista but she never left the house without mascara and lipstick and for some reason I always found it memorizing to watch her do so. It was either getting ready for church, a board meeting or a social event I found myself following her into the bathroom and watching her apply waxy animal products onto her face and hand her toilet paper to blot at her lips three times, reapplying after each kiss onto the No Name toilet tissue.

The process would take probably no more than five minutes, but they were five minutes of just her and I, for some reason no else found it fascinating to watch our mother color her face. They were five minutes to chat, ask question, get advice, fill her in, complain, all without having to compete with seven others vying for her attention.

I have no idea if Mom even recognized this as a regular thing or remembers me doing this growing up, but on this day, Mother’s Day, it is one of the memories that has resurfaced and makes me feel warm and close to her like I did when in the bathroom together. And so I raise my tube of Snowsilver Rose to you Mom and say thank you for our five minute chats over the years, they are some of my favourite five minute intervals growing up; Happy Mother’s Day.

I Think I’m Falling In Love

I think I’m falling in love.

It’s been an odd relationship. It started out happy, carefree, and full of adventure and laughter. Then it developed into something dark, cold, confusing and at times angry. There was even a time when it bordered on abusive.

But I held on, believing it could get better but mostly just riding on the faith of it instead of putting in the effort to strengthen it. There were glimpses of beauty but for so long I seemed more comfortable with putting it down and not trusting what felt good. Sometimes pain is easier to wrap yourself in than finding the energy to through it off.

Somewhere along our journey together a guide joined me. He started listening to my interactions, repeating it back to me, was gentle with me, kind, generous, and in time made me feel worthy of these caring acts.  

With his company I began to be more considerate towards this relationship. My guide, through example, taught me to handle with a softer touch and I began to want more or of this feeling that made me feel caressed with silk instead of bound in burlap.

At first I demanded, insisted, ordered and bullied for it to be better. Set stipulations and commanded improvement, and in time positive changes resulted. But this was in a form, punishment for so many years of perceived weakness.

It took a long time, but I eventually realized that this was not the way to a blissful union. If you want to feel love you must give love. How could it have taken me so long to understand this? But once I did I began a whole new approach. Give with love, treat with love, speak with love, act with love, think with love and love gives back in abundance.

It took 33 years but I think I finally, maturely, generously and kindly have begun to fall in love with myself.

Don’t perceive this as an egotistical statement because it’s so far from it but rather it’s a proud achievement that I have struggled for all my life. I have been horribly cruel to myself. I have insulted, hurt, punished, allowed to be used and abused; I have at times hated the person who looks back at me in the mirror.

But that is no longer that case, with the love that I can so abundantly give and receive in my relationship with Craig I have learned to love myself. I no longer restrict myself food in fear of gaining weight, but rather feed my body healthy food and exercise it because I want to work together with my body to be the best physical version I can be and that can only be achieved with cooperation, respect and love.

I now believe I am good at my job and have many qualities of worth to offer any place of work. I finally know I am capable of achieving what I want but it is accomplished much faster if I encourage myself with words of value and admiration for my abilities, not drive myself forward with only cold determination and iron will power.

Why share this love affair with others? First, because I’m proud that I have gotten here and that I feel great, secondly? In case you haven’t gotten there yourself yet. I may be unusual in these thinking patterns, and I hope you have discovered or always had this great love affair in your life, but if you haven’t, love is the key.

Be kind to yourself, I assure you, it feels so much lovelier than the whip you’ve been flogging yourself with to advance yourself forward. Giving out love is admirable but it takes a great deal of work, time, effort and tears to look in the mirror with conviction and say, I love you.

Shake AND Stir

Taiwan sure is giving me the ol’ shake and stir to my personality; and this is turning out to be a very good thing.

I would say I’m a pretty adaptable person. I generally like change and new things; in fact I start to feel anxious and unnerved if I’ve been doing the same thing for too long, feeling a need to experience something new but I’m also a very organized person. Someone who plans their new experiences, charts it, graphs, contemplates and mentally prepares herself for it. People often call me adventurous but I’d say it had always been with cautious approach. Then I moved to Taiwan. Taiwan has nudged me to not be so anal about planning my experiences, that life can be much more exciting than anxious when you don’t know what’s around the next corner.

This occurred to me yesterday as we were about to go in, what we thought was something like an Imax experience at one of Taiwan’s new amusement parks. Over the speaker they were giving instructions in Chinese, people around us were talking, we were all waiting for the doors to open; then they did and we then all lined up in separate smaller lines, then the next set of doors opened. We were then guided into seats that had pull down bars and we were whisked away on a roller coaster very similar to the ride through the mountain in Wonderland. Craig and I don’t do roller coaster, we get sick.

But we laughed and groaned and held onto our stomachs through the ride and I couldn’t have been happier or more excited and thrilled. I was delighted that I didn’t know that this was a roller coaster until the first drop of the tracks. I was giddy with anticipation before the doors opened amused that we didn’t know what we were getting into and I suddenly realized that this Becky was so not like that before.

We’ve had to order blindly off of menus with no English, guess at what people are trying to express, go along on trips with people not knowing where we were going or what we were going to do. Knowing people were talking about us but having to accept you won’t know what that is; purchasing appliances with Chinese instructions and having to figure it out by trial and error. Eating a whole variety new fruits and vegetables you don’t know the names of and not having the foggiest what texture or flavour they will yield. And I love it.

But the Becky who now gets kicks out of not know what’s going to happen next, or who’s eager to put the next mysterious food in her mouth and laugh over the fact that in all my 32 years I have never had anything that has tasted like that before, has only emerged over the course of this past year. My first time experience here in Taiwan was not like this. I wanted the familiar, family and friends I knew, food I liked, winter snow and changing of the leaves. What’s so different this time?

I’m not sure I can answer that, but I do now know the thrill of learning to allow life to happen to you instead of you happening to life. Let go of plans, put down the marker for your ‘next five years’ chart, accept those invitations and discover that the unplanned isn’t scary or anxiety inducing, but rather sets you up for things you didn’t even know you wanted to experience until you have.

We think we know what we want. We think we know what makes us happy and gives us pleasure and excitement, but we don’t even know a fraction of it and I’m jazzed about becoming the person who now understands this. So here I am, I’m letting go of my grip and allowing the world around me to show me its treasures that I have kept hidden from myself by choosing to ignore. Life is much more fun this way, relaxing in fact and I eagerly look forward to each new morning that I know is sprinkled with gems for me to pluck up and be dazzled by.