I’m sitting on the front patio of the bungalow we have rented for the absurd price of $17 a night, watching the morning unfold. The hammock that hangs in our front yard is swaying in the breeze. I’d be in there, but it’s hard to type in a hammock. It’s hard to read in one too, as I experienced yesterday. It’s much easier to nap. The ocean is about 50 yards away, with a field full of chickens and cows standing between us and the gently lapping waves. I’m pretty sure one of the chickens is sneezing, which I didn’t even know was possible.
And here I am, thinking about home.
Maybe it’s because I miss our dog a lot. Giulia said last night that pretty much every animal she sees makes her think of Augustus. I agree.
We’re 7 weeks into our 4 months of traveling, and I have lately found myself thinking about home quite a bit. We have found ourselves in some exceptional places: the vibrant hustle of Tokyo, a lush farm in rural Bali, a surfer’s paradise in Southern Lombok, and now Gili Air, a sparsely inhabited island with no cars and no worries.
And best of all about these places, far more important than the clarity of the ocean water or the quality of the surf, we have learned in them. Japan was a profound reminder of the joys of family. Farming in Bali afforded us insight into going slowly, slowly. And we have more to see, and more to learn. We are going to another farm on Java in a few days, and have an entire month at Kenya to find inspiration in the Daraja community, not to mention Italy and New York City.
When we planned our trip, 4 months felt like a long time. We were really doing it, unplugging and disappearing for a long time. “Wow, 4 months!” our friends from home would say breathlessly.
Out on the road, the travelers we meet scoff a bit at our 4 months. “4 months? We’re gone for 10 months.” 4 months is a drop in the bucket. The vagabond lifestyle seems to thrive on endurance, and shun commitment.
And that’s actually why I find myself thinking about home. I like traveling, a lot, but am sometimes wary of travelers. “What are you running away from?” I always want to ask. “Why have you abandoned your job and your friends and your family? You meet cool people on the road, but don’t you basically end up having a similar, casual conversation with the different people you meet almost every day? ‘Where have you been, what did you see, and where are you going?’ Don’t you miss the challenges and rewards of finding meaning in the painfully routine life?”
I know why we left. We left because Giulia got sick. We were the center of attention for both of our families for obvious and understandable reasons. Every feeling and emotion was analyzed by a dozen worrying minds. For me, I was the epi-center of massive decisions and communication. It’s tiring to be so closely observed, even when it is obviously done out of love. We needed to find permissible lack of contact and obscurity, and so we traveled.
But I see long-term vagabonding as an extreme. It’s not “unplugging,” it’s more like shutting down entirely. To me, it sits on the opposite end of the spectrum of the rat-racer, who is constantly plugged in and connected. One on extreme is selfishness dictated by career. On the other extreme is selfishness dictated by escape.
The reason I keep thinking about home is because I am trying to understand how to put all of what I’m seeing and learning into my life at home, and how to navigate between those to extremes. This lifestyle is hard to replicate at home if I am interested in being a responsible adult male, which I very much am. I spent the last year maniacally focused on being a good husband, at the cost of being a pretty aloof, bad son, brother, and friend. If I keep traveling with Giulia, I may still continue to be a good husband, but it will be hard for me to be a good son, brother, friend, or eventually father.
The comments we get at this blog are fantastic, and many of them evoke this exact sentiment. “Thanks for your thoughts. I want to incorporate them into my life at home.” In many ways, sentiments like that make you guys the impressive, brave ones. You’re already taking the next step of your journeys, which is to connect with someone else’s insight, and immediately attempt to put it into your lifestyle.
That step is the one I’m beginning to focus on, albeit a bit early. Can I go back to California and teach in a private school and continue to give slowly, slowly? I’m not sure. Can I be a freelance writer and be a responsible, contributing adult to my family? I’m also not sure.
I don’t want either extreme. But I don’t know where exactly in the realm of moderation I can, and should, dwell.
Yesterday at lunch, with our fantastic meal and fantastic view, I thought of a dear family member who is very sick in the hospital right now. Here I am, in tropical paradise, quite literally, and there she is, in a hospital bed, quite literally faced with the unknown. I then thought of September 2009, when my wife was in a hospital bed and we both looked into the unknown with terror, and I wondered who had been sitting at this table at the same restaurant on Gili Air, feeling so content with their life and travels, and I was in awe at the unfair extremes of the human experience.
We are not always facing death, and we are not always experiencing paradise. We spend most of the time somewhere in the middle. In the same way, we are not always escaping our responsibilities, nor are we always crushed by them. We are somewhere in the middle.
My question is where in the middle. And what does that middle even look like.
I don’t need to know right now. I’m going scuba diving in an hour, so I definitely don’t need to know right now. But I hope that in 2 ½ months, when I’m on the flight back to the US, I better know what that middle looks like, because it’s where I will want to be.
My favorite post thus far
By: C on February 6, 2011
at 1:38 am
You’re searching for The Middle reminds me of my travels in Australia. I was propelled from one lifestyle extreme to another, thinking I needed to be on the other side of where I was coming from. The last week of my 6 month journey was spent on a beautiful island in Fiji. All I wanted was to be home. I wanted to be in The Middle.
Keep pressing forward. The life lessons you learn now will continue to serve you for years to come.
By: Adam Reynolds on February 6, 2011
at 2:34 am
The world will always be out here.
Home will always be there.
No need to fall into a rut in either.
Live. Travel. Work. Play. Write. Love.
Live. Travel. Work. Play. Write. Love.
Live. Travel. Work. Play. Write. Love.
Live. Travel. Work. Play. Write. Love.
No need to fall into a rut in either.
Home will always be there.
The world will always be out here.
By: Jabiz Raisdana on February 6, 2011
at 3:10 am
i have been keeping up with your blog and i love it. yesterday was my last day of work and i am entering same position you are in. i am sad for leaving but excited about the possibilities ahead of me. not having a routine to fall back on is probably the most frightening thing. you are in control of your time so you are responsible for your growth. i await the day i will miss NYC, as of for now i await the day i leave. love you both. cant wait to see you in Kenya. its time to grow. xoxo
Pietro
By: Pietro Collina on February 6, 2011
at 8:25 am
Life is more malleable than many realize, especially for those who are thoughtful and talented. I’m constantly amazed by the different ways people I know have put their lives together–not living someone else’s idea of life, but there own. I have no doubt you’ll figure it out.
By: Sue L. on February 6, 2011
at 3:13 pm
Mark and Giulia, I stumbled on your blog from trying to gauge what it would be like to live in Ocean Beach and I couldn’t have found it at a more opportune time. I appreciate your honesty, that requires equal doses of clarity and willingness to see. I’ve only read the first couple sentences Mark wrote about your experience, Giulia, of falling into something all-consuming, but already I can relate. From my heart to both of you, thank you for sharing, and keep living and loving.
By: Miri on February 6, 2011
at 3:23 pm
Remarkably self-aware and insightful, as usual. I hope I still know you when you’re old, when this native insight has a chance to combine with a lifetime of experience.
But dude — I am going to have to teach you how to hold a fishing rod.
By: Tom Prete on February 6, 2011
at 7:18 pm
Out of all the posts I have read since you started the blog, and I have read them all haha, this one caught me off guard. I don’t know why, if I had to say why it would be because of the tone of it; it’s real. It isn’t about a tropical place or a bustling city, not that they are not interesting or exciting, because they are.
This was just real. It is the only way to put it. I feel like it was one of those empty feelings you get in the pit of your stomach when you realize something just simply cannot work, and if it can, it is a long shot. I don’t feel weird admitting this because it is human nature to, at some point, think about the idea of death. Several times I have found myself trying to sleep wherein I think about “one day”. One day I am going to lose a close family member, which I never have. One day this will all be over. Poof. Gone. The next morning I would wake up and search for that middle, too.
My middle is heaven. Not literal heaven, but “for lack of words” heaven. It could be out there, then again it might not be, but we all never stop looking for it. When it comes time where we do find it, maybe it is too late, or maybe we just do not even realize it.
All of the above is somewhat of a ramble, to be honest, and all I really wanted to comment on was this:
I sit here in a college dorm doing the day to day grind trying to get to my “finish line”. My parents are back South working. My brother is going to bed getting ready for work tomorrow in the City. My other brother is doing his rounds as an RA in his college. Giulia and yourself are in a tropical setting. Your close friend is ill in a hospital.
“Funny the way it is, if you think about it
One kid walks 10 miles to school, another’s dropping out
Funny the way it is, not right or wrong.
On a soldier’s last breath his baby’s being born
Funny the way it is, not right or wrong.
Somebody’s broken heart becomes your favorite song
Funny the way it is, if you think about it.
A kid walks 10 miles to school, another’s dropping out.”
Funny the Way it is by Dave Matthews Band.
I think, if you haven’t heard this song, that these lyrics could give you some further chewing, Mark.
All the best.
By: Christian L on February 7, 2011
at 4:49 pm
All we have is right now.
By: Chris baker on February 7, 2011
at 8:21 pm
Depends on which table it was you were sitting at on gili air, was it the fish, or handmade pasta? Hehe, true on the extremes, and where is the middle, look forward to discussing besok. Your opening up seems to have cracked into a main vein of emotions for your writing, keep on it.
See ya.
By: jocean on February 7, 2011
at 8:29 pm
You’ll know.
And the more days you’re home, the more sure you’ll become – that you know where the middle is, and you know that that’s where you are.
I just got back from Thailand and was worried that as the days went on after coming back home, I’d lose that magical Thai/vacation mindset I was so lucky to find. But it’s been about a month now and the Thai mindset is stronger now than it was in Thailand. It’s found itself in this life and it’s making it’s home here.
I believe that your trip will change you and when you come back, you’ll find that it’s changed your life.
By: Sarah on February 8, 2011
at 1:28 pm
Just as we are hardly ever at each extreme, we are never quite in the middle. I don’t think they are destinations. Rather, they are places we gradually move towards.
I hope you are able to find the direction in which your middle is… which I guess is the purpose of your trip.
Food for thought,
Eric
By: Eric Theis on February 11, 2011
at 9:40 pm