Surrender Dorothy

A woman heaved an enormous backpack onto her back without complaint, she was grinning even. “Where are you off to now?” I asked. “Home,” was the reply, “I’m going home!” Her thrill was palpable and at that moment I realized that I was envious. This was an enormous surprise to me.

I thought that after a restful week in beautiful, peaceful Laos that I had recovered from the emotional assault of Vietnam (details to come). I thought that I was ready for more. And even now as I write this I retain excitement about places I’ve yet to see. But, in that moment, if I could have clicked my heels three times and gone home I would have. Not from a mindfulness of being homesick, but from a point of view of being “done.”

However, two days later I was in an all-day Thai cooking class, totally absorbed, totally full of the sensuality of the smells and flavors, and totally delighted in what I was doing. I thought that in that moment, I would not be anywhere else, doing anything else. Similarly, a week later, as I pedaled my bike through the historic ruins of Sukhothai, Thailand, set amidst lush green and calming countryside, I was happy to be there, happy to have the opportunity, and happy to have the experience.

But days later, when the rain forced me off a Ko Samui beach into a little open-aired thatched hut café, the pendulum swung again. I had ordered a coconut shake (them being out of mango!) and as I sipped the shake, the Thai proprietor slipped Tracy Chapman into the boom box – “Sorry, is all that you can say…” sang Tracy soulfully. Suddenly I was gripped with powerful emotion, I felt my eyes fill with water and my throat get tight. This song has always touched me – as do most Tracy Chapman songs – but there was more to this reaction than the simple emotion accompanying a song sung well. Nor was it my typical “I want to be in love” angst either. Uncharacteristically, I was able to pinpoint the source of the feeling immediately -- I was homesick. Homesick! I missed my music. About that time last year I saw Tracy Chapman in concert. I missed summer – not warm weather, that’s to be sure – but summer, when you go to outdoor concerts, have barbeques, swim a lot, and eat berries, lots of berries.

And yet, that same morning, I was assessing how to spend the remaining 4 to 5 weeks of my journey and I felt sad that it was so close to the end! I haven’t slept in my own bed since Christmas time, but I was already regretting that there’s so much I won’t get to see and do.

But I miss popcorn. I miss talking to someone who knows who I am. I miss my own bed. I miss eating popcorn in my own bed talking to someone who knows who I am.

I know that it is time to come home. At the beginning of my journey I had begun to compile a scale of Travel Groove/Travel Fatigue Indicators. By two of the measures I had fixed – 1) ability to feel awe, and 2) eagerness to see what’s around the corner – my Travel Groove Index is still high. But if you add in other factors, some of which I am now just understanding, my Travel Fatigue outweighs the Travel Groove.

For example, an indicator I had presumed would have an effect on my relative Groove or Fatigue is the number of days since I’ve had a conversation that didn’t involve the words, “how much?” But this Indicator isn’t measure enough; I’d specify it further by saying a conversation in which I can use the full force of my vocabulary. A French Canadian I met in Thailand complained that he really wanted to speak his own language, that there were things he wanted to express and that his English wasn’t sufficient to his thoughts and feelings. He intimated that I was lucky being a native English speaker because everyone defaulted to English to communicate. Yes, that’s very helpful in basic communication, but I still alter the way I speak in those situations. Because it is important to me to be understood and to put others at ease, I don’t use slang, I speak more slowly, and I use minimalist vocabulary. Thus, I often have a similar frustration as my French-Canadian comrade. And I do love conversations, meaty conversations, conversations that take flight, conversations full of wit, humor, and banter. Despite the fantasy, meaningful exchanges with local people are rare, not impossible, but rare. Less rare, but not sufficient to satisfy my hunger, are the conversations with fellow travelers (albeit some have been amazing and totally delightful!). Thus, I go most days without this and I think that contributes to a feeling of isolation that wears me down.

A more important Travel Groove/Travel Fatigue Indicator is one I had not anticipated – the ability to make decisions and when this was written, I was having a harder time making decisions. True, I’ve never been one to make quick decisions unless I have confidence the input is singular and the need to decide is immediate, such as what route to take through rapids while in a kayak or canoe! In normal circumstances I can make reasoned decisions in the amount of time needed, but they are not quick ones. Now I take longer than ever. I am more sensitive to the degree to which imperfect or a lack of information causes me anxiety. And yet, the good news of this is that where the brain has malfunctioned, I am paying much more attention to how I feel after I’ve made a decision and using that feeling to gauge the success of the choice. Imagine – me and feelings (nothing more than feelings) to guide me.

An example of this is that when I arrived in Laos from Vietnam, I had considered taking a bus ride from Vientiane to Vang Vieng to Luang Prabang. I had heard it was lovely scenery and I was feeling sorry that I would be spending so little time in a country that had – from the first breath – made me feel so genuinely welcome, so embraced. In the span of about 36 hours I wavered back and forth constantly certain of the rightness of each decision as it rose to the top. I developed a variety of possible scenarios and listed the pros and cons of each. Finally, I realized a crucial input that far outweighed any of the others – I was tired, deeply tired, physically, emotionally, and psychically tired. I had the skills to carry on – I had more than proven that to myself – but I lacked the will. I just couldn’t face a long bus ride of uncertain comfort and uncertain safety (I really shouldn’t read those U.S. State Department reports!). And I couldn’t face the hassle of dealing with my -- yes -- too much luggage. And I noticed I was saying, far too often, “I'm too old for this.” You can imagine how far gone I was if I was saying that! Feeling somewhat defeated, but knowing it was the right choice, I flew to Luang Prabang and vowed that I would return to Laos when I was refreshed, properly equipped, and that was the only thing I was doing. (Travel in Laos is a lot more rugged and opportunities to wear leopard capris are limited.)

After Laos, came Chiang Mai, Thailand, a favorite jumping off point for treks to hilltribe villages in the northern mountains. I read brochures, listened to pitches, and did a similar vascillation as I did in Laos. This time the answer was clearer – aided considerably by the fact of the rainy season –I was still tired. I was still thinking, “I’m too old for this.” And moreover, I was feeling rebellious of a set tour. So, leaving behind the big bags, I packed my daypack with very few clothes and used a stuff sack as my contingency bag, half-filled with 1) a sleep sack (gross sheets contingency), 2) a towel (minimal lodging amenities contingency), 3) rain gear (rainy season contingency), and 4) a much reduced medical kit (cuts and diarrhea contingency). The remaining half of the stuff sack was left open for a shopping contingency. I bought a cheap plane ticket ($9!!) to Mae Hong Son, near the Burmese border, and determined to make my own tour, and so I did. And except for the anxiety of a small plane landing in mountainous terrain, a wretched room the first night, excessive heat (hey, isn’t this the mountains?!), and a miserable four hour bus ride from Pai to Chiang Mai, it worked out fine.

I began my recovery in a little Thai town called Pai, where I did nothing and didn’t feel I had to apologize to myself about it! I got a massage. I spent four hours at the public swimming pool. I listened to live music. I began to be Deborah again. However, I did not recover fully until well into my beach time in Southern Thailand where I finally yielded completely to my fatigue. There I happily swung in a newly purchased hammock. I did little. I got another massage. I drank Thai rum -- straight. I still didn’t sleep that well, but sometimes napped. And when I regained my ability to make decisions, I knew I was able to go on, but didn’t rush to do so. I thankfully enjoyed the extended company of a delightful man with whom decisions could be shared, with whom conversation was interesting, and who gave me the gift of feeling looked after.

I don’t surrender easily. But the moment I separated “skill” from “will” I was able to release myself from thinking I had to keep going. And now I am coming home and I feel good about it. It’s time. I’m done. I’m done.

Get the popcorn ready.