It has been one hell of a blog break. Six months. One half of a year. And just like that, we are almost in the second half of 2014. Time is passing me by. Literally. By the time I think “hey, let’s blog about this” and try to get out of my inertia of logging on, getting my thoughts together, and make a few comprehensible paragraphs of everything that is going on in my head and around me, the next big thing is already here. And much like the inability to focus on and get involved in this blog, a lot of things in my life are literally passing me by – with no involvement, thought, or focus from me. Barring a good trip here, a good song there, a good book, or just a generally happy afternoon. I have been blaming my lack of uninvolvement on living the expat life. Yeah, I have been using it like an excuse for many, many things. Why? Because at some level, I detest it. Do I have any real reasons? No, none whatsoever. In fact, I have many reasons for feeling exactly the opposite. But I just don’t find this comfortable, homely, indulging, absorbing, this experience. There is something niggling inside of me that I cannot place. I was never a chest-thumping nationalist. In fact, I didn’t know I loved India this MUCH till I got here and got over the initial excitement of newplacenewpeoplenewfoodnewexperiences. Once that high was over, I have been going through life talking and thinking about India more than I’d like to. A lot of this is the rose-tinted glasses theory. I know that. But when you go to sleep night after night many weeks, feeling like a stranger in a city that is home, it is hard not to wonder if you really are happy. If it’s all worth it. If you are losing something in the bargain. If your soul will end up crushed if you end up spending too many years here. For someone who gets over involved in everything that life has to offer, you wonder if this is indifference will become a habit. And if it will crush your soul.
And then you remember the good parts. So. Many. Good. Parts. And you wonder if the expat life has too much to do with materialism. But at a pub in inexpensive Koh Lanta, listening to Floyd in cute Thai accents, feeling a high that you haven’t in months, the sea and the famous “green season” rains just outside, you realize you are the person who found it hard to like a lot of cities you lived in. And it had nothing to do with them. It was always about you. Your always found your doses of happiness in the little things. The blog post you got involved in. That song you LOVED and could’t get enough of. A quiet, happy afternoon with R. A whiskey Saturday or a beer Friday at home. In Floyd. You were never a city dweller. Never will be. it was about the things YOU did. With the few people you liked, whose company you enjoyed. It was about the love of food. And chocolates. Or a pair of silver earrings. It was in the travel. It was about a lot of writing. Not on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Or anything that came with a word limit. It was HERE. On this blog, in the little black books. And you have consciously chosen to ignore that right now, more than ever, you have the bandwidth, the resources, and the sheer need to do and enjoy these things more than ever. And for the first time in your life, you have all of this around you more than ever.
This is post is to remind me that life is good. I think I need to come back here more often than I do. To remind me that life has been good to me. And if I am not grateful for everything that I have.. If I decide to be ungrateful.. I will not know what hit me if any of this gets taken away from me.
Here’s a reminder. That the people I am surrounded with, the experiences I can afford to have either by function of money or bandwidth, are the ones that have really mattered in my entire life. Here’s to taking a deep breath and remembering that I am blessed. Here’s not forgetting to be grateful.