Wu Wei We Go

In Explanation of My Extended Absence From My Duties

2012-10-11T16:23:00.000-06:00

Sooo, you may have noticed that I haven't had a blog post in quite some time. Or then again, maybe you haven't. Blogs are a bit like morning disc jockeys that you listen to but barely notice when they are unceremoniously replaced by cheaper talent. Fortunately my analogy does not include unceremonious dumping. Matter of fact, I'll do my best to add a little pomp and ceremony to the explanation for my absence.

I know what you're thinking: Sponge Bob is so easily excited. Is this really a big announcement? Well, I will let you, Dear Reader, decide. But as you have been following this blog about our family's sabbatical in Ecuador, I will presume you are either family or interested in the idea of a family sabbatical. So to my family and to the other two people still subscribed to this blog, I am happy to say that my excuse for neglecting this blog has been to focus on our new website, called Radical Family Sabbatical. (To minimize the many opportunities I've provided for you to misspell the URL, you can just click that link to go there.)

Radical Family Sabbatical is our attempt to provide families and others a resource to help them take a break from their hectic lives, spend more time together, and discover the world and themselves by taking a sabbatical. We want to give others what we could have used ourselves, sure, but we also want to inspire those for whom a sabbatical is a mere dream or who otherwise might not experience such an amazing adventure without a little push out of the nest.

Every week we send new articles to subscribers about planning sabbaticals, dealing with work or business concerns, travel and destinations, education solutions, financial preparations, and even personal growth and giving that sabbaticals inspire. We also feature veteran sabbatical families every week from all walks of life and from every kind of sabbatical experience.

If you haven't already unsubscribed from this blog, then you'll at least be able to tolerate the same snarky tone in Radical Family Sabbatical. And while many of the articles are provided by authors, industry experts, and other sabbatical veterans, we always work to ensure you are entertained while learning a little something.

Anyhoo, that's the lowdown. And I'd like to thank those of you who have followed our story here, and we hope you'll drop by Radical Family Sabbatical to check it out and sign up to receive our regular articles and family features.

Matt Scherr
Editor and highly unpaid principal at
Radical Family Sabbatical

The panda and the streak

2012-05-03T13:12:00.000-06:00

http://www.morgan.ie/paintings.html

I am an introvert. That's what Meyers and Briggs tell me, anyhow, and I'm inclined to agree with them. That doesn't mean I don't like to go out in public, spend time with my friends, or put on large Broadway-style productions the parking lot of Home Depot on a Saturday. It just means that left in front of my computer or in my house, I sometimes forget that those things are important. (My wife Diana, who is an extrovert, can also forget. But, as we learned while living out in the country in Ecuador, her subconscious gives off subtle little hints that she needs to mingle, such as putting the barrel of a loaded gun in my mouth and speaking in a slow Clint Eastwood voice, "Take me back to PEOPLE!")

But what my being an introvert means to you, dear reader, is that I also forget that this is not a diary, but a blog. But a blog, sometimes, is just a diary running around a football field naked at halftime. It's a bit weird from me, but I have to remember that it's not just all about me. Someone else is looking (at least they were before I went streaking).

I was reminded to remember you, dear reader, as we recently made a decision to pull many of my older posts off of Wu Wei We Go, and there is a "readership" that might notice and care. Now I hardly think this matters for anyone who has been following the blog, as you've either read older posts or you haven't and aren't likely to go back now. But I am old. I am an old introvert. And old means that I have neither kept up with the hyper-connectivity the Internet provides, nor have I developed an interest in it. I come from the generation that would complain to the FCC that we got a sales call at home during Sunday dinner. Now we have beeps, whistles, rings, dings, dongs, pops, and tweets demanding our attention at about the same frequency we inhale and exhale. I have not adapted.

So here's the deal with pulling the posts, as related to me by twenty-somethings who now tell me what to do. See, there's this thing called Panda. Cute, right? But I have panda nightmares. Just like computer operating system versions have names (XP, Vista, Leopard, Lion) so do versions of Google's search algorithms. Now I don't know what an algorithm is, but it's got a cute, fuzzy woozy, widdle name, so I don't feel unjustified in feeling a certain degree of violence against it, like I did with that big, purple dinosaur.

We have been putting together a new website called Radical Family Sabbatical. We're trying to inspire more families to do what we did, and to help them do it. And some of the stuff I've written on Wu Wei We Go would be good content for the site. But. But? But Panda says, "NO!"

Turns out that if people can't find you, you won't do them any good. And being found starts to look like a virtual version of the trading floor of the stock market. So you have to learn how to say just the right things in just the right way to please the panda. It is the reason you'll often see things on websites that make you feel like you've been transported back in time to the days before pronouns were invented.

"…When looking for the perfect couple's retreat, it's often helpful to think about what you want out of your couple's retreat. A couple's retreat is not like a work trip, nor is a couple's retreat like a family vacation. So remember to treat your couple's retreat like the unique experience a couple's retreat should be…"

Sorry, I forgot what we were talking about. Oh, yeah, couple's retrea…Agghhh!

We've already been "structuring" content so that it is not only interesting but ideally searchable. So I've developed a sensitivity to Google's robot panda. But here's what Panda thinks about using posts from this blog on Radical Family Sabbatical: copycats. So, it's gonna be name calling, then, is it?

Duplicate content gets you sent down the Google search results page, which is akin to moving your advertisement from a highway billboard to the inside of your underpants. So, at least in our case, the precise stuff people want to find is harder to find because it's in more than one place. Is this interesting to anyone? NO! of course it's not! So this old, introvert man is trying to create a helpful, interesting, fun, funny, and compelling site and having to do that with some robot panda telling him that "interesting" is not searchable. I am a Luddite. I am an old, introvert Luddite.

When trying to coax an old, introvert luddite out of his cave, best not to greet him with a big, scary, robot panda. But, the twenty-somethings have got me to settle down, roll onto my back, and are scratching my belly, saying, "Just do what we tell you, and everything's gonna be aaaall right…aaaallll right."

So, not that you'd have noticed that we're pulling old posts, but occasionally an introvert's gotta run naked onto the field just to see if anyone notices he's there. Wheeeeeeeee!!!!

In defense of Peter Pan

2012-04-14T10:29:00.000-06:00

I ran into an old acquaintance at a big fundraiser event a bit ago. He's a wise guru-type that I know from my days at a nonprofit leadership organization here in the Vail Valley. It's a boisterous room full of this community's movers and shakers with fat wallets and "mountain chic" attire (whatever that is). "Hey, Matt, what are you up to?" he says. I get a few words out about work. "No, Matt, not your job; how are you serving your purpose?" So much for small talk. I dodged that conversational quagmire by promising some coffee talk later on. But of course that got me thinking about being a grownup.

I used to subscribe to the How to Live a Conventional Life handbook. It's not actually a handbook. What I mean is I used to do what it was I thought I was supposed to do. I traveled Europe after college for only five weeks because I thought I was supposed to get back and get busy finding a job that would start me on a career so I could buy a house and fill it with stuff that would attract a wife and accommodate 2.6 children who would go to college and get careers of their own just before I retired with a pension and a new home on a golf course in a warm town with lots of buffets and senior discounts and bingo tournaments.

After some time in the corporate world — where every job interview starts with "Here in the Nimblybob Division we work hard…and we play hard" (which means you put in a lot of hours, act stressed out but produce very little, then get drunk and embarrass yourselfat quarterly meetings and most Friday afternoons) — I became disillusioned with what it was I thought I was supposed to do.

So I quit that and traveled in Australia & New Zealand for just a couple of months, because I felt the itch to return and do…something…but without a new handbook I didn't know what I was supposed to be doing. I just felt like I needed to be doing something. (It's unfortunate that I didn't realize then that travel was at least as good a way to search for oneself as a job hunt.) I bopped around several conventional jobs all in the telecom industry that I had originally stumbled into. If you've ever read the comic strip Dilbert, you may guess that I was really getting no farther away from a conventional (and absurd) career and life.

I was mercifully laid off my last conventional job when the dot-com bubble burst, and I ended up (eventually) at the nonprofit leadership organization. And it was there that I was finally able to give shape to my vague yearnings for a more meaningful life. And though it was not the first time I'd heard of many of these ideas and concepts, it was the first time I was ready to understand them and apply them. And chief among these was Purpose.

Ech, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit. Unfortunately, my old corporate conditioning still elicits a gag reflex when I use that word. But just because the concept was co-opted by corporate drone machines doesn't mean there isn't truth behind the preachy, trite, corporatey, approach. Participants in our leadership courses used to create Purpose Statements. I don't believe a statement is necessary to live life with purpose, but the exercise of naming my values, creating goals, and, ultimately, considering my special purpose, made me realize that being a grownup is purely an internal, personal measure, and not measured by wealth, status, stuff, or hours spent at work.

Sure, being a contributing member of society, providing and caring for your family, being dependable, etcetera, etcetera, are all important things. But those things happen best because you have "grown up" and been responsible first to yourself and your own development. They are not the measure of grownupedness.

So I've told you all that so I can tell you this.

After having returned from our yearlong non-working family sabbatical in Ecuador, Diana and I have taken jobs we used to do when we were 16 (or maybe 21). Di is at least learning about wine and cheese behind the counter at a gourmet food shop. I just have my head down at a restaurant, bussing tables (and weeping quietly over the great volume of uneaten food I throw in the trashcan). At a point earlier in my life I'd have been ashamed to be sweeping up after the circus parade, but both Di and I now really appreciate a day of physical work, clocking out and leaving work behind, and getting to see people we know every day (though many don't know what to make of us in these roles).

And we are also living in an apartment less than half the size of our home because it's cheaper to do that than kick the renters out of our house so we can go back there. (Diana loves that she can vacuum the whole place in fifteen minutes without ever having to move the plug.)

Admittedly it's easier doing these jobs and living in this space knowing that they are temporary, as we are just rebuilding our professional lives and incomes, not abandoning them altogether. But we find it interesting that in a position that twenty years ago I'd have thought of as failure, we now feel more grownup than ever.

Spring loaded

2012-04-06T04:00:00.000-06:00

More cute photos like these at www.mcclarrinonphotography.com/

The appeal of perpetual spring is undeniable, particularly as an adult after a few afternoons spent on the couch unclenching your back after shoveling snow off your roof. But even though the relative warmth and cheeriness of spring can bring visions of Phoenix or Boca Raton, know that warming is not warmth, and to seek out this transitional state in perpetuity is folly.

This is not true, of course, if you have never known anything but spring. If this is the case, you will define your seasons not by the new rustling of life around you or by dramatic changes in temperature or by pretty girls in short skirts, but rather by whether it’s generally rainy in the morning, or whether you wear long sleeves or short. It is a simpler life with a smaller wardrobe and no need to change your tires twice a year.

For those raised amidst the changing seasons, however, life becomes more complex and, until retirement, you find your body may even need the environmental cues provided by the seasons. Summer is a time of work and movement and production and expression; autumn of slowing, planning, preparing; winter of rest, contemplation, introspection; and spring of thawing, rebirth, revitalization. Of them all, I think the greatest contrast appears to us between winter and spring. And so it is that spring seems so much more warm and pleasant and rich than it really is. Who wouldn’t want to live forever in that rich and soul-stirring environment?

Well, after living with a bunch of kvetching retirees who had just that idea, we know exactly who wouldn’t. But we were only in Cuenca for just over a year, and we found that we wouldn’t want to either. What better concrete example of the necessity of balance, of yin/yang, of The Force than getting what you always thought you wanted, and nothing more? The beauty and wonder and awakening of spring is, for those of us raised with it, so remarkable and exhilarating precisely because it is so fleeting and in such contrast to the season it expels.

Spring is breaking out of the chrysalis of winter, shedding the skin of the past, beating off the dust of lethargy, breathing life back into the dull, brown, brittle, bits of our closeted winter souls. I had posited in an earlier post about some differences I saw in Ecuadorian culture being perhaps related to the lack of seasons. That was more related to the lack of need for planning and preparation in moving into the colder seasons. But I wonder also whether the relative calm and imperturbable demeanor of highland Ecuadorians is also related to having no environmental inspiration to stir, wake, stretch, explore…grow! We seasonal people, by contrast, are emotional, passionate…moody.

Despite our technological mastering of our environment, we humans remain deeply connected to the rhythms of life. In highland Ecuador, though, where spring is eternal, that rhythm is more a hum than a beat. This is no criticism; as I said before, for us it was a realization that, since we grew up along with four very sharply defined seasons, we don't just need those seasons to feel right about ourselves, we are in some senses defined by them. Our song, poetry, emotion, our subconscious rhythms—quite possibly even our DNA—are direct products of these seasonal patterns. And the same is true for highland Ecuadorians, but the rhythms are fundamentally different.

So as we before lamented missing one of the biggest ski seasons in Vail's history, while returning for one of the worst ever, we are reminded that a bad ski season generally means a freaking righteous, warm, beautiful, glorious spring. And so it is this year. And if you wondered just how moody and impetuous we can be, after a lamenting a nearly snowless March with temperatures in the 50s and 60s destroying our ski hills, we have the gall to bitch about an approaching snowstorm that threatens our budding tans.

The Crying Game: Growing Outside Your Comfort Zone

2012-02-24T18:23:00.000-07:00

Can we just go hooooome!?

The other day our seven-year-old, Piper, said out of the blue, "I really, really miss Ecuador, more than I ever missed Colorado when we were in Ecuador." Which is of course, baloney. But we have a drama queen on our hands and everything tends to come in hyperbole. That said, however, the comment came over a dinner with some friends who were talking about their travels in Africa and intended future travels to other parts of the world with their son, and undoubtedly that conversation ruffled the thin veil separating Piper's memory of Ecuador and her life here at home. And so it seems finally, that everything is going according to plan. Mwaa ha ha ha haaaaaaaa!

In the initial parts of long-term travel, before their will has been broken, children (or at least our children) know only that everything is different and not at all what they are used to and want. So nearly everything you do or say, anywhere you go, anything you eat, will be met with rolling eyes, looks of disgust, and claims of generalized malaise. It is after just a few days of such behavior that the inexperienced and deeply caring parent will wonder what is wrong with their children and just what the hell they've gotten themselves into.

But perseverance and patience are still the most essential parental traits here, particularly because you too are out of your own comfort zone. Where's grandma to tag in when you're taking an emotional beating from these adorable little monsters? Where's the neighbor's pre-teen to play mommy's helper so you can go to your room and lock your door for just an hour, or maybe an afternoon…or month?

It's as true with this experience as it is with any other in life: true growth happens only outside your comfort zone. Well, well done, Admiral Shackleton, you've certainly paved the way for massive growth for you and your family. Now you can at least be comforted by the fact that growth itself is nearly always painful. Heh. Heh heh. So really, patience and perseverance are your tools to keep your emotions from mutiny and taking the helm from rationality.

We had prepared ourselves for the discomfort and complaints in Ecuador. No, scratch that—we had expected the complaints; there is nothing you can do to prepare for them outside your own personal spiritual practice and a firm but smooth wall to bang your head against. But if the whole family makes it through that "adjustment period" alive, the number and frequency of complaints reverts back to a level you're accustomed to, and you can get on with day-to-day living.

You will be tempted then to maintain the surroundings to which they (and you) have now grown accustomed. But do not forget that one of the greatest things extended travel can accustom them (and you) to is change. And so, just when the gales of uncertainty and unfamiliarity have stopped rocking their boats, you should consider blowing new winds in their sails and exploring this strange new land you are trying to call home. Force yourselves in situations with locals so you have to speak the language, embarrass yourselves violating customs, travel and get a little lost, eat weird food.

"We don't live in Ecuador; we're just visiting for 21 months," Piper would remind us from the background. Fair enough. Call it what you like; life here is like this. Or at least it is if you (parent) win this battle of wills. Children do not yet understand that that which does not make you kill them makes you all stronger. And you are all truly enjoying your experience. But no matter how happy they are or how much they enjoy an experience, their natural resistance to change will remind them that it's not home or what they are used to, and this whole adventure business was not their idea (which you can largely avoid by engaging the kids in the planning process early on), and they will complain.

But you, the wise parent, the sage, the patient sensei, know that regardless of what they say or seem to feel about it, this experience will forever change them in profound and positive ways. And someday they may even realize this and thank you for it.

Piper expressing (however over-the-top it may have been) that she misses Ecuador is the very first sign we've seen that she appreciates our sabbatical. It was honestly much sooner or more explicit than we ever expected. Time will still tell how profoundly they were affected by the trip, but it warmed the cockles of our hearts, nevertheless.

No matter how your extended travel with your family goes or ends, you and your family will be better prepared to experience change in life, not as pain, but as adventure. This is not delusional coping; change is merely that. The good or the bad of it is entirely our own internal coloring of what is; and when you have traveled hard, your own palette will be equipped with brilliant colors and not just shades of black and white.

Better eating through chemistry

2012-02-17T03:00:00.000-07:00

Continuing on the "adjusting to life back home" series…
Though the cold and snow was obviously the first thing to smack us upside the chin once we exited the airport, the other big adjustments (food, prices, and overwhelming mountains of "stuff") can all be found in one great big interactive museum celebrating the incredible ingenuity, efficiency, and creativity of humankind right alongside its gluttony, vanity, and hubris—the grocery store.

I went for the first time recently (Di is usually our gatherer) and was like a kid in a candy store and a guest at the Holocaust museum all at the same time. It is absolutely jaw dropping what you can find in a North American grocery store. There are fruits and vegetables from all over the world (it's summer somewhere), and packaged food products ostensibly made from or containing actual organic material, and some that are at least honest in branding their product—whatever it's made of, it isn't actually food. (Though "fud" is actually pronounced "food" in Spanish, the speakers of which, you'll notice, are the target of this delicious chew and swallow fud product.)

I was looking down the "snack station" isle absolutely amazed that one side of an entire isle could comprise solely tortilla chips and their dippy accoutrements. But then I looked at the other half and found that, of course, all the other types of chips were forced into another side of the isle (with some bleed over of tortilla chips). An entire 80-foot isle dedicated entirely to chips! If just staring at that makes you thirsty, just hop one isle over for the "beverage" isle. "Beverage" implies that you are to administer these liquids orally. Though it may at first seem silly to you that someone would pay to "quench a mighty thirst" unless stranded somewhere in the Sahara desert, you realize that it is possible to pay even more for water right next to the colored drinks. God help our economy if we all discover faucets.

And given that we are trying to get cash out of turnips these days, we are trying also to limit it's outward flow. And so we are discovering first hand what "environmental justice" means. We selectively buy organic (bell peppers and dairy, gotta go organic…onions and avocados, not so important). But here's what we're faced with.

Catch the price on those (suspiciously fabulous looking) organic peppers? $5 each. Each! OK, kids, enjoy those tasteless, rubber peppers, cuz it's cancer for us tomorrow! And so life back home has, at the very least, taught us to live every day like it's our last.

I'm dreaming of...an Ecuadorian Christmas

2012-02-10T11:32:00.000-07:00

People keep asking how we're adjusting being back home, acknowledging the considerable differences of life in Ecuador to that in Colorado without actually knowing, or at least being able to appreciate, what those differences probably are. Our Ecuadorian friends have wondered the same thing, and since many are not as familiar with the American Way as, well, Americans, I'll do these next posts for them in hopes of also shining a brighter light on the obvious for the locals.

The first full day we spent in Denver after landing saw ten inches of snow. And us and our little chicks without a stitch of winter clothing. So after some quick digging in the grandparents basement and some bits of finish from Target (happy wife), we chucked the kids out in it like fish under the limit. So for those Ecuadorian friends without any experience, here's a short photo primer on what one does when it's too white to stay inside…

Nothing will make an old man's back seize up in paroxysmic spasms than a foot of fresh, heavy snow. But give a man a snowblower, and watch him skip meals as he happily blows out all the neighbors in a half-mile radius. Sure the stock market's down, he's upside down on his house, and work stinks and barely pays the bills, but what of those things when he can sweep away winter's worst like Paul Bunyon felling a forest. What hath God wrought, indeed.

A child's first instinct, on the other hand, is less waging war and more waging peace. This is called "making snow angels," and when done properly leaves a silhouette precisely like those on the fronts of hymnals and entrances to FAO Schwartz stores at Christmastime.

We do feed them

No, these children haven't just had their tongues pulled off the metal trash can lid; this is a tradition as old as children, snow, and tongues themselves—catching snow on your tongue.

This is something you do when you want to feel like a you're an explorer in the olden days. It's called snowshoeing, and on this packed trail the big paddles on your feet—"snowshoes"—are as necessary as a canoe on a frozen lake. But if you do manage to find deep, undisturbed powder you can imagine that you're walking on clouds with special "cloud shoes". That's how they walk on clouds in cartoons usually.

We don't actually live in the town of Vail. No real people do—just lift operators and people in animal costumes. So going into Vail is like going on vacation. Our little town just down the road from Vail, called Minturn, struggles to provide water to its citizens. Vail pays people lots of money to make melting sculptures out of frozen water.

These are from a series of snow polar bear sculptures in Vail Village. We actually know the artist, Karl Krueger. He's world famous in Vail. He's really an architect, but he does this stuff to annoy his wife. We all like him better when he does bears, though, so you can help us all out by buying a commemorative miniature of one of the bears that won't even melt. Check this out. Call him and tell him he should give you a special deal because you saw it here. It'll work; he's an artist, not a businessman.

Contact the Artist:
Karl Krueger
kruegerarchitect@comcast.net
970-748-1504

Ha ha!

And this is, of course, ice skating. It was created by frustrated parents so they could point and laugh at the children who so often cause them grief and make them look foolish. It works by reducing the stable surface area of the bottom of your foot by 98% with a slim metal blade that also directs your body's inertia forward or backward on the ice with no way to stop it. You'd love it. It's great.

Ecuador, producer of the best cocoa in the world, can take credit for children in cold climates doing anything at all outside in the cold. Because this is the only reason that they do.

Cocoa face

But adjust to the cold and snow? It seems some of our bodies haven't quite.

Teeter Without a Totter: Work/Life Balance

2012-02-03T18:18:00.000-07:00

Hot on the tail of my last post, Di and I talked a bit about life balance. A part of our motivation to take a family Sabbatical was to "get away from it all". We certainly succeeded. But even when you do succeed in being purposeful with your time on what amounts to an extended holiday, there is something about "work" (in the sense of how you make a living) that is still essential and rewarding like nothing else. So as we now look around for work back home and twiddle our mental thumbs in the meantime, Di suggested the need for a post about the other half of the balance that we're all usually trying to get away from.

As Nigel Marsh says in this TED Talk of his, "I found it quite easy to balance life and work…when I didn't have any work." When you swing the pendulum far away from what we all generally consider to be the necessary evil of work, it comes back to hit you right in the forehead with the realization that you don't need to—nay, can't—do away with it; you need instead to balance it with your spiritual, emotional, social, and family lives. Oooooohhh, so that's what they call it work/life balance.

Piper has recently been complaining about being bored with just playing all the time. She's actually just making a poor case as to why they should be able to watch movies, but I think we grownups are experiencing something similar that probably comes from that amazing childhood skill of creating something to do out of nothing. We adults have a similar, if less adorable, capacity to completely fill our free time with things that make us feel like we are accomplishing something by the mere fact that we are doing something. But as someone once asked me (in an elevator, probably), are you a human being or a human doing?

We found our time on sabbatical, and even still here at home while unemployed, inexplicably occupied. For me, it is not until I apply filters (scheduling tasks, not answering the phone, staying off e-mail, etc.) that all those distractions go away. And then I try to plan and measure all my work by output, not by hours put in. I believe that is the greatest problem we all have with spending too much time at work—by focusing on the work itself and not why we work. No matter how much you love any kind of work, it is rarely fulfilling spend time on it without feeling it is time well spent.

So, now that we have walked quickly enough from one side of the teeter totter to the other to make it bang the other side, we're inching our way back to try to find the sweet spot in the middle.

Seeing Behind Your Own Reflection: Planning & Purpose

2012-01-27T18:10:00.000-07:00

Could you move, please? Trying to take a picture here.

People ask how our sabbatical was. It was great, I say. Then they say with their eyes, Thank you, Anderson Cooper, for that invaluable piece of investigative journalism. Seems they're looking for something more. But it's a small talk question with no good small talk answer. So I'll try to be specific with some answers, starting with…what we learned about planning and purpose.

Diana and I were overworked before our sabbatical, so I hope I can be forgiven for fantasies of lazing in a hammock in Ecuador, sipping fruity drinks with umbrellas, whilst the kids were being enriched in school all day. But you can stare at your toes only so long. So I had a list of things I'd enrich myself with. Learn to play guitar. Learn to draw. Read War and Peace (or was it Crime and Punishment?). Stuff like that. But it turns out that a goal without a plan is like a husband with a remote control but no channel guide.

Some people are naturally single-minded, purposeful, and focused. Di and I are, shall we say, susceptible to distraction, so we particularly need to plan our goals, objectives, and strategies or we veer off in large-scale Brownian motion—frantically busy, yet accomplishing nothing.
So even though we did some planning, we were fortunate enough to learn through our sabbatical that our planning can stand some improvement.

First thing we learned was that some of our goals were so nondescript as to be faits accomplis. Learn Spanish. OK. "Una otra cerveza, por favor." Done. Next?

So some sort of qualification helps. What would you like to be able to do with the Spanish you speak? Clearly ordering another beer tops the list but hopefully doesn't end it as well. How about be able to have a cocktail conversation in Spanish or be able to talk with our children's teachers?

Then, though we had goals and general ideas of what we wanted out of our sabbatical, we rather expected that once life as we knew it was out of our way we'd be achieving all sorts of things. But once all those typical distractions (jobs, council meetings, committee meetings, managing rental properties, kids' activities, etc., etc.) were gone, we still didn't achieve what we thought we would.

Once having stripped away all the trappings of modern life, then, what could possibly be keeping us from achieving what we believed we could? It was a bit like trying to see behind your own reflection. When everything else was stripped away, it turned out, the only thing left to blame failure on was…us.

Rats.

So, for example, any shortcoming in our Spanish-speaking abilities was clearly not because we had to work overtime or deal with frozen pipes. It was our failure to plan exactly how we would learn Spanish, and how much time we'd dedicate to it, and how we'd measure our progress.

But once we got over feeling crappy and stupid, and came to accept our responsibility to create more structure for ourselves, and forgave those damn people who are naturally driven and organized for making it look so easy, it was an empowering moment. It never, ever was all those distractions of life that we believed monopolized our time; it was always, and shall ever be, how we decided to react (or not) to those things. It's all much more in our control than we thought.

So, self-discovery accomplished. We just need to plan. Right. Now, uhh…exactly how do you make a plan?

Behind white eyes

2012-01-13T04:00:00.000-07:00

Actor's portrayal of the author

People often ask what it's like going back home. It's 21 degrees be-freakin-low zero is what it's like! Sweet Jesus, we really picked a great time to be pedestrians again. Bikers, even. I rode to the coffee shop at 7 this morning with nothing but my eyes exposed. I should have had goggles on. I had goosebumps on my eyeballs. I had to go to the mirror in the bathroom 'cause I swore I was bleeding from my eyes. Turns out it was just most of the water I drank last night, warmed in the furnace of my belly, shot out of my glands like windshield washer fluid to keep my eyeballs from cracking. But it's gotta go somewhere, so there I was in the cafe with ice on my lashes, looking like a sea anemone. I had to ask to stick my head over the grill so I could close my eyes. And when I finally settled into my spot at the cafe, I looked at the weather again and realized...I had forgotten to switch my readout from Celcius to fahrenheit. Heh.

So it turns out it was only 6 below. What a wuss. But in my mind I was at the top of Everest. Sure, I just got back from a year at the equator and was unaccustomed to real cold, but that just goes further to illustrate my point. Which is...what, exactly, I hear you asking by now. My point is that we do not see the world as it is; we see the world as we are (I'm agreeing with the Talmud on that).

My mind, though powerful like a Jedi's, cannot make the air out there any colder than it is. But it can turn to the dark side and make me suffer more just by believing it's colder out than it really is. And so what if I'm unaccustomed to the cold and am more sensitive to it? Nothing has changed in me physiologically, and I'm no more prone to physical harm from the cold than before. But I certainly feel more vulnerable (wuss) and may change my behavior or make different decisions because of that feeling.

If you don't already agree that our world is colored by our own particular lens (why is everything so...white?), have you ever remembered back on something now familiar to you, like, say, your neighborhood, and remembered how it looked when you first saw it? In your mind's eye it is the same, but also somehow different. Or have you ever been attracted to someone then gotten to know them better and found them to be an absolute wanker...and then found them to be actually physically less attractive. Click! you've just turned on your wanker lens to view the same thing differently.

So now that I've given an absolutely ironclad and indisputable proof, let me tell you what I find different about the home we've come back to...nothing. Nothing at all, except of course for those actual physical differences, like different businesses open, larger children, a new welcome sign to Minturn (whooo woooooo!).

When I returned from my younger, backpacking travels, just about the whole world looked different to me. Now...nada. I'm not really sure what that means yet. Have the lenses in my eye hardened. Have they just temporarily frozen? Has my point of view become forever petrified, and am I now ready to sit on my front porch in my rocking chair and yell at those kids on my lawn in between mumblings about how them dang politicians have messed it all up for the common man?

But I have noticed something that does look different to me--me. Where once I returned from travel to find myself in a wholly different space/time continuum--seeing the world rush by in a frenetic pace, watching the busy work to produce and achieve nothing, feeling like a bubble on the surface of a vast and unfathomable sea--now I am no longer a critical observer. I am (finally) concerned more with the world that I can create rather than the one I observe. If what I see is the product of my own imagination anyway, it's high time to use my imagination to create what I see.

And so tomorrow I walk into the cafe as Frozen Winter Man! Now bring me my coffee.

The other side of the glass

2012-01-10T03:00:00.000-07:00

Oh, I love this movie.

We aren't living in our home in Minturn, Colorado WW right now. We've got renters in our house for at least four more months, so we're living in a condo in nearby Avon. And even after their lease is up, we might let them stay longer, mostly because it costs us half as much to live in this 770 square-foot apartment than our 1700 square-foot house with a yard. But we're also kinda liking this high falootin' city livin'.

Quick geo-social primer on the Vail Valley: Minturn is the only town in the valley that's off the interstate, so it's quaint, quiet, and rustic. The price for peace and quiet is also that little goes on in Minturn, particularly relative to Vail and Avon, the tourist core and the locals' core, respectively. If you live in Minturn you pretty much have to have a car and drive or choose between eating lunch and riding a bus (8...cough, cough...dollars, round trip).

But we are situated in Avon directly below Beaver Creek mountain in Avon, so skiing is a mere five-minute walk away. And the core of Avon (as much as it can be said to have one) is a five-minute walk the other way, around a lake (that currently has free ice-skating). On the other side of that lake is the library and the rec. center (with huge family pool, lap pool, gym, various exercise classes, etc.). Five minutes more gets us to loads of restaurants. And if we've got a load of groceries or retail burdens (or really cranky kids), the free town bus will take us from the center right to our apartment.

So we're pedestrians again. We do have a car, but we've gotten our feet so used to moving regularly back and forth, and our minds used to having free time to think, that we find ourselves walking by choice! Not something we expected from our sabbatical experience. Of course if we end up with regular jobs again you'll have to ask us how that's working out for us.

But another upside is that we're currently figuring out how to grow on the Spanish we learned in Ecuador. And it turns out that by riding the local bus, we might just as well be in Ecuador, or Mexico at least. We still get as many "What are you white people doing here?" stares on the Avon bus as we did in Ecuador. So since we get to practice our Spanish whenever riding the bus, and since the bus is free, we might just spend a few hours a week riding around in circles with the kids. Miren, niños, Big Ben!

We also find that, from a traffic control perspective, home is not quite as pedestrian-friendly as we'd imagined. Having been in a land where the pedestrian is made to feel like a mouse crossing the feline exhibit at the zoo, we seemed to create a fantasy in our minds that at home every corner had a flashing pedestrian crossing sign and sidewalks were always smooth, clean, and wide. Of course this is not the case, but it turns out it need not be the case either, as our experience shortly proved.

Coming now from Ecuador, we have developed a heightened sense for pedestrian life. We have tremendous situational awareness and are planning our routes in our minds to avoid being near traffic. The kids are trained to quickly grab an extended adult hand whenever they see it or hear the "hands!" command. But even in intersections with sight-limiting turns, broad expanse of road to cross, and no pedestrian signs, drivers here almost universally saw our "parents with children crossing road" look (adults side by side, each holding the hand of one child, who are at the center and just behind in the formation), stopped in the street, and waved us across. At one point we had cars stopped in each direction and one waiting to come out of the post office drive.

Bizarro. Great bizarro, though. But we didn't see anyone else out walking. Granted it was snowing, but this is a ski town! Surely everyone is prepared to be snowed on and to slog through snow on the ground? Had we not already lived here we might wonder if we're not in some sort of Truman Show world designed just for us, with everyone else directed to stay out of the shot. But alas, we know it is just habit. Here in the American West you typically have to drive at some point (we have to drive the kids to/from school, now that we're away from their bus routes). And once you get into the habit of driving everywhere, well, you drive everywhere. It's right there, it's easy, it's comfortable, it feels safe (even if it's not). Or maybe it's just easier to keep up with the dog.

Heel!

A Year in the Life or Two: How long should your sabbatical be?

2012-01-06T18:05:00.000-07:00

This would be an easier decision if I had a train

When we had decided to do take a family sabbatical, we figured we'd go for one to two years. Then it got down to planning time. So…one year or two years? For many reasons, not the least of which is money, you pretty much have to plan that one, even if you are whatever, dude, life's a wave; ride it! kind of people like we can be. So we started talking about what a year vs. two years would be like.

Since our first, and really only legitimate, con to taking the sabbatical was tearing the children away from their beloved grandparents, any trip longer than a day was a downside to a longer stay. And despite many people misunderstanding this adventure by asking, "What's so wrong with where you live that you'd want to leave," we really do love where we live and a longer time away would be just more homesickness.

And if we were not going to be making money while there, every month was an added expense. Of course there are few places in the world that cost more to live than Vail, Colorado. Our cost of living in Ecuador was half that of Vail, and that was, in many ways, living better than we do at home (e.g. lots of travel, really nice apartments, eating out).

But we ultimately decided on just shy of two years. (The just shy part was timing to catch the end of Vail's summer, which is the best time of year, despite being a ski resort.) We picked the longer term because we kept reading accounts of others who had taken time off. Whether families, couples, or singles, we kept hearing over again from those who went 10-14 months that they were heading home right when they were getting "in the groove."

And besides, we thought, we could always shorten the trip for any reason--much harder to extend it. And shorten it we did.

So exactly what "the groove" was for people was expressed in different ways, but as we had a 14-month trip, we can now count ourselves among the regretful groovers. We really felt like we were just getting the hang of everything when we left. Things like...

Language
The most obvious thing to get comfortable with is language. Would I already be belaboring a point to say once that so much of life depends upon being able to communicate? When learning a language it is both frustrating to not...quite...be...able to get your point across and exhausting to continually be pushing yourself to do so. We forget that the brain uses calories like any other organ, and the more it's working, the more it uses. Trying to learn and use a new language as an adult is the most intensive brain calisthenics I've ever experienced. Though the only difference in frustration between an adult learning and a child is we were just barely able to keep from throwing ourselves down on the floor in a tantrum. Most of the time.

But just before we left some friends had a going away dinner party in our honor. And we spoke Spanish the whole evening! And our brains didn't hurt afterwards. Granted they were speaking a bit more slowly and clearly than they might otherwise have, but it was a great feeling.

And you can talk all you want about the value of close friends and family, but until you have only several that you can actually communicate richly with, you will never appreciate them enough. Of course we made friends there, and many of them spoke English, but it was generally a struggle for them as well. So our very close friendships were limited to those who were very comfortable with English. But just at the end, as we were really communicating, we started to develop a closeness to many that was cut short by our departure.

Culture
Ethnocentrism, a fancy term I learned in college and am only now using in a legitimate way, will also frustrate even the well-edjumacated person who knows for a fact that just because you can't understand a cultural idiosyncrasy doesn't make it wrong, bad, illegitimate, or stupid (stupid, stupid, STUPID!!!). I know that...for a fact (it's me, it's me, it's me, it's not them). The "island time" trait of Ecuadorians I've discussed before to arrive late, not show up at all, never plan for anything, make (in our estimation) half-hearted efforts, was eternally frustrating to me. A gringo friend then told me, "It's because they live in the moment; today is the only day they'll ever live in." After that it was much easier for me to live with, even if I could never truly appreciate it, as my genes and my own culture developed under a regime of planning and time management. Poor me.

And so we had come to a place of acceptance for the way things are, without trying to figure them out. Fatalism can often serve one well; and sometimes it's the only thing that can.

Food
No matter where you go in the world food will be a challenge. Sure Italy is safe with pastas, pizzas, vegetables, sauces, but did you know the eat things like maggot cheese (Sardinia), raw snails (Sicily), and pork blood cake (Tuscany)? Ecuador's got its share of exotics as well--cuy (guinea pig), corn drink fermented with spit (some jungle tribes' version of chicha)--but for the most part, the challenge in Ecuador is the general plainness of the food. I called it the Midwest of South America (apologies to both), as Ecuadorians play more to the blunt instrument that is the tongue (salt, sweet, sour, bitter) than the velvet glove that is the nose.

But again, even if we never developed a taste for cute, furry pets, we absolutely learned to appreciate some specialties, such as soups, mani de dulce (candied peanuts), chiflas (chips, but from banana, not potato), maiz tostado ("inside out" popcorn, where the fluffy, oily part is inside the large kernel--OK, I was the only one who liked them; as Teddy said, "I have to drink a glass of water for every kernel I eat."), pastel de tres leche (a wet cake made with sweetened condensed milk). I could go on, but I will finish by saying that food was satisfying without being too often tempting, and both Di and I both lost weight.

Systems
We don't even know enough in our own culture to be able to take for granted the importance of knowing how things work. It never occurs to us to realize that things don't have to work the way they do, and if they changed tomorrow we'd all be wandering around like a sheep without its flock. And because Ecuadorians are in the running for the worst mass communicators on the planet, learning how things work is not a quick or simple thing.

But we know which buses go where now (local and interprovincial); how much taxis and food and market textiles should cost; where to find street signs (when present); where to get newspapers, bus passes, mobile phone credit, good coffee and bread; how to get propane (only sold in tanks--no central gas distribution system); and how to street haggle for many of the things we needed.
Alas, our trip was cut shorter than we planned. That was mostly due to finances, but to be honest, I think homesickness weighed in there somewhere. Still, our advice to those considering a sabbatical: Two years! You can always cut it short, but remember that you can regret cutting it short, but you will never regret sticking it out.

2012-01-03T17:56:00.000-07:00

Having named the last post after the famous Biblical parable, I have to confess that I had always believed it to mean something like nomadic and not responsible to one's origins or home. And it was with a sardonic spirit I titled the post that way anyway, as some might feel a sabbatical is irresponsible. But no matter; turns out I had it wrong all along anyway. So if you were like me and had it wrong, get it right here, then let's throw us under the sabbatical microscope.

So prodigal really means wastefully extravagant. I might agree that we weren't as frugal as we might have been in Ecuador. We did make the easy choice of more comfort and spent more per month than we'd planned. And though from a wealth perspective we lived better in Ecuador than we do at home, we still spent only three fifths of what we spend at home. And that's not even including some things such as health insurance, which we didn't need in Ecuador but spent nearly $1000 a month on at home. So we were getting much, much more for our money.

We used only cash, not credit. We would often catch ourselves arguing over 25 cents for a bag of tomatoes. The kids would always groan and plead to take a $2 taxi instead of a 25-cent bus. So we were still practicing frugality, even if not always in the right places. And so it is then a surreal experience to go shopping North American style.

Once home we dove into the deep end of the retail pool at Ikea. We needed some things for the apartment we'll live in until the renters are out of our own house, and Ikea beats even Target for Di's favorite retail therapy. The parking garage alone made me feel like we were going to a professional football game. I couldn't even find an entrance, so we just decided to park anywhere and hoped following other people would lead us there. It kind of had an apocalyptic aura there in the garage. I half expected zombies to start appearing from around pylons, moaning lifelessly as we felt trapped in a sea of concrete and cars.

That didn't happen...this time. So we were instead able to join the flow of dead-eyed mouth breathers shuffling through the thoughtfully constructed representations of a perfect living room, bathroom, bedroom, playroom...

And whatever drug they pipe through the vents certainly works on me. "Honey, look at these body scrubber thingies for the shower; they're super soft, yet firm...and only three dollars!" I did have a mild sense of zombie claustrophobia, though. How would we get out of here when the nice lady looking at curtains turns around with her white eyes and cracked, bloody lips and begs for my brains? Surely just following the arrows through the maze is a rookie video gamer's mistake? Aha, but I have the map that shows the shortcuts. Never go into an Ikea without a map and geo-location chips implanted in your children. They will use the children against you if you lose them, but don't fall for it; they're already one of them. It's too late.

I found it a little disheartening that the cheese at the end of the maze is the self-check cash registers. I think they should have a little piece of Swedish chocolate or one of those meatballs on a toothpick at least. And instead of cringing with every beep across the scanner representing a fresh shovel-full of debt on my credit card, the somehow programmed me to feel some sort of hunter-gatherer excitement that these things are now mine. Look what wonderful things I have brought home to my family. Ooga! And though shopping can already be intoxicating, I predict it's only a matter of time before retailers figure out what Vegas did a long time ago and start offering free drinks at the beginning of the maze.

So as we're hauling out our retail kill in a giant blue bag as big as one of the seven suitcases we lived out of for a year, I wonder just who's prodigal here, anyway? From a material standpoint, we consumed far, far less living in Ecuador. Choice is indeed a wonderful thing to have, but we forget that among our choices of soft, yet firm body scrubber thingies is...none. Washcloths work great. And you then have more money left to choose, say, a vacation with your family.

So though it initially seems like those leaving their home country for a period of time are prodigal (going away, spending money, returning having learned something), could it actually be the opposite? Is it those who leave who are prodigal, or is it what they are leaving?

Whenever we return to the States we kiss the ground (in our minds, anyway). We see, beyond just our home, one of the greatest places in the history of the world. And by traveling we can know not just that, but also why and how it is not the perfect place the myths we are raised with tell us it is. And we also return with the spirit and some idea of how to improve it. But the forces against change (against even the suggestion that our country needs to improve) are legion, and the politicians we choose are unlikely to change anything of substance.

And even if we fix systemic things, it's just a thumb in the dyke. We all wonder what will become of this great economic upheaval. If we fix the broken systemic pieces of our economy without addressing our underlying social and moral failings, will we be handing over our great experiment to the next ready contender. Batter up!

Return of the Prodigal Family

2011-12-29T17:43:00.000-07:00

And now that the prodigal family is returned, let's look at some of the basic whys of the return—the things we already find to appreciate.

We arrived in Miami to well-organized, polite, efficient processing through Passport Control, Customs, and baggage-claim. Sure, we occasionally had to walk around a fresh pool of someone's purged motion sickness (feel better now?), but that was considerately cordoned off with orange cones. Now it's not fair to compare this experience to entering Ecuador, because residents are always treated better than foreigners, but it is refreshing to have at least a sense of order.

We stayed in Miami for a day with our friends, who are also magnificent hosts. I say this because Mike treated us first to beer. To say it was great beer is to first diminish the fact that it was not Pilsner or Club, the two ubiquitous Ecuadorian brews. Choice. Remarkable. And Mike offered us a choice for dinner, which included steak or lobster, or steak and lobster. Or maybe it was just the illusion of choice, but included with the illusion was delicious wine and salad—actual salad, with various greens, chopped vegetables, and dressing.

Awe inspiring

Betsy and Mike asked Piper what she thought of returning to this country. "Good," she said, and then coyly walked over to me and whispered in my ear, "But it doesn't feel like another country." Miami is indeed a soft re-entry, which Mike calls North Havana. In the airport, the unique and attention-grabbing Latin fashion (painted-on spandex, precipitous high heels, determined breasts, and copius bling) abounds as it does in Ecuador. And I realized, after the fact, that the whole conversation I had with the clerk at the snack stand in order to get change to make a phone call was in Spanish, which she initiated.

The beach was trash free and beautiful, but there were no guys pedaling ceviche carts (selling mussels they simply go in the water to replenish, once they've run out). The driving was like buttah, with smooth and orderly infrastructure and drivers actually using the lines that the government went to all the trouble of having painted on the roads (we wondered why they bothered to spend the money in Ecuador).

We ate a delicious Asian lunch. One of the peculiar things in Ecuador was that, though there are Chinese restaurants (as there are in all parts of the world), we never found one that actually tasted like the Chinese food found in all other parts of the world. But, though the green curry was very good, the actual chicken in it had more the consistency of packing peanuts, without any of their flavor. I still miss EcuaChicken. And there's a price for good food: we paid $50 for food that is no better (though more diverse) than an Ecuadorian almuerzo, which would have cost us about $8.

After lunch we went to a playground where Piper again appreciated being home, as we noted that we were about the only English speakers there. But we don't stand out so much in a crown here. As Piper said, "At least nobody's gonna stare at us here."

I initially appreciated hot showers available at all times that don't turn cold when anyone in the building turns on their tap. But then I realized I was spending less time in the shower in Ecuador, and therefore out living my life. But, I still manage to appreciate hot showers, even if it means sacrificing a few minutes of my life a day to hedonism.

I searched in vain for a knife sharpener in Ecuador. I just mean the one you usually have in your knife collection that is actually just a de-burring stone. I could only ever find real knife sharpening services that are overkill for your everyday kitchen needs. And so even with a sharp knife it wasn't much time before I was squishing tomatoes while trying to cut them. Yeah, OK, I won't try to explain to you the little things in my life that really float my boat, but sharp knives is one of them.

There is only one fruit in the States that we found is better than Ecuador. Oranges are more tart and not as sweet in Ecuador. So now I can appreciate oranges and orange juice here.

Snow! Any fears that the kids or we would have a tough time re-entering during the coldest winter months after a year and a half of spring were put to the test our first day in Denver. Ten inches of snow dropped on the city, and we had to scramble to put together some winter protection before the kids bounced themselves right out the door in excitement.

I know the newspaper's here somewhere

Christmas in Cuenca is something people from all over Ecuador come to see. It is beautiful, with its own traditions mingled with some of the more popular ones from around the world (Papa Noel). But for us, of course, it lacks some essential Christmas ingredients: cold, if not snow; real Christmas trees, carols we recognize; and family. We had great friends in Ecuador and met amazing people. Sometimes we'd get frustrated with things in Ecuador, because we didn't have the cultural experience to understand them. And we'd privately wonder how some people, having lived part of their lives in the States, would prefer to live in Ecuador. And the most simple and basic reason is, of course, because it is home. Our home is not better, but we see it differently because it is our home.

So what we most appreciate about coming back, is just being home.

What we'll miss in Ecuador

2011-12-20T22:59:00.001-07:00

We're on a flight back to the U.S. from Ecuador right now, and it already feels like we're fleeing the country to escape the Aw Thaura Tees. I've got $3,000 in cash in my pocket and half our lives in five suitcases, four carry-ons, and four personal items (capable of fitting under the seat in front of us); I was called to the gate at the airport and escorted past drug dogs for a personal checked baggage inspection; my seven-year-old daughter was also called to the gate for a "random" (perhaps a little too cute and innocent) terrorist scanning with the explosive residue attractant little pieces of paper thingys that they feed into the machine thingy to see if she was making explosives with her Sleeper Cell Terrorist Barbie play set; and I realized after boarding that I got through security with a 12-oz bottle of water sticking out of the outside pocket of my backpack. So I thought I should get out the Things We'll Miss About Ecuador post before we're caught.

The chicken and pork. Except they do factory chickens here, too, but you can spot them because they're huge. Go with the wee birds. And you'll just have to get over that they crisp up the pig skin with blowtorches. It's still better than "the other white, tasteless, pasteboard meat" we get in the States.

No child seat and seat belt laws. After seeing a lady driving while talking on a cell phone and breastfeeding her child, I have come to see the value of these personal freedoms.Yep, statistically more kids will die, but then why do we let them eat Burger King six times a week? Yeah, you heard that, didn't you Mr. Politician? Luckily for you and Burger King that the Really Crappy Food Lobby heard it too and is already sending a campaign contribution.

Fun playgrounds. Now it actually does seem to me that the playground industry in the States has come up with some pretty decent stuff in the last ten years that is both pretty fun and still safe, whereas for a time everything was rubber coated to the extent that kids would actually bounce when they fell off something. But half the point of climbing on stuff is to fall off and get hurt. Or to catch your pants or perhaps your flesh on a rusty screw sticking up out of a metal slide. Then a kid really learns something about boundaries and their own limitations. And in these regards Ecuador has the States beat hands down.

Really good and cheap public transit. OK, the buses did feel a bit like a carnival ride, but at 25 cents I'd take them over a carny ride any time. And that 25 cents will take you anywhere in the city. Taxis are also inexpensive and a real hoot, as long as you don't crash or throw up. Spending more than $3 to go anywhere is rare. And the interstate buses are cush and cheap and awesome for Steve Austin and John Cena fans. We're about to return home where a round trip bus ride will cost, not 50 cents, but $8. And taxis are only for rich drunk people.

The almuerzo. This refers both the to the pre fix lunches offered at many restaurants and the still widely held custom of returning home for a long and large lunch with family. When we had Chicha cooking for us we had a fantastic lunch when both kids got home from school and leftovers for dinners and several snacks for Teddy. For restaurant almuerzo you get a big bowl of soup, followed by something like chicken or beef with rice and salad or vegetable, and finally a dessert. And of course a fresh juice, all for about $2.

Chicha. Seriously, part-time help to clean, do laundry, help with the kids, and cook, all included in the rent? Fo shizzle!

Being tall. It's like visiting the North Pole, El Mundo division. One of the first things I appreciated when we arrived was watching a dancing group in a church plaza and realizing I should step back and let the people behind me in front to see better. I could see over all of them. Sometimes I'd just thwack their ears and give them wedgies to see what it was like for the meatheads in my childhood. I honestly don't see the appeal.

A culture of repair, not replace. Though the Chinese Way is quickly catching on with nifty toys and small appliances pre-broken for your convenience, there are still people who fix electronics, shoes, clothing, and countless other things. Labor is super cheap, so it still makes better sense to put a local to work fixing instead of a factory just churning.

Art. I've said before that there is not just great original art for cheap in Ecuador, but also cheap, usually knockoff, art that's still hand done and great. And there are still great artisans in practical crafts, like metalwork, leather, instruments, and furniture. Not much is made by hand in the States anymore, unless it's just art.

The amazing and delicious fruit. Nuff said.

Unmerited speciality. Though of course my loving mother and darling wife think I'm extra special and important without me having to do anything particularly special or important, I'm not used to an entire population thinking that just because of the way I look. All those "poor white man" folks in the States who think the white man now suffers for being white should come to Ecuador and live large. But alas, we're leaving now. The wife and the mom are really gonna have to step it up.

Self Improvement

2011-12-16T17:12:00.000-07:00

Given that we are leaving Cuenca in just three days and Ecuador in four, I've got loads of other super duper important posts to do. But my last post being essentially about self improvement, there is just too much karmic vibe to ignore this post that came out the same day. It's from Leo Babauta's wildly popular "Zen Habits" blog that essentially parried my self improvement thrust. And so…my riposte.

Let's first sum up the post: self improvement is a contradiction. As a tiger chasing its tail, the thing we pursue (contentment) is forever pulled from us by our deliberate search for it. Leo asks in the post where does this self improvement end? When is anyone ever content with who they are?

And perhaps he implicitly answers that question with his advice to realize that we are already perfect and to quash the urge to improve. So the act of improvement seems a contradiction.

But let's back up one step. Explicit delivery of a truth in most mystic traditions is forbidden (or impossible) because the truth imparted inevitably will not be the one received anyhow. If you want someone to get somewhere, you can't tell them where it is; you must tell them how to get there.

So in this case, where's Leo? Well, perhaps if he were to have made this more explicit he would have underlined "urge" in his advice. Because, to realize we are perfect and to quash an urge, would not we believe ourselves to be improved by no longer having an urge to improve? Upon re-reading, then, he never explicitly says that improvement is bad. Following this logical path, he now seems to be implying that the urge to improve is what is suspect.

So to resist the urge to improve while still seeking to improve can remain noble (again, on this logical path). And if Leo's really a student of Buddhism this jives with the essential Buddhist tenant that desire is the source of all suffering.

And Buddhism is nothing if not comfortable with apparent contradictions, as it believes there are no true contradictions (only our own confusion or misunderstanding). Still, Leo seems to be reinforcing the apparent contradiction between self improvement and contentment rather than dissolving it. Bad, sensei, bad (am I confusing my Eastern arts now?).

Funny how I've spent a year of calm relaxation and reflection in a culture that is much more tranquilo, and still I can end up thinking to myself, can you just bottom line this for me, Leo?

So, touché, Leo, or no? I still stick by my self improvement foil, even if I have to reconsider fencing analogies when I end up only dueling with myself.

Typical

2011-12-13T17:03:00.000-07:00

Still drinking out of a ~~wine~~ juice box

Not long after arriving in Ecuador Teddy and I were up late (after 9pm) talking. He related some bonehead thing he did that could just as easily have been anyone's bonehead move. Then he smiled and shook his head, saying "Typical Teddy." Then after a short pause and with the residue of the smile still left on his face and his eyes now looking off into some photo album in his brain, he says, "I gotta make typical Teddy mean something else."

Now, I only pick particularly on Teddy because typical Teddy is such a great line (and he's a pretty hard target to miss), because many of us could say the same thing (or should).

We all work to improve ourselves, I think. It's why I love getting old (besides hoping that one day I'll finally look my age, or at least old enough to drink); if you're honestly working to improve yourself, every year is better than the last. One of the greatest barriers to self improvement…no, wait, the only barrier…is ourselves. We tend to rationalize, deflect, and excuse our way out of taking responsibility for ourselves and our failures. There are many things in life we can blame our little failures on: work got in the way; the kid got sick; it's really cold outside; the dog ate my homework.

But most of those things we shift blame to are just the thing of everyday life. And if we don't take life into account, our lives will ultimately be only stories of why not.

Or so we have found out on this sabbatical. We have stripped away not just our regular jobs, but many other commitments, responsibilities, and time-consuming opportunities. We no longer serve on boards and committees in our community. We don't have many social functions to attend. We don't have lots of friends or family nearby whom we haven't seen in a while and need to spend time with. We have, in short, nothing but ourselves and the day in front of us. Awesome, right?

Well, I don't know about you, but I'm afraid I look better with clothes on. And it's kinda like that. Without all those obligations and opportunities that create the structure of our lives and tell us and others who we are, we are stripped down to the raw us, and some of what we find ain't all that pretty. But unless you honestly know where you're starting, it will take longer to get where you want to go.

Still, unless you are looking at your naked self and seeing what you want to be rather what you don't like, you'll end up trying to fix what's wrong, rather than trying to create what's right. And that may be the greatest lesson we've learned here; be ready to look in the mirror, but don't waste time lamenting what you see. Get busy making typical Teddy mean something else.

A simple life

2011-12-06T10:20:00.001-07:00

Just checked the weather in Denver and Vail. Flip flops may not cut it for friggin' 15 below zero! Good thing we gave them one last dip in the sand. I won't tempt you with too much of this beach trip, except for the cool fishing we got to witness.

These guys get out at first light, driving the net setting crew and the boat to different spots on the beach each day. Once one end of the net is set and the boat's in the water most leave for awhile. A group of about eight guys rows out while letting the net out behind them. A two or three hundred meters out they turn parallel for another couple hundred meters then turn back into the beach to set the other end of the net there.

The net is about 15 feet wide with floats on one side and weights on the other, so with the ends at the beach it acts like a huge hug, sweeping up just about anything in its path.

Once the boat's back, four to seven guys tie up to each end and start heaving. It's a slow and synchronized pull as they all step back the same distance at the same time. When the back guy gets a bit far up the beach he drops off and moves to the front of the line. This takes about an hour before they reach the net on the rope. But after the hundreds of yards of rope and net, most of the catch ends up in a great sloshy, floppy, fishy mass at the end.

All the guys who helped out get fed, and many are paid with parts of the catch. The old guys get first dibs...

the ladies get stuff like starfish and sea horses that we guessed they sell...

gringos get anything inedible they're willing to touch...

and the birds get the rest.

It seems there is an order and process to who gets what, but we couldn't tell how it worked. We did notice that as those with fish scattered to get it put away there was no money changing hands. The owner, it seems, worries about collecting from everyone later, meaning there must be an honor system, as it would have been impossible to track.

Once the good stuff is picked over, the unlucky and unwanted rays and blowfish, which seem the biggest part of the catch, are left to gasp and flop about.

Watch your step

But if you're lucky, a bleeding heart gringo will risk a poke or a sting and chuck you back in the ocean. And if you're really lucky the dog won't snatch you back out again.

After the net's cleaned out and properly ordered, it's back into the boat. If the catch is small they'll do it again. But either way they seem always done by noon. Not a bad day, if you ask me. But, hmm, what if they worked just a little more and made more money...?

Living In a Bubble: Fending Off Conformity

2011-12-02T16:57:00.000-07:00

On one of my "in between" periods of unemployment in my life I traveled Australia and New Zealand for a bit. At the time it was the longest period of travel I'd ever had, long enough that when I returned I had…an event.

I had recently returned to Up Over (from Down Under) and was driving down a busy, major street in Denver. I had a peculiar sensation of moving slowly through all the pulsing energy of a morning commute, isolated and safe, like a Disneyland ride. I was mentally removed—and felt physically removed, as in a bubble—from what seemed surging and insistent purposelessness. This is how it will feel to the first enlightened ants, I think.

But I was on my way to a job interview or some other responsible thing. And I knew I was going to get back into it. So I did a Vulcan mind meld on myself at that moment—rememberrrrr.

And I have remembered, but recalling that memory now and again has only nudged me gradually toward a life more permanently in that bubble of isolation. I recall it now because we are about to leave Ecuador and our sabbatical, and return home to...it. But part of that experience on Colfax Avenue years ago was realizing that I was not walking into this experience; it was not a rip in the space/time/responsibility continuum. It was a state of mind.

And was it a state of mind only, or an early and necessary mental step to achieving a state of being? I choose door number 2, Monty.

And so, as we are returning home, we are thinking about how we incorporate what we have learned on our sabbatical into our lives, no matter where we are or what's happening. Some of those things are merely logistical: how we think about and achieve education for ourselves and the kids; how we continue to learn and use this new language; how we achieve the financial independence to allow a more flexible lifestyle.

But we will lose focus even on those logistical things if we don't also make the state of mind influence our planning and everyday decisions so that ultimately we have a different sensibility and confidence in our own shoulds. For us, and I think most people, what keeps us in the most common denominator and our own personal mediocrity is our natural tendency to measure ourselves against others and feel pressure to conform to social expectations. The phenomenon of, as I've heard it put before, being should on.

That social influence is usually implicit and subtle. When we'd tell people that we were quitting our jobs and living in Ecuador for a year the response was usually, "That's bold." But half the time the emphasis was on bold, implying excited approval, and the other half on that's, being a polite way to say stupid. And what we worried about was not the actual sabbatical itself or coming home poor and unemployed, but what others would think of that.

Would people judge like that? I don't think so. And why should we care if they do? But that's how your mind turns doubt into fear and fear into conformity. Now that we have done the sabbatical and are returning home there will be both real and imagined pressure to get back into the rat race. So we are working on strategies to maintain our current state of mind and make it a state of being, despite pressures to "normalize."

One of the best ways we can think of to maintain that state of mind is make it our business. We're working on a website and "inbox magazine" to encourage and help other families to take sabbaticals. The business itself, if successful, would untether us geographically, provide more flexible income, and help keeping us from stepping in hot, steamy piles of should.

We'll announce that soon, but in the meantime, watch your step.

Overworked

2011-11-30T16:49:00.000-07:00

"Hello, Peter. Whaaaat's happening?"

This from a recent Bloomberg article: Americans working too much. Anyone out there disagree? Anyone since 1975? So Bob, how we doin' there on that working too much thing? I think the article was subtitled "but keep watching TV; it's making you smarter."
Wanna cry? Here's some excerpts from the department of Statistics to Prove What We Already Know.

In 1965 a U.S. Senate subcommittee predicted that due to automation Americans would be working just 20 hours a week and taking at least seven weeks of vacation a year.

In 1991 Joe Average had added 163 hours to his work year since 1973. And now Jane Average (Joe's wife) was also working full time, so the average per family was 500-700 more than the 70's. (And anyone think we're working less than 1991? We surpassed the Japanese by the end of the 90's as the worlds sweathogs.)

Median annual paid vacation time for Joe and Jane these days? Less than one week.

But at least the rest of the world has been having to compete with us to keep up. Right? World?

Dutch workers put in less than 1,400 hours a year and get a minimum of four weeks of vacation a year. I used to do my staff budgeting using the standard figure 2080 hours per year for full time, 120 of that as paid vacation. And the Netherlands has a positive trade balance, ranks fifth in life satisfaction, and enjoys the highest children's welfare (as in well-being, not a government programs) in the world. Man, there are just two things I can't stand in this world...

So, now that the dollar buys less, jobs are scarce, still got the big mortgage…better really start showing 'em who's a hard worker, eh? People keep saying that doing the same thing and expecting different results is the definition of insanity. OK, no, it isn't. It's got nothing to do with insanity. Besides, as a negative motivation, it ignores the fact that these days insanity is cool. But can we agree that doing the same thing and expecting different results is…stupid? I think we can.

So what are you going to do? Think about it next time you've got some time off.

A quiver of insults

2011-11-25T05:00:00.000-07:00

Taking a break from thinking too much--or at least thinking way too seriously--with this little road game. We are all familiar with the terms of venery for many common animals: a herd of cattle, a gaggle of geese, a school of fish. There are also some less common, but very cool names: a parliament of owls, intrusion of cockroaches, and my personal favorite, a murder of crows. And it occurred to me the other day that traveling nationals deserve their own terms to fit our stereotypes for them. Here are some to get us started, and please contribute in the comments.

A complaint of Americans
- or -
A volume (as in loudness) of Americans

An annoyance of Germans

A pretense of French

A riot of Aussies

An excellence (said “eeksulunce”) of Kiwis (New Zealanders)

A whinging of Poms (Brits)

A pint of Irish

A complaisance of Canadians

An intensity of Israelis

A towering of Dutch (they're really freakin' tall)

A flourish of Italians

That should get your judging juices flowing. What else?

Else (suggested by readers)...

- A congress of baboons (not in the tourist vein, but too good to pass up)

My friend the witch doctor--the jungle part II

2011-11-21T20:12:00.001-07:00

Upon seeing the breathtaking display of nature and life that is the Amazon Jungle, one is overcome with the desire to completely destroy it and everything in it.

Seriously, what kind of sick, twisted people come to this place and accept that the stuff they are pulling out of the ground that is used to create fake plastic versions of the real things for T.G.I. Fridays restaurants is an OK thing to do? Of course free marketeers say we're all to blame by buying petroleum products. What the market will bear, and all. But it all becomes very circular when people then try to make consumers informed by requiring information on products and those efforts are quashed by the very industries that say consumers should make the final decisions and should, apparently, be doing all the research themselves, knowing that your average consumer could name all the characters on South Beach before they could even begin to spell petroleum. OCCUPY AMAZON!

You shall not pass, oil man!

Oh, good lord, it's hopeless, isn't it? So, last chance to see. And here's what we saw on our last day in the jungle...

After breakfast we again boarded the river taxi, but this time in our gumboots and several layers of insect repellent. Interesting, we thought, that with all the things the jungle provides, on-skin insect repellent is not one of them. You can cut a hunk of termite nest off a tree and throw it on a fire for excellent ambient repellent, but it's highly inconvenient to carry a smoky fire with oneself through the jungle.

Upon landing at the jungle trail, Juan found some wild monkey-brush seed pods and performed the paint-the-tourists-like-idiots-while-telling-them-they-are-now-warrior-clan ritual.

Well, some are more idiot than others.

But...I'm just a monkey.

Again, the medicinal properties of the jungle are just legion. This particular one--sangre de drago, or dragon's blood--is used as a topical disinfectant and cleanser, for menstrual cramps, general well-being, and halloween vampire costumes.

I think we all would have felt a little disillusioned with Hollywood had there not been swinging on vines.

What's amazing about this little froggy is not just how beautiful it is (the picture doesn't do it justice, of course), but that Juan spotted it hiding amongst these leaves between some exposed roots while he was in full stride. I mean, he's got remarkable colors, granted, but so does his surroundings that he pretty well blended in with.

We were all ready to follow Juan into battle with a rival tribe, should he call for it. Piper was so impressed by him that she chose him to help her with The Crisis of the Tooth.

Yeah, so after this excursion we headed back to the "lodge" for siesta, lunch, and a swim. But immediately upon arrival Piper pulled and Teddy performed a little slapstick that Piper caught the punch line on. She was following Teddy across a mostly-dried mud puddle with boards laid across it. He was on the leading end, she on the trailing end. He stepped off what turned out to be a board with a fulcrum in the middle. In the middle of a step Piper's end drops from beneath her gumboots, her face descends toward the ground, and the board ascends toward the sky. They meet somewhere in between. Thank God I didn't see that happen, because it was bad enough to hear the scream. You know how it is when tough kids, who don't usually scream, scream? Blood curdling. At least to a parent.

The happy result of this brief encounter was an accelerated loss of a loose tooth. Mostly. It was hanging by a tenacious piece of her gum. As I was trying to move her fat lips out of the way to grab the tooth to yank it, she made tiny shakes of her head and pointed at Juan: "Uh uh...hin!" What? "Hin, hin!"

Oh right, the shaman. So Juan looks at me, I give the go-ahead shrug, he nods and walks into the bushes and comes back with a particular leaf. He strips some fibers off the edges and stem of the leaf, spins them together between his palms, and now has a perfectly good string. He makes a slip knot in the middle, loops it around Piper's tooth and yanks it right out. No yelping. Piper asks if the Tooth Fairy comes to the jungle, and Juan explains that here you toss your tooth on the roof; it makes the coming tooth stronger. We also had to explain that the TF is familiar with local customs but still leaves bling under the pillows of little gringas.

Next up for the medicine man--Duncan is our go-to bug attractant who takes the majority of hits for the family team. With that thin white skin he must look like a drink pouch to bugs. No problem for the witch doctor, who gathers a handful of plant pieces, chops them up in the kitchen, wraps them in a particular leaf and lays the package on the coals. Duncan is curious but not scared. And I know that he wouldn't have let me put steaming hot jungle goo all over him, so Juan had clearly made an impression on him as well. After ten minutes or so, the inflammation around the bites had disappeared and the itching had subsided.

It's OK, you only go up to your thighs

After that we crossed the sucking sands and went for another dip in the cool river. Di tried her hand at trying to extend our sabbatical by panning for gold. A couple of back-breaking tries later and we had enough for a couple of $2 almuerzos back home. Pick up the pace, there, Honey.

The felon flash. Damn paparazzi.

Having just kicked a German tourist off his bed

That was our last bit of time in the jungle before we headed out to stay a night in the small town of Misahuallí (like Miss Hawaii). We wanted to check out the monkeys in the central plaza; the cars were just a bonus.

Two days in the jungle was amazing, but if you go, stay longer than that. There is much more we'd like to see...before it's gone.

Heart of Snarkness--the jungle, part I

2011-11-15T10:58:00.001-07:00

We are from a high sierra ecosystem...I think. Whatever it's called, the point I'll make about our ecosystem is that it's sun-baked, windswept, bitterly cold in winter and covered with snow, and dry in summer. We have laws in Colorado prohibiting picking wildflowers or otherwise trampling certain foliage, and limiting hunting and fishing to protect species. It is an ecosystem defined by scarcity. The jungle, on the other hand, is a surging sea of life and abundance.

I don't know if the New Agers or George Lucas are right, but there seems a palpable energy emanating from the thick blanket of life all around you here. I dunno, maybe that was the national convention of municipalities in Tena for the weekend. The climate here is so pleasant that I could see Diana already formulating the opinion that she later expressed that this is her favorite place in Ecuador so far. Even in the hottest part of the day, stay in the shade and it's really just the perfect balance of temperature and humidity.

Jungle taxi

Once away from the relative hustle and bustle of Tena, you are ferried from place to place in the jungle by long, canopied canoes, which themselves are sort of an amusement park ride, especially right now when the rivers are running so low. At one point we all had to get out of the canoe and We Men got out to push it upstream over a shallow spot, though. But that was an adventure, and one you can't get at Disney.

Our first stop was for a short interpretive walk along the riverbank. It is just astounding that wherever you are in the jungle there are probably 1,000 different species of plant and bug and whatnot within arm's reach, and probably 100 of those are used to some amazing practical purpose by the natives. And it bears repeating what most of you know that most of the medicine produced commercially in the world comes from or synthesizes something from the Amazon jungle.

No pain, no gain

Upon lighting again on land, our guide picked a plant, showed us the spines lining it's leaves and stems, then proceeded to beat his knees with it. He's got knee problems from his years playing professional soccer, he explained. About a minute after his self-flagellation he developed blistery welts. So, feel better now? Yes, as a matter of fact this plant has a natural analgesic and anti-inflammatory substance. Once the beating stops, the healing begins.

And here is a creep of caterpillars (my word is better than the official one) that all hike 40 feet up this tree in the cool of night to munch leaves. In the heat of the day they regroup and snuggle up to make this patch on the tree that is so creepy looking, no animal would ever think of eating them (I may have embellished that last part).

Tree huggers welcome

I think the logging companies in Oregon should just start growing these things to not only discourage tree hugging, but to garner popular support for chopping these evil meanies down.

No, seriously; go right ahead

This may have been the final moment of Di's decision to rank this number one place in Ecuador. I mean, are you kidding, warm climate and cocoa? And if you don't have the patience to process it into chocolate, you can always just suck on the sweet seed covering (if you can get past the sensation of putting sweet snot in your mouth).

Really no big deal after chicken feet

Yep, still just one tooth missing...

And clothes in the jungle? After twenty minutes here watching Juan stripping, clipping, shaping all sorts of leaves and twigs into costumery and seeing all the wonderful food everywhere, we began to see the practicality in carrying nothing but a machete and bug repellent into these depths. Toucan and Papel (their jungle names, because that's what Duncan and Piper sounded like to Juan) immediately fell in love with the place when they discovered the jungle is one giant dress up closet.

Et tu, Toucan?

Teddy loved it the Survivor element of drinking water from a leaf.

What, there are no mirrors in jungle!

This first walk concluded with a museum featuring the tricks and trades of the natives, including ingenious animal traps, musical instruments, cosmetics, and poisonous animals (dead, in jars, as Juls prefers them). And of course we got to try our aim with the native blowgun, used primarily for hunting monkeys with poisoned darts.

Juls started carrying this after seeing a bug. Overkill, maybe?

The local face paint...

...and hairbrush

Look, Honey, natives

Not actual size...

And this is a representation of childbirth. Besides the tough, no time to lay down...let's git this sucker done look that I admire, I put it in here because giving birth is one of the best phrases in the language. They call it dar la luz, or give the light.

Do not approach the approaching animals

From the museum we ventured further downstream to the jungle animal rescue, an amazing place in that you're not likely to see many of these animals just walking through the jungle, and certainly not so close and well. And they are all rescued or otherwise currently unfit to live in the jungle, so it's got a better feeling than just a plain zoo. Some of the animals are technically released and uncaged, but they don't leave (it's a pretty good life here), so you'll find them following you or snuggling up to you. But not only are you not permitted to touch the animals, you are admonished not to let them touch you, as this old lady kept wanting to do.

Aww, can we keep her? Huh, can we?

ROUS's

Most of the animals you can see in a zoo or pet shop, but it is a different experience to see them, essentially, in their real habitat. And some things you won't see in a zoo: the world's largest rodent, for instance, the capybara (or jungle cuy, as they are apparently just as tasty and much more filling than guinea pigs), or beautiful ocelots.

Not just some word Scott Black made up

After the animal parade we puttered back upriver to our humble lodge, then, for a little swim in the cool river and considered that our half day in the jungle, to date, may have been the most intensive learning we had ever done in our lives.

And then we realized we had a whole day of this ahead of us and so we stopped considering for awhile...

I'm learning a ton, Mom!

The jungle (on approach)

2011-11-11T08:13:00.001-07:00

Yeah, we're not on a bus!

So we've been here in Ecuador a year and had not yet managed to get into the Amazong Jungle. Since we finally had someone here to talk to Teddy after 9pm a night we took the fam, Teddy, and our friend Juls to the edge of civilization, entered it, and left the rest of the world behind. But first...we went to Baños again.

This was our third trip to Baños, but really we were just passing through this time. But you can't just pass through Baños. First Juls and Teddy had to jump off a bridge and ride a dune buggy through town. And then there was the thing with the crazy German guy with the patch on his eye who carried around a cat that locked Teddy and me up in these boxes and tried to cook us, but we escaped even though his beautiful but diabolical assistant tried to blast us with freezing water and the hotel guests and staff had to see us naked. Another story, for another time.

We fled Baños on bicycles, riding the "Ruta de Cascadas", or "Route of homicidal buses". It's a bit dangerous following the road most of the way, but 90% downhill for 60 kilometers, passing waterfalls and killer views the whole way.

Beware attack sheep

Jungle people are huuuuuuge!

This landed us in Puyo, our first jungle gateway town, where we stopped for lunch before hopping a bus skirting the edge of the jungle to our destination jungle border town of Tena.

We had warned the kids that we would be eating bugs and fermented spit, so by comparison they didn't even blink at the chicken feet.

How to eat chicken feet--Duncan

(1) Discover

(2) Try

(3) Love...Mmmm, chicken foot

How to eat chicken feet--Juls

(1) Puzzlement--What is in my sou...?

(2) Surprise--OMG, there's a chicken foot in my soup!

(3) Determination--I'm just gonna try it then.

(4) Try--Just like cocktail corn

(5) Resolve--Nope, don't need to do that ever again

Amidst the Noise and Haste

2011-11-08T16:43:00.000-07:00

I came here to write a blog post about Americans working too much and also do some other work. I won't even diminish the fun irony of that sentence by commenting further on it...unless I just did. I will just go straight into telling you that the Americans Working Too Much will have to wait, because I have just entered a profound and euphoric state and I have to tell someone about it.

San Sebastian has always been my favorite plaza in Cuenca and I can't tell you why. It is at the edge of the historic El Centro, the area responsible for Cuenca's UNESCO World Heritage Site designation. It is bordered by San Sebastian cathedral, the Art Museum housed in an old convent, and some small, unremarkable businesses. Because it is away from the commercial core and any other kind of traffic generator, it is always a very tranquil setting. The fountain is usually not running (as most aren't in Ecuador), but it has been running in five minutes on, five minutes off cycles right now for reasons probably only two guys in Cuenca's public works department probably know. The pauses in the fountain are welcome, though, because opera music is playing from speakers on the light posts at an uncharacteristically modest volume (Ecuadorians love it loud and distorted, typically). It is bordered on two sides with fairly constant traffic, including that of the perpetually smell, noisy town buses, but somehow feels isolated from it. There are birds singing in the trees. And there are eight people I see from where I sit who are also doing nothing but sitting, watching, thinking, so I'm not the only one. Except I'm the only one mucking it up by thinking onto a computer (gah, I'm such a loser!).

I give you the F. Scott Fitzgerald treatment to detail here, not because I'm trying to bring you into my mental euphoria right now (all F. Scott did for me was create a profound sense of boredom that I suppose could be the state that meditators speak of when they lose all care about the world around them); I tell you all this because…well, I guess because I can't figure out why this park does it for me so much. Maybe all that will trigger a memory of someone else who's had this in a particular place and had insight into why that was.

I mean, the easy answer is all the reasons I gave, but I think there are plenty of places like this. Why this place? And—deep breath and hold it; we're about to go deep—I take stock in the phrase we do not see the world as it is; we see the world as we are. Really, all this is just a particular pattern of sensory input to which my brain provides an emotional response: euphoria in this case. So the question is, can I take this with me? Can I imagine, envision, and trick my brain into this place when I am not in it?

That's an important questions now, because we are talking about leaving Cuenca now and making our plans. And I will miss this particular place if I cannot take it with me in my mental carry-on.

I once returned from a long trip to Australia and New Zealand and was driving my truck down busy Colfax Avenue in Denver and had a strange sensation that I was moving through the world much slower than everyone and everything around me. It was a similar feeling of being removed from the world as it is, or of seeing the world as we all believe it to be from the place that it truly is.

I don't know, but a bird just pooped on my screen, and I'm taking that as a sign from God that I may be overthinking it.