Doing My Part

My defiant stand against the powers of OPEC is a simple one. I try to buy gas that comes from South America. Not that I support many of the distasteful practices of large energy companies like Petro-Ecuador, but a man's got to have fuel in the tank.

Last night when I noticed the guage hovering slightly above 'E', I went out of my way a few blocks, knowing there was a Sinclair in the neighborhood. "Praise to Allah," I joked to myself as I pulled in and saw the sign advertising Regular Unleaded for $.08 cheaper than any of the other stations I'd passed. "It pays to stick it to OPEC." 

I hopped out of my car and into the frigid night just in time to see a small truck run into a sedan at the traffic light adjacent to the pump. The little Toyota pickup looked like the kind you might see on the evening news. The kind that prowls the unpaved roads of a North African or Middle Eastern country, and totes around machine gun wielding militants with their heads covered, and bands of ammunition draped across their chests. I laughed out loud at the mental image I'd painted in my head and the ironic nature of my thoughts. 

Moving quick to pump the gas I swiped my card and started to fill the tank. It was then I noticed a sign next to the card reader declaring Credit and Debit card transactions would be charged an additional $.10 per gallon, and that the advertised price on the glowing Sinclair board was for cash paying customers only. Feeling deceived, I stopped the pump at $10 instead of filling the tank. I hadn't stuck it to anyone; instead, someone had stuck it to me.

I took my slightly bruised ego and wandered inside the store to grab a six-pack for the football game I was headed to watch. As I swung the door open I was hit by a harsh odor that I can only describe as old incense and toxic cleaner, and a stocky man with thinning hair and a wily comb-over greeted me from behind the counter. By the accent of his voice and his brown skin I knew right away he was from the Middle-East. I gave a wave with my right hand as I made my way towards the cold drinks, again thinking about the rationale that brought me here and the subsequent events that had followed. 

'No Beer or Tobacco Sales,' the hand written sign proclaimed. A single sheet of lined paper hung in the window of every case in the store. Even the one that contained energy drinks, Snapple and old gallons of 2% milk. It was as though they thought one unmarked door might lead someone to believe that you could, in fact, buy beer. If only I could reach beyond the stocked inventory and into the cold storage where cases of beer were neatly stacked. Then it might be allowed, I thought. I decided it wasn't worth a try.

"So what's the deal," I asked the clerk, who had intently watched my every move. 

"We're not selling beer or tobacco," he said flatly, as if I hadn't seen or understood his posted announcements. 

"Yes, I see that. Is there a holiday I don't know about?" I was ready to do something dramatic, something you might see in a movie, like knock over a display stand or smash a bag of chips with my shoe. Of course I knew I would never do it.

"Changing ownership," he replied, finally shedding light on the mystery and sparing me the task of wondering any longer. "We're not licensed to sell those things yet."

"Too bad. I was about to buy out your entire supply of Pabst," I mocked. "Are you licensed for false advertising your gas prices?"

His face twisted slightly in confusion and his comb-over shifted back on his scalp. I knew he didn't understand the nature of my comment, but it didn't matter. I felt better after I said it. With the wave my hand, the left one this time, I walked out.

Contemplating the chain of events that had just taken place I wondered if it was really worth my effort to try and make small differences--like being selective where I buy gas. Is it worth it to drive out of my way, wasting time and more fuel to get there. Yes, I concluded, it is. It's worth it to me. 

With my position firmly established I drove down the street to a Tesoro, finished filling the tank with OPEC fuel, and bought a six-pack of Mexican beer.

The Veritable Reality of Now

Hard to believe that a year ago we were about half way through our trip around the world. It's even harder to believe we've been home for nearly six months. And, it's confusing to know that I have still not settled into a normal routine since being back. Here's my latest diagnostics on why. 

After being gone (in that I mean gone from home, family, friends, responsibility, commitment, etc.) for almost a year I find myself in a position of unprecedented opportunity and freedom. It's a position that some people never have once they are out of their twenties. I have an open door that hasn't always been open to me, and it won't stay open for long. Some people know what they want, some people figure out later in life when they can reflect on all the things they've experienced. I guess I don't have the luxury of either. All I have is that open door, and no real purpose to walk through it. 

If someone had asked me two years ago what I would do if I had a chance to take my life in any direction I wanted, I might have had an answer. Now that I'm faced with that question I find myself looking backwards. Looking for something familiar to use as a crutch. That might sound simpleminded, but it's the truth. 

As a result I find myself struggling for direction and thinking about a flurry of half-loaded thoughts and ideas. Here's a list, staggered at best of the things that may be running through my mind on any given weekday while Shanon is at work and I am not at work.

-I think I'd like to write a book. At least some stories.

-I'd like to help people in dire situations and who live in extreme poverty. Whether abroad or at home.

-Shanon and I want to save abandoned dogs and give them good lives.

-I want to make people understand why it's important to recycle, or not to shower two times a day (or every day for that matter, even though it feels good.)

-I wish politicians would be open minded to the broad scope of issues so that we could solve problems instead of drag them out. 

-I need clean air in SLC and wish there was a way to install big fans on both ends of the valley to blow out the inversion. Most of all I wish people would do small things every day that could help our air quality.

-I wish I could travel more. Anytime I want to.  

-I hate the fact that it's not what you know, but who you know. I really hate that. But then again, what do I know.

-I understand that people will always do selfish things that serve their own interests, but do I really wish I were more like that? If nothing else, just to get ahead for once?

-How on God's green planet can I move out to the sticks somewhere, live a simple life and earn a living?

-I'd like to create a business plan for a club/desert bar. I think it would be a gold-mine in SLC.

-I want to be able to build things. Out of wood, metal, paper machete, whatever. 

-I think I'll finish writing a song, and then I'll sing it out loud. Even if it's just to myself.

-I want to be a part of something meaningful. To leave my footprint on my life. It's something people regret when they get older, and I don't want that. 

-I want to have kids, but I'm too worried about my own well-being right now.

-Maybe I should help a friend see a big idea through. If they need help, I have time to help them.

-I wish I could focus on any one of the things on the above list just long enough to make one of them happen.

That's a random list. A sample really. A glimpse into the difficulty of time without reason. I'm not complaining, I'm just saying that's what it is. 

Travel Journal Entry-1/6/2008

We met a kid from Israel this morning on the streets of Cabal. He had just arrived in Mumbai the night before. His face was tense and he asked us if we knew somewhere safe to eat, and then followed us down the street to an American style coffee shop. He was 19 years old, traveling alone, and seemed terrified of being in India. Shanon and I thought of the Israelis we encountered in South America, all moving around together in tight networks and finding guest houses that catered specifically to their nationality. But here in Mumbai, this young, solo wanderer hadn't located any 'friendly' faces, was certainly on edge and afraid to eat the food, and admitted that he was ready to leave after 14 hours. 

--

Leaving our new friend behind, we caught a taxi and headed an hour north of Mumbai to the train terminal. From the back seat of the car we experienced our first glimpse of the dismal conditions in which people live, in this, the country's most thriving and wealthy metropolis. The small shanty's and lean to's sat directly on the sidewalks so that people's door-steps consisted of the curb and the street. Some were corrugated tin constructions, others were merely old tarps suspended from the concrete wall that backed the roadside neighborhood. People bathed, ate, and did their laundry right there on the asphalt, as small children with no clothes wandered just a few feet from the rushing traffic. We passed thousands of people living like this over the course of just a few miles. Poverty like we've never seen, and the biggest culture shock of the trip so far. 

--

We were definitely a spectacle at the train station, and the only caucasian people in sight as far as we could tell. People passing us stared hard. Blatently. Some directly at Shanon, some directly at me, occasionally at both of us. Some would see us and then say something to the others standing close to them, after which a whole group would be staring at us. Sometimes they would point and laugh as they stared; of course we assumed they were laughing at us. Unsure how to react, and growing wary of the eyes on us, I tried my luck at staring back, but it was like trying to stare down a statue. It was a strange feeling, to say the least, and we tend to get it everywhere we've been so far in India. We are strangers in a strange place.

 

As we waited for the train people flooded past us, and the rats scurried along the filthy tracks. It smelled of urine and human shit, and there is no doubt that we aren't used to getting around in this country yet. We feared the worst as we waited for the train. Miraculously, after about an hour of waiting, our train arrived and we climbed on-board.--safe at last from the gawkers and packs of teenage boys who move around together like packs of wolves. Safe at last from that station. Now on the train, an older couple next to us seem to be complaining to each other about our bags taking up so much space under the blue, vinyl bench, and upset with the fact that we were in the wrong seats when they boarded. We crammed our bags back as far as they would go and offered to move to our respective spots in the tiny berth, and that seemed to satisfy them. We think. Our first encounter with the Indian Railway. 

New Year, New Me

I've often heard that when women are down in the dumps, nothing says recovery like spontaneity. Whether it be an impromptu trip to Mexico to forget an old boyfriend, or a trip to the salon for a pedicure and facial after a shitty week. Girls tend do something for themselves and then feel better afterwards.

I'm here to tell you that doing something drastic is indeed liberating. So yesterday, as I hacked away and struggled to get the scissors through my thick pony-tail, I could feel my toes start to tingle, and as I broke through the last long strand I threw up my arms and gave a victory holler with 7 inches of hair in my fist. Just like that I was changed. I might sound petty, but the smile on my face was big as I proceeded to lop off a lock here, another there. The impulse to cut it had been sudden, but I listened to the impulse, and why shouldn't I?

Although this wasn't the first time I'd cut off my long hair, it certainly felt better than other times. I needed a fresh perspective, a new train of thought, or maybe just a change in my ragged appearance. Whatever my reasons were, I'm now convinced that doing something on whim, or just doing something solely for yourself without consulting others about it first, is a great pick-me-up when you're feeling like a slouch.