The Purpose Of My Life?

It's another hot, humid and sunny afternoon in Costa Rica.  I'm out on my bike, pedalling along the quiet roads, enjoying the rhythm of the ride, going no where in particular, content to be sitting on the saddle and to feel the cooling wind that tries to resist my passing.  I'm smiling, feeling carefree and happy, knowing that life at this moment is good.  A thought creeps into my mind. What if I were to do this everyday, to cycle from one place to another, my life on the bike and on the road?  To cycle and to travel, a long held dream that has reawakened in my heart.  Could I do that?

That was a day during October 2013.  I can remember the moment well, but not the date on which it occurred.  I was on the road between the village of Brasilito and the town of Huacas.  Three months later and I'm on the other side of the Pacific Ocean, sitting inside a rented apartment in Auckland, strewn across the living room floor are cycle clothing and camping equipment, and downstairs in the garage, hanging on a bike rack on the wall, is my rented touring bicycle.  That vague idea which had come to me, that resurgence of a once held dream, that longing to travel and to carry my life with me, the need for adventure and to push myself into the unknown, it has all become a waking reality.  It has become my purpose in life.

I get asked often about my life. What I am doing?  What I am going to do?  Why I do what I do?  I have attempted to explain it the best that I can.  I've attempted and I've failed.  After all, it makes no rational nor logical sense does it?  In the last eight years, my journey has taken me all around the world and I have experienced many things, the like of which I thought I could experience only in a book or on film.  I've tried my hand at certain things: I learned to dive and became a dive master; I worked as a project co-ordinator in telecommunications; I walked the streets as a funds collector for a charity; I enrolled at university and became a full-time student; I became a scuba diving instructor; I self published a couple of books.  My journey has taken me through seventeen different countries, in some of which I have enjoyed extended stays and called home for a while.  And now, I am beginning a bicycle tour.  What is going on?

Let me come back to something I wrote in an earlier paragraph: my purpose in life.  I don't have one.  At least, that is, I don't have one in the conventional sense.  As a man, it is my firm belief that my purpose in life is to become a husband, a father, and to raise my own family.  Due to circumstances, this has never happened for me and I drifted through my life searching for something that would fill the void that fatherhood left.  My career filled that gap for many years and I put all my effort and much of my free time into it.  If I was busy at work, then I could never have any time to think about the vacuum that existed away from it.  To be brutally honest, my life outside of work was empty of meaning.  What I did and who I was at the office came to define me.

But there was always something else lurking there.  A vagueness that was almost discernible through the foggy haze but not quite.  As if each time I reached out a hand to grasp hold of it, it pulled back and way from my outstretched fingers.  I thought it was elusive and I believed this until a chance meeting with a colleague (now a dear friend) who forced me to confront my true feelings.  Even then, I was reluctant to give credence to my thinking.  Like so many other people who have held similar thoughts, I shied away from it because it just didn't seem the right way, it wasn't the way that we are taught is correct, it went against conventional thinking and wisdom.

I was searching for some type of purpose in my life and I was not finding that purpose in what I did.  No amount of numbers on a spreadsheet, no amount of promotions at work, no matter what my salary, these gave me no sense of who I truly was as a person.  My life was bereft of meaning.  The epiphany moment occurred around the time of my thirty fifth birthday.  It was then that I came to the realisation that I was living the life of a married man, a family man, and that I was still single.  Why then, did I need to live that life, a life that could not give me my true purpose?  It no longer made any sense to me.  Instead, it seemed to me that the best thing I could do, was to do something different, and to seek a purpose in life for myself.  To go out into the unknown and to look for meaning in the life around me.  And if I was not to discover that purpose in my life, then at least I would have experienced something more, at least I would have taken a chance on life, and not lived out my existence sitting at a desk in front of a laptop screen, and always wondering if there was something more.

     

To answer the question of why do I do what I do, there would seem to be one clear answer - it gives me a purpose in life.  I must continue to live out my dreams until such time that I find the other purpose that I seek.  I truly believe that one day I will find that other elusive part of my life, but until then, I cannot sit and wait for it to come to me.  I must strive to fulfill my dreams, I must write a destiny for myself and if it comes to it, I want to know that when I look back upon my days, when I revisit the history of my life, that I did not sit idly by waiting.  I want to smile and to know that I stood up, that I walked out onto my path, and that I went in search of my purpose.  To try is all that truly matters.

~ ~ ~

It was not my intention to write this post today.  That is often how it happens though.  I set out with an idea of what I want to write and the moment that I let myself go, in the instant that my soul opens itself up, the real need to express myself comes to life.  This is why I enjoy writing and find it so very therapeutic.  I write for myself and in doing so, it is my absolute hope that my readers find something for themselves nestled within the words ~ Andy.

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My Life In 30Kg

The wind comes in gusts again and again.  I can hear it howling outside, as it races across the moor, carrying with it sheets of rain that hammer against the glass of my hotel window.  Out there, just a stone's throw across the road, lies the vast, barren wastelands of Dartmoor.  Inhospitable and wild, it's an empty, desolate place of rock, boggy marsh, babbling streams and tussocks of grass.  To know that it is a place where trees refuse to grow says much about it.  Winter on the moor, that's definitely not the place to be, so what am I doing here?

Inside the relative comfort of my hotel room, strewn out all across the floor, is my entire life.  I came here, down to the edge of Dartmoor, to stay in a cheap motel, specifically with the intention of organising my belongings.  It was a two pronged approach.  Firstly, staying at my parents house, sleeping on the living room floor, gave me no space whatsoever and I very much needed space to spread everything out.  Being a visual person, I needed to look upon my gear for my up-coming cycle tour of New Zealand, to pitch my tent (which I successfully accomplished using the bed as my base), to test my old sleeping bag with my new sleeping bag liner, and to ensure that I had everything that I needed.  It was my first chance to combine the old with the new, to finally merge all of my adventurous life into one single, unified kit.  The second need, and of equal, if not greater importance, was to examine everything that I own and to downsize and streamline yet again.

People have a way of accumulating things. I'm no different in that respect, although I have tried hard to limit my accumulations throughout my entire life.  I cannot explain why, but even as a child, I never liked to have clutter and too many things around me.  Perhaps, even back then, I felt the weight of it holding me down, keeping me in a place, when all I yearned for was the freedom to go and to leave whenever I wished it.  Eight years ago, I was doing exactly the same as now, going through the first and the hardest downsizing, only back then, I had an apartment full of possessions accumulated over thirty five years of life, items that I had firmly believed absolutely necessary to my life.

The way I have always approached possessions can perhaps be best summed up with a kettle.  That's not very sexy is it, but there it is.  A kettle.  I had the same kettle for fifteen years.  I'd had it since I had set up home with my first girlfriend at the age of twenty.  It worked, it did exactly what it was supposed to do, and it had never, not even once, let me down.  It was functional, it boiled water, exactly what a kettle is supposed to do.  It never occurred to me to change it.  I saw absolutely no reason to do so.  I came under intense pressure to change that kettle during those fifteen years and I resisted.  Why though?  Was I just being stubborn about it, or was there something far deeper going on?

The truth is that I have never been materialistic.  (Yes, okay, I admit I did once waste a lot of money on a flashy sports car, but that same car put a smile on my face every time I looked at it, I grinned like an idiotic monkey every time I turned the key and I heard the 5.0 litre V8 engine fire into life, and I never regretted owning it, nor the expense that went with that ownership - not even once.)  Possessions and ownership have never held much sway over me.  The process of downsizing actually came as a relief to me.  I was able to rid myself of this baggage that weighed me down, that held me in one place, and that took away my freedom.  That first time was the hardest.  Subsequent downsizing, or corrections as I now think of them, are much easier and completely necessary if I am to continue to lead the life that I wish to lead.  This is a rather difficult idea for some people to comprehend, since ownership and increasing our material wealth is what capitalism is all about and what society tells us to do.  Someone who does the opposite, someone who rejects what is at the core of our modern, economy led society, they must be crazy - right?

Well, if I am crazy, then I am happy to be crazy, because being crazy has given me a head full of the most wonderful memories and experiences, and allowed me to meet some of the most amazing and inspiring people.  I could never have achieved that if I had maintained my previous lifestyle.  I remember one day looking at the books on my book shelf and feeling proud to see all of these important novels that I had read.  I thought it made me the person who I was, I saw them as defining my life.  How naive I was!  How could I think that what I owned was more important that what I was inside, more important than my heart and my soul?  Besides which, what did it matter if I owned the book I had read, or if I had borrowed it?  I had still read and enjoyed the book in either case, and people still saw the same person in front of them.  I associated the ownership of the item as part of the experience and I found that ownership gave me joy and a sense of well-being, albeit a short term one that never lasted more than a few days or weeks at most.  I had never realised or known back then that life is simply an experience, and it is the experience of life that brings the greatest joys and the memories that will last an eternity.  How could I possibly have known it?  Only by casting aside that old life was I able to discover the secret, to find enlightenment, and to experience the epiphanies that would come from being free.

Now, in this hotel room, I have been driven to downsize once more.  It is the first time in over two years that I am with all of my worldly possessions.  During that time, some of my non-essential items such as winter clothing, important documents and sentimental items, have sat in a suitcase in my parents attic.  My thinking has been that if I do not think of a thing, if I find no reason to look at it, to touch it, nor to hold it, then it has no purpose in my life.  I have to be tough about it, I am driven to be ruthless in that regard.  I have given away and discarded much of what I once thought of as, with Gollum like reasoning, being precious to me.  The truth for me at least, is that my possessions allow me to live my life, the life that I want to create, rather than my need to live to sustain my possessions.  I am very cold about it.  Only certain, irreplaceable items make the cut.  Old letters from deceased family members, my travel journals, certain photographs (soon to be digitised), some greetings cards that hold sentimental value.  Other than important documents that I must keep for legal reasons, nothing else remains.   

30 kilograms or 66 pounds.  That is the checked baggage allowance with Emirates airlines, with whom I am flying to New Zealand.  It sounds like a lot, but it is not.  Not when it is necessary for me to carry around the 16kg of scuba diving equipment, necessary for my being able to work as a dive instructor.  That doesn't leave very much for anything else.  With the purpose of my trip to New Zealand being a cycle tour, I need to pack a tent, sleeping bag and other camping equipment, as well as specific items for cycling I have never needed to carry previously.  It is going to be tight.  With no scales, I don't yet know how I have done.  My guess is that I am still over the allowance.  I know that I will need to leave behind two small backpacks with my parents - those are the legal documents and sentimental items.  That's all I wish to leave behind. I've contacted someone about scanning my old printed photographs, that will reduce the size and weight some more.  I've been in the local library and I've scanned some of the teaching materials that I need.  I have some other papers that I will scan this week and then discard.  Every little helps.      

Life it seems, at least this modern life, requires us to keep certain papers, to maintain a fixed address.  I would like to be completely free but that, I know, is not possible.  Bank accounts and credit cards allow me to travel, they make life easier and for that, I must pay the price with a little of my freedom.  Besides which, there are certain items that I would hate to lose, that are irreplaceable in the emotional value that they hold.  I must have something to pass on down the line, something of my family and my past.  I don't have children yet, but I firmly believe that I will, and when that day comes, well then I believe I might just need to have a life that weighs more than 30kg and fills more space than one large backpack and one medium sized suitcase.  Until then, I'm flying as free as I'm able.

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What Have I Gotten Myself Into?

That's the question that has come to my mind over the last few days.  What have I gotten myself into?  Now I think about it, and I was thinking about it on my walk over here to the cafe, perhaps the question is not so much what, but rather why?  Why have I gotten myself into this situation?  I guess before we could begin to answer the question, it is necessary to define the subject matter.

It's Sunday 29 December.  This means that I am now less than two weeks away from my embarkation on my next adventure.  Thirteen days more and I will once again leave England after yet another short stay, a stay that is either too long or too short - I can never quite decide which - and I'll head off to New Zealand to begin my cycle tour adventure.  In less than three weeks, I should be on the road, spinning those pedals that turn the cranks that turn the wheels, that will speed me along the roads.  Exciting isn't it?  A dream realised.  Surely this is the epitome of what life is all about.  Throwing oneself into the unknown and the challenge of never being sure of what each day will bring.  It does not matter how many times I have done this now, each time the departure date approaches, and for some reason that tick to thirteen days seems to be the event trigger more than any other, I begin to grow concerned, I start to fret about what it is that I am doing, and why I am going to do it.

I believe it is the same for everyone.  No matter what they will tell you, no matter how gung-ho and cock sure they appear to be, I have little doubt that underneath there lies a swirling, tumultuous flow of worry, a constant and raging stream of concerns, that are held in check only by the dam of outer calmness.  Columbus, Cook, Scott, Shackleton, Earhart, Hilary, Armstrong (of the Neil variety), Yeager, Baumgartner and any one else you may wish to include in such exulted company, I can guarantee that although they may have appeared to be the perfect picture of composed, mill pond surface calmness, below that exterior lurked the questions, the fears, the doubts, and the constant nagging of why am I doing this and what have I gotten myself into?

It's only natural.  I know that.  I also know that it is going to be okay.  My own adventure is nothing compared to some, but it is my own adventure, my own decision to step outside of my comfort zone, to go off in exploration and in search, to confront my fears, to extend myself, to find out who I am, to know what mettle lurks under my flesh.  No matter how seemingly small and insignificant your own adventure may appear to some, to the person at the centre of that story, it is the greatest undertaking in the history of humanity.  Imagine for a moment a person who suffers from acute agoraphobia.  To this person, even opening the front door of their house can seem the most daunting decision to take, let alone stepping across the threshold and leaving the secure confines of their home.

Road To Nowhere by Talking Heads has just begun to play on the sound system of cafe.  Is it coincidence that I happen to love this song?  Doesn't road to nowhere sum up my journey, all of our journeys?  We're walking our paths, thinking that we are headed some place special, striving to get to a certain point, mulling over decisions that we believe to be of the utmost importance, but in reality, we're all headed to exactly the same place, no matter what we do, no matter how hard we try.  That may lead you to ask, well then, why bother at all?  And the answer to that my friend is that it is the journey that is the making, it is the space between two places and the manner in which we cross that space that counts.  It is that crossing between points that generates experiences and memories and those are the very things that define us, that change us, that allow us to discover who we are, who we were truly meant to be.  It is the crossing of this distance, no matter how great, no matter how small, that reveals our inner truth and shows us the true path.

Oddly enough, the thought generated by that song has answered the questions hasn't it?  What did I get myself into and why have I gotten myself into it?  Answer: because if I do not, then I will never know my answer.  If I do not, I will never grow my soul.  If I do not, I will never experience the magic that is created when a person goes off in search of adventure and daring.  If I do not, I will reach the end of my days and I will wonder what could have been.  If I do not, I will be left with a regret, knowing full well that I had the means necessary to achieve my dreams and I chose an early death instead.  And why would anyone chose an early death when there is so much life out there, within your grasp, when all you have to do is to stretch out an arm, reach out with your finger tips and grab a hold?  I choose to grasp onto life.  I choose to see the miracles and the magic of a life lived.  And just as Renton said at the end of Trainspotting, "Choose life." Amen Renton, amen.

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The Boxing Day Miracles

There are some days which are almost too perfect to be true.  These are the days when every element combines to create magical moment after magical moment.  A day when it feels as though miracles are occurring all around and the air is full of hope, happiness and expectation.  Today it seems, was destined to be one such day.

I cannot say why such days occur.  All I can tell you is that they do.  It was as though my inner feelings were reflected in perfect symmetry by the material world that surrounded me.  The day started well.  The winter sun was shining in a sky bereft of a single cloud, and although that sun is only a few days past its most distant from the Northern Hemisphere, there was a warmth in those rays, that hurtled towards the Earth at the speed of light, to strike at this particular spot on the planet, basking my parents home town in all of its radiant glory.  That is enough to make me feel a deep and profound sense of happiness well up from within.  That is enough to make me smile on the inside.  That is enough to know that there is goodness in the universe.

My parents home town of Bognor Regis is fortunate enough to benefit from some great feats of Victorian ingenuity and foresight.  The best of these is the promenade that runs parallel to the sea, and stretches for a distance of some 2.5 miles, from the western end of the town's reaches at Aldwick, to its eastern most at Felpham.  This is where Victorians would flock to the coast to take in the medicinal air of the sea.  Today, it was no different.  People of all types, all shapes, all sizes, all nationalities, all religions flocked to the promenade, to walk alongside the ocean, to enjoy the rays of sun, and to take in some fresh sea air.  Perhaps it was the time of year, it was the day after Christmas after all (the day known as Boxing Day in England), or perhaps it was just that for three days before today, England had been suffering from continual bouts of strong winds and rain and very little glimpses of  the sun, but whatever it was, there was something magical that hung in the air, that swirled in and around the people.

Bognor Regis Promenade circa 1934

© Standard.co.uk

It was this something magical that created a common bond between everyone.  Whether they were as aware of it as I was, I could not tell, but one thing was certain, each one of us who walked along the promenade did so with souls that were joined together with one single purpose.  We combined the energy of our hearts and we became one people.  I felt it.  To me, it was palpable.  I could discern the mystical lines of energy and I am sure that if I wished it, I could have reached out my hand and grasped at individual strands.  These were the fibres of an ancient, primeval energy, that joined together in unison to create a force whose whole was far greater than the sum of each individual strand.  As I walked along the promenade on this day, I knew that I was witnessing a miracle, I was part of the magic, I was contributor and witness both.  I could not help but to smile and to laugh and to engage with those that I saw.  I wanted everyone to know that I was there, that I was with them and that I too was part of the miracle that was taking place all around.

Later in the day, I walked with my parents and my sister across the South Downs of southern England, across the fields clogged with mud and puddles, footprints and hoof prints mixed in an almost indistinguishable mess.  We were walking in the hills, near to the village of Slindon, West Sussex.  It was one of those afternoons.  Did I know that further magic was in the air as I spoke with my father and mentioned how amazing it would be to see some wild deer running free across the fields?  How could I have known?  I am not, as far as I am aware, gifted (cursed?) with foresight.  However, this area of the South Downs is populated by deer and although it is not exactly rare to see deer, it is not a particularly common occurrence either.  Wild deer tend to shy away from humans.

At the top of one particular hill sits Nore Folly, an odd looking structure built in the mid eighteenth century.  A folly is an oddity of its time.  It was a non-functional structure, often built in the Gothic style by the land owners of the day as a show of wealth.  Our path today took us to the top of this hill and up to the folly itself. At the sight of the folly, we were afforded glorious views out across the flat lands of the flood plains, that stretch from the base of the hills, all the way to the line of the coast, some five miles as the crow flies.  The waters of the English Channel appeared to be in flame and were almost too bright to look upon, as they reflected the late afternoon sun.

Nore Folly at Slindon

 © dailytelepgraph.co.uk

Looking down the hill to our left, across the furrows of the ploughed winter fields bare of crop, down to the dell below, there was a movement.  Bounding from the cover of trees came a deer, then another, leaping across the fields, moving ever further away, until they abruptly changed direction and swung around to head up the field and straight towards our position.  This would have been enough to confirm the magic of the day, but there was to be more.  Two deer became three, became four, then five, six, seven, eight!  The first two deer, perhaps braver than the rest, had been followed a few bounds behind by a further six deers, all of whom were now bounding their way up the hill and straight towards us!  Eight wild deer raced past us, cold air vapourising from their nostrils, leaving us standing silently in spellbound rapture.

This had truly been a day when magic was created.  Or perhaps that magic continues to exist all around us every single moment of every single day.  Only our cluttered lives, our rushing from one place to another, our cocooned lifestyles, that have become ever more disconnected from the natural world, perhaps it is these things that prevent us from experiencing this magic on a daily basis.  When we unplug, when we allow ourselves the time to experience and to enjoy nature, then the possibilities for magic are created.  Step outside of your door, take a walk, open your heart and your soul, and allow yourself to breathe in the magic.  Let your eyes see the world as it truly is, a world that is full of miracles, just waiting for you.

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The End Is Only The Beginning

The end is really only the beginning.  That's certainly one way to look at it.  As one moment ends, we find ourselves already in the midst of another.  Countless millions of moments that together make up a life story.  One moment is all it takes to change the world, to alter the path of destiny.  One moment, one opportunity, one life.  It always comes down to that one single moment, a point at which your future is being decided, even if you are not aware of the consequences that surround you, of the swirling mass of possibilities that are lining up, taking order, falling into place.  And on we go, oblivious, until with hindsight, we look back down the road, and there, basking in all its glory, finally revealed to even the most blinkered of eyes, is that one pivotal moment that shook your world, that altered the course of your destiny and that brought you to the point at which you are now.  Sitting in a cafe in a seaside town in England, on a cold, wet, and dreary December day, staring out of the window at all of the activity in the street outside.

My time in Costa Rica has ended.  In fact, it was over on 5 December, as the plane hurtled down the runway of San Jose airport, as the wings lifted with the air velocity and pressure differential, and the wheels touched Costa Rican tarmac for the last time that day.  Airborne and with it, my future changed, it shifted.  Plans that had been made started to become a reality, thoughts, electronic pulses stored in my brain, turned into tangible occurrences.  This journey across the Caribbean and Atlantic oceans represented both an ending and a beginning.  This is life.

In death comes life.  Perhaps, with it being the day before Christmas, my thoughts turn to Jesus, which makes me think of the Resurrection.  "In death, I become life." (I just Googled that phrase in the belief that someone must have said it before, but my search brings forth no such findings.  So, I am taking it as my own creation.)  In other words, I must die before life comes again.  That is the way of our dreams.  We realise one dream and that dream must end before another can come to fruition. 

I have died many times in my life, I have experienced many endings.  With each cycle, I have changed, perhaps imperceptibly so, but I know that the person who began this odyssey into the unknown is not the same person who sits here in this cafe today.  How could I be?  I have seen and experienced too much.  I have opened myself up, I have given myself over to life, to the possibilities of something more, I have witnessed miracles, known people and cultures, suffered, cried, loved, and laughed.  Every thing and every person I have ever had contact with is some how now inside of me.  Maybe this is how we grow as people?  We internalise everything with which we come into contact and every emotion with which we experience.  We take a part of it all, a part of life and we bring that within.  At the same time, we are imparting something of ourselves to each person, to each experience.  Our soul is nourished and in turn nourishes those who we meet.  With each experience, we leave behind a trace of our soul, a signature that lasts an eternity, intrinsically linked to the time, to the place and to the participants.

Maybe what I am talking about today is the soul of life.  What if all of life shared a single soul?  One elemental force that linked every thing to every thing else.  People, animals, birds, fish, trees, shrubs, grasses, oceans, rivers, rocks, mountains, sand, clouds, rain, sun, moon, stars, air, Earth.  It's all of life in perfect balance, the soul is one, it is whole.  It leads me to something I have written before, "I am in everything and everything is in me."  I am in no doubt that when Jesus said, "I am the way, the truth, and the life" (John 14:6), what he was referring to was that every single one of us has the power within us.  In the heart lies the truth.  In the heart lies the way.  In the heart lies the life.  It is in our hearts that the power to become all that we were born to be is to be found.

Well, as always, I begin to write, unsure of where I will go and something always comes.  The flow of the mind is often a surprise to me and that is why I love to sit in a cafe and write.  This will probably be my last post of 2013 and I look forward to continuing the journey in 2014.  I hope that you will stay with me as we each travel down our own unique path.  It all begins again on 1 January. A turning of the page. A new chapter to be written.  An ending and a beginning.

Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year to you all.

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Forced Changes Bring New Light

I've been spending the last few days working intensively on my plans for the New Zealand bike tour.  Time is passing very quickly and, as is usual, the closer a date nears, the faster it seems that time propels you towards it.  My aim has been to ensure that the majority of the planning phase was completed before I head back to England in early December.  I have never planned for an adventure of this nature and magnitude before and although I have made a great deal of research and progress with my own plans, there is one nagging question that is a constant companion to me: what have I missed? 

Planning for an adventure is not easy.  That is how I wish to think of this latest chapter in my life story, an adventure.  It is the adventure that I have longed for all of my life.  When I think on it, it reminds me of my first foray into travelling and backpacking.  Eight years ago (is it really so long ago already?), when I headed off to Thailand with my partner, I had no idea what I was doing.  Due to various physical and psychological reasons, I had not prepared for the trip as I should have done and as a consequence, and I stumbled blindly in the dark, feeling afraid, overwhelmed and lost for the first two or three weeks, until I began to find my feet and come to terms with it all.  It was a truly horrible and daunting experience, and not one that I ever wish to repeat.  Preparation is key and cannot be underestimated. 

Despite having to deal with the aftermath of the 'bomb' that was dropped on me (please see my previous post entitled Broken Promises and a Change of Plans) and all that went with it, I have made some great progress in my planning endeavours.  The ripples of that shock spread far and wide and affected almost all of my entire planning.  The only part of the planning left unscathed was my route plan for the South Island.   I have been extremely fortunate though and despite this setback, I have managed to rectify everything.  I've see it as rather fortuitous in some ways.  I am now able to begin my cycle tour nineteen days earlier, which means I'll be cycling for a greater part of the New Zealand summer, which more importantly means that I'll now avoid the need for cycling in the midst of a Kiwi autumn.  The bottom line: more sun, more warmth, and in theory at least, less rain.

The on-coming autumn was the major factor in my decision to begin my original tour route in the South Island, starting at Picton, and to finishing in the north in Auckland.  I designed it in this way to ensure that I would complete the most southerly part of the ride before the cold Antarctic winds began sweeping up from the south, bringing their icy blasts.  As I am picking up my rental bike in Auckland, this meant jumping on a train with the bike and panniers, heading straight down to Wellington, and making the ferry crossing of the Cook Strait, over to Picton.  This is now avoided and I'll begin my tour, by pedalling away from Auckland.

This South Island first plan was far from ideal as it meant heading back up from Wellington to Auckland, with huge zigzags cutting across the country, so that I could take in all of the places that I wish to see.  With the revised route, I'll cycle down the west side of North Island to Wellington, and then after my South Island section is complete, I'll head back up mostly on the east side to finish in Auckland.

Not everything has been as I would have wished though.  With the new start date forced on me, I contacted Cycle Auckland to see if I could rent the Cannondale 2 earlier.  The medium frame Cannondale was not available until 3 February at the earliest.  Despite the dropped bomb, I actually saw this as my first major stumbling block - funny how the mind works.  In its place, they were able to offer a Scott Sportster, but I knew from my research, that this was not a true touring bike.  Then those great people at Cycle Auckland came up with another suggestion.  They would hold both a Scott Sportster (medium) and a Cannondale 2 (large) for me and I could take which ever of the two suited me best.  They also suggested that I make a short tour of the Northland area first, so that I could switch over to the medium Cannondale on my way back through Auckland before I headed south.  Initially, I was not too keen on this plan but I could see nothing else for it.

I had always envisioned myself beginning my tour by pedalling away from civilisation and out on to the open roads, where I would find myself and discover just exactly what cycle touring is all about.  Now, I would have to leave Auckland only to return again, effectively breaking up my tour.  But, after some thought, I made this work for me.  The North Land region of New Zealand is home to the Bay of Islands, a place I have only previously seen in photographs and not visited.  And the Bay of Islands is the jump of point for scuba diving the Poor Knight Islands, one of the greatest dive sites of the world's oceans (Jacques Cousteau had it in his top ten).  Why then not build in a few days stop at Paihia, dive the Poor Knights and tick off one of the places from my personal bucket list of dive locations?  Perfect.  There is always a silver lining, the trick to finding it is to stop focusing on what is past and has gone wrong, and, with a mind clear of negativity, to look at what is and what will be.

The Bay of Islands (Lonely Planet images)

I've also spent these last days researching tents. Who knew how time consuming and complicated that was going to be!  It is my plan to spend as much time sleeping in a tent as is possible.  For a trip of three months, it is not financially viable for me to spend each night in a hostel, motel, or hotel bed.  The tent will more than pay for itself.  The nature of cycle touring New Zealand means that I will find myself in some very rural areas where locating accommodation would not be possible.  Even with all of the best planning, something will inevitably go wrong, and I could find myself stuck in the middle of nowhere as night begins to fall.  I must have a contingency plan for this possibility. Perhaps though, the main reason why I am taking a tent, is to make this a real adventure.  It has to be this way.  It was always going to be this way.  Wherever I am able, I plan on some wild camping, that is unofficial tent pitching on public or private land that has not been designated an official camping site.  I know that partly this will be out of necessity, but also, there is this voice inside of me that has always yearned for adventure and for the chance to roam free.

I have decided to write a separate post about the range of tents on offer and how I narrowed down the choices and made my selection.  It is quite bewildering how many types, manufacturers and differing opinions are out there.  I am also giving some thought to whether I begin a separate blog site for my cycle tour (Cycling The One True Path) or I continue to write here.  This blog is about life on the path and I do not wish to dilute it with posts about more mundane matters such as bicycles and tents.  But the path is the path, right?  The jury is still out on this one.

What I have learned over the last weeks is that setbacks will always occur, they are inevitable.  When we hold a vision for our future, a dream in our minds, and something goes wrong, this is an opportunity.  Here is a chance to test your mettle and your resolve.  A dream formed in the heart with strands from the fibres of your soul, that's a dream that can never die.  From each setback, we learn.  When we learn, we grow.  As we grow, so too do we evolve.  As we evolve, then we walk the path, our one true path, the path that takes us to the light of ourselves.  And that is the light of love.   

_________________________     

Broken Promises And A Change Of Plans

Never before have I experienced a betrayal of my trust, kindness and openness, which has left me feeling both stupid and foolish, as I have in the last days.  To say I'm flummoxed would be putting it mildly.  It has not only affected me on an emotional level, it affects all of my plans for New Zealand.  I've been left needing to make cancellations and re-bookings, and to rearrange my plans and itinerary accordingly, incurring some inevitable financial loss.  But what of the cost to my heart and my ability to openly trust in people?  Is that a far greater price that I am going to pay?

Everything happened in a whirlwind.  We met, we connected and we began the process of getting to know each other.  Very quickly, we fell into talking openly and candidly about our lives and our past experiences.  It was clear that we shared much in common, in particular a love of travel and the way that we viewed life, and the more that we became acquainted and got to know each other, I couldn't help but wonder how bizarre it was that we could possibly be so alike.  It was as if this woman was my twin, my mirror image in character, thought and life experience.  This was the basis on which we decided to meet again, to become travel companions, and after much discussion of possible destinations, New Zealand was agreed on as our destination.

Very quickly, everything was set, the plans were made and the itinerary worked out.  Between us, all of the key components were booked.  Transportation: buses, ferry, and car rental.  Accommodation: hotels, motels and campsites.  Activities: hiking, swimming with wild dolphins, skydiving, kayaking, ice climbing.  All of it was reserved.  Despite being separated by both time and distance, it had been an easy process to put together, making use of internet messaging, email and Skype calls, each one of us progressing an item while the other slept.  More evidence of our compatibility.  This was going to be an epic adventure, a dream trip and this time, I neither of us would be making it alone.

Then, completely abruptly and with no warning, it stopped.  One day, everything was fine and then it wasn't.  One day we were in communication, discussing through messages which type of sleeping bag would be most suitable, and then nothing.  Not even the crackle of static.  Just absolute silence.  A silence that lasted for two weeks.  No explanation, no word, nothing.  It was as though she had fallen off the face of the planet.  I attempted to make contact, to make sure that she was okay, that nothing sinister had occurred, but there was no response.  I grew concerned, who wouldn't?  She was living and working in one of the world's most dangerous countries.  Anything could have happened to her.  After two weeks of this silence, I wrote another email asking that she could please let me know she was okay, and if she could also let me know if our planned trip to New Zealand was on or off?  Finally I received an email response.  It contained one word: Off.

It is hard to fathom what has happened and I am not going to try.  I have some ideas but to try to rationalise this and make sense of it is a waste of time.  I will find no answer, I will never know.  The facts are the facts.  I do not believe it is healthy for me to try to figure this out.  The old me would have done exactly that.  I would have languished in the hurt, sorrow, self-pity and self-loathing.  I would have replayed conversations and actions over and over and I would have looked for signs and hidden meanings in them.  I would have clung on in desperation to the past, burying my fingers in its cracks, feeling the need to hold on to all that once was, as if to let go, would be to fall into a void of nothingness, in which I would lose myself.

Even during the two weeks of silence, I was surprised at my relative calmness.  I've experienced this wall of silence before, I've known women who have raised protective barriers around themselves, shutting out their heart, keeping it from becoming hurt.  When this happened, I would become like a caged animal, prowling, snarling, testing for weaknesses, not understanding why the bars prevented me from reaching my goal.  It would frustrate me, cause anger, and it would drive me a little insane.  The longer it continued, the more focused on it I would become.  This time there was none of that.  I'm not suggesting the silence was for those same reasons, but whatever the cause of it, the affect is the same.  I did not overreact, I just let things be, content to continue with my life, making the plans for my cycle tour of New Zealand, working my last days in Costa Rica, carrying on with my life.  The times that I did reach out and try to make contact, were from a genuine concern for her safety.     

What have I learned from all of this?  That is what I look for now.  It is more important that I take from this episode of my life some lesson and meaning for my life, than it is to spend time looking back at what might have been.  Perhaps that is the first of my realisations.  I no longer dwell in the past.  Since I began my true journey and since setting out my thoughts in this blog, I am more focused on the present moment and in what lies ahead.  My days of looking backwards are gone.  The past brought me to now, but it is in the now that I am able to make a difference, a difference that will affect my future to come.  The focus needs to be on now, this moment in which I exist, and by living that moment, I take one more step along my path.  Only the dead reside in the past because they have no future.

In that past, I would have looked for an action that I took, some words that I had spoken, even some words that I had left unsaid, and I would have felt at fault for what had happened, as if in some way, I was to blame.  But how could it be my fault and even more than that, why should it be my fault?  Every person has free will.  Every person is an extremely complex mix of experiences, emotions and inherited traits.  I am no different, just as you are no different.  If someone goes quiet and introspective, that doesn't mean that I am the cause of it.  If someone stops communicating and disappears, it is not my fault.  I have spent far too much of my life in the belief that I am no good and as a result of this, I have assumed myself to be the cause of every problem, every moment of silence, every pause in conversation, every miscommunication, every misunderstanding.  And I'll take this thought further.  If someone is not interested in me, if someone does not love me in the way that I love them, then that cannot be my fault either.  All I can be is myself.  It is either a right match or it is not.  It has never been, nor will it ever be, a fault on my part. 

That is what I have learned, but where does all of this leave me and my own plans?  I am still going ahead with my cycle tour of New Zealand.  That has not changed, it was always my own adventure and as such, will remain my own adventure.  I need to make changes in light of what has happened to dates and times, and to my planned route.  Everything has been affected by what has happened.  The details will follow in a new post shortly.  My immediate focus has needed to be on fixing the mess that was created by the broken promise of someone that I trusted.  That done, I can turn my attention back to bringing my dream into reality.  A dream that was always about me, a bike and the road.

I'll finish this post with one last thought.  It is a vow for life, a vow that I make now, and for each day that is to come:-

"I do not need someone else to make my life complete.  I do not need the love of another to make me whole.  For I am love.  I was born perfect and I shall remain perfect.  Since I already walk my path with love, I do not walk my path to seek love.  I walk my path to seek life.  And it is in life that I shall find all that I wish." ~ Andrew M.Smith

_________________________

 

Sorry Lance, It Really Is About The Bike

The bike.  That's pretty important, right?  How can a cycle tour go ahead without a bike?  I don't have one.  That is to say, I don't own one, not right now, and I don't plan on buying one for my cycle tour of New Zealand.  I found some very good people who do have bikes though, and they are willing to let me have one - in exchange for a small fee of course.

Rental.  That's the way I've decided to go.  At least for New Zealand.  Why?  The major factor in the rent or buy decision is that I have never before in my life made a cycle tour.  I have some idea of what to expect, gleaned from the books that I have read by other cyclists that have made around the world (Mark Beaumont) and cross continental trips.  I am also a keen and experienced cyclist in my own right, I am extremely comfortable on a bicycle, I've never been fazed by traffic, and I have thousands of miles of road and trails under my wheels.  None of my experience qualifies me to judge how I am going to be feeling when I spend my first night alone by the side of the road, spend an entire day cycling in rain or a niggling head wind, or how I will feel when something goes wrong and I am miles away from the nearest help.  A day trip does not pose the same kind of problems.  Taking everything with me, heading down isolated roads (which is an absolute must in my opinion if I am to truly experience a place), being alone, just me, the bike, and the constant whirring of the wheels as they spin under me.  I am prepared for the possibility that this will not be for me, that I will cut short the tour and head back to Auckland early, with tail between my legs.  I have to be prepared for that, which is why renting the bike makes imminent sense.

A secondary factor is my transitory lifestyle.  This means that I have a need to keep ownership of possessions to a minimum.  I move around - a lot - and I have no permanent physical residence.  Whenever I go to a new place, almost everything that I own comes with me.  The only thing I leave behind is one smallish suitcase that I store in my parents attic, and which contains my most sentimental treasures, those items from which I am unable to part.  If I were to purchase a bike in New Zealand, the question arises of what I would do with it once I reach the end of my trip?  Unless the cycle tour bug grabs me, I will have no choice but to sell it.  It would not be practical to take it with me, onwards to my next destination because that could mean an island in the middle of the ocean, where there are no paved roads.  Not only that, but getting off and on public transport with a bike, a bag of scuba diving equipment and a backpack would not be feasible.  Then there is the transportation of the bike of which to think.  That could cost me additional baggage fees with the airlines, not to mention the need to package the bike each time for transportation.  It really makes no sense to purchase a bike, not unless I decide that cycle touring is going to become my next big adventure, and in which case, then I would purchase only after I complete my tour of New Zealand

I decided I would rent a Cannondale Touring 2 bike from the guys at Cycle Auckland.  I read some reviews of the Cannondale and it seems to be a good and solid, mid-level bike, that should do the job just fine.

Cannondale Touring 2

My chosen ride

I'll be pretty much utilising sealed (tarmac) road surfaces, so this level of bike should be cope adequately.  I selected Cycle Auckland because I immediately liked their response to my initial enquiry, which gave me a good feeling.  I've since been e-mailing back and forth, asking what I am sure are pretty annoying and obvious questions, and they have been amazing to deal with.  After I decided to go ahead and make the rental, I hit a snag when my credit card payment failed to process due to security issues, because I am currently outside of the UK where my card was issued.  The guys at Cycle Auckland said no problem, we'll hold the bike until you get back to the UK (which will be in another month).  That's a brilliant service which gave me complete peace of mind. 

I'll need to rent a full set of panniers, both front and back, which Cycle Auckland will also supply.  The panniers they provide are waterproof, but I'll not take any chances and I'll make sure that I also take some dry bags to slip inside the panniers.  Another decision to be made is which type of shoe/pedal combination to use.  I've used both the ski type snap in, where the special cycle shoe has a cleat on the bottom that snaps into the pedal, and I have used traditional toe clips.  From a cycling perspective, there is no question that the cleat style is preferable, but again, I have to consider whether I wish to purchase special shoes whose only purpose is for a cycle tour.  But then again 4,800 miles, 76 days...  Wait a sec.  If my calculations are correct (average 85 RPM x 60 minutes x 5 hours x 76 days), that equates to around 2 million turns of the pedals!  I think the speak shoe and clip in is the way to go here.

Now that the bike is organised and the route planned out, my focus shifts to clothing options (sexy lycra!) and the other pieces of equipment I'll need to take with me.  The plan is to camp as much as possible, which means I'll need to carry a tent, a stove and cooking utensils, a sleeping bag and a ground mat.  Water is another big consideration.  The bike comes with three bottle racks but I'll need an extra supply for cooking and emergencies.  There is certainly a lot to think about! 

This is why New Zealand makes a great place to begin my first major tour. It is a modern, civilised and English speaking country, and a country with which I am already familiar.  Although some sections of my ride will be very rural and isolated, I am sure I can find someone to assist me in any sticky situations that may arise.  And if not?  I guess that's all part of the adventure.  Right..?

_________________________

 

The Deepest Desire

The old man bade me stop.  With the aid of his staff, on which he leaned heavily, he shuffled a few steps further forward and I felt the pain that must have been in those old arthritic bones.  With a swiftness of speed that defied his age, he whirled around to face me.  At that moment, everything shifted and became blurred.  I felt a sense of dizziness and I wanted to reach out to steady myself, but there was nothing to which I could hold.  I staggered, ready to fall.  "Stand up straight and look at me!", the old man spoke with such commanding authority that I was compelled to look, even though I wanted to drop to the ground on my knees.

I stared at the old man in wonder.  His robes were the same, yet his face was changed.  Gone were the deep lines that had been etched and carved into his leathery skin, the combined effects of wind, rain and sun, over countless passing of the seasons.  His eyes, that had been almost blind with milkiness, shone clear and bright, and there was a light that burned in them now, the like of which I had never seen.

I could not help but to stand transfixed, lost in the depths of those eyes, unable to look away.  The light seemed to burn into me, a dazzling blue electricity that reached into my soul.  I followed that light and together we plunged into the depths of my being.  It felt like falling into an endless abyss where time held no meaning.  At the moment that I thought we could fall no further, I found the words that I had long been seeking.  There they were, at the very root of my own soul, entwined in the fibre of my being, the words that my heart recognised and knew as its own.  Here at last was the answer to that which I had sought for too long.

"This is your truth, for the heart reveals the wisdom of eternity past and eternity future", it was the voice of the old man.  "It is not enough to feel the truth of them, it is necessary to speak the words out loud, to make these words your own."

I tore my eyes away from the old man and I looked up at the sky.  I felt the warmth of the sun, that giver of life and energy, and I spoke the words that had shaped my entire life and existence, the words of the deepest desire of my heart and my soul.

"To know love."

It was that simple.  Those three words encompassed everything and explained my entire life.  I could see it all plainly, my life history stretching backwards to the moment of my birth.  As I looked back in time, one thing was abundantly clear to me: throughout my entire life, I had been involved in a constant fight for love.  The love of my parents, the love of another heart, and perhaps most importantly, the love of myself.  I could see something else as well, I could see that I had been afraid of achieving my deepest desire out of the fear that it would never meet with my expectations.

All of this happened in an instant.  Even as the word love hung in the air, I turned back towards the old man, but the old man was no longer there.  Where a moment before he had stood leaning on his staff, a mighty tree now grew.  I stared in bewilderment.  I felt dazed and overwhelmed with emotion.  Perhaps it only occurred in my imagination, but as I stared at that tree, at its deep, furrowed, protective bark, I am certain that I saw the tree smile.

Walking back down the mountainside to return to the village, I knew that I would no longer be afraid.  From this day on, I would confront my desire and I would no longer run from it.  With courage as my companion, we would look love in the eyes and together, we would let ourselves fall into its warm embrace.

_________________________

The Great New Zealand Cycle Tour - North Island

Today, I finalised my cycle route around the North Island of New Zealand.  It's another 38 legs of cycling (I might wish that I had 38 legs rather than only my two by the end of all this) and adds a further 4,050km (2,500 miles) of cycling and brings the total trip distance to 7,720km (4,800 miles).  That's a scary number.  It's a lot of cycling. Heck! That would be a lot of driving in a car, and it's about 8 hours of flying time.

I am beginning to wonder what is it that I am getting myself involved in?  It's not too late.  I could back out.  It is a solo project after all.  I would be letting no one down, no one is dependent on me completing this ride, I have a responsibility to no one.  Except that is, to myself and that is the most important factor for me.  This ride, this adventure, it represents something very significant in my life.  It is an adventure of which I have long dreamed and as such, I have imagined many times how it will feel to be on the road, pedalling along, spinning the cranks, legs moving up and down in a  perfect rhythm, the dance of man and bike.

My route for the North Island was not so easy to decide on.  In the South Island, I begin at the north of the island, in Picton, and generally cycle a clockwise route, finishing back in Picton.  The North Island represents more of a challenge route wise because I will begin in the south of the island in Wellington and finish in the north at Auckland.  It is my wish to see as much of New Zealand as is possible, so this means some zig-zagging across the county, from east to west and west to east.  As the North Island is more densely populated, this also means more cities and town and the infrastructure that is necessary to support them.  This means that the roads will be larger and busier than in the South Island.  I'll finesse the route a little more, so that I make use of as many minor roads as possible.

One of the problems of this kind of tour in New Zealand is the relative sparseness of major population centres.  I'll need to ensure that I have adequate food and water for my journey, so my plan is to pass through one major population centre every day or every other day, so that I can stock up at a grocery store or supermarket.  In terms of ensuring adequate water supplies, in the event of emergencies, I will call in on farms and any houses that I spot along the way and ask for a top up from the kitchen tap.  If I'm honest, one of my main criteria for passing through towns will be to stop for a coffee at a cafe, catch some internet access, and perhaps a bit of chat with the locals.

This is my route for the North Island as it now stands.  As before, the route is marked in blue and the red numbers indicate each leg of the tour.

 Andy's Great New Zealand Cycle Tour - North Island

There we have it.  Route planning is now complete.  Now I need to focus on what clothes I will require, what equipment is needed, to think about nutrition on the road, about the practicalities of camping and cycling, what type of shoe/pedal combination I should wear for the ride, should I take a laptop or just an iPhone..? I am sure there are a host of other items that I need to cover before I embark on this journey.  The most important thing though, is that I do begin it, because once I begin, I know that I will see it through to the end.

_________________________

A Heart That Withers

This evening, one single thought came into my mind and with that thought, I opened my heart, let whatever was there flow out from within.  My soul released, to reveal my true self.

A Heart That Withers

Time to give up

Walk away

You got me

I get it now

Mirror in the bathroom

There I stand

I laugh

Seriously funny

You could not make it up

Could you?

Did He?

The Big Guy

Make it up

Made it happen

And if he did

Why?

To watch me suffer

See me cry

To wrestle with conflicted

Emotions of the heart

Why?

Better to end it

Leave it be

There on the floor

Where I'll lay

When it's over

Before it began

To save me from this

All this

Misery

Pain

Suffering

And the question

Why me?

For what purpose?

Show me a ray

Hope

Sunlight

My garden withers

Drops of water

But none for the soil

Only my cheek

As another dream

Shatters on the floor

Glass fragments

Take one

Blood on the palm

Cuts the heart

Fly like a bird

Released.

_________________________

The Great New Zealand Cycle Tour - South Island Route

New Zealand.  Why does this country hold such a spell over me?  Even before New Zealand was transformed into a living, breathing, version of Tolkien's Middle Earth, it already held great allure for me.  As a child, I avidly watched Hunter's Gold and Children Of Fire Mountain, two TV serials that were filmed in New Zealand, and that were shown on the BBC during school holidays.  New Zealand, a country of two islands on the other side of the world from England, about as far away as it was possible to be without leaving this planet.  A country of such contrasting geological landscapes and the tattooed faces of the Maori.

After vacationing in New Zealand three weeks in 2004 and enrolling as a full time university student in 2007, I now find myself soon to return once more, this time on my first grand cycle tour.  The prospect feels me with excitement, trepidation and some anxiety.  How will it feel to return to this land that I love so much?  A land on which I turned my back in 2010, to leave in search of other adventures.  Will it feel like a home coming, or will I feel alien, the place and the people that I know having moved on and changed?  The very thought of going back fills me with emotion.  The thought that came to me, as I type this post was one of home.  Home.  There is a concept that is wholly unfamiliar to me.

With my cycle tour, I am not just cycling south to north, nor north to south.  It is my aim to visit all places, to criss-cross each of the islands, discovering as much of New Zealand as is possible from on the back of a bicycle saddle.  There are many places that I am yet to visit, many sights that my eyes yearn to see, and here is my chance, once and for all, to know this country intimately.

This afternoon, I was able to complete my route planning for the South Island section of my tour.  My plan is to travel from Auckland by train down to Wellington, and then travel across the Cook Strait by ferry to Picton.  It is in Picton that my cycle tour will commence.  There are two main reasons for beginning in the South island rather than the North Island.  The first is that my cycle tour will start at the beginning of February, which is towards the end of the summer in New Zealand.  The South Island will be affected by falling temperatures and a deterioration in the weather more quickly than further north.  It makes a lot of sense therefore, to begin in the south and head north as summer fades to autumn.  The second reason is that the South Island is far less populated than the North Island (1 million vs. 3 million inhabitants) and is much more rural in nature.  This means that the roads will be far less busy and will offer me the chance to become acquainted not only with my bike, panniers and tent, but also with the practicalities of cycle touring away from busy and dangerous roads.

My South Island route complete, I estimate 38 days of cycling to cover a combined distance of around 3,650km or 2,268 miles.  I cannot work out whether I view this as aggressive or too easy.  I am prone to cycle fast wherever I go and push as hard as I am able for as long as I am able.  Recently, I cycled a round trip of 48kms in a time of around 1 hour 45 minutes, under the heat and humidity of the Costa Rican sun, and on a heavy mountain bike.  It would seem reasonable to me, to be able to cycle around 100kms per day, with a heavily laden touring bike.  I want to take it at a leisurely pace and I also know that my trusty friend Google Maps, does not take into account changes in elevation, which I know will be of considerable importance in the mountainous South Island.  I plan on stopping regularly for coffee (trim flat white) and to take photographs of the scenery and other interesting objects and people.  If I find I have miscalculated, then it is fairly easy to adjust the timings, and keep to the same route.

This is my route map for the South Island.  My route is marked in blue, and I added each of the 38 legs of the journey with red numbering.

Andy's Great New Zealand Cycle Tour - South Island Route Map

For the most part, the route is generally clockwise in nature.  After Hokitika, I plan to cut across from west to east, back to Christchurch, and then cut across again to the west.  This allows me to take in some of the spectacular scenery of the South Alps mountain ranges and traverse some of the passes.  Looking at this route map gets me rather excited, I have to tell you.

So, there we have it.  South Island is planned out and now I have to begin planning the route around the North Island.  Oh, and there's also that one very small and incidental matter to organise as well, the bike!

_________________________

It Is Not Only About You

There are times when we find ourselves in a situation that has us completely dumbfounded by what has happened.  There is a natural tendency to look inwards for the answers and to hold firm to the belief that what has gone wrong, must be of our own doing.  Was it something that I said?  Was it something that I did?  Is it the way that I look?  These questions run through our minds as we try to figure out what has occurred.  This is exactly what happened to Beth.    

Beth's Story

Beth placed her phone back on the coffee table, the one that she had purchased from a second hand store several years ago and was made to look like it had been painstakingly hand crafted by a member of a far off indigenous tribe, when in reality, it was probably mass produced in China, by the same pair of hands that turned out hundreds of identical items each week.  The coffee table that is, not the phone.  Beth was bemused to say the least.  The conversation had not gone the way she had planned, the way she had heard it when she had played it out minutes earlier in her head.  Then everything had made sense, now, nothing made sense and as she lingered on those thoughts some more, the feelings of sadness, hurt and frustration grew.

It had all started so positively.  In fact, Beth had been blown away completely by Michael. They had met in a bar one evening, chatted, exchanged numbers, met up for a coffee one afternoon and had subsequently begun seeing each other.  Countless messages had been exchanged, back and forth, forth and back, like a game of electronic ping pong.  They spoke on the phone in the evenings, shared jokes, told each other about their day, and after a few dates, it seemed to Beth that they were growing close.  It had all been a whirlwind she had to admit.  Never before had she met someone with whom she felt such an affinity.  Someone with whom she shared so many common interests and hobbies, political views, religious views, a love of the out doors and nature, music, TV, films, books, someone who said exactly what she was thinking the moment before she could speak those same words.  It was the discussions on old movies that they had seen that she enjoyed the very most.  Beth never thought that she would find someone who liked to watch old black and white movies, and enjoyed spending afternoons in an independent movie theatre.  At one point while they had spoken, she had almost let out a gasp of pain, finding that she was pinching her own arm, believing that this was all too good to be true.  And now, it was.

Three days ago, it had all stopped.  Abruptly, suddenly and for no apparent reason that Beth could fathom.  It was as if Michael had simply evaporated, or been abducted by aliens in the middle of the night, replaced by a cardboard cut out replica.  The voice was the same but it was now hollow, distant, devoid of any emotion.  She had asked him if anything was wrong, "No", he had replied, "Of course not. Stop being so paranoid."  But Beth could not help it.  She replayed in her head the conversations that they had together, she went back over the times they had met, and she looked for some indication, some clue that things were about to go wrong.  There was nothing.  She wondered what she had said to him to make this happen, and she sat quietly on her sofa, staring at the phone on that stupid, cheap, replica coffee table, and she began to curse her ill-luck, to wonder why this always happened to her, and to ask herself over and over, what it was that she had done wrong?

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I've found myself in similar situations in the past.  Someone that I was building a relationship with either inexplicably backed away from me and became distant, or she just broke things off all together.  Each time it happened, I suffered in the same way.  I questioned myself, I searched for words that I might have said that could have caused some offense or could have been misconstrued.  I looked back over my actions and behaviours and tried to find in them anything that could have been misinterpreted or misunderstood.  I asked myself what it was that I had done to cause yet another good relationship prospect, to be flushed away down the tubes?

The answer to that question was nothing, absolutely nothing.  It was never about me.  My lack of self-esteem and low self-confidence had me utterly convinced that the fault was of my own making.  Each time I met someone new, I placed them on a pedestal and held them up as a paragon of virtue and goodness.  I idolised them and I was unable to see any of their faults.  For whatever reasons, I blinded myself to the truth, I didn't want to see it, I didn't want to recognise it or to accept it, because to do so, would be to destroy my picture postcard, perfect image of the person that had shown interest in me.  I made the problem about me because I could not believe that my idol could in some way not be perfect.  It had to be about me, something I had done or not done, it had to be my fault.

The truth is, that it was never about me.  In fact, I had no right to make it about me.  I had never thought about it in this way before, until I was riding a bus this morning and the thoughts started coming to me.  As I gazed out of the window, looking across the rural Costa Rican countryside, it occurred to me that I had been self-centred, imagining that the entire universe evolved around me.  At these times, I had completely forgotten that there was another person involved, another actor in the play of our relationship.  A person who had her own unique set of issues and psychological problems.  What right did I have to assume that I was the only one? 

The mistake that I made over and over, was to make it about me.  By doing that, I tried to set things right, I worked hard to figure out the other person, I psychoanalysed them, looking for reasons behind their behaviour and by doing so, I sought to find ways in which I could make a difference.  I kept coming at them, I continually asked questions and probed for answers, I said things in a way that would try to provoke some kind of response, I pushed and demanded their time and attention, I desperately wanted things to be the way they were before.  The more I pushed, the more distant they became and to counteract that, I pushed harder.  It became a vicious cycle with only one outcome - something had to break and that would eventually be me.

If only I could have seen that it was not about me.  How could I not see that what I was giving was goodness and that all I had to give was nothing other than my true self?  Not some aspect of myself that I thought the other person would like and enjoy.  If I did that, if I was honest and tried hard, then what person would not want to be with me?  Of course, when it comes to affairs of the heart, there is no logic, there is no rhyme nor reason, it is always just is how it is.  From giving myself honestly and truly, if a problem was to occur, then it would become apparent that the problem was not created by my actions.  And if it was?  Then clearly that person on which I was giving my affection and attention was neither suitable for me, nor were they worthy of me.  Then, I would be able to walk away, knowing that I tried and that there was nothing more that I could do.  That is what I should have done, that is what I failed to do.

This might seem blatantly obvious, but what I have come to finally realise, is that no one is better than anyone else.  There is no pedestal on which to place another.  Everyone has faults and weaknesses.  Every single person is flawed and less than perfect.  I know that I am, so why has it taken me so long to understand and see that of other people?  I know that answer, it lies in many of the other blog posts that I have written.  The simple logic is that if I am flawed, if I suffer from psychological problems and afflictions, then so too does everyone else, to some degree.

If and when things go wrong, do not make the mistake of assuming it is something that you have done, nor something that you can necessarily fix.  Every person needs to have the time and the space to figure things out for themselves and to resolve their issues.  Of course, it would be preferable if they were to do that before they entered into a relationship, but unfortunately, that is not how life works.  If is through our close relationships with others, that we are often able to see ourselves.

When someone alters their behaviour towards you, if they grow cold and begin to distance themselves, do not make the assumption that it is you.  You are not the centre of the universe, despite what you might like to believe.  If you have been your true self, then the relationship was never meant to work, there is an incompatibility that you will never be able to overcome, unless the other person fixes themselves, or they come to you and talk about their problems, involving you directly, seeking answers and help, so that you may work it out together.  Let that person go and if you are able, give them time and space, don't crowd them, don't fuss after them.  If it persists, then it is time to let go of them completely and to move on.  There is nothing more that you can do.  Open your heart and let them fly free.  Let them figure themselves out.  And when your heart is open, who knows what just might flutter back in?

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That weekend, Beth caught the 5:15pm showing of Harvey on the Sunday afternoon.  It had long been her favourite movie and she could not believe that the Regency House Cinema was having a James Stewart special that day.  As she laughed along hysterically to the antics of a grown man who could see a mysterious giant talking pooka, and she revelled in the feel good factor of the old film, she felt a wave of freshness and relief wash through her.  This is what she loved to do, and if Michael was too dumb and wrapped up in himself and whatever issues he had going on, then so be it.  She really didn't need that or him!  Beth left the theatre, a broad grin still across her face, and as rummaged in her purse for her bus ticket, she walked straight into the back of a man standing on the sidewalk.  As the man turned around, Beth found herself looking up and falling into the deepest eyes that she had ever seen.  "Hi", she said but a different thought spun through her mind, Michael?  Michael who?

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