It's time.

This is a re-post from last March, but given the day of the year it happens to be, I thought it might be appropriate to post again. I hope that Tuesday is a day of change. I truly do.




I'm not even for sure how to begin such a thought, except to say that it made me angry, and sad at the same time. I watched this film called Bobby tonight, about the assissination of Bobby Kennedy in 1968 in Los Angeles, as he was about to run for president. The movie made its way into my soul, in some way that a movie hasn't in a long time. Maybe its the ways in which the political and social problems of the time reflect our own current issues at home and abroad -- or maybe it was trying to understand why someone would kill such a person. A man who attempted to bring the country together as some form of community -- to act true, whole, and just in the face of an American society that was tired, depressed and angry. He makes me understand the power of words, the power of people to work for change, to imagine that things can be better than what they are. He, this man from the past, restores my faith in America, and in some manner, makes me understand that I am, at least sometimes, ok with my nationality, my heritage. Sitting in a theatre with my friend M, from the U.S. and the rest Australians, we couldn't help but wonder what sort of feeling they left with -- not being able to fully understand the position we are in as Americans abroad, looking back home with often feelings of disdane and disgust, but also looking back home thinking that we can actually make a difference -- that we can change our society.

I don't know if we can, but I have to say that I am angry that we, as the "youth" of America and the world did not stand up for what we felt was and is wrong more. That we didn't fall behind mass protests, that we didn't unite ourselves despite our differences to show the government that we don't approve of things, that we don't understand why all this destruction and death is happening, and that unless they give us better reasons, truthful answers, then we will continue to oppose. It is not only our lives that are being affected, but those of people around the world. It is so easy to just think of ourselves, but as RFK reminded me tonight, that is where the trouble comes. That is what our problem is. We are transfixed on personal gain, goals, and wealth and our focus has turned from our neighbour to our bank account, our myspace page, our email and our t.v. shows. Our lives are running out of control with options. We've lost sight of the bigger picture, the overall scheme of things -- and our problems form within around fueling our problems throughout.

I don't know how to change these things. I don't have an answers or even clear ideas, but I do know that there are people who care and listen and understand -- who want the same changes now that Americans wanted in 1968. That our parents and grandparents are an important part in this fight, not only because they know the effects such actions abroad have on the home front, but because they have the money, the influence and mroeso, the will to help make something happen. These are decisive years my friends, and it is going to set a tone for many to come. We need to rally ourselves, band together as brothers and sister, and respect, understand and fight for something more that capitalist ideals, but those ideals that we hold closest to us as a society. Those basic needs like food, shelter, taking care of our own and learning how to be citizens of the not just the U.S. but the world in general. Our future will depend on us, now. No one is going to make us do it, no one is betting that we will, no one is going to hold our hand and tell us exactly what to do. We have to make this up as we go -- write our own history, find our own truths, and make our country and our world a place where people can afford to live -- where people are proud to live -- and where people are happy to befriend and visit. This place we call home is changing, and we can only hope it is for the better.

Days like this, are key to successful thinking.

Forward thinking.

Well look, as for careers go, I suppose we all see or find something that seems to make us think we could do it forever. For some reason this doesn't seem like it should be things like librarian or receptionist. For me, it is somehow following the career of Anthony Bourdain, specifically on his show No Reservations on the Travel Channel. What he is able to do is successfully combine all of my interests into something that, somehow, comes out as a terribly honest and amazingly interesting show. He is part anthropologists, part traveler, and part ass hole, which seems to just fit my personae -- I long to be able to do what he does and make a living from it, and its that which I aspire to. A professional traveler is something that so many people think about doing, want to do, or attempt at some point in time, but that few are able to fully achieve, which is exactly what Anthony Bourdain has been able to do, and what I strive to achieve. My independence in life has led me to this point I feel. I'm comfortable on my own, and have created a network of great and amazing people around the globe, all of which I try to keep in some form of contact with. There are so many of us out there -- nomads of the urban landscape who long to escape to the non-urban parts of this world, the few that are left, to see and experience the "true" parts. This notion of travel, of experience is difficult to talk about without being crass, or infiltrated with passe, cliche and boring traveler talk. Its terrifying to think about tourists. It is more terrifying for me to be classified as one -- although there are some circumstances where one can't help it. To become a person who can be at home where he is; to be able to express the spirit of a place in words that are clear and smooth; to be a person of character, and most of all to enjoy the things this life gives us is all I can hope to achieve. It's clear that it will be difficult, but honestly, what good things shouldn't be. Its all I can say. Let's feel something again.

Olympics

Tonight, like many people around the globe, I too witnessed history. To repeat what ever news agency in the world is now reporting, he did win the 8 gold medals he set out to win, beating not only the odds, but any other Olympian ever. The Olympics are interesting. Some people asked me if they make me feel lazy, or that I've "passed my prime" -- I don't think so. Lazy, perhaps slightly. If anything, I have a new found interest in a couple of sports (rowing and cycling) and plan to invest some time investigating those now.

I guess to be cheesy about it all, it just shows you what dedication and striving can do for a person. How you can change the world in some way, by giving all of yourself to a particular thing, be it sports, or something else. These people are such great representatives of not only each country, but of people in general. People who are working in teams, and as single athletes, showing that the mind has so much power. I find it so invigorating to watch these games -- any sport -- and I really get such a huge sense of pride swelling inside me. For the first time in awhile, being an American seems to be pretty damn good -- I feel patriotic and I want my fellow countrymen and women to succeed. Its strange how you can look at one part of this place we live and absolutely despise it -- and then watch these Olympic games and just fall head over heals for our beautiful country. I guess what I'm trying to express is that the Olympics brings out the best in me for some reason -- it makes me competitive and long to feel the energy from a crowd, cheering me on. I watched tonight as a 38 year old woman from Romania came in first in the marathon -- so much ahead of the rest of the runners. I felt so much joy for her! The feeling of being the first to enter that amazing stadium -- the crowd cheering like thunder -- and the intense emotion filling her up, knowing that she just completed the most important event in her life, and that that event will encourage and influence others in her home country. Its amazing to watch these people do things that you just don't think should be possible -- and yet, you know they are possible.

I am proud of my American background. I might not always profess it, or agree with everything that is happening, but because of some amazing athletes, my sense of happiness and joy about my country has returned.

Vanishing

This was an editorial from the Saturday London Times. I just thought it was a nice article for some reason. Maybe because I like escaping. It was written by Janice Turner. Thanks to her.

Nobody can simply vanish in this day and age,” said the internet surfer who happened upon the picture of Anne and John Darwin grinning in a Panama property office. Certainly would-be identity fraudsters must now think beyond the propagation of a Rowan Williams-alike beard. The techno-challenged middle-aged, frowning over their sat-nav instruction booklets, might as well just face their debtors. Only someone over 40 would have posed so blithely: the Darwins' sons assumed at first that the picture was a Photoshop fake, an online gag. The corollary to “how could our parents be so wicked..?” must surely have been “...or so dumb?”

Phone messages, an erotic e-mail trail, a colour-coded spreadsheet all but labelled “John and Anne's dastardly secret masterplan”. The Bourne Trilogy has clearly taught these people nothing.

But the canoe case does reveal that you can no longer shed your life by leaving your shoes at the shore. The imagination wilts to learn what it might actually entail: mastery of international banking protocol, eternal mindfulness of CCTV cameras, buying an unflattering hat... It might be less of a faff to remain in one's tiresome old existence.

Doesn't everyone dream of leaving? Buying a ticket to the farthest station, boarding a ferry heedless of the final destination, driving on and on until dawn. In his novel The Gum Thief, Douglas Coupland submits that this fantasy begins at the age of 34, when life no longer feels light and free, fertile with possibilities, but overladen, decided, eternally nailed down.

At 50, John Darwin knew that an average job with an average salary, an average, unremarkable life of vague disappointments would be his until the coffin lid went on. He tried to bulk up his puny persona with scary dogs and a flashy 4x4. His failed snail farms, gnome sales and ill-judged property deals reveal a man desperate to burst through the quotidian, but lacking the entrepreneur's alchemy for making money, that magical bringer of choice, adventure and realised dreams.

There are far worse fates than being a Co Durham prison warder, living in a seaside villa with expansive views of the chemical plant. But some are incapable of contentment. Aspiration, that engine of economic progress, can be a self-destructive trait. I don't excuse him, but I think that I understand.

What is pathetic is how Darwin's assumed identity - at least until he began drawing up blueprints for Panamanian haciendas with room for two maids - was as dreary as his former self. As “John Jones” he faked a limp, mooched about the library and wrote letters to the council grumbling about parking.

By contrast Radovan Karadizic's transformation was magnificent: the epic assumed name, Dragan Dabic, the Gandalfian beard and nutball topknot. How much of a contrivance was his new persona as homoeopath, and New Age saint? Does he really believe, as he wrote in a health magazine, that the number 11 has “extrasensory powers”? It certainly confirms my life-long suspicion that hippies are evil. Perhaps genocidal warlord doesn't provide a good work-life balance and he wanted to retrain all along, like those scary corporate lawyer ladies, who post-kids, pitch up practising reiki.

About 210,000 people disappear in Britain every year. Most are young men - under 30, drug-addicted, mentally ill - but the next biggest group is middle-aged men. Looking at a missing persons website, you scan endless Keiths and Raymonds, Ians and Malcolms. Grey or balding heads, affable, married, 50-something faces with Sunday barbecue smiles. Just gone, no trace, “last seen”. Most will have fallen into financial mires, lost their jobs or - like Darwin - over-extended until the thread of solvency snaps and, lacking the emotional wherewithal to seek solace and scared of losing face, they climb into their cars with two plans in mind - to drive away or feed a hosepipe into the exhaust.

Women dream of leaving too, but seldom go. The matrix of love and dependency, the fear that without us the domestic world would implode keeps us teeth gritted, resentful, at home. Anne Tyler's novel The Ladder of Years was compelling for having a heroine who during a family holiday - what else! - keeps walking down the beach into a low-paid job; a modest life, but one in which she is not battered by others' constant, mercurial demands, and can restore her lost self.

A friend enduring a nasty divorce, would fantasise about walking out: the flat she would buy, the colour schemes and furnishings, uncluttered space. Calm. She never left but this vision outside the chaos and falling masonry sustained her as she took a ball and chain to her marriage.

It seems that Anne Darwin had more to gain from the scam than her husband: besides the money, a renegotiation of her relationship. From being a raven-haired beauty queen when she met him, she had faded into cheated-on victim, patronised and put-down. The plot returned her power, from drudge to active partner. Her husband needed her more “dead” than alive. She held his secret. The subterfuge made her feel sexual, desired: she e-mails him “in the nudie”. A dead marriage turned into an erotic pact, more binding than maternal ties.

Court reporters have remarked that as John shrank in the dock, Anne grew stronger. When six years is up, I bet that she is the one better fixed to invent, finally, that longed-for new life.

Even when his bicycle is stolen, David Cameron grows in political stature. That he was shopping in Tesco Metro, had popped in on his way home for a bit of salad for tea, was a victim of street crime, all heighten his everyman appeal, casting him as a fellow citizen and modern husband.

It is not Gordon Brown's fault that for the past decade bigger concerns have kept him from perusing the supermarket aisles. Just as it is not surprising that a man who rides in official cars talks - as Cameron crowed - of barrels of oil, not litres of unleaded. But it counts against Gordon nonetheless, allowing an Etonian married to an heiress to play the commoner card.

Yet as a fellow cyclist, I'm aghast that Dave fastened his bike to a 2ft-high bollard, allowing the pesky hoodies to lift it clean off and ride away. Schoolboy error! Lamppost or railing at least. Really, can we trust this man with our nation's defence?

I never really know exactly what to write anymore. Today, a very good friend called me nomadic. Sure. I'll go with that. But today I started thinking about that word a bit more, and how it has come to define me in a way. I'm not nomadic in the sense that I wonder around the world following my food sources or the seasons, but in some ways, I am nomadic to where chance and my thoughts take me. It is the look in someones eye at the shop that reminds me of a place I love in Sydney, or maybe it is a smell here in the hot of summer that makes me think of Mozambique. Or maybe it is that I consume everything there is to see, read, watch and listen to about adventure. About taking a chance and a risk about being somewhere else other than where you at. There is the saying of "be where your at", but in my book it has become, go where your not. A mountain? Or perhaps a city sitting in the middle of it and having coffee with new and old friends. Its not about taking a chance for me -- because I know I will like it. It is making choices that I fear, that I hate doing for fear of seeing something better I could have chosen. My new excitment in life is to make choices and just course correct along the way.

Am I not comfortable where I am? Or is change just a force of the world that drives me? This mountain feels lonely.

I think in my past life I might have been an antelope. Yes, laugh, but I have an affinity for trees, as well as open savannah or field. And i've been known to jump and leap at times during a frisbee game. I suppose that means I have moved up in this circular life struggle -- sometime I think the antelope of my past had it better. He had less choice and more freedom.

Someone wise told me that I will be fine. That, as time goes on, more and more people will find that mountain, and make it to the top.