Traveling Light

When I set out in January, I packed light as a means to traveling light.  While these might appear to be the same thing, there is a noticeable difference.  Packing light is the physical embodiment of minimalism, but it is simply a game of kilograms and a little ingenuity.  It enables you to move fast and without hassle, but it’s only a component of traveling light. To travel light is to live the philosophy of minimalism in each waking moment.

Make no mistake: you can still travel heavy with light bags.  You can weigh the mind down with the need to see some attraction or pressure yourself to “make the most” of some location with a breakneck itinerary.  You take pictures to prove you were there.  The result is a tenuous sense of satisfaction and a beaten down body.

To travel light is to abandon the belief that you will have a firm grasp on the road ahead.  Physical minimalism challenges us to abandon our attachments to objects; the minimalism of travel pushes us to do the same with experience.  Instead of the determined yet unfulfilling future, you opt for buoyancy: you let yourself ride the top of the adventure like a wave.  If you sink too far into it, you can be thrown into darkness and drown.  In practice, traveling light is somewhat of a paradox. To be buoyant, a traveler embraces a degree of structured chaos and wandering.  There is a distinct location - a city, a village, the wilderness - and a blurry sense of the surroundings, but traveling light is a little like feeling around the dark.  Instead of just seeing what’s in front of you, you feel your way through obstacles.  Seeing might be believing, but in the case of travel, sometimes it’s not really living.

While there were many moments in my adventures after India that give hints at how I tried to travel light, I always come back to an afternoon in Saigon, Vietnam.  Marcy was determined to visit the Reunification Palace; Asha and I were ambivalent but came along for the ride.  Along the way, we got a little misdirected, but eventually found our way only to find out we had come a few hours before it opened.  We decided to kill time at a coffee shop and then get lunch before visiting the palace.

On our way to get some pho, it began to pour.  Not just a few drops falling lazily, but a steady torrent that meant business.  By the time we reached the pho place, we were drenched to the bone.  While we chowed down, the ceiling in one corner began to leak like a running faucet.  Amused, the three of us and the other patrons looked on as the restaurant staff tried to minimize the damage.  Outside, the rain pounded even more aggressively as if God had found a higher setting.  It was in this moment that I decided that I wasn’t really interested in the palace anymore: it was evident that the adventure was in the present, in the rain, not in the past that the Reunification Palace strove to preserve.  

Asha and I began our walk back to the hostel and then spontaneously broke out into a jog.  Only moments into our unsuccessful dodging of the falling rain, Asha’s contacts began to revolt: she could no longer see more than a few feet in front of her as the lenses slid under her eyelids.  I began to lead Asha, her hand in mine, through the empty streets. Onlookers gaped underneath small overhangs and in crowded coffee shops.  Some puddles we avoided, others felt the impact of our feet as we pushed the water aside.  Along the way, we garnered some curious looks, finger points, laughter and smiles.

If I had actually gone inside the Reunification Palace, I would not have remembered it.  The pure bliss of running through the rain is what would have stuck with me long after my clothes dried.  Perhaps by deciding to walk away from the palace, I was choosing to let my memory fill up with more of moments like running through the streets of Saigon.  While my clothes were heavy from the pounding of the rain, I had traveled through the storm with a light heart.  I was buoyant, invincible, infinite.

the new kids on the block

By the end of the camp, my hands were raw from secret handshakes and my body worn down from dancing at the “Global Party”, but it was all worth it.

Watching these kids transform a classroom from one of chaos - with miscommunication, nervous behavior and intermittent attention - to a hub of productive and pointed organization churning out events and good ideas was inspiring.  Most of the time, I just did my best to get out of the way of their unstoppable energy.  Sometimes all an individual needs is a little space to realize their own potential and I truly believe that the Visions camp was exactly that.

As someone who is interested in the way that a new generation of young people can become a positive force in changing the changing world, you can often find me extolling the virtues of my own generation - the Millennials - and the possibilities of a different world as we come into our own.  It is trite but true that investing in kids is an investment in our collective future.  It was an incredibly rewarding experience to play a small part in shaping a few in the next wave.

More often than not, the kids were the teachers and us the students.  One of the most vivid moments came when one of the groups performed a five minute drama (“skit” would be too light of a word) on the need to be in harmony with nature.  The story - thought up, molded and performed by the students independently - centered around a tree and its role in children’s play, the community and the  pursuit of profit.  More than a few of the adults in the room were moved to tears.

The week was also about fun.  I will never forget watching the kids put on their “Global Party”, an hour of candy, decorations, profuse sweating and dancing.  To call what these kids were doing “dancing” might not cut it.  With bursting smiles and a touch of nervousness, the students were throwing their bodies at the universe with the full force of their hopes and dreams. 

The week at the Visions camp showed me that these future generations will keep the positive energy coming that I believe is a big part of how we Millennials define ourselves.  There are some new kids on the block and they’re sharp, driven and ready to take the world by storm irrespective of their group’s gender, race, or background.  Watch out.

the things i carried

I explored markets in four different countries over a period of four months.  I perused stone carvings, handwoven tapestries and shining jewelry.  Labeling me a opportunity, crafty children, affable men and convincing women hawked their wares as I wandered past.  Despite the tenacity of the sellers, nothing made it into the backpack and carry-on that returned with me on the flight from Saigon to San Francisco.

I did, however, gather a ton of immeasurable memories.  Sorting through the memories of people and places that I carried with me, many of them make me think of people in my life.  I didn’t bring back any tangible gifts as I found very few things that I felt worthy to give, but I’d like to share a few memories in honor of some important people in my life.

When I first met Kalpana, I thought of my mother.

Mahendra was the get-things-done-guy, reminiscent of my father.

Prashant’s skill at public speaking was like seeing my brother in action.

Joining in on a Hindu ritual reminded me of my sister and her faith.

Akash and Suraj became my brothers, just like Garrett did over last summer.

In a bookstore in Delhi, I appreciated what Nana, my grandmother, had done for me all these years with books.

Recommending a Book

Books are a promise of who we want to be.  We crack open a book because we want something from it and reading is both an act of aspiration and an acquisition of knowledge. Fantasy and science fiction makes us want to be heroes in our own epic story.  History books equip us with an understanding of the past in order to responsibly shape the future.  Science and psychology books help us better understand the present moment while philosophy challenges us to use that moment ethically and wisely.  To recommend a book to someone is to give the gift of knowledge in some form and to push them to make promises to themselves.

I didn’t fully understand the power of recommending a book until I walked around a bookstore in Delhi.  Delhi is known for being a widely-read city and has some great bookstores.  A few people in our group stopped into a beautiful store with a great selection.  I came across one of my favorites, The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak, and told Asha that she must read it.  It’s a book written from a unique perspective - Death - and Zusak has a talent for using words in new and exciting ways.

Asha signed on to read it and watching her journey through it over the next few weeks helped me understand what Nana, my grandmother, had been doing all these years.  Asha always had her nose in the book and would stop to point out a good turn of phrase to me or ponder the power of the story. Nana had a small bookstore in West Virginia for most of my life and would always bring books for us when she came to visit.  I grew up reading books she had given me and she got to know my taste very well.  She searched high and low for books that I would not only like, but ones that would challenge me.  As a matter of fact, most of my favorite books (e.g. The Book Thief, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance) were ones given to me by her.  Books were a way for my grandmother and I to bond, talk about my interests and share excitement over something, often the next book in a series.

I believe that growing up as a ravenous reader was one of the most influential building blocks of who I am today.  It made me curious, it made me dream and it made me think.  It gave me a number of characters to grow up with, like the ones in Harry Potter or the Pendragon Adventure.  That’s the power of books and passing it on to others is a wonderful feeling.

Brotherhood

When we stayed at the ashram in Sevagram, we were joined by two guys our age named Suraj and Akash.  They were hired to help us out for our stay there and over time, they became very close to us.  Each student was given some money to put towards projects and organizations of our choice in India and the whole group chipped in to help fully fund Akash and Suraj’s college education.  In addition, Mahendra and Prashant graciously agreed to sign on as the two men’s mentors.

Having the two guys in my life was like adding two brothers.  Our group was female heavy numbers-wise (Wesley and I were the only male students), so adding another two guys was a relief.  Right from the beginning, I hit it off with Akash and Suraj.

A conversation with Akash on day one:

A: You do pushups?

D: Oh yes.

A: I do pushups! 100.

D: Oh yeah? Show me.

A: Tomorrow morning. 6am.

D: Ok. See you then.

A: No, no. 5:30am.

D: Ok. 5:30 it is.

A: Ohhhhhh no! 5am.

Part of Akash and Suraj’s job was to help get us hot water for our “showers”.  By the end of our stay there, Suraj and I had developed a ritualistic dance around the water barrel.  I would sneak up the barrel and pretend to take off the lid.  Suraj would comically run over, exclaiming, “No!” I would clumsily pour a small bucket of hot water into the bigger one and then he would grab it from my hand to show how it was done.  Then, I would make an effort to carry the bucket a few feet before he would take it from me, deftly moving it to my bathroom.  I’d wait for him outside the bathroom door, comically bow and say “dhanyavad” (thank you) in a playful but sincere manner.

Akash and Suraj became my workout buddies.  Akash would call me out to do some pushups with him in the morning.  Suraj would join me on runs and do pull-ups.  Late into the night, the two of them would sit on my porch and make jokes, playfully wrestle and join in on card games.

Adding someone into your inner circle - and in Wardha, Akash and Suraj were definitely there - can be a powerful experience.  My friendship with Akash and Suraj moved on quickly to brotherhood.  It made me think of when my sister married Garrett, an amazing guy who I am proud to call my brother-in-law.

I’m incredibly close to Josh and Elizabeth.  My siblings are my backbone and will be with me for all the big movements of my life.  Never did I think that this select inner circle could change, but adding Garrett has been a powerful experience.  When two can be a force in your world, three can make you do the impossible.

Small God

When the Bajaj Foundation had their annual picnic, they invited us all to attend.  After helping make chapati for a bit, I was drawn to a small hut where I heard people playing music and chanting.  As I got closer, I realized I had stumbled upon a puja, a form of Hindu worship.  Standing in the doorway of the hut, I was invited to come in.  

The hut was packed with men and women singing and playing bells, one man playing drums and another on the harmonium.  Sitting on the ground, I began to nod my head to the music.  I felt the beat, the harmonium’s notes and voices wash over me peacefully.  Eventually, I was handed a bell to join in.  Watching others, I found the beat and returned to a state of flow.  I blissfully listened to the call and response between men and women as they collectively praised their god.

I find god in the small places like that hut. Not the big god whose name is thumped in mega churches and derisive public rhetoric, but the small one that connects two people of different faiths. The small god that is there when a stranger pours kindness on another and no one is there to be witness.  The small god that pumps wonder and awe into an observer of natural beauty.

That small god is testimony to the idea that what is small can be big.

While I was in India, I made a serious effort to connect with Hinduism, a faith that played an important role in the lives of many people I met.  I believe that it’s not only important to find your own truth, but understand what others believe as well.

My sister Elizabeth is a tremendous example of a Christian living out her faith.  Very few people actually take Christ’s words - and what is demanded by them - seriously, but she is one of them. She is one of the most compassionate people I’ve ever met and gives me constant guidance in how to be genuinely kind towards others.  Her faith is beautiful, strong and powerful.

As a result of how important she is to me, I’ve also tried to understand Christianity and its importance.  Besides being a good role model, Elizabeth has been a trusted advisor in my own quest for truth over the years and I fondly remember our long talks over hot chocolate in the summer while we were both in Malawi. Although I have many doubts and questions to answer about my own beliefs, I’m sure that I found her god in that puja that day.  When I left the hut, I emerged with a deep sense of calm and felt my sister reaching out to me through time and space.

Moving a Crowd

The ability to connect with an audience is a unique talent.  If you are a charismatic public speaker, whole landscapes of impact and potential open up to you.  I’m drawn to people with the ability to move a crowd and deliver a message because I’m a firm believer that words matter.

Prashant is one of those with a gift for public speaking and watching him engage a crowd reminds me so much of my brother.  I got to work with Prashant for over a month on alternative energy projects and right off the bat I got a sense that he and Josh were kindred souls.

I made that comparison early on when I saw Prashant speak at the PRA:

I was captivated by the way Prashant spoke to the crowd at the beginning of the PRA. I couldn’t understand a word he said, but I understood the feeling.  Listening really is a full body experience and whatever energy and excitement in that room flowed through me as well.  It was evident that Prashant was in his element after 10 years of community organizing.  Later, when Manasi roughly translated what Prashant had said, it became even more powerful.  Essentially, he had told the crowd that we were flying up in a helicopter to get a view of the village, and we weren’t coming down until we understood everything that we needed to understand.  He then would point at various people in the crowd - young and old, male and female - and ask them, “What do you see?” … I saw a lot of my brother in Prashant.

While a few things were lost in translation, it was clear that Prashant was engaging his audience with demonstrable pathos and ethos.  Josh has a similar talent and it’s been inspiring to see what he’s done with a stage over the years.  Earlier memories of Josh paint him with the monstrous physical frame of a Stanford goalkeeper. As his physical frame has shrunk to a more reasonable size, he has become larger than life with his ability to share his passion for global health care through mobile technology. I’m going to embarrass Josh with a few of his good ones:

2013 commencement address to UNC Gillings School of Global Public Health’s graduates (text)

2012 Seoul Digital Forum talk

2012 talk with our dad on storytelling at the Chautauqua Institution

2011 Make a Difference talk

2011 TEDxChapel Hill talk

2009 Poptech talk

Prashant also clearly had devoted himself to being an expert in his field.  He pursued multiple degrees in social work and is always striving to learn more about the community he seeks to serve.  Josh also shares that drive to be an expert: I always see him reaching for a new level of understanding in order to amplify his team’s impact.

In Wardha, Prashant felt like an older brother to me.  It made me feel that somehow, Josh had made it to India with me.  I carry my siblings with me always, but Prashant gave some more substance to my normally intangible connection with family.

The Puppet Masters

Mahendra Phate is the kind of guy that makes things happen in the background.  As a senior staff member of the Bajaj Foundation, we had a lot of interactions with this Wardha native.  Mahendra runs the day-to-day operations of the foundation and was the point-man for many of our initiatives.

It was easy to see my father in Mahendra.  Both share a quiet, mischievous smile that indicate they’re up to no good, or more often than not, something very good.

The two men also have in common an aversion to the spotlight.  When our group was trying to interview the Bajaj staff for our website’s bio page, we were having a huge problem nailing down Mahendra for some time.  He was always busy and focused on macro through the management of the micro.  Often you can find Mahendra in the background of a scene, making a phone call in order to get something done and keep the chains moving.  My dad also prefers to pull strings away from the foreground like a puppet master, letting the good speak for itself and others take the credit.

Two years ago, my dad took on a new job in NYC as the Executive Director of Climate Nexus, a climate change advocacy group focused on changing the conversation in the United States.  Climate Nexus helps direct the focus of attention of the public by identifying tipping points in the ongoing climate change coverage and discourse.  Like Mahendra in Wardha, they’re getting things done.

Digging through some old notes on my computer, I found a nugget of wisdom from my father, copied from an email he sent in 2009:

No fear. With each step. Trust your mind and your body, as one. But you must do it with every action, every step. You have to focus, like a laser beam, on the immediate task at hand. And then the larger goal is achieved.

As we walk through life, we will come across examples of people who point their energy like a laser.  Mahendra and my father are bright examples of embodying that focused philosophy and I’m thankful to have had the chance to see my father in a new light because of my time in India.

The Strength of a Mother

When I first met Kalpana, I couldn’t help but think of my mom.

Kalpana was just starting to realize the extent of her own power and begin testing the strength of her new-found wings.  With the help of the women’s support group, she was opening businesses, making a better life for her children, leading the women in their first tastes of freedom and chasing big dreams like political office.  She is fierce but compassionate, expressive and confident.  She’s a role model for women everywhere – just like my mom.

Back home in the States, my mom was embarking on a new journey as a professor of physical therapy at the University of the Pacific in Stockton, California.  She had been considering the idea of moving to the university level for years after her first foray into teaching at the University of Malawi over one of her many summers in the Warm Heart of Africa.  This past fall, she saw an opportunity to teach and jumped at it.  Before her new appointment, she had been working in public schools with children with disabilities for as long as I can remember, making an enormous effort to establish long-term relationships with her patients over the years of dedicated service.  Mrs. Nesbit was a quiet yet powerful force in the lives of many beautiful children.

While I know her expertise and incredible care will surely be missed in those schools, I’m so glad she made the jump to California.  I’ve seen my mother rack up additional degrees in physical therapy, working late into the night after work, ferrying us to and from soccer practices and making dinner for all of us. (I think we’re to the point of having to call her Dr. Dr. Nesbit…)  I believe that her knowledge base - and her potential impact - has gone way past the one-on-one interactions that have been the staple of her time in the elementary schools.  She has so much to teach about how to care for others as a physical therapist but more importantly, as a human being.  She has taught me about compassion for others, how to understand obstacles in other people’s lives, the need to empathize with someone’s story in order to help and the importance of tenacity over the long haul.

There are some people who by circumstance will never meet, but sometimes I wonder what would happen if Kalpana and my mother - two strong, extraordinary women - could be in the same room.  I like to think that they would trade knowing smiles.  I can only hope that from our brief interactions over a few weeks, Kalpana was able to see some of the strength of my mother in me.

Reclaiming Curiosity

I’ve been battling stomach pain for over three weeks now; thankfully, I think I’m slowly but surely on a path to normal.  I already wrote about sickness, but when it occupies so much of a day, it lingers in the cluttered hallways of the mind.

Now that I’m on the road to recovery, I’m determined to reclaim a few things I’ve lost.  First comes the body, for the mind cannot exercise itself without a robust vessel for transport.  Next comes my appreciation for food.  More importantly are the intangibles.  For me, sickness dulls one of the most important emotions we have available to us: curiosity.  Illness forces you into the groove of the comfortable as you try and figure out what works and what doesn’t.  Anything too new, too exciting is simply too much.  A day without leaving the house isn’t depressing, it’s just what provides you with a little bit of calm in a tumultuous ocean.

Normally, this plummet in curiosity as you stay in the ship’s cabin isn’t that bad.  You hunker down and you recover; you gather your troops for the next battle.  This time, however, is different.  I’m in another country - another world, really - and the adventure that awaits me around the corner has put a premium on curiosity.  It’s the kindle for the fire of life.

The worst human emotion is regret.  Every other one - anger, jealously, sadness - has built into its DNA some way to climb out of the ditch caused by the emotion’s damage.  Not so much with regret.  It tears you up from the inside, like the stomach pain that has been my personal demon.  There’s nothing you can do about it but let it go with your breath, the official timekeeper of the eons.  The only way to really confront regret is to never meet it.  I don’t want to look back on my time in India and remember how a bump in the road of health made me complacent.  Curiosity is the natural antidote and I’m reclaiming it now.  

Like an explorer in uncharted territory, I’m beginning anew my adventure in the land of experience.  Backpack stuffed with curiosity, I will make the earth tremble with my footsteps.  I will leave my mark with my memories.  The world is mine - ours - for the taking.  Engagement, fueled by burning curiosity, is mandatory.