Bhutan, Questions, and Bucket Lists

When I first heard of Bhutan -- a small country in the Himalayas which was a closed country until recently (and is supposedly still difficult to travel to) -- I immediately wanted to visit.  A tiny, fiercely protective kingdom nestled in a mountain range; it sounded like something out of an old story.

I suppose that makes me a romantic.

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My desires often seem to revolve around unattainable or mysterious places and events.  It's funny how anticipation drives me -- the promise of beauty, of fulfillment, of pleasure -- how I am so drawn to the future, the answers, the potential of it all.  A good friend once told me he thought that the mysteries of life were purposeful, that they give us reason to move forward and explore.  I thought the sentiment was lovely: instead of focusing on questions and uncertainty, appreciate the beauty of not knowing, the future gifts waiting to be unwrapped. 

Perhaps the reason I often dwell in the future is because I love the present so much.

(I frequently make connections in my head and speak the end result without guiding my listener through the process.  It's not a particularly thoughtful way to talk, but sometimes I don't want to hold hands.  I want to run and hope that you'll keep up...or pass me.  I try to be clearer with my writing, to let the natural filters stop the mess; but sometimes mess makes sense.) 

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The first few months of my bus rides here, I was caught up in various novels, and barely noticed my 20 minute commute.  Then my Kindle died.  (Dear Amazon...)  I was left with my thoughts.  It's strange the lengths people go to avoid their thoughts.  The inside of my brain is like a McDonalds play area--the netted rooms with the red plastic balls. Goofy, unhygenic, lots of weird people clashing into each other.  Exactly.

I started listening to my ipod.  Transportation often equates to waiting in my mind.  Waiting to arrive at school, at home, at a friend's house.  But when I used the transportation as an excuse to read, think, or listen to my new album, it became a means in itself.  Now, when the bus pulls up, I'm usually frustrated that I'm in the middle of a song that I want to finish.   

When waiting becomes meaningful, everything makes sense.  Living in the now future.  Being currently fulfilled won't make the future less stunning.

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Everyone should label themselves a realist.  If you're truly a pessimist or truly an optimist, then you think the world runs a certain way and that is how reality looks to you.

Things work out for me.  It's a promise I forget.  I stumble into wonderful people, situations, ideas, circumstances all the time.  And it's not because I see wonder where there is none.  It's there.  I'm a realist.

Pain, destruction, suffering, depression...these exist.  But then an orange leaf falls, a child dances, the wind stirs...these exist smaller and louder.

"Life is pain, highness.  Anyone who tells you differently is selling something."

So let's fight in masks with swords and conquer a castle, avenge a father, jump from windows onto horses.  Let's live happily ever after.


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I love community art projects.  An awesome one I read about/saw, was a collection of blank sheet music that was filled in by random people.  The artist left the blank sheet music in places around the city, taped to poles and walls (I think).  People randomly wrote really interesting things on them...bits of lyrics, odd thoughts, and occasionally melodies.

And, more recently, I discovered the Before I Die art project -- a sort of public bucket list.  It consists of big black boards with the words "Before I Die" written all over it.  Passerby can pick up chalk and finish the sentence.

Some of the answers include:

"Before I die I want to hug a baby elephant."

"Before I die I want to go to Never Never Land."

"Before I die I want to immerse in total love."

"...try all alcohols in the world."

"...travel the world with myself."

"see my birds fly happily away."

I always wanted to set out blank notebook pages (a la geocaching)  across a city, with the question "What is love" written on them.  I thought it would be an interesting bunch of answers to compile.

My sister and I once walked around asking people about love, and taking photos.  We were going to make a coffee book "What is love -- Sweden".  It never materialized (mostly because it was too cold to carry on with the wandering interviews), but we got some interesting answers.

Love is sitting on a dock with coffee after you've been sick.