Not-So-New Things
I was walking to the MRT station on my way home from getting my hair cut last week, and I smelled the most delicious smell. I just about dove into traffic to follow my nose to get to the source, and you guys will not believe what it was: Durian! Either my new-things bucket is at a manageable level or aliens have taken over my brain, because I smelled a giant pile of the king of stinky fruits and thought that rather than smelling like dead things or an open sewer, they smelled like a lush promise of eye-crossing delight. I haven't tried them yet, but I'm kind of looking forward to having a chance to. I'll let you know how it goes. No, I'm not going to grab a spiky ball as big as my head and attempt to slice into it on my own for many reasons, not the least of which is that durians are expressly forbidden on public transportation. Because they smell.
My willingness to try durian got me thinking about how else I've settled in to life here. I've been lucky to be training to be a museum guide, which gets me out of the house and hanging out with people a few times a week as well as learning about Asian art and history and culture. One of our early lessons was about Taoism, which I had previously known was some kind of hippy stuff and that was the extent of my knowledge. But dudes, let me tell you, the way of the Tao is how you get along in a new place. Taoism is a religion and a really complex cultural touchstone as well as an expression of philosophy, so I'm not going to presume to try to explain it or anything (a famous expression about the tao is "The Tao that can be told is not the Tao"), and I'm certainly not trying to tell you all about this new idea that changed my life and you should do it too, or anything. Stay with me. Among other ideas, following the way of the Tao is giving up the idea that you're in charge of stuff. Take pretty much any song from a Disney movie, take out the ones that are about mothers, and that's the Tao Te Ching. Let It Go, more or less. Simple, but that's both my hugest challenge in life and my greatest reward, as a person who, as my children say, "We like it how we like it."
You don't necessarily get to have a thing be how you like it when you're in a new place, and at first, that seems like huge injustice. Everything that's not what you expect it to be is an assault on your personal dignity, your ancestral culture, and probably the good of humankind (it is possible I have a tendency to overreact). That store had the right kind of peanut butter last week, but now it doesn't have it and no store in a two-mile radius does either? Not ok. Everything from pickles to honey to ground beef is too expensive and does not taste "right"? Kind of irritating. This relatively small but otherwise innocuous chicken has feet still attached, with <profanity> toenails, and a <more profanity> head, complete with <just shut your ears> still-shiny eyeballs? Y'all. I'm not a super-fan of eating any kind of meat that didn't use to be swimming. I don't even LIKE chicken. And I definitely don't like touching raw chicken. Having to use my big shears to SAW through a chicken NECK was almost an out-of-body experience it was so very not-ok (I'm going to just lie down for a little bit just thinking about it).
Here's the thing: between Disney movies and internet explanations of complex Eastern philosophies, I have found the wisdom I needed to figure out how to deal with my overflowing new things bucket. When you have to saw through a chicken neck or admit defeat, Just Keep Swimming and saw through that chicken neck. You can do anything once (or twice, if you keep buying whole chickens, thinking you'll get a different result). Yeah, nothing tastes quite like you think it should. Hakuna Matata and eat some Skippy. You got too many groceries in one trip and are having to carry heavy bags uphill for the four-hundredth time and you're thinking that you're the only idiot on an entire island to not be able to feed yourself without drama? LET IT GOOOO. Do try to refrain from singing aloud on the street, however.
Most days now I manage go somewhere that's not my house, and on my way home I stop to get groceries for dinner. It's not the European shopping-at-the-market-with-a-cute-basket ideal I might have dreamed, but it's also not a daily chore or an endless frustration. I kind of have a plan about what to get, but if it doesn't work out, it's ok. There's a fruit shop I pass on my way home from training on Tuesdays and Fridays, and when they have avocados from Mexico I throw all other plans to the wind and try to find good bread for avocado toast and shabu shabu steak for fajitas (because trying to explain skirt steak to the guy at the meat counter involves discussion of anatomy that leaves you not only unsuccessful but feeling like you've violated every cultural taboo possible). There's a little gourmet market that has great sausages on my way home from running in the botanic gardens, so we're eating more than our share of sausage--in soup, with pasta, or just pan-fried with fresh biscuits. There's a Japanese/French bakery in the basement of a nearby department store (Don't ask about why it's Japanese/French or in the basement or part of a department store. I don't understand either.) that has good sandwich bread, and I've learned that when I see my preferred brand of peanut butter I should buy it, because I might not see it again for weeks. And life carries good things to you if your hands are open to receive them; a teeny Norwegian shop opened pretty much right across the street, and when I wandered in on my way home I discovered they had very few things, but I came away with the best fish I've ever eaten in my life, and a potato and a lemon and some dill to eat with it. If you don't think eating a simple, perfect meal (and having your children ask for more fish!) isn't one of the greatest joys in life, I'm not sure we're really friends.
I've learned enough to be able to forage for what's nearby, wherever I happen to go, and call it good. I've ventured out to new places and stocked up on fun things to try with labels I can't decipher, and I've bought spices based on smell. I mostly get only as much as I feel like carrying, and I finally figured out that the trick is to walk slowly, so I don't get so sweaty and tired on my way home. Yeah, it takes at least an hour to run even the smallest errand when you're walking. I've learned to enjoy the walk. And totally, it's not efficient to not be able to do one big grocery store swoop with my giant and still-much-missed grandma car like I did in Houston, but enjoying a coffee or two with a friend and then hitting the store together isn't efficient, either, but I wouldn't trade it.
I read at some point that you can see the Tao as a river of everything in life, good and bad, just flowing. If you insist on swimming, trying to get somewhere, you'll wear yourself out. If you demand that the river bring what you want, you're likely to be unsatisfied. If you accept what the river brings you and allow yourself to be carried along, you will be where you are and have what you have. I am here, finally.
 |
| You can, however, carry as many mangoes as you can fit on your lap. |
My willingness to try durian got me thinking about how else I've settled in to life here. I've been lucky to be training to be a museum guide, which gets me out of the house and hanging out with people a few times a week as well as learning about Asian art and history and culture. One of our early lessons was about Taoism, which I had previously known was some kind of hippy stuff and that was the extent of my knowledge. But dudes, let me tell you, the way of the Tao is how you get along in a new place. Taoism is a religion and a really complex cultural touchstone as well as an expression of philosophy, so I'm not going to presume to try to explain it or anything (a famous expression about the tao is "The Tao that can be told is not the Tao"), and I'm certainly not trying to tell you all about this new idea that changed my life and you should do it too, or anything. Stay with me. Among other ideas, following the way of the Tao is giving up the idea that you're in charge of stuff. Take pretty much any song from a Disney movie, take out the ones that are about mothers, and that's the Tao Te Ching. Let It Go, more or less. Simple, but that's both my hugest challenge in life and my greatest reward, as a person who, as my children say, "We like it how we like it."
You don't necessarily get to have a thing be how you like it when you're in a new place, and at first, that seems like huge injustice. Everything that's not what you expect it to be is an assault on your personal dignity, your ancestral culture, and probably the good of humankind (it is possible I have a tendency to overreact). That store had the right kind of peanut butter last week, but now it doesn't have it and no store in a two-mile radius does either? Not ok. Everything from pickles to honey to ground beef is too expensive and does not taste "right"? Kind of irritating. This relatively small but otherwise innocuous chicken has feet still attached, with <profanity> toenails, and a <more profanity> head, complete with <just shut your ears> still-shiny eyeballs? Y'all. I'm not a super-fan of eating any kind of meat that didn't use to be swimming. I don't even LIKE chicken. And I definitely don't like touching raw chicken. Having to use my big shears to SAW through a chicken NECK was almost an out-of-body experience it was so very not-ok (I'm going to just lie down for a little bit just thinking about it).
 |
| Here's a live chicken I saw in the street the other day. You don't want to see the other. |
Here's the thing: between Disney movies and internet explanations of complex Eastern philosophies, I have found the wisdom I needed to figure out how to deal with my overflowing new things bucket. When you have to saw through a chicken neck or admit defeat, Just Keep Swimming and saw through that chicken neck. You can do anything once (or twice, if you keep buying whole chickens, thinking you'll get a different result). Yeah, nothing tastes quite like you think it should. Hakuna Matata and eat some Skippy. You got too many groceries in one trip and are having to carry heavy bags uphill for the four-hundredth time and you're thinking that you're the only idiot on an entire island to not be able to feed yourself without drama? LET IT GOOOO. Do try to refrain from singing aloud on the street, however.
Most days now I manage go somewhere that's not my house, and on my way home I stop to get groceries for dinner. It's not the European shopping-at-the-market-with-a-cute-basket ideal I might have dreamed, but it's also not a daily chore or an endless frustration. I kind of have a plan about what to get, but if it doesn't work out, it's ok. There's a fruit shop I pass on my way home from training on Tuesdays and Fridays, and when they have avocados from Mexico I throw all other plans to the wind and try to find good bread for avocado toast and shabu shabu steak for fajitas (because trying to explain skirt steak to the guy at the meat counter involves discussion of anatomy that leaves you not only unsuccessful but feeling like you've violated every cultural taboo possible). There's a little gourmet market that has great sausages on my way home from running in the botanic gardens, so we're eating more than our share of sausage--in soup, with pasta, or just pan-fried with fresh biscuits. There's a Japanese/French bakery in the basement of a nearby department store (Don't ask about why it's Japanese/French or in the basement or part of a department store. I don't understand either.) that has good sandwich bread, and I've learned that when I see my preferred brand of peanut butter I should buy it, because I might not see it again for weeks. And life carries good things to you if your hands are open to receive them; a teeny Norwegian shop opened pretty much right across the street, and when I wandered in on my way home I discovered they had very few things, but I came away with the best fish I've ever eaten in my life, and a potato and a lemon and some dill to eat with it. If you don't think eating a simple, perfect meal (and having your children ask for more fish!) isn't one of the greatest joys in life, I'm not sure we're really friends.
I've learned enough to be able to forage for what's nearby, wherever I happen to go, and call it good. I've ventured out to new places and stocked up on fun things to try with labels I can't decipher, and I've bought spices based on smell. I mostly get only as much as I feel like carrying, and I finally figured out that the trick is to walk slowly, so I don't get so sweaty and tired on my way home. Yeah, it takes at least an hour to run even the smallest errand when you're walking. I've learned to enjoy the walk. And totally, it's not efficient to not be able to do one big grocery store swoop with my giant and still-much-missed grandma car like I did in Houston, but enjoying a coffee or two with a friend and then hitting the store together isn't efficient, either, but I wouldn't trade it.
I read at some point that you can see the Tao as a river of everything in life, good and bad, just flowing. If you insist on swimming, trying to get somewhere, you'll wear yourself out. If you demand that the river bring what you want, you're likely to be unsatisfied. If you accept what the river brings you and allow yourself to be carried along, you will be where you are and have what you have. I am here, finally.
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