The Special Gift of Travel. Eyes Open to the World

    A favorite type of transport in Hanoi, the motorized cycle. There are thousands in the city.

Travel provides much to us such as new experiences, opportunities to learn, chance to step outside the everyday and if as traveler's we are really paying attention, it provides a means of regaining appreciation and gratitude for our own, probably privileged lives.

At least, that's what routinely happens to me and has been happening as we tour through some of Southeast Asia. What always strikes me is how differently many people live from those of us in North America.

First a couple of facts -- a somewhat typical apartment in densely, overpopulated Hong Kong is about 500 square feet and sells for about $780,000 American or $1 million Australian. This is not a starter home, for people begin with spaces 100 to 200 square feet smaller than that. At this price, the 500 square foot home calculates to about $1560 per square foot. That's pretty damn expensive. I left Hong Kong both with a renewed appreciation for space and a new renewed wondering as to why Americans need so much. 

In Hanoi, we observed that much of life is lived on the sidewalks and in the streets.

    

    Sidewalk shops in the Old Quarter of Hanoi.

    This brave woman sells fruit while competing for limited space with the motorized cycles.

    Working the rice paddy fields outside Hanoi. For many, a traditional life continues.

   Hanoi is a loud, chaotic, busy city but there are pockets of calm.

  

    

   The Temple of Confucius. A place of peace.

   

 As our group was waiting to board our bus, we were surrounded by vendors, aggressively offering for sale items ranging from postcards to greeting cards to hats and t-shirts.  One young woman did not  accept my "no" and started insistently thwacking my arm while chanting how much money she wanted me to hand over. Our little sidewalk drama ended when I annoyingly told her to stop hitting me.

All my observations left me wondering how Americans are viewed worldwide. I'm guessing the young Vietnamese vendor simply viewed me as a wealthy American since I could afford to travel to her country.

More to come.

Off We Go. Time to Move my Restless, Itchy Travel Feet

    Crowded, bustling Kowloon. Glad I wasn't driving.

Bed count -- since leaving Chicago March 2014, we've stayed in 103 beds. And yet, recently we have felt like we haven't traveled enough. 

Doesn't quite seem possible, right?

We'd been starving for a little adventure, or in this case, a pretty sizeable helping of adventure, as we set off on the marathon overseas flight. Can you say Hong Kong? Vietnam? Bangkok? Singapore? Bali? East coast side of Australia? What a great itinerary.

Almost five months have passed since our last Big Adventure, a walking tour in Peru with visits to Machu Picchu and other Peruvian sites. While in November, we enjoyed a quick trek to Seattle to celebrate 35 years of marriage, mostly we've hung around our little town, indulging in its simple pleasures of hanging out with friends and family, making new friends, snowshoeing, XC skiing, wine drinking, music listening, and snow clearing. Ok, that last one is not quite a pleasure, more a necessity of winter life.

For a woman who's rallying cry has been, "Make the first years (of retirement) an adventure," I've been feeling a little confined, tied down and restless. 

Time to get moving and Hong Kong is just the place to start.

Today's adventure was dim sum at the swanky Shang Palace. All reviews of Hong Kong dim sum suggested it is a no go for those with celiac because of hidden gluten, especially in sauces and the use of wheat as a filler in almost everything. But the Shang Palace, a beautiful restaurant in the Shangri-La Hotel, worked with me to figure out items I could eat while R ordered fun items from the regular dim sum menu. When traveling, I have found that if I say, "I'm celiac or gluten free, will you help me order," I usually receive really good assistance and service. 

Our delicious food was beautifully presented by attentive wait staff. What a great way to kick-start an adventure.

    Dim sum at Shang Palace.

    Beautiful and gluten free!

Prior to dim sum, we took a tour of crowded, bustling, building crane filled Kowloon.

My feet are just warming up

Life is Precious, Time is Scarce, Spend it Wisely

    This is how I felt in January.

Whatever the number of actual days, I experience January as exceptionally long. In addition to its length, this year we can add snowy, cold, dark and dreary, at least in our part of the world. Ugh.

While I busied myself with activities, snow sports, and slowly working on chapters for a book, I also spent time deeply engaged in reading.

I've been reading Atul Gawande's book Being Mortal, a book I'd say is a must read for almost anyone over the age of 21 who plans to age, who has aging family members or who is human. His is my favorite type of book for it stimulated all kinds of questions and 
thoughts and ideas and caused me to research similar material and to read and reread 
important pieces.

One such piece was Ezekiel Emanuel's essay, "Why I hope to Die at 75," from a 2014 issue of The Atlantic. This I followed with Paul Kalanithi's  2014 essay, "How Long Have I Got Left?" published in The New York Times  and then his wife's, Lucy Kalanithi, 2016 essay, "My Marriage Didn't End When I Became a Widow" also in The NY Times. I finished off this series with Arthur Brooks' 2016 NY Times essay, "To Be Happier, Start Thinking More About Your Death."

Hmmm. Do you notice a pattern? I'm certainly thinking lots about the end of life for these works thematically hang together in their exploration of death or as I see it, the idea of living fully with the time you have.

Physicians penned three of the pieces and an ultra conservative, Brooks, president of the American Enterprise Institute, the fourth.
Normally, I'm far left of aligning with Brooks and the AEI, but I was intrigued enough by the essay's title to give it a quick read and found value in a few of his ideas.

 Probably too often I've written here about making good use of one's active, Go-Go Years, living with urgency in retirement (Hearn's idea), postponing nothing, living now, and acknowledging that life is finite.

In his essay, Brooks cites a Buddhist monk practice of meditating on photos of decaying corpses as a way of increasing awareness that the physical self, thus life, is temporary, fleeting. The practice's purpose is to assist the individual in focusing on the present, on what is important, to live better in the moment and to realign one's values with allocation of time.  Brooks argues that most people are misaligned, spending time on low value activities (surfing the Internet, viewing tedious television programs) that are not in harmony with their stated values. Misalignment, Brooks thinks results from an "error in decision making," leads to a life of boredom, tedium, and regret.

The solution to wasting time? It is here that I find myself aligned with Brooks' thinking, especially after reading Being Mortal and "How Long Have a I Got Left?" He proposes that consciously contemplating that life is precious and time is scarce as the solution, as in the Buddhist monks' practice. In other words, to live mindfully, with the full awareness that life is momentary can help one realign values.
How does one put such mindfulness into practice?
Brooks proposes that we live a year as though it were our last, living consciously and intentionally. Many others have suggested this strategy. In 1997 Stephen Levine published the book, A Year to Live: How to Live This Year as if it Were Your Last.

To some this might sound bleak, but not to me. Squandering precious time and denying reality, that sounds bleak. Being clear and intentional about life sounds ....optimistic.
As I finish reading Being Mortal, nudging my husband to read it too, I've already selected my next book, Paul Kalanithi's When Breathe Becomes Air. 
My overarching goal for 2016 is to live this year as if it were my last. For this task, I have found some excellent guides.

    Time for some adventures.

     Stay calm and travel.

Heart of a Minimalist, A Garage Filling With GEAR

Where did 2015 go? And how did it go? And where have we been? More about all that later. But first, let's ponder GEAR.

In 2014, after packing most of our stuff in Chicago for out-of-state storage and cramming the remaining needed stuff in our over-packed SUV, strapping our old bikes on the back, we headed west for a big adventure and life change.  After distributing some luggage and clothing as well as our car to various accommodating relatives for safe keeping while we traveled, off we went, by plane, ship, train, taxi, bike, and shuttle, in what we thought was a minimalist fashion -- one large duffle each and one rolling carry on and for me one enormous, oversized, shoulder straining purse. This is how we traveled for 11 weeks, visiting South Beach, Florida, Lisbon, Portugal, La Harve, Normandy, Dover, England, Amsterdam, Brussels, Dublin, Ireland, Ireland's Connemara 
coast, Glasgow, Scotland, Copenhagen, Denmark, the Faroe Islands, Shetland Island, Reykjavik, Iceland, Oslo, Bergen, Geiranger, and Stavanger, Norway, London, NYC, and then Los Angeles. With just one duffle and one carry on each.  Although in all honesty, our bags were not all that light, for more than one taxi driver in the UK said to me, "Did you know the guy?" after hoisting my duffle into a cab trunk. Finally I got the joke -- perhaps, each cabbie was intimating, I was dragging around a dead someone in my bag -- hence the weight. A little UK cab driver humor.

    Cabbies found the duffle heavy. Huh? But these held all my stuff for 11 weeks.
We repeated that same minimalist packing, though much pared down, on our two-month trip from Vancouver, BC to the Hawaiian Islands, Tahiti, Bora Bora, North Island of NZ, Sydney, Adelaide, and Kangaroo Island, Australia, and a cycling trip of the South Island of NZ. The two of us mastered the art of hand washing clothes, frequently wearing the same outfits with minimalist pride, and feeling somewhat superior to fellow travelers who hadn't been on the road (or ship, plane, bike, 
shuttle....) for two months yet overpacked.
     We vowed to keep up our minimalist lifestyle, buying and using only what we needed, living clutter-free as much as possible, adhering to a simpler, less stuff driven life. After all, we reasoned, life now was to be about gathering experiences not tending to stuff. 
     And then we moved to Bend and met GEAR.

     Of course, GEAR is not a something one meets but more a philosophy, a way of living life.

Our new house came with a garage and soon followed kayaks, a kayak rack, personal flotation devices, paddles, kayaking gloves, dry bags, water proof bags for phones, new bikes, bike bags, bike rack, bike repair kits, water bottles, hiking poles, hiking packs, and on and on. Seemingly, we were under the spell of GEAR.

    Pretty neon kayaks require additional GEAR like dry bags, kayak racks, water vests, and more.
    As though accepting summer gear wasn't, well embarrassing enough, we are now, with a new season, living with the additional failed minimalist shame of WINTER GEAR.
Snow shoes, poles, water proof boots, ski gloves, ski masks, ski hats, ski pants, ski boots, skis, ski jackets, ear covers, more boots than two people can possibly wear and on and on.

    Hmm? That's a lot of GEAR.

 Do I really need my long semi-puffy coat with a hood, short wool coat, a long wool coat, a zipped fleece, a zipped ski jacket, a water proof jacket with pit zips? Yup, in Bend, I guess I 
do.
     As a minimalist-want-to-be how do I square GEAR with myself?

While my fancy urban heels and fine leather boots from a different lifetime sit unworn, snubbed, in my closet, watching as my Keen hiking boots and water shoes, hiking pants and so much more playfully join my almost daily excursions, I remind myself GEAR is part of a new life.  We purchased GEAR to support engaging in new experiences.
While the house and our wardrobes may be more minimalist in style and decor, simplified from urban living, the garage is GEAR.

In my previous post, I quoted psychiatrist Glen Gabbard's advice that in one's 60s and 70s, spend on what has been postponed. For us, that means experiences and GEAR.
Happy New Year.

Next up.....how did the year go, where did we go, and looking ahead. Isn't it time for a bed count?

Possibilities, Perils, and Embracing Retirement

    This guy has his retirement figured out. Beautiful, isn't?
Every so often, a few thoughtful gems land in my email account. This happened recently. Well, the gems did not land recently, I just unearthed them as I waded through long neglected, unread emails.

In my email box, I discovered Mark Moran's (Psychiatric News, July 2015) article highlighting pieces from psychiatrist Glen Gabbard's presentation, Possibilities, Perils for Aging Physicians. Gabbard's lecture, sponsored by the Senior Physicians Section of the AMA, was addressed to the AMA's House of Delegates in July. While Gabbard specifically focuses on aging physicians, I think the gist of his message applies to social workers, psychologists, psychotherapists, clergy, and many others in helping professions and non-helping professions.

 In his presentation, Gabbard makes several points, including that the "practice of medicine is not a job, it's more of a calling," that "the profound gratifications that medicine offers....make aging a challenge" and that the perfectionism, compulsiveness, and an "exaggerated sense of responsibility for one's patients," qualities that make for an excellent physician, can also make "slowing down or retiring difficult or impossible" (Moran, 2015). To this Gabbard adds the kicker, "We have a need to be needed."

Hmm. That last thought cuts true and deep -- the need to be needed.

     In part, Gabbard is pointing out that one's profession and therefore professional identity impact the evenness or unevenness of the transition into retirement.  This, of course, makes sense.  Our talents as well as who we are and what we have experienced combine to draw us toward our chosen careers and can make stepping into the next phase tricky.

    Gabbard, a psychoanalyst, speaks not just to the perils of the transition but also to the upside, the wonderful possibilities of the retirement phase. "Don't postpone" he advises. "The 60s and 70s are a time for harvesting -- spend money on those things you have postponed."
     "Retirement should not be about leaving something; it should be about going to something. Whether you work part-time, not at all, or full time, have a plan about what gives you joy. You have nothing to prove, you have run the race and are no longer in competition."

     Gabbard's points are well made. Move toward something, seek joy, don't postpone (the old live life with urgency idea), and spend time harvesting the fruits of your labor.

     Is this easier said then done?

     Over the years, I'd heard former colleagues suggest that they would "leave their practices feet first," either from financial need or another need and in fact, some did just 
that. Perhaps not quite the approach Gabbard is suggesting.

     However you decide to configure this phase, experts have some suggestions: (Retirement blues: Taking it too easy can be hard on you, Healthbeat Harvard Medical School)

-- Stay engaged since social connectedness is important for health.
-- Find a balance of activities that challenge, like improving a skill or learning something new.
-- Some stress is good, so choose activities that cause you to stretch, but not too easy or too hard.

This year has whizzed by and I'm wondering how I've applied this advice. Guess I'll find out in my next post. Until then, 
Stay calm and carry on 

    Here I am learning something new. And I'm fairly certain when I fell, I stretched something.....does     that count?

A First Thanksgiving (as a Pescatarian-Veganish Celiac)

It is the Thanksgiving season, the season of gratitude, feasting, turkey, stuffing, rolls, friends, family, pie, and all things gluten, and on and on.

I am entering a season of food challenges.

The newish food identity I'm wearing is as a fish eating vegan who is gluten free, or a pescatarian-vegan who can't eat gluten? Or a ....oh geez, I don't know, I'm just about to call myself someone who has to think way too much about food. 

As all my food choices have fallen into place, I've morphed into a UDG -- Undesirable Dinner Guest. I think some people want to invite us to dinner but after a few minutes of quizzing me on what I can eat, move off the topic and on to one less confusing and frustrating, like when to collect social security, the best way to have Americans embrace the metric system, or when the Fed should raise interest rates.

This will be my first Thanksgiving as a.....pescatarian-vegan-dairy-free Celiac. And we've been kindly invited to a large gathering of folks, many of whom I do not know, some who also have food restrictions. 

Weeks ago, I decided to learn more about veganish-pescatarian cooking and took to researching food blogs. I figured I could always offer to bring my own food in the event someone wanted to invite us to dinner. While I found lots of good blogs, two stood out as 
particularly useful and user friendly -- cookieandkate.com and ohsheglows.com. 
My own little veganish test kitchen has produced Spiced Vegan Lentil Soup from www.cookieandkate.com which I was bold enough to serve to guests on two different occasions

    Vegan Spiced Lentil Soup

 and below, Glazed Lentil Walnut Apple Loaf  from www.ohsheglows.com

    Pictured here with Roasted Rosemary Sweet Potatoes.  Looks pretty good, doesn't?

In the process I've collected some amazing recipes including Curried Lentil Soup and Vegan African Peanut Stew as well as Quinoa, Black Bean and Mushroom Burgers. I've 
also gained an appreciation for all combinations of simple, healthy rice bowls -- like those with black beans, tomato, avocado or rice noodles, steamed vegetables topped with spicy peanut sauce.

But I've gained much more than a variety of recipes. I've acquired a renewed respect for difference, how people accept and manage difference and work with what is not traditional 
and expected. For that I'm thankful.

Stay Calm. Carry On. Eat Well. Just not too Much.

Fear: Honor it? Ignore it? Work Around it? Create a New Normal?

When asked, most Americans can say exactly where they were on September 11, 2001.  They can recall details of what they saw, on television or in person or what they heard on the radio as the horrific story, the unbelievable unfolded.

A fair number of us remember life before 9/11 -- life before Homeland Security, TSA, long airport security lines, shoe removal, body scanning and the like. And so many other changes, external and internal, including a fleeting sense of safety, of freedom, of movement. And the settling in of fear.

We are Americans and we've adapted, accommodated to new structures, rules, uncomfortable feelings. We adjusted to a new normal.

I'm in a Seattle, WA hotel room perched on the 27th floor watching CNN report on the Paris terrorist massacre. We are here to celebrate our anniversary.
On the Saturday morning following the Paris attack, I look down on the street below from the 27th floor and an unwelcomed, unbiddened feeling washes over me. I am afraid. I'm afraid to head out for the day's activities in Seattle.

As I watch and listen to survivors tell their stories of the massacre, the executions, the sounds of reloading guns, the drive by shootings, the escapes out windows, the bombs, the helpfulness of strangers, I hear the citizens of Paris express their outrage and commitment that the terrorists will not win, will not take away their lives. I can imagine, as these citizens 
speak their words of defiance and heroism, their underlying fear. How can they not be 
afraid? A father and his adolescent son recount their tale of surviving the shootings in the concert hall. People around them were executed.

R nudges me to head out for the day. He says what the survivors say, we can't let the terrorists win.

I agree. That day in rainy, cloudy Seattle we set about creating our new normal -- pushing through the fear, waking up to reports of bombing raids, learning of new uncomfortable global alliances, checking the State Department's latest travel warnings, debating whether trips planned are safe to take.

I think about the Parisian adolescent boy, father by his side, speaking his story on camera, less than 24 hours after the massacre. He is a lucky one, a defiant one, but how can he not 
feel afraid? The magnitude of our fight ahead, the level of hatred the terrorists express toward the west, has yet to sink in.

New normal.

Try to stay calm if you can and truly try to carry on. We've Democratic work to do.