ask a good question, please.

From a very early age we learn there is no such thing as a bad or stupid question. This is truly a shame, because we all know that this is a completely preposterous notion. 


Of course there are horrid questions. People practice asking them routinely. These sneaky little buggers of bad questions seem to show themselves frequently when encountering an individual just returning from travel. They don't mean to come out, but they do. They just can't help it.


Typically they go something like this:


"So, how was it?"
"Did you have fun?"
"What was your favorite part?"
"You went somewhere, right?"


And for this kind of question asking, I must repent. Because I, and probably like you, am guilty.


So what to do? How can one know what to ask anyway? It is not often, after all, that one has been the recipient of a perfect question.


Perfection can be so tricky.


So, when my friend saddled up to me, just days after returning from my most recent Spain adventures, and offered a:


"So tell me! What were the colors of Spain?"


I knew, with slight envy and complete admiration . . . she had done it. 
Perfection in question asking.


I knew it was that elusive perfection of question in a moment, why? Because I couldn't answer right away. 


So after a deep breath and a long thought . . . 
I told her all about the colors I saw.




r e d . . . .
walls stucco walls. closely tucked together buildings. winter coats worn by locals. santa claus' hanging from balconies.

o r a n g e . . . .
decorative tiled every-things. blooming, boasting, beaming flowers. juice drank in the mornings.

w h i t e . . . .
loafs and loafs of bread consumed. stacks and stacks of cheese enjoyed. blinking and twinkling lights of Christmas. seashells.

b l a c k . . . .

late nights of dancing. discussing. debating. and drinking Spanish wines.

y e l l o w . . . .
beach chairs and tea mugs. the morning light. the siesta sun. and the beams proceeding dusk. all gathering in my lens.

b l u e . . . .
the sky meeting the ocean. the sky meeting the ocean. the sky meeting the ocean.

See? The perfect question could take you anywhere.
May we learn how to ask . . .


- n.

midwest bound

last night
after days without
horizontal sleep,
countless delays,
hours of tarmac waiting,
enough dashing through

airports
to quench any marathon runner...


i had finally made it.
to the very 
last leg of my 
return 
home journey.


breathless and sweat-full
my terminal sprinting
ended as i deflated
in front of the final
gate.
chicago to minneapolis.


the airline worker
looked over her glasses at me,
pitifully.


"you missed it" she said.


"but isn't that the plane?"
i ask.

{some ultimatums
must be questioned.}

"and besides, it's 7:58 and the
plane doesn't take off for
another 6 minutes."


the airline worker's eyes
locked with mine.


{the starring over the glasses
was beginning
to get old.}


she agreed to check
if the gate was open.


it was.


i'd made it.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
traveling.

such a gift.
the chance to leave what is
here.
and go.
just go.
to see and explore and wonder
and test and search and marvel.


there is nothing quite like it.
especially
when you know
precisely
what home is like.
what you've missed.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


sneaking onto the aircraft
not a moment too late,
i approached cautiously.


the plane was
of course
full of eager travelers,
who had been on time.
who were waiting.
ready to get on with their journeys.



the situation had potential to be
intimidating.



the stares.
the glares.
because after all.
being THE ONE.
THE ONE
the late one.
the holding-up-the-plane one.
the your-tardiness-is-foiling-my-connection one.
never a good
position.


but.
intimidating and scornful
looks did not greet me.
only smiles,
nods of approval,
and congratulatory
last minute plane-catching
compliments
were doled my way
as i,
still short of breath,
found my way down the aisle.


and when seat 26A was
doubled booked
and i had no where to sit,
3 rows in all directions
of concerned travelers 
found another seat for me.
all before
a flight attendent even 
knew there was an issue.


the midwest
truly welcomed me home.


and while
even though it felt
like my time traveling was
too short
and it was hard to leave.
to say goodbye.


it's good to be back.


as for last night.
dear United 959 plane-mates,
thanks for the 
warm welcome.
home.




- n.


ps 
stay tuned for 
tales of the past weeks.
of meeting
christmas-ing
traveling
new years-ing
tappas-ing
and sunning.
with sister & parents
and a bunch of Oxford MBAs.

happy christmas: i am home.

i'll be home for Christmas,

you can count on me.

i'll be home for Christmas...

... if only in my dreams.

last year

i sang this song 

with a bit of 

a catch in my throat.

{a lump really}.

because i was no where

near home.

quite far far away actually.

and sometimes

that something in my throat

was just too much 

to swallow.

it would brim over,

seeping out

the sides of my eyes.

even when

i never asked it to.

because i missed...

the blustery snow.

the trimmed tree.

the cozy house.

the driveway shoveling.

the cooking making.

the caroling at the market.

the Eve service tradition.

the family gatherings.

the faces.

i missed home.

and yet, here i am now

an entire year later.

still in a place

quite different from my home

marking the day of Christmas. 

and it was this very afternoon

that i sat

amongst my sister, mom and dad,

when this song...

...that song.

carried itself through the 

speakers and filled our

Christmas-space.

i'll be home for Christmas,

you can count on me... 

i noticed.

there was no catch

this time.

because i realized.

that wherever i am.

south or north or east

it doesn't much

matter.

because in fact

it is not the place

that tells me.

no.

it's those 3 people.

mom & dad & sister.

they are the ones that tell me.

my body rests,

and my mind can take a sigh.

and i just know

that wherever i am

with these people.

yes indeed.

i am home.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

wishing you well

wherever you find yourself

this Christmas,

- n.

find your feet.

it might not feel normal

to be discussing new year 

dreams and resolutions 

in the orangey middle of

october.

so please if you can offer a bit

of forgiveness to this soul...

because i am....

that is, dwelling on 

some particular thoughts and hopes

i held a mere ten months

ago.

one of which was to sit on a 

beach

{in Thailand}

with my feet dug into the sand

feeling the cold tingling 

smoothness

only the insides of beaches

can offer.

to sit on this beach

all day.

to watch sunrise

and sunset.

that was my promise to myself.

the purpose?

to be still and watch the world's

movement.

for just one day.

to appreciate the cycle.

to lay on my back

and if i was very quiet 
and still,

to see  if i could feel

the world's turning.

maybe it's a silly idea.

but then...

it seemed important.

a gift i would give myself.

but here ten months later

instead of standing on the 

beaches of Thailand,

i found myself instead meandering 

amongst the rocks

of the North Shore.

and while there was

no tingling and coolness of the sand,

the earth was still doing its thing.

the sun still greeting and giving.

the moon still brightening and beckoning.

i couldn't help wondering 

about that promise i made to myself

more than 300 days past.

sometimes choices are made that

change all foreseen plans.

sometimes choices are made that

usurp the life you knew.

but when the dust settles if you look

down

you will find your feet.

your trusty feet.

who have carried you

faithfully this far

and won't abandon you yet.

even if you find yourself

standing someplace

you would 

have never imagined.

so just stand on them.

and wait.

the sun will come.

the world will turn.

and the moon with keep you

company.

wherever you find yourself.
whether in Thailand
the North Shore
the office
or the living room.
here's to standing.




- n.