where I want to be/ ke mana

In Indonesia, and Bali in specifically, there is often asked two questions:

Dari mana?  Ke mana?  

Where are you coming from?  And where are you going?

When I first visited, it drove me crazy and made me worried that the men on the street corners were interested in stalking me with the coordinates.  Such is the nature of solo-girl traveling and I would give rude replies, much to their befuddlement.  Then, slowly, I learned that this was a question like "How are you?"  And the answer can be just as vacant as "Fine" :

Dari sana.  Ke sana.

From there.  Over there.

Elizabeth Gilbert says it's because they are very concerned about the intersection in which an individual exists, and their trajectory is an important part of that.  I like to think it's because the Balinese are interested in you moving somewhere, having a goal.  Okay, maybe that's just what I am interested in.

Since these two dreams have taken off in my life: becoming coauthor for a book and landing my dream job, I have just been struggling to stay afloat in a world that is clearly over my head.  I am grateful for this, every single morning, but I don't entirely feel like myself.  I am used to trucking towards the horizon so I can see what's around the bend, not so much looking at the ground right in front of my feet.

So, today, even amidst what is certainly a vast and steep learning curve, I caught glimpse of that next far off goal.

While working at the tour company's warehouse stuffing shirts in envelopes, in walked a glowing man.  I have only met a handful in my day, glowing men and women, and they all do remarkable things.  He's been a leader for 15 years or so and had just returned from the India trip, which fascinates me to no end.  How on EARTH an entity like our company (multi-variet, complex and high-standarded), with guests like our customers (well-off and holding high standards), could ever pull off a trip in that country is beyond me.  I told him towards the end of the day that I'd love to learn more about his experience there, and in Asia as a whole.  So he came over to the leader house and had a glass of wine.

And blew my mind.

He leads all over the world, from the most exotic locations, to places in the USA that longterm leaders consider below their pay grade, too mundane for their expertise.  He'll go anywhere at any time and clearly makes these places better by his presence.

And his stories!  Fielding complaints in India, leading a biking trip through floods in Vietnam, living through an earthquake in Bhutan, then RETURNING the following week to completely revamp the trip to work around the rubble.  Really.  Really?!

Just to BE in a country like Bhutan... well there is no country like Bhutan.  You pay $250 a day, required, as a visitor (it covers a guide, a car, your accommodations and food).  And they allow less than 25,000 tourists a year.  It's a tiny outcropping of this planet with a world all its own and a 32 year old king who looks like Elvis,

a strong Buddhist thread to society, a lifestyle set back 100 years, and a great many other things that make this country very... foreign.  And difficult to negotiate.  So just being there as a tourist is phenomenal.  But to also rebuild a complex trip from the ground up, quickly, and lead a large group of well-off folks on a successful adventure, is just a ridiculous feat.  But this man did it, and humbly, after an earthquake, with some local help.  And the way he described the place was so beautiful, pulling the breath from your lungs as he dipped into whispers, painting rich mental pictures of local dzongs and the incredibly pure surrounding mountains, climbed by no one because they are sacred.

Ke sana.

Over there.

I want to be over there.  Not just over there in Bhutan, although that's certainly the case, but I want to be at his skill level, to be that nimble, creative and at peace with the travel world... and to remain in awe at every turn.  It is a lofty goal that hovers miles, and years, and an untold number of experiences away from where I am now, but I can just barely see it, out there on the edge.  And that makes my heart soar again, to have a horizon on which to lightly focus.