All I Need

On a plane again.
I write up here.
It seems to be the place where life is quiet enough for a racing mind to achieve cohesive thought.

Flying from Toronto to Medellin via Panama City. I'm excited about this trip, it's surprisingly my first trip to Colombia, I still get excited about first times. I'm also going to look at a project that could be the beginning of something special.

Ahmeda is mad at me, not a common occurrence, but not an unfamiliar place. I reacted poorly, I'm at fault and it was in my power to diffuse. I didn't. Not a good way to say good bye.

The flight is full, copa airlines, a mixture of business looking travelers, Latin Americans traveling between home and 'home', and maybe some tourists. I'm sitting next to an older couple traveling to meet up with their daughter for US thanksgiving. She is a teacher in Mexico and Panama is the meeting place of choice. The couple can't hide their concern about her future and the choices she is making. In the fits and starts of long flight conversation, I tell them the story of a friend of mine that taught and worked in Asia for years, married a fellow expat and returned to Toronto to settle. The story brings visible relief to the mothers face. Clearly, I still have the power to diffuse despite my poor performance in my own relationship.

I'm listening to Radiohead, "Nude" on the In Rainbows album. It's on repeat. How did I ignore these guys music for so long. Why is melancholy so beautiful. Being down can take you to a higher place.

I live in contradiction, comfortably operating in my own uneasy tension. I am both more evil than most would ever imagine, and more loving than I will ever admit.

The plane is jostled by turbulence associated with mountain far below us. It seems to follow a rhythm in the song. It seems to match a theme in my life.

I dance. I'm pretty good at it. Moving to life's rhythm as I perceive it. Reacting to the beat, anticipating crescendos, adding flourishes during the bridges. From a distance it can appear genius, but in truth it is the movement of a bit player more so than choreographer, composer or architect. For those close it can be dizzying, particularly if they hear different music. It's impossible to find a clear stand, for someone in constant movement.

An elderly woman is struggling down the aisle through the bumps to reach the washroom. I look her in the eye and smile reassuringly. She smiles back. As she gets to my seat the bumps increase in intensity, she grips my shoulder as opposed to the chair back. Apologizes in Spanish, I acknowledge "de Nada". She doesn't let go. Clearly, I can still be supportive.

"All living things tremble at violence, fear death and crave love," reads the back of the shirt of an elderly
East Indian looking gentlemen seated ahead of me. Buddha is credited with the quote. The flight attendant in business class is stunning, hiring practices are credited. I'm not in business class, not sure who deserves credit for that.

I'm not sure I fear death, now that I have a family to take care of, I fear leaving them unprotected. But it's hard to say I truly fear death, perhaps my arrogance has put the idea of it so far away I don't contemplate it's reality. Oddly, I often think of my funeral. Not the ceremony, but the attendees. I'm constantly assessing my relations with friends and acquaintances based on the likelihood that they would attend my funeral. It's not as bizarre a metric as it might seem. In my simplified socio-emotional math the decision to go to a funeral is determined by two main things; how important the deceased is to you, and how important you feel you are to the deceased/or those close. One of those criteria is in my control; the letting them know they are important. The other can only be measured by observation. Once someone meets the criteria of a funeral attendee, I am reticent to do anything that would jeopardize their attendance. I am wired to keep investing in the friendship, taking opportunity to continue to build memories and connection. Funeral attendance is a minimum threshold on friendship quality, a guide question to help discern which acquaintances should be developed into friends. Here's the contradiction. When worlds collide and friendship dynamics change, when friends hurt other friends. I never clearly choose sides, I rarely ever end friendships that jeopardize my more valuable friendships. Instead I dance on both sides of the line, to not upset the head count at my memorial.

Radiohead, I discovered this album hearing "reckoner" while walking through a shoe store on Castro in the heart of San Francisco's Gaytown. On a fruitless search for an elusive pair of glasses frames. De La Sole. One can always use help to see clearly, particularly in my "buhloone mind state."

The plane is now descending into Medellin. My excitement is building. My brief stop in Panama City was punctuated with texts of apology to Ahmeda. The relationship appears to have survived another one of moments of failing.

Luck and mileage status has landed me in business class on this leg, the flight attendant from the last flight didn't join me on the onward journey, but the turbulence has. The clouds part to expose the rugged mountain landscape below. I swallow hard to fight my stomach and lunch back into the stomach part of my torso.

I developed a taste for whining white boy music, with the Cure and the Smiths in junior high. I often go to Coldplay to feed desire when it comes. The formula of belted out tear soaked lyrics and orchestral crescendos have there place, but don't always do it for me. "All I Need" plays as the plane touches down. It's the subtlety of the moans that make it powerful.
Clearly, I still have a lot to learn.