From the back of a well-worn Mercedes taxi, it looked harrowing. The driver used classic maneuvers I can only assume are taught in some kind of a Greek Taxi Driving School such as "riding the ass of the car in front of you to get them to move over" and "quickly change lanes between two cars that don't have enough space between then to actually let you in, scaring one into falling back". The Zen version of the experience is observing oneself being in a game of pole position – in a taxi.
Luckily, a combination of fatigue from the long travel with light sleep and the years of travel in which I have come to conclude that taxi drivers in foreign countries are all skilled professionals who make no mistakes allowed me to adopt the Zen perspective. Yes, to the rational person there was a good chance I was in serious danger. But I was in a Mercedes which has to have great safety features, right? At least compared to a Bangkok Tuk-Tuk or the cheap Tata cars they drive in Kathmandu. If I could survive those much crazier and less safe taxis, how could this nice Mercedes be my end?
The friendly, former Blue Star Ferry crew member turned taxi driver wasn't going to let anything happen to us and he got me to the port in record time. Perhaps because of his former occupation, he is one of two taxi drivers I've had that knew exactly how to get to the dock for the ferry to the Dodecanese correctly the first time. In addition, he helped me identify the right stores to order electronics from online, rather than pay the inflated price of the electronics store on Patmos. So, I got to the ferry dock extra quickly, without hassle, in the comfort of a Mercedes and armed with information on how to save money in my future electronics purchases. If that's not a win, I don't know what is.
In fact, the journey thus far has been a string of wins. My flight from LAX to Newark left and arrived early – making my slightly tight connection not tight at all. Newark was much easier for transit than Montreal or Toronto were. Although the flight to Athens was about forty minutes late out the gate, I had plenty of time to get from the airport to the ferry – making it no real issue. And the cheese-filled-bready-thing I bought for a snack at the airport was pretty great. In the course of an international journey, this is pretty great. Complaints: none.
I have found it weird to have left "home" early in the morning, traveling the 14 hours of flying time plus another 4-5 of airport time finding myself excited to get "home" at the end of it. It's the novelty of the two-home-scenario. Sure, I'm praying my new mattress has arrived so the Patmos house is comfortable enough. Nonetheless, I'm headed home – and it feels good.
I received a text while on layover at Newark. The very kind lady who sold me the house was checking on me. It turns out the owner of the cafe in front of the house hadn't realized the kids and I had left and was worried about me, so he contacted Maria. Had he asked any one of several of his neighbors, he would have found out I was away a week. Sadly, I neglected to tell him because, well, his English isn't great and so we gesticulate more than we talk. Almost everyone else speaks English well, so I chat with them and they know… Lesson learned: pull out Google Translate and let him know next time.
Over the past week, it was easy to see the difference in lifestyles and energy between my two homes. As soon as I arrived in Thousand Oaks, life left busy. There's so much to do – so many things to manage. I can't figure out where all this stuff even comes from. On Patmos, we still needed to eat, shop and drive – but it was all so scaled back, so much easier. Sure, we know a lot more people in Thousand Oaks and have more social obligation – that accounts for some of it. However, all the driving around to take care of life's basics is suburban California and not small Greek island. The kids and I ran all our errands on foot in an hour or so – and I still was able to get all the kombucha I need.
I found myself wondering what I can do to make Thousand Oaks feel more like Patmos. What can I change or drop? Where is the illusion that I have bought into making my California life seem like it must be a certain way? Honestly, I haven't figured it out yet. It seems like there might be a thing or two – but they are fundamentally different lifestyles with different expectations. Nothing stops the calendar and the clock in Thousand Oaks – and for some reason, the number of products we need to run our lives seem endless.
Funny how most of my favorite places are so much simpler than home.
Throughout my travels and my life, I find myself looking at people and wondering what motivates them? Where do they find the quality in their life that makes it happy and worthwhile. Sometimes it's obvious – they have meaningful work, strong family connections, an excellent social life, a fantastic lifestyle – maybe they live somewhere inspiring or healing. There are also so many people who have none of this. What is life then? It has to be more than breathing, getting by and meeting obligations – going through whatever is expected of you.
Some places, some cultures collectively answer that life IS more than the basics. Quality of life is not only important, it is essential. Greece is one of those places and within it, Patmos even more so. There are costs to this stance – Greece's politics and economy can testify to that. Then one has to ask, what are the costs of taking another position on life? Cheaper TVs and less togetherness? More anonymity and less care? When it's all said and done – and life is over – what will have made the journey worthwhile?
I like Greece's fundamental answer. Admittedly, it could use some refinement in execution here and there – but the big answer resonates. As it does with Bali and France and in many ways, even Singapore. The exteriors can be quite different – but these culture that make room and honor collectivism (without going full-throttle) and which proclaim the importance of a life well lived – of beauty and quality – have an answer I find not only appealing, but undeniable.
I don't think I'm alone. At home, I know so many people who think about and work to create community for themselves. Successful suburban life in America can be extremely lonely if you let it. Friendship and connections take work. Meaning is derived, not given or intrinsic (although I could argue it is if you use the right lens – but that's a slightly different conversation). People work hard for their meaning in a culture as individualistic and diverse as America's.
Last Sunday, I was fortunate enough to have dinner with Professor Jared Diamond, author of Pulitzer Prize winning Guns, Germs and Steel. I even had the honor of driving him from dinner to the event my synagogue sponsored in my car. Professor Diamond pointed out that loneliness doesn't really exist in Papua New Guinea. People are constantly together and connected in strong communitarian ways. I'm sure there are trade-offs involved. Obviously, Papua New Guinea's economy is not as developed as America's (although there are other factors involved). Still, I have to imagine there is something wonderful in being part of a very connected world.
In life, I don't think there are a lot of right answers – although there are a few really wrong ones (like genocide to create homogeneity, for example). The further I go down life's path, I come to see what matters to me, what is right for me – and what I want to give my children and convey to others. Living in a way where we touch each other, where we create warmth and kindness – those matter. And not when and if we have time, or as something we can do if the situation permits – but woven into our lives. Like hearing the owner of the neighboring cafe contacted a mutual acquaintance because he was worried or seeing my children get hugs and waves as we head to the ferry dock.
These are the places that feel like home.
