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My 45^th birthday began with a sniffle and a gust of wind.

We have been traveling on Koh Lanta, an island in the south of Thailand, for nearly a week. Always keeping it real on this blog - there have been highs and lows.

Let’s start with the highs. Something happens to you as a parent when all of your kids are FINALLY able to swim. It’s like you did your job (shout out to the Talmud). I have been utterly surprised by the depth of satisfaction I have had observing their triumphs as independent swimmers. It's been so cool watching two of the kids move from fear to (what I would say now is) attentive bravery, working towards something on their own schedule, and deciding which inner voices to listen to. I also learned that forcing swimming just doesn't work - just needed some consistency, a pool, and allowing them to grow in their own ways.

This was in full bloom as we embarked on our first snorkelling trip – a family of five snorkelling together for the first time – pointing out the coral and the brightly speckled fish to each other. Each of us explorers, independent, and yet our own school of fish. It was truly magical.

We went on two pretty magical boat trips – one speedboat and one longtail boat. One trip to Koh Rok and Koh Haa, the other to a sleepy island called Koh Jum. 

That otherworldly water color, a curious pair of monitor lizards, catching air in the speedboat, looking out at the vast expanse of ocean from the longtail, swimming on deserted beaches. 

Then we hired a driver to take us to the many beaches down the coast. We wound through the jungly curves in the back of his pickup, spotted monkeys in the trees, watched the coastline ebb and flow, and blasted the kids’ playlist that we have heard everyday throughout this journey on repeat (please, someone, send Obie more music so we can listen to something new).

And the truth of this trip is that sometimes you can be in the most magical of places but somehow the rhythm is just unsettled. Despite all this gorgeousness, each time we take a trip away from our base we lose our practiced rhythm of travel (schooling, feeling comfortable in a place, etc.), and there can be a whole lot of grumpiness and uncertainty about what the days will bring. We have indeed seen a few days of meltdowns, reticence to meet new people and extend oneself beyond the safety of our family, and wholesale invention of obstacles to have something to fight against. And I suppose that just comes with the territory.

So back to me! I’m now a day past 45. I have had a cold for a couple of days. A storm edged in, with sporadic rains and fierce winds. It forced me to do a whole lot of nothing. There were moments of buoyancy – reading and eating cheesecake on the beach, watching the unseasonably rough waves, even spotting a green snake slither through the sand – time to myself, time with family, a date with Chris. And still, the same questions remain about my next chapter. Not even a third of the way through and yet I long for clarity. I want to know how this part of the story ends. I watch this impatience for what it is. There are times I feel like I am making progress and it’s all going according to plan, without a plan. And other days when it feels like I have stalled, like I have concocted ‘progress’ to tell myself a story that simply isn’t there. And there are even moments of wondering if I am truly living this gift of a trip to its fullest, appreciating its wonders, treating each day as a blessing.  My birthday was the stew of it all – snot, majesty, pause, doubt, appreciation, wind just enough and a bit too much. 

“I feel like the veil becomes harder to take off when you're an adult,” remarked Obie, in one of those rare moments driving a scooter when I could relax the hyperfocus and talk. Discussing writing, he had asked if I was now embarrassed to read my teenage musings. I told him that I thought my teenage poetry was real, raw, and totally me – that there is something so special about writing at his age, like he has a direct line to him, unfiltered.

I learned how to ride a scooter three days ago. Our week-long stay in Pai (a town about 2.5 hours from Chiang Mai up in the mountains - think: hippies, fire-dancers, lush jungles, waterfalls, etc.) turned up an unexpected adventure. The house we had rented was about a 7 min drive from town and there were no songtaews, tuktuks or taxis to be had. So we had a choice – make the kids walk 40 min each way into town or teach me how to drive a scooter.

So during the kids’ iPad time, Chris took me out to the surrounding streets to teach me how to ride. 

After only an hour of road training, we launched into what turned out to be two days straight of trial-by-fire Thailand driving – with Obie riding on the back, and Chris riding ahead with the two little ones. There were narrow rutted streets, wide lane highways with overtaking trucks, surprise off-roading (see pic below) where I had to incorporate my too-few mountain biking lessons with Chris over the years, steep inclines and still steeper descents.

I was not so talkative on the bike during these days. Self-affirmations poured out of me (“you got this” over and over, mantra-like), a lot of “I believe in you, Mom” from my cool-as-a-cucumber and biggest cheerleader Obie, and a likely unattractive look on my face etched with battle-tested resolve.

As I sit here three days after this initiation, noticing the soreness (yes, sore) from the full-body clenching, there is something of a metaphor in this learning, in what I did and what my family saw in me.

As you all know, we are on a journey here. And this growth is not just about the kids. Sure, we orient much of the trip to their own edification, but a lot of my energy is going into my growth. I am not quite ready to fully articulate what growth is happening or where it is leading me, but I can say something of moments.

I have come to a halting realization that I lead a bifurcated life, living into a dualism that is no longer serving me. There are many bifurcations I can speak to: mind vs. body, analytical vs. intuitive, planful vs. present, conscientious vs. free, even west coast vs. east coast. But I think much of the bifurcation is rooted in a disconnect between my predilection for the spiritual and my tendency towards the categorical, strategic, and linear. I do not believe that one is more real than the other (perhaps best not to dive into what is real – at least not in this blog post!). I do see that it is time in my own evolution to connect these planes, and that the connections lie for me in the realm of intuition. 

So in this stage of my midlife eat-pray-love journey (let’s just fully own that, shall we?), I am attending meditation groups, working with a body worker, reading and writing without goal, and watching the inquiry unfold.

And here I find myself back at my fire engine red scooter. That was not part of my spiritual exploration! But it was. It was an act of faith.  It was utterly unplanned. It allowed my kids to watch me embody beginner's mind, stepping into it with equal dose of trepidation and determination. It allowed us to find gems en route that we otherwise would have missed. It opened a part of me that had been dormant for some time: unknowing, vulnerable, clumsy, exhilarated. It was an act of unveiling. And in those few moments (when there were no trucks or cars or motorcycles in sight), when the road was paved just enough, I took my raw hands off the brakes and took in the vast landscapes of rice paddies, the sweet smell of burning in the distance, with no thought about what’s next. 

This trip wouldn’t be anything without its fair share of adventures, so here are a few we haven’t yet written about in detail.

Elephant Sanctuary
An incredible day hanging out with and learning about elephants. After extensive inquiry into the grey area of what is an ethical elephant sanctuary, we headed out on a day of hanging out with five elephants – from a two-year-old mischievous toddler, to a pregnant 22-year-old, to a 70-year-old grandma. We fed them, hiked with them, and bathed them.

Up bright and early ready to rock. 

The day was so special. It was just our family with a few guides - all of whom belong to the Karen tribe, a hill tribe that comprises the largest minority in Thailand. Our guides were from the areas bordering Thailand and Myanmar, including one from Myanmar. Sparing no time to brief us on what we were about to do, we met and began to feed the elephants. It took a few minutes to get used to engaging with these majestic (and very large) creatures, and we saw that they each had their own personalities, seemed to be quite habituated to humans, and were very sweet. Their trunks were extraordinary - like something prehistoric, so rough and oddly hairy. Sometimes they would try to sneak into our baskets of bananas when we were not expecting it.

Hiking down to the river.

Two days ago, my family and I went to Wat Pha Lat. It is a temple high in the mountains with only one road and trail leading to the peak. The temple is nestled in the forest beside a beautiful waterfall overlooking the city. Ancient Buddhist statues dot the cliff, making you feel like you are in a forgotten place. The temple has been standing for more than 500 years. It was built during the reign of King Kuena from 1355 to 1385. The story begins with the royal party journeying to the top of Doi Suthep while the king rode on his white elephant. One of Buddha’s bones was placed on the elephant with the king. Once they arrived at the top, the elephant trumpeted three times and then died in exhaustion. That was declared an omen and the king immediately ordered Wat Phra That Doi Suthep to be built. Later, he declared the erection of three temples on the mountain, all places where his elephant had rested. 

We began our journey in a Grab taxi that dropped us off at the Basecamp Trail Cafe. After gobbling down a few bites and buying a drink to keep us energized, we started walking up the road to the Monks Trail. Ascending the tiring uphill, we eventually reached the opening of the trail. We hiked along the winding beaten dirt path to the temple. 

I'm not going to name names, but there were some complaints because of all the humidity in the air. Halfway through the hike, raindrops began to fall. In Thailand, if you feel a few drops, you know that a downpour is in your near future. Miraculously, the rain did not worsen and eventually stopped. We reached the temple and marvelled at the rock statues scattered around it. 

We walked up a few steps and reached a meditation site with an amazing view of the city. Passing statues of Buddha, we wandered through the temple and found an ancient wat, covered in moss. 

This temple holds different kinds of architecture. In 1934, the temple fell into disrepair and a prosperous Burmese businessman worked on reconstructing it. The Burmese influence can be seen in the architecture of the newer buildings through symbols and design used in Burma. Another design in Thai architecture modelled heaven which created a sense of peace, lightness, and floating. Lightness was usually symbolized by curves. This technique wove Buddhist philosophy into traditional Thai architecture.  

The curving design appeared in several spots of a temple, such as an arched roof and the base design. Steep roofs or multi-tiered roofs symbolize the achievement of wisdom or nirvana. This is the symbol of peace and lightness. Peace can also be represented in the symmetry of a temple, which is often visible in Thai temples regardless of the shape. 

Suddenly, we heard an electrical whine which refused to stop. By that time we had already explored most of the temple so we decided that it was time to leave. We negotiated the songthaew's price in our broken Thai, piled into the taxi bus, and watched the ancient wat fade into the distance. 

We asked for it. It’s definitely been an adventure.

It feels like there are moments in life where if you pause, you can see that disentangling the strands will make sense and eventually fit into the complex mosaic of a story. But right now, a muddled mess of new experiences, celebrations, gratitude, and natural disasters. 

Obie’s 12^th Birthday

Rewind to October 2, Obie’s 12^th birthday. It was a pretty epic day.  Order of celebrations:

• 8:30 am. Wake up to home-like breakfast of corn pancakes and bacon. Slightly burnt and unsightly because we made the bacon in a wok and the gas stove doesn’t go to low. But still, like home.
• 9:00-10:30 am. Play video games with friends from home. Read texts and get calls from afar. Obie feels loved and remembered.
• 11:30 am-1:00 pm. Try out new drama class. A success! Discover a 3D printing cafe and eat a celebratory coconut dessert with Obie's picture on it. 

• 1:30 pm. Head to the biggest mall in Chiang Mai. Go to a Chinese hot pot restaurant that offers so many surprises!
• Free manicures while you are waiting for your table.
• Kids get light-up wands.
• Food delivered by robots on wheels.
• Noodle guy does burning man-like dance in front of the table.
• Human-size stuffies placed at every table where someone doesn’t have a date so they won’t feel lonely.
• Birthday song by staff with flashing lights
• Dessert.

• 3:00 pm. Next to the restaurant is a huge arcade. Marvel at parents’ inner competitive streaks in Air Hockey. 
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• 5:00 pm. Home for birthday cake.

• 7:00 pm. Obie and Chris special time at the Sunday night market, where Obie gets to choose his present: a little elephant personalized with his name and the number ’12.’

Now if that wasn’t an adventure of a day…

The Floods

We had read enough translated articles from a Chiang Mai news site to know there was a chance the Ping River was going to flood, but I suppose we just didn’t believe it. Even though our house is a block from the river. Even as we obsessively watched the numbers of the river height steadily rising.

It started after we fell asleep following Obie's birthday celebration. At 1am, Chris and I wake up to a text from our AirBnB hosts and thus began the never-ending night into morning. We may have to evacuate. 3am – Chris goes out to check the river level. Definitely still rising. 4am – We definitely have to evacuate. Chris and I start packing. 5am – wake up the kids and the AirBnB hosts come over. Kids exhausted, lying on the couches, Chris helping our hosts move furniture to the second floor, turn off breakers, get the house ready for the coming flood.

The plan was that we would have an extended breakfast at a fancy hotel buffet (one where we could sit for 4+ hours) and then the AirBnb hosts would take us to another of their properties where we could wait out the flood and the post-flood maintenance. Arrive at 6 am. We sit. Eat first course, second course, so many courses – drawing out time, side eyes from waiters wondering when these disheveled farangs will leave.

As we wait, we watch reports in on flooding, and suddenly, we see that the road to our fancy hotel has also flooded. I walk out to the front and see this.

Now up until now, we hadn’t really felt much. It all seemed rather orderly and scientific. At this point, the faint jangles of alarm bells in my head.  We cannot get stuck at this hotel. We call our Air BnB hosts to pick us up NOW.

They arrive. And proceed to tell us they got it wrong and that their tenants at the other house are not leaving until the next day. So now we have to find a hotel. Mind you, it is teeming rain. Onlookers line the streets, watching the water levels rising. Thankfully, we exit the flood zone and arrive in the old city and hop from one hotel to another in a downpour to find one with space for a family of 5 (not easy to find!). We stay there for the night. It has a pool and a lady who serves mango with sticky rice stationed in front. Everyone is tired, grumpy, relieved, and some of us would best be described as delirious.  

I am writing now a day later from our new temporary home. It feels like we are starting over – getting to know a new neighborhood, where the markets are, how to get filtered water, etc. But that’s ok. 

It’s Yom Kippur morning. I paused, meditated, thought about how far from home we are and what life would be like during these holy days in a place more familiar.

I’ve been sitting with this thought of the nature of knowing. How the kids – for the first time in their lives – get to see that we (Chris and I) really don’t know what we are doing. They witness us navigate neighborhoods, transport, cultural mis/communications, unfamiliar sites, and natural disasters, observing their parents’ previously held omniscience slowly dissipate. We of course try to provide a safely held space for this emerging realization. And yet, the realization seems a universal one, not relegated to the kids among us. Of slowly disentangling the illusion of knowing and wondering what the fallen facades might lead to.