Untethered

Sitting on the beach waiting for my friend to return home, I'm hit with the sudden urge to start walking across the sand. The tide so low it feels like I'm crossing a barren desert. A post-apocalyptic world full of sand, abandoned huts, unnecessary bridges, and no people at all. Until I see him--a man hobbling over a bridge, cane in one hand, a small backpack slung over his shoulder, wearing nothing but a speedo. On the other side of the bridge, he makes his way toward the distant water and plops onto the beach, arms and legs stretched out, face to the sun. What a strange planet, I think.

Back at my friend's hut, we make smoothies and eat cake. This place brings me too much peace, she says. I've stopped thriving. What a conundrum. Like a zen koan. My mind can't figure out what to do with it. I've strived to create peace in my life for as long as I can remember. And once I had it, I wasn't letting it go. But was it causing me to become lazy, to not thrive, to perhaps even block things from my life? A wave of panic rises then fades to dark.

The next day I swing by Grace's house to say hi. I accidentally stabbed myself in the leg, she says and shows me the wound. Out of control art project, she explains and shrugs. We exchange stories of scars and accidents and the angels who helped us. And all I can think about are scars that can't be seen and invisible angels.

My phone pings. A friend stuck in another part of Thailand has sent me a picture. He's shaved his hair into a mohawk and tie-dyed it rainbow. Cabin Fever, the caption says. Stay wild moon child, I respond. Three weeks later he calls me from an airplane. I'm leaving Thailand. How do you feel about that? I ask. Bad, he says. I get the strange feeling people are going to start losing it very soon. Or they already have, but I've not been seeing it that way.

I social distance from social media, attend close knit improv sessions, and meet with friends to talk and write. The thing about Koh Phangan, someone says one night, is that no one asks questions. Leaving too much room for assumptions, I think. As intriguing as it is dangerous, I can't shake the thought for days.

Life on a nearly deserted tropical island in the strange year of 2020. I attempt to ground into it as much as possible. But the harder I try, the more untethered I become, unbound and tumbling into the ether. I grasp at fleeting moments as they slip away, leaving me longing for solid connection and questioning their purpose and lessons.

I call my friend in California at 3am. I'm losing it, I tell her. She sighs. She's been putting up with me for lifetimes. I'm supposed to be in Vietnam. Roadtrip around Ha Giang and Sapa. Head south, explore, research, open portals. I start to ramble. And....she says. I tell her more. And...she says again. She doesn't stop until I purge every last thought and confession. Then she fills all the empty space with wisdom. I'm taking a picture, she finally says. My eyes are bloodshot, I tell her. No way, your eyes are oceans. Yeah, oceans of blood.

Late night drives across the island through the jungle, starry skies above me, a quiet darkness surrounding me. I find my way to the beach--no people, hardly any lights, an empty tree swing, fireflies. Surreal. The lightness I've been missing. Freeing and impermanent. Releasing the questions, embracing the mysteries. Untethered and tumbling into the night.

How are you staying grounded these days...or are you untethered and tumbling? What's keeping you thriving? What's keeping you at peace? What fills your days and nights and all the spaces between?