My Balinese Adieu

I am in such awe of this world. Have to share this story in case my experience resonates with someone who needs to hear it:

T-3 hours until I have to venture to the airport and begin my 21+ hour journey “home.” As I exert some Herculean effort to mindfully enjoy my last meal in Bali, I am grappling with the most unrelenting kind of longing: feeling like I just uncovered a key piece to the puzzle, discovering an important element of who I am, and having to say goodbye soon resembles being torn away from my closest friend. And the only way I know how to wrestle with this kind of longing is through writing (and wine, but that’s not the point).

I think a certain threshold exists to define the number of dates one must take themselves on in order to feel comfortable dining alone in public. Pretty sure I passed that long ago. So with my iPad on the table, my left hand on the keyboard and my right hand gripping my glass of rosé, I am writing. Words are flowing so quickly I can barely keep up; I can’t contain the energy that is so obviously coursing my space.

I barely notice when my server approaches me but when I peel my eyes away from the screen, I recognize sheer curiosity. And interest. Understanding, maybe. She asks me what I’m writing, and my feelings are too raw to veil my reality, and I respond, “Poetry.”

The most authentic smile I have ever witnessed flashed across her face and she says, “I’m a poet too. Can I share some of my work with you?”

She pulls a small notebook from her apron - I admire her absolute devotion to her craft - and we pour over pages together. Our native tongues are different but our appreciation for the human experience is the same, and I am so rocked back with purpose that I had one finger on the “Cancel Flight” button on the United app before I switched over to write this long, drawn-out post.

The purpose of this post? Who knows. Maybe for you it’s garbage, or a friendly nod of acknowledgement, or maybe even a weapon. For me, it’s a reminder to us all that our power resides in our ability and willingness to be vulnerable - to open our hearts to each other in ways only poets can eloquently capture but that we all inherently understand, either from a position of experience and exposure, or fear from the lack thereof.

As I bid Bali adieu with a goodbye I feel in the deepest depths of my gut, I leave you with these questions:

- What are the pieces of you that rarely, if ever, see the light?

- Who are the loved ones in your life who may be seeking a more authentic version of you?

- What does vulnerability at its core look like to you? I mean the scare-the-shit-out-of-you kind of vulnerability. What do those moments feel like? Who’s there with you? Can you sit with those moments without trying to change its elements or outcome?

- What will it take for you to open up just a little bit more, in ways and moments that matter most?