Living Seoulfully: Unexpected Delight

"I think you never know where life is taking you. The unexpected and the expected, it's all for the good," were some of the first sage words HyoEun, a 19-year-old international student, offered our shared space today. The last time I saw this former student of mine, we were at her high school graduation. Six months ago, we were both in Shenzhen, China. It was dripping outside, not with rain, but with beads of sweat, rolling off of every resident's back and arms and nose. I had posed with HyoEun, dressed in her black graduation gown, her dark chestnut hair flowing down her back and over her shoulders, in the air-conditioned, broad open space of G&G Creative Community. HyoEun's graduating class had been one of those special bunches where the energy between the students is such that the spaces they enter buzz with laughter and camaraderie, singing and dancing -- I am not trying to paint perfect picture here; I am writing the reality of this funny and fun-loving crew.

As a teacher -- like a parent, I imagine -- I do not want to say that I have favorites. Teachers and parents, we seek to support and connect with all of our children. We reflect on how to meet the needs of the diverse and unique souls before us, and we love each of them for the special things they bring into our lives and into our classrooms.

Some connections just hit differently, though. I suppose I saw some of myself in HyoEun from the beginning, from the first day that we began to share space in the classroom, lit by the sun coming in through the window that looked out onto the South China Sea. HyoEun's junior year was her first year at Shekou International School. She was quite quiet and reserved, though I could see the wheels of her thoughts as she listened to her classmates' opinions and insights on topics such as racism and feminism and various global issues.

Over time, HyoEun bloomed, having been watered by the rains of praise in the form of feedback, having offered herself the sunlight of self-compassion, she unfolded like a peony in the springtime. Her contributions to class were thoughtful and reflective, measured and deep.

I was lost in thought for a moment, thinking back to the two years I taught HyoEun when she continued speaking again. "You know, the world is much more beautiful than I had expected," she reflected as our conversation continued over a vegan breakfast at a tiny, sweet restaurant near her university campus. "We spent so much time talking about global issues in high school that I hadn't expected so much beauty too. I mean, we need to know about issues. When I was in San Francisco, I spent part of the weekend serving food at a homeless shelter. And it might seem that people just want food, but they want human connection. That is what we are all craving. And so we connected. We had conversations. I also had picnics with my friends on weekends" she said, painting a picture for me of her diverse group of friends.

Here our conversation turned to a discussion of privilege -- we have both been afforded great privilege in this life, two of them being to travel widely and to learn by attending wonderful educational institutions. I noted the way that HyoEun has been able to embrace life's pleasures, and to use her privilege to bring more beauty to the communities surrounding her. This too is the way that I was raised, and recently I have felt a renewed appreciation for the lessons surrounding power and privilege that my parents taught me through their own gracious modeling.

HyoEun attends Minerva University, a program that has her and her 200 cohort-mates moving to a new country each semester. Her cohort is comprised of students from all over the world, from Nigeria and Bulgaria, from the Philippines to South Korea, which is HyoEun's passport country. As Minerva offers scholarships on a sliding scale, the students in HyoEun's program are culturally and economically diverse. Regardless of country context, Minerva does not provide a cafeteria for the students. "This is a good thing," HyoEun explains, "because this way we get to be a little more independent and also share our favorite dishes from back home."

As HyoEun shared with me more about her university experience so far, I was delighted to hear that her time at SIS had prepared her to move into seminar discussions with confidence and openness to new ideas and insights. "The topics we discussed in your class, they have come up many times in my university classes. We have even talked about We Should All Be Feminists" HyoEun says with a smile. This, of course, delights me to no end, that I must be doing something right in the classroom if the conversations we have and the texts we read help to shape young women such as HyoEun, and to help my students to feel ready to engage in such discourse.

Interested in where HyoEun might take her degree in the future, I inquired if she still wanted to be a dentist, as she had previously mentioned. "Hmmm, I am still asking that myself," she replied with a smile. "I have always been a science person, but now it's the social sciences that are really engaging me, and so I am not sure what exactly I will do following university. It is possible to apply to dental school, but I could also enter into a social science field right after I finish university. And you know what," HyoEun continued as her smile broadened a bit, "it doesn't even stress me out to not know ... to not have the answers."

I nodded and smiled back at her. "That's pretty cool," I said. "I think a lot of university students, a lot of humans, feel pressured to know, but if we can maintain our openness, we land where we are supposed to land."

As we continued to eat our meal slowly, sliding tofu and broccoli and warm rice onto our forks, we talked about the circumstances that had brought us to share these moments outside of the classroom, and outside of China, catching up with each other. HyoEun had not planned on attending Minerva, and I had not planned on moving to Seoul, but a certain openness that we both have allowed life to lead us here.

In Korea, HyoEun has reconnected with parts of her family and is, ironically, learning about Seoul through adventures led by her Armenian friend. In Korea, I have connected with a wonderful man, and I am learning about the city, not so ironically, through adventures and excursions led by him, and by new friends.

You really don't know where life is taking you, I continue to think this evening, now sipping an aromatic grassy green tea that my beau has recently gifted me. I do time and again find, though, that it takes you to the places where you need to be, in just the right time. Today, the place I needed to be was catching up with HyoEun, feeling the life force that runs through her. It was lovely to hear that the work we did together in the classroom fed her intellect and spirit well. Today, HyoEun's wisdom and spirit fed me.

Enchantingly Ever After, a Christmas in Lijiang

Sipping cat-shit coffee at a cozy, eclectic coffee shop off of a stone street in Ancient Town Lijiang was arguably a defining moment of my Christmas trip this year. Usually, Christmas-time means enjoying champagne with Gram or making Mom and Dad spiced turmeric lattes. #2020 though, right? Instead, there I was imbibing the fruits of a wild cat's butt.

Really, perhaps Lijiang more than anywhere else in the world can make sipping cat-shit coffee enchanting. At the time that I was sipping, I avoided thinking about how the Civet, a beady-eyed Indonesian wild "cat" had eaten the coffee beans, fermented them in her belly, and then graciously pooped them out to be made into the grounds for the coffee in my dainty cup.

Rather than this imagery, I was engrossed in the adventure of author and seeker Kate Harris as she snuck through a Chinese checkpoint into a forbidden part of the Tibetan Plateau as I read her memoir Lands of Lost Borders: Out of Bounds on the Silk Road.

The book, the cat-shit coffee, anything really, becomes especially enchanting when this is your view.

Whether you're up for drinking the most expensive poop coffee (I can hear my nieces across the ocean having so much fun with this), or whether you're up for the an oat milk latte, Elegant Time Coffee is a must-visit when in Lijiang.

Lijiang, essentially "small-town China" with it's 1.2 million residents, does boast beyond its coffee. Each part of the town that we tromped into proved to be picturesque, each meal sublime, and each person we encountered so, so kind.

We were first welcomed to town by a driver courtesy of one of the former Shekou International School parents who found out we were traveling to Yunnan Province. Fleta paid for us to have the driver for the entirety of the trip, and we are endlessly grateful to her for making our trip that much easier.

When we were dropped off at the gate to the Ancient Town, we were met by our guesthouse staff who had come to put our luggage in a trolley cart and walk with us to our holiday abode. The Lijiang Gui Yuan Tian Ju Guesthouse felt like home the moment we unpacked for our weeklong stay.

Brad, Alli, Charles, and I all taught in Quito together. Brad currently teaches in Beijing with his partner Gavin.

It was wild and cool to get to rendezvous for this trip.

We sat down with our hosts for Pu'er tea, which is native to the region, as they offered us suggestions of where to eat.

At the end of our first lunch, Charles mentioned that he tries not to feel like a Butterball on the first day of vacation. By some magical elements of Lijiang, we all managed to fit into our pants by the end of the trip.

Perhaps it was the walking.

At the end of each day, we would all check our step count and state the numbers with pride in our voices.

Here are most of the places we walked around in this most lovely part of China ...

we walked all around ancient town

Well, we walked, except when we sat. Models gotta model, you know.

photo credit: Charles Denson

We weren't the only models in town, either. Some may argue we weren't even the cutest.

I was delighted to find that a river runs through the part of town where we stayed. You know the feeling you get when you want to squeeze a baby's cheeks so hard because they are so damn cute? That's kind of how I feel about Lijiang because it's so damn quaint.

We walked for miles and miles and got lost and found and turned around and were delighted by it all.

In my holiday cheer, I thought it'd be fun to sing to the cats, but this is how they felt about the way I carry a tune ... or don't.

It really was around every corner, in every shop, that we found the animals were the proprietors of the stores. Or, at least, they were good at luring customers in. I hope they get a good cut of all of the sales.

photo credit Alli Denson

And what's a woman to do when she finds that perfect boutique? Buy the new coat! For many years I have prided myself on being a more conservative (read reasonable) spender than my sisters. China has proved I got that Baci shopping gene as bad as any of them. My Gram used to go to her AEM (Arthur M Marquart) when she needed to "withdraw" money. I'm trying to figure out where my nearest cash machine is now, too.

We could have stayed within the ancient town for all the moments, but there was more to see in Lijiang, so

we hiked to a reservoir

Like father, like daughter; my heart belongs to the mountains.

My company and the mountains did lift my spirits out of their sadness at spending my only Christmas away from home. We had a delightful dinner with a wonderful group of friends on the 25th, which meant

we walked around the Christmas buffet at the Hyatt

Christmas in Minnesota will forever have my heart, and this family abroad is beautiful too.

The chocolate truffles got me so good this evening. After I'd enjoyed foie gras, dumplings, sushi, red red wine, the company, the view, the whole of it, really, I did an extra lap around the dessert table hoping to carefully pocket a few truffles to go, but, alas, they had all been eaten. In the end, I simply saved room for more dumplings the next day when

we walked to a reflection lake

The happy hikers here: Charles, Gavin, Brad, Alli, and yours truly.

Mom and Pop shops are the way to eat the best local food.

This sweet little spot that serves the most divine dumplings deserves a Michelin star, and the homemade food was just what we needed to fuel the hike.

When we did enter the park, we were serenaded by lyrical music. I think most any foreigner who is traveling of their own volition anywhere will share my sentiment that seeing and feeling the spirit of new people is one of the most beautiful parts of exploring new places.

After the bright light that this man was, we were hit by more beauty.

Behind the sparkling water and pagoda is Snow Mountain.

We indeed tried to walk around Snow Mountain, too, but of all the days we spent in Lijiang -- 7, in total -- our Snow Mountain day was apparently the one the Goddess of Travel decided to play with humor. There was a lot lost in translation, there was the wind that shut down a ski lift, but then there was also the beauty of the Blue Moon Valley below.

and so of course we walked around the valley

This was about the point where I had burned my Snickers off and I wanted to eat someone's arm and Gavin and Brad were bravely trying to still get on the ski-lift before it was shut down but they couldn't. But there was a great deal to smile for -- the two friends beside me and that turquoise lake.

Just, this.

By this point our legs had served us so well, we thought, why not log some more steps. And so we did when

we walked around another old town, baishazhen

Those friends, those mountains, and those old streets with stories to tell.

While in Yunnan Province, we wanted to hike Tiger Leaping Gorge. Alli and I have hiked many of the Andes Mountains in Ecuador, and it felt our time was due for another big trek. Tiger Leaping Gorge, though is currently seasonly closed. After speaking with an inn keeper near the gorge, we contemplated hiking on the sly, but eventually thought better of it, largely because why tempt 2020 further?

Instead, we opted for a night in Shangri-La, a 4-hour drive from Lijiang.

we skipped, we walked, we meandered around shangri-la

And by this, I do not mean a fancy hotel or a mythical place like author James Hilton created in his 1933 novel Lost Horizon. Shangri-la, or Xianggelila, does indeed exist at the seat of the Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture. For us, it was as lovely and magical as one might imagine with its sweet guesthouses

We stayed at the Shangri-La E-outfitting Boutique Hotel situated beautifully within the Old Town.

Tibetan hot pot

Photo credit: Gavin C

Those dumpling bows above are folded around yak meat, the plate-du-jour all day every day in Yunnan Province. We were all fans. Big fans.

cookie-baking cafes and warm Yunnan coffee at The Compass Cafe we ordered 17 cookies and 4 other desserts.

live music pumping reggae bar, The Den.

Charles played foosball, beat everyone in the bar, and that was enough to make fast friends of the owners.

and monastery

We walked many, many steps within the monastery. It is overwhelming in its vibration and its beauty.

As we were packing up to leave Shangri-la, I was taken by this rose outside of the guesthouse door. It felt like a reminder of the great beauty in stillness, in simplicity, and in nature.

Seven days after we had rendezvoused at our guesthouse in Lijiang, Brad, Alli, Charles, and I reluctantly packed up to return back to Shenzhen. It certainly is a good life back here in our big city, and there were also so many magical moments that we were able to share in Lijiang, and I will be peach rice wine toasting to that for decades to come.

I miss you already, crew. (Charles, you have a beautiful face. I am sorry my one-handed photo skills failed to show it in its full glory.)

As I have been developing a deep nostalgia for our trip, I have returned to The Lands of Lost Borders, which I finished on the plane ride back to Shenzhen. I connected to so many of Harris's words.

While we were not pedaling our way across the Silk Road, I think we all viscerally understand what Harris means when she writes, "Your sole responsibility on Earth, as long as your legs last each day, is to breathe, pedal, breathe—and look around.”

And so a final toast to looking around in this New Year. Looking around at the ordinary to see the extraordinary, looking around to see how we can be of service to someone else, to consider how we might bring greater equity to the spaces we inhabit. Looking around to see where we can take new chances, cherish moments with those we love and those who love us back and live in gratitude for what we have in this very moment.

All my love,

Jamie

Chinese Hospitality in Qingdao

The Tea Houseby j.n.baci

wearing a tamed top bun --dark glasses perched upon her nose,perfect lips painted soft pink --a mother lounges on the creamy couchshe leans over the tea tableand takes her daughter's phone;her mouth breaks into a smileat what the screen revealsmen's soft voices speakover the dark red lacquered table,while the clink of tiny porcelain teacupschime in the Qingdao air"every passing moment is the passing of life;every moment of life is life itself"she reads her bookas she sips the carmelized-amber liquorand lets the pu'er tea languish on her tongue,cradling the cup between her fingertipsbreathing in the scene,gazing out the window;her eyes cannot decipherthe meaning of the characterson the building across the roadbut she appreciates the shadowsthat green leaves caston the fine lines of words unknownwhat a wonder it has been, she thinks,to feel welcomed by her many hosts --the server at a tea house,the waiter at a restaurant,the manager at a hotel --locals who have worked to decipherher gestures and singularMandarin wordsso that they may offer herthe comfort of hospitalityin the form of fine teasand seafood still in the shellgratitude fills the world inside of herthat this unfamiliar placehas opened up spaceto her:the foreigner,the traveler,the seeker

Where I am typing right now, a busy Starbucks back in Shenzhen, is quite a different scene from the tranquil tea house I sat at in Qingdao, another seaside city in China. Today I am yearning for the cooler climate and slower pace of this "smaller city," thus, post-trip nostalgia has already set in.

While I have been residing in China for four years now, I have explored little of my host country as I have chosen to either return to Minnesota or travel abroad for vacations. That which a couple of months ago felt so upsetting -- a forced stay in China for the summer -- has opened up space to explore the culture and expansive space of this country more deeply; while I miss home, I am grateful to feel fully like a Shenzhener and a true resident of China now.

The trip to Qingdao was precipitated on the following: This fall, at a gala that auctions items to raise money for women and girls in China, I bid on and won a night at the Shangri-La in Qingdao. As I picked up my voucher, I giggled because I did not even know where this city (of some 9 million residents) was located, or why one would visit.

I did not yet even really know what I was celebrating in terms of a city. Mostly, at this point, I was celebrating that I am as good as any of the Bacichx at spending money.

With time on my hands this summer, I finally booked the Shangri-La -- originally for three nights -- with Alli and Charles, and we packed our bags and got on the plane, blindly, as none of us took time to look up any information about the city before we arrived. (We had, though, heard from friends here and there that Qingdao is known for its seafood, and having been friends in fitness and food for 7-years, this felt promising to the three of us -- or at least Charles and me. Alli does not like seafood but she is ever the good sport and will find something on the menu.)

After an early morning 3-hour flight, we landed in Qingdao and taxied to the Shangri-La. Upon check-in, I took out my voucher. The woman at the desk looked at me apologetically as she pointed out that the voucher is not good for July or August. Missing this itty bitty detail is mmmm, maybe a little bit on-brand for me. I made sad attempts to barter the point saying, "I understand that most years this is probably high season, but right now not as many people are traveling, so could you make an exception?" Losing a debate? Also on-brand. But, I shrugged my shoulders and we paid the mere $72 a night for each of our rooms, and promptly found our way to lunch.

While it was not our first lunch, our most notable one did include a tableful of seafood -- Qingdao certainly lived up to its reputation.

Once, when I was many, many years younger, and trying to barter with my dad about getting my own room, I "ate" a smoked oyster. I believe I spit most of it out. I suppose this was one time that I finagled a way to get what I wanted, but then he said he would have given me my own room regardless. And by own room, I mean Mom and Dad turned part of the downstairs living space into an open-air bedroom. And I was rather thankful, and then regretful because I missed talking with Linds as we fell asleep.

I digress, and return to the ways I have refined (those, like my oldest niece Natalie may debate my use of the word refined here) my palate over the years. Case in point, the shellfish I consumed on this day in Qingdao:

This clam is so much prettier than that smoked oyster. Photo credit: Alli Denson

Walking into the seafood restaurant hungry (or hangry if you are a Jamie or a Charles and God bless Alli), we struggled for a long minute to figure out what most of the raw seafood on display was and how to order an appropriate amount. After the use of phone translators, speaking English slowly -- as if the owners would then learn our language in a mere moment -- and many gesticulations, we were on the verge of giving up and trying another restaurant. Low blood sugar will hinder one's ability to problem-solve or have patience. But, just at this moment of greatest defeat, a woman who also worked at the restaurant stepped in with enough English to let us know that we could simply order a bamboo steamer full of mixed seafood and try samples of many new shelled sea creatures.

Photo credit: Charles Denson

We ate most of this. We were really full.

How many times have I breathed an incredible sigh of gratitude when I have been saved by someone stepping in to help with more English than I have Chinese even though we are in China? So many times. So, so many times.

We enjoyed the ocean air of the Yellow Sea on our first day.

Alli and me at the pier. Photo credit:

Charles Denson

As we continued to venture around the city, we continued to encounter so much goodwill from our short or longer-term hosts, and often at just the right moment.

On our third day in Qingdao, as we were in the process of navigating different modes of transportation and buying tickets to enter the park surrounding Mt. Lao, a woman who worked at the (vastly Chinese) tourist center stepped in to support our cause. In part thanks to her, we were able to enjoy the following day:

Photo credit: Charles Denson

Life lived in translation is often entertaining. I do not post this photo to make fun of the translation at all. I find the translations often endearing, and I am humbled by anyone who can write in both Chinese characters and use a Roman alphabet.

There are several temples along the paths on Laoshan.

This guy was guarding the entrance to one of the temples. As we descended the mountain, we took in this view for a bit.

Photo credit: Charles Denson

The following morning, enjoying the delicious buffet at the Shangri-La, our newfound friend Wallance, one of the managers of hospitality, said that he had comped our breakfast. After Charles went back to the room, Wallance did tell Alli and me that Charles was the reason he, Wallance, was most inspired to take care of the cost. Despite the lovely ladies beside Charles on the trip, he was the one with the most admirers. The compliments that Alli and I received ... well, they were mostly from Charles. We didn't complain; we just kept eating the free food.

Wallance, we love you, fine friend.

And then we kept walking, all around lovely spaces. One of those spaces was the German quarter. Some 100 years ago, Germany had control of Qingdao. At least this is what we were told on the trip at some point; I still have not done my research on the city. Whenever it was that the Germans occupied Qingdao, they influenced the city through architecture. In the German quarter, a Catholic church rises high on the top of a hill and is surrounded by a plaza. People-watching in this square was fabulous.

So, so many brides and grooms every day of the week are being photographed at the plaza surrounding the church.

Take a few moments. Just take in the whole scene. We loved this space.

After three days of exploring together, the Denson's flew home to Shenzhen, and I decided to rebook my flight and stay another night at the Shangri-La.

Just a bit deliciously dizzy on half a glass of red Italian wine from Milano’s, biting into a piece of pan-fried sea bass with coarse black salt, I reflected about how on-brand (I'll tire of this phrase soon) for me to extend my stay in various places. I was supposed to be two years abroad, and it's turned to 7 and counting. I was supposed to go to Thailand for 7 days in February and it turned into 23. I was supposed to stay for 3 nights in Qingdao and it turned into 4.

Evident in all of these extensions is the great privilege that is so much of my life. Also evident, as one of my 11th graders stated at the end of this past school year, is the way that "nothing is certain until it's certain."

And so as my seemingly certain 3-day holiday out of Shenzhen turned to 4 days, I sat at a tea shop and sipped pu'er tea.

I sipped some more, read, listened to the people around me, listened to the soft water running in the little man-made stream in the center of the tea house, and just allowed myself to be.

While in Qingdao, I was reading Lisa See's The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane. The story offers some interesting history on pu'er tea, and of course, now I am low-key (read: I drink it every day now) obsessed with it.

As I went to pay for my $47 (that is indeed in US dollars) cup of pu'er tea, a tall Chinese man wearing lounge pants and a t-shirt began to converse with me in as much English as I have Chinese. After he named California and New York after asking where I was from, I tried to explain that I am from a state in the middle of the two. Minn-e-sot-a I repeated several times. Ahhhh he said as he pulled up a photo of Kevin Garnet. I laughed and thought, it's a big-small world, isn't it?

As I was asking about my bill for the cup of tea, the man insisted on paying for my extravagance. He expected nothing in return and simply waved happily as I walked out of the tea house, saying, Welcome to China with a big grin on his face.

And now I'm here, in Shenzhen, thinking about this kind man, and all of the spaces we were welcomed into in Qingdao, and I'm thinking about humanity and goodness and life as I am always The Contemplative.

Plans are always subject to change. Sometimes we change them, sometimes they change on us. Tonight, I am feeling particularly grateful that in the times that whoever's choosing the change of plans has been, the world has continued to offer hospitality to me in many ways.

And the Universe continues to call me to reflect on how I can pay hospitality, in its many forms, forward.

Holding Space for Life's Groundlessness

The first time I went, the Chinese to English translation on the women's phone asked, "Are you a hunchback?" Today, after I had gotten myself ready in the same room as before, she spoke into her phone again, and when she showed it to me, I read, "...and then honey let me take a look at one of your breasts." To be clear, I was not at the doctor's office; I was about to get a facial. Life lived in translation can offer moments of levity into an otherwise blue day. After further translations, I realized that while I had asked for an exfoliation of my décolletage, the esthetician thought I was asking for other services.

I still have no idea what she had planned to do with my breast, but I was very happy with my 4.5 hours of skin services today. While a great series of communication was lost in translation during my time at the skin clinic, I am certain that the final translation came through just as it should have. "You're so hip. You look so young," she said as I dressed to leave. This lovely woman who first asked about my hunchback -- I am still curious to know what she was really asking about as I checked in full when I got home and I do not have a hunchback --does know how to spin some words that'll get me to come back in the door and spend my retirement fund on my skin.

I have been free to go to roam the city again -- indulging in not just facials, but pedicures and manicures and good food, too -- for the past 8 days. Quarantine here in Shenzhen was one of the harder things I have had to bare down and endure in some months. The day I was released, I first went for a hike with Katie. I nearly tackled her in an embrace when I first saw her. Humans are just not meant to go without physical touch for days on end. By the last of those 15 days in total, I felt quite energetically depleted; all of the cat cuddles just could not take the place of hugs from friends.

Gin and Tonics at La Maison. So crisp and fresh and sweet to sip with this dear friend.

On this first day of my newfound freedom, my SIS community really showed up to celebrate. Educators know how to happy hour better than any other profession, I would argue.

In Shenzhen, restaurants are open for dining in and families are meandering along the boardwalk in larger numbers. In these ways, parts of life resemble what we used to know as normal.

In other ways, life is heart-breakingly abnormal. As part of an international school community, my close friends and students are spread all over the globe right now. China's borders are still closed to foreigners, and so as I write tonight, a number of my best friends are in North America. Several of these friends will be moving to other countries in June, having signed contracts for the new school year with other great schools in Asia and Europe. Soo it is that our final months that were supposed to be lived with Sunday brunches and toasting friendship on The Strip with bubbly glasses of Prosecco are now spent in Zoom.

In reflecting on the many plans and hopes and expectations that feel laid to waste right now, I am reading and rereading words from Alicia Key's recently published memoir More Myself: A Journey.

Life's groundlessness. I keep rolling these two words over and over in my mind. They elicit both anxiety and awe. The seeker in me knows how to open up to and delight in the unpredictable nature of life; the anxiety in me keeps trying to will the Universe to offer shiftlessness. Inertia, though, is not the natural state of the world, so I am curled up tonight pondering How do I find my stillness in the presence of so many uncertainties? There is no life hack, no 600-word article to read, no easy answer in response to this question. I am conjuring a great deal of patience and grace and breathwork to create, if only fleetingly, moments of acceptance.

Ms. Keys is really getting to my heart and soul tonight, not just with the words from her memoir, but with the lyrics to her songs. When I walked into the house from my facial, I turned on Spotify. The first song to come on was Distance and Time from her 2009 album entitled The Element of Freedom. Keys dedicates the song to "all of the lovers who can't be together, separated by distance and time." Listen, I suppressed a sob as she started singing, "You are always on my mind. All I do is count the days. Where are you now?"

There was only one thing to do in this moment: go into the kitchen, take out candied ginger, chocolate, and almond butter, and mix and match until my heart was distracted by the sweetness now sitting in my stomach.

The heaviest part of the uncertainty of the coming months is connected to so many people that I love. Will I be able to return to the States for part of the summer? Will I be able to travel in Asia? When will I hug and kiss and love up on so many of my favorite people? My mind is rolling on and on with questions about what the future holds.

In the present, a candle flickers to my left. While I am typing in my large blue chair, my gaze falls onto the marble sitting Buddha in front of me. And I think of what my therapist has reminded me of recently as she has said, "Jamie, put your feet on the ground. Feel that you are grounded." When Tracy urges me to do something, I generally heed her advice. I have revisited the action of placing my feet on the floor, closing my eyes, simply being with my breath as I bring awareness to the way my body can feel strong and steady.

I do believe it is true, we can be grounded in ourselves in the midst of life's groundlessness. It is not without suffering. Tonight, it is not without an achy heart. But I am working to feel the roots that I have planted beneath the path so that even when that ground shakes, I believe in my ability to balance.

"What is fear? Non-acceptance of uncertainty. If we accept that uncertainty, it becomes an adventure." ~Rumi

Even when the physical distance between me and many of my loved ones feels tangible tonight, I am grateful that near or far, we are still also rooted in that love for one another. I hope you feel my love today. I am sending it out from Shenzhen to many corners of the world tonight.

XOXO

A Delivery and a Hospital Visit, and the Weekend I Want to Move Beyond

It could have turned out differently. The knock could have been for a different reason. I talked to a friend this weekend who got a knock, too, but her knock, it was less pleasant. She had to write an apology for speaking in the elevator. Talking in elevators is no longer allowed in the time of Covid-19. Her apology is now taped up in that elevator. At least the first part of my weekend story is not one of shaming or blaming or the shadow side of my host country.

On Friday afternoon, I was in the middle of a Zoom call with my seniors when I heard the rapping on my door. Confused, I muted the microphone on my computer and turned my door handle. When the man on the other side offered a smile while holding two large boxes, I shook my head in response. "Oh, no. No, that's not for me," I offered in haste, trying to return to my students. He put his hand out to stop me from shutting the door. "Yes, it's for you. To thank you," he kindly returned. "We want to thank you for your cooperation during this time," he continued in English.

A bit flustered and a bit embarrassed for what might have been a bit rude, I reached out to take the boxes and a large envelope. I smiled back and thanked the man profusely, setting the boxes on the floor and briskly returned to my students.

When I had time to further examine the delivery, I found a box of oranges and a box of apples.

Patacon does have to inspect everything that arrives in a box.

And this letter:

This letter is a keeper. My favorite line is about the "small home" and "big family." I do, I like the spirit of the letter, the sense of solidarity it inspires.

Friday, unfortunately, gave way to an experience which has led my warm feelings to dissipate, or really, to dissolve and give rise to feelings much darker in hue.

I have had a nagging health-related issue for the past week. My symptoms -- swollen glands, a sore body, and some notable tenderness -- have slowly gotten worse over the course of the last few days. Yesterday, I called a woman in HR at school to let her know I would need to see a doctor as soon as possible. I also knew that while I know my issue is unrelated to Covid-19, my context was going to make doctoring difficult. Difficult feels like an understatement now.

My only option was to go to Shekou People's Hospital as I am within my 14-day quarantine. I found this news unfavorable because I was aware enough that this community hospital was unlikely to have doctors who speak English. I pushed for someone to accompany me, to act as a translator and someone who could navigate a system that I knew from others' experiences was complex to a foreigner. At first, I was told to see if I could just call a friend to translate for me. And then I was told to quickly go outside as the ambulance was coming to pick me up.

Well, I can check ambulance ride in China off my bucket list now.

When I got to the hospital, there were a number of hoops to jump through. In the midst of my confusion and frustration and physical discomfort, I did eventually get a call saying that a nurse from my normal clinic would come to meet me. Catherine, a nurse somewhere around my age who spent many years working in Singapore, arrived about 30 minutes later. Without her, I would not have been able to even have made it to step 3 of 17.

After over an hour of waiting, we stepped into the "doctor's office."

These temporary rooms have been set up in the time of Covid-19.

I was not allowed in the regular interior of the hospital, again, because I have not completed the 14-day quarantine yet. The doctor informed us that I would have to take a swab test, blood test and have a CT scan to prove that I was clear of the virus.

Hour 4 at the hospital. Results: I have good lungs.

After spending all afternoon at the hospital, I was then told that while my blood test had already come back negative for the virus, I would still not be able to see an actual doctor until Sunday when all of the results were in.

I went home exhausted and defeated. I did not know that Saturday was simply a warm-up for the Battle of Sunday During the Time of Covid-19.

Catherine messaged me when I was home Saturday night to let me know that she would meet me back at the hospital on Sunday morning. I was so relieved that it would be her rather than someone new.

When I woke up this morning, I was at first told that I would not be able to leave my house yet because the results had not yet been reported. After a bit more time passed, I was then told I could get a taxi and meet Catherine at the entrance to the hospital. She had the results -- negative, of course -- when I arrived.

Catherine and I then got to wait for another hour for a doctor to dress in a hazmat suit and come down from inside the hospital to see me in the temporary space set up outside the hospital. While all of my results were negative for the virus, again, I am still within the 14-day quarantine period, and so I still was not allowed inside the actual hospital.

When the doctor finally arrived, she did not know where she could even see me as there were no beds set up in the rudimentary rooms. She did not have the equipment she needed to examine me. She did not even want to come within a meter of me.

After a make-shift bed was placed inside one of these rooms, I realized that the doctor expected me to disrobe with a large window open to the corridor right outside.

The windows of the room I was placed in opened right up to this space.

I insisted some kind of covering be put on the window. This took real negotiation. Eventually, a thin blue medical paper was put up on the window. By this point, I was shaky and feeling vulnerable and just so tired.

Catherine trying to negotiate with Dr. Hazmat.

The doctor would not touch me with her gloved hands. She used an ultrasound machine to tell me that I had swollen glands, and when I said that I knew that, but that was not my main concern, she simply said she didn't have the right medical tools to investigate further. I tried to show her where I was feeling pain and discomfort. She said she couldn't help further.

I erupted into sobs on that damn bed. Seven exhausting hours had led to a simple, "go home and return after your 14-days are done."

Catherine gently put her hand on me and said that we would get me to see a doctor at my normal clinic as soon as my quarantine period was over. This means I will wait until Thursday to see the doctor that I need.

After another hour of waiting, antibiotics were placed in my hand, and I left the hospital exponentially more upset than the day before.

Defeat, rage, disempowerment.

I am currently sitting in my living room in silence. When I arrived home, I lit incense and just watched the smoke rise while I focused on breathing.

I am reflecting on my anger and frustration. I am thinking about the shadows behind the rugged individualism which is part of the DNA of the American psyche, and I am thinking about the shadows behind the rule of absolutes which is part of Chinese governance. The passport I hold comes from a country where the rights of the individual arguably often trump those of the collective. My host country is the opposite: the collective bars individuals from getting their personal needs met at times. What does this all mean right now? I'm not even entirely sure, but it seems something needs to give in both contexts.

After a lot of deep breaths and some lunch, I have been sitting here looking back at photos I took two weeks ago. I was one happy woman.

Thailand, how I miss you.

I am remembering the words from my favorite poem, the one whose lines adorn my arm: "No feeling is final. Just keep going."

At the end of writing this post, my dear friend Katie and her daughter Lana stopped by to drop off cookies. I went to my balcony to find her below as she was not allowed into the building. She blew kisses. She danced. And I am feeling a little bit better.

I love you, friend.

Community is everything. I just cannot wait for actual physical embraces when these 14 days are done.

Now excuse me while I eat some homemade cookies.

Writing from Day 8 of Quarantine: A Toast to Paradox

After over a week of isolation, I now know something about what an animal in a zoo feels like. Sort of. In the sense that I’ve been taken out of my natural habitat. This is interesting, though, because as an introvert I would have argued my home is certainly my natural habitat. But 8 days into this solitude ... I’m over this shit.

Or at least the nearly absolute solitude of it. Other parts of this experience, like the ways that my community is continuing to reach me, just tickles my heart and soul. Since arriving back home on Friday night, I have been the recipient of a number of beautiful deliveries: a supply of dark chocolate, a bouquet of cat-safe flowers, two lunches of rooftop garden veggies, and ice and limes for my gin and tonics. I am ready to just be able to really give back now, and I know that the coming weeks will offer plenty of opportunities to pay it forward.

It seems that the new regulation now is that anyone returning from a country deemed a danger for importing the virus will have to do the full quarantine in a hotel room. The exception may be those with children. Hearing this news today made me ever-grateful that I returned from Thailand when I did.

I, like you, continue to work to establish a new normal and a new routine. I have let go of the notion that this time of quarantine and working from home is going to be my most productive time ever. I have learned that the mathematical equation that sums up my days is not time+energy=output; rather my days equate to time+space (minus) a-great-deal-of energy=grace to just be.

My days have still started with movement, but not long, high-intensity workouts. I hit my mat for 30-45 minutes of yoga, or a short weight workout. I thank myself for showing up.

My balcony has really become something of a haven. I move here, but I also eat here, sit and watch the world here, write here. Why haven't I been doing this all along?

During the afternoon, I connect with my students via Zoom.

Seniors who have just found out that their IB exams will be canceled.

I also use Zoom for my mid-day breaks; I meet my friends there for good laughs. I do wonder ... I wonder if Zoom and Tik Tok are in cahoots here ... just a conspiracy theory. The Tik Tok videos that come into my chats throughout my day give me so much life. In the midst of chaos, we are finding our creative outlets.

My nights are spent listening to 90s hip hop, laying on my yoga mat on the balcony, trying to get my cats to engage in photo shoots. Now, this is the real stuff of cat lady memoirs. Save me soon, please.

Being quite confined these past days has allowed me to sit in a place of awareness and this awareness has been a sensory experience. As I sit on my balcony in the morning, afternoon, and evening, I feel my senses awaken in deep ways. The sounds of the city, colors of the trees below, and textures of the yoga mat I am seated on all become palpable to me.

Indeed, there are parts of my day that I love. Watching the sun rise higher in the sky as I lay leisurely in bed in the morning and watching the sun set while I eat dinner each evening are new parts of my routine that offer a certain excitement to each day; I love enjoying the simplicity and beauty of these moments.

As in any temporal context, there are other parts of the day that are so tedious, predominantly the way I just feel so dang tired right now, the past weeks of uncertainty and ambiguity seemingly having compounded in my body. So it is that I, paradoxically, feel both exhausted and entirely alive simultaneously.

This evening I was reading from Adreanna Limbach's Tea and Cake with Demons: A Buddhist's Guide to Feeling Worthy. Chapter four begins with Tolstoy's words from Anna Karenina: "All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow." As Limbach recounts the story of the Buddha, she writes, "His origins are also a demon story, as most stories of transformation and triumph are, highlighting how we are made in the perpetual alchemy of falling apart and coming together." These words struck deep into me, for my own experience in the past year and a half; it also feels these words just ring so true for the Collective right now.

As individuals, as families, as communities, we are both falling apart and coming together on the path of novel and scary terrain. I talk to my best friend Jenn to hear about how her clinic does not have enough masks for doctors and patients, feeling like our healthcare system is ripping at the seams, to then hear and see the dozens of people I know who are making masks from fabrics and original patterns. I talk to my family and hear a certain anxiety in their messages when they consider the prospect of weeks of social distancing, to hear about them also opening up to new technology for virtual happy hours. I have felt separated from students who hit a hard place in the face of distance learning, to feel them return after so many of us have reached out with words and video conversations to embrace them in their confusion.

Sitting in an uncertain space with so many of my friends and family really beginning to process a new reality, I consider the power of how we frame that reality. As I was (again) scrolling Instagram today, I came across a post from Dr. Alexandra H Solomon. Rather than call keeping ourselves away from others "social-distancing" she coined it "cocooning." If we all enter our cocoons, we come out more beautiful than before. As with the Buddha, our transformation will happen after living in some dark spaces. After the dusk of each day is the dawn of a new morning.

To darkness, and to light.

Sending all my love,

Jame

Writing from Phuket, this Side of Paradise

I feel like I have lived a lifetime since I last wrote an update in the Life and Times of the Coronavirus. Some days, it has felt that an entire Universe has existed inside of that one day. Two weeks and three days ago, I left Shenzhen for Phuket, Thailand. I was hesitant to leave at first, actually. I had settled into such a routine in Shenzhen, and I felt safe and secure in this routine; changing locales felt a bit riskier, at least that was my perception. Originally, for spring break, I was supposed to go to Taiwan for a yoga retreat. When Covid-19 hit, Taiwan closed their borders to China, so Plan A was foiled. I was disappointed, but I decided I would make my own personal yoga retreat in Shenzhen, until I came out a discussion with my therapist having decided to take a chance on a retreat in Thailand, one of the last countries to keep their borders open.

As I reflect on this decision, it feels like the Universe had conspired to make it so from the beginning. The past two weeks have offered space for my heart to open and expand and sigh into beautiful spaces. Before I left Shenzhen, I was worried that I would lose my writer’s flow, and while writing has not been a priority in Phuket, being in a flow state sure has persisted.

The first days in Phuket were spent on the beach. The woman in this photo did not yet know the trajectory of the trip. I have extended my stay twice so far, finding just what I have needed here in Thailand.

My days have been spent practicing yoga in the morning and evening, and in between, spending time with some of the best souls and living in the moments. If you find yourself seeking a place of solace in Southeast Asia, I must highly recommend CC’s Hideaway. The curry is delicious, the smoothies are divine, the yoga is transcendent, and the staff is so, so warm.

For me, what has also been extraordinary about this time is that my anxiety has been kept in check. For anyone, a time of such uncertainty can cause a great deal of stress and anxiety, and understandably so. Somehow, I have leaned into the uncertainty, and it feels that my spirit has used the life I am living at a slower pace to level up. I have seen and felt a great deal of fear around me, and yet I have continued to maintain a state of wellness for myself.

Thailand has been liberating. And that liberation, and the centered feeling I continue to be in touch with, looks a bit like this ...

Slow afternoons have sometimes given way to nights of dancing, followed by swimming in the middle of the night under the light of a full moon.

These folks are such good energy. Looking at this photo, I consider how special it is when you cross paths with the right people at the right time.

I watched a shooting star streak across a corner of the sky as I turned my attention away from the moon for a moment during our moonlit swim. It seems that some of the world has gone daft with the current viral state of affairs; my world, though, floats in a sea of just right moments. I have deep gratitude for what this time and space is allowing me to explore.

This morning, I am preparing for the first yoga practice of the day, and then I will get online to connect with my students. Teaching from Thailand is a bit harder than teaching from Shenzhen, but I will not complain about teaching from paradise. I have been meditating on words that I heard from my first yoga instructor here: More open heart, More happy life.

One of my favorite poets, Rumi, once wrote,

“There’s a morning when presence comes

over your soul. You sing like a rooster

in your earth-colored shape. Your heart

hears and, no longer frantic, begins

to dance.”

Wherever you are, I hope that you find space for deep movement, for peace, and for presence.

Sending lots of love from Thailand,

Jame

10 Thinks I Love About You

As an English teacher, I am working with 10th-grade learners to write analytical essays about various books that they have been reading. In the spirit of some of their essays, I will begin with a quote. Like some of my budding writers are doing, I will place it here, without context, and then walk away. You decide what it means to you, or to me, after reading today's post.

“I know you can be underwhelmed, and you can be overwhelmed, but can you ever just be, like, whelmed?” ~10 Things I Hate About You

10. I love you, Patacon, for your cuddles and company. But I have like one rule in this house, and I hate it when you break it. Please take your paws off of my pillow.

9. I love you, Sun, for rising in the east. And I love you, Shenzhen, for keeping so many factories closed so that we can see the hills of Hong Kong through a clear sky, rather than through the smog.

8. I love you, Hobbs Household, for bringing the fun.

7. I love you, Ann, for being the friend and collaborator that you are. Thank you for recording audio for "The Handsomest Drowned Man" -- I think that our SIS students are fortunate to have teachers sending all the love with all sorts of gestures. Craig, thank you in advance for understanding this office is more ours than yours. The future is female. The present is the future.

6. I love you, Brother Tom, for sending me the Vitamix. This is my first creation. I'm sorry that I couldn't have you over for dessert.

5. I love you, Cass, for cutting and coloring my hair. Getting my haircut was a little scary today, and I wished that I could have been sitting in your chair. The stylist did say, "Highlights very good!"

4. I love you, self-quarantiners, for choosing to stay inside. I am an introvert living in a city of over 13 million people, and now I feel like Goldilocks when she sleeps in brother's bed.

3. I love you, Silvie, for believing that you should come to the beach with me. While you are currently barred from leaving China, I am not, and so I must go, and you must stay.

2. I love you, Beck and Stone, for taking in my screaming orange and white cat. She does not realize that I have not sent her to get more teeth pulled, but rather that she will be at the kitty spa. She'll settle in after some time. Or maybe she won't.

1. I love you, Shenzhen, for putting all sorts of restrictions in place. I cannot see my friends much since we cannot enter one another's homes (unless we sneak). We cannot eat inside of most restaurants. But we can celebrate that in the past three days, the city has not reported any new cases of COVID-19.

So, as you can see, there is underwhelming stuff, overwhelming stuff, and then just the whelming. And that's my essay. I mean my blog post. K, ttys.