Do something scary

Yesterday traveling reminded me yet again of just how amazing this life can be when we dare to do the things that scare us.

I wanted to take a motorbike to the highest point in Thailand: the top of Doi Inthanon.  When I told the woman at my hotel about my plans, she asked me, "Are you expert?"  I'd ridden a scooter plenty of times before, but I wasn't sure I'd call myself an expert.  I figured I'd be fine, because the guy who had recommended the day trip was going to go with me.  He was an expert, so I wasn't worried.  Then he had to cancel.  Not to worry, I met a nice midwestern guy at a craft beer bar, and convinced him to go with me.  We agreed to meet for breakfast at 7:30, and we would go from there.

8:00 rolled around and I ordered breakfast without him.  I finished my breakfast at 8:30, and had a decision to make: go solo, or don't go at all.  I was a bit hungover, there was the possibility that whatever I had eaten the night before was doing dodgy things to my stomach, I didn't know exactly where I was going nor did I have mobile internet, and I kept hearing "are you expert?" in the back of my mind.

I was scared.  I sat there thinking, "I feel like shit, I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm certainly not an expert."  But I also wasn't sure what else I was going to do that day.  I wanted to go to the top of Doi Inthanon.  I imagined my future self thinking back on my time in Chiang Mai and regretting the fact I hadn't done it, and that was all it took.  I took a deep breath, strapped on my helmet, got on my bike, and started singing Whitesnake to myself.  "Here I go again on my own...'cause I know what it means to walk along the lonely street of dreams..."

Halfway to Doi Inthanon I met a French guy named Nico who was also headed in the same direction, so we rode together.  After a particularly scary patch of unsealed road he told me I looked quite confident on my bike.  I wasn't.  At all.  But apparently the "fake it till you make it" motto was working for me.

We made it to the national park, and the elevation provided some relief from the hot temperatures we'd been riding through all day.  A few minutes later it started raining.  Then the relief of cooler temperatures turned to uncomfortable cold.  We pressed on and finally made it to the summit.  There were too many clouds to see anything in any direction.  We had a cappuccino, took a couple photos by the sign that said "highest point in Thailand" and got back on our bikes.  Then the rain picked up.  We stopped at a cafe where the best option was a cup of instant noodles.  I hate instant noodles.  But I was cold and they were hot, and it gave us something to do while we waited for the rain to pass.  I sat there with mixed emotions.  I hadn't really enjoyed Doi Inthanon all that much, mostly because I was so cold and wet and hadn't been able to enjoy the view from the top, but I was also proud of myself because I had done it.  I wasn't going to have to look back with regret over the fact I hadn't.

The rain never really stopped, but it let up enough that we figured it was time to move on.  We rode around a bend and I literally squealed with delight when I saw that some of the clouds had cleared.  We were able to see for miles, and it was pretty damn glorious.  We stopped at a lookout and those few moments, looking out from the highest point in Thailand, made the whole day worth it.  I forgot about how cold I was.  My stomach ache that morning was a distant memory.  My fear of traveling alone seemed silly while I was standing there next to Nico, soaking in the view and breathing the crisp mountain air.

A few kilometers later, Nico headed off in another direction, and I began my journey back to Chiang Mai.  It rained the entire way home, but instead of focusing on how miserable I was, I thought about how proud I was.  I had done it.  I conquered my fears and I rode a bike to the top of Doi Inthanon.

Once again, travel has shown me just how amazing this life can be when we dare to do the things that scare us.

I don't give a toss...

I’ve been thinking about starting this blog for awhile.  Websites offering advice about writing good ones all say the first entry is important because it sets the tone and establishes a writing style for the rest of the blog.  So I’ve been worried.  About the tone I want to set and the style I’ll establish.

And then I was inspired by a 20-something young man on a train.  He had an iPod with big neon pink headphones, a microphone plugged into nothing, and he had Downs Syndrome.  He was dancing in whatever way he felt moved by the music, and singing along quite loudly with the lyrics he knew (and there  weren’t many, so it ended up sounding a bit like “la-nah-ba-nah-ba-Like it’s your birthday! Nah-nah-mah-la-la Like it’s your birthday! Fa-la-ma-nah-nah, drinking champagne like it’s your birthday!” over and over and over and over again). 

He was having a great time, and in doing so was entertaining everyone else who was fortunate enough to have sat near him.  He blatantly didn’t give a toss about what the rest of the world thought, which was ironic because everyone on the train was loving him.  Almost everyone was smiling, and not in a “laughing at him” way.  Of course, he wasn’t laughing at himself, so we couldn’t be “laughing with him” either, but there were smiles that reflected the joy he was providing others, simply by being able to ignore social norms and express himself.

I was gutted when he got off 3 stops before mine.  I would have stayed on as long as he did just to watch him perform (especially because just before he got off the train he changed the song to JT’s “I’m Bringing Sexy Back”!)  He made my day.

I thought about him the rest of my commute back.  How was it I could be so inspired by his dance moves and singing style, and at the same time be so nervous about starting a blog because I’m worried about the tone I’ll set?

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to sing into a microphone for the entertainment of Melbourne commuters, at least not without copious amounts of alcohol, but I can start a blog.  And I will.  And I don’t give a toss about the tone.