My bag sat packed at the edge of my bed on my eighth day on Koh Phangan. I came downstairs for breakfast and Kate was there, just returning from her yoga class.
“Still here?”
“Yep, but I'll probably leave today.”
“Oh sad. Are you really leaving today?”
“I don't know.”
“You won't leave.”
I didn't leave that day, instead, I spent the day talking to my friend Adam about philosophy. In fact, I was finding myself discussing philosophy with someday nearly everyday here. This was a topic I seldom visited since my teenage years, sitting on the swings in the park until 5 in morning with Becky, April, or Danelle. I never really gained much from it; my beliefs have always just come to me, independent of outside influence. Stealing other's beliefs seemed like cheating. At Haad Thien, I found myself really being influenced and influencing others. It began to be apparent that I was wrong when I assumed I had no big life lessons to learn on this trip. I couldn't figure out exactly what I needed to learn, but I felt that something was keeping me here because I had something to learn; I just didn't know what it was. True, I was burned out from traveling. This was evident. If not for the group I met in India, I doubt I would have enjoyed myself much in the last month. Every temple was becoming just a temple. Every mountain a mountain. Every beach just a beach. This is a bad mindset for traveling. I didn't need philosophy to figure this out. But there was something more and the fact I found myself for four straight days strapping on the backpack but not leaving showed that I didn't want to leave. I just couldn't shake the guilt of staying static at such high monetary costs of seclusion.
The next day with not moving, my friends sensed the disease many seem to have at Haad Thien. Kate gave me a dice and encouraged me to write six choices of options, roll the die and see what happens. This seemed like a good idea; I choose the options, so whatever comes up is my choice anyway. The dice told me to stay until my visa ends, two weeks later. I was not sad about the outcome.
Later that day, I felt the urge to write a short story, so I walked to Haad Yuan, the nearby bay for lunch and quiet. The man at the next table was smoking a pipe and offered me a hit, which I graciously indulged. With one puff, I had the most complete flash of creative inspiration of my entire life. Suddenly a whole novel flashed before my eyes. The characters, the themes, the lessons, the story, everything. Time truncated. There were so many words floating around me, I couldn't even grasp them. I furiously wrote, trying to get everything I could on paper before I lost it. Next thing I knew, three hours and six pages of notes were sitting in front of me.
I walked back to Beam and found Kate hanging out. She wasn't shocked to see me still around. Sadly, I was not in a social mood and dove back into my notebook, writing the last chapter of the first act in one sitting.
Shanti, a fellow writer, strode in and saw me immersed. “You look like a man in the middle of inspiration.”
“Yep. Whole novel, just came right in front of me. I've never had this happen before.”
“What is it about?”
I explained the concept. It was a horror novel set on the island. The bay is filled with hippies and crazies, reigning free in a non-judgemental place. In the nine days I had spent there, I've had my share of odd conversations. I realized that if I looked at some of the things people said with the filter of horror story, it is quite creepy. The novel was semi-autobiographical; basically exploring my fears of embracing new philosophies, since my current ones were leaving me at a dead end.
Later that afternoon, Rob, the manager of Spice, a local restaurant entered. On a random impulse, which I indulged, I asked him if he needed any help.
“In fact, I do need an extra person. Can you stop by tonight?”
I began telling him of all my experience in the business, but he stopped me mid-sentence.
“I've got a really good vibe coming off of you, this just seems right. Don't worry about a resume, just come in.”
And like that, I laid the foundations to stay longer. I had a job, I had a novel to write, and I just laid down a two and a half month commitment. My backpack sat at the edge of my bed; there was no more pretense, no more fighting. I was staying.
The novel writing petered out after a month (though I do intend to finish it). Once I stayed, I realized that I had been telling myself I needed to stay for days. If I really wanted to leave, I would have left. I ignored myself though, still trying to force myself to move on. So, next thing I know, my brain threw me novel and reason to stay at me. Once I listened to myself, the stress disappeared; I was happy.
We are constantly communicating to ourselves, through actions, through choices, through intuition, through emotions. If we only listen to our thinking, we'll miss a very large percent of our wants and needs. If you are hungry you want to eat. If you eat and stay hungry, you've missed a nutrient you body needs. Similarily, if you can't leave someplace, you've missed an experience you need. Now, there are limits to this, sometimes a person is fed the wrong feelings as well. That's when you use the brain as a filter. Every time I've trusted my instincts, it has resulted in positive changes and events in my life. They may have hurt me in the short term, but over time, these choices have become the defining moments of my life. I will strive to listen to myself for the rest of my life.
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