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When the 1 train arrived we gathered around the door, and I could immediately see that space would be limited.  Even so, there would be enough space for most of us waiting to move on with our day.  At first it appeared that nobody was leaving the train while we waited for people to exit, but eventually a few did, including a parent and their child.  I was first in line, but made sure to wait and keep those behind me waiting until those inside had walked through the door.  Then two young guys behind me pushed their way around and slipped in through the doors ahead of everyone else.  I muttered under my breath that they were parts of the male anatomy, and they couldn't hear anyway because they had headphones on.  Usually I do too, but I left my charge upstate, so I can only enjoy music in my home.  The past seven days I've been hearing much more of the world around me than I am used to.  I love being more connected to the world through music, but sometimes the natural sounds of the world are music to my ears as well.  That's becoming the case more and more each day.

After we had entered the train, a large African-American man next to me commented, "I guess he really wanted to get in," referring to the guy who had barged his way in.  I realized he must have overheard me.  But he smiled.

Twenty minutes later we exited the train at the same station, and as we walked by the train doors, a man inside the train said something to the man who had overheard me before.  He smiled and said something back.  Then he turned to me and said, "I didn't know him, but that's fine."

I asked what he meant.  He said that the man had said he looked like someone he knew.  "I guess we all look alike!" he laughed, even though they were both darker-skinned.

"It's in the eye of the beholder," I answered.

"True, but I guess we do look alike to outsiders."

I told him, "I get the same thing very often actually.  With this red beard and hair I don't have a lot of peers, but still, I'm often told that someone saw me the day before, or somewhere halfway across the world, or their friend looks just like me.  I went to China once, and the passport guard had to call over three supervisors to triple check my appearance.  I guess we all look the same to them."

"I suppose you all do look alike," he laughed.

We continued talking as we walked above ground and on the street.  He talked about working on Roosevelt Island and how he had to work with many Chinese people, but it had taken him a very long time to learn all of their names and remember their faces.  I replied that I worked with international students, so I had gotten some good practice.

I complimented him on being outgoing in the city, talking to people he didn't know.  He said that people always ask if he's from around here.  I asked where he was from.  He said, "Harlem, born and raised!"  I had to walk across the street then, so I shook his hand and we went on our paths again.

The world can be friendly if it wants to be.

Every year I have a personal ritual that must be fulfilled during the summer.

I have to run and jump into the waves of the ocean, and float and swim and splash around for as long as possible.

I did that today.

I feel refreshed, renewed and alive.

When I'm in the ocean, I feel connected to something much larger than myself, yet also inside of myself. 

Even the blue sky above seems to blend with the oceanic love.

Thank you, water.

Thank You for Making Smiles!

I was on the lake in the moonlight last night, and listening to Hiromi's "Time Travel," and decided to stand up again, on a whim, just like I had two years ago in Montana.  I was closer to shore this time, and the water was warmer, but it still felt special.  There's something about that song.  Then I had a fire on the beach, and the trees danced with the wind.

I paddled in the moonlight again tonight, and saw fireworks on three parts of the lake, including right behind me at our neighbor's!

I checked my journal, and two years ago was the night that I floated peacefully beneath the stars and smiling moon in a secluded cove in Glacier National Park, Montana, which will always be one of my favorite experiences of all time.

Vacation!

I've had a very fun, relaxing and bittersweet visit to upstate New York, and am looking forward to the rest of the week.

The intelligence in my spirit reminds me how lucky I am to have these friends, to still be able to visit my hometown at the age of 30 and to still have four to five people to catch up with.  I remember how many times in the past we've viewed various milestones as signals that we were all walking further down necessarily separate paths.  Then my heart not only reminds me of the current changes, but also relives the former, and although the feelings are sad, they remind me I'm alive.

I think the fact that I just turned 30 coupled with this being my first full summer back home after years of exploring has me viewing every little thing under a microscope. That being said, there are significant changes.  One friend who has always been in the area whenever I've come home from my many explorations is finally going on one of his own, moving five hours away to a much better town and hopefully a much better future.  I will always see him, but there's a difference now, because I can't just swing by and check in when I decide to visit town.  We'll have to coordinate reunions here and there, just like 99% of childhood friendships that manage to extend into adulthood.  Another great friend is having a baby at the end of the year, and thus beginning a different type of lifelong journey.  He's still in the area, and I'll always see him, but starting a family is starting a family.  A third is going to Europe to live for half a year or a full year.  I'm surprised and amazed, but also hope I see him again.  Now I'm starting to realize how some of my friends have felt the past few years.

All of these changes have revealed themselves in the past three to six weeks.  I'm excited for all of them, as they have been for me, but now I know what it's like to feel normal (as much as that's ever possible) while others are embarking on new ventures.

Then again, I will still see them, and it's not like we haven't been through big changes in our relationships before.  We still have the rest of our lives to catch up and reconnect.  It just happens less often with time.

I spent much of last night at a campfire spot on the hill.  I'd been catching up with my friend who is going to be a father, and when he left I went back up.  Although there wasn't enough wood to keep a fire going, I still read some of my favorites who reminded me why I've been taking the paths I've taken.  Then I listened to Hiromi's "Spirit," and "Firefly" (complete with real fireflies for the first time!) several times.  The latter has been in my head all day today.  There are so many memories to flashback to at that place... sometimes they make you happy that they ever happened, and sometimes you get hit with that painful nostalgia that reminds you life is always entering something new yet also leaving something you love behind.

As I said good bye and pulled out of my friend's driveway the other day, I listened to "Life Goes On" and it really helped me embrace that moment instead of becoming depressed, and then again when my other friend left last night, and again and again since then.  Luckily it's a very happy song, to remind you that life doesn't just go on because it has to, but because there are more new types of fun on the way.

Besides memory lane and inevitable change, I'm mostly just happy to be able to sleep more and breathe the fresh country air, surrounded by bright green and blue.  One of my friends (one of the few who isn't undergoing major changes) took me up a mountain above Lake George the other day, and then we went swimming in the Hudson River.  He had gotten me into mountains, but we hadn't hiked together in four years, so I was very happy about that.  All of the other changing friendship reunions have taken place since then though, so that's why the bulk of this writing is somewhat reflective and somber.

On the plus side, my parents are still great people, and I feel very lucky to have them in my life and be able to visit them from time to time.  It's a little easier to check in from New York than it is from California, Japan or India.

Life truly does go on, and comes back around.

When I was 22 years old I'd just moved to New York City.  Two of my greatest college friends were in town for one night, so we walked around Times Square.  One of them got sentimental in his post-graduation emotional state and said, "Wow, it's really ending now," which was strange to hear six weeks after our education together had officially completed.  But three weeks ago I celebrated my 30th birthday with the same friend, floating in a rowboat on my favorite lake, under the stars, happy to hear that he'd gotten engaged the week before.  I only see him once every year or two, but I still love to see him, because although his life has changed, he is still the same person deep inside.  As are all my friends.  I wish them the best in their continued growth and love of life.

Luckily these important relationships haven't ended.  They've just transformed.

Thanks for listening.

I'll be back with more in a few days.