The title of this post was supposed to be “PUSH,” or else “The Only Way To It Is Through It,” two phrases (okay, one word and one phrase) which run through my head whenever I am frustrated that something is not turning out as I would like it to, and am reminding myself not to give up. Sometimes it takes a reminder (even if it’s from oneself) that when you push past the point of logic and through aggravation, the obstacle in your path eventually gives. I was going to tell you how frustrating my week has been, how behind I feel, and what exactly I should have been doing this week, as opposed to what I have been able to do.
And I was going to say that two days ago I was reminded to maintain my humility, compassion, and patience when a young friend here, whose best-friend won the “American citizenship” lottery and just headed off to the good ol’ US of A, bugged me all morning long by phone (seriously, five missed calls!) to come meet him in the shopping district called Mahendrapul with his friend on that person’s last day. I eventually did, mentally grumbling, face in a bit of a pout, annoyed at myself that I had committed to going there, little black cartoon cloud amassing above my head. “I should be doing work,” I kept thinking, even though that wasn’t going well at all, and I probably really needed the break.
Well, I got there and the boys – and they really are boys – both 22, very close friends, cute and sweet and full of optimism about the world and getting a leg up on the competition by going to the US to work, had two plates, one inverted on top of the other, that they wanted me to smell. Something was sealed inside, and grumpy though I was, I tried to smell but couldn’t, so didn’t wager a guess at what the mystery plates held. I should premise this by saying that I’ve been giving Bishwa’s friend (whose name right now escapes me) pretty regular advice on the US, New York City, where to fly into, who to fly with, where to go, etc, and that the night before he and Bishwa had peppered me with questions about American girls and bars, and whether I would help them get an American girlfriend. I told Bishwa’s friend that if he walked into a New York City bar and announced that he is 23 and has never kissed a girl…things would take care of themselves. Like I said. Cute. Kids.
One of the things I told the friend about was food, especially since I always miss it when I travel, and so of course if you know me at all, you know I told him about pizza. I told him where to get it, how big it is, how cheap it is (in rupees), and that it’s like, “the momo of America,” momos being a dumpling-like snack that is incredibly popular here. We had in fact already ordered momos when the mystery plate was displayed before me, the two boys grinning with pride and maybe a modicum of sheepish excitement. And so what had they ordered and were excitedly waiting on me for was, of course, a pizza.
A little, round, less-good-than-Elios-which-isn’t-actually-pizza-anyway Nepali take on the pizza pie, as a sign of thanks, perhaps, and affection for me and my crazy American talk, surely. When I realized that was the source of the excitement, and the five missed phone calls, and the great big grin on this kid’s face who is about to head off into the great and intimidating west to kiss girls and make his first million (rupees, most likely)…I was humbled. And it put a lot of things in perspective, including why the way you treat people matters, and why you should come through on what you’ve promised to do, and why you can’t afford to be the cranky bideshi just because you’re overtired, or overstressed, or both. It was a nice moment.
The situation I was facing with my research refused to resolve itself, or to let me do the resolving, however, and once again I found myself incredibly aggravated over the last three days, as I attempted to make sense of a morass of information in both Nepali and English that absolutely had to be factored into the decisions I’m making about how to do my research. And I felt like a failure, and like a procrastinator (although I actually don’t think this was a factor, this time), and like I was going to disappoint a lot of people who think I can do these crazy things I stride off to do, like sampling in Nepal’s forests. I wondered a lot this week whether I am doomed to failure at creating change in the world, or at moving ahead in my career, and worried that my failure rate had increased dramatically this year (between the whole GMAT, School of Management rejection thing, et al). Suffice to say, I was miring in it.
Things turned around a little bit today, though, and I am feeling mildly optimistic. The internet even came back, after a three day outage, and so as I sat here, procrastinating the blog post, a little fried from the heat, I signed onto le Facebook and promptly found out that my good friend Mike from Yale literally fell off of the face of a mountain in Colorado this week. At 12,500 feet, smacking a large rock outcropping on the way down…possibly in front of his brother. Nine hours later he was pulled off the mountain by a rescue crew, with “only” a shattered vertebra, broken ankle, second sprained ankle, and hypothermia.
There sort of aren’t words for when you get this kind of news. The one thing I can easily say without letting the tears fall is that this is the kind of news that is a frequent traveler’s worst nightmare – to not be there when something really, really bad happens, and not be able to help when someone you really care about might need you. Luckily, the news of his fall came from Mike himself (trusty Facebook comes through again), and he is relatively okay, according to what he has posted. He will need rehabilitation and a bunch of other care, but most importantly, he’s alive, and there was no brain trauma. You can see the YouTube recovery video yourself – I can’t get the sucker to load for the life of me: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nGTTzSHMak.
I don’t really know what to say next. Mike is my closest friend at Yale, the one I spend the most time with, and the first person with whom the connection was pretty much immediate. We think the same way, we like the same kinds of things, and the same stupid shit associated with an Ivy League school pisses us off. I’m a little more optimistic and “glass half full,” he’s a little more pretty freakin’ smart, and 100% totally bad ass, while also being super-duper kind and considerate. Mike is in a different program and doing a PhD instead of a Master’s, but we met on a fluke in November and have been comparing notes on the world ever since. Even though I know he’s not in Connecticut right now and am sure he is in good hands, I have an overwhelming and embarrassingly maternalistic urge to be at least on the same continent right now, and to show up and just – I don’t know – dote. My perspective on the moment is permanently changed, and more than anything, I am just so, so, SO glad he is okay!
What I thought was the last time I would see him before Nepal we got a big, warm pizza pie to go (since I was was rice-averse, anticipating the rest of the summer and the alternative was Indian food), a bottle of wine and some beers, and two delicious little cups of gelato and sat out on his front stoop across from the big park near the Farmer’s Market at twilight, eating pizza, watching people go by, and talking about life, and how much he was looking forward to this trip that he was on when he fell. I cannot even fathom the state I would have been in right now had that really awesome farewell dinner been one of the last times I saw him. I would be in pieces.
I ended up seeing Mike two more times, though, both on the last day I was in New Haven. I saw him first when he came to get me to take me to the train station at around noon, and I was not even remotely ready to go, so we ate lunch (my leftovers) instead. I then saw him once again, when he came back from his lab once more to take my laggard ass to the train, good-naturedly putting my and Julie’s stuff and selves into his car while we ran around like a bunch of crazy ladies. On that attempt we rushed to the train station, Mike pulling all kinds of crazy moves to get through a traffic light (which I found secretly exhilarating), and then shortly thereafter offered to take even more time from his priorities to go have a beer with me somewhere nearby after we watched the train pull out of the station from the car, and realized we had another hour to wait. Julie and I decided to err on the side of caution and wait on the train platform, but that last day and week was riddled with Mike’s kindnesses, and I remember distinctly turning to Julie when we were at long last waiting on the train platform, and saying something to the effect of how blessed I feel to have such amazing people in my life, and so many good friends.
This isn’t a eulogy (and thank you god for that), but I wanted to take a moment to share how truly awesome this person is, and how lucky I am to have him in my life. I’m so, so glad that he will be okay, and that I know there will be more nights of gelato and pizza to come.
Get well soon, Mike. My thoughts are with you.
-M-
