Leave the great indoors

"What I have found,” the nun said, “is that all children, no matter what their situation, look for..."

Mon, 20 Aug 2012 04:15:54 -0400

““What I have found,” the nun said, “is that all children, no matter what their situation, look for love, they look for family, and they look for understanding. When they act out, they do so because they want to know that there are rules that apply to them. They understand that the rules exist because we love them.””

- Who says you can’t find wisdom in fluffy spy thrillers like Black List?

When I think about living in Cape Town, my mind automatically...

Thu, 09 Aug 2012 13:39:51 -0400

When I think about living in Cape Town, my mind automatically wanders through the endless stream of coffee shops that anchor me here. It’s the life in these places that make me feel most at home, especially on those days I long to be somewhere else.

"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go..."

Sun, 22 Jul 2012 10:06:07 -0400

“Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”

- — Elizabeth Stone

That’s the quote that came up in my head as I dropped my almost 3-year old daughter off at school on Friday morning. I lingered in the parking lot, watching her make her way across the playground. She seemed strong and confident, already secure in who she is. It made me so proud and happy.

But just like all parents do sometimes, I looked right through that exterior to the fragile vulnerability of innocence and childhood within. And it hurt like hell, because I know that one day a boy will break her heart and all I will be able to do is sit in her room with her and listen. I will gently try to guide her through the pain, not around it. And then I will have to leave her so that she can find her own strength and confidence again.

I will continue to feel her heartache, though. It’s my heart, after all.

Is this thing on?

Mon, 16 Jul 2012 02:49:00 -0400

I haven’t written here for a long time. The main reason is that I’ve been spending a lot of time trying to build up my other blog, Elezea. I enjoy that, but I also miss the personal outlet that this blog gives me. So I think I’ll try to come back and write here every once in a while.

The biggest change is that I’ve migrated my Wordpress blog to Tumblr, since it means I won’t feel bad about posting shorter thoughts, links, videos, etc. I lost all the comments from the old blog, but hey, cleaning out is good for the soul, right?

Oh, and since this is Tumblr… here, have an animated gif of a happy pig:

A day in the life of a South African homecomer

Fri, 29 Apr 2011 03:29:00 -0400

It’s 7:43am and my phone rings. I don’t need to look at the phone to know it’s my wife, and I know it’s not going to be a good call. She left early to stand in line at the Department of Home Affairs to apply for permanent residency as an American married to a South African citizen. It is our second attempt to get the paperwork accepted.

She is in tears. They’re not accepting a copy of her police clearance, despite a letter from the South African Consulate in Los Angeles explicitly stating that they have seen the original and they can verify its contents. The guy who is going through her documentation is not being helpful. He is impatient and downright rude to her.

I try to think of a solution. Will they start the paperwork and we can give them the original police clearance later on? I hear muffled objections in the background as my wife asks him.

“No,” she manages to say through deep, frustrated breaths. I want to reach through the phone and punch the guy in the face. I am ashamed to send my wife into this bottomless pit of stale bureaucracy. I tell her to come home - we’ll figure it out. We’ll get the original copy from the FBI in Washington, even though that will take at least 3 months.

At 8:30 I open the gate for our domestic worker. Her name is Aretha, and she is a real-life angel. She lives in Gugulethu and she has four kids. She works full time, she volunteers at her church, and she helps out at an orphanage nearby. Then, in her spare time, she chaperones every one of her daughter’s school events, and she runs a business selling Tupperware. Every week she walks into our house with a smile, asks us how we’re doing, and then she hangs up her coat in the pantry and gets to work. She never complains. About anything. I don’t understand it.

At 8:40 I try to get our almost 2-year old daughter in the car to go to the Waterfront Aquarium. It’s not easy. She has now realised that Mama isn’t here, and she is not happy. With all the spirit she can muster she “explains” to me how unhappy she is with the situation. I plead and promise. Somewhere between multiple references to “Nemo” and “Puppet show” I get the car started and we’re on our way. She calms down as we drive out of the neighbourhood. She likes looking outside. The pensive look I see in the rear-view mirror is one of the few things she inherited from me. I’m glad she looks like her mother.

I drive down the R27 on a crisp autumn day. Table Mountain sits right in front of me in the middle of a giant cloud, like it’s being protected from something. It’s beautiful. I stare at it as I try to get our Hyundai Atos above the 80 km/h mark. I miss the Rav4 we had when we lived in America. And I think about this blog post.

Homecoming Revolution asked me to write a follow-up to my Homecoming Thoughts post from a year ago, and I am at a loss. That post generated a lot of comments, and I’m worried because I know if I write down how I really feel many of those commenters will come back and say, “I told you so.” And the question that’s been on my mind for weeks hits me again: Why did we move back?

Meanwhile my wife is at the Milnerton Police Department getting her fingerprints done. She walks in and asks someone where to go; she explains that she is applying for permanent residency in South Africa. “Why would you want to do that?”, the woman asks, perplexed. “I’m married to a South African and we live here now,” she says. The woman shrugs and points my wife in the right direction.

I miss America. I miss the openness of the people, the need to debate everything and anything just because you can. I miss ubiquitous, fast, cheap Internet. I miss Target and customer service that actually provides service. I miss cheap everything, actually (well, with the exception of wine). I miss the vastness of it all, I miss the way the talent in Silicon Valley almost makes you smarter by osmoses. I miss live music. I miss not having an electric fence that malfunctions and wakes us up in the middle of the night. I’m like a poster child for whitewhine.com.

My daughter and I spend all morning at the Aquarium. I’m silently glad we never took her to the Monterey Bay Aquarium - it’s just not a fair comparison. When I get home my wife and I hold a mini strategy session. We lay out our plans for getting around the inefficiencies that stare us in the face every day. We take a break because our daughter is obsessed with the moon right now, and she needs us to “check that way” if maybe it came out during her nap.

At 2:07pm my wife takes our daughter to the park, and I head off to Melissa’s Food Shop for a Flat White and some reading time. On the way I’m reminded that tomorrow is trash day. Countless people are outside going through trash cans, eating what hasn’t gone bad yet, storing anything of value for later use. I sit in the sun at Melissa’s, I listen to the Afrikaans conversations around me, and catch glimpses of the Blouberg beach. I’m confused.

At 4:37pm I drive Aretha to the taxi stop at Bayside Mall. She is smiling. She is always smiling. She asks about my time with Aralyn this morning, she asks about my parents. She remembers that my dad turned 70 recently and she asks me how he’s doing. I try to answer through the lump in my throat. For the second time today, I am ashamed. Ashamed for my privileged whining. Ashamed that I can be so discontent in the midst of the enormous blessings I live in every day. I watch Aretha head off into the crowd to find a taxi for her long commute home. And I am ashamed.

All the reasons we gave for moving back to South Africa are still true. The potential of this place is staggering. It’s beautiful beyond measure. But sometimes it is So. Damn. Frustrating. But maybe that’s ok. Because it’s not about an easy life, it’s about a meaningful life.

I mentioned before that we moved here to write a new story for our lives. A story with conflict, because that’s what all great stories are made of. Now that we’re getting what we asked for it might not be fun all the time, but it doesn’t make it a wrong decision. It just makes it the life we chose, and the life we’re determined to live well. We’re here to stay, and all we can do is whine a little less and use our enormous privilege to give back to our community with every possible opportunity we have.

Because that’s what it means to love a country as much as I love mine.

Parenting: One Year Later

Sun, 03 Oct 2010 13:37:00 -0400

Our daughter recently turned one, which, sure, is a big accomplishment for her. But let’s be honest, she didn’t have a whole lot to do with that accomplishment. I really think the first birthday is all about the parents. Every single birthday from now on can be about her, but I claim this one for us. Well done, us. We made it to toddlerhood.

I just scanned through some of the posts I’ve written over the past 18 months or so since we found out Jess was pregnant. It feels like a lifetime ago. I stopped writing for a while when things got really rough (that’s a story for another post), and then I started again, and then I started writing about other things. But today I want to write about 5 things I’ve learned about parenting during this first year. Which, based on #1, you might want to ignore completely. But let’s do it anyway.

1. There is no right answer

I’ve learned that the Internet is the worst possible place to go for parenting advice. And within that vast expanse of bad advice, Facebook stands apart in its ability to make you feel like a complete failure as a parent.

Every parent has an opinion on sleep training, what to do with runny noses, how important vaccinations are, whether TV makes your child smart or dumb, how safe humidifiers are, what food you should give your baby… the list is endless. And the problem with Facebook is, you know these people. They are your friends. So you’re supposed to trust them, right? And if you hear advice that is different from someone else’s advice, as you inevitably will, you feel like someone’s going to judge you for what you do, because these people are your friends.

The reality is this. Every child is different. Every parent is different. But it goes beyond that — every child/parent combination is different. This means that there are endless permutations of child/parent relationships, and each combination requires something completely unique: your instinct. No one knows what is best — least of all you as the parent. But you know what feels right. And that is what you have to trust.

Sure, there are some questions that are innocent enough, like what the best nappy is for sleeping in. But for the most part, if I ever give you parenting advice, please ignore it and just follow your instincts.

2. Your life does not belong to you any more

Speaking of advice, the worst piece of advice I ever heard goes something like this:

Don’t let the baby set the agenda for your household. They are joining your family, not the other way around. They can fit into your schedule.

Simply. Not. True. The needs of the baby come first, and that means that your needs are a very distant second. I’m not saying this is a bad thing, just that if you expect to go on as if nothing happened, you’re in for a big surprise.

Say what you will about the movie Marley & Me, but I think it is one of the most realistic movies about parenting ever made. This quote sums up my point perfectly:

I just got overwhelmed. No one tells you how hard this is all gonna be.

Which part?

All of it: Marriage, being a parent. It’s the hardest job in the world and nobody prepares you for that. Nobody tells you how much you have to give up. I feel like they do tell you, but you don’t listen… or you think, ‘Ah, they’re just miserable.’ I’ve given up so much of what made me who I am. But I can’t say that because… I’m a very bad person if I say that. But I feel it. I really do. I feel it sometimes. I just want you to know that.

I do know that. And you can say it. I say it.

But I did make a choice. I made a choice, and even if it’s harder than I thought… I don’t regret it. ‘Cause it kinda has like a… ‘there’s no place like home’ feeling to it. I just think these things are gonna happen and we’re gonna get through them. And we’ll just do it together.

Realistic expectations are extremely important. You are giving up your life for something amazing and magical, but don’t be under the illusion that things won’t change — they will.

3. I don’t know anything

When I started writing about parenting, I had this grandiose dream of becoming the male version of Heather Armstrong, blogging my way through things and inspiring people along the way. I don’t have this dream any more, because nothing has humbled me so much about my own abilities like parenting has.

I can now change a nappy, get my daughter dressed in the morning, get her from point A to B using various forms of transport, including but not limited to our car and a hot pink tricycle. I can read her stories and encourage her enthusiastically when she takes a few steps. I can teach her about Jimi Hendrix and Miles Davis, and hopefully one day about Coldplay and Bon Iver and The Album Leaf. I can play guitar for her, give her kisses, and tell her I love her. I can now even put her to bed without much of a hassle.

But I still feel like I don’t know anything. And I have a suspicion that I will always feel like that. It is not necessarily a bad thing though, because it keeps me on my toes. It makes me think about how I interact with her, how my actions will influence hers, how everything I do can teach her in some small way to be honest, honorable, and passionate about everything she does. I don’t know anything, but I’m ok with that. Because I think like most of us, I can use a daily dose of humility.

4. We’re all in it together

As bad as Facebook is for parenting advice, it is a fantastic place for community. If we’re friends on Facebook and you have kids, I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. From the “Hello again, 3am” status updates to the “Hooray, the diarrhea stopped” ones, as soon as you say a word about parenting, we know what you mean. And nothing encourages you like knowing you are not alone.

The parenting tribe has sustained us through many difficult nights and days, so to you I say: thank you. And keep posting.

5. Ask for help

I have long since given up my shyness about asking people for help. Even if their offers seem insincere at the time - it’s their fault, right?

“Hey, let me know if you ever need a babysitter to come and…”

“Can you come Friday night?”

This parenting thing is not meant to be done alone, so don’t even try. Ask for people to help with lifts, food, babysitting, cleaning, laundry, old toys, old clothes, new nappies, whatever. People want to help, and we need to give them the opportunity to do so.

The toughest job…

Over the course of the past year or so, three things that people said to me about parenting has stuck with me:

Having a baby is not a hostile takeover, it’s a friendly takeover.
Being a parent is the toughest job you will ever love.
Being a parent is wonderful, but parenting isn’t always that.

There is a little bit of truth in all those statements. But when my daughter runs into my arms, and I think about the past year and all the ups and downs, the one I keep coming back to is this. It’s a tough job. But I love it.

In search of vinyl, part 1: Mabu Vinyl in Cape Town, South Africa

Sat, 25 Sep 2010 04:35:12 -0400

As I pull up to Mabu Vinyl in Cape Town, the first thing I notice is the businesses around it. A locksmith, an iPod repair shop (and yes, of course it’s called iFix), and a second-hand furniture store. Oh, and OutlawDVD. Cape Town’s Premium Adult DVD Superstore. Which makes me wonder how many Adult DVD Superstores Cape Town has in the first place… But I digress. In short, it’s not the best part of town. Actually, I take that back. It’s a short, less-than-savory street in the middle of what is a really nice part of Cape Town with plenty of coffee shops and boutique clothing stores, etc. It’s one of the many reasons Cape Town reminds me of San Francisco so much — it’s a great place until you turn the wrong corner.

Anyway, it’s broad daylight, so I soldier on. As I walk up to the door, I see that it’s closed with one of those hand-written “Back in 5 minutes” signs on the door. Typical. And I love it. By the way, those signs have always bothered me. How do I know how much of the 5 minutes is left? Those signs should be electronic and just count down how much time you have left to wait. I should patent that idea. Luckily, I must have arrived towards the tail-end of the 5 minutes. Because within 3 minutes, a young guy appears, dressed as if he’s just been to a Jimmy Eat World concert. I didn’t need to ask if he works at Mabu, it’s already written on his “I love sad music and that’s why I work at an indie music store” face. I immediately like him, too. I can tell this is going to be great. Inside, Mabu Vinyl looks and smells like an authentic second-hand store should. It’s stacked to the ceiling with used VHS tapes, random posters, loose CD’s, second hand books, and of course, vinyl records. It’s all about the vinyl. As it should be. It’s dark, it’s moody… it’s perfect. The selection at Mabu Vinyl is about what I’d expect based on what I know people listened to here in the 80s and 90s. There is lots to explore, but it’s unfortunately mostly not my taste. The thing is that it is virtually impossible to find new vinyl in South Africa. It’s just too expensive to import, and it appears that the bug hasn’t bitten enough people to have enough demand for it. So finding any vinyl post early 90s is a bit of a mission. I will keep looking, though. For now, I will have to adjust my demand to the supply, until stores like Mabu make enough money out of vinyl to start importing all the great new stuff that’s coming out on the format.

In the end I walked out with 2 albums — just to kick things off. One is embarrassing so I’ll keep that to myself. But the other is a mint copy of We Can’t Dance by Genesis. It’s an album I’ve never been able to find in the US, and it sounds amazing — it’s like hearing it for the first time. One big issue, and this might also be why vinyl hasn’t really taken off here, is the high cost. I paid R50 for that album (~$7), and it’s the type of record you’d find in the $1 bin at a thrift store in the US, like I did with other brilliant finds like Tracy Chapman’s debut. Again, I guess it comes down to supply and demand - we just need more people to get into vinyl so that stores can become competitive. It also doesn’t help that equipment is so expensive in South Africa. We have exactly 1 Rega representative here, and it’s just so expensive that proper vinyl systems are reserved for people with a whole lot of disposable income. I certainly wouldn’t have been able to afford it if I hadn’t bought my system in the US and brought it with me to South Africa. How do we change this? Anyway, back to Mabu. I will be back many times as it’s close to where I work, and they seem to really care about vinyl — they’re not just doing it on the side to see what happens. But I also want to go explore the two other vinyl stores I know about in Cape Town, and see if I can convince anyone to start importing the likes of Bon Iver, Fleet Foxes and The Album Leaf. You know, just keeping the dream alive (yes, there was a lot of REO Speedwagon albums on display at Mabu).

High five

Tue, 14 Sep 2010 14:21:30 -0400

A couple recently walked by me and gave each other a spontaneous high five. My first thought was that we really don’t see enough of that. They were pushing a baby in a stroller, he said something, they laughed, and in one synchronous movement they shared this high five as if they were the only two people in the world. It stopped me dead in my tracks. The Wikipedia definition of the high five is pretty dry, but it’s a good place to start:

The high five is a celebratory hand gesture that occurs when two people simultaneously raise one hand, about head high, and push, slide or slap the flat of their palm and hand against the palm and flat hand of their partner

You wouldn’t think that such a thing would be open to controversy, but apparently the origin of the high five is a bit of hotly contested history. The most credible story is that it started in US baseball in the 70s, but of course there’s some basketball player who says he executed the first high five in the 60s. But I guess the origin or meaning is not that important. What is important is, why was this couple high five-ing? What did he say to her to elicit that response? As a new dad myself, I feel like it had to be something about the baby. Probably something like “Look, she just fell asleep!” or “Did you see her poop isn’t yellow any more?” What’s also important is why this struck me as so odd. It shouldn’t. Walking through a mall should expose us to one giant high five circus. Maybe I find it odd because when we’re knee deep in parenting, we tend to not have the time or the inclination to look up long enough to see the high five-able moments. Maybe it’s because, as I wrote earlier, we forget that life is staggering. Or maybe it’s because we lower the bar too much to save us from disappointment — or as Frank Chimero put it (much more eloquently than I ever could):

When does the magic of a situation fade? When do we get acclimated to the exceptional? Is this how we get by? Would anything get done if we were constantly gobsmacked? Is this how we survive, how we stay sane? We define a pattern, no matter how exceptional, and acclimate ourselves to it?

I guess what I’m trying to say is, we need to high five each other more. Couples, especially, need to find those moments of celebration. Because things can get pretty bleak if you don’t raise your hands every once in a while. So, here you go, a gift from me to you: ^5. You’re welcome.

Life is staggering

Tue, 07 Sep 2010 10:47:12 -0400

It’s been just over a year since my wife and I decided to move from San Francisco to Cape Town. Since then we had a baby, I changed jobs, and we systematically packed up our lives and moved here in March this year. When we first started planning the move, we agreed on one thing: it’s going to be difficult as hell, but it is a story we have to live. What I kept saying to Jess was this: The next year is not going to be easy. It’s too much change, and too much uncertainty, too quickly. But we needed to remember that a year down the road it was going to be September in Cape Town. It would be Spring, and we’d wake up to a sunrise over Table Mountain, and we’d suddenly be ok. Last night our almost-1-year-old slept through the night, something she’s done maybe 10 nights since she was born. This morning I went for a run on the Sea Point Promenade and witnessed that sunrise over Table Mountain. I had a perfect cappuccino at Origin. And then I got an SMS from my wife to say that our daughter cut her 7th tooth. Also, someone I respect unfollowed me on Twitter, but you know, in the bigger scheme of things that’s probably ok. So yes, I’d say that we’re home now, and that everything is going to be all right. I have written before about how instrumental Donald Miller was to us during our moving process, and today I was reminded again of this quote from A Thousand Miles to a Thousand Years:

We get robbed of the glory of life because we aren’t capable of remembering how we got here. When you are born, you wake slowly to everything. Your brain doesn’t stop growing until you turn twenty-six, so from birth to twenty-six, God is slowly turning the lights on, and you’re groggy and pointing at things saying circle! and blue! and car! and then sex! and job! and health care! The experience is so slow you could easily come to believe life isn’t that big of a deal, that life isn’t staggering. What I’m saying is I think life is staggering and we’re just used to it. We all are like spoiled children no longer impressed with the gifts we’re given — it’s just another sunset, just another rainstorm moving in over the mountain, just another child being born, just another funeral.

So, hey. Let’s allow ourselves to be awed every once in a while, ok?

In defense of vuvuzelas

Tue, 15 Jun 2010 09:43:38 -0400

The ultimate blog post to defend the use of vuvuzelas at World Cup matches has already been written, but based on the constant Twitter and Facebook onslaught I am getting about this, I really have to say a couple of things about it too. First, consider the lead-up to this tournament. Think about the endless mockery of FIFA’s choice, the stream of articles on how South Africa does not have the ability or infrastructure to host an event of this scale. And most recently, the ridiculous reports in the British press of machete wars and who knows what else. We just sucked it up, and quietly went about our preparations. And now, here we are, in some of the most beautiful stadiums the world has ever seen, at a tournament that is running smoothly. Reporters on the ground are talking about the “sustained display of pure joy” by South Africans in hosting and enjoying this event. There are the constant great reviews of our hospitality and friendliness. So instead of fighting about inefficiency or bad logistics at matches, we’re fighting about vuvuzelas? Ok, we’re fighting about vuvuzelas. So come, let us reason together. This whole debate eventually boils down to one simple question: What responsibility does a host nation of an event have towards foreign visitors to the event? That really is it. If you look at the arguments on both sides, that is what it comes down to.

Vuvuzela supporters defend its usage by saying that it’s part of an African World Cup experience, that you can’t make us change our ways just because you’re bothered by it.
Vuvuzela haters say it is annoying, distracting, and when it comes down to it, rude to impose it on them. They’re basically saying: “Do this at your own matches, but don’t bring it to the World Cup.”

So what is our responsibility to visitors? Three things:

Keep them safe
Show them a great time
Give them an African experience

It’s that last one that’s the crux of the matter. Why travel all the way to South Africa just to have a soccer tournament that looks like it could be in America or Europe? Why would you want to be in the country for the soccer, but lose out on all the other authentic, local experiences we have to offer? And why would we want you to miss out on everything that makes us who we are? Isn’t an important part of hospitality making you one of us, instead of viewing you as an outsider and walking on egg shells around you? And by the way, FIFA president Joe Blatter agrees:

I understand that the sound is annoying to some. For us, we can’t imagine it any other way. Yes, we need to make you feel welcome here. And we really want you to have a fantastic time. But we also want you to experience what it means to live in Africa. So instead of complaining about the vuvuzela, pick one up at your friendly street corner vendor, and blow it. All the time. Go sit in a coffee shop and read the local paper. Get out of Sandton and go have a beer in Soweto. Rent a car and get out of town into the unimaginable beauty that awaits you. You’ll see why we love our country so much. And to those who are watching the games on mute on their TVs and complaining from afar — you really are missing out. That constant droning symbolizes the exhilaration, stress, and release that is at the heart of what makes soccer such a great game. Come on, give it another shot, and try to live it with us, not just watch it. So, listen. We’re not being rude. We’re inviting you to come in and make yourself at home. Please don’t be rude by refusing the invitation. :============<() Save the vuvuzela!

Amazing coffee and the power of ritual

Mon, 31 May 2010 14:57:53 -0400

This weekend I had the best coffee I’ve ever had. My good friend Wil has a large bag of unroasted, green coffee beans from Kenya, and I watched as he prepared a cup for me. The whole process took about 30 minutes — from roasting the beans in a popcorn maker, to grinding them as fine as possible, and then finally brewing the coffee in a stove top espresso maker. It was so much more than just another coffee. I told this story to a friend at work today, and he sent me this quote in response (my emphasis added):

Another important element of addiction is ritual. Something as simple as eliminating the rituals that accompany the addiction can be enough to cause the addiction to lose appeal. Powerful aspects of the addiction are obtained from the ritual itself, such that without it, the behavior or substance no longer is accompanied by euphoria. Heroin is a good example. The ritual of injecting heroin and the lifestyle involved in the pursuit and use of the drug is a part of the addiction. Taking away these components, as is done in methadone clinics, often reforms addicts on these bases alone.

If I arrived too late to be there for the preparation of the coffee, would it have tasted differently? Would vinyl LP’s sound as good as they do if there wasn’t so much work involved in maintaining and playing them? Are we really this predictable, this easy to manipulate, that the lead-up to an event can have such a big impact on the enjoyment of it? Yes, yes we are.

Homecoming Thoughts: On Moving Back to South Africa After 8 Years Abroad

Mon, 05 Apr 2010 09:33:22 -0400

It has now been two weeks since we arrived back in Cape Town after an 8 year stint living abroad, and I am still hesitant to write this post. I keep thinking that I need to give it more time, that my unconditional euphoria about being back has to be some kind of temporary adrenalin rush. That the other shoe will drop and suddenly I’ll be faced with a strange reality, left only with thoughts of “What have we done!?” And maybe that will still happen. But right now, as I sit on our balcony in Sea Point overlooking the Promenade and the vast blue ocean, I’m tempted to give up the fight and embrace what my wife told me over lunch today… What took us so long to move back? It’s hard to explain, but my spirit lifted the minute we landed in Cape Town (after a grueling 2-day journey with our 6-month old, but that’s a story for a different blog post). After recuperating at my parents’ house in Stellenbosch for a few days, we moved into our flat in Sea Point a week ago, and we just can’t believe how lucky we are to live here in this amazing place. The beauty in this area of the world is simply stunning. This weekend I got up and went for a run along the ocean as the foghorns were working overtime, and 100s of runners were enjoying the early morning ocean-quiet with me. We spent the day at Camps Bay and Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens, and we were left only with thoughts of how blessed we are to have all of this right at our doorstep. There is chaos here, but it doesn’t feel like chaos, it just feels like life. When we walk around in downtown Sea Point I sense an energy and a vibrancy that is almost tangible. As I watch and talk to people, as we experience the diversity of cultures and emotions all around us, I can’t help but fall in love with Africa all over again. And my wife, who is American, feels exactly the same way. There are those who tell me we’re crazy for moving back, but the love-hate relationship South Africans have with their country is also part of what draws me to this place — we don’t shy away from the bad stuff, and we don’t shut up about our opinions. Yes, there are many problems in South Africa. Serious, serious problems. And I am not oblivious to it — I remain vigilant and always mindful of the safety of my family, and I’d be lying if I said this weekend’s killing of Eugene Terre’blanche doesn’t make me nervous. But I see in this country a potential that is so different and unique to anything I’ve experienced living in Australia and America. Let me put it this way. When I was in high school, rugby was everything. The problem is that our school really sucked at it. We weren’t even allowed to play in the same league as our main rivals in town (Paul Roos Gymnasium), because the embarrassment would just be too devastating and there were fears we would grow up weak and bruised for life. But the words our coach spoke to us one afternoon after practice have stuck with me ever since: He told us, yes, we could attend Paul Roos and be part of a great rugby school, a school that has accomplished everything there is to accomplish, a school at the top of the rankings. Or we could stay here, at Stellenbosch High, and help build something from the ground up. Now, sure, he was just trying to make us feel better. But the words rang true. Living in America was wonderful — I love the country and its people, and I am amazed at how smoothly everything works, and how easy it is to live there. But here’s the thing: America doesn’t need me. I can’t really contribute much there. There are 1,000’s of people there who have the exact same skillset I do. But here, in Cape Town, in my country, I can become part of something. The Silicon Cape initiative is getting off the ground. The user experience community is starting to thrive. I can be a part of that — and here’s the bonus: I can do it in a place that is brimming with hope and immeasurable beauty. How can I pass that chance up? During our last week in America, I reminded my wife at some point that we are taking a big risk by moving here. The job pool is smaller, there are countless political challenges. You know what she told me? ”A safe life is a boring life.” And she was right (as usual). So we take this risk and we embrace it with both arms. So far we are loving every minute of it. Hard times will come, but we are here, now, and this is our home. Here, in Africa, we plant ourselves.

The art of moving

Thu, 11 Mar 2010 23:32:15 -0500

A friend recently posted this Paulo Coelho quote on Facebook:

Trust and start walking. We are not alone in the dark, our path will unfold as we move. R.L.Stevenson once said: “I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move.” If you can’t move in the physical world, move in your imagination, but MOVE.

A lovely sentiment, but as someone who is preparing to move countries in less than two weeks, the reality is quite different. A recent New York Times article entitled The Psychology of Moving summed it up pretty well:

Whether one moves frequently or almost never, moving is an intensely emotional experience. The underlying psychological issues involved in real estate decisions are of great interest to therapists and psychologists, because housing and moving are filled with symbolism, the hope for new beginnings, crushing disappointments, loss, anxiety and fear. “Panic can really set in around your home and your apartment,” said Ronnie Greenberg, a Manhattan psychoanalyst. “It’s a matrix of safety, so moving is incredibly stressful and people don’t realize it — they mainly talk about the packing and the external part of moving.”

That’s certainly not as sexy as the first statement, but it is most certainly closer to the truth (except for the part about not realizing how stressful it is. I have pretty good grasp of how stressed I am right now!). To go a little further (and definitely more eloquently) into the realities of moving, I want to go back to a great book everyone should read, The Art of Travel. Alain De Botton says the following:

If our lives are dominated by a search for happiness, then perhaps few activities reveal as much about the dynamics of this quest—in all its ardour and paradoxes—than our travels. They express, however inarticulately, an understanding of what life might be about, outside of the constraints of work and of the struggle for survival. Yet rarely are they considered to present philosophical problems—that is, issues requiring thought beyond the practical. We are inundated with advice on where to travel to, but we hear little of why and how we should go, even though the art of travel seems naturally to sustain a number of questions neither so simple nor so trivial, and whose study might in modest ways contribute to an understanding of what the Greek philosophers beautifully termed eudaimonia, or ‘human flourishing’.

At the heart of what makes moving such a complex emotional and physical endeavor is what Alain calls “the relationship between the anticipation of travel and its reality.” It is never what you think it’s going to be, and that results in a lot of stress and mixed emotions. The problem is that we can never fully anticipate all the mundane details involved in moving. So we focus on the outcome — the first breakfast in your new home, the first family walk. But oh, how the reality of the journey hurts. One more quote from The Art of Travel that sums this up much better than I can:

If we are inclined to forget how much there is in the world besides that which we anticipate, then works of art are perhaps a little to blame, for in them we find at work the same process of simplification or selection as in the imagination. Artistic accounts involve severe abbreviations of what reality will force upon us. A travel book may tell us, for example, that the narrator journeyed through the afternoon to reach the hill town of X and after a night in its medieval monastery awoke to a misty dawn. But we never simply ‘journey through an afternoon’. We sit in a train. Lunch digests awkwardly within us. The seat cloth is grey. We look out the window at a field. We look back inside. A drum of anxieties revolves in our consciousness. We notice a luggage label affixed to a suitcase in a rack above the seats opposite. We tap a finger on the window ledge. A broken nail on an index finger catches a thread. It starts to rain. A drop wends a muddy path down the dust-coated window. We wonder where our ticket might be. We look back out at the field. It continues to rain. At last the train starts to move. It passes an iron bridge, after which it inexplicably stops. A fly lands on the window. And still we may have reached the end only of the first minute of a comprehensive account of the events lurking within the deceptive sentence ‘He journeyed through the afternoon’.

So, there’s that. But I guess the point is that, somehow, you get through it. You journey through the afternoon, and you get where you need to be. And after the dust settles you are left with the sense of accomplishment that comes from beating down a challenge — and a new beginning to make. So even though I know the reality of getting there is going to be pretty bad, I need to keep my eyes on that first breakfast in Cape Town. And that, I guess, is the art of moving.

Have you read the Preamble to South Africa's Constitution?

Sat, 06 Feb 2010 13:38:45 -0500

I am not sure how this happened, but I had never read the preamble to South Africa’s Constitution. Until my friend Annie posted it on her blog earlier this week. I felt even more ashamed after reading it there because she is not even South African - she is an American who emigrated to South Africa! So, yeah, she wins. But I finally read it, and it gave me goosebumps. So for anyone out there who have also not read it, here it is…

We, the people of South Africa, Recognise the injustices of our past; Honour those who suffered for justice and freedom in our land; Respect those who have worked to build and develop our country; and Believe that South Africa belongs to all who live in it, united in our diversity. We therefore, through our freely elected representatives, adopt this Constitution as the supreme law of the Republic so as to:
Heal the divisions of the past and establish a society based on democratic values, social justice and fundamental human rights;

Lay the foundations for a democratic and open society in which government is based on the will of the people and every citizen is equally protected by law;

Improve the quality of life of all citizens and free the potential of each person; and

Build a united and democratic South Africa able to take its rightful place as a sovereign state in the family of nations.

May God protect our people. Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika. Morena boloka setjhaba sa heso. God seën Suid-Afrika. God bless South Africa. Mudzimu fhatutshedza Afurika. Hosi katekisa Afrika.

I’m proud to be from a country where we can openly and honestly acknowledge the mistakes of our past, so that we don’t repeat them in the future.

Thanks for the advice, but I think we'll move back to South Africa anyway.

Wed, 03 Feb 2010 23:39:47 -0500

I just read a blog post about South Africa that I don’t think had quite the effect on me that the author intended. It’s a post written by a South African who returned home after 9 years in the UK, had a horrible experience, lost all hope, and 9 months later decided to go back to the UK and never return. Since our family is moving back to Cape Town in March after 6 years in America, I read the article with great interest. And as far as rants go, this is a pretty good one. This guy isn’t holding anything back. You can read the post here if you’re so inclined. Now, towards the end of the post, he wrote this piece of advice to people like us who are planning to come back:

If you are overseas, and Africa is in your bones, and you’re feeling duped by SA’s advertising that it’s all getting better (yes, Homecoming Revolution, I am talking about YOU) then don’t believe the hype. If you are white, you are unemployable, no matter how many skills or how much experience you have. Unless you are coming to participate in greed culture, and are willing to risk everything you have saved overseas (yes, overseas we have disposable income - we CAN save), then don’t be tempted by summers and blue skies. Get a UV light to combat the winter depression, but think very carefully before putting South Africa back on your radar.

So let me just address a couple of points in that paragraph straight up:

Homecoming Revolution has been extremely helpful to me in our preparations for returning home. Their website has great resources, their staff have always been responsive and friendly, and they helped me connect with the right people when I had questions. They also didn’t push FNB’s banking services on me — when they heard I already have an ABSA account, they didn’t pursue the matter any further (Homecoming Revolution is sponsored by FNB).
I am white, and therefore unemployable according to the author. And even though I understand hyperbole and assume that’s what he was going for, I do want to point out that I am returning to a great job that I am extremely excited about.
“Greed culture”? As opposed to the UK and the US where everyone is sitting around singing Kumbaya and figuring out how they can give their money away to other people? No my friend, South Africa is no more nor less greedy than any other nation in the world.
Listen, there’s a lot to be said for those summers and blue skies. For example:

So anyway, I don’t want to make this a long post because I have coffee brewing and I don’t want it to get cold. But let me just say this. The author wants me to cancel our tickets and not make the same mistake he made. And I am not denying that he’s had a bad experience. But his beef seems mostly with Homecoming Revolution (who’s been great to me) and FNB (not my bank). So I’m just going to go ahead and ignore his advice. Partly because our tickets are booked and I already sold my Xbox. But mostly because I know three very important things:

No country is perfect
With the right attitude and a little bit of help from your friends you can make it anywhere
South Africa is my home

See you in March, Cape Town!

American Idol, and how there are 4 types of people in this world.

Fri, 22 Jan 2010 20:02:47 -0500

The 9th season of American Idol just started. Before each season I vow to boycott it, and I go on a snobbish tirade about how I don’t understand why people watch that show. And then the first episode rolls around, and I know why people watch that show. This week, after an episode that may or may not, but definitely did have me in tears, I started thinking about this. And sitting on the floor, listening to Coldplay and thinking about the world and everyone in it, I started to develop a theory. I think we love American Idol because it is such a complete window into the full spectrum of human nature. In the confines of an hour on TV we see an exaggerated version of every type of person we might ever encounter in our daily lives. We see the ones we hate, the ones we love, the ones we feel sorry for, and the ones we want to be. In essence, we see people in various combinations of different levels of ability and arrogance. And that’s why I think there are four types of people in this world. Let me first say that I am just as appalled as you are that I fell for the old “there are X types of people…” trick. I’m reminded of the old joke: There are two types of people in this world - those who believe there are two types of people in this world, and those who don’t. I’m squarely in the don’t column on that one. But hang with me for a bit please - I’m reasonably certain that this will make sense to you in the end. So here we go. 4 types of people, based on their ability level (low or high) and their level of arrogance about their abilities (low or high):

Actually, I think we all spend some time in each of these four quadrants as we go through life. Sometimes we live in all four quadrants in a single day. It is somewhat inevitable. But we should strive to spend more time in some quadrants than others. I’m getting ahead of myself, though. Let’s go through each of these in turn…

1. The Realist (low ability, low arrogance)

This is the guy who strolls onto the American Idol platform, squeaks out a barely audible rendition of Unchained Melody, and immediately hangs his head in shame. He wanted to give it his best shot, but he knows he’s in over his head, so faced with the blank stares from the judges, he just turns around quietly and leaves. It’s sad to see, but we’ve all acted this way. We’re inspired by something or someone so we try to do something new, only to realize that, yeah, maybe surfing in the Mavericks surf contest after watching “Surf’s Up” wasn’t such a good idea after all. Once, in high school, I decided I would be a good DJ so I put me hand up to be the DJ at one of our school parties. I was really bad at it. And walking around with a perpetual wedgie for a week also really gives you some additional perspective on your talents. But there was good in that. It showed me I should probably pursue other things. I think we should spend as little time as possible in this quadrant. Stay away from the things you’re not good at (unless there is a real chance you have the talent to become good at it with enough work).

2. The Obnoxious Wannabe (low ability, high arrogance)

These are the cringe-inducing American Idol auditions that we can’t watch, but simply have to. The girl who comes in wearing an elaborate costume, going on about how all her friends tell her she’s the next Kelly Clarkson. And then she opens her mouth and you start to question the existence of intelligent life on earth. Because they couldn’t possibly be any worse at singing. These auditions usually end pretty badly. Some even end with an arrest, as in this example: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VfbWAmwaK44 The thing is, we all dwell in this quadrant sometimes. Maybe more than me might care to admit. On American Idol our response is, “don’t these people know how bad they are?” But then we go out and pretend like our opinion is the only one that matters. At work, we’re always right, and we refuse to admit that someone else’s ideas might be valid. This is a very dangerous quadrant to spend time in. It’s an easy thing to spot in others, but we’re so often blind to it in ourselves. American Idol inspired me to dial up my internal Wannabe Radar a little so that I can get better at stepping out as soon as I venture into this area.

3. The Rock Star (high ability, high arrogance)

These auditions make you so jealous and so happy, both at the same time. You know the ones. The girl who walks in with a cocky swagger and belts out a Celine Dion song like it’s nobody’s business. She hits it spot on, she knows it, and she’s not shy about it. Think of bands like Coldplay and U2. Think of musicians like John Mayer. Arrogant as the day is long, but these guys simply wouldn’t be where they are today without being both good and cocky. That’s sometimes what it takes. In life, this can be a very effective way to get ahead, but it can also backfire fairly quickly. Those who really use this to their advantage learn to disguise the fact that they believe they’re the only expert to ever exist on a particular subject matter (let’s call them Modified Rock Stars). This is the celebrity quadrant, and I think in the back of our minds we all want to spend our time here (Balloon Boy, anyone?). But here’s the thing. I think spending too much time in this quadrant just makes you tired, and doesn’t bring you any closer to happiness. Which brings us to…

4. The Game-Changer (high ability, low arrogance)

Some American Idol auditions make you cry. Go on, admit it. These auditions are usually accompanied by a life story that includes overcoming a difficult event, like sickness or a death in the family. These are people who have been beaten down by life, learned from it, and got up. They show up at the audition with a sincere appreciation for the opportunity. They can sing, but they have also experienced enough disappointment in their lives to know that nothing is guaranteed. But man, can they sing. You know the ones I’m talking about. I call them Game-Changers, because they have a life-changing impact on the way you view the world (even if it’s in a small way), and they stay with you long after you get in contact with them. You think about the audition when you wake up the next day. You remember the words of a high school teacher that meant a lot to you. You follow the advice of a work mentor who never played the corporate game well, but always seemed to be content and fulfilled in their jobs. I don’t spend nearly enough time in this quadrant, and frankly, I want to get out of the other quadrants and into this one as often as possible. Because this is the quadrant where you operate in the realm of your natural talents, and you have a real opportunity to impact other people in a positive way. This is different from the Modified Rock Star (see description above) because the motivation is different. Modified Rock Stars may appear humble, but they are still only out for themselves. The Game-Changer’s motivation is to truly and honestly contribute to their communities (professional as well as personal), and leave those places better off. They are aware of their talents and what they’re good at (and come on, we all have something we’re good at). But they see this as a gift to be shared, not an accomplishment to lord over others. This is where I want to spend my time. How about you? What is your “Game-Changer” talent? And now you’ll have to excuse me, I have to go look for mine…

A few ways to help in Haiti

Thu, 14 Jan 2010 11:36:27 -0500

I don’t need to write anything about the nature of the devastation and loss of human life in Haiti after the earthquake. We’ve all seen the images. There are so many ways to help there right now, you just need to pick one that works for you and do something.

Here are a few options to help with the Haiti relief efforts:

If you’re in the US, one of the easiest ways to donate is through text messaging. Just text “HAITI” to “90999” to donate $10 to the Red Cross. The amount will be added to your cell phone bill, and it goes straight to the Red Cross — your cell phone company doesn’t get any of that. You can also donate on their website.
Donate to Doctors Without Borders to provide much needed medical supplies and relief.
Donate to Partners in Health - another option to provide medical supplies and relief.
Another good option is Global Giving - they have tons of ways to donate on their Haiti Relief page.

Remember that every little bit helps. Like Mother Teresa said: If you can’t feed a hundred people, then feed just one.

Deconstructing the classics, Part 1: The Very Hungry Caterpillar

Fri, 08 Jan 2010 09:46:47 -0500

Earlier this week I started the bed-time routine of reading to our 3-month old daughter. It is an important occasion for a father, so I wanted to select a book that reflected that gravitas of the moment. After proper research, I decided to go with a book hailed as “one of the best children’s books ever written.” And having sold 30 million copies worldwide since its release in 1969, I figured that The Very Hungry Caterpillar was a worthy place to start my daughter’s reading journey. Now, I had never read this book, so I was as enthralled as she was right from the start. I mean, this is solid story-telling. Clocking in at only 225 words, the book manages to introduce its main character, help you identify with him, take him through an enormous crisis, and resolve it beautifully into a happy ending. I don’t want to spoil the ending, but let’s just say our hero has quite the journey in the space of one week. I think my daughter liked the pictures and forget about it as soon as we were done, but the story stuck with me for a long time. As I was lying awake thinking about it, several questions started to materialize in my mind, and I might go crazy unless I get them out. So here goes — Part 1 of what will hopefully be an ongoing series about children’s books. First, let’s look at the storyline.

The logic and science of The Very Hungry Caterpillar

Ok, so we have a caterpillar as our main character, and he is hungry. Nothing wrong with that. The book doesn’t tell us what he’s been eating up to that point, but we know that caterpillars are mostly phytophagous in food habit — meaning they’re herbivores and therefore eat plants. So his diet over the first few days of the story raises some warning flags that, frankly, his friends should have picked up on. Apples, pears, plums, strawberries — all good, and certainly a healthy diet, but those are fruit, not plants. This dude’s got some serious issues. But then things get nasty. On Friday he eats five whole oranges? Hold up there, fellow. Have you seen how small you are? At their biggest, caterpillars can get up to three inches long. You stuff five oranges into such a small body and things are going to get weird pretty quickly. I guess it’s possible though, considering that caterpillars have been called “eating machines”, and eat pretty much all the time. According to Wikipedia:

Most species shed their skin four or five times as their bodies grow, and they eventually pupate into an adult form. Caterpillars grow very quickly - for example, a tobacco hornworm will increase its weight ten-thousand-fold in less than twenty days. An adaptation that enables them to eat so much is a mechanism in a specialized midgut that quickly transports ions to the lumen (midgut cavity), to keep the potassium level higher in the midgut cavity than in the blood.

So let’s say our friend survives the ordeal of the five oranges. On Saturday, however, everything falls apart in the little guy’s world. He eats chocolate cake, ice cream, a pickle, swiss cheese, salami, a lollipop, a cherry pie, a single sausage, a cupcake and a whole slice of watermelon. Yes, some species of caterpillar have been known to be predators and even show cannibalistic tendencies, but this is just ridiculous. There’s no way he could survive this binge. Something must have set him off — but I guess that is the mystery of the story? Whatever intervention happened between Saturday and Sunday, it must have worked. Our friend the caterpillar goes on a serious diet and eats one single leaf — which is what he should have done in the first place — and this cures him of the gigantic stomachache he must have had from the previous week. It is highly unlikely that (1) a single leaf could cure the caterpillar of his problems, and (2) that he would only eat one leaf that day. I don’t think they lack the mental fortitude to stop eating. But, let’s leave it at that. Eventually the caterpillar turns into a butterfly, and the story has a happy ending. Despite its science being very confusing, I must say that as a science fiction novel, this story really connected with me in the end when everything finally worked out. So what can we learn from The Very Hungry Caterpillar?

The moral of the story is…

I think this story teaches us several life lessons:

Don’t try to be someone you’re not. The caterpillar clearly wasn’t happy with who he was — a herbivore. He had to go out and experiment with all kinds of different foods, and in the end it nearly killed him. He should have just been himself.
You need friends who care about you. Where was the caterpillar’s friends? Was no one there to hold him accountable when he went off the deep end? He needed a mentor, someone to share his troubles with.
Overindulging is never an answer. This story doesn’t have a lot of words in it, but it goes out of its way to explain that the caterpillar had a very bad stomachache after he snapped. This is a universal truth — if you try to drown your sorrows by overindulging in things that help you escape reality, your tummy will most certainly ache the next morning, and your troubles will still be there.
When things go wrong, return to what you know. After hitting rock bottom on Saturday night, the caterpillar woke up on Sunday and realized that he needs to stop running away from himself. He went back to his roots, ate a leaf, and became a butterfly. That’s something all of us should remember when times are tough. Take comfort in what you know, and have hope that maybe one day we’ll all transform into butterflies.

So even though I think we can learn a lot from this story, the science still bothers me. I’d appreciate it if any of you can shed some light on what affliction might have befallen our caterpillar. This post is part of the Fatherhood Friday series on Dad-Blogs. Head over there to read some of the other Fatherhood Friday posts!

A long December, and reason to believe

Thu, 31 Dec 2009 11:36:33 -0500

This is the time of year when the Internet goes crazy with “Best of 2009” lists. And I have to admit, I love it. From the most-watched YouTube videos of 2009, to Mashable’s insightful “What Twitter and Facebook’s 2009 Trends Tell Us About Ourselves,” to the Wall Street Journal’s best photos of 2009, we just love reflection and fresh starts at the end of each year. Today is also the day when, every year, I find it completely impossible to get the Counting Crows song A Long December out of my head:

It’s been a long December / And there’s reason to believe / That maybe this year will be better than the last

What is it about the turn of the year that fills us with so much hope, and drives us to make all sorts of resolutions about how much better we’ll be in the coming year? The history of New Year’s Resolutions is quite interesting and goes all the way back to 153 B.C. when Janus, a mythical roman god, was placed at the head of the calendar:

The Romans named the first month of the year after Janus, the god of beginnings and the guardian of doors and entrances. He was always depicted with two faces, one on the front of his head and one on the back. Thus he could look backward and forward at the same time. At midnight on December 31, the Romans imagined Janus looking back at the old year and forward to the new. Janus became the ancient symbol for resolutions and many Romans looked for forgiveness from their enemies and also exchanged gifts before the beginning of each year. [Source: The History of New Year’s Resolutions]

So in keeping with that tradition, I’ll keep looking backward until midnight tonight, and then turn around to look at new beginnings. It’s going to be a gigantic year for us with our move back to South Africa, our daughter’s first birthday, etc. But in the end, my resolution is pretty simple: Connect to the Internet less, with people more. And it looks like I’m not the only one. See my earlier post on the perils of information addiction, and Advent Conspiracy’s call to “give more presence” during the Christmas season. I see even John Mayer is getting in on the action, calling for a one week digital cleanse, starting tomorrow. So here’s to a year of connection with those we know and especially those we don’t yet know (or only know digitally). It’s been a long December. But maybe this year will be better than the last. Happy New Year! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bwxlokJuz90

Becoming human

Sat, 26 Dec 2009 13:33:23 -0500

Of all the moments that make up the journey of parenthood, watching our 3-month old daughter become a person is by far the most fascinating. It often looks like it is an exciting but traumatic experience for her, and watching it unfold has begun what I am sure will be a life-long struggle to find that elusive parenting balance between trying to make life easier for her vs. allowing her to experience and learn things for herself.

I remember the first time I left South Africa. I was in my early twenties, and I got on a plane to Australia to study there for two years. I had no idea what I was doing or how it would feel to be in another country. I also had no idea what jet lag was all about. The first night I went to bed at 4pm. Big mistake. I woke up at 2am, wide awake and hungrier than I’ve ever been in my entire life. I got up to go hunting for food, and the KFC burger I found most likely saved my life that night.

I think of that experience often when I see Aralyn experiencing new things, because the look in her eyes reminds me of how I felt that night. The realization that the world is so much bigger than you ever imagined can be as frightening as it is exhilarating. And for Aralyn, every day is like a flight to a new country. From the smallest discovery that she is able to move her toes, to the overwhelming experience of being in an airport with all its noises and people, “overstimulation” in babies is no made-up thing you say when the crying doesn’t stop. It is very, very real.

A few nights ago Jess and I flew down to San Diego to spend Christmas with family. It was the first time I flew with Aralyn, and I was a total ball of stress for days ahead of the flight. And for good reason. Let’s just say that things did not go well, and that I am strongly considering staying in San Diego until she is around 8 years old and able to fly without incident. She cried inconsolably throughout the flight, and even though there were probably a few sympathetic parents somewhere, I couldn’t find any as I scanned the plane with a facial expression that hopefully conveyed how extremely sorry I was for the inconvenience we were causing them.

But it also got me thinking about the experience of becoming fully human. I understand why Aralyn was crying. She was in a completely foreign environment, with loud noises and bright lights, full of people she has never seen before. Just like I felt when I woke up at 2am that first night in Australia.

But despite these traumatic experiences we eventually get older and learn how to deal with newness and the things that expand our world views. I do think that anything we do that increases the size of our worlds has some essence of the effect I see it has on Aralyn. She can’t talk yet, but her eyes scream her emotions: “I don’t know what this is, and it scares me to death, but please give me more of it.”

And so it is that, even at the tender age of 3 months, my daughter is already teaching me about life. She is teaching me that we should all keep doing things that scare us. Because those frightening experiences are what allow us to experience life fully and become, truly and happily, human.