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The previous post was full of words. Here is the year in pictures, in chronological order. Hopefully it might fill in some of the gaps. The quintessential Romanian dessert: papanasi. Spruce Run State Park, during that twilight hour when the sun dips behind the mountains, and the campfires start to roar to life. Walking the ridge-line of the Piatra Crauliui mountains, with the Duke of Edinburgh expedition students. Late August. Before the end of the race I would get bit by a dog, but still finish the race in 3rd place. December 14, And now let us gather round the hearth—or whatever it is we consider a hearth in this day and age, be it a wood-stove you lucky bums or the soft glow of a smartphone screen—let us gather and dive into yet another of my long-winded rants and raves about the past year. For it has been a doozy. Is that the right word? Can a doozy capture both the highest of highs, as well as the lowest of lows? Is there a better word? Gaining and losing. Seeking a balance, that will never be perfect or purely balanced. On the first day of I woke up in Bucharest after a long sleep, interrupted briefly by midnight fireworks in the piazza down the street. I had just returned from a two-week trip to Sri Lanka, which, if nothing else, allowed me time to reflect and consider where I was going. I had just begun dating Ani, an Armenian-born Russian citizen, earlier that fall, and she was back home in Russia for the holidays. Unexpected risks turning into next steps. I sat on a flat wooden raft and was pushed across a lake by a silent boatman, while I spied elephants on the far shore with my binoculars, tuning in to the steady splashes of water against the hull. I leaned out from the open door on a jungle train as it chugged through tea fields in the highlands from Ella to Kandy to Colombo, listening to a soundtrack of indie rock music on my mp3 player. I read, months later, about the terrorist attacks in Colombo and thought about the wonderful people I had met who would likely suffer from less income this year. It seems sad to admit, but the biggest comment about my newfound relationship with Ani came when I deleted all of my dating apps on my phone. Not days after I met her, nor even weeks. It took months. Months of internal conflict that culminated in what, for me, was a small victory for the soul. Online dating apps have been both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, they have allowed an introvert like me to actually have a dating life. I recall, back in , when I was suddenly single after a long relationship, how difficult it was to date. I was that kind of deer, too. A feral browser, moving to and fro, with no rhyme or reason. And then, around mid, voila! I remember going on a few dates with women, who were, on balance, worth spending my time and energy with, but that energy was instead spent scrolling through the endless possibilities still out there. These apps had turned me into a hypocritical monster. With so much wild game at my fingertips, there really was no rational reason to switch to cultivating a sustainable life with another person. I had resigned myself to eternal bachelorhood, and I was becoming more and more okay with this. Someone defies all of your expectations, catching you unaware? With Ani, our courtship and yes, I insist on using that old-fashioned term developed over the course of months, not days. It was like a tree that needed to grow a few rings of thickness before it knew it was something of substance. In the past, I would have looked at the seed, imagining I saw a tree, prematurely. Often I would have planted anew before even giving it a chance to grow. For me, the seed became a tree when we both took a weekend trip to the Black Sea coast in late January , a full 2. We got a deal on a room at one of the few seaside resorts still open in the dead of winter, one that had an indoor pool and a sauna. That evening, before dinner, we took a stroll along a desolate stretch of beach. It was dusky, cold, and a light rain fell, coating us in those fine white dots of spray. Later, in the spring, we took a weekend road trip to the far western part of Romania to scout a location for a school trip. Then, for a week we road-tripped through Bulgaria, with the highlight being some wild camping on a beach near the border with Turkey. Again, I came back from these trips pinching myself. In the midst of all this, I continued to teach at the American International School of Bucharest, surrounded by intrepid and exasperating students, as well as adventurous colleagues. For example, there was that wonderful week in February spent in Sweden with colleagues. We walked around Stockholm, then spent a solid few days cross-country skiing and soaking in hot tubs in Funasdalen, in the central-west mountains near the border with Norway. Mmmhmmmm, just what was needed in the middle of winter. We had a group of 8 students, all quirky in their own ways, who got practice in debating, resolution writing, and the fine art of lobbying. It does seem to favor those who like to hear themselves talk, though it certainly attracts those with a desperate need for social skills practice. However, I liked that this was a group that actually enjoyed discussing worldly topics, like the role of NGOs in developing countries, or the role that religion plays in national politics. I was most comfortable when I could just assume the Humanities teacher role and guide students to a well-written and researched resolution addressing the issue of children living in war zones. The big news I wish to share is that, for the first time in my life, I bought a suit. Apparently MUN participants must dress the part, and their coaches must follow suit, literally. A small but significant change. After MUN season wrapped up in early April, I got ready to lead a group of 7th and 8th graders on a trip to Port Cetate, in the far southwestern part of Romania, for a week-long creative writing and photography retreat. At my school, the 7th through 10th graders go on week-long trip in mid-May tailored to their interests. The trips ran the gamut from creative pursuits like writing and photography , to outdoor pursuits like rock-climbing, mountain biking, or scuba diving , to service-learning pursuits. On the trip I led, I got to teach kids about writing short, descriptive vignettes, as well as how to take photos manually using a DSL film camera using my old Canon AE It blew their minds that they would have to wait weeks to see the fruits of their photography, most of which turned out slightly out of focus. We had an impromptu dance party, which is probably the most memorable poetry these kids will remember a few years from now. When we returned from this trip, I headed straight to the airport, to fly to Portugal to meet Ani in Sagres, where we spent two days surfing, eating amazing meals, swinging in hammocks, and hanging with her surf camp friends. Sagres is the extreme southwestern point of the European continent. It is at this spot that we hope to perform a small but special ceremony in June Later, we drove north to spend a day in Lisbon, a wonderful city well worth the time and energy spent exploring its nooks and crannies. After that, time moved swiftly. The school year ended, and my summer break began. I think this summer epitomized what I wrote last year about optima:. This is the practice of stability, of optimization; an oscillation of gain and loss; the practice of diversity; the spirit of community. What this meant, in practical terms, is that my legs and lungs probably got less exercise this summer, but I was exercising something else, perhaps less physical, but no less important. At first I anticipated this reunion with trepidation, as Elisha has a knack for returning to Astoria with hurricane force winds, knocking down everyone in her path of verbal volleys, usually snarky but occasionally biting. Her boyfriend, Joe, was sporting a mohawk and pounding down the local craft beers I was offering. Uh-oh, I thought. Somehow we all made it up to the Astoria Column for the sunset. I remember waking up the next morning and seeing that nobody was taking action to make anything special for breakfast. Such lazy bums, I thought. Then I remembered that I was an adult now…it only took me 36 years to figure that out…and that if I wanted pancakes for breakfast, I had to make them myself. I remember that Elisha and Joe were grateful for my sweat over the stovetop. Later, once my extended family came and went, I focused on hanging with my parents, and spending time with friends in Astoria and Portland. On this trip alone, I met at least nine brand new humans under the age of two, such is the state of mids life. To reconnect and restore relationships…moreover, to have the blessing of time off in the summer months to do such a thing, is priceless. There will always be time for adventures; there is not always time to just hang out, however brief, and catch up on life. Indeed, I even got to spend a few hours with Ngaoi, a friend I met back when I was volunteering on a farm in New Zealand in She was the best friend of our hosts, and would come over often to hang out and help us in the hydroponic lettuce greenhouses. My ex-girlfriend, Rachel, and I secretly wanted to adopt her as our daughter we were in our late 20s; she was in her late teens. Zoom ahead a decade, and she was visiting her current boyfriend, an American she met in New Zealand, but who happened to live in Beaverton, Oregon. The sun races around the galaxy; the Earth sprints to keep up with it in gravitational orbits; and we always make our returns back to our origins to begin again. When I flew back to Romania, Ani had moved into my apartment in downtown Bucharest. We had planned on it before I left, but still it was a bit of a shock to see all her belongings in place, the decor slightly personalized to her likings. Moreover, it was an important milestone, a difference that made a difference. Thus, by mid-October, while we Ani and I were on vacation in Greece, on the island of Crete, on a stretch of beach we had all to ourselves, as the sun hung low on the horizon, I proposed. There was no love at first sight. In fact, it took a month before we exchanged our first kiss. But every slow burn needs its spark. Our spark came when I asked if Ani would show me how to use her longboard, which she had in the trunk of her car parked a block away. As we walked to the concrete slab, she pushed me from behind to see which foot was more dominant. Life is a mystery, and I want to hold onto that mystery, because there is no reason we should have met each other, growing up on opposite sides of the world, to meet under such particular circumstances. That spark led to another meeting, and then another…. One year later we were engaged. Unlike most other times in my life, there is no inner conflict, no hesitation. So the year beat on. In November, I brought my cross country team to the championships in Kiev, Ukraine, and got bit by an unclaimed dog in the middle of the coaches race. Spent my November getting injections of rabies vaccine by a no-nonsense nurse at the Anti-Rabic Clinic here in the city. We enjoyed a three-day weekend at the end of November in Milan, Italy, visiting with an old friend and taking engagement photos with an iPhone X. I celebrated my 37th birthday on a rare sunny day in Milan, eating turkey at a belated Thanksgiving Day feast. Throughout the fall, Ani and I spent many an evening planning the logistics of when and where we would get married in Romania in front of the legal authorities and in Sagres, Portugal in front of family , as well as the insane amount of bureaucratic paperwork needed to fulfill the requirements here in Romania. As of today, I have spent a little over 5 years of my adult life living abroad, in places all over the world. I feel at home in the world now, and building a cross-cultural, multi-lingual family seems to be my ultimate fate, happily. Well, so much for the highs. He was 76 years old. My parents flew to Chicago to attend his funeral, as well as take care of his final arrangements. Then, on the evening of December 7th, I got a call from my brother. She was 47 years old. At one point, he mentioned that we knew this moment would come eventually, and I knew what he meant. In she had nearly died as a result of a critical MRSA infection. At that time I was in a far remote corner of Ethiopia, and the power and Internet was cut. My family was rushing to the hospital in Chicago, and I was rushing to catch a bus to somewhere with a phone signal. She miraculously recovered from that scary episode, and so I like to think that she was blessed with eight more years of life. Eight more years to make memories with her daughter, and to see her daughter get married on a beach in Hawaii this past October, so happy and joyful. After the news, I sucked it in as best as I could and went to work for three more days. Some colleagues wondered why I was at work. Where else would I be, I thought, on the couch moping? No, it was better to see the faces of my students, to let them know what happened, so they saw me as a frail human. And they were so kind about it. About seven students from my 6th grade English class even surprised me with kind notes attached to my door, reminding me of the spirit of giving and generosity in our darkest month of December. I flew to Chicago on a Thursday, arriving late, hosted by my cousin Jeremy. Despite the circumstances, it was satisfying to catch up with some of my family still living in Chicago, such as my cousins Jeremy, Harmony, Mike, and uncles Steve, Ben, and John, and aunts Linda, Pam, and Kathy. We congregated at the Hampton Inn, in Lisle, Illinois, where several folks were staying for the weekend, to put together three large photo-collages that would be displayed at the funeral. It was hard not to dwell too long on this treasure trove of images, some of which we had never seen until now, and before too long it was nearly midnight. What is there to say about funerals? Are they really for the deceased? Or are they for the living? As family and friends came together at the funeral home for a two-hour moment in time, we paid our respects to Elisha, and we paid our respects to each other. I met people for the first time, and I reunited with people I had only met once, long ago. But when the funeral parlor director came out to ask everyone to take a seat, or take a knee, while he said a prayer, I found some tissues, and the tears burst forth. Then he asked everyone except the immediate family to walk past the urn and pay their final respects. I did not, could not, look up. More tears. Then he asked the immediate family to come forward. He probably does tell the same story. Loss is loss. Grief is grief. The remainder of the days in Chicago were for hanging out. Being together. My cousin Jeremy took Friday and Monday off work, as far as I could tell, just to hang out with me. In many ways, this trip was an extension of my summer trip back to the U. No matter how far I fling myself out in the world, the Great Magnet always reels me in, back to Chicago, back to Oregon, back to the Rocky Mountain West, back to the Pacific Ocean, back to Doug fir trees, sand dunes, and the coastal river valleys, where campfire smoke always drifts downwind, and where an ageless youth laughs out loud, in a cackle, at the glee and sheer terror of catching a crawdad. The final half of December I spent with Ani as we celebrated the Christmas spirit at three locations throughout Transylvania, in Romania, each place unique. The first place, Sinaia, is known for its mountain peaks on all sides. We intended to go skiing, but the snow report stunk, so we went hiking instead. Then we moved on to Cund, a small, quiet village in what is known as the Saxon part of Romania, a place with a strong German heritage, and fortified churches. We sat by a roasting wood-stove, watched movies, and went on a meandering ridge-line hike in the mist. Finally we moved on to Sibiu, a small city that resembles a storybook German village than anything you typically find in Romania. They have one of the largest Christmas Markets in Eastern Europe, and it is exquisitely framed by a picture-postcard square, with buildings that have droopy eyelid windows in the roof, so it looks like you are being watched. There is much to be thankful for in the year Maybe it was telling pre-Vine and pre-TikTok micro-loop stories? Maybe it was just the fulfillment of a lifetime dream to animate, even if some of it included a little blood, gore, and physics. My point, I tell the woman, is that there are deep problems to these kinds of decisions, and the heroes of our society never stop to ask where the root causes of the problem lies. The woman adjusts her seated position slightly, takes a deep breath, and nods at the green parakeet tip-toeing further along the ledge. Hola, Senor Ford! Greetings, Mrs. Pardon me, Sir Hummer, and thank you for not running me over, this time. I huff and I puff, these old roads challenging my knees for their inclines and declines. Descending a small hill, I skirt around the backside of my alma mater and onto the track for an old-school loop. On my return journey, I stop at a small park. It is a Saturday in summer, but nobody is around, the monkey bars lonely for my grip. I grind out a few reps, my teeth gritting, the sinews of mids bone and flab straining for rescue from this harshness of exposure. We had just had a gathering of friends—old and new—for the NYE festivities. I am not exactly sure why I wandered out to my car at some two in the morning. I think I went to grab my sleeping bag and return to the house, but when I saw how personal and private the inside of my vehicle could be, I curled up inside and fell asleep. I do like my private spaces. The context of myself extends much farther than my skin, much farther than my car, and much farther than the field that my car was parked in. My dearest friends were less than meters from me that night, but they could have been 3, miles. The context is greater than all of that. I do not believe this lie. This year I pray for taking us all one step closer to an ecology of mind. By this I mean that we are all minds part of a larger Mind, and an ecology of ideas and relationships flows through all living things. Yes, the Internet must be considered a part of this Mind, too, but distinctly only a part of this ecology. To do this, we must take steps towards optima instead of maxima. Optima means there is no single variable which should be maximized over any other single variable: period. Unfortunately we have made loss pathogenic, as if it is something unnatural and unlucky , a disease or some monstrous error that we will correct with the next Presidential election. We forget that gains are only possible by losses, and vice versa. And if you are only gaining, who is doing your losing for you? A Northern California coastal forest does not prioritize the growth of Redwood trees. This is the hardest thing for humankind to do, mostly because of conscious thought. We believe and are taught we are individuals, unique and one of a kind. We focus on ourselves, reading many a self-help book, and apply self-care and self-love. We seek to maximize our potential, to maximize our gains, to maximize our selves. The potential for monstrosity is so great amid all this. What must be looked after are the relationships. Is it keeping up its end of the bargain? Does it please with its cool breezes or punish with its long days with relentless heat and not a cloud in the sky? Does it pass a law that will directly benefit me? Does it punish me with its Supreme Court nominee? The question of frames is an apt one. To what frame are we giving our current situation? Many wish to frame their circumstances and their environments in terms of these types of relationship. Bad luck! The actual day comes and sun bursts forth with a blue sky: Alas! God blesses our sacred union! Because, in that case, we would then resemble the animal kingdom to which we are a part —no morals, no vengeance, no justice—but simply beings acting in response to our environments using our bodily intelligence. No doubt this action would be a selfless one, even if it benefited ourselves directly. All the lion is doing is what it is optimized to do. The gazelle is doing what it is optimized to do, too. Good and bad, right and wrong, morality and justice: none of these concepts apply in an ecology of mind. Conscious purpose is always and ever a matter of disturbing the natural order. The Tao says practice non-doing, and everything will fall into place. This is practically the same advice given by systems theorists like Gregory Bateson. Perhaps Martin Luther King Jr. The arc of the moral universe is not bending towards justice. Because there is no moral universe. And there is no justice. But there are arcs and circuits and feedback loops, and they are always bending and flowing. So MLK was both right and wrong. So many of us have a stake in perpetual gains ahem, stock market and real estate portfolio… , even the most outspokenly green among us. And so we shoot our own foot, the one we need to use to balance on the high wire, and blame others for our downfall. This is the result of our maxima universe. Our neoliberal policies. In I pray for the steps towards optima , not by acknowledging the inner self which has gotten too much attention anyway , but by acknowledging the other I, the other you, the other us, the other selves. We are all in this together. All of the video clips in this retrospective are in chronological order, for your general amusement and information. Please note that my Balkan Bike Tour video clips are not included here, and will comprise a separate video to be finalized soon.

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