To say that my life changed that day is a given. How it has changed, I guess is what I am still trying to figure out. As I have written here before, that trip, at the time, was part of a desperate attempt to shake myself out of a haze that I had been in for a long time. I felt that wherever I went, I couldn’t quite do it, so maybe heading to the other side of the world might help.

As I look back to what happened when I got back, where I am now, and where I want to be, I still find it hard to figure that out. And that sometimes makes me mad because I think that I should not only know by now, I should be doing it. After all, the fact that I do have my life, and my health, and that I came very close to losing both shouldn’t allow me to waste any of it. Right? Isn’t that what you are supposed to do? I’ve heard that is part of the survivor guilt that I carry with me, but seriously, shouldn’t I be taking on the world in one way or another?

By August of 2005 I had changed my life completely. I left NY, I moved back “home” and started a new job that after a year I couldn’t stand. Now three years after that, I find myself in a very similar situation.

I wonder sometimes if the move I made back in 2005 would have happened if it weren’t for that trip, or if I would have come to the conclusion anyway. The fact that I was petrified to live and work near water I’m sure had something to do with it, even though by August the acute fear and trauma had lessened. Would I still be in NY today if it wasn’t for that trip?

So, on this anniversary that I always commemorate on my own, I am once again asking myself what the hell I am doing with my life and how do I make it one that counts. I tell myself that if I could survive that day, I can do anything.

I was reading posts for one of the Facebook groups I am a part of and one post really shook me. A guy in Australia was reaching out to other Australian survivors to see if there was anyone interested in forming a group where they could talk about their experience. He went on to say that after five years, he was finally ready to talk about it. Five years. It took me four.

Another poster posted how she this time of year always makes her sad and feels that no one can really understand what happened unless you were there. I’ve felt that way too. In fact, I sometimes feel my own family has forgotten about it. But I don’t like to dwell on the negatives. What I do like to do is focus on the positive that has come out if it all. And the positive things that will continue to come. And the transformation that I can’t deny is about to reach its next step.

Well, I was hoping this post would be an enlightening look back on the last five years, and all the ways I’ve grown and gone after my dreams, and used my story to help people and inspire greatness. Reading back, to me this sounds more melancholy than inspiring. Maybe that means I’m not quite there. Not quite in the place I am meant to be. I guess there is still more work to be done.

I picked this photo up from MSNBC who, in my opinion, had some nice coverage of the Anniversary. These lanterns were released into the sky on Patong Beach in Phuket, Thailand, where I was the morning it happened.

The Ring of Fire, a horseshoe shaped series of land masses that contain the Pacific Ocean is home to the most active earthquake regions on the planet. From what I’ve read, 90% of the earth’s earthquakes and 75% of the earth’s volcanoes live here. And when I say live, I say that deliberately. These events, natural disasters, whatever you want to call them, seem to be alive. They seem to be a living reaction to a planet that is alive and in sort of distress.

This is in no way meant to preach about global warming, or about the damage that has been done to the planet. But, when you take into account all of the severe natural disasters and weird weather that has happened all over the country and the world, you – well, I – can’t help but think about how pissed off, irritated and damaged Mother Nature must be feeling.

Here are a few articles that I found interesting and the Red Cross is always a sound, reputable source of help to those in need if you feel inclined to donate.

And please don’t forget that American Samoa is an AMERICAN territory.

OK, stepping down from my soapbox now.

http://www.redcross.org/portal/site/en/menuitem.1a019a978f421296e81ec89e43181aa0/?vgnextoid=b32ef6bb8da04210VgnVCM10000089f0870aRCRD

http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=20601087&sid=aAbEKz.b9Jnw

http://www.salon.com/wires/ap/us/2009/09/30/D9B1UCSG1_sci_pacific_earthquake_cause/index.html

http://ac360.blogs.cnn.com/2009/09/30/tsunamis-explained/

The Pacific Tsunami Warning Center issued a warning and from initial accounts, it was issued in time to warn people and to give them a bit of time to get to higher ground. Initial accounts also reported that not all were so lucky.

Reports of villages being flattened, damage at the National Park Service locations, and at the time of me writing this, 34 reported dead.

My initial reaction when I saw the news, was of course shock and horror that it had happened again. It is intrinsically upsetting to me. I still can feel the pit in my stomach. In the years that have passed since my experience, there have been a few earthquakes that have generated warnings, and one in particular that happened in 2005 that generated a significant wave.

As with that one, what I find tremendously upsetting, aside from the fact that it had happened again, is the reporting and the way the information trickles in.

It starts slowly, with few details at first. Trickles of details. Maybe just a paragraph at first. No confirmed casualties, no damage, no injuries.

And then the reports update. A broken leg, a flattened village, 5 dead, 10 dead, 34 dead, 100 dead.

As the numbers increase, and more information becomes available, the trickle becomes a steadier flow of truth. And it brings back some of the most vivid memories of my experience. It’s hard to convey what that felt like, watching the BBC report on numbers that were increasing by the minute. Why I didn’t end up one of those numbers I’ll never know.

I wonder if the dreams will be back tonight.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/as_pacific_earthquake

Just a quick shout out to ask to keep an eye out for any news stories about the 5 year anniversary. I have been googling and have found nothing official that is being set up to commemorate the 5 year. Who knows, maybe nothing will be organized.

But if you see or hear of anything, please let me know. I am really trying to gather info so I can decide if I am going back.

I told my dad over the weekend that I might go back over Christmas and he shook his head and said “you have balls”.

I don’t look at it that way.  I just look at it as something I have to do.

Thanks in advance for any info you may be able to send my way.

Love to all.

k

My point is that I want to go back this year. Need to go back this year. I have a driving need to be there. If I miss it, I will regret it forever. I’m not sure if I feel the need to create my exact steps, or recapture the parts that I left behind. But there is a definite part of my soul that needs to return. THIS year.

Do I need to ride the elephants again? Probably not. Do I need to indulge in the daily roadside foot and back massages? Nice to know they are there, but not obligatory. Do I need ride down a river in Chiang Mai on a bamboo raft with a certifiable lunatic at the helm. Hell no.

But what I do need to do is go back and relive some of the sights and sounds and experiences that were taken from me. I do need to go back with my camera and my journal and relive walking down some of the same steps. I need to go and relive some of the conversations and experiences we had. With Ush or without, obviously preferably with her. I need to see those same places, see those cities, sit by those rivers, just so I know they were really real.

Not for redemption, but for reclamation. I worked hard to be able to go on that trip. I want its experiences back, not just the memories that took over and remained.

In the past two weeks significant things have happened. I fell back in love with the beach, and I went in the water. Small potatoes, I know, but big milestones for me. I’ve always loved the beach, the shore, the water, whatever you want to call it, but for a long time we were apart. Very far apart.

I need to be there for the 5th year anniversary. What will they do? I have no idea. They barely recognized what was going on when it happened. But five years is a long time to remember. It’s also a long time to let healing happen. As scary as it may seem, I want to retrace my steps on those last two days. Retrace them with a new view, a prophetic view. An objective view.

I can’t not. I can’t live with that regret of NOT. If I had NOT done the things I had done, I would not be here to type these words.

All are welcome on this journey. Let’s go together.

Not just hearted it. Truly loved it. To me, it was a source of fun, a source of relaxation, a source of romance and a source of inspiration.

New Jersey, California, Mexico, the Caribbean, Canada, Maryland, Florida, South Carolina. I could go on, but I won’t.

And for almost five years I hated it.

Growing up, we would head down the shore every summer. My dad and my uncle had a boat and every weekend that they would take me out on it to go fishing was like a dream come true. The beach is the backdrop many, many good memories that I have, as a child, a teenager, and an adult.

And for a long time I felt like that had been taken from me.

My vision of the ocean and all the good things I attached to it had just been wiped away. The awe I once felt replaced at first by fear, and then anger, and then apathy.

The first time I went back near the ocean was in April 2005. A friend of mine opens her home to a big group of friends every April; and it is always a good time. To get to her house, you have to cross a bridge onto Long Beach Island, NJ. I never really gave much thought to that name. But, crossing that bridge that Friday night it hit me.

Long.   Beach.   Island.

Staying for two nights only five houses from the beach. In a house so close you could hear the waves crashing on the shore when all was quiet at night.

I was determined not to let it beat me, but I wasn’t sure how to do that. I wanted to love the beach again. Should I face my fear, I thought, and go and walk down to the water’s edge? Yes. That might let me fall in love again.

I tried, but my feet wouldn’t take me there. Legs wouldn’t walk in its direction. Turned and walked away. But wait, I can’t let my back be turned to my enemy.

I laid awake those two nights, unable to sleep. Laid there for two nights with my heart in my throat and the crash in my ears. Laid there awake and planning my escape route should something bad happen.

Each time I went back though, it got better. Although that summer I visited my friend often, I never went to the beach. While my friends sunned and funned, I stayed at the house and read, and napped, and lounged in the backyard. I slept better, but still wouldn’t go near the water.

As time passed, I became less and less fearful. In the past four and a half years, I’ve been down the shore and been on the beach many times. But a smidge of fear was always on my mind. I would be brave and venture on its shore, but I was always watching the water. Watching for those telltale signs that I now knew about so well. No longer paralyzed, but always, always vigilant.

This weekend though, something happened. As I watched the spectacular Fourth of July fireworks on the beach with a group of old and dear friends, I felt like my old beach self.

I wasn’t aware of it at the time, but I wasn’t aware. And it wasn’t until after we were in the car on the way home that I realized what had just happened. I had spent the night not only watching the fireworks, but also watching the waves roll in and out. Watching them roll in and out and finding myself once again in awe of how beautiful and peaceful it was. How relaxing and inspirational.

How much I loved it again.

And I still love to fish too.

Look for new posts coming very soon.

Happy Birthday! I hope you have a great day.

I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it up to New York tonight to celebrate with you. I wish I could. I miss you guys alot and wish I was to spend more time with you than I do. I still miss New York every day.

I also just want to tell you how happy I am that you are my friend. I had dinner last night with a very good, true old friend from high school and college who I haven’t seen in a long time, and we got to talking about our experience over there.

Writing about it is one thing, but I haven’t actually talked about it for a while. That’s a different experience altogether. As I was telling her about it, of course your name was involved in just about every sentence.

Your strength, your tenacity, and yes, even your agressiveness. All those things about you that helped us to survive. Getting us on one of the first planes out of Phuket, using your “connections” to get us the hotel room back in Bangkok. And finding the guts to come back and almost immediately looking for ways to help.

But most of all it reminded me of our friendship and how I don’t know how I would have gotten through it without you. While we were still there and after we got home.

So, I just want to say to you, Happy Birthday, dear friend. I hope you have a “spectacular” year. I’m happy and very lucky to have you in my life.

P.S. I still think we should try out for The Amazing Race. They would HAVE to pick us. We have a great backstory!!! xo.

I’ve never been a huge fan of having a “moral to the story” feeling like it’s been force-fed to me. If there is one, that’s great. If not, and I am entertained, just for the sake of being entertained that’s great too.

As I’ve been talking to people here and there about putting some defined structure to this story, the more I am getting confused about whether or not I am is simply trying to tell a tale, or if it needs to have a central message attached. I feel like it should land somewhere in the middle. I had someone comment to me that maybe the timing of the “story” isn’t so relevant anymore because so much time has already passed, and that maybe an idea would be to build fictional story around trip itself.

I’m pretty sure that is not the way I want to go. I feel like there still may be some value to people just by telling the story itself. I really think, at the almost five year mark, that I am just beginning to see the value that I have taken away from it.

Aside from the obvious.

But maybe the important messages live in the not-so-obvious places.

Maybe the messages that I am now learning just by putting the story out there are the important ones.

The more I seem to be able to get on paper, the more I seem to see. It’s never been an easy thing for me to put personal things like this on display for all to see. But the more I do it, the more I feel I am getting out of this process. Even if no one is reading it.

Maybe the message is that trying to be open and honest, even when it’s not an easy thing to do, is really the right thing to do. Maybe it’s the only thing to do.

And maybe being open and honest means that you can’t go in a straight line. There is no easy beginning and end to the story because the story itself is still unfolding. The messages still unfolding.

Life is not a straight line.

It’s certainly a thin line.

But it’s not a straight line.

Especially if I don’t plan on going alone.

That is another tricky question.

I am a pretty independent person. I love to hang out with friends and family, but I definitely do like alone time. Quiet time. Contemplative time. The thought of going back to Thailand by myself is both terrifying and exciting.

I heard somewhere that when you are trying to make a tough decision, you are supposed to try and determine what percentages scared and excited you would be for each outcome – if you were to do “it” or if you were not to do “it”. If the balance between the two is equal, it is supposed to be the right decision. That is essentially how I feel about it.

However, what scares me more than excites me is how I would react once I got there. If I were to go, it would be to not only simply return and visit, but to revisit. To go back to the places that I ran from. Go back to the beach. Go back to the hotels. Go back to the roof.

That is what I don’t know that I could do by myself. Just thinking about it. Sitting here safe in my kitchen at my laptop, the thought of spending a night in Phuket by myself is absolutely terrifying.

What if I get there and I can’t handle it? What if being there triggers some of the physical and emotional issues I dealt with when I got home. What if I panic? What if I don’t sleep? What if I have a meltdown? What if any of these things happen and I’m by myself.

What if it happens again?

But what if I don’t go and then really regret it.

This wouldn’t be like a regular visit. This would be for the first “big” anniversary. The fifth. It’s a one-shot deal. You are either there for it, or you’re not. Would I regret not being part of it? Regret not going and missing the opportunity to capture it in writing and photography? Especially since I have finally gotten to the point that I have been able to write about it. If I don’t go, am I doing a disservice to myself and to my need and desire to capture it on paper? Will I look back on the sixth or seventh and never forgive myself for missing the fifth? Will I watch and read from home about any ceremonies or survivor pilgrimages that I will have missed my one chance to participate in?

And with all the unrest going on in Bangkok, is it really a good time to be a tourist over there?

These are all hard questions that I don’t have the answers to.

All I know is that right now, it feels more unsettling for me to miss it and to regret not going.

I truly feel that regret can be a more powerful emotion than fear. You can always try and face your fears. But you can’t go back in time and undo regret.

Maybe that’s my answer. As terrifying as it sounds to me sitting here safe in my kitchen at my laptop.