A Bag of Vomit

Last Friday, I was an idiot, and now there is a plastic bag full of vomit sitting on my patio. And, I really don’t know what to do about it.

It all started with an early morning drive to the airport to kickoff a 4-day adventure in Latvia. I was traveling solo and going to seek adventure and Baltic culture in a country not many people have heard of. (Yeah, living in Europe can be cool sometimes.)

I parked my car, grabbed my backpack and started walking to the terminal. Then, I stopped. I cursed under my breath and stood dumbfounded for 92 seconds. Next, I got back to my car, drove home and went to bed for three more hours.

Turns out, I was an idiot and I forgot my passport. I didn’t get to have my adventure in Latvia.

But like old people say, when life gives you lemons, throw up.

So, I did.

The next night, a terrible virus/food sickness came upon me so rapidly that I had no time to get to my bathroom. I woke up, leaned over in my bed and I threw up straight into a trashcan for about five solid minutes. Awful.

After basking in the typical post-vomit relief for a minute, I summoned some inner strength to clean up. But, the strength was minimal and I still felt like an idiot. So, I gingerly walked to my patio and simply placed my vomit bag in the far corner. I’d deal with it later, when I felt better.


Well, I didn’t feel better for a while, and now a few days later, the vomit bag sits in the corner of my patio.

I’m rightfully scared to go out there and move it because that’s just disgusting. It definitely reeks and it probably has morphed into a fully bodied organism by now. So, it sits there.


And, I sit here wondering if I really am an idiot.

But please tell me, where do you put a fresh bag of vomit when you live up three flights of stairs, it’s midnight, you’re terribly sick and you’re alone?

Solve that riddle and I’ll buy you a beer.

Don't Remember Your Birthday

I was alone this past Saturday as I "celebrated" my birthday. Honestly, I didn't really celebrate because a party for one isn't as much fun as it sounds.

Two of my brothers had this feeling when they celebrated birthdays in warzones. One of them sent me an email and told me the best way to handle a birthday alone is to not even make the day special. Don’t think about it or you’ll get depressed. For the most part, I took his advice.

But, I gave myself four simple moments to remember that it was a less-than-ordinary day:

1. I skyped with my parents. My Mom and Dad are the epitome of amazing and have sacrificed so much to give me the life I know lead. I carry them with me in all my endeavors and they are the strongest people I know. Being thousands of miles away makes me miss them so much. But, it was great to see them as they awoke in Colorado and immediately remembered that it was my birthday.

2. I skyped with my three brothers. Somehow they were all able to get together this past weekend in NC, and I was able to join in for a few minutes. I love these men so much. If I could spend the rest of my days hanging out with them and their better halves, I’d take it in a second. Our conversation was short, but it was a huge highlight of my day.

3. I read through the dozens of emails and facebook notifications. I was overwhelmed as I looked at the mass of messages from people from all periods of my life. How neat to remember faces, intimate moments, and capture fading memories as I scrolled through and spent time with each message! It was humbling and reminded me that while I was alone on my birthday, I’m not alone on this Earth. I bet I could post a plea for help and many of those people would drop their lives and come running. What an amazing blessing!

4. I recalled what a rollercoaster the past 4 years have been and where I was for my past birthdays. Tell me this isn’t crazy:

-2007 - Winston Salem, NC: Many of my best friends in college were studying abroad in England and I was sad that they weren’t with me to celebrate my 21st. But, a surprise party was thrown in my honor and I ended up having a good time.

-2008 – Valparaiso, Chile: I had just begun studying in South America and I hastily told some of my newly made friends that it was my birthday. We went and grabbed drinks and tapas at a local bar.

-2009 – Petersburg, Virginia: I was all alone and in a rough period of my life doing some Army training. I wasn’t sure I was even going to celebrate my birthday at all, but one of my best friends, Justin, drove down from Richmond and brought some beer late at night. We hung out, watched football, and talked. His trip meant so much to me.

-2010 – Istanbul, Turkey: I flew here to visit one of my great friends, Will, from Colorado. We walked the streets that night, reconnected, and later explored one of the coolest places I’ve been in Europe.

-2011 – Kaiserslautern, Germany: I just moved here to start a new job. I was alone, but I was reminded that I’m not really alone. I found a jazz concert and bought a ridiculously expensive meal just because I felt like I should.

So, from 2007-2011, I celebrated my birthday on three continents, four countries, and two different states. Crazy! I guess that’s an indicator that I lack stability in life. Nevertheless, my stability is rooted in the network of friends and family that encompass me.

Thank you all for remembering me this past weekend. It’s amazing how something like a short birthday message can change the course of an ordinary day. I'll think I'll remember this one for a while.

A German Key

The German word for “the key” is der Schlüssel. You may think you can say it, but I’m pretty sure you can’t.

I’ve spent a small, yet considerably ridiculous amount of time in my life simply attempting the correct pronunciation. One afternoon at church, I literally sat a table with my German friends and spent fifteen solid minutes looking like an idiot. For the life of me, I cannot say der Schlüssel.

Anyways, this past Saturday I was doing some cleaning in my basement storage. But, the moment I shut my apartment door to head downstairs, I realized my plans had changed.

I had locked myself out.

I was wearing slippers and had my phone; I did not have meine Schlüssel. Resources were limited, but I felt hopeful I could escape this dilemma with my dignity intact.

I was wrong.

I brainstormed some commando-Rambo options, but settled for calling my landlord who doesn’t speak English. After calling several times with no answer, I found the courage to leave a voicemail in German. It wasn’t pretty because I only know about 50 words in German and my confidence in saying one important one, der Schlüssel, is pretty abysmal. I stuttered, said about nine variations of der Schlüssel, hung up, and hoped for the best.

An hour later, nothing had happened and I was getting hungry and needed to pee. It was time for Mission: Be A Fool. I heard my neighbor shuffling about and intercepted him on his walk to the car.

Hand gestures ensued and I followed him to his apartment like a depressed dog thinking, ‘WHY CAN’T I SPEAK THIS LANGUAGE?!’ He tried calling my landlord to explain the situation, but got the voicemail too. Running out of options and bladder space, I began miming my desire to find a ladder and climb the 30 feet to my balcony.

The neighbor shot a confused glance, and so I mimed with even more gusto. A few minutes later I was climbing up the side of my apartment complex with a few of my neighbors standing on their balconies to investigate. They shouted encouragement, or questions, or curses (I couldn’t tell), and I smiled and tried in vain to say, "I don’t have der freaking Schlüssel.”

I hopped over my railing, raised my hands and exclaimed loudly, in English, “VICTORY!”

I was back in my apartment, key/Schlüssel firmly in hand, and ready to take on another day in Germany.

Yellow

Coldplay wrote a song called, "Yellow". In 1883, a printer in Wyoming accidentally created the first "yellow pages" after he ran out of white paper when creating a telephone directory. Light with a wavelength of 570–590nm is "yellow." A few months ago, I took some pictures of "yellow."


That's my town in the background. The fields around my apartment just bloomed into yellow blankets covering the Earth back in April and May. The farmers harvest the flower for some medicinal reason that I couldn't understand in German.


I ran through this field; I stained my pants yellow.


This hill was a little oasis in the middle of the famous Black Forest in southern Germany. Heinz and I drove for hours just enjoying the beauty and the winding roads of the forest. We came upon this yellow hill and just had to stop.


Heinz was happy to be in the midst of the dandelions (that's him jumping). He stained his shoes running down through the yellow sea of flowers to the car after I told him it was time to go eat lunch.

Vegetarian Escapades

I’m not a vegetarian. But, I was once.

Brief history: After realizing for months that I need to eat more vegetables, I finally decided to take action and do something about it. Last weekend, I tossed out the idea to my roommate, Heinz, that we should remove meat from our diets during the workweek (Monday-Friday’s lunch). After ironically talking about it over a meal of delicious pork chops, he consented and the experiment was on. We agreed to try it for a month.

But the first week was easily filled with the life lessons I needed to know.

The first thing you should know about being a vegetarian is that you should never become one during the pandemonium of an E. coli outbreak. Germany has been fighting a deadly outbreak for the past few weeks and over 30 people have been killed due to eating contaminated vegetables. Leafy greens, asparagus, and bean sprouts, etc. were potential villains causing profound intestinal unhappiness or even death. So, I scaled back my veggie consumption and I didn’t even eat a salad all week. How does a vegetarian not eat a salad in 5 days?! So, instead of the colorful display I expected from a vegetarian diet, white rice and black beans proved to be the bland staple.

I also learned that there are always exceptions. I started out passionate to complete my experiment and eat great food like my vegetarian friends do. By Monday afternoon, my passion was waning, and I began contemplating exceptions to the vegetarian diet. Are eggs are ok? What about fish? If fish is ok, than all seafood should be fine, right? What about just a little bit meat on top of a slice of cheese pizza? By Tuesday’s lunch, I gave in to all of these exceptions except the pizza one. I see it as a minor compromise.

And compromise is what turns conflict into success. Obviously.

Throughout the week, Heinz and I kept reminding each other that Friday’s meat-filled dinner was just 76 hours away. 31 hours away. 15 hours away. These motivational moments failed to ease my disappointment as I walked by succulent BBQ ribs and filled my plate with rice and beans in the cafeteria on my Army post.

We also joked (rather seriously) that on the weekends, we would have a meat only diet to ensure the universe’s equilibrium was well cared for.

At the end of the week, Heinz and I broke our fast with a cheap schnitzel that only cost about three bucks. It was glorious. Meat is amazing. It’s that simple. I thank God for giving us the ability and permission to kill animals and receive delectable energy and nutrients from them. It’s a great gift.

Upon re-realizing this amazing fact and contemplating on the struggles of lesson # 1, Heinz and I decided to forgo the rest of the experiment. We’ve since eaten lots of meat. Every meal has been scrumptious and worthy of my consumption. It’s a good life.

But, I’ll always look back at these days in Germany and remember when I was a vegetarian. Perhaps I’ll get some credit from my true vegetarian friends or ridiculed by my friends who know better, but regardless, I’ll remember that these were the days when I abstained from something I love, and in the end realized that I loved it so much more.

(Note: The picture shows my lunch on Saturday at a local wine festival. Clearly, the vegetarian era is over.)

Note to You

I was recently back in America for a bit and several people mentioned that they missed my blog. I honestly didn’t realize that I hadn’t written a new entry since February. That’s insane.

I’m sorry about that. The past few months were pretty cruel to me and my writing suffered. But, I’m now recommitted to writing and engaging the blogosphere. So, bear with me as I get a grip on a new perspective (of Smith) and re-energize my adventure.

And, thank you for your love and support. Just knowing that a few people out there read this thing make it worthwhile to write.

Now, I'm going to try round two of sleeping (for more, see previous post).

Sleeping Miracle

Sleep is an awesome thing, and I’m not good at it. I’ve spent many hours laying pointlessly awake in my bed wondering when the miracle of sleep would happen for me. Of course, it happens often enough, but not as easily as I wish.

If you think about it, sleep really is somewhat miraculous. I have no idea what happens or how it happens. One minute I’m awake, and the next minute I’m awake eight hours later. Time flies by when you are sleeping and you really have no control. It just happens. And then, it just ends. Somehow you miraculously float into a temporary oblivion. It’s ridiculous.

Now, I’m sure there is an answer on Wikipedia or WebMD, but I’ve never looked it up. I’m content just loving the mystery of sleep.

But, I hate not being able to sleep. Sleepless nights are some of the worst things I deal with on a regular basis. Nowadays, I can literally feel stress coarse through my body when I realize that I’ve been awake for two hours, and that I won’t be able to get six hours of sleep before the morning wakeup.

Some people can sleep so easily though. My roommate, Heinz, can sleep easier than anybody I know. He falls asleep on most car trips. He often dozes off after reading only two pages of a book! He goes to sleep quickly at night. I’m envious.

Tonight, I can’t sleep. Heinz is still awake, but when he goes to bed, he’ll be sleeping in a matter of minutes. When I’m done typing, I’ll saunter back to my room and lie there wondering when the miracle will seize me.