These are my Momentos, short personal diary entries I write daily – since 2013 – and publish monthly. Some links are affiliate links.
1
One hundred and fifty-nine. That’s how many messages she’s sent me these past three weeks. Teary emoticons, pics of her on a beach, multitudes of miss-you’s. And I’ve responded to exactly none of them. I figured she’d just move on to some other dude if I stayed patient and silent. Perhaps I underestimated her. Eight more beeps from the girl since I began writing this.
2
New apartment. I like to eat at home so I just dropped $34 on a convection cooker. It’s not the price that bugs me; it’s owning another thing, a thing I know I’ll have to get rid of in the not-too-distant future. I’ll end up donating rather than tossing it, but it still feels wasteful. Settled folk can tell themselves that whatever else happens, they’ve got that convection cooker problem handled. But not me, a man with a mind for motion and no fixed abode.
3
Maybe we should never have got back in contact, left our relationship as a memory fond and incorruptible. I remember staying at a guesthouse in New Orleans six years ago and meeting an old riverboat captain. We used to sit on the porch and chat to a back-track of crickets and jazz. He was a good listener and told warm stories, like a wise uncle sitting fireside the day after Christmas. Then one day he was gone. No goodbye, no let’s keep in touch. It was perfect.
4
Shakedown. They were licking their lips as soon as they saw us pull up to the traffic lights. Easy money. I get the breath test but there’s no drug check. I show photocopies of my passport and driver’s license. Big surprise, they’re not good enough, originals requested. When I can’t produce, the tubby one tells me I’ll have to go to the station. I decide to call his bluff and shoot back with a shrug: “Okay, police station. Let’s go.”
5
I’m scared to tell her, so I know I have to tell her. “Well, there is something else,” I begin. Her eyes search mine for a long second before prompting me on. “I’m a bit intimidated by you.” Her why is a whisper, long and apprehensive. “I guess it’s because I don’t often have a chance with a girl like you, and I’m worried I might fuck it up.” I try gauge her reaction in the heartbeats that follow, somehow knowing that everything will be okay.
6
Three sessions in with the personal trainer, and my mobility seems to be improving steadily. It’s a bit ridiculous how tight my hips and shoulders are. Stand with your back against a wall and then bring your arms straight up until your knuckles hit brick. That’s a simple movement you’ll see me struggle with. I was getting a little ahead of myself trying to master a handstand. First things first.
7
We only have a short time together. I had to sleep on her question, wasn’t sure if I should see her again. In the end I decided I owed the girl at least one more meet. So here we are, sharing lunch. Her flight leaves in four hours. I wonder what I could have done better. Did I mislead her, make unspoken promises? No, my conscience is clear. I’d do it all over again if I had the chance, and I’m pretty sure she would, too.
8
Put on the spot, Marco Polo was the first game that came to mind. Dwight was all for it, and so within a minute I found myself blindfolded and stumbling around a small room with arms outstretched trying to grab one of a dozen giggling children. This and other games we played with wide smiles for a half hour or so. I took note of how good Dwight is with those kids. What he’s doing here in Bangkok is nothing short of remarkable.
9.
It’s 2 p.m. on a Thursday. I’m at a mall, reading a book, waiting for a friend. I sit on a bench across from a fancy ice cream place. A good-looking chap mixes frozen treats in a large steel dish. He’s about the same age as me. He’s working hard. I wonder how much money he makes. I wonder what kind of life he dreams about. It’s 2 p.m. on a Thursday. I’m at a mall, reading a book, waiting for a friend.
10
I take the scooter out and back to the immigration office, inconveniently located an hour from the city center, as if some bigwig wanted to make it as tough as possible for foreigners to stay and support the economy. I weave in and out of traffic jams and ignore the no-motorcycle signs guarding tunnels and flyovers. My phone feeds me directions and long sleeves protect my arms. But not my hands, which have turned bright red by the time I’m home.
11
Day has become night. Night has become day. We awake at two in the afternoon. Flash forward to evening breakfast, a mahogany table and plush leather chairs. Cut to tiny cakes and lazy escalators. Jump to a midnight theater, the last of several, finally alone. Swipe to a cop looking hopeful as he empties my pockets. And finally, fade us back to the dawn, lying in bed, four eyes wide.
12
I remember hearing a story about Tim Wheeler, frontman of the Northern Irish rock band Ash. They appeared destined for greatness after dropping their debut album back in 1996, and were playing gigs in New York City soon after when Tim disappeared for a week. Legend has it he met a dominatrix and spent several days stumbling around the Apple in a sex-fueled haze. Given the weekend I just had, methinks I can finally relate.
13
I track a lot of things. I can tell you every dollar I’ve earned and spent for the last 2.5 years. More recently I’ve been tracking daily habits. I can tell you, for example, that I awoke last month at an average time of 8:50 a.m. after 7.4 hours of sleep. I exercised nine days out of thirty, stretched seven, and my daily productivity averaged out to 7.5 out of 10. I’m not sure if knowing all this is actually beneficial. Maybe I’m just a control freak.
14
Thing I love about self-employment #721: Having a flexible schedule. I like to hit up a nice lunch place a couple of hours after the noon rush, or the barber’s a couple of hours before. It’s 11 p.m. as I write this and I’m about to head to the supermarket. Should be nice and quiet at this time. I don’t have to be up early in the morning. If I don’t feel like working I can chill for the day, go wander around a quiet museum or catch a matinee.
15
I also track contentment every day. How happy or content did I feel today on a scale of one to ten? So far this month I’ve never scored below a seven. Three of my last five days have been a ten. This morning I had a solid workout with my trainer. This afternoon I cut the bullshit, knuckled down and got some good work done. This evening we cooked dinner and talked and laughed and went to bed. Life is pretty damn good right now.
16
I’m becoming a science and logic geek. I find myself watching more and more science talks on YouTube. Lawrence Krauss, Neil deGrasse Tyson, Phil Plait. I just finished a book by Plait and up next is Richard Dawkins. At the same time I find myself gaining logical fluency, understanding such concepts as burden of proof, straw man argument, non sequitur. To paraphrase Charlie Munger: You don’t have to be smart, you just have to train yourself to think better.
17
I take issue with Gatsby. All his drive, all his hope, all his success, was to win the heart of a woman. And not just any woman. We’re talking about a woman who never appears to have anything going for her but her looks. If he wanted to marry and spend lots of money on a pretty girl he couldn’t really communicate with, he should have just moved to Thailand 😛
18
Last night I was at Cheap Charlie’s when an elderly lady stumbled by and fell over. Her wig fell off and she peed herself right there in front of everybody. I wasn’t among the concerned crowd that gathered around. Riding home today I heard a screech and crunch behind me. Pretty sure it was the couple who shone me smiles at the lights. I kept driving. I wish the best for people, but I figure my standing by does nothing to ease suffering.
19
I’m sitting on her couch. We’ve spent another whole weekend together, different from the last but no less fulfilling. We haven’t had the conversation yet, the one where we decide what label to stick on our relationship. I’m all for leaving it unlabelled. But still, I know we should talk about it. I know because I get nervous when I think to bring it up. That might be thunder I’m hearing outside. Good a time as any.
20
Die tomorrow or live forever, which would you choose? An early death would probably be the smart choice. If Anne Rice taught us anything, it’s that immortality ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. And yet I can’t help but be tempted by the latter option. I think about all the books my mortal self will never get to read, all the places I’ll never get to see, all the cool people I’ll never get to meet… Bite me, Lestat.
21
Here’s a habit I’m trying to build: Asking for feedback. The Parkour guys solicited me to do a quick interview tonight, as a student talking about my experience. Pretty sure I came across dry and boring. I knew I could have done better, and I knew that if I asked for honest feedback and got it, that we’d likely shoot it all again. Instead I chickened out and never asked. That was the easy option, and I’m disappointed I took it.
22
When we first met in Kathmandu he was a shy-but-excitable 22 year old. He was terrified to even approach a pretty girl on the street. I helped him get over that by sharing what little I knew, and then there was no stopping him. He improved so much so fast that I soon became the student in the relationship. Hadn’t heard from him for a few months until an email just now. He met a British girl in February and they’re getting married next week.
23
You develop confidence by taking action, especially scary action. This week I’ve busted through some limiting beliefs, beaten back procrastination, and gotten a lot of important shit done. As such, today I found myself easily chatting away to the owner of the little restaurant I go to for lunch. Later I was smiling at strangers and flowing through the supermarket with a skip in my step. I almost let myself dance on the escalator.
24
I leave the gym with legs still sore, but glad I made myself do it. I’m supposed to meet up with a reader for lunch but turns out he can’t make it. I eat three meals in the company of words from Dan Ariely, then hunt around for a coffee shop. The next 4.5 hours are spent in a blur of productivity, stretching out a single iced cappuccino and calling it a day only when my battery threatens death. Up next: date night. How I love my life 🙂
25
Nobody has ever broken up with me. I’ve always been the one to call it a day, or at least set the wheels in motion. I’m not proud of this. It means I’m usually the one disappointing. I wonder do I compensate by holding back, worried they’ll get too deep, that I might make a promise I’ll later not want to keep. I realize I’m not an easy guy to be in a relationship with. The me she met last month isn’t the me she’ll meet next.
26
Two African chaps are also waiting to be swiped out, so I strike up a conversation. The taller one tells me they’re from Algeria, there on business. “What kind of business?” I ask, and get back nothing but a strange smile. I feel I should just smile back and keep quiet, but the silence gets the best of me and I move the conversation on to other things. Twenty seconds later a resident comes by and releases us into the heavy afternoon heat.
27
A lot of it is to do with luck, he tells me. Be in the right place at the right time and play to your strengths. If you get good, expect one in every three investments to fail, one to break even, and one to make you some money. It gets harder with age. When you’re young you have less to lose, so it’s fine to be reckless and take on riskier projects. Oh, and if you don’t make it by the time you’re 45, you probably never will.
28
Mr. Pan isn’t the most talkative chap. I wonder why he agreed to take my call in the first place. But I soldier on, trying to keep my mouth shut and allow him the opportunity to speak. I remind myself that awkward silences aren’t always felt on both sides, that he may be perfectly at ease in the gaps. Sure enough, with room to breathe his words gather steam. Our call lasts 27 minutes. I hang up with two new leads. Good man, Mr. Pan.
29
I still get intimidated by beauty. Completely illogical, but I still let it happen. Waiting for a workout session today I struck up conversation with the average-looking middle-aged lady on her way out, but not with the young hot chick who arrived a minute later. What was I afraid of? I’m dating an amazing girl here as it is, so the possibility of rejection shouldn’t matter. May be old habits dying hard.
30
I almost convince myself that I could do with a nap, but instead I suck it up and get started. I’ve been meaning to write about this topic for months, but never allowed myself ample time to tackle it. My goal is to do just ninety minutes. Of course, once I get into the flow time melts away. I come out of the trance a good four hours and two thousand words later. It’s never as bad as you think it will be. Sometimes it’s the exact opposite.
31
I check Facebook as I wait. A few dozen comments already, most of them calling for my head. One person hopes I die in a traffic accident, another calls me a bigot. Several people say my arguments are stupid and illogical, but offer no explanations as to why. I wonder where all that vegan compassion has disappeared to. I asked for this though, made sure they would see what I wrote. And it’s fine. I can handle this.