The end of the journey...

Ok, I know I did not finish writing about my journey to Kazakhstan.  The truth is, it was mostly work without too many interesting details that I can remember through the jet-lag induced fog I was in.


It was decided that Saturday would be the day to record the CD and teach the masterclass.  Cool.  I get to the University, ready to do my thing.  I had plenty of time to warm up beforehand and set some registrations I didn't get to the day before.  The recording engineers were very nice and accommodating, thank God.  Because I  HATE making recordings.  I have all kinds of scars from graduate school and the many, many, many, many, many recordings we made (on DAT tapes, no less) for competitions.  Arranging time at local churches at all hours of the night.  Getting to the end of a big 12 minute piece only to make a huge mistake at the end.  And, joy of all joys, recording the Bach trio sonatas.  That is just pure hell.

Anyway, I worked hard to push those particular memories out of my and focus on the intimate time I would have with the instrument.  I always thought that was the real fun of a performance, anyway - all that dedicated, undisturbed practice time.  And I could do pretty much what I wanted for the recording session, because the engineers were up in the booth, tape running, and I could pace myself as I wished.  


Yeah, that didn't last long.

In steps Jet Lag.  I actually started out pretty strong.  I warmed up with some pieces I knew would be easy to record, but then it all went downhill from there.  Practicing is very taxing on the body and the mind, and considering the fact that I wasn't well rested anyway, this effort was doomed from the beginning.  By the end of 2 hours the notes literally looked like they were wiggling around on the page.  Seriously.  So I called it quits, and convinced the engineers that we would use the live recording of the recital the next day for the CD.  They were, of course, very accommodating, but I felt like a complete loser.  But there was no time for a pity party, as the masterclass was going to start in an hour.  And the energy from the students was all I needed to get my juices flowing again.  It's a small department at the University, but the students are very devoted to learning, playing well, and were very open to new ideas.  Saltanat, the organ professor, translated as we went along and a good time was had by all.  Well, at least I had a good time.  

Then I was finally off to meet the man responsible for arranging my trip - Alibek Batyrov, the head of public affairs for the University.  He's VERY young - early 20's - and studied at the Royal Academy in England before taking this administrative post.  He was very charming and polite, as I had to sign all sorts of paperwork and permissions in order to receive the prize money from the competition.  Getting money out of Universities is always a tricky thing, no matter what country you're in.  And he went to a lot of trouble to create side-by-side English translations of all the documents, which was appreciated.  

Needless to say, at this point I was so freaking tired.  I had a little bit of time to return to the hotel, take a 1/2 hour nap, then head back to the university for the concert that evening.  At that point, I could barely keep my eyes open.

The concert would feature music of Brazil, and the University orchestra was featured a guest conductor from Brazil.  Before the concert there was a reception where the ambassador of Brazil and someone representing Kazakhstan signed something to forge their new artistic relationship. It was an interesting gathering - there were ambassadors there from Japan, Brazil, China, and the Counselor for Public Affairs from the American Embassy.  He and I had a nice conversation, including talking about his PhD in music from Indiana University.  His daughter, a cellist, also went to CIM for a year.  What a small world!  It was interesting to speak to him about his career in the Foreign Service.  Sounds like an interesting career path... 

Well, this was all fun, but I could still barely keep my eyes open at the concert.  Thankfully, there was a lot of rhythmic Brazilian music being played, which helped.  After the concert I met up with some of the organ students who insisted on taking pictures of me in the new university building.

It is incredibly spacious, beautiful and VERY modern in its architecture.  

View of the walkways from the foyer

Beautiful, light-filled foyer

And the buildings that surround it are nothing to sneeze at, either.

The New Mosque

The Palace of Peace and Reconciliation

The students were a lot of fun.  It took me a few minutes to figure out why they were following me around - they kept asking me about the bus or the taxi.  Sweet kids just wanted to make sure I got home ok.  While we were waiting at the bus stop, some of the students from the orchestra joined us and decided to practice their English.  I have to say, this is the first time travelling abroad where being an American was, well, exotic.  It was funny to watch them all try to come up with questions to ask me - there was a lot of consulting of cell phones for the translation of appropriates words, etc.  They were a hoot!  We all got off the bus at the same stop, as the dorm was just down the street from my hotel.  As I made the turn for the hotel, I noticed that all 6 or 8 students were following me, laughing and having a good time.  They walked all the way up the stairs to the front door of the hotel and wave goodbye.  What a great group of students - lots of good energy.  Made me forget the nightmare of the recording session.  I was now excited for the concert in the morning.  And Sunday was the first and only day I actually got to sleep in...

Like most days, I woke up, went to breakfast, and immediately wanted to go back to bed.  And I did.  This was also the day I had to switch hotel rooms.  The front desk called when they were ready and sent a bell boy up to help.  Cool.  When I opened the door, the bell boy was there and the housekeeper for our floor.  She raced into the room over to the minibar and checked the contents.  She then spoke words of approval into the walkie-talkie she was carrying.  Really, people?  I almost laughed out loud, but hey - I guess that stuff is expensive.  The rest of the day was spent in recital prep and packing for the trip.  My plane was scheduled to leave at 4:00 am the next day (you can hardly call that the next day), which meant I'd have to be at the airport around 2.  It was going to be interesting.


I arrived at the recital hall in plenty of time to finish the masterclass and warmup for the recital.  I was actually feeling pretty relaxed, which was definitely a good thing.  Once I was finished warming up I had a little time to chill in one of the classrooms/practice rooms with the students.  One of the students was making a beaded necklace while she waited, which I later learned was for me!  I couldn't believe she finished it before the recital began.  

Saltanat also gave me a wonderful gift of folk Kazakh design:

In the end, the recital went well (I thought).  The organ was fun to play - it was a stunning instrument to behold.  I call it Big Red.

I was pleased to see the Counselor for Public Affairs from the Embassy in the audience - it was nice of him to take the time.  I had fun after the recital posing for pictures with people and their children - I'll never again have the pleasure of feeling that exotic.  Afterwards I spent a nice time with Saltanat and the students at a pizza place near my hotel, then we all said goodbye.  It was a wonderful experience - I hope I can visit Astana again in the future.


There's not much to comment on regarding the voyage home.  It took 24 hours - need I say more?  It gave lots of time to reflect on the trip, and how lucky I am to get to do the things I do.  Whenever I make a major journey like this one, I always thing about how my life will be different when I return home.  After all, what's the point of doing these things if I'm just going to return to life as normal?  I don't have an answer to the question yet, but I'm still working on it.  I do know that life is less about knowing what you want and more about knowing what you have and what to do with it.  And most of us have a whole hell of a lot more than we think - sometimes we just can't see it and have no idea what to do with it.  Hopefully I'll figure it that one out soon...

Getting into cars with strange men

Everyone else was doing it.  It didn't even look that dangerous, anyway.  And it's not like I had much choice.  Sometimes, you just have to go with the flow.  Be a part of the gang.  Do as the Romans do.  I've done it twice now, even though I said I wouldn't, and hey - I'm still alive.  


What is "it"?  Why, it's calling a taxi Kazakh-style, better known as hitchhiking.  And I'm not exaggerating when I say that EVERYBODY does it.  You need to go somewhere?  You stand on the side of the street and hold your arm out, much like you would to call a taxi in New York.  Eventually a car will pull over.  You lean over into the window, kind of like you're going to make a drug deal (or so I've seen).  You tell them where you want to go and how much you want to pay.  They decide whether or not it sounds like a good deal, and you're either on your way or you go back to waving down cars.  Really.  


My turn came once yesterday and again today.  Yesterday afternoon after my time at the University, I was sent with one of the students to take a taxi back to the hotel.  I followed her downstairs and outside to the street, and didn't even really notice that she was hailing a car.  She briefly spoke to the man in the car, but then he pulled away.  Oh my gosh, I thought, we are doing that taxi thing my airplane seatmate talked about!  Yikes! Another car pulled up right away - she talked to him for a minute, he nodded, the she opened the door and motioned for me to get in.  Thank God she got in right behind me, because I don't speak a lick of Russian or Kazakh.  What if he got lost or something?  And let me tell you, by what you would consider "normal" standards of driving it was a wild ride.  There was a lot of last minute acceleration and deceleration, and I would say a lot of weaving in and out of different lanes but I suppose you would first have to be driving IN a lane to make that happen.  The student next to me didn't seemed phased by any of this, including all the times we could have simply opened the window and touched the driver of the next car, so I relaxed.  Hey - when in Astana, do as the Astanans.  And he was kind enough to entertain us with some Kazakh techno on the radio mixed in with a little Kazakh rap.  Trust me, the language doesn't really change the enjoyment factor of it.  We eventually arrived at the hotel and hopped out of the car.  The student paid the man and thanked him.  I want to say, "Thank you, Mr. Possible Serial Killer, for not driving us to some secluded area and chopping us into bits!", but it seemed like it would be rude.  And besides, I was grateful for the ride, and frankly surprised that the student paid for it.   A very generous people, these Kazakhs.


My next chance was today.  It was actually a very long, very tiring, and a bit frustrating day, so by the time 4:00 or thereafter rolled around I was so physically exhausted I didn't really care I how I was getting back to the hotel.  My gracious host, the organ professor, explained that the students would help me get a taxi, but perhaps today I could ride by myself?  Of course, I replied.  And just like that, I had graduated to riding in a car with strange men by myself.  My father would be so proud!  Besides, the students had been more than generous today - I met up with them earlier and between the four of them they spoke enough English and a smattering of German to take me out to lunch (where they treated me, even though I strongly objected) and bring me back to the school to practice.  So I was on my own, baby.  


We went outside and they started doing their thing.  It took a little longer today, and the first car that drove up had a couple in it who took a lot of explanations and then decided to drive off.  The students were disgusted at their lack of cooperation.  They went back to hailing, then I quickly motioned for the one student to get out of the street because, lo and behold, a Jetta was fiercely driving in reverse a little ways past us to back track to our position.  The girls talked to the man for a bit, and I was able to recognize the name of the hotel (Oasis, but here said like oh-ah-ziz) and the name of the street it's on (Momyshuly).  He nodded in agreement, and the student opened the door for me to get it.  For a brief second I thought one of them was going to get in with me but alas, I was into the breach on my own.  Oh well.  The driver seemed clean, and the car didn't smell weird or anything, and there was no Kazakh techno or rap on the radio.  Bonus.  One of the students gave him some cash which I had seen her take from the organ professor earlier - a move done clandestinely for my benefit, but I saw it anyway.  She explained to me pretty clearly, even though it was in Russian or Kazakh (they are so close, I can't really tell) that she had already paid him and not to worry about it.  I thanked them and off we went.  


Today's driver was a little more sedate.  He asked me (in Russian) if I spoke Russian.  I smiled and said no. He smiled back and turned his attention back to the road.  He asked me in Kazakh if I was American.  I smiled and said yes.  He grinned and turned his attention back to the road.  It was a lovely drive on a lovely afternoon.  In all the rides I had taken to and from the hotel, no one actually had taken the same route as anyone else, so I told myself there was no point getting antsy about the fact that I couldn't tell exactly where we were.  I had intermittent signal to the cell phone, and it would occasional pin point our location on the map so I could see that we were at least heading in the right direction.  We rode in silence, and I was able to match up the street names written Cyrillic to the names on my little map, so all was cool.  I might not always know what the words say or mean, but I can at least do a little matching.  All those childhood games with symbols pay off!  We get to a point just a little ways down the street from the hotel, and the driver pulls to the side of the road with his hazards on.  Hmm, I thought.  What's he doing?  I realized he doesn't quite seem to know where the hotel is (no one does), so he gets out of the car and starts to signal another car so he can ask for directions.  How nice, I thought.  I got out of the car and motioned that the hotel was just down the street.  He smiled and got back in, and we drove to our destination.  When we arrived, he turned around with a huge smile on his face and said something slowly in Russian that sounded very generous and welcoming.  I smiled back and said "spaceeba" - thank you, and got out of the car.  What a nice Potential Serial Killer he was!  And how interesting that I am coming to trust random Kazakhs more than I would trust a random American - how many of you would get into a car with a strange American man who accepted a wad of cash to take you to a place he was vaguely familiar with?


The Kazakhs are very kind, generous people - at least the ones I have met.  A little more laid back when it comes to details, but patience is usually paid back with graciousness and generosity in the end.  Today's adventuring is over for now.  Time to order room service, turn on BBC News and study some scores - CD recording first thing in the morning...

"Oooh, Astana! Very exotic..." said the Russian...

And it is.  I arrived late last night around 11:15 pm and was met by my very efficient and courteous driver.  And yes, he was holding a placard with "Keller Nicole" written on it.  I transferred my suitcase into his custody and we were off!  That particular flight was actually pretty full, and there was quite a crowd of people waiting at the airport.  Incidentally, I didn't get half the scrutiny here in Kazakhstan as I received when I got off the plane in Russia last fall.  There was so much looking-me-up-and-down and typing onto the Russian Customs official's keyboard I thought for sure I was going to be lead into a dark, dingy room with a single light hanging over one lone chair.  But alas, here in Astana she barely looked at me, documented my information, swiped my passport, and I was off.  

Judging by the looks of the airport above, I was sure the rest of the city was going to be an adventure.  All the pictures I had seen on line gave the city a very futuristic look, and I wasn't disappointed.  On the descent in the airplane all you saw for the most part was one well lit road with a handful of cars on it.  Really.  That was it.  The rest of the landscape seemed dark and non-existent.  We left the airport by that same well-lit road, where apparently driving within the lines of your assigned lane was optional.  Efficient And Courteous Driver was safe enough, however, and even pulled over at one point so I could take a picture of some of the stunning scenery.  I felt like I was driving through one of those futuristic cities you see in all the new James Bond and Mission: Impossible movies - hey, I was!  The modern, sleek, new architecture in Astana is very much like the buildings you often see used to film all those exciting action movies in places like Dubai, etc.  The pictures I took through the car window didn't come out so great, so you'll just have to wait to see those.  


My seatmate on the airplane gave me quite a bit of information about the city - he is a young professor at one of the many universities here, but is originally from Coventry, England.  Apparently, all the classes at many of the universities are taught in English, partially due to the high percentage of foreign students who study here.  He actually doesn't speak much Russian or Kazakh at all, but speaks enough to order coffee and get a taxi.  Speaking of taxis, those are an interesting story.  There are the "normal" taxis, but those are considered too expensive.  Another option is the "unmarked" taxi.  If you hold your hand out a certain way on the street, a car will pull over.  You tell him where you want to go and how much money you want to give him, and if he agrees you hop in and go.  Seriously???!!!!  And apparently, if it's cold or raining, it's more expensive.  If you want to go to the north side of town, which is nicer, it's more expensive.  Hilarious!  I think I'll stick to the bus - you get on, pay the fare and get your receipt.  You don't even have to talk, because no one really cares where you're going as long as you pay.  I can do that.


Efficient And Courteous Driver got us to the hotel in one piece and I made my way into the hotel.  The staff was polite and helpful, which was a relief.  Whenever I travel overseas, I always check out the various online reviews of hotels and restaurants to see what other foreigners have to say about them.  Most of the time, I'm just concerned about cleanliness and such, but when I'm travelling to a place where I don't speak the language it's always good to know you're not going to get screwed.  And I wasn't!  I will have to switch rooms in the middle of the stay - a minor inconvenience, but not a big deal.  When I got to my room, I was reminded of the hotel room I had in Munich last summer when I opened the door and flicked the light switch and nothing happened.  In many European hotels you have to insert and leave your key card in a little slot by the door to activate most of the electricity in the room.  Saves lots of cash - I'm surprised American hotels aren't all over that.  The room is great - air conditioning, strong and consistent wireless internet signal, and a comfortable bed.  The hubby would love it - nice and hard.  And believe me, last night all I cared about was the bed.  After 24 hours of travel I was ready to change into some other outfit, didn't even care which one, and fully extend my body in whatever position I wished.  And I did.  It was time for a little relaxation.  I had disciplined myself during the journey not to freak out about the details of my performance (of which I had none, hence the freaking out), but to try and enjoy the experience.  And during my 5 hours or layover time each at Dulles in DC and the airport in Frankfurt, I had adopted my favorite coffee shops, rest rooms, internet terminals, and the most comfortable benches to lie down on and sleep off the jetlag.  In fact, Frankfurt has these cool little "leisure areas" with soft, plush chairs on one side of the area and what look like those reclining lounge chairs you find next to swimming pools on the other - perfect for sleeping.  I'll be set on the way back home.


For today, I am awaiting orders.  After a restful night of sleep, if not short, I woke up feeling as if I had loaned my body to a triathlete and was left with the painful realization of what you had done to yourself the next morning.  I think I see hip surgery in my future...anyway, I got myself ready for the day, but only after almost flooding the shower stall due to a clever little contraption over the drain which I can only surmise is there to keep you from you using too much water.  Nice.  Of course, what I really wanted to do next was go back to bed since it really was 11 pm EST!!!  But, duty calls, and I headed out to the bank at the end of the block to get some local currency, which you can only get once you are inside the country...strange.  I head back to the hotel for a typical Russian-style breakfast - hard-boiled eggs, cold fish, yogurt, some cold slaw-like salads, breads, and to my horror, instant coffee.  Oh boy.  But beggars can't be choosers, as my mother always said to us growing up (because us kids were destitute, ungrateful peons living off the largess of our overworked parents), so I dumped the little crystals into my cup and drowned them in steaming hot water.  And voila, a caffeine buzz was born.  


My host had emailed the night before and told me to contact him when I was awake, so I emailed him that I would be waiting in my room.  Now was my chance.  I went back to the room, grabbed the pillows off the bed, and arranged them so I could take a little nap on the couch next to the bed.  After trying several different positions designed to avoid wrinkling my clothes, I said screw it, got undressed, and climbed back into bed, waiting to be summoned.  Instant bliss.


Next on the docket?  Hopefully some practice time.  After a nap.  I'll probably have some free time today for a little sight-seeing, too.  After a nap.  I'll have to find somewhere for lunch, eventually.  After a nap.  


Guess where I'm going now?

PS - sorry if the formatting on the page looks weird - the firewall on this internet connection will let me manage everything behind the blog but won't actually let me see the finished product.  Sounds suspicious to me...Big Brother is always watching!

Ok, ok - I'll write something!

By popular demand, I am writing of my travels to Kazakhstan for an upcoming performance and other such things.  I was planning on chronicling the journey anyway, but it does warm the heart to know that someone out there anticipates the random thoughts going through my head.  In truth, I've been working on a post that has taken on a life of its own - I think it is two different posts now, which is why you haven't read it yet.  Such is the way of writing.  The story is what it wants to be, and I can no more decide where it's going to go than I can predict which way the wind will turn next. So, patience, people.  


Back to the trip - I've been looking forward to it for quite some time, actually.  The dates weren't confirmed until about 3 weeks ago, which had me a little nervous.  The truth is, I am a HORRIBLE procrastinator.  Deadlines get me going, keep me working, keep me focused.  Otherwise I tend to flit from one piece of work to the next without too much direction.  I suppose it's the threat of failure that makes it work for me.  A shock, I'm sure, for all you people who think I'm so organized.  And I am but in a loose, free association sort of way.  


This trip began as all the others do - me up late at night finishing packing/prepping scores/whatever, me up early in the morning unable to sleep until about half hour before the alarm goes off then finally nodding off, then me getting the airport and needing an immediate nap.  With 20+ hours of travel ahead of me, this shouldn't be difficult.  I had the added inspiration this morning of seeing a number of Cleveland Orchestra members on their way to New York for their Carnegie Hall performance of Salome, including the bass who sang Jochanaan - he's impossible to miss in a crowd.  Saturday's performance at Severance Hall was spectacular, so I have no doubt that the combination of being in New York and playing in Carnegie Hall will only boost their creative efforts.  At least, it would for me.  


There are a lot of unknowns on this trip.  I do not speak the language (Russian), which is always a challenge in a foreign country.  Hopefully I can get by with some smattering of English, German, French and Spanish, which seems to be useless east of the Atlantic.  I've done less prep on what my foreign surroundings will be on this trip, choosing instead to concentrate on practicing and such.  Go figure.  I also have no idea what my schedule will be - I know will play a recital, teach a masterclass, and record a CD all in the span of 4 days...this makes me a wee bit nervous, but I'm sure it will all work out.  No use getting anxious because I can't do anything about it.  So, I will arrive at the airport in Astana, the capitol city, at around 11 pm and be met by a driver holding a placard with my name on it.  I've always wanted to be one of those people.  You know, people important enough to have drivers and interpreters.  I'm living the life, aren't I?  You would think that.  Many people have a very glamorous view of musicians and our lives.  Sometimes it can be somewhat glamorous, but that usually lasts about 45 minutes at the posh reception after the recital, if there is one.  The rest is sitting in airports, finding the cleanest public restrooms (if there are any, especially in Europe), trying to squeeze the needed 12 hours of practice on a new organ into 3 hours, trying to be awake enough to practice at the only available hours on the instrument - many times between the hours of 7 pm and 2 am, changing your clothes in a tiny, dirty bathroom stall in the unheated basement of a college chapel...yeah baby, that's the stuff.  


But in return, you get to travel to some pretty interesting places.  It's all part of the adventure, really.  After all, what stories would I have to tell if I always stayed in beautiful hotel rooms with chocolates left on my pillow every day?  Sometimes I do, but not all the time.  And I've been very fortunate in that my hosts for recitals have been very gracious and generous, and I've rarely been left to fend for myself so don't think that I'm complaining.  But what interest would my music making have if life didn't include a little hard work, sacrifice and suffering?  Those things are, after all, the fuel of artistic inspiration.  Happy stuff works too, but for some reason for me the depths of despair brings out my most creative.  And I consider it an incredible privilege to do what I do.  Music in an unbelievable gift that completely loses its value if not shared.  Sometimes the responsibility of that sharing feels like an enormous burden to bear, especially when life happens, and you know that the best therapy for yourself is to lock yourself in a dark room and blast Brahms First Symphony over the stereo and pretend the rest of the world does not exist.  And trust me, life is HAPPENING right now.  But hey, I could be flipping burgers for a living (not that there's anything wrong with that) so I'm not complaining.  


So, it's just me and PBJ for the next 6 days, gallivanting across the European continent.  And the happy truth is that this is what I always wanted to do with my life.  I have no idea what's in store for us, but I'm sure it will be entertaining...

It's a tricky, risky business

I love this picture.  I took it in a forest on the coast of the Baltic Sea in Kaliningrad, Russia.  I like it because it's a road to anywhere.  Is it a road in?  Is it a road out?  Is it safe?  Will I be eaten by bears?  Who knows?  It is the possibility of adventure that makes it enticing.  But adventure doesn't mean safe.  Adventure is risky.  Dangerous, even.  You might lose everything.  But you could gain a life.   


Being a musician is an adventurous, risky business.  It's risky because there's no guarantee of success, and certainly no guarantee of making a good living.  Or even a poor living.  We do it for the love of it - the love of the music, the love of the instrument.  The life that goes along with it...well, there's not always a lot to love about that.  But it's certainly an adventure.  The life you THINK you will have usually has no resemblance to the life you end up with.  That's not necessarily a bad thing, but you have to be willing to be flexible.  You have to have an imagination and see possibilities where there are none.  You have to accept a new definition of normal when it comes to your work schedule, your relationships and your income (when you have one).  Most importantly, you have to be willing to fail - fail spectacularly at times - and get back up on the horse and do it all again the next day.  You have to be willing to grab the next pile of music, decide what needs the most work and get cracking.    


I wish life could be as simple as that.  Life is full of beginnings and endings, moving from one experience and life changing event to the next.  Sometimes we have the time to bask in the glow of beautiful moments, and sometimes we are forced to endure the limbo that comes after something tragic.  At other times we can flit from one success to another, and then again at times we are forced to just pick up our tools and move on to the next disaster before we are ready.  Or it's some combination of these scenarios.  The key is surviving the transition in the middle.  Are we going from a Dark Place to a Light Place? Or are we going from a Dark Place to an Even Darker Place?  Or do we have no idea where we are going at all?  


Starting over is a dangerous business, and sometimes a fearful one.  You leave behind all your previous successes and failures (a blessing) and strike off into a new territory.  You have 2 choices - you can be afraid, or you can be excited.  I suppose you could be a little of both, but what a shame if your fear gets in the way of your ability to discover something new and unexpected.  Fear takes all the joy out of the unexpected and turns it into a mind game for anticipating disaster.  I am generally not a fearful person but I have a few biggies: being alone, spiders, and being alone with spiders.  A good friend told me that everybody is afraid of being alone, so maybe I'll take that one off the list and just chalk it up to being human.  The spiders you already know about.  Combine that with being alone, and you've got a monumental phobia.  Don't worry - I'm working on it.  I think my biggest fear really is that tomorrow will look exactly the same as today, and before you know it months, even years, have gone by and you won't notice because you were hypnotized by the sameness of your routine.  That, to me, is a living death.  But the danger of always needing something "different" is that it can drive you to make the wrong choices for the sake of change.  It's a tricky, risky business.


But I like life with a little risk.  I like the adventure of doing something I haven't done before, learning new skills, throwing myself into something I believe in, even if it's not a sure thing.  It keeps life fresh and interesting.  It also makes life meaningful.  Have I been doing that lately?  Not really. This probably is the cause of my current state of antsy-ness and dissatisfaction with life in general.  I'm in one of those times when I'm stuck in that limbo transition from a Dark Place to Who Knows What.  I'm game for the Who Knows What - I just hate the feeling of making the journey alone.  But sometimes that what life requires.  You do, after all, have to figure SOME things out on your own before you take the journey.  Gotta pack your own suitcase.  Overpack, and you'll have too much baggage and get too tired to go far.  Underpack and you'll be unprepared for what awaits you.  It's a tricky, risky business.  


Safe is overrated.  The truth is, you're never really safe.  At any moment in time a strong wind can come through and blow your applecart over.  And if you base your entire world of happiness around keeping all the apples in the cart, then you are going to be very miserable.  I can deal with a few overturned apples.  I just hope I don't get so beat up by the debris blowing around in the wind that I lose the will to keep refilling the cart.