"Re-Entry: Part II" (we contain multitudes)

“See the world. It’s more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories.” - Ray Bradbury

A few short weeks ago, I went to Nepal for my first motorbike trip around the Lower Mustang. The biggest buckets of bucket lists. It was, a lot. I'll dive in quick, with a short preface to start.

Every time I fly I bring one book (of a certain size or my gear-heavy backpack will impolitely inform me of its addition) and my ear pods. And because 99% of the time I have a layover, my standard procedure is to read on one flight, watch a movie on the next. Plane movies are a category of their own. They have few rules for engagement. For me, they can range from Oscar winners to funky indies to repeat viewings of the John Wick series (my comfort films) to a cringe ready shot given to Mufasa (you win some, you lose some). Sometimes I skim through parts and let me tell you, it's saved me from the full term of films like Nightbitch which I'm still really, really, really confused about. These choices have garnered a range of reactions over the years. An assistant director friend of mine was aghast that I would watch The Revenant on an iPhone as we flew from Austin to LA, to which I replied "yeah, but I just really didn't need to see the bear scene in IMAX." He shrugged, less mollified and more concerned for my cinephilic elitism, or lack thereof. To each their own.

Recently (but not on the long haul to Nepal, that was strictly Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels), I decided to give The Life of Chuck a try. It wasn't quite what I expected, but what I appreciated was a narrative thread revolving around the poem "Song of Myself" by Walt Whitman and the singular line: "I am large, I contain multitudes." Walt's been a favorite of mine for a long time, since my first viewing of Dead Poets Society when Robin Williams inspires his class to stand on desks and sound their own "barbaric yawp" over the roofs of the world. In a somewhat similar vein (in The Life of Chuck), when Chuck asks his teacher what Whitman meant by “I contain multitudes,” she places her hands gently on either side of his head and tells him to consider everything held between them. She explains that everything he will ever know, experience, create, remember or imagine will live within that space. It's a moment that conveys how vast and complex our inner worlds become over the course of a life, and that Chuck (and we, too) contain multitudes. It's a really great scene.

I started to consider my own set of multitudes as I anxiously packed and repacked my bag in early October, visualizing all the images I would take and what kind of video I might create of the trip. I had no idea how differently things would unfold. When I'm truly myself, I've been told I embody the phrase (which desperately needs a t-shirt): "the quiet part out loud." But during the first few days riding in Nepal, that part went pretty dark. A tough start on the evening test ride in Kathmandu made this trip a mental game of epic proportions for me. Traffic as one moving organism with everyone somehow finding their way without lights or real regulation, cliff side one ways with soggy potholes followed by abrupt hairpin turns, narrow old town streets packed with people, bikes and more...it was a big ask for a new rider, but I got through it. Definitely not gracefully or as competently as I'd have liked, but as one of my oldest friends and college teammate Melissa said matter of factly my last night transiting back via LA: "that's what happens when you're doing something new, Mollymoo."

In between learning curves, however, I managed my usual state of play: following animals and the people around them. We witnessed incredible rituals celebrating life and death, rode in wild (for me) conditions, learned the complicated history of a small country who gave birth to the Buddha, remained puzzled as to how the plethora of dogs could sleep so soundly in the chaos and stopped often to wonder at giant, awe-inspiring mountains..all things that remind me why travel, when possible, is so important. 

Remembering how big the world is has always been the necessary balm to comfort and reframe my present struggles, whatever they may be. This trip was a big test, to constantly feel out of my element and be pushed in ways I hadn't been even at dirt bike camp in June. Yet continuing (as a pal remarked a few days ago) to "say yes" to each challenging aspect is something I can actually acknowledge that I did, in the wake of it all. And in making a concerted effort to take stock of the breathtaking environment ("oh my god, that's a Himalaya") alongside other moderately positive self talk ("I've got this, I am NOT stalling again, MF'er") in my helmet, I realized I could manage it somehow and not lose complete sight of appreciating what was right in front of me - from the roads, to the mountains, to the temples, to the people with me.

Am I disappointed I didn't take more photos? VERY. Can I accept I needed to concentrate on the riding this time? I can. Will I now have solid experience to draw on for the next trip? Absolutely. The growing pains are something else but I respect them. Keeping one's shit together is never simple, but learning to understand all the stuff you have carried for too long (i.e. impossible standards, intense self pressure, comparison...y'know, the usual) and keep it compassionately in mind enough to finally "let that shit go" (Buddha said that on a coffee mug)...phew. With comedy as my therapeutic reflex, it'll be a work in continual progress. Onward, I will continue to go.

We learned about the 13 rings or pinnacles found on the spires of Buddhist stupas, symbolizing the stages of enlightenment with each ring signifying a specific stage of spiritual knowledge or development that a person must acquire on the path to becoming a fully enlightened Buddha. I am definitely no Buddha, but here are 13 insights from riding around Nepal:

1. Do your homework. Terrain, road rules, motorbike: knowledge is power.
2. Everyone starts off white knuckling. Embrace it, learn from it, move forward.
3. Remember to breathe. Or you can't go anywhere. Literally.
4. Size sometimes matters. The Himalayas are 'holy shit big'.
5. Bridge the gap. Keep calm and overtake (on the right, here).
6. Doubt in small doses only. Overconfidence never did any one any good, but worrying about worry is just as useless.
7. Speak up. About your nerves, thoughts and feelings.
8. Nepali "powder" is real. And character building? And finds its way through the smallest points of your helmet visor.
9. Opportunity is everywhere. For mental reframing, for learning, for growing.
10. Patience really is a virtue. Especially with oneself.
11. Choose your fellow riders wisely. Find and keep people who will help you pick up your bike. They are gold.
12. Keep saying yes. To the challenge, to life.
13. It's not how you fall, it's how you get back up. Perspective is everything.

Overall, I learned a lot about myself and have been taking pause to reflect and take it all in. Coincidentally, it's felt exactly the way post-assignment periods have felt - complex, perspective shifting and essential for growth. Nepal has a special place in my mind - an unforgettable experience with longstanding effects. The "deep end" of adventure motorcycle riding is my newest multitude. This post will help serve as a reminder (for me) that you don't know what you can do until you try and that no matter how I fall, what matters is how I get back up. Here's to always getting back up.

And to going back again.

Many thanks to Himalayan Adventure Treks, Anderson Mountain Bags, my fellow riders for the support and laughs and to one guy in particular, who had my back and my camera bag. You know who are you. Thank you.

p.s. - because video speaks louder than photos, a compilation from the bike below..