storiesfromsupernomad-blog

[storiesfromsupernomad-blog]

At first glance

I’m biking through Vondelpark, tired, cause I barely slept last night. I’m nervous yes. It has been a while since I came out of my door to set course into uncharted water. Nevertheless, the park is gorgeous. Curved old trees, green grass, small lakes and ponds. Winding bike trails, and pot-smoking tourists chilling around. It all makes me proud and feel like a true Dutchy. We accomplished a lot in the Netherlands. We are as free as a society should be allowed to, we can choose our own thoughts and speak our honest minds, yet respecting the macro direction a society needs so painfully. We are not necessarily smart or wise people. That makes we wonder how we established such prosperity. Like the freedom to travel to many countries, proper healthcare, welfare for all who don’t want to, or can’t work, elderly care, state pensions and so on. Every time I come back home after travels I’m in awe with the cleanliness and efficiency this nation enjoys. I’ve contemplated a lot why it is like it is. It can’t be thanks to our intelligence, cause frankly; most of us are far from it. Neither do we have a lot of natural recourses, just some sophisticated agriculture, natural gas, trading and a big merchant fleet. Maybe I’m not fully educated on the subject but I think it has more to do with the systems we have in place. I mean, this country has very little corruption, high tax, and a big government to guarantee our needs. And talking about taxes, nobody really complains about it. We pay a minimum of 34 and maximum of 56 percent income tax, not to even start about the many others, all the way up to tax we pay for having dogs. That’s just the way it is, people think, but we all realize how much we get back for it. I personally don’t care if people would rather live on welfare than work; it’s their decision to be whom they want to be using the options provided by the state. In the end, they are still consumers, keeping our economic motor running smoothly. If there wouldn’t be welfare, some of these people will just be homeless non-working liabilities, and the small businessman would be off worse.

Anyway, I’m biking through the park, during a workweek evening. It’s a foggy, dark, but rather warm night. With a beam of illuminated mist underneath them, the streetlights shine jazzy. One after another, looking surreal and peaceful, marking the trail in which I drive my squeaking bike to someone new. My legs are propelling the paddles without much effort over the smooth surfaced road with a slight zooming of the wind in my ears. As I bike around a corner, where a massive pristine Dutch oak is chilling out, I see a manlike-silhouette standing on top of a quaint bridge. With two hands on the wheel of my grandma’s old retractor brake bike I approach this silhouette, not fully understanding what this is all about. He’s standing there, by himself, but why? What is he doing? What is the weirdness of tonight going to offer me now? I think sometimes we all feel a bit odd about the world don’t we? Like a mix between a feeling of weirdness and freakiness, and we wonder whether phenomena are evolving for us personally or because it’s just the way it is. So as I approach I see above him one of these jazzy lights spotlighting his body, making him stand out in the mist. It’s obvious he wants passing strangers to peek, he likes the attention, but for what? I hear no music, no instruments, just the sound of his shoes sliding over the deck. He’s wearing a fedora hat, black suit and lacquer shoes. Closing in I finally see - that’s it, he’s a Michael Jackson impersonator. Dancing on his own, in Amsterdam, where he obviously belongs. Performing all his heroes’ classic, tight poses, which are burned in every man’s soul. There he is, dancing the night away, being a delight for the unexpected eye. Man do I love this city, she never tells what to find behind the next corner, offering us daily surprises which can be weird, inspiring, or amusing.

Of course she is late. Very expectable to the realist, not to me, the dreamer. It’s not really helping me stay calm though. I’m nervous, like I said before. I tried getting some sleep after work, so at least I would be slightly more rested now, but of course it was just staring at the sealing. Finding irregularities in the paintwork for a while, an hour or so, while contemplating conversations and questions of which the answer I couldn’t care about. Okay, I have to be honest, I’m very nervous. My stomach is a bit upset and my conscious mind rather stays at home, where it comfortable. It nevertheless has been a long while since I last stepped out of the door, took a leap of faith and aimed for the unexplored. I have been turned into ice; numb with little color left. I’m in the middle of one of my darkest episodes.

My job sucks and everything else kind of as well, dramatic, yes. I’m doing one of these boring operational jobs in the shipping industry in a way too efficient office building. Rows of desks interrupted with hip hangout areas that would make the die-hard office guru go wild, but not me. It has numbed me down to a point of absolute futility. I feel stuck in my paychecks and financial obligations towards my landlord, the state and commercial pleasure. Barely making it through each month, I’ve entered a vicious circle that, as long as I do nothing, will keep on spinning till the end of my time. “What am I doing this for?” or “What's the point of living if all we’re doing is staying alive?” are questions I asked myself frequently. On a beautiful winter morning, with sunset just an hour away I would bike to the train station, where I, together with other depressed iPhone junkies, would be expecting the arrival of a train. Waiting for my deportation to Amsterdam airport. ‘Arbeit Macht Frei’, I just need to keep working hard enough so that one day I would be free from the misery. Waiting for the day on which my bank account will be overflowing with digits, but this off course never happens to a simple guy like me, and deep down I know. It's silent in the train; necks are curved downwards, thumbs swiping past hot trends, food hacks and tag-a-friend bullshit. As long as we don't have to look at each other, talk to each other, or even worse, smile, we'll be fine. I get out of the train; I'm at Schiphol airport now, a state of the art, super cool and immensely efficient human trafficking hub. I'm being sarcastic yes. Walking to my office, together with nicely suited loners, I wonder if anyone could be truly happy with a life like this. Their leather laptop bag bouncing off their skinny underfed butt, their dark brown Mickey Mouse socks peaking underneath their, just too short, pantaloons and their hair smooth like the 90s. I think by myself 'what am I doing here? It’s obvious I don’t fit in'. Their objective: Capitalizing low hanging fruit, utilizing assets, decreasing liability and being a full-time douchebag. My objective: Making it through the day, hoping my ticket out will soon cross path. Without having many friends at work, most underpaid employees are constantly expanding their network, keeping me of course, a nobody-gives-a-fuck executional Ship Operator out of their ambitions. People are not people at the office, they are anticipated business partners or even worse the handshake they need in between the person they truly want to meet. Anyway, to cut things short, on a beautiful sunny day I would travel to work and return home in darkness, reflecting the emotional state I’m in.

Nevertheless, I’m in Amsterdam city centre now. Which beauty cannot be suppressed by the negativity of a single man. And for a moment, for one night, I’m not there; I’m here, being remarkably alert of my surroundings and conscious of the peace and tranquility underlying the hustle and bustle in this epicentre of diversity. I would ask you to close your eyes as I describe what I see but I figure this is a bit hard with a written story. I gaze around the streets that are dominated with 18th century Dutch architecture. A time wherein the design of houses exceed their function as ‘just a place where humans live’. The houses were simply made pretty, just because it was possible. Tall, skinny, with high ceilings and massive flamboyantly shaped windows. The façade on most houses would be graced with a single stone piece revealing the profession or occupation of the owner. A marble staircase, safeguarded by a railing which reinforcing inside structure would be an artwork of steel, leads up to the entrance. A massive three-meter tall wooden door, spiced up with stained glass and a cast iron ring, would shine its authority in your face. ‘You better be damn important!’ the door would say, if it could, but doors can’t speak, so….. it wouldn’t say that. Anyway.

One house after another, some crooked due to the swampy river soil they’re build on, some narrow, some enormously wide. But all as tall as its neighbor. Dimmed ambient light lusters out of most windows giving me the opportunity to glance, and drool, at the paneled ceilings and shimmering chandeliers. God she’s pretty, the city, I mean, in totality. As I, strained, walk a bit up and down the street I see bikers pass by. They’re obviously all heading out for something that’s about to happen, with somebody or without. Taxis, the grinding of trams through their tracks, and the famous bell to warn oblivious tourist of their presence, are filling up the background noises.

It’s 19:30 now, and she’s officially 10 minutes late. Excruciating difficult for a Dutch guy in general, extra excruciating to the tense state I’m in already. We said 19:20, it’s a well calculated time cause the concert starts at 20:30. We want to get to know each other first before jumping into a crowd of fans. The bar I told her to come to is closed; of course, it would all have been too easy. Nevertheless I’m waiting here, at the location we’re suppose to meet, not really knowing who will show up and what the fuck I’m getting myself into. Minutes, which more feel like quarters of an hour, pass by. I feel present though, exceptionally present, as in something is being lined up for me. I think we’ve all felt like that, a moment in time in which we feel something coming, either good or bad. We know it and we feel it. The colors, boosted by streetlights are rarely intense, my body feels well oiled, and sounds are experienced inside, rather than out. As my thoughts start to wonder away in stories I won’t remember creaking brakes caught my attention, “I’m so sorry I’m late” I hear, in a high pitched, slightly annoying Northern American accent. So I turn around and there she is.

[storiesfromsupernomad-blog]

My home, my ship, my planet.

[storiesfromsupernomad-blog]

Contradictions

Like the vast majority of children in the West my only concern as a kid was for my neighbours to give back our ball. We probably kicked it over the fence the third time that day, but still, it was big distress at that age. Once the man next door punctured a tiny whole in the ball. I mean it’s a strong suspicion as the ball slowly deflated right after it came back. But a deflated ball was about the biggest crisis witnessed. For the rest I was climbing trees, building forest huts, riding bikes, and play hide and seek. All the stuff boys and gals fancy at young age. However there was one event that did stood out. One thought that had a massive impact on my peace of mind as a child. I was around 6 year old when my parents were on a holiday. My grandma, who was then about 65 came over to take care of me. While sitting in front of the TV, for some reason, at some point, the comprehension of death to life dawned on me. I don’t really recall how or what triggered it to happen, all I know is that it did. Now, at the age of 29 I still remember it very vividly. My mind kept going and not long after I figured out that if people and animals die, it’ll happen to me too. A wave of panic shot through my body. I wished the train of thought ended there, but it didn’t. ‘Well, if I come to an end one day then so will the universe itself’ I thought ‘So even if I go to heaven, that too must come to an end. So there will be a time when nothing is here anymore.’ In a way it felt as my deeper self was telling me all this and even now the memory of utter devastation still floats to the surface at irregular times. That night I cried myself to sleep. For several days actually, while my parents were on holiday. I was simply scared and sad for the possible end of time. With no one to comfort me, I felt utterly alone, isolated and trapped in a circumstance I did not choose to be in. It was there and then when death made its introduction in my life and ever since I’ve carried this fear with me everywhere I go. I mean, it’s not that I think about it all the time, but it comes up every now and then.  

Now, many years later, I’ve travelled the world on all it continents. By boat, by plane, car, bike and foot. I wish I could say I loved it, every minute of it. But unfortunately that’s not the case. Besides the usual loneliness not all travels were intended for sight seeing and resort relaxation. Some were bound to bear witness tragedy and destruction. To see with my own eyes how humanity is destroying the planet and its social structures. At times I wish I had the naiveness to just look away. Just make money, consume, and enjoy the ride for as long as it takes. But I’ve never been that person. I mean I partied, I consumed, and pretended. But it never really fulfilled me in desired quantities. Part of me has always been intrigued and interested by the gnawing problems humanity faces.  Fascinated with nature, wander, and wonder. A simple advertisement on the radio foisting a good I don’t need still makes me upset and hopeless. Massive change in our everyday experiences and actions are needed to divert from our direction. Yet even though I want to change myself and my environmental impact I’m stuck in seemingly universal patterns. For instance, I would love to cut down on my meat consumption, yet I find myself eating it almost every day. Just as I’m writing this I’m munching on a left-over meatball. Its like something I heard before, an ex-heroin junky in prison who has been clean for a few weeks saying, ‘well I’m clean because there is no drugs here, I don’t have to say no. But it’s a matter of time for the drug to find me, and I don’t know what I’ll do with the choice.’ The fucking meat keeps finding me, it’s everywhere. Maybe the only way to cut down is to become extremist. Change friends, city and lifestyle. Be an outspoken angry vegan. I learned that what we want and what we’re offered are two totally different concepts, and it’s the art of life to find ways to align the two.

I really wonder how much it matters to where we want to go, damn so many contradictions. We’re all running around with a carrot dangling on a stick in front of our heads. Heading up, moving forward, yet no-one can explain to me what point B exactly is. Is point B self-destruction or is it transcendence to a higher plane of consciousness, or do we just simply keep going like this, until eternity. You didn’t see that one coming right?! Haha, well, life is such a mystery, and misery at times. It’s shallow and superficial but also deep and spiritual. Having had psychedelic experiences, I’m not in favour of anything particular, I just hope for a greater plan refuting all the crap that’s happening now.

I don’t think I’m alone in the despair. Whenever I look around and listen I see people struggling to make it. We are more and more educated on subjects that were previously suppressed. As social structures fall apart, and men fractalize, a more substantive intelligence arises. Where years ago we ought to be part of a religious institution we can now put trust in ourselves and the capabilities to form and shape our world to our liking. But ‘to our liking’ is where it seems to all go wrong. I don’t think our likings are choices made by the individual, rather it’s a artificial shell created by modern marketing techniques. But does artificial truly exist? Even if it’s made by a mortal species as natural as earth.

As you already have read many contradictions plague my search for answers. Honestly, I’ve already have given up a while ago to find anything absolute. I’m just on a hunt for simple ways to live a more pleasant life. Pleasant for me, my fellow men, and nature. This is a series of short and long stories that will take you along the inner and outer trip I underwent the last three years. Love, passion, sex, hate, greed, adventure, purpose, deceive and truth. Through pushing comfort zones and overstepping personal boundaries I’ve gained some cool insights. This is not a means to and end, rather an ongoing work, as life keeps itself unfolding to you and me. What I do hope is for this work to be of minor inspiration, by making you smile or scowl, recognise or overlook.