Journal Entry 10.30.23

Last night we flew through the air into my past. We flew southeast from Kathmandu to Kota Kinabalu. We flew from my future into my history. I can’t even keep track how many times I have trekked through these skies. When I first traveled to Asia as a teenager in the 1980’s I was passing into history, adventuring in a part of the world few people had traveled to. I would write my friends at home. I’d draw maps, first of the world, then of Asia, then of Borneo. I would map where I had gone to when I had fallen off their maps. Now this is a common tourist destination, no longer “the darkest jungles of Borneo”.

We flew through the night and so I didn’t sleep. I feel insecure, nervous, and uncertain inside. But outside, I take our laundry to a laundry shop and talk in Bahasa Malayu and English, I bargain for fruit in the fruit stalls, I help my son change money at the money changer, and buy a wallet so he is less vulnerable in the streets. I remind myself that I have not changed, but that lack of sleep has taken my confidence away. But losing confidence when your facilities are less able is probably another sing of wisdom. I have doubt. Doubt, that essential practice of an artist.

Doubt makes me stop and go backwards. Doubt slows, doubt allows me to reassess. Doubt makes room for questions, curiosity, uncertainty. Doubt allows for me to consider other options. Doubt makes space for new points of view. Doubt is my friend, my aid, my companion.

Doubt allows me the opportunity to remap my story and make my path more of what I want it to be.