Thanksgiving on Baghdad Street

From beneath her hijab, the young waitress smiles at
me and invites me to sit. Between the jet lag, the
smell of incense, and the music pounding with the rapid
staccato of the Dumbek, I am lost in time and space.

It seems an eon ago when Patty, Emma, Max, and I sat
down for our Thanksgiving feast. After kissing the
kids goodnight, I drive to the airport and launch
across the Pacific.

Sometime later, it could be a day, it could be a week,
no way to tell through the wooziness, I arrive at my
hotel. Though sleep sounds wonderful, I go for a
walk in an futile effort to keep jet lag at bay.
Strolling through the steamy tropical air, I pass
rivers of cars, people of all colors, and signs in
a half-dozen languages.

Peering into the window of Yin Loon Watch Company
at an array of designer timepieces, I wonder what
time it is here. Then I cross Baghdad Street into
the Arab Quarter.

Singapore is like this. Around every corner there
is something different, it's like a thousand worlds
are packed onto this island. Packed so tight
everything rises to 36-story pillars of concrete
and glass.

Waiting for my food, sipping my sweet mint tea, I
watch the flag outside the restaurant lazily swinging
in the breeze. It's black, with white calligraphy,
a circle depicting the 99 names of Allah. Beneath
the flag stroll people speaking Chinese, English,
Malay, Arabic, and even Dutch. Or most often some
post-babel ployglot of words borrowed from here and
there.

I'm struck by a sudden Ozian vision, I wish I had a
dog with me so I could turn and say, "Toto, we're
not in Kansas anymore." Perhaps in honor of this
Thanksgiving day stretched around the globe, I
don't feel distressed by the strangeness.
Instead I begin to appreciate.

I appreciate that while the world seems small these
days, it's a big place with more variety than most
of us see.

I appreciate the subtle contrast of the sweetness
and mint in my tea. And that for centuries people
have been refreshed by this delightful flavor.

I appreciate that while I can be halfway around
the world in something that could be called a day
(but feels far closer to infinite), people have
been here before, loved and lost and laughed
like we do. Wondered as we do. Hoped, as we do,
for love and courage to triumph over smallness
and hate.

I appreciate that there is a greatness in this
complexity, this messiness, these paradoxes. That
while it would be easier if the world made sense,
it would not be better.


When I go to pay the check, the cashier uses a
traditional cash register -- IBM computerized with
a 17" flat LCD monitor. Before she starts typing,
I catch the words of the screen saver. It's the
restaurant's slogan: Life is Different Here.
How true.

Have you ever woken from a dream knowing something
terribly important? It's so fabulous you scrabble
around in the dark and find a pen, a scrap of
paper, and write it down. The next day you read
it expecting a revelation, and find you've written
something totally inane and nonsensical. I feel
like that now.

I'm in this dream state looking out over a bizarre
and wonderful part of the world. A place that's a
thriving testament that a dozen races, religions,
and traditions can live side by side and prosper.
A place with insane congestion and bustle. One of
the most successful experiments in social
engineering and financial success, yet an
ecological disaster where quality of life is a
commodity. A place of paradox and possibility.

I suspect that in my dream I'm learning something
terribly important about allowing the world to
be complex and vital even though that makes it
incomprehensible. I hope it makes a shred of
sense in the morning.

Your let-lagged EQ ally,
- Josh
(from Singapore)


Please feel free to forward so long as you keep this
part too! ©2004 Joshua Freedman.
This is a jet-lag -- err, EQ Reflection from
http://www.6seconds.org -- your source for emotional
intelligence information and expertise.


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