Giving Thanks for the Ordinary Things

In the summer of 2013, Tonya and I had the pleasure to visit Bali. After going through the hectic immigration and customs line at the airport, we jumped in a taxi to travel to the room we had reserved. Staring out the window of the back seat of the taxi, I was struck by the seemingly chaotic and disorderly appearance of our surroundings. The lanes on the road seemed to serve as only a mere suggestion to each driver. Cars and motorbikes would squeeze any place they could fit to keep advancing forward - weaving in and out of traffic, honking their horns with each pass. The busy streets were filled with food-cart vendors and market goers and sellers who carried baskets of food and supplies on their head. Chickens walked freely along the streets, in the yards of most of the modest homes, and casually strolled into local restaurants and markets as if they were just standard customers perusing the day’s deals.

Bali was a place that Tonya had on our bucket list to visit for some time because of its reputation for natural beauty. So when we learned that a friend, Mindy McDugle, had signed up to teach English at a school for students with disabilities that summer, we immediately made plans for our visit. But as we zoomed down the narrow, poorly-paved roads in that first taxi trip, narrowly dodging other vehicles, pedestrians, and chickens, I began to question the sanity of us picking this as a relaxing getaway for two weeks.

But then, as the days passed and our adventures continued, I fell in love with both the island and its people. I marveled at its natural beauty - the endless rice terraces of Ubud, the cool breezes and lush mountains & valleys enclosing Munduk, the lakes and natural hot springs flanked by craters and active volcanoes of the central mountains, the white sand stretching out to the turquoise waters of the Blue Lagoon in Padangbai, the ubiquitous Bob Marley tunes playing in the background on Gili Trawangan, the feeling of walking on the pure coral beaches that surround Gili Meno, the marvelous skies with trippy clouds, brilliant stars and serene sunsets of Lembongan, and the surfers disappearing into the night off the towering cliffs of Bingin.

But, even more than those memories, I fell in love with the kind and beautiful people that we met that helped guide us in our journey and those that added a helping hand or added some flare to our experiences. Gede was our driver that led us to and from Munduk. In addition to his kind and helpful demeanor, we occasionally would witness his playful sense of humor, like when he informed us of how Bali's most expensive coffee, Kopo Luwak, is harvested from the feces of an animal they call a luwak. Kutut, our guide to the top of Mount Batur held unwavering confidence and patience for us as we slowly made our way up. Darta, our dive master at Padangbai, assisted us with a constant warm smile, joyful eyes, and helpful spirit that was both reassuring and comforting when breathing air from a tank under water during our dives. Jay, the no-nonsense, organized, best-dressed (snappy underwater attire) dive master patience was the perfect balance to Eurie, the carefree, Scandinavian, self-entitled "water clown" who bubbled with enthusiasm when describing the beauty of local marine life. We also received a hardy "hello" and helpful hand from our waiters, hotel staff, and the countless strangers with whom we crossed paths, who regularly had to point us in the right direction.

We also had wonderful shared experiences with people that came from all over the world to see this beautiful country. We compared travel itineraries with a couple from Japan in a spa in Ubud, relaxed in the hot springs of Munduk with a group of Australians, discussed the best places to travel with some Americans on our hike to a waterfall, fell off the beaten path with a mother and daughter from Switzerland, made light of our boating and transport experiences with a young French couple, dove with some honeymooners from the UK, and watched a Scandinavian learn French in a dive company that was managed by a German. We also had the delight of having our friend Mindy along with us through much of the trip serving at times as our guide, photographer, and co-adventurer. Everywhere we went we witnessed the great melting pot of languages and culture.

It's easy to look at a place like Bali and find fascination in all that is different: food, religions, rituals, dress, the vegetation, climate, language, calendar--are all so different. And, yet, in looking through my photos and reflecting on the trip, I can't help but notice all that we have in common. I saw little kids playing in tide pools that reminded me of my girls enjoying swimming in Plainfield's aquatic center when they were toddlers. I saw two boys have stick fights that totally mimicked Charlie, my nephew, with his Star Wars saber. And, as I watched a young lady and man playfully laughing at each other, I couldn't help but think of Tonya and me taking classes together at Purdue when we just started dating.

Despite Bali’s beauty, there were moments that shed light on some of its unjust practices and also moments that made me feel fortunate for all the blessings I have -- simply because where I was born. Throughout the trip, I was saddened to see women carrying enormous loads on their head, with men directing them at times as if the women were mere pack goats. I listened to a thin, elderly Balinese man that was trying to sell us some type of healing oil, made from tree sap, to Tonya. He carried a smile on his face and held a demeanor that made me think he was happy just to rise to see another new day. At the end of our conversation he asked where we were from. After we responded, he looked at us with his deep brown eyes and a dreamy smile on his face and said, "Ah, America. You are such lucky people."

A phrase that I heard often on this trip spoken by those that helped me was, "slowly, slowly." I heard Gede say it before we opened the back door of the taxi on a busy street. I heard Kutut say it as he coached us through our steps up the mountain. I heard the guide that we encountered on our trip to the waterfall as we came upon the narrow paths. I heard Darta say it right before we started to descend below the waves in the Badung Strait. The words are spoken as if they hold greater meaning than simply slow your pace. The words seem to guide not just the movement of your body, but it guides your state of mind. The people of Bali are both kind and playful and seem proud of what they have, rather than disappointed in what they don't have. They are strong and determined, yet seem to avoid the rat race mentality or hurrying through life. They seem content in the moment. They are thankful for their blessings.

Slowly. Slowly. The motto has less to do with time management or reducing the number of hours worked in a day. The Balinese seem to work rather long hours every day of the week. But it is their thankful, reflective, joyful spirit that allows them to enjoy, almost savor, the moment they are in - truly living in the moment and giving thanks for the ordinary things in their lives.

Throughout my life, I’ve had a long list of reasons to be thankful, most namely: my family, my friends, my job, and my health. But, since my diagnosis with cat sores, much like the people of Bali, I have started to see the world through a different perspective. Despite all the terrible things that have come with this disease, it has allowed me to see things more clearly - as if I am viewing them through a magnifying glass -- drawing focus on the small details that give me peace, strength, hope, and joy. In the past, although I would have called my family, friends, job, and my health blessings, I also would have complained or groaned at the challenges or trivial obstacles that come with each. But now, it is the small moments that propel me forward: my first breath each morning; the crunching of my kids eating (as I remind them to chew with their mouths closed); the head of a pigeon peeking out of a gutter and into my office from my front porch (the same pigeon that I used to cuss at for invading my space); the strength to shower and dress; an uneventful, painless bowel movement (since my medicine doesn’t always play nicely with my regularity); drinking a cup of coffee without it cramping my stomach; having a decent night sleep without pain or discomfort. These are all things that make me happy.

My trip to Bali taught me that we are all one species living on this planet. We all love. We all suffer. We all die. But, we all also were given a chance to live. And, we all have a choice on whether to focus on the struggles we face or the blessings we’ve been given. And, my diagnosis with cat sores has taught me that peace doesn’t just come from good days. It comes from moments that we choose to see as good. Helping my kids with homework, unloading the dishwasher, swifting the floor, and just completing daily routines are no longer just chores that chew into my time. They are reminders to appreciate that I’ve been given this time. They serve as affirmations that I am still strong. I am still standing. I am still here.

When in the thick of life’s obstacles, it’s easy to see our experiences at times as overwhelming, noisy, messy -- perhaps similar to my first impression of Bali. But all of the noise and all of the messiness is often a shield or camouflage for the beauty that lies within. The Balinese people showed me that finding joy is perhaps not so much about masking our view of the mess in our lives or covering our ears from the noise surrounding us. It’s about staring and listening more intently, so we can see the beauty in the clutter and hear the voices of angels in the commotion. Happiness is not so much about searching for and obtaining something that is missing, but rather about fully examining and appreciating what is already found.


I remember someone that I admired, Dr. Richard Haak, sharing that his battle with cancer caused him to “distinguish the meaningful from the mundane.” He was right. Any form of suffering causes us to quickly adjust our priorities in life. Big events in our lives and the people we love have a way of quickly reminding us what really matters. But, life is also full of the daily moments, the daily chores, that fill our days. It’s easy to label those as distractions or interruptions to our lives. But, they too are moments to treasure. It is the little things, the ordinary things, that makes us feel normal. And, for me, feeling normal these days feels pretty extraordinary.

The people of Bali and their constant joyous spirit and friendly dispositions taught me how to find meaning and purpose even in ordinary things. Slowly. Slowly. I take time to appreciate my many blessings. My fight with cat sores continues. But, regardless of my diagnosis or my prognosis, I know I am a lucky man. My memories bring me joy. Daily moments bring me peace. The support of others gives me strength. And, regardless of what happens tomorrow, I am thankful for each moment - even the ordinary things - that made today worthwhile.