Image by congerdesign from Pixabay
As
many of you may already know, I’m an expatriate. Although I am
originally from the U.S., I’ve lived in Southeast Asia (I’d
rather not say which country) for more than a decade.
For
the most part, I love my adopted home. My DH and I have a far better
quality of life than we could ever afford back in America. I have
work that inspires and challenges me. My apartment, located in the
heart of the metropolis so we don’t need a car, is roughly the size
of the house we sold when we moved here and has a garden, exercise
room and small swimming pool. I feel a kinship with the people around
me, who value friendship, family, good food, good times and a
peaceful frame of mind more than money or power. Asia is incredibly
dynamic, changing and growing while the Western world seems to be sinking into
grumpy lethargy. By moving here, I have at least partially escaped a
government that’s totally without compassion and a society where
senseless mass murder with automatic weapons has become commonplace.
There’s
one drawback to my situation, though. I’m half a world away from
many of the people I love. While I’ve been here, I’ve lost both
my parents. Because of the distance and the cost, I couldn’t attend
their funerals (though I did manage to spend time with each of them
not long before they died). I’ve still got a brother and sister in
the States, plus an elderly aunt and a passel of cousins. Then there
are my friends, including a handful I’ve known for three or four
decades.
I
miss all these folks. Email, Skype, Facebook and relatively cheap
international phone rates allow me to keep in touch to some extent,
but years can go by before we get the chance to meet face to face.
Sometimes
I ache for the sound of their voices (unfiltered by electronics) or
the touch of their hands. All in all, though, our separations don’t
bother me as much as they might. Despite the distance – even when
we don’t communicate for weeks or months – I feel connected to my
dear ones.
Every
morning I spend ten or fifteen minutes in what I will loosely call
meditation, trying to center myself before facing the events of the
day. Part of this discipline includes calling people to mind and
sending them blessings – holding them in the light, as the Quakers
say. I sometimes refer to these individuals as being on my prayer
list, but that’s not exactly right. What I’m doing is affirming
and strengthening the psychic and emotional bonds between us. In my
mind and heart, I draw them close and surround them with my love. I
know this sounds like New Age mystical crap, but the ritual soothes
the pain of being apart, for me. Meanwhile, I believe my positive
thoughts do have a beneficial effect on the ones to whom they are
directed.
Because
of this practice, I feel myself enmeshed in a web of invisible
connections, a tangle of heart strings. Love flows like electricity
along those links. I think of my beloved family, friends and
colleagues, and I glow.
My
connections with my author friends are surprisingly strong. Yes,
you’re on my morning list. I’ve known many of you for years. I’ve
even met some of you. Those physical encounters are not what binds us,
though. I know you, know your hearts and souls, through your writing.
I
sometimes fantasize about throwing a party for my beloved erotic
author colleagues, where we could all get together, drink a glass of
wine or two, and talk, instead of having to write everything down.
The geographic realities dictate an infinitesimal probability that
this will ever occur. You’re all invited to Southeast Asia, of
course. If you can handle a twenty hour plane flight...
Still,
I’m not sure that meeting you in the flesh would make much
difference in how I feel about you. We are and always will be
connected, by our mutual love of the written word, our curiosity
about the human condition, our fascination with desire. In some
sense, you are as much my brothers and sisters as my siblings back in
the country I no longer call home.
