A Purposeful Meander

By Mitchell Nakagawa

The moment came swiftly and unexpectedly, a brief space when life itself was transparent. I didn't know what to make or do with it. I had no roadmap. I had never questioned what living life was because as far as I knew, I was living life. I remember the moment vividly, a lake of fog dissipating in my mind and the world springing to life. The tattered paint of the porch, the warmth of the summer, the rumbling of distant cars in the bustling city. The quietness of the neighborhood giving way to the rustling wind, sweeping through trees and the subtle sound of littered leaves blowing across the street. This was the moment I became aware I had been pursuing goals without question.
One year later, I had finally digested the significance of the moment. My mind was swirling in a dizzying whirlwind of questions. What is it I seek out of life? How could I really live life, whatever it meant? Searching the clandestine network of my mind, I came across a door impossible to open. There was a soft knock from the other side, whispering that the world beyond offered limitless possibilities, if I only were able to unlock and free myself from the security and desires of my world.
I could not and succumbed to the acceptance that I was of the age where I had entered a world of greater responsibility. Rationalizing only led to more questions. Am I working to play? Do I just enjoy life? I proactively sought balance, to live my life while upholding responsibilities. The years passed. The knocking would grow louder.
As we grow older, bounded by self-created responsibilities and the comfort of the known, it becomes increasingly challenging to embark upon radical change; difficult to change one's lifestyle and challenge longstanding beliefs, and more difficult to take risks. However, the puzzle was too great to ignore. Through the happenings of a series of events, I was able to find a key to open the door and begin exploring the world in all its abiding mystery and promise.
In 2006, I set off doing what people said was unrealistic: moving halfway across the Pacific Ocean, living abroad, and traveling more than 10,000 miles through Southeast Asia. The results are spectacular.
This is my journey, shaped by the collective experiences of my travels, of living life and searching for intuitive happiness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mitchell Nakagawa
• Release date: Jun 12, 2012

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

My 25th birthday is this year. My younger sister and I decide it is time for a vacation, a splurge of a holiday, insulated from the responsibilities of the world. Isla de Mujeres, Mexico is within reach and yet far enough to experience a new world. Imagining swimming underneath the golden rays of the tropical sun, among the colorful rainbows of fish and vibrant corals, is all I need to accept the invitation. The days are passing quickly, drawing our vacation closer.

A shadowy storm appeared and began hurtling across the ocean towards the Yucatan Peninsula. We have been watching Hurricane Wilma grow stronger, its unrelenting winds now whipping the coast of Isla de Mujeres. No rational traveler would venture into the rain-swollen region and the growing number of airline cancellations, followed by a hint of evacuations, weakens our optimism. On a warm, sunny afternoon thousands of miles away, news of our flight cancellation brews a hanging cloud of disappointment. As quickly as it forms, the acrid cloud dissolves. My pulse quickens as I set down the phone. My sister has proposed we venture into Belize. The flight departs in a few hours, ample time to pack and drive to the airport. My older sister, a wizened explorer, suggests we purchase a book on the way. It seems a good idea.

I have little idea of what to expect traveling Belize. Does the book portray what we will find? What would I see and learn? Though I have ventured beyond the borders of my country a few times, I have never been to a vastly different country. In many ways, I am sheltered from the world, even my own country.

Jet-lagged and tired from spending the night in the airport, excitement immediately reinvigorates my body and mind as the plane rolls to a stop at the airport. We claim our backpacks and immediately set out to explore Belize City. Swirling crowds in every direction fill the maze of streets. Delectable aromas rest upon the currents of the air and rumbling stomachs lead us past food stands. The sidewalk leads past government buildings towards the harbor, but we decide to wander down the cratered streets of a neighborhood. Proud homes, remnants of hundreds of years of British colonization line the streets. Coated in peeling white paint, sagging shutters lay ajar, bursting with history as if willing to tell a story if only someone were to take interest.

My legs feel strong as we weave through areas, which by many Western standards are poverty stricken. The sidewalk turns into an open drain trickling towards the port. My mind paints clear rainwaters of Haulover creek emptying into crystal blue Caribbean waters, waves gently lapping at the sea walls of the sheltered harbor. Opening my eyes, the crystal waters transform into languishing streams, the murky, garbage-strewn drains now home to small crabs. Naive and curious, we continue exploring as dusk sweeps the landscape.

The blackness of night descends and slowly brings the city’s Southside alive with a delicate balance of safety. The air fills with music, soloist stereos at full volume competing for audiences. Groups of teenagers and young adults replace the swirling crowds of people. Uniformed soldiers walk along the sidewalks, in twos with rifles. I can feel the unseen dangers lurking in the smoky shadows of the alleys. We skirt the backstreets and keep to ourselves, my mind searching for a way to reach the sanctuary of a hotel.

We cross several streets. Ahead and to our left is a parked car underneath a taxi sign. The driver asks in English if we would like a ride. "Yes. Someplace to sleep." I know little about the hazards of traveling yet and we naively get into the car. The windows are tinted an inky black. We sit quietly in the backseat and I wonder if anyone can see inside the car. I’m uncomfortable. I wonder if we’re going to be kidnapped. My mind begins cycling through scenarios and options. What if the doors are locked? Can I break the window and escape?

Behind the window, I watch as the city passes by. I look for one of the vestiges we had seen throughout the day. Our voyage becomes disorienting as we make our way through the city. Underneath the ice black sky, everything either looks the same or new, but nothing is familiar. A short while later, the clattering taxi comes to a slow stop. It just felt like one of the longest rides of my life. The driver opens the creaking door and steps out into a short, graffiti filled alleyway. He points towards a staircase at the end of the alley. A glowing neon light hangs atop the staircase. I scour for a lodging sign and seeing nothing comforting, decide not to walk over. The driver understands.

Winding through the tangle of roads, we end up in front of one of the most expensive hotels in the city. Brightly lit, well manicured grounds and security officers patrolling a calm night. It’s difficult to believe this is the same city. My sister walks into the hotel to inquire about prices while I stay with the taxi. She returns. The hotel stretches beyond our budget. How lucky I am! I was this close to being born into a world that may have shaped vastly different travels and experiences.

Our taxi ferries us downtown again and stops in front of a small guesthouse. Bzzzzz. We wait in front of a steel gated entrance, topped with barbed wire while CCTV security cameras watch us. In a few moments, a middle-aged woman appears behind the gate. She welcomes us and carefully locks the gate again. I follow her to my room. Safe and exhausted, I fall onto the bed, hoping I quickly drift into a deep slumber.

I woke up early this morning feeling remarkably fresh. How I take a restful sleep for granted! The sun fills the empty roads with promising light again. Belize is home to the world’s second largest barrier reef. Hoping for crystal waters to snorkel in, we climb aboard a boat to San Pedro Town on Ambergris Caye. Nearing the caye, the puttering engine shuts off and the boat floats leisurely towards the shore. A young man jumps into the blue waters to guide us in. The boat stopped, we jump off the bow into the warm, knee-deep waters. The white sandy beach welcomes us ahead, the waves gently lapping at my calves as I walk towards the shore. We walk to an unused pier nearby and at the end, look over the luminous waters, distant waves stirring the nutrients of the ocean. Turning around I face San Pedro town. The town radiates calm and peacefulness. My head slowly gazes from left to right, scanning the landscape. Serene beaches lay as far as I can see.

We walk along the stone roadways. The throngs of tourists are nowhere to be found. There are no tourists at all during this low season. Each person we meet greets us with warm, friendly, genuine smiles. The coast is never far, the water splashing invitations to explore the shallows of the coast and to enjoy a respite from the sweltering tropical climate. We’re intent on finding our bearings first and continue walking. A street vendor is selling a variety of fist-sized biscuits, some with meat and cheese sandwiched in-between. Johnny Cakes. Tasty, nutritious, and simple, these will become a staple of our diets in San Pedro. Soon our stomachs are filled and we continue to explore the caye. Cool winds gently sweep across the island providing refreshing breezes. We’ve reached the northern edges of the caye and stop at a short concrete pier, extending no more than 8 feet into the murky waters near the shore. A hand pulled ferry floats on our side and travels across the water. It is impassable by foot.

It’s okay. We head south, backtracking through town. The 25 mile long caye was home to a small Mayan community at one time. I had read of an ancient Mayan temple on the southern end and in town, we rent a golf cart. Walking, bicycling, golf carts, and boats are the sole modes of transportation on the caye. We ride out of town and stop within sight of a large cluster of homes, nestled next to a mangrove in the center of the caye. Basking in the sun, a large crocodile lays across the road. I am sure the murky waters of the caye are home to more crocodiles. Giving a large berth to the patient creature, we continue until this road also becomes