A lot has happened since the last post, and since before then too. In fact, a lot has happened in the past year, which lends credence to the whole “a lot can happen in a year” cliche. Because, you know, it’s so true. Let me serve as an example.

This time last year, I was sitting on a beach in Kerala thinking about which book I wanted to read next and whether I’d wake up early enough for morning yoga. I had a “routine” of sorts: wake up, maybe take yoga, grab a late breakfast (kerala coffee, whole wheat toast with pb, maybe fruit and yogurt, or even an omelette), sit on a terrace, watch the ocean, check some email, window shop, dip my toes in the water, take another yoga class, rinse, repeat. On March 2nd, I left India for Malaysia, where I spent 3 weeks in Borneo pretty much doing the same thing (minus the yoga, plus more alcohol).

That was my life, basically until late May. I did return to the US in early April, but, with no job as yet, I headed back to Asia for a couple more weeks – a last hurrah maybe – before finally returning and settling into the 9-5. And so, right around Memorial Day weekend, I started a job, which, for the second half of 2010, basically consumed my life.

But it wasn’t the only thing – the end of the year was also marked with the entry into a yoga teacher training program, which proceeded to eat up any leftover free time I had (after work sucked most of it). What a change from counting coconuts in palm trees from the second floor terrace of a beachside hotel.

The beginning of 2011 saw the end of teacher training, which I suppose means I am now a yoga teacher. It also saw more long work hours, and in a few days, will see the move back into a permanent home of sorts.

And I’m leaving out a couple of trips to Ireland, two other moves, and a gym membership that I definitely do not make the most of

So, in a year I went from wandering aimlessly for several months around Asia, to taking on an important and intensive work committment, to moving and moving again, to starting and completing yoga teacher training, to the beginning of a nest.

A lot certainly can happen in a year.

The biggest difference, I think, has been in the kitchen. In Mongolia, I got to spend time making things I’d never think about making – so long as I could find the ingredients. And when I couldn’t, I learned to substitute. And when you are forced to make something “imperfect”, and have it turn out ok, I think that slowly starts to penetrate other parts of your life too. Frankly, that’s a lesson this control freak could stand to learn many many times.

But here, we have everything again, and I don’t have to think too hard about making something. In fact, sometimes I don’t have to think about making anything at all, as evidenced by the other day when I ordered baked pasta for delivery. A simple 4-ingredient dish and it was much easier to order in than to go to the store and buy the ingredients and make it myself.

So I’m trying to get back into the habit of cooking, because I like to do so, and because it’s healthier. I’m experimenting in different ways now – instead of trying to figure out substitutes, I’m making creative dishes with disparate leftovers of ingredients before they go bad. The results have been not too bad – putting feta in polenta, brussels sprouts in risotto, persimmon in cookies, candied ginger in bran muffins, parsley and soy sausage with whole wheat pasta, etc. Freezing overripe fruit for smoothies.

The latest attempt tonight was cranberry ginger bran quickbread. The recipe started as muffins, before I realized I only had a small muffin tin. So I used a shallow loaf pan instead, and it baked up beautifully. After it cooled, I sliced it up and have frozen half of it for morning breakfasts (maybe with a little peanut butter?). The cranberries were dried and sweetened, but I might try fresh ones next time. The ginger I candied myself, and keep stored in the fridge in its own syrup (which I added to the recipe).

So here’s hoping this is the start of a new old habit again

So to Brunei, I went. And stayed at what is probably the nicest place I’ve ever been in. It wasn’t phenomenol by today’s standards – I imagine most swanky hotels in Dubai would blow it away. But for a 25-year-old hotel, it still manages to awe, and holds a charm that modern hotels have yet still to earn.

The hotel is the Empire, and it hearkens back to a nonexistent colonial era. It’s thoroughly European (as this American would picture it), but with a distinct Asian flare. The service is impeccable, the decor is gold-plated and ivory, and the rooms are furnished in an outdated whimsy that somehow manages to charm, despite being distinctly unstylish. It helps of course, that the bathroom is the size of a small apartment, the balconies face the ocean, and the pool is a lagoon, complete with white sand covering all 11000 sq m of the floor. Stunning is an understatement.

But the sultan’s brother didn’t stop there; the hotel also boasts several shops, 5-6 restaurants, water sports rental (for kayaking in the aforementioned lagoon), 2 private beaches, 2 lookout points, a full golf course, spa, and probably a bit more. It’s a miniature city, and is it any wonder I never actually got to see the rest of Brunei?

Not entirely true – I did see some oil rigs, and Shell Oil-owned homes. But the highlight, of course, is the Empire.

Pure palm oil isn’t bad, of course. It’s high in beta-carotene, and many other vitamins. It has a high smoking point, and when sustainably harvested can be a significant source of income for small shareholder farmers.

But since when do we (by that I tend to mean, Americans) like to leave a good thing alone? Instead, we’ve mass-produced palm oil and turned it into a lucrative commodity, refining it down to the point where it adds a requisite texture to processed foods. and not much in the way of nutritional value. Not to mention, the social and environmental impact – farmers selling their valuable (to themselves and to the global community) tropical forest land for palm oil companies to grow sterile unpretty tracts of palm trees.

The reminder is glaring in Borneo. As you drive deeper into the rainforest, you see rows and rows of palm trees, neatly lined up and clearly artificial, devoid of life and a major disappointment for those of us who are keen to see a bit of mother nature at her most turbulently beautiful. You see palm fruit lying on the ground. Perfectly manicured palm fronds swaying in the breeze. But no undergrowth. No birds. No monkeys. No elephants. In sum, no jungle at all, but a massive commercial farm like you’d see in Iowa or Ohio, but with a slightly more exotic plant.

When you do see jungle, it’s astonishing in its savage finery. Riots of green, ropey vines, mixed vegetation, a dozen or so birdcalls, and occaisonal flashes of hands? feet? tails? trunks? Something is visible amidst the dense growth of flora that has grown unchecked and unchanged for eons. But sadly, this true forest is dwindling swiftly, and more and more of the jungle of Borneo (particuarly along the large rivers) is losing ground to commercial greed, for which we all share a little bit of blame.

I ended up at a little place in a village called Santubong, right on the South China Sea. It’s really quite astonishing to go from living in a land-locked country to seeing so much water. I’ve pretty much spent the past 2 months near (or right on) the ocean, and I’m still overwhelmed by the vastness. In Santubong I stayed in a cute little retreat, far away from the real world and quite idyllic. It was the perfect getaway and soooo relaxing after running around Sabah.

Then it was off to Mulu Caves to meet my cousin. Mulu is a World Heritage site, and while it’s something to see, it’s not quite as phenomenal as I was expecting. Partly, it’s been built up for tourism, so you feel a bit like cattled being herded through the caves. I realize, of course, that you can get off the beaten path (go to the Pinnacles for example), but it’s kind of a lot of effort. And since Borneo is such an easy place to travel, and perfect for the lazy traveler, it’s a bit hard to muster the energy to attempt a trek through the jungle. And yes, I realize how silly that sounds. The whole point of going to Borneo is to trek through the jungle, but since when have I been the typical traveler?

So I did the spa tour of Borneo instead. Starting in Mulu, heading to Miri, and then Bandar Seri Begawan. The hotels are beautiful, the ocean views gorgeous, the beds enormous, the sunsets fantastic, the spas blissful. Nothing like a scrub/soak/massage/facial extravaganza to make life goooood.

This is the nice part of traveling (not-so-nice part: so sick of my clothes!) – being able to change up your plans and, on a whim, check into a fancy-schmancy hotel (with a movie theatre!!) and eat nachos by an 11000 sq m pool.

In Seoul now. More spas. But sadly, it’s cold. I miss the warmth of Borneo already.

But in this conversation, we hit upon an important point. To work because you want to, and not because you have it, is a really small but majorly significant thing. For some of us, it means the difference between misery and happiness. Knowing that you are doing what you do because you love it is an intensely rewarding experience.

Which brings me to the subject of debt. It’s probably not a surprise to anyone (or actually, maybe it is), but I used to carry a large amount of debt. Embarrassingly, it’s not even “good” debt, but more the accumulation of random spending sprees on nothing important. But it adds up when you don’t pay attention, and my creditors loved me.

They still love me, but maybe not so much now that I net them no interest (on the other hand, they don’t have to worry about my defaulting). I paid off my debts in a very short amount of time, once I decided it had to go. And it’s probably the best thing I’ve ever done for myself.

Because here’s the thing. There’s nothing wrong with random spending sprees on nothing whatsoever. What’s wrong is when you don’t actually have that money to spend. Living on borrowed funds isn’t much more fun than living on borrowed time.

Ironically, being in debt was helpful for my ability to save – once the debt was paid off, the additional money went into savings, and frugal lifestyle changes I had incorporated managed to stick. There’s room to breathe, of course, hence my current 2 month vacation, but there’s also a sense of fiscal responsibility (even on vacation) that I think will always stick with me.

So today, when I walk into the restaurant for dinner, I’m going to order whatever sounds tastiest, and not have to worry about whether I can afford it. Because I can. No regrets.

In some ways, I’m reminded of that book right now as I sit here in an internet cafe. I’m halfway through my decadent yoga holiday, in which, for two weeks, I do nothing but sit on the beach, do yoga, and eat fish curry.

All of which I am doing (though less fish curry and more banana lassi and thoran, I find). But that’s not all. I also diligently sweep my room and clean my bathroom every day, and wash my clothes (by hand) every few days. I’m also planning next moves (ie, Borneo and Korea), job hunting, getting my eyebrows threaded, figuring out how to pack everything, working out my finances, and basically everything else I do when I’m not on yoga holiday.

Which all leads me to think two somewhat different but in some ways similar things: 1) that “vacation” is an exotic-sounding term we use to describe something that is NOT our regular lives (and therefore, in some ways, an unattainable nirvana), and 2) who needs vacation when we can transform our seemingly mundane daily lives into something more profound? I mean, if I still have to do laundry and wash my hair and assess my finances in nirvana, why wait til nirvana to feel like I’m on holiday?

The laundry has to get done anyway. And on vacation, I have to wash by hand – far more work than my washing machine back home. So instead of making some false distinction that makes more sense in fantasy than in reality, maybe instead I’ll take my normal, every day life and turn it into a permanent vacation.

Which I guess is a long-winded way of saying that instead of waiting for some idealized perfection in some distant future that will never happen anyway, we can just enjoy how things are in the moment, because you know, enlightenment isn’t that great. You still have to do laundry.