It was exactly a year ago this month that the GoFundMe campaign to Help Wayan Change Her Life was launched. You responded with speed and generosity to exceed our monetary goal. Wayan was grateful and excited about her future.
But Covid still raged internationally and as quickly as potential opportunities for work abroad appeared, they evaporated. Meanwhile, economic conditions in Bali worsened.
Wayan’s sister has a farm in Bedugul near the three lakes, Beratan, Buyan, and Tamblingan. Every day, Wayan motorbiked 1 1/2 hours from her home in AbangSongan to her sister’s farm. From there, she took vegetables to the night market in Denpasar, another hour-and-a-half ride. She sat at her little stand selling produce. At dawn, she packed up and biked to Kintamani, again 1 1/2 hours away, where she cooked for a small cafe during the day. During this time, hers was the only income supporting her parents and two younger sisters.
Sometimes, she stopped at my house, exhausted. When do you sleep, Wayan? To say I was concerned about her would be an understatement. She said she didn’t sleep, she only worked, but sometimes she had a day off from the cafe. Then she slept.
That horrific schedule continued for months until the cafe closed for lack of business. Covid was still taking its devastating toll. The money for Wayan’s future sat in the bank and at times her belief that her dream could be realized grew dim. She asked my advice about alternatives. Should she open a cafe with the money? Should she study to be a midwife in Bali?
My response was always the same. People gave this money to help you change your life. They trust me to honor that commitment. If you stay in Bali, Wayan, your life won’t change. Please don’t give up.
About two months ago, she started the application process again. Since I’m now in the U.S., I asked a close friend in Bali if she would manage the money and give it to Wayan as she needed it. There were medical exams. The agency had to be paid. Government documents prepared. Each step required funds. Wayan sent photos of the paperwork noting the amounts and my friend set up times and places to meet her with the cash.
First, Wayan interviewed for a position in a hotel in Dubai. She was turned down for lack of experience. Her confidence sagged. Her agent told her about The Ned. She rallied and applied. The hotel’s representative said that of all the applicants, her English was the best.
Imagine the thrill when I awoke this morning to the news! Wayan messaged that she was one of eight chosen out of 150 who applied. The Ned is a brand new, five-star hotel opening in Doha, Qatar. She’ll begin in September.
I’m sure you’ve wondered what became of your donations. It’s with great pleasure (and relief!) that I share this news. Your money is launching Wayan, catapulting her toward her dream. Please read the acceptance letter offering her the job.
The 2000 Qatari riyal (QAR) she will be paid monthly is the equivalent of $550 USD. Her lodging and transportation to and from work will be provided by the hotel. She’ll have 30 days of paid vacation each year during her three-year contract. After two years of service, the hotel will cover roundtrip airfare to Bali so she can visit her family.
No one deserves this more than Wayan does. What a worker! I’m amazed at her persistence in the face of difficulties we in the western world cannot imagine. Now her dream is to rise in the ranks – maybe manage a hotel restaurant at some point. I have no doubt she can do whatever she puts her mind to.
Way to go, Wayan! We love you and we’re proud of you. You’re a winner, a shooting star, a fearless role model for other young women in Bali who have a dream.
I click my Ruby Red Slippers and I’m in Oz! Well, maybe not Ruby Slippers – more like warm socks with ugly shoes. And maybe not Oz, exactly…
I’m sitting on the rooftop terrace of my new home in San Miguel de Allende, thawing.
It’s been a long journey, mentally, physically, and especially emotionally. When did this transition begin?
In my heart, I could feel it three years ago. It was the kind of knowing that something had changed and something else was coming, but I had no idea what or when. Then Covid arrived and the pandemic took over the world. It stopped me in my tracks and made me face the reality of my age and the distance from my family. It created an urgency that had been absent before.
After finally getting my second vaccination, and jumping through a great many hoops, I was on the plane to the U.S. On October 4th I landed in San Francisco and spent two jetlagged weeks hiking the rocky coast along Highway 101 with Jessa and her partner, Dan.
The contrast between the U.S. and Bali stunned me. It felt so normal, so like life as I remembered it, before…
Dazed and overwhelmed I did my darndest to be in the present moment with them and integrate into the vibrant energy of California. I think I failed. I’m pretty sure I failed. On the heels of two stressful years in a destitute Bali, seeing the abundance of life-as-we-knew-it playing out before my eyes while my friends on the island suffered lockdown isolation, presented a dichotomy that hurt my heart.
So I stuffed that reality into the chamber of my mind that says, “I’ll think about this later,” and continued my cross-country journey.
In Minnesota it was an ecstatic, far too-long-awaited reunion with Jenny and Kennen and my delightful twin grandsons. We’d all aged two years since my last visit. The twins, at two and wobbly, were now four, running, bouncing, and talking non-stop. Those two little guys are incredibly well-behaved. Their patient, loving, but strict parents provide the magic formula for ultra-creative kids who could otherwise manufacture all kinds of trouble!
My sister and her husband live in northern Minnesota on the remote edge of nowhere. In a whirlwind week with them, I reconnected with many of my Norwegian relatives and friends. I drank more coffee and ate more cookies and cheesecakes than I’d had in years.
Gwen and her husband W, bought the family farm. She knows me better than anyone and we share a common history, common that is until I moved to Hawaii. A year later, she moved to Arizona. Covid reunited us through emails. We’ve maybe missed three days of correspondence since February 2020. I love my sister. Now my logical Capricorni-ness understands her quirky Gemini-ness far better than I used to.
My daughters and their partners are wise, wonderful adults coping unbelievably well in their individual, unique circumstances. I’m so proud of them. I had one more family to see.
Joy and Kellen and my two grandaughters welcomed me into their busy boisterous lives with open arms, bountiful snuggles, and affectionate kisses. Two years ago, my newborn granddaughter had raven black hair and screeched whenever Mommy was on the phone with Granny. Now she’d turned two with golden curls, a bubbly, joyful child. And my five-year-old granddaughter, in Kindergarten full time, is a budding zoologist. She stores more facts about animals in her head than I ever knew. Their dad, Kellen, maintains a loving, much-needed order in that household of independent females which was especially appreciated while Joy and I spent hours brainstorming ideas for her business. She also gave me great feedback for a new service I’m considering. More on that another time!
All this while, I kept reading the news from Bali. My original plan was to fly back to San Francisco for one last week with Jessa and Dan then return to Indonesia. My ticket was for Dec. 6th. But the rules were strict and inescapable: if I went back I would have to quarantine in a hotel in Jakarta for 10 days at my own expense, and the devastating economic circumstances in Bali hadn’t changed.
Sitting in front of the fireplace on a chilly evening in Pennsylvania with the girls burrowed close on either side of me, I agonized.
The last thing I wanted to do was return to Bali with a new variant, Omicron, bringing more uncertainty. Over the past two years, I’d come to the conclusion that I wanted, and needed, to be closer to my U.S. family. Mexico, it seemed, was the logical option. Why not check it out before going back? See if it was a fit. I had friends in San Miguel de Allende.
Suddenly that seemed like the most common-sense idea I’d ever had. I spent a couple of hours on the phone with Singapore Airlines. They finally agreed to change my return ticket to January 4th, 2022, with a valid reason and another $50 added to the original price. I hoped I could trust the old saying: Take a step and the path will appear. The Universe seemed to be showing the way.
That’s when I clicked my Ruby Red Ugly Shoes!
ReAnn Scott (My Home On The Roam) welcomed me with overwhelming hospitality. In the first eight days, I met more people, had more invitations, (even played Rummikub with a group of fifteen people that meets weekly) than I’ve ever before in my life experienced. Everyone was friendly, inclusive, and best of all, interesting.
With ReAnn’s help, I found a house to rent that exceeded my wildest hopes. Another piece of the puzzle clinked into place.
Years ago, when I was trying desperately to figure out who I was, I made a list of things I love. Not people, things. One item on the list was: Sunlight streaming through French doors.
This house has five sets of double French doors.
I wanted to live on the second floor. The house is built above a first-floor garage/storage/laundry space. The living quarters are on the second floor.
I wanted a rooftop terrace. I have that, too, with a 360° view of San Miguel de Allende.
I wanted to be in the area called Centro which is close to the town center and I needed rooms with plenty of open space drenched in light. There are huge skylights in every room and it’s a fifteen-minute walk to the famous cathedral, Parroquia de San Miguel Arcángel, that occupies the place of honor in the heart of the city.
I had a budget. The rental amount was within the parameters I’d set.
Last but not least, it had to be a Mexican-style home, not new construction void of all personality. Plaster walls, a wood-beamed ceiling, bright Mexican tiles…it had everything I wanted plus a kitchen that would make a professional chef jealous!
The Universe laughed and I knew instantly this house was mine. I paid the deposit and moved in the next day. That was fourteen days ago.
And now I know won’t be returning to The Island of the Gods on January 4th. I have a 180-day visa for Mexico and I intend to extend that permanently. This already feels like home.
This morning I journaled for the first time in over a month. In a few paragraphs, tears were flooding the pages and smearing the ink. That chamber where I’d stuffed those vulnerable feelings about Bali and the friends I was leaving behind cracked open. I sobbed for a long time.
As I write this, grief wells up again.
I had ten phenomenal years there. My dear Ketut and his family helped me grow, learn, and heal some very old wounds. He was my closest friend, loyal employee, and wise teacher. I’ve written about Ketut and our hair-raising motorbike adventures many times over the years.
His family accepted me as their own.
Perhaps deep in my subconscious I knew I wouldn’t be back but couldn’t face the goodbyes to him and so many others: Nina, who became like a daughter.
My friends in the Ubud Writer’s Group who challenged me to edit, edit, edit!
Mu and Shane who provided laughter, deep philosophical conversations, and loving support.
The courageous and beautiful Sriy Sinawati who will one day follow her dream…
And many more…so many goodbyes unsaid…
And yet, I know this is the right place at the right time for me. A new adventure for this dreamer. Won’t you please, come along…?
Mysterious Indonesia, the largest island country in the world, is made up of over 17,000 separate island provinces. Most of them have their own language, their own religions, rituals, and customs. The country spreads in a graceful curve just north of Australia and has the world’s fourth largest population.
I’m reminded of the Tower of Babel story – in reverse. According to that tale, the Babylonians were building a magnificent city that would touch the heavens. They wished to make a name for themselves. God foiled their plans by confusing their language.
They could no longer understand each other so all work ceased.
Indonesian leaders realized the only way they were going to successfully govern such a mixed bag of rugged individualists was to create a national language and make it mandatory throughout the entire educational system. So when the country gained it’s independence in 1945, that’s what they did. That action emphasized and underscored Indonesia’s motto: Unity in diversity.
Because this diverse population is able to communicate with each other, the people, goods and wonders of all the islands often intersect.
In Bali, I’ve come to expect the unexpected. Opportunities to experience vastly different cultures and viewpoints present themselves daily. At the same time, the potential for misunderstanding is huge. Patience is essential and waiting until all have had their say, then coming to an agreement that suits everyone is diplomacy at its best. “Good for me, good for you,” is a familiar phrase in Bali indicating a satisfactory compromise.
The Balinese have also mastered kesabaran.* They sit for hours in full temple dress waiting for the high priest to arrive so a ceremony can begin. Unlike us in the West, they don’t expect anything to happen fast, not in ceremony, not in life.
I’ve sat with them on the ground, sweating in my corset and lace, eaten by ants. But when it begins…OMG! The pageantry, the ritual, the sound and color make me forget the hours of discomfort.
Wayan’s journey is proving to be no exception. As we go forward, we make new contacts and realize there isn’t just one option available. Right now we’re in the process of researching an offer that would allow her to begin training sooner and work abroad more quickly.
Every step advances Wayan’s adventure. It thrills me to see how willing people are to help this young woman achieve what very few in her position can hope for. All of you who donated so freely are the ones making this possible.
Hang on, friends! I’ll keep you posted as we go. This promises to be an exciting ride!
writing for self-discovery 
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