Singapore, this time

It's the conversations I love most, those that wander more widely as one pitcher of cold beer turns into many pitchers of beer, because you find out in the real world the average person does not want to talk in depth about specific goals for December next year, and what country they want to travel to next (Myanmar would be amazing, but due to their first democratic elections, the Philippines would be more relaxing, while Nepal continues to suffer from a string of bad luck). They do not want to talk about the psychology around going to the gym, or not going to the gym, or the sociological merits of monogamy at three in the morning. They do not understand why a customized leather kindle case means more than a brand new car ever would, because in a present that thoughtful everything you need to know about kindness and generosity and human connection can be found. Most are too busy and pressed to grab a bottle and just walk around the Singapore Marina observing all the strange things that pass you by, before ascending the Marina Bay Sands and drinking $20 dollar negronis as smog blows in from Indonesia and blocks out the sun.

It's been that way for years, really, as far back as I can remember, through shifts in a restaurant, the hours after a triathlon, and the sprawling youthful Saturdays with nothing to do but go through boxes of pizza and watch college football games. It happened like this in Austin and Guatemala and New York City and Kuala Lumpur. It happened on a car ride up to Louisville, Kentucky, and back from Shiner, Texas, and another one all the way up to a small place tucked away under Sri Lankan tea plantations. These are situations you can copy and paste in every corner of the world and each time it is good and maybe even a little bit better because time has gone by and there is more life to both catch up on and think back to. It is built for the sentence that begins, "remember that time..." and you think back and remember that time not exactly wanting it to be that time again, but certainly observing the merits of all those many stages of life now gone.

In all of it you realize how rare these groups of human beings are in the world, those where simplicity and authenticity are everything, fresh and adaptable to any circumstance, always keeping to its core. You realize you are lucky to have these unspoken things hard to put your finger on, those subtle comforts, that dose of sanity, which are always just a hop, skip, and a jump away from a place that more often than not pressures you to wear a mask, look normal, eat dull dinners, and blend in with crowds.