How to Ponder, Parts I and II

Thinking rock, Table Mountain, Cape Town

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Shut up. I didn't sprain my brain. For the past six months, I've been going, going, going without much thought to anything. Go here. Work on that. Help this kid. Now help the other one. Run. Eat. Sleep. Get up and do it all over again. It has been, to put it mildly, unsatisfying. Aside from the obvious reasons for being excited about South Africa--a chance to work on a standout project at work, and to see some bona fide awesome stuff--the trip was a chance for me to be alone. To stop. To think. About stuff.

Once I finished up in Jo'burg, I wanted to take a few days to not travel (four days of flying plus only four days on the ground in SA = tired, old me.) So I booked a cheap flight and a cheap, cute hotel in Cape Town to just get away. From everything. Cape Town is gorgeous--like suck-in-your-breath, ohmigod, GORGEOUS gorgeous. And I say that after living in nothing BUT gorgeous places for the last 19 years. The waterfront reminds me of Santa Monica, with a nice big promenade, a worn-out little area for train rides and Putt Putt and other activities, an eclectic mix of folks, and an inordinate number of people sleeping under trees. After Jo'burg, where the main afternoon activity seemed to be stressing out about whether you were going to be mugged, it was nice to be in a city where, at least during daylight hours, the main goal seemed to be bagging a few z's in the sunshine.

Yet another perfect day for a stroll.

I spent the first few days just walking. Exploring the shops, watching the people, talking to laid-back locals about their favorite topics--namely, wine and how much Jo'burg sucks. The last day I took a tram to the top of Table Mountain--the big flat mountaintop that casts a protective shadow over Cape Town. After days of driving and working and a series of seriously crappy phone calls, I knew what I wanted to do--WALK. So I walked and walked and walked through the low-lying fog and dry mountainscape, on trails that wound their way through an explosion of wildflowers. When my feet were covered with blisters and I could walk no more, I sat on a rock that overlooked the Cape of Good Hope and the blue, blue water and attempted to process the enormous amount of information that has been swirling in my head for a year. Life. Work. Knees. I had no answers, but at least I got to finally ask the questions.

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Amazing, yes?

I prefer to think while I'm moving, or at least outside. But now I am neither. This morning I went into a nice hospital-like place where they knocked me out and repaired this nasty little ligament in my knee that has been cramping my style for several months now. The surgery went very well--according to my doctor, I have the hamstrings of a 200-pound-man (my first thoughts: 1. But then how does he walk? [Really, I crack myself up.] and 2. I certainly hope we're talking about strength and quality and not girth. I rarely hear men talking about women and their hot big hamstrings.)

But now, I am here on my couch with my leg nicely propped and icing, in a pleasant Vicodin haze. And with nothing to do but think. It is the anti-me. But it is a golden opportunity for me to: JUST. STOP. Stop moving or feeling responsible for the world. Stop worrying about work sucking or whether or not my knee is going to blow out on me--because god knows that train has left the station. I get to rest and be taken care of. And hopefully I get to blog often, and on Vicodin, which could be quite amusing for you all. But I've really never done this before. I'm not very good at it. I'd like to see improvement. So we shall see.