This Man Walked In

In mysticism they teach that fate is the thematic trajectory of your life, which can play out in many different ways. Destiny is the most optimal resolution of the thematic material, where every loose end is tied, every adversity overcome in the most optimal way, where the audience is in perfect suspense and feels perfectly satisfied by the hero’s journey.

If I’m the writer of my own script, how would some of my most heart opening experiences resolve with grace, because I’m not always so graceful. I’m human, and I close my heart. I’m human, and I fail to see all of myself, know all of myself, and share her.

What if?

The day we met, I was glowing. I had just come off a retreat where I had explored the beauty of my voice and my body. I was radiant, confident, and ready to connect.

Literally the day I got back, four days prior, I had walked into a party, glowing and found myself tumbling the night away with a very handsome, exciting foreigner passing through. He was only passing through.

This night, I was invited to another birthday party to sing. Honestly, this party was more my speed with a significantly smaller pool of people mingling and getting to know one another. It felt wholesome.

Another fun and wholesome component of this party was this murder mystery game, right out of the 1920s Gatsby era. I was assigned the character of Sophie. Regardless of this omen of wisdom, I barely had a chance. I was terrible at gathering information. Not my talent.

At some point, I was clumsily engaging in sneaky subterfuge when this man walked up to me. He was wearing a navy blue fedora with hair past his shoulders, a light button down straight out of a cuban mafia film, and his face was scowling.

Somehow he knew who I was already.

“I’m Woody and I’m not supposed to like you.”

What a line!

My character was a young film crew manager, and he was my boss’s friend helping out by shooting our next documentary. She, apparently, thought he was lazy, and he kinda knew this.

Hopping into character, I asked him what he was finding out. “Well, not much.”

“Ok, well, we need this film to go well and if we can figure out who is hosting this shindig, we may turn this documentary around.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Take good film.”
“And! Find out who Mr. X is!”

Before returning begrudgingly to his job, he unfolds his arms and his face beams as he offers his hand, “Hi, I’m Dan by the way.” I was completely shocked by the sudden change. Curmudgeon was a face he wore well, but so was this new face, kind and effervescent.

“Kendra.” I shook his hand.

Later in the evening, I offered my performance, singing with all my heart. Dan approached me after, “You’re the singer!”

Again, apparently he already knew who I was.

We chatted and I learned that he was a musician, particularly a pianist. Those were rare in Bali and I’d had unfavorable experiences in so much of my past with bad pianists. As a singer, I knew I’d found a jewel on this island where most musicians played hand pan.

Before the party was over, I was sure to exchange information with him.

The next week we met for tacos.

We had the most stimulating conversation about music. My biggest take away was what he said about performing with musicians who are more skilled than yourself, “You automatically play better! I remember that I had this one song that I played on my own over and over and could never play it without making lots of mistakes. I got the opportunity to hop on stage with a bunch of veterans, and for the first time, I played it perfectly.”

To me, his anecdote was energy exchange in its highest form, a truly transcendent, spiritual experience. For him, it was a social and skill demonstration of the scientific theory of osmosis. Two perspectives co-existing harmoniously in a Mexican eatery in Bali. It couldn't have been more picturesque, except it was. The Santa Fe mural behind him perfectly framed his head, like a halo of sagebrush and cactus. I couldn’t help but take a picture.

After our first rendezvous, I told him that I was going to call him, “Woody.” I liked how it fit all of his personality so well.

“As you wish.”

He told me he had a choir; it probably wasn’t on my level, but he was happy to collaborate and play for me.

Soon, we had a show in the works. Some of my best arias. Rehearsing was a blast. I sang, “Although he may not be the man some girls think of as handsome, to my heart he carries the key,” as I teased that I would come circle him during the performance on this line.

“Gee, thanks!” He said with a sarcastic laugh.

The next two months, I invited him to collaborate, to attend concerts with me, and I started attending his choir. He felt like home to me, so I wanted to be around Woody all the time.

He didn’t seem to mind.

Being friends with Woody was easy. We had much to talk about, from our shared love of music and the voice to making fun or agonizing over the spiritual elitism that plagued the expats of Ubud. He spoke Bahasa fluently and I admired how much care he put into this. I spoke very little, but it was important to me and we would talk about the cultural differences and lessons the Balinese had taught us. Some of his friends became mine as well. A fantastic hula-hooping, blue haired Brit with a degree in physics 

During the dinner, I told him that I had been out with one of the choir members and, now, mutual friend.

“She asked if there was anything romantic between the two of us.” I said.

“What did you say?” He said this with such stifled, excited yet apprehensive emotion that I took note.

I shrugged because I didn’t think there was anything else to say but the truth, “No.”

Kind of like the energy exchange between musicians on stage, there was more in this conversational exchange than words.

I really wasn’t sure what to do though. Woody, for all of his sweetness and charm, wasn’t what I thought I was looking for. Woody was wholesome, and I wanted this handsome, exciting foreigner to come back into my life and sweep me away. As magnetic as he was, drawing me out during hell or high water to sing in his unpretentious community choir, I simply didn’t see us that way. I was happy to have a musician friend and, praise all gods, a good pianist to sing with.

I also enjoyed the fact that he was not remotely woo-woo. You see, Bali is full of people on these spiritual pilgrimages. They would reject the old world, almost demonize it because of how much it held them back, failing to realize they were holding themselves back.

With Woody, I could make all the jokes I wanted about kirtan, cacao ceremonies, ayahuasca, and more. It felt good to not be taking my own spirituality so seriously.

We continued to rehearse and perform. His choir concert was a highlight for me. It was so… wholesome! I was moved by how supportive and loving the community was and the joy that emerged from the people singing with me on stage was an energy far beyond the attainment of the perfect resolution of a diminished seventh chord.

We had a movie night with our mutual friend not long after this. At the end of that night, when we parted, he gave me the longest, deepest hug. I didn’t know how to respond except to receive, and smile as he squeezed my hand before parting. I felt something shifting.

A few weeks later, we were scheduled to perform my concert. I became incredibly ill and had to cancel.

Woody was leaving for the states in two days, and we hadn’t had much time to hang out. So, I invited him over in lieu of having a last hurrah on stage together.

We ordered greek in and I made his favorite ginger and lemon tea, perfect for two singers. We had a nice dinner and then watched a movie together on a bed of pillows at the back of my villa. He kept a respectable distance for me. It was wholesome.

After the movie was over, we talked for a bit about what a trip it was to watch this childhood show again and,  how “No wonder it gave us nightmares.”

The candles were burning and he noted the late hour and his tiredness. I smiled, and said the whole point of the candles was to help me wind down.

Long silence.

“So… should we talk about this tension because you can cut it?”

I turned toward him, seeing him nervous in the candlelight. I hadn’t seen this before. It felt so natural the way he held me in a long embrace and then smiled and squeezed my hand in affection only a few weeks prior. He’d been sitting on this a while.

So had I.

“Woody,” I smiled, “of course let’s talk. Would you mind holding me while we talk?”

“Come on over,” he said while opening his strong arms for me to crawl into.

“This is nice,” I said.

“Yeah. Why weren’t we doing this during the movie?” He joked at his own timidity.

“I think it’s better this way,” I said.

“Woody, It was so wonderful to feel this new affection from you. After our long embrace and the way you squeezed my hand, I was pleasantly surprised. I honestly only thought of you as a friend up until that moment.”

“Really!?”

“I mean, I sensed something in the way your voice rose when I said that our friend had asked if we were romantically involved, but I like to go off harder evidence when it comes to these things.”

“That is wise,” he nodded as he spoke.

“Not sure how I felt, I had to take my time the last few weeks to really examine what’s going on for my part.”

“I would expect nothing less from you.”

He knows me so well. Sometimes it feels like we can read each other like a book. Sometimes.

“Woody, I love you. You are an absolutely incredible human in my life. You’re a breath of fresh air on this spiritually blind island, like the Balinese, but also more familiar because we share a cultural background. I love spending time with you. I realize that, although the choir is a humbling and restorative experience for me, I go because I enjoy being around you. I make it a priority because you’re a priority in my life.”

“Wow! It feels really good to hear you say that.”

“I’m not done.”

“I love that I found a pianist here. I’ve struggled to have a good accompanist my whole life. You’re handsome, you’re so easy to talk to. I laugh so much when I’m with you. I love that I can tease you. I feel calm when I’m with you. In many ways, you’re the man who carries the key to my heart, just like the song. I’ve even been wanting someone like you, who supports my voice and is so easy to be with. You’re incredible.”

“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming.”

“And, you’re perceptive. It’s not really a ‘but.’ It’s more of a, ‘The truth is...’”

“Haha,” I bounced on his chest because his laughter is so deep.

“The truth is that I don’t think it’s wise to open myself up to a romantic relationship. I know myself, and if I did, I’d fall so hard and I’d want to do everything to be with you. It’s not good timing for that, and I want to do things differently this time, take it much slower. Hati, hati.”

“And!” I interrupt before he can respond, “I care so much about you that I want you to stay in my life. I want to continue to be supported by you and to support you. The other truth is that, with all of my health issues lately, I’m seriously reconsidering if I should stay in Bali. I’m starting to look into where I should go next, some place to continue my healing where my body and voice can be well too. So, will you consider another option?” I ask, almost breathless at this point.

“You talk a lot," he says, seeming to breathe for us both.

“I know. And I know that’s saying something because you can talk too!”

“One of the ‘pitfalls’ of having the voice be the focal point of your job.” He pauses.

“Hmmm… May I share something before you make your proposal?”

“Of course.”

“I’m really glad you came to Bali. I thought you were sweet and brilliant right from the start. I know I don’t say much in regards to how I feel, but I really do enjoy being around you. I really thought you were feeling something more with all the teasing and coming to choir. I knew you were on your own journey as well. I admire you for that, and I admire that you stay grounded while still following your healing journey, as you’ve described it. I am attracted to you, but I’m not ready for a relationship, especially since I’m leaving for the summer. And, truth be told, I’m not great at communicating with people here when I’m in the states. That’s also how people are here, you’ll find if you stay longer… or leave.”

“You’re a special person. I’m glad to know you.”

“I’m glad to know you too. I guess I’ll say this then, because perhaps my proposal is a bit much, but I ask that we stay in touch in some regard. No pressure. I simply want to keep you in my life right now. You inspire me.”

“You inspire me too.”

I lean into his arms and we hold each other in silence for a long while, perhaps even an hour because it’s very late when we finally let each other go.

The next day he sends me one of his songs, “Days gone by a blur, colors and sounds, nothing the same, nothing to know. Here it’s just us. Here there is peace. All that we need, and time will slow without a sound, without a word, nothing is left unsaid sitting here in sweet silence with you.”

I cry as I listen to the words. I could really fall for this guy. I feel a sad longing well up that things were different. Words begin to come to me, “when you miss their presence be present with the sunrise, love the presence in a conversation, be present with this moment and you will see it is the same.”

We share songs over the summer. I leave for the states before he returns, but we’re not able to coordinate a rendezvous, to both our disappointment. We had wonderful summers full of creativity and sharing our creations with one another. With nothing unsaid, we understand each other so well and it’s almost as though we’re losing each other, but nothing is really lost. I write a song before I leave Bali about my “best friend,” and send it to him.

He loves it.

“You know, it’s been so nice to become this close with you and share with someone who shares so much of the same musical passion…”

“We’re two peas in a pod.”

“Yes. And, I regret in some way that we didn’t have more, but I know we were being more true to ourselves.”

“It would have been a great story, I’m sure.”

“Hahahaha,” his voice fills the phone speaker and nearly blows my ear off. Oh, how I miss his intensity in person. “I’m sure we would have had a lot of fun.”

“The funnest.”

“Kendra, I’m really happy for you. You’re going to do just great. It’s good that you take such good care of yourself.”

“Thank you. I’m so glad I know you. I really miss you, and I still love you very much.”

“I love you, too.”

The end.

The truth is, this isn’t the story that happened. This is if I had known in that moment of truth what I know now. If I’d been able to stop and truly figure out and express what was going on inside of me. And, I could have regrets, so many, even that I stayed in Bali so long in spite of my health, but I did everything I did for love. I created so much. I loved so deeply, radically, rebelliously, and recklessly. The true story, for those who know it, is much more exciting, romantic, and better to tell.

My mom was watching “Sweet Home Alabama” the other day. I sat down for five minutes of the film to be hit with a wall of reflection of my own life. I ran away from Idaho to the big city and then half way around the world to have this wild ride. As I watched Mel cry about how she felt good in both her lives, a soaring in New York and a down to earth in Alabama, I could very much relate. I have lived a thousand lives already in my short thirty-six years, and each day I discover more and more.

Mel doesn’t move through this moment with grace. In fact, she makes a fool of herself by kissing her estranged husband whilst having asked for a divorce so she can marry a man from New York. The movie moves through many more moments of drama, including a perfectly timed punch right in her future mother-in-law’s mouth before running off to the beach in a thunderstorm to reunite with her childhood sweetheart. The whole movie is captivating because of the graceless fact that the characters are so fully human, fools, failures, bad communicators, and more. It’s what makes the show exciting.

What makes a destiny? The perfect plot where we know exactly what to say in the most crucial moments to avoid the biggest dramas and pitfalls? I’m not so sure. You see, the tale of me and Woody is much more like the drama of “Sweet Home Alabama,” complete with tension and tenderness, romance, frustration, and more laughter and inside jokes than you can imagine. And, even though the story seems to have ended and I find myself wondering how I lost such an incredible person in my life, it may well be that we were players in a better story than anyone could have written.

Let your imagination run wild as to what actually happened (for those of you who don’t know), and I promise you, the truth is better.

When a grumpy man walks up to you and surprises you with a turn of a smile, say yes to the ride. Hop on the roller coaster and see what happens. It may just be the roller coaster of destiny.