My Experiments in Trust: Part One

A couple of months ago I embarked on a journey to Asia. Some of the plan was cemented (i.e. when I would arrive and when I would leave). Some parts were less so (i.e. mostly everything else), but one thing was certain, I was being propelled into this journey by surrendering to a calling in my heart and I would have to trust to get through.

Gandhi named his autobiography Experiments in Truth and, though I could never claim the same wisdom of Gandhi, I hope to echo the source of it, as I believe the same force is guiding me as is attempting to guide us all: LOVE.

I delighted myself in flipping through his "Experiments" as I sat in hole-in-the-wall (literally) restaurants in the Indian parts of Malaysia; captivated by the lively and beautiful Indian culture, I allowed them to welcome me in any way they liked (which included a situation where two shopkeepers changed my nose-ring in a very sweaty misunderstanding). I enjoyed being a regular visitor to the same places in the Highlands of the North. I enjoyed seeing the same people as I sat by the glorious open windows and drank my locally-grown-tea, honey-milk style.

It was, however, not in my quiet reflections from my regular seat at the restaurant, but rather in a rickety old bucket seat on the most terrifying bus-ride of my life back to Kuala Lumpur that I realized Experiments in Trust would be just the perfect name for the trip I was living.

I would be happy to reveal several of my experiments to you as they are deemed relevant in the coming months, but let me share just one for now:

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This story finds its beginnings nearly 3 years ago.

Imagine getting onto a night train at midnight. Their air is cool, though July in Ljubljana, Slovenia is quite warm, so it's that pleasant coolness where the warmth hangs on too and the cool winds are met with the rising heat from the concrete beneath your sandals. You've just said goodbye to your pseudo-cousin who-you-love-and-admire-very-much and step onto the train, Munich-bound, and eventually bound for your Kansas-home. You're looking forward to an empty compartment and a bit of good rest to energize you for your long flights and instead- well, instead you get to your cabin and find that the only open seat is in the corner by the window. The compartment, upon first glance, seems to have too many legs. Everyone is crammed and you have to jump and hurdle over them to find your place. It's not easy... But your initial disappointment of the jam-packed space is met with delight as you see the space for what it IS filled with: 15 strangers who've conquered the loner-tendencies of the 21st century and have managed to forge friendships even in the fact of eminent parting-ways. I lose no time in making jokes and telling stories and getting to know these folks around me. Naturally, I spend the most time in conversation with the man to my immediate left: A Portuguese guy named Pedro. He's great! Also a graduate student and has a heart for seeing the world. Perfect.

As the train chugs on along, northwest bound, the compartment gradually drifts off to sleep. I am no exception, although my compromised space around the luggage on the floor does not make for the best night's rest. I wake up several times because I've just accidentally assaulted Pedro in his sleep. His reaction is always gracious: Laughing and joking and exchanging a few words with me before returning to the half-sleep we travelers have become accustomed to.

Sometime around 6 am my girl-from-Kansas-not-used-to-public-transportation fears get the best of me and I slip out of my seat to prepare to make a quick jump off the train. Now, you must remember that we strangers are sitting very close and my seat is basically as far away from the door as possible... and if you know me from outside of this blog, then you surely also recall that I am anything but smooth, especially when it comes to things like walking. SO I unintentionally wake up the entire compartment. Oh well- it gives me a chance to bid them farewell.

But the world is graciously not-so-large after-all, and goodbyes are not so determinate in this 21st century.

As I am waiting for the Munich Platform to focus, Pedro taps me on the shoulder. He gives me his email and a proper goodbye... because sometimes people should just keep in touch.

And so we did.
Somewhere, sometime after I'd gotten home, I stumbled across his email address and shot him a line. His response was comprehensive and full and a real friendship was born. We both allowed ourselves to trust a train friend who seemed interesting and thought it was worthwhile to keep in touch.

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How does all of this relate to Asia?
Because on the 16th of December, 2012, approximately 2.5 years after catching that midnight train from Ljubljana to Munich, I arrived in Kuala Lumpur and knocked on the door of my train friend with a back-pack and a week to kill. No hope or agenda, beyond letting a deep-seeded friendship nurture.


There is something incredibly human about trusting semi-strangers (or full strangers...).
About letting someone take you in and care for you.
And I think that there is something incredibly inhuman about having someone trust you that you've just met. I don't know what causes that disconnect- that fear of being trusted even when a part of you is apt to trust.

I suppose that if you throw a million stones,
take a thousand shots,
shoot a hundred arrows...
and everything is just enough off
It's impossible to believe something will catch you.

But if you hit your target. Just once.
If you're one of the lucky few.
If fortune turns toward you at the beginning of it all...
                                                   [...like she did me]

Well then you might just keep trusting. and knock on that door.
                                                          or open it.


I am thankful that I was somehow taught to trust people. I don't think that came from my own wisdom. It didn't even come from my friends. Nor my parents. God gave me that gift - I think. I trust that, at least.

And I trust my friend Pedro. I am thankful for that midnight ride to Munich. I am thankful for the emails. For the help and listening he chose to give willingly. I am thankful to meet a man and speak to each other outside of the TV-sitcom lure of lust. I am thankful that Pedro is, in fact, incredibly wonderful. And I am thankful that, though the world is big, and though pain is real, and though shit really does happen, there is still goodness found threaded throughout it all. You can still trust a train friend to be just a train friend, welcoming in an interesting stranger because it's good.