After landing a great software gig with Solar Winds, in Austin, and having worked there for a full quarter--everything was judged by quarterly success--I recaptured a vast amount of personal confidence, which I had lost in the years of my marriage. After the mess I created in my previous career and having failed to secure a full time radio gig, the collapse of my marriage and a host of other messes I finally regained my 'center,' that core of hope and faith that propels me forward under the most daunting of circumstances. More than any other aspect of my 'center' faith and hope are the keys. (Not faith in a religious sense, however, just faith that all will work out for the best.) Hope builds confidence, and faith feeds off of it--so that I came to that place in life where I simply enjoyed living. My love affair with life had resumed. And this is not to be underestimated--at least not for me. No longer was I just 'going through the motions.' I was alive and enjoying every minute of it. The work was grueling, but the successes--and the plaudits I got from co-workers and superiors--created a virtuous circle. And, more importantly, or so I thought at the time, the urge to wander was under control.

More after the jump.

And then came Singapore. And yet, even before Singapore--I was making decent money and saving a lot if it--I found myself slipping into old, comfortable habits. Buying clothes I could afford, but that were stupidly overpriced. That was the first hint that something was amiss. So, I jumped at the chance to go to Singapore and try and break out of--or break altogether--bad habits: call it the habit of consuming out of boredom. Unaware to me at the time as well, my center was shifting again. (Funny how denial can be so subtle, isn't it?) So, I thought to myself, "hey Singapore, lots of distractions, new experiences and whatnot. Plus, I can get back to what is important: living with what I have and try and push past what I 'want.'"

But something else was happening at the same time. I kept denying it to myself but it was growing, and fast, the call of the road.

I've wrestled with this urge for 15 years now. It played a large part in the failure of my marriage too. What is it about the 'road' or wanderlust, or whatever you want to call it, that has such a hold on me? My father, who has a slight case of the bug himself, once asked me, "are you running away from something?"

"I might be," I replied.

Of course, my wife badgered me endlessly about it, asking, "when will it ever be enough for you?" After five years of marriage it's safe to say I internalized a lot of this criticism and I do still wonder: am I running away from something? And if so, what?

I once read a quote by Charles Bukowski late in his life when asked if he thought about death a lot? He replied, "not as much as I did when I was 17." At 38 I can see the wisdom in his answer. And it fits into how I see the whole 'running away' question now. Sure, I think about it and ask myself the question. But not as much as I used to.

And so, I found myself in Singapore with a whole panoply of new distractions. But they weren't the right kind of distractions and I soon found myself slipping further and further away from my center. First, the work quickly became a drudgery of sorts, a daily chore, watching the clock just waiting until India closed for business, then home, eat and sleep. I stopped reading, spent too much time and money partying on the weekends--so full of pent up angst I was. Very quickly I found myself in a place I swore I would never be in again: just going through the motions.

It happened fast too. I arrived in Singapore on July 30, 2008. On August 30 I wrote in my journal: "I hate what I've become. One of them. Living in fear, gloomy."

A few days later I wrote, "can't look myself in the mirror anymore. Not good."

On the 6^th of September I rebounded a bit and wrote, "the darkness seemed to have passed. At least temporarily." But the next day it returned in full force.

I went to the local Buddhist Temple, named after the Goddess of Mercy, Kuan-yin, prayed, meditated and tried in desperate terror to find my vital center. All I heard was 'get out.' But I was at war with myself now. 'Get out' meant failure. 'Get out' meant running away, again.

The next morning as I shaved, with much difficulty I looked myself in the eyes. The shock of recognition was profound. The message clear. I saw who I was. There was no denial, no terror, no fear. I understood. 'Get out,' meant get on with your life. Stop living the way other people suppose you should and start living as you want. 'Get out,' didn't mean I was running away. It meant I had something to run towards.

And so, I climbed a wall of fear, began taking action and let go of predetermined outcomes and preconceived expectations. And soon, almost magically, my hope and faith were restored.

Do any of us really know what is out there? Not really. We just have to take the path we are meant to--or let me rephrase this in a less deterministic way. We all have choices, families, obligations and how we balance them is the sum of our life. For me the choice was clear: climb the wall of fear and then leap off it, or live a life of 'going through the motions.'

Today I choose to leap. For good or ill, whether it is right or wrong, whether I am running away or towards something doesn't matter. To paraphrase Eddie Vedder, "I know all the rules, but the rules don't own me."