3 years later

As I watch the early night sky turn a brilliant spectrum of soft blues, pink, fuchsia and gold, I can see the hill of Oakland across the bay, window of homes tucked into the hills blinking and winking like tiny gils on a fish flashing in the sun. The air of course has turned its usual chilly self once the sun no longer kisses the surface around you, and as we all do, I wrap myself in a warm year round jacket, which never makes its way into a 'winter' closet. This particular one, I've rediscovered, a seaweed green fuzzy mangy thing by Mountain Hardware I bought from a blanket vendor on 16th street in the Mission past dark for $1, likely around 4 years ago.

4 years. 4 year. Wow, 4 years. Almost to the day, that's how long my traveling, vagabond soul has rested its happy, confused, passion seeking self, in amongst the indisputable vibrancy of San Francisco. I still have moments now, over 1,200 mornings later, where I wonder how long this will be, how long I will continue to rest and grow and live and learn and laugh and cry under this beautiful California sky. My oh my how my heart and fingers have longed to return to you. To you my orphaned journal.

I'm sorry for neglecting you, for wishing and wanting to write again for you, but have not, perhaps for fear of what would, or would not come out. When I first set foot here, and decided to "just stay" after a week-long conference in Monterey, I told myself, and told others who asked "how long are you going to stay? what's your plan?" I would say "as long as I'm having fun". Am I still having fun? Is it no longer just about me?

Between then and now, superficially much has changed, and I hope even more so, that much has not. It feels that I had lost my way for a bit, even here, in where was, is, or was, my passion core. And to many respects I do again wonder about what I should be doing. What is my passion? Am I living with passion now? What does passion look like? Is passion possible to maintain as a constant state, or does it ebb and flow like the oceans tides and birds in the air? In the midst of living a life of saying "yes" I've experienced so much more, all or none of which I would have predicted would be.

I've been inspired by many in the last 6 months, most of whom do not know they've made an impact to inspire, support, motivate me to revisit the art of written self expression. The art of expression through words and language and sentences which roll off the tongue, and those that don't. To soulful, thoughtful music during quiet times where one's mind can freely dive deep and glimpse what we hide, and feel safe to reveal what we see. Is that where true, raw passion lies? The perceptive layer of unknown or perhaps its really our true self which is waiting to be released. My gratitude is deep for all those in my life, and those I've never met who have led me back to you. With gratitude, the world is infinitely abundant. Thank you for being here. It feels good to back. 

Early morning Manor...

The piercing blue sky catches my eye even while in sleep. The brightness of July is in full tilt, as the unpredictability of any San Francisco summer graces us once again with her presence. It is not even 7 am, yet the excitement of the day causes me to peer between the curtains at the day's offering. I lay in bed in the semi-conscious state between sleep and wake – the time in which the previous nights dreams may come dancing through the mind like an impromptu parade of colors, memories, emotions and activity. I look out my 2^nd floor window onto the streets below, telephone wires streak the scene, but the big blue backdrop bursts through. I smile.

Today is Wednesday, my little slice of mid-week 'deep breath’. The day in which I have elected to dedicate, on a good day, to writing, biking, yoga, farmers markets, coffee meetings, exploration, growth discovery – the Year of Passion. Many weeks have past that I have not written a complete entry, however handfuls of half complete, mental downloading and ranting dot the hard drive on my computer. Days and nights where the meaning and search and musings of the YOP have been so clear, it would be a crime, and a self hindering sin, not to transcribe – even if their fate is to remain as they are; fragments of a life of passion in California.

I’ve returned to old stomping grounds, Haus Coffee. The 24^th street gem which holds the birth of one of my first YOP entry from SF. I sit in the window box facing the street on a tiny, simple wooden bistro table. Only a thin layer of glass and 2 feet separate me from the commuters, bottle collectors, coffee shop go-ers and others on their way to their lives pass in front. Part puppy in the window, part goldfish in a bowl, even above the hypnotic electric rhythms that ring through the space inside, I can feel the pulse of street. And I like it.

With the clarity that mornings often bring, after having ‘slept on it’, I recall the last few weeks and the dialogues, observations, notable moments, sights, sounds and people of inspiration that encapsulates the Year of Passion. Although the defining 12 months of the Year of Passion have come to an end, I’m left wondering what to entitle this journey to continue to prolong this thirsty search for a life of joy, excitement, love, peace and passion. A life with a healthy, abundant daily dose of gratitude for the simple things: a fresh peach, kindness of strangers, inspiring friends, riding bikes at the beach, the beach, the scent of eucalyptus in the air through the park, among other simplicities that which if left unrecognized for their understated blessings, fly under the radar in our enchanted lives...

One aspect of the YOP that has often drawn out a deeper contemplative, introspective side has been the colorful, inspiring, diverse people who populate the one’s universe. If home is where the heart is, and the heart is where love and passion begins, the creation of a home where inspiration, passion and love reside seems to be of the highest order, and one in which I have been particularly particular about. Having “lived” in more than 4 homes in San Francisco, surfed couches in 3, and resided in another 3 hostels, in the 14 months I’ve been here, my arrival to my current home, the 22nd Street Manor is truly a blessing.

Three months ago, Keith, the sustainable food loving, fire escape gardener with a passion for smart, sustainable urban planning, mapping his dog walking routes on an oversized map of the neighborhood, was accepted to MIT for a coveted spot in their urban planning masters program. The beloved household lady-mutt pooch, Ros the dog, and Keith departed the city almost 2 months ago – his 1990’s Toyota Previa mini-van loaded up with his collection of worldly possession and Ros sitting atop the mound as they set out for a 2 week journey across this vast country.

A bus pulls up and stops in front of the café. It is half full; I look up at the bus riders. They look back. Many have iPods in. I wonder what they are listening to. Where they are going. And following the breath in which our lives come in contact, they are gone. Carried away to their days.

Amy, the hard working half Canadian, half American science teacher with an infatuation with snowmen also moved out to live in a studio apartment in upper Haight.

Although only 2 months into living at The Manor…

….I now became the longest resident and the search for 2 new souls would be the task of Anne and myself.

Anne, the Chicago transplant who swims in the Bay (no wetsuit), speaks fast Chilean Spanish, and works for a non-profit helping to empower 1^st generation college students succeed in their education, is like a fire cracker of energy, motion and source of inspiration. She lives in the room with a wall of mirrors that sits next to the Spanish Pentecostal Church next door and our kitchen, both of which can be an audible force to reckon with. She bikes, is a feisty lady of anarchist beliefs, and cooks up a storm like a flash in the pan…pun intended.

As we set out to fill the 2 rooms, our Craigslist posting yielded many a reply for its affordability and prime location in The Mission (a rare combo in SF). With the luxury of an abundance of interesting, inspiring applicants whom in their response to our ad we asked what they would bring to a potluck, in true SF spirit, we decided to host said potluck party with all the applicants, and make it a social gathering of interesting souls. That night as the 10 “goodies” and their goodies piled into our tiny kitchen/living room, new connections were made, commonalities found with 1 or 2 degrees of separation and our 2 new housemates made themselves clear: Orlee and David.

Orlee, a Brooklyn transplant, moved to the city with her boyfriend last fall. They lived together in Noe Valley for some time, and now apart for some time for reasons in which my blogging efforts would do no justice to its complexity. A quiet, gentle soul with fiery edge, rides a single speed, is staring a gig at a tech company in SOMA (South of Market) in a few weeks and has an ever-present composed, collected vibe to her. She is grounded and grounding in her soft, contemplative mannerisms and has feng shui-ed the front room with a simple layout and cozy office nook in the bay window.

David, oh David. The man with the plan. David is a tall, fair boy from Texas, with the soul of a Moroccan and recent affair with New Orleans. A Fine Arts Masters student at USF in creative writing, David set-up his room, life and presence in The Manor like jumping jack flash. Within 2 days of moving in with not much more than a few suit cases and a couple of boxes of books, record, Moroccan tapestries and memorabilia from days abroad and Nola, his room became a complete home complete with Bob Dylan and Frank Sinatra spinning on the record player. His growing collection of short stories, poems and writings for both school and play, appear in email inboxes, kitchen tables and in spoken word while cooking. Free styling rhyming while cooking couscous and veg, bike riding to free concerts @ Sterns Grove and late night chats on the blue couch have made David a fountain of inspiration to the house.

The house is also now veggie, and mostly gluten-free (thanks friends). When possible, we cook together, bike together, buy in bulk together @ Rainbow. In the absence of blood family, and in wake of the ‘new family’ of friends coagulating Gen Y's across the world, we attempt share our lives in this household of perfect strangers gathered for our common lust and love for this city, this journey and this life of passion.

SIDE NOTE (which I could not, not include)

As I put the finishing touches of links and photos into the entry, a woman of about 70 years slowly passes on the sidewalk. She is moving inch by inch with a cane in her hand and a bus pass that drapes around her neck onto the soft rolls of her stomach. She looks at me and smiles while saying something to herself that I cannot hear for the jazzy piano saxophone music now playing in the café. I smile back in acknowledgement of her stopping to acknowledge me. She then lifts both her hands, cane attached to her left, to the sky and for a moment, what I assume is her giving thanks for this day, this walk, this sun, this warmth. I look up at the blue sky and green canopy of trees too. Yes. Thank you, thank you, thank you for this day indeed. Her hands come down and she continues to smile and send some kisses my way the way loved ones do when saying adieu. Adieu.

A Drummer, a Biker, a Financial Deal Maker*

"A falling star fell from your heart

and landed in my eyes
I screamed aloud,

as it tore through them,

and now it's left me blind..."

Oh Florence, how romance and love can make anyone's heart and mind produce such aching images and phrases that cause us to declare the cosmos a mirror of our emotions. And more so, how lucky are we to get the chance to feel such deep love and…passion.

It’s been over a year since the Year of Passion was declared, and I find myself continuing the internal dialogue about living with passion. Despite the writing hiatus in the YOP since January, life in SF has been a rainstorm of activity spanning passion and exploration that would without doubt, fulfill the YOP’s mantra.

March, April and May is known to bring showers, but for this blessed spring of 2011, showers of a different nature have come. Showers of love and romance that come in such starkly different packages that I can not help but share it and yes, document it so that during those times when the tide is out and the waves are at a lull, that it can be remembered that passion is always there, and that the wave of passion and soulful love is indeed alive, all the time…and yes worth the wait.

Indulge me as I lay out this cast of characters who has spotted and claimed moments in my SF days and nights over the past 90 days…

There’s C, the 6’1” music teacher with cocoa skin, dread locks and a lead drummer in a metal band. We met last September, while walking down 16^th street in the Mission, days before my departure to India. We “made eyes” while walking with friends, mine had just come from tacos and Margarita pitchers @ Puerto Alegre on Valencia Street, and him with his friends en-route to a music show.

After we both did a triple take, he turned around to give me his card accompanied by a “please call me”. I did. Live music shows in the TL, cooking @ his place, art auctions, board games with friends, tea @ The Summit and misc. drinks around The Mission, C’s deep seeded love of teaching, learning, practicing and performing music it’s crystal as to what magnetized me to him – passion.

There’s R, the compact, small and lean SF native, whose fair hair skims the same height as me, manages the non-profit bike shop down the street. Having been the apple of my biker eye for a couple of months, our conversations about bike rides, bikes and handle bar wrap finally progressed to him asking me to go for a bike ride…and dinner. That was almost 3 months ago. R has been the most consistent of the bunch – with a weekend trip to Santa Cruz to watch a bike race he was in, then ride the Sierra foothills, an unknowing trip to his parents place, also in SF, on his birthday (yes, you read that double whammy correctly) and even a hair cut on the back porch with a cup of morning tea and freshly sliced oranges, R’s passion for biking and bikes (he has 11 of ‘em) unknowingly has inspired me to start to race myself.

Then there’s B-dig dig, the newest addition to the equation. A few weeks ago, while replacing a tire @ the Bike Kitchen, B and his friend, both newbies to the BK, left without a peep or hello, then came back to introduce himself and exchange numbers…hopefully. It worked. The tallest of the bunch, B hails from NY, has a rad white and blue vintage Nishiki, and spends his days in the concrete jungle of the Financial district in downtown SF. He’s sweet, uncomplicated and with an open-to-anything approach, is refreshing, even in this town of liberal minded, open hearted souls. What’s more, is that the teacher of newness in me can’t help but dance with excitement as each one of our meetings have included a new food type or activity that either he or I have tried before, including Pupusas in Bernal Heights, a trip to my fav organic, vegan resto Gracias Madre, South Indian and being apart of his first yoga class ever.

*Then there's CL, the freckle faced, Southern Cali native with a growing sleeve of tattoos, whose boundary pushing mentality, simple, conscious life choices to be vegan, yet also raise chickens at their coop house (for the egg egging non-vegans) near Golden Gate Park in SF, and active participation with the city through his work and volunteer time, has on numerous occasions, taken my breath away entirely. As I sit contemplating why, why, why this boy still has his spirit swirling around in my soul and mind, despite our decision to end the 6 months of on and off interactions, I feel perhaps there are no words for it, except, passion.

With each soul whose quasi-name has graced this post, I offer up the gratitude for their presence in the YOP and my life. One of my favorite aspects of this simultaneous exploration has been the absolute playfulness that we share. A return to the way in which children seek playmates for after school trips to each others houses, where the option of staying for dinner was never assumed, but rather an unexpected extension of a few hours together where getting lost in time with picnics in the park, climbing trees or riding bikes, I am FILLED with joy to say not much has changed since those days. Thank you for that.

So what is the common denominator with the Drummer, the Biker, the Financial Deal Maker…and the Vegan? Is there one?

Is it passion? Is it love? Is it me? Is it that each are pursuing passion in their lives in some way? Is it perhaps just coincidence that my interest is strongest for those with the most passion in their lives? I don’t think so. Everyday we have the gift to decide what kind of passion we invite into our thoughts and actions. Imagine a world where passion leads us all to in making almost, if not all, of our decisions. A passion for joy and happiness and love and gratitude for this abundantly blessed life we get to live everyday. Last week a yogi offered up a small nugget of guidance when it comes to how we can choose to make choices (and I certainly paraphrase here) “What kind of world would we live in if everyone was doing the same actions as the ones we make.” Interesting.

Taking a peek now at the YOP timeline, March 30, 2010 was my first entry and took place day dreaming about a fulfilling life, far away from the stale air of that 43^rd floor cubicle. When I think of all the places in which I remember life pre-YOP, it is that moment that serves as “The Beginning” image and thus resonates in my mind the most. They say words are only as powerful as the image they conjure-up in your mind. Perhaps this is why the art and love of a well-told story can capture anyone’s attention. So, thank you for listening to these stories of mine. And in the inspiring words of the indie flick “Happy, Thank You, More Please”….more please.

Perhaps that’s why the Drummer, the Biker and Financial Deal Maker (and Vegan) have captured more than just a piece of the YOP. Beyond a telling story of how we met or where we came from, lies inspiration and passion. Although the future of these characters in my life and their place in the YOP is certainly unknown, like children playing in the forest with the juicy remnants of wild blueberry on their cheeks, fingernails and jeans, I am choosing to approach each of these romances with the continued pursuit of joy, love and most importantly...

passion.

xoxo

V

And we're live...

As my eyes slowly open, I turn in my Hot Sexiness sleeping bag, my newest comfort of choice and treat to myself at an Alite sample sale in December, to see the bright blue of a California sunny day peering through the off white cotton curtains of my newest abode. With soft orange walls that are spotted with uneven texture and a certain vintage feel, the 15 foot ceilings make the small-ish room seem almost spacious.

I moved into this, my second home, and fourth bedroom of 2011 last Saturday, as I had been staying in a variety of rooms at the Goddess Vortex (see "Home Sweet Yogi Home" the summer) since the clocks struck midnight for this new year.

New year. Happy year. What will it hold? There’s something that has shifted. Since the YOP blog has been on hiatus for almost 4 months, first for logistical reasons (internet joys in India) then upon return, a myriad of reasons which span a touch of laziness to perhaps the more truthful reason being of lack of inspiration, or dare I say….passion?


I am musing to myself about the fate of the YOP in a new neighbourhood café, Atlas Café on Alabama and 20th – just 2 blocks from my new orange lily pad.


Somewhat industrial, yet with the unique San Francisco, Mission bike cultured charm (I’d like to say half of those that have come in have their right pant cuff rolled up to mid calf level and a few Mexican workers hold down prep work in the open kitchen that doubles as pull-up bar seating, its casual atmosphere and bright single paned windows which line the corner it occupies offers a welcome infiltration of sun into the space.

At American Thanksgiving in late November, a true gluttony fest anchored in over sugared yams and cranberries for all reasons, I was asked by a former bon bon at the vegan (gluten-free) Thanksgiving potluck I hosted on the Friday of the holiday weekend, “What happened to the Year of Passion?” By that time, I had been back in SF for 1 month since my return from India, and had given very little thought to writing. Much of my time in India was spent writing, although in the earthy ink to paper way, in various locations around the city, countryside and waterways, in an unfiltered, uncensored way that we only write when knowing there is a slim chance that it will ever really be read…in life or post mortum. So when returning to land of the YOP, SF, the writer (and photographer) in me, was, like much of the rest of my senses, exhausted. With a hot hand, and hot shutter, I put down the laptop and the Nikon, and took in the moment, captured in my mind alone. The outcome? A twinge of guilt for neglecting the Year of Passion, but now even more of a desire for the introspective dialogue that only the YOP harvested in me...

It was during the beautiful, vegan Thanksgiving Potluck dinner, peppered with dim tea lights, warm smiles and many handles of Carlo Rossi vino tinto, it was my former Bon Bon’s sister who brought something quite clear to my attention about the state of writing: “I only seem to write when I’m upset, or unclear, or struggling with something – and much less, if ever when truly happy”

Mmmm. Had I stopped writing because, dare I even toy with the idea: I was truly happy? Had I achieved the year of passion? Here I was surrounded by some of the most inspiring, loving, warm, interesting, engaged, engaging people I’ve met and whom I care deeply for in a city I love for its consciousness, adventurous spirit, openness, vitality and living a life under a hot, liberal sun where outdoors and casualness is king. Had I arrived?

The idea was almost too novel, too real to handle. I had been 7 months since I had embarked on the YOP, tucked away in a cubicle 43 floors up in the glass jungle of full piece suits, dreaming about the freedom of sailing away on a little dingy in the sun on the lake. A lot has happened since then, and a lot has changed, but was I, am I, living the Life of Passion?

???

It's almost noon now, and am about to go for a lunchtime loop bike ride around SF with Denny, a new friend whom I met at a Clif Bar RSVP Facebook event in October (yes, I think I got that right & thanks Todd) and smile as the coincidence that this re-awakening entry about the destination and journey of the Year of Passion is at the ATLAS cafe, a place literally seeped in the idea of maps and charting of paths, routes and journeys.

Mi despedida a San Francisco

"It seems like everywhere I go, the more I see, the less I know..."

I woke up this morning to a bright burst of Sunday sunshine, blue skies and the quintiessential manicured green lawns that exist in sleepy streets of the suburbs of North America. This time, I’ve landed back in Oakville to the familiarity of Mumsy’s modest bungalow tucked within the labyrinth of small, Pleasantville-like side streets in this notoriously excessive suburb of Toronto. This week of preparing for India has been a welcome blessing; providing stable lily pad of which to launch off of into the unknown of India this Tuesday.

I left San Francisco almost exactly 7 days ago, on a dark Sunday morning before the sun had even bridged the horizon. The big blue airport shuttle (BART wasn’t running at that hour) came to collect me as their last stop before the airport, totting a full bus load of sleepy eyed travellers to the impending departures at SFO....

My last weekend in SF, mi despedida, ended up being a grand adieu to the city that has begun a transformation in my mind, my heart and approach on life, and to what has helped bring the Year of Passion to a reality.

That last Friday afternoon in SF, circa 3 pm, I received a text from a new friend, Bryan, I had met that week at Ritual Coffee house on Valencia that previous Wednesday. I soon found out that Bryan is a San Franciscan native, born’n’raised, and thus a rarity in this transient city, who renovates Victorian-era houses by day and photographs musicians and bands by night. Not a bad combo. The text read: “Wanna go surfing?”. End scene. WHAT!??! Last weekend in California and am getting an opportunity to go surfing – POST WORK!!! My little heart could hardly believe it. Fast forward 2.5 hours, and the surfing plan has been kyboshed:

Friday afternoon traffic + setting sun = raincheck.

BUT in its place, a bike ride and ice cream at debatably one of the city’s most unique ice cream joints, Humphry Slocombe on Harrison @ 24th street. One scoop of Jesus Juice sorbet (aka red wine and cola) for me and a double scooper of whammy of Cayenne Cantaloupe and Prosciutto (as in the salted meat)

for B.man, before we made our way to Precita Park for a chit chat

before parting ways for the evening: I to my newly Friday tradition of red wine and friends and him to a shoot with some “picky and last minute” musician friends who were going on tour and needed some pics before doing so.

When it rains, it pours…Brian’s I guess, because soon after, I met up Brian, a former roommate and the Puerto Rican acupuncture student whose current living situation with a middle-aged Sci-Fi author and owner of 2 fat, old cats at a 2 bedroom flat on Treat Street has him hounding the pages of Craigslist for alternate "arrangements". The remainder of the evening consisted of a $4 bottle of wine, great convo and a plethora of ridiculously delicious, authentic Mexican food from La Oaxaqueña, a little gem on Mission Street @ 16th with amazing, authentic food, sweet smiles and a welcome BYOB policy (or in our case BYOW) policy. Pollo y mole (a cocoa/chocolate based smooth and salty sauce from the south of Mexico) corn tamale wrapped in plantain leaves...

a taco (bison, maybe?)and 3 Salvadorian Pupusas (a corn dough “patty” stuffed with anything from spinach and goat cheese, mixed veg to pulled pork or chicken)...

Thirsty for more, we headed to the infamous Café Revolution on 22nd and Valencia. With happy, tipsy souls overflowing onto the sidewalk and streets, the inside of the café was full and two spirited performers were singing, drumming and strumming Spanish music in the corner.

The minty cool of a freshly made mojito, my often-forgotten-favourite drink, complimented the warm air, smooth music and cha cha cha of the songstresses’ handheld shaker.

The following Saturday morning, my eyes were met again with sunshine, and the excitement and unease of fitting in a super Saturday to my last weekend in SF justice. Thankfully, it was not too difficult to do when surrounded by friends and great people, beautiful sunshine, an amazing city and positivity in your mind.

Waking at just past 8:30am, I attempted to finish up packing up – one for my bag to go back with me and another box (or 2) to reside temporarily at Lauren and Sean’s place. A bike ride, a spicy chai coffee @ Haus and trip to the Alemany farmers market with Karla, the capoeira dancing chica

from Puerto Rico who is a former room mate as well, and teaches new media at an inner city school’s after-school program. A few hours later, we collected Caleb from the house, and as the 3 of us peddled our way to Golden Gate Park to join forces with 25,000 spirited, peaceful people at the free Power to the Peaceful music and yoga festival happening that weekend in the park.

An annual event held on September 11, there is no cover fee, just by donation only, and this year featured a 5,000 person yoga session on Saturday morning, a main stage with 5 hours of non-stop music, including the cheerful Cali tunes of Michael Franti.

Just saw he's apparently also caught Obama fever too...

A San Francisco native, Michael Franti is an SF native and recently has been walking barefoot for 10 years to experience what 300 million kids who don’t have shoes feel like...

As we arrived to the centre grounds for the festival, a sea of people, beautiful music, plumes of smoke and rows upon rows of bike racks awaited us. You could honestly feel the energy as you approached.

After a sun soaked afternoon of dancing, hoolahooping, snacking and enjoyment, as the music stopped promptly at 5, the signature fog of SF rolled in and ushered the crowds through to their bikes, cars and sidewalks to head to their next destinations. Karla and I met up again with Caleb and Laura at Laura’s place in the Haight for a warm tea. I came home, made dins, finished packing and moved my bags, bike and self to the place it all began – the Goddess Vortex on Harrison – aka my old house, for my last night, although this night would be spent on the familiar cushions in the living room.

I took a shower 11pm, and in the spirit of seizing every moment, met up with Cliff at just past midnight, despite a 5 AM wake-up that morning for an 8am flight. A dreadlock-ed music teacher also born’n’raised in SF, Cliff and I met for the first time last Sunday, as we passed each other on the street in the Mission last week on a Sunday night.

That night we went to Karla’s recommended hole-in-the-wall dive bar The Attic at 24th and Mission. A vodka soda for me, a Jim and Coke for him, easy conversation ensued and his love of SF, teaching music and life was an eye opener as he brought to the forefront that despite a past of extensive travel, he’s loving life as is now, and couldn’t imagine moving anywhere else, such as some of his friends are doing. To which I replied, perhaps people are moving to new cities to try to find what you seem to have found – happiness, balance and fulfillment in the present. (Ok, I didn’t say that last part, but in reflection, perhaps that what it is.) It’s interesting because this conversation was the first one in a while of which someone has really been truly immersed and fulfilled in what’s in the present – not what has happened, or will happen, or coulda woulda shoulda happened, but what is NOW, present in this moment. Like a tall glass of water, he was refreshing, and the cherry on the YOP goodbye SF weekend.

India Inc.

Last Wednesday, the morning started like any other morning for me in the Haight – the front room of Lauren and Sean’s place, aka my temporary bedroom, was slightly filled with the California morning light and the soft soundtrack of the occasional pedestrian or motor vehicle passing by played in the white air - except a few things were different. There were anxious butterflies in my stomach and bit of artificial haze in my mind. The first stemmed from the ensuing AM activities that I would embark on before the clock struck 9am, and the second being the pleasant reminder of the night before, the US launch party of the FAIR Vodka - the world's first fair trade certified spirits company. I had been invited by Danny, the sharp witted, dead pan humoured Brand Ambassador of the Parisian brand I had met through a string of the usual 2 degrees of SF separation, and met the lovely French creator of the vodka, Alex, and his lovely photographer girlfriend whose pics are here...

And yes, I was there hocking Purity juice too...

But even the morning after giggles of sweet cocktails from the night before could not stop the rebel excitement that found its may to my core - It was Day 1 of the two week "What is Janum?" campaign. As the warm sun was rising in the East, my business partner Jules, whose living in the Mission, and myself, living in The Haight, hit the streets of our 'hoods marking the sidewalks with the hopefully-curiosity-inducing slogan "What is Janum.com?" with white sidewalk chalk. The intended next action would be:

a) spark conversation between friends, bus stop waitees, businesses and neighbours

b) drive people online to find out more and wind up @ our FB page for a 2 week puzzle chase of random video clues to keep them intrigued until the beg reveal on September 15...

Being the techie bubble that is San Francisco and the Bay area, the natural inclination to Google or Wiki even before the question is asked, we hoped people would pop online, and search "Janum" to find us at Janum.com or facebook.com/janumofficial.

So that morning when I woke up before my alarm, excitement of this new (ad)venture could not keep me under the covers. I threw on my imitation yellow Ray-Ban Wayfay sunglasses to brace my red eyes from the morning glare, (and avoid eye contact as I began this graffiti with training wheels adventure) and headed out with a box of chalk and a kick in my step. Here's what happened...

I got as far as Buena Vista Park, (about 10 blocks from where I started) and having marked at least 25-30 spots on just one side, I turned around to do the other side. At the same time, I had started to notice an increase in cop cars, even for the Haight. I paused and went into a Tibetan/Indian/Asian trinket shop which beckoned me in - a very light preview of the weeks to come perhaps...

For just a few moments, I lost myself in the colours, textures, scents and mystery of the space. The small shop attendance was sharing a breakfast of fresh fruit, iced water with cucumber and nuts with 2 others who sat happily by the entrace of the shop, enrobbed in soft, breezy fabrics and calming smiles. Those smiles lifted my heart a little as i left to continue the Janum-ify the neighbourhood; although as the frequency of police presence grew, I skipped a block or two as I kept my eye out around me. Then I saw the mother load - about 5-6 policemen, and a cop car, all hovering around one block on the other side of the road where I had been not more than 20 minutes prior. It was a block that was dense with "What is Janum.com?" markings and they were all trolling around the area, looking down at the pavement then looking around - most likely for the hoodlum who was doing such an act of start-up madness...Excellent.

I arrived back home feeling energized and even more excited that something had gotten noticed. I picked up my camera to document the morning, headed back to Coffee to the People on Haight Street with my laptop in toe, and a couple bucks for a ice coffee with soy - yes it was even that hot that an iced coffee was in order...

This scene is much more familiar, a reality of my time in SF: Wednesdays @ coffee shops with myself, a caffeinated beverage of sorts and the company of a fellow young, eager and ambitious soul: Julian. Julian, a baby of the 1980's, was born in Holland, raised in England, is of Indian heritage, went to school in the Us and currently resides also, where else, but The Mission, SF. We met in June at Sustainable Brands - the catalyst conference I attended in Monterey about environmental sustainability which was really the tipping point for my residence in San Francisco. Julian had started Janum last year and was knee deep in start-up territory - but lacking a full marketing resource and extra set of hands to help bring Janum to life and give it a running start in the market. After an extended convo in the conference staff party on the last night of the conference, we exchanged cards and said would be in touch.

And we were, and have been since mid June, meeting every Wednesday for work sessions, marketing planning, brainstorming session, product planning and general life catch-up. In early July, Julian told me about his trip in September to India to visit the production plants, organic growers and finalize all the aspects of the supply chain including the product, packaging, shipping and logistics to Kerala, the South Western state in India. My interest was piqued..very piqued.

Since then, we've worked together to put together an intensely detailed marketing plan including the What is Janum? campaign and a strong social media plan laid out. What's also been laid out is....my trip to INDIA! About mid-July we both lightly joked about me coming with Jules to India to help with the filming, photography and marketing opportunities that would surface while visiting all these vital aspect of the business. That has now morphed itself into a 1/2 "work" 1/2 play 28 trip to the South Western part of India, where I will fly in and out of Mumbai...

Staying in the tiny, yet feircly popular state of Goa....

And spend time in the coconut farms of Kerala...

I leave California for the first time in almost 4 months to head back to Toronto for a week, have my Indian visa processed and pack a backpack with very little `stuff`(leaving lots of room for treasures to bring home). Then, on Tuesday, September 21, leave for London, then Mumbai on the 22nd. I will return to London, then Toronto, then SFO over 2 days starting on Tuesday, October 19. This will leave 28 glorious days in the land that am sure will surprise, delight, push and challenge my reality forever.

As I`m finishing up this blog entry, a song comes on Pandora radio, and who is it, but Alanis Morisette`s brother: Wade Imre or as his name comes up in the Google search: `Yoga Rock Star`. And even in light of the lack-lustre graphics of this video, the song seemed such a perfect fit for finishing this post...

So... What is Janum? For Salmon Rushdie, it means`my life`. In Hindi, Jaanum means darling. For the Year of Passion, Janum means opportunity, adventure, and further manifestation of a new way of life...