Traveling with my nephew
20 February, 2024

My sister took her first trip to southeast Asia in 1984. Six years later, I grabbed her old backpack and took my own 5-month tour of southeast Asia. It changed my life. For one, I began to view my computer career as a means to a different end, rather than an end in itself. And traveling was a way to reboot and recharge.

Years later I found myself working in Madrid. I ended up marrying a Spaniard. After my usual 3 years working, I was ready for the recharge break. I wanted my wife to join this lifestyle. She was shocked. She didn't tell me at the time, but she began having serious doubts about my stability. Quit a good job to go backpacking? Not in Spain.

I'm now 60. My wife's sister is saying that her son, Dario, is a drug addict. Dario is 23 living with his mother. He had graduated college with a degree as a primary school teacher, but was one year without finding a job. I'd been pushing him to visit us in Tenerife. His answer was always no. Last winter I asked him again: "How about a week in Cape Verde?". To my surprise, he said yes! Half jokingly, I chatted "How about a month in Indonesia instead?". Yes again! I bought the ticket intuitively. If backpacking was good for me, it had to be good for everyone. Podcasts all said you need 21 days to break bad habits. Two weeks after buying the tickets, my 92-year-old mother fell. I flew to New York. She died one week later. I flew back to Spain, repacked in 20 minutes and off on a flight to Denpasar with Dario. I figured I'd have "time" to grieve in Indonesia.

I'd set these rules with Dario:

• Backpacker budget. This ended up being an $800 flight, plus 22€/day. A little extra for taxis and for Dario's surfing costs.
• We would speak in English. English would be a big help in finding a job. It's so tough, though, to change one's language of communication.
• No alcohol: For me (and for our budget) as much as for Dario. And of course, no marijuana.

I didn't want to explore Bali, and especially not Ubud, the backpacker's paradise of the 80s. I couldn't trample on my precious memories. We took a taxi to the port. The first night we met a pair of Canadian brothers my age -- one who had moved at Dario's age to Australia to teach in primary school. Wow, signs come fast when you're open. The next day I got into a funk: No public buses any more in Bali? I realized the golden age of backpacking was over. Indonesia was no longer remote. The tourists now had too much money. It was later that I made my peace: the world had moved on. It was the golden age of something else, and that something else was workaway.com -- volunteering abroad. We got on the "slow ferry" to Lombok. Except for 4 days in Sumbawa (our original plan), we stayed in Lombok the whole month.

You may think you know your niece or nephew, but sitting on the plane I realized I didn't really know him at all. It's one thing to occasionally meet with the family. Another to be together 24/7 for a month. And a person can change so much from age 16 to age 24. During the month, I learned something of his childhood traumas. I saw he had no addiction -- no withdrawal symptoms at all. No signs of marijuana burnout. He said he'd been smoking marijuana nightly to help with his insomnia. As a replacement during the trip, he smoked cigarettes. Eventually I bought a pack of Indonesian clove cigarettes -- as an uncle, I could do that. Gudang Garam brought back good memories. Dario told me his low point was three years ago. What saved him was the discipline of the gym.

In a souvenir shop, I saw a poster that said "As your mother, I'm driving you crazy... because I love you." When a parent-child relationship goes sour, that's what it can turn into. Instead of enjoying our child, the frustration builds and builds until we can't see straight. We get stuck on our narrative. We can trust our nieces and nephews and we can see them as adults, but our own children, we still see them as children. We focus on the faults and forget to enjoy their virtues. The uncle relationship, on the other hand, is fresh. We see them as who they are. And they can talk to us like they don't with their parents. I was listening to Dario once and made a suggestion. He called me out for problem-solving instead of empathic listening. I loved it! He was totally right. Did I treat Dario as an adult? Yes and no. I admit, I chose the hostels and handled the money. That was a mistake. I should have had us share those duties.

During the trip, Dario figured out another way to handle his insomnia: some meditation, some reading before bed.

After 30 days, Dario and I flew back from Lombok to Bali to Spain. I had my Birkenstock foot tan, a temple sarong, some dried snakefruit, and a few shells in my backpack. So how was the trip for Dario? Back in Barcelona, Dario began studying English hard. He took an exam. Within a month, he found a job teaching science in English. And for me? There was no day in Lombok that I sobbed uncontrollably. Mom had died as beautifully as she had lived. And I was fully prepared mentally for her death. No need for grief, just closure. From Spain I flew to New York for the memorial service. There was a reboot for me too in Lombok. I realized I didn't have to try to replicate the style of goodness that was my mother. I had to be me, and learn to use my unique gifts. Even an old guy can break habits. The first step is to say "yes, I'm ready".