Mass ramblings from the bunker

Well, I made it back to Singapore last Friday night, after a rather uneventful day. Though, I did start it off with massive anxiety and deep concern that I was going to miss another flight, though through no fault of my own this time...

Taxi's in Oman are somewhat of a problem at the best of times. Actually, no that's not entirely true.. It just seems that everything in Oman runs at a snails pace. I think I mentioned this before, but it's like a sleepy version of Dubai.
Anyway, I had booked a cab with one of the 'reputable' cab companies, especially seeing that my flight was at 5.40am. Which would mean I would need to be up at 3am, to catch the cab at 3.30am.
I would later learn that that was pushing it a bit tight. Hah. In true 'Andrew' style, eh?
So I was outside, waiting for a the taxi patiently. The seconds turned to minutes, which turned into a quarter hour then half an hour... and by this stage it was about 4am. I had a confirmation call from the company and in my sleepy state, called the company and asked what the status of the cab was.
'Mr Andrew?...No, no Mr Andrew, we don't have a pick up for you'
'But, I spoke to you before...is this Mohummed?'
'......Yes.....How did you know my name?'
'OKokokok... Can you please send a taxi to my address in Qurum?'
'Yes Mr Andrew. Right away.'
'Thank you.... and, uh, I kinda have to catch a plane, it is rather urgent...'
Strangely enough there was the odd car that would come down the quiet, 'suburban' street, that houses many of the Royal family - the Sultans Uncle and Cousin, all within a few minutes walk from Gill's apartment. One particular car - a large 4WD with Arabic hip-hop booming from the vehicle, drove down the road, slowed at the speed bump, then raced to the end and turned around. As it came back towards me it slowed, as I looked on, wondering if this was the Taxi. Rather strange Taxi if you ask me, but, stranger things have happened while in Oman.
The truck passed me slowly, then stopped. The back window came down with the electronic buzz piercing the evening night and a curious face popped out.
'Are.... You OK?'
'Oh, hah, uhm, I'm just waiting for a cab I've ordered'
'Oh.... If you want a cab, you'll probably need to get to the Hotel down the road, they don't drive up around here...'
'Oh, yeah, hah, thanks, I've pre-ordered one... Well, I thought I had... But thanks!'
'No worries... Hope you get to ... I guess the Airport?'
'Yeah, thanks.... Hope so too!!!'
Wow. Friendly. Or crazy. I mean, what else do you do when you're a teenager in Oman? Drive around at 3am? Well, I guess it's not far from the youth of NZ....although there were no bottles being thrown from the car.... Still, it was nice of them to check!
That's pretty much how things are in Oman - the people are friendly, they are generally courteous and certainly always smiling. I felt safe, even standing out on the road (despite it not being a main thoroughfare) at 3am. Safe, ranging from when I was up in Sohar, to my friends at the Shell and the Al Fair carpark.
It was, in my experience, a far cry from Malaysia, where people appeared to have a massive chip on their shoulder, or a blatant disregard for foreigners. There was also this sense of anger, though I couldn't really establish who it was aimed it, or why it was there. Quite a few times I tried reaching out but it was just looked at with a confused and almost disgusted look.
Anyway, at this stage of the night I was really beginning to get paranoid. The night was getting hotter (or my body was trying to deal with the stress, one or the other...) and time was ticking on.
So I decided to shed my two bags and run to the Crowne Plaza, which was down the road. I sprinted there, remembering how much I've missed running (man, didn't think you'd ever see me say/write/think that, did you!) and that the training I did before I left really helped me get around. While running down the hill I noticed a minibus turning into the hotel. Was that going to the airport? Should I go and check? Or should I wait for the cab? I stood there, literally putting one foot forward, then pulling it back after each thought went through my head and I battled what to do. Damn brain! Must of been the lack of sleep. Yeah. The lack of sleep. That's it.
Seriously though, looking back that moment in time, those few seconds of a million thoughts and endless possibilities racing through my head, getting insight into potential avenues and analysing what is behind each door that could potentially be opened....that situation has been the curse of my existence for the last year or so. My complete indecisiveness... and... probably my OVER thinking of things.
I have been somewhat lost and lacking direction for quite a long period in my life (since things started tumbling down around March), and the global panic has been powering the f.e.a.r. and anxiety. But taking it back a step that anxiety in decision making also had an effect on day-to-day situations.
How am I moving that problem forward? (Yay, corporate catch-phrases!) I'm not entirely sure, I figure I just need to do something and stop over thinking things.
I remember going to see my GP for stomach related issues, probably four years ago. He started asking peripheral questions about my mind-state and what's going on generally. I said I was getting a bit scratchy with life and that I was bored and not sure what to do. I had endless options, as I often do, but I wanted to ensure I was doing the right thing. I didn't want to mess up, or miss out, or worse yet, fail.
He looked down at me, with a wise gaze and asked me a question:
'OK, Andrew... So, a rocket is leaving earth and heading towards the Moon. How long, as a percentage, is it actually on course, or, pointing towards its target?'
'.......................75% of the time?' I stammered out.
'Lower....'
'.......................50% of the time?'
'Lower....'
'.................okokok, 35% of the time?'
'That rocket is only pointing towards it's target 25% of the time. The rest of the time it's travelling a course which needs to be corrected, as a goal, or target, is hard to point towards from a distance. So this rocket is constantly correcting itself on its journey to the moon.'
I sat back in my chair and thought about this. 25 percent! That... isn't a hell of a lot at all.
Thinking about this now is helping me process my confusion. Firstly, I wasn't entirely sure what my 'goal' or 'target' was. After much thought and, probably over-analysis, I have some ideas to work towards. But the key factor to helping me resolve the anxiety, is what I do end up doing, doesn't have to be for the rest of my life. I've been so caught up in 'this is what I have to do', and looking at the long term, that I lost sight of short term and all of it's pleasures and enjoyments. So I can do 'something' and not feel so bad about it.
So at this stage, I've decided to go back to the stuff that I used to enjoy - process/analysis and improvement. There is some study that I can do for accreditation in a methodology called Six Sigma, which is all about the application of a set of statistical methods to business processes which improve operational efficiency. (For all the stats geeks out there - Six Sigma is a statistical term that equates to 3.4 defects per one million opportunities). So, basically a sum of what my last few years were, amongst other things, at IAG. And the more I think about it, the more it kind of fits in. This is because I've decided the greater goal, as I realised when I arrived in Melbourne, is to eventually get out of the business world, and go and learn how to grow grapes. I know that sounds funny, but I couldn't think of anything better than being a wine maker. And the idea of process improvement (which is a core part of my working skill) would be ideal for the manufacturing industry - hell, Six Sigma was designed with the manufacturing industry in mind.
So, this is the plan for now. Start with getting certified, get some money behind me again (travelling on the $NZ is useless - I don't recommend it to ANYONE), make use of this whole UK visa thing later in the year, travel, continue to see the world... all the while studying, somehow, somewhere, probably extramurally, viticulture. Inching my way towards the moon, by each and every experience that I have.
The final thing about all of this is that I've accepted that it's OK for plans to change, as well. This particular travelling experience has reinforced that. I don't think that's a cop-out, but one of the things that I wanted to learn from travelling was to be a bit more resilient. Things change, and I what I need to continue to learn is how to adapt to them, and roll with the punches.
Anyway - the taxi - I ended up deciding against going down to the hotel, as deep down, I think I felt that the Taxi would arrive. I listened to my gut and my gut was right. I sprinted back and as I was running down the road, the cab passed me and stopped. I got in, went and grabbed my bags, and as we hurtled down the empty streets, dimly lit with orange lights and a blazing moon, I took in the last of Oman and quietly laughed to myself. Everything is going to be OK.