Getting to know Becky
How Travel Shapes a Creative Life: Reflections from Bali and India
I recently returned from India where I spent six weeks immersed in Hindu culture.
This wasn’t a journey to populate an Instagram feed full of twirly skirts and beautiful photoshoots, it was a journey of remembering my deepest self.
To really understand my life as a creative individual, I felt I needed to start from the beginning. My curiosity of the Hindu culture, and their way of life, started when I was twenty-six and traveled to the island of Bali.
As I enter the latter half of my life, I can see this experience, like so many others, shaped who I am today.
I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you. Due to the length of the story, we have posted the full story on our Substack.
All my love-
Becky
How I Found Myself in Bali: A Moment That Shaped My Twenties
In the late 1980’s, I was living in the Queen Anne neighborhood of Seattle, renting a room in a 1920’s Craftsman two-story home from the woman who also owned the art school where I studied graphic design.
After graduation, I began freelancing as a production artist and designer throughout the city. My increased income allowed me to move into the mother-in-law apartment located in the basement of the same house and live alone for the first time in my adult life.
After I graduated, my life was simple, I freelanced as a graphic designer for various companies in Seattle, working mainly to save for my next travel adventure. Owning a car was not a priority, nor an expense I felt I could afford, so I commuted around Seattle by bus or on my bike.
On a hot summer day in August of 1991, my life changed with a phone call. These were the days of landline telephones plugged into answering machines. When I entered my apartment, I noticed the flashing light indicating a message had been left. I took a moment to remove my bike helmet, and gloves, and pour myself a glass of cold water, then pushed the play button on the machine.
It was the mother of a friend I had made when traveling in Greece the summer prior. I met her only once when I flew to San Francisco for a long weekend to visit him. I didn’t get the vibes that this woman liked me, for her son was an only child, and I doubted that he brought home many girls to meet her. We weren’t even a couple, just two fellow travelers that met in Greece. We had struck up a conversation on a boat heading to the Island of Nexos. He was carrying a large black box, which I was soon to find out held a typewriter. “What is in there,”
I asked, squinting from the bright sun reflecting off the sea.
“It is the means for me to write my novel,” he replied.
“Ah, you are a writer. I too am an artist. Do you have a place to stay when you arrive on the island?” I ended up following him to his lodgings and got a room there myself. He spent his days banging on the typewriter keys. I headed out every morning to swim in the sea and drinking sweet black iced coffees in the local village.
“I know we have only met once,” the message started. I put down my glass afraid that something had happened to my friend. Why else would his mother be calling me? “I have just returned from spending a month on the island of Bali in Indonesia. I’m not sure why Becky, but I thought of you every day. I think you should consider going there. I know this may sound strange, but I believe there was a reason that you were entering into my thoughts. Give me a call when you have a chance.” I grabbed a pen and wrote down her number.
She picked-up the phone after the second ring. As soon as she heard it was me, she said, “Thank you for calling me back, Becky. It was a strange message to leave, but I really believe that this tiny village of Ubud, on the island of Bali is a place you should travel to. I have the contact info for a batik artist who lives there. You could stay at his guesthouse and take classes from him.”
I wrote down the information, hung up the phone, and sat down at my kitchen table gazing out the window. Indonesia? I asked myself. I don’t even know where that is.
Read the full story on Substack!
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