Kurt Koontz's Blog

The Sunset Blog

In the fall of 2012, I embarked on an adventure in Spain to walk 500 miles on the Camino de Santiago.  Like every other journey in my life, I departed without any expectations and tried to let the trip unfold in a natural manner.  I had taken many trips before and many after but for some reason, the walk in 2012 seemed to be a Mount Everest experience.  It was a life bending trip and I have completely enjoyed every additional step on my fresh and altered path.

Many people think that walking the Camino ends when arriving at the cathedral in Santiago.  A major lesson in my life is that there is never the proverbial ending and instead; we accumulate experience that influences our next step.  There are two ways to take the beauty out of the current step.  One is to waste time evaluating the last one and the other is to fantasize about what may happen on the next one.

I have followed my own footprints back to the banks of Mother Ganga in Rishikesh India and the vast jungles of Nosara Costa Rica.  While the sunsets are amazing and the cuisine divine, the real attractions are the friendships accumulated during the time on the ground.  Spending time in foreign lands has reinforced my belief of how similar we all are as human beings.  Our problems with relationships, finances, health, and mortality are all universal, as are the common denominators that unlock our enjoyment of happiness.  I appreciate your friendship.

This is the 291st installment in this blog series.  I try to keep this fresh and free flowing.  For the past few months, writing these posts feels like a forced endeavor and in need of some rest.   For that reason, I have decided to sunset this blog for an indefinite period of time.

Thank you for letting me into your hearts and minds to share my stories during the past seven years.

 

Alexa

Last week, I took my mom to see Echo in the Canyon followed by some homemade chicken chili at my house.  Upon arrival at my home I asked, “What is one of your all-time favorite groups?”

She replied, “Chicago.”

With the addition of some recent technology, I said, “Alexa, shuffle Chicago.

The kitchen was soon filled with the notes from 25 or 6 to 4.   She looked at the Geroge Jetson device with amazement and we laughed while peppering the speaker with random questions.  Within minutes, we were logging into her Amazon account and sending Mr. Bezos more unneeded money.  Realizing that I am her technical support, I preemptively loaded the Alexa app onto her phone and tried to go through the set up steps.

Her package arrived a few days later and my phone was quick to ring.  After eight discombobulated attempts, I knew this service call would require an on-site visit.  I had just returned from short trip and was not in the mood to drive across town.  Feeling a bit miffed, I drove to her house with a heavy foot.  She met me at the front door with a defeated look.  In less than a minute, her Alexa was primed for any task.

On the drive home, I spent some time in reflection mode.  The most obvious conclusion was that my mom did not wake up on that day with the intention of being frustrated with new technology.  This same concept applies to any anyone in my life that left crumbs by the toaster or did not appropriately replace the cap on the toothpaste.  It was a great reminder for me to accept people as they are, not as I wish them to be.

With about five minutes left on my drive, one of my best friends called with a real problem.  His mom had just received some horrific health news and will soon be dancing with angels.

Eva’s Sketchnote Book

 

I hope you enjoy another sample chapter from Practice.

One day on the yoga mat during my second trip to India, I noticed a mountain of hair piled high in a bun atop a husky man. At the end of the practice, he rearranged his locks into a ponytail that hung well past his midback. After the class wrapped up, he patiently waited for a lady who was busy sketching in an oversized notebook. On the way out of the room, I followed them down the five sets of stairs to the lobby. I introduced myself and was then in the company of Nathanael and Eva.

A few days later, I saw them in one of the endless ATM lines at the State Bank of India during the currency crisis; like I had, they were doing their time in the four-hour line in hopes of getting 20 survival dollars out of the electronic cash dispenser. Noting the copious sweat on Nathanael’s forehead, I surmised they were not enjoying their wait.

I stopped by a street vendor and bought some snacks and two bottles of water. Eva and Nathanael were pleased with their gifts, and I had a great excuse to eat a midday samosa. While we ate, I stood in line with them for a bit, which gave us some time to become friends.

The lovely couple from London was on an extended journey around the world. Eva was enrolled in Surinder’s teacher training, and Nathanael would join her for the drop-in class afterward. When I asked Eva about her drawings, she explained, “I am a very visual person. It helps me retain the information.”

About a week later, I was walking past The Office (another great eatery) and saw the U.K. couple waiting for their food. I ordered a vegetable pancake and some chai and sat with them. I asked Eva if she would share her drawings. With a big smile, she pulled a sketchbook from her backpack and placed it in my hands.

I flipped to a random page and was drawn to a sketch of Surinder’s oversized bearded face. He was illustrated in the lotus position with the words “breathe innnnnn” floating above his head. Carefully placed words, large and small, bold and plain, filled out the frame. They read: “The best thing that happened today. The day already started off lovely with a little chai on the way to yoga. Then a fantastic yoga class with Surinder, who is a lovely, calm, gentle person, who gives great subtle correction and oozes calm positivity.” She had also sketched the entire class from that day.  Each pose was illustrated with a two-inch body and arrows visually explaining where each body part was meant to be and how the muscles should be stretched, contracted, or rotated.

Several months later and back in Boise, I was preparing for my annual trip to Palm Springs with my mom. I was hoping to practice some yoga and thought about buying a book of poses. Instead, I sent a Facebook message to Eva asking if she would be willing to share some of her sketches. My email inbox was soon filled with seven pages of her work. Eva also mentioned that she was making a “sketchnote” book named Notes from Yoga Teacher Training.

A year later, the beautiful published book accompanied me into my own yoga teacher training with Surinder.

During a scheduled break several days into the training, I joined three of my yoga classmates for a short walk to Lakshman Jhula for lattes and peanut butter chocolate balls. We found the goods at The Pumpernickel German Bakery. We were lucky to get a table overlooking the Freedom Café and the mighty Mother Ganga. A sign above our table read, “No Smoking Weed Ji.” A very polite prohibition, given the “ji,” a common term of respect.

We began telling our individual stories of how we chose Surinder’s training.  Sophie gave a long statement about being super diligent with research by reading blogs, interviewing past participants, and almost ordering a book with drawings from a previous student.

I laughed and asked, “Oh, you mean Eva’s book?”

“Get out,” she answered. “This cannot be. Are you sure it’s the same author?”

“Not only am I sure, but she will be here in a week,” I confirmed. “Would you like me to have her bring a book for you?”

I did a quick Google search on my phone and suspended Sophie’s disbelief by showing her an image of the book cover. Eva was pleased to hear from me and agreed to bring a few copies for her upcoming trip to Rishikesh.

Several weeks later, while on a walkabout, I was enjoying refreshments at The Juice House when Eva and Nathanael, who had recently returned to Rishikesh, passed on the street. They joined me on a bench, Eva on my right and Nathanael on my left. When Vishvas arrived for his daily shift of juice-making, I introduced him to my friends. Although he was anxious to get to work, he quickly said, “Kurt, I have a favor to ask of you. Some of your fellow students were here yesterday, and they had a little book with drawings of yoga poses.” I glanced at Eva and reveled in her beaming grin. He continued, “Do you think you could find a way for me to buy that book?”

“Well,” I said, “I know the author. She sold her last book to one of my yoga classmates earlier today, but I bet you could make arrangements to get one from her.”

Much to his surprise, Eva piped in then and said, “I have one copy left, and it’s the one I use to show people my work. But, I feel that it needs to be yours, so I will bring it for you tomorrow.”

Visibly moved, Vishvas responded, “Oh what a great honor.” Then he asked, “How much would that cost me?”

Eva looked toward the sky, squinting her eyes in thought before replying, “One juice would be a good trade. The price is one juice.”

Help

Jim and Joyce are two of the greatest neighbors of all time.  After the snow flies, they are up at the crack of dawn shoveling random driveways in the hood.  Several times a year I open my door from an unexpected knock and Joyce will surprise me with a warm peach cobbler.  At least once a month I get a call or text asking me for my Costco wish list.  There is not enough space in this  blog to list their endless supply of selfless kind acts.

I drive by their house often and always stop to chat when they are meandering around the yard.  If my passage includes a trip to the store, I offer to pick up an item or two.  I am constantly rebuffed but my optimism keeps me in the batters box.  My multi-year hitless streak ended last week when Joyce asked me to pick up a watermelon from Trader Joe’s.  Endorphins flooded my sense of goodness as I drove three miles to store.  I was needed and had a chance to help.

The gods were on my side with a front row parking spot.  The mood deflation was sudden when I saw the wooden crate heaping with heavy green-striped melons.  For the non-regular readers, my ribs are still cracked from a recent bike tumble.  While shopping for light items, I thought about taking one for the team by wrestling a melon from the crate and into my bag.  The ribs vetoed that plan.

In the checkout line I felt inferior for requesting help.  I pushed down the emotion and said,  “I need you to add a melon to my tab and also need a human to carry it to my car.”

The checker rang the bell and the summoned helper arrived with a slightly suspicious look.  To alleviate any question, I preemptively pointed to my ribcage and said, “Cracked.”

The guy could not have been nicer and also took charge of my reusable shopping bag.  He thanked me for being a customer while placing the goods in the backseat of my car.

During the short drive home, I spent time reflecting on this puzzling emotion.  Helping another person always brings me joy.  Being on the receiving end of help always makes me feel good and I believe the helper shares in the same feeling.  I have no idea why the simple act of asking for help is so hard.

Upon arrival at my house, I queued Help into Spotify.   The Fab Four helped.

When I was younger, so much younger than today

I never needed anybody’s help in any way

But now these days are gone, I’m not so self assured

Now I find I’ve changed my mind and opened up the doors 

The Practice Retreat

Several years ago, I was invited to speak about A Million Steps at the Sun Valley Wellness Festival.  One of the perks was a free pass to see the other presentations.  I was particularly looking forward to seeing Arielle Ford, a celebrated love and relationship expert.  I arrived early and began chatting with the man to my right.  About halfway through the presentation, Ford introduced her husband in the audience.  Guess who was sitting to my right?

He put me in touch with a fellow Camino pilgrim named Laurie.  Just a few months earlier, she had taken a gigantic leap by exiting the traditional workforce and landing in India to become the executive assistant for a prominent spiritual leader. She’d begun to practice Seva, selfless service performed without thought of reward or repayment. During the five to six weeks after Sun Valley, we exchanged a handful of private messages about the Camino and our mutual love for life-changing travel.

Then one day, the conversation shifted. Laurie sent me a short message that said, “I really like Rishikesh and think that you should visit.”

I was startled by this communication and didn’t know what to make of it.   India was not even on my radar. My initial reaction was lukewarm at best.

Later, thinking about Laurie’s message, I became more intrigued. I Googled Rishikesh and discovered a city of about 100,000 people in northern India at the base of the Himalayas. The Wikipedia description hooked me on two fronts. First, it described the city as the “Yoga Capital of the World.” I had been practicing yoga regularly for about two years at that time. Wikipedia then informed me that in 1968, The Beatles visited the city to learn about Transcendental Meditation at the ashram of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Yes, this is where most of the melodies and lyrics were created for The White Album.

In late October of 2015, I found myself standing on the banks of the Ganges River (Mother Ganga) at the Parmarth Niketan Ashram.  Over the following five weeks, I felt like I had exited my life and stepped into a colorful James Bond movie.  My yoga practice expanded by taking classes with some of the greatest teachers on the planet.  My body easily adapted to a vegetarian diet.  My soul was reshaped by experiencing immense love and kindness from local strangers.

I became smitten with Rishikesh and have returned each fall for 5-6 weeks.  During the 2017 trip, I completed a 200-hour yoga teacher training with Surinder Singh.  Instead of staying at the ashram, I spent that trip living in his yoga shala with 16 students from around the world.  At the end of that trip, I decided to write my second book (Practice).  My intention was to share India travel stories and incorporate the journey of my personal yoga transformation.

I released the book in 2018 and sent 1,000 copies to random yoga studios throughout the United States.  One of the recipients was a very experienced yoga teacher from New Hampshire.  She has been teaching yoga for over 20 years and organized countless retreats throughout her career.  She approached me about partnering to create a transformative travel experience in Rishikesh.  My intuition immediately said yes.

We have two of ten spots remaining for this retreat.  The dates are Nov 4-13.  I hope this message unlocks your passion to join our small group for the continuation of this journey.

Click here for details:  The Practice Retreat

Feel free to call me at (208) 345-6421 or email at k@kurtkoontz.com

The yoga sessions are optional and we welcome beginners.

 

 

Crash Bang Bloom

In my early 30’s, I was fired from a job and the CEO told me, “This is just a bump in the road.”

I was completely outraged and it took quite some time for anger to dissipate.  In the rear view mirror, it was the on-ramp to my spiritual life.  Once again, the cosmic two-by-four smack to the backside served a grand purpose.

Last week, I was on a dirt bike ride with a dear friend in Ketchum, ID.  His son is about my size, so I fit well into his massive quantities of protective gear including knee pads, rip-proof outer garments, chest pads, shoulder pads, elbow pads, full-face helmet, steel toed boots, and padded shorts.  I felt like Iron Man as we rode out of town towards the Boulder Mountains.  Near the end of a forty-mile ride, I tipped over at the high speed of 2 MPH.  The bike went left and my body met the earth on the right.  The first thing to hit was my right-side lower rib cage.  The audible crunch was a precursor to the premature end of my vacation.  I have cracked ribs a few times and know about the long recovery process.  We did visit a local urgent care facility to make sure it was just a rib injury.  Like all other times, the advice was to lay low for six weeks and allow the body to repair.

If you have never experienced a rib injury, the pain is easy to summarize.  It only hurts when you laugh, breathe, cough, poop, or sleep.

I was at a Satsang session in India and asked the spiritual leader how he maintained his omnipresent positive attitude.  His response changed my life when he said, “When things happen, I do not let them bother me.  I surrender my ego’s need for an explanation.”  Those simple words carry a powerful message of unconditional acceptance.

I am a strong believer that things happen for a reason.  Many people feel this is hocus-pocus or some type of fairy tale.  I find it to be a great way to plow through life’s inevitable road bumps.

Rest is not my strong suit, so this is a grand opportunity to allow my body to recover.  I never seem to find the time to polish my Spanish speaking skills.  The excuse of time has been eliminated.  It has been several years since I had a six-week stretch at my home in Boise.  Another great chance to reconnect with my local friends.

Caroline Myss summarizes my feelings when she said, “Stop thinking that bad things shouldn’t happen to you if you’re a good person.  What are bad things?  How do you know what a bad thing is?  How do you know?”

I look forward to seeing what blooms from this bump.

 

 

The Turning Point

Last Tuesday, after a long mountain bike ride, I noticed that my rear tire was aged and worn.  I pedaled to the nearest bike shop and was pleasantly surprised to learn that they stocked the exact same tire and could slap it on in less than fifteen minutes.   They offered me a seat in the shop so I could chat with the mechanics while they did the work.

The guy doing the transfer was fifteen years old and asked, “How was your ride today and where did you go?”

I replied, “I rode Chocolate Gulch and it was nice.  As I get older, I sure find myself being cautious and walking around danger.  I used to ride the entire loop, but those days are long gone.  Yesterday’s thrill now appears as a future date with my orthopedic surgeon.”

He laughed and said, “I am at the complete opposite end of the spectrum.  I just started riding two years ago and cannot find enough technical challenges.”

With the new tire installed, I rode a few miles to my rented condo.  It gave me some time to reflect on the many turning points I have encountered throughout my life.

I began mountain biking about twelve years ago.  Over that time, I have become intimately familiar with the vast majority of the trails in The Wood River Valley.  There is one endurance ride that pushes me every year and I use it as a gauge.  This grinder of a ride is 24-mile loop that creeps up Cold Springs, crosses the top of Bald Mountain, and descends down Warm Springs.  I test myself once a season.

I woke on Wednesday and decided to slay the mountain.  The trip to the base was a five mile glide along a greenbelt that passes through a beautiful mountain town.  It was a gradual slope in my favor.  In my biking youth, I wasted excess energy by racing through town.  On that day, I consciously conserved energy and spent my time enjoying the blue sky, the pine scents, and hearing the water rage down the Wood River.  The grind begins with a right hand turn about 1/4 of a mile before the hospital.  The next six miles began at 6000′ and summits at 9,000′.  The winding trail surface was comprised of packed dirt, bedded pine needles, sand, tree roots, and rocky shale.  The grade of the ascent changes but it never becomes a descent until the top.

I was feeling pretty good for the first half of the climb.  After a slow and steady three miles, I took a nice break to enjoy an apple and a peanut butter mojo bar.  My body did not have its normal response to rest and fuel.  As I resumed the climb, fatigue set in like never before.  I rode another half mile and began to question if the summit was in the cards on this day.  The next half mile answered that question and it was a quite obvious that I had hit the proverbial wall.  The turnaround reminded me of one favorite anonymous quote that says, “A bad day for the ego is a great day for the soul.”

A few days later I shared this tale with a dear friend of mine.  She walked all 500 miles on the Camino in her late seventies.  With a coy grin she said, “Looks like you ran into the LAW.  Life Always Wins!”

 

 

Love

When I was in my early teens, I completely expected to have a life that would include being married and having children. Given my family background, that life would also include a divorce or two.

I do not think that anyone who drinks heavily can have a meaningful romantic relationship, so I was disqualified until my mid-30s. I think I also needed a period of time for me to “wake up and grow up.”

Now I sometimes wonder if I use my travel as an excuse to avoid deeply intimate relationships. I am a single guy who has no plans beyond six months and who usually spends six months of the year traveling. Maybe I am hiding behind borders.

Still, I am happy with my life and my lifestyle. I thrive on meeting new people and having new experiences. I do not see myself as half a person just because I do not have a better half. I do not live with the belief that I can complete anyone or that anyone will complete me.

I wake up each day and like to let the day unfold. I accept what happens and try to avoid resisting the present moment. For whatever reason, my love life has not unfolded in a traditional manner. Maybe that is the universe telling me to stay on this path alone.

 Love used to be more of a transactional feeling with me—like a business relationship wherein something was surrendered or provided in return for kindness. I now see love as a gift that I can share with anyone. Like a gift, love comes without strings or attachments. I try to spread my version of love freely with all those who cross my path.

Love is wanting the best for everyone and having no attachment to the outcome. Just like success, me winning does not mean you have to lose.  Love is not a zero-sum gain. Life offers an infinite and eternal supply of love that is meant to be shared in each interaction.

I used to think that a partner could make me happy, but maturity has taught me that happiness comes from within. Happiness is something to be shared, and not something to be gained from another person.

Humble Hero

Last week I rode one of my favorite mountain bike trails in Boise.  I had to pedal through town and then rode two miles up a paved road to reach the trailhead.    I like the route through the city because it takes me past all of my childhood schools from kindergarten to high school.  The last one is my elementary school which was at the base of the two mile grind to the trail.  The traffic is much lighter at this point so I was just entering zen mode.

While pedaling up the steep hill, some guy yells, “Hey, are you riding corrals trail today?”

I turned around and saw my new friend using hand cranks to pedal his recumbent bike.  I replied, “Yes, would you like to join me.”

He said, “That would be great, there are five gates on this trail and I need help to open them.  If I ride too slow, feel free to ditch me.”

Moments later  I was breathing heavy trying to keep up with Pat.  After a few minutes of small talk, I asked, “Are you injured or do you just like the recumbent bike?

He replied, “I was in a motorcycle wreck seventeen years ago and am paralyzed from the chest down.”

His custom built bike was an amazing machine.  Pat was frustrated with off the shelf recumbents so he used his engineering skills to design and build his unique bike.  He told me another story about being discouraged in his wheelchair in the early days after his accident.  He was stuck in the grass in his front yard and thought that there must be a better solution.  Not being able to find one, he designed a third wheel that can be added to any wheelchair.  It basically transforms the chair into an all-terrain vehicle that can roll over curbs, dirt trails, grass, gravel, snow, and sand.  This is now a multi-million dollar business and his invention is sold in 39 countries.

He would often stop and used a spray bottle to moisturize his upper body with water.  When I inquired about the need he told me that the accident caused his body to stop perspiring.  When we crossed out first creek, he asked me to soak his shirt in the water as an insurance policy against overheating.  He also mentioned that this was an issue when he races.  That is when I learned he has won four national championships.

After the fifth and final gate, we were looking at a big downhill.  He said, “I ride a bit faster than you so this is where I say goodbye.  I will check out your books and will look forward to riding with you in the future.”

He quickly ditched me.

I used to think that travel was required to meet amazing people.  It is nice to know that is just takes an open heart because the world is full of silent and humble heroes.

 

Life Changer

I took my first breath on January 18, 1964.  On that exact same day, my alcoholic grandfather died from cirrhosis of the liver.

My dad was a functional alcoholic. He was a partner in the largest law firm in Idaho and recognized as one of the sharpest in the entire Northwest. He paraded around the high-end social and political circles in town. I remember meeting many United States Senators and candidates at political fundraisers held in our living room.  It wasn’t until my high school years that the first cracks began to show in his veneer. These cracks ultimately became gaping crevices. His law firm fell into turmoil and he left with a handful of other men to start a new practice. I thought it was a courageous move on his part, but it turned out that he was forced to leave due to his dependence on vodka.

Like all good kids in my neighborhood, my friends and I collectively discovered Heineken, Maui Wowie, and Marlboro Reds during middle school. As a young overachiever, I excelled in all three categories. In high school, I always had a job, always had good grades, and was always the first in line to refill my beer at parties. It seems that the alcohol and functional genes were transferred to me at birth. By my senior year, I was drinking on a regular basis and knocking down 20 Marlboros a day. After high school, I went to the University of Puget Sound in Tacoma, Washington.

Just like the previous 12 years of schooling, college was a breeze. With a decent amount of dedication, I flew through with a high GPA. My summer jobs included an internship with an Idaho senator in Washington D.C. and a stint as a ranch hand at my fraternity brother’s ranch in Maui, Hawaii. I graduated with a business degree in the standard four years. During college, my dad’s second wife initiated a divorce. A trend of relationship issues had developed, but it obviously had nothing to do with whiskey.

I remember picking my dad up at Sea-Tac airport the day before my college graduation. He was very anxious to get to the hotel and encouraged me to break multiple traffic laws to accommodate his goal. The brief drive ended at the Sheraton Hotel in downtown Tacoma. We bypassed the check-in desk, left the bags in the car, and sprinted to the bar. He ordered two double shots of Wild Turkey. Before the toast, he gave me a nice card and stock certificate for 100 shares of Ohio Edison. He strongly suggested that I reinvest the dividends. With that, we clanked our overflowing shot glasses and imbibed. With a supersized smile, he informed me that I was officially “off the payroll.”

In late May of 2001, my brother called me with news that turned my world upside down. My father had been admitted to a local hospital. His liver was completely shot, and it was just a short period of time before the rest of his organs would cease to function. I remember one visit to the hospital in particular. My father looked very small in his bed. Seeing my hero slowly shrivel was tough, but the yellow tint of his skin made the entire experience a surreal one. He died a few days later on June 10, 2001.

At that moment, I decided that I would not depart the planet in a similar fashion and gave up all drinking and smoking.  On one of the darkest days of my life I received the amazing gift of sobriety.

The 18th anniversary happened last week.