It has now been two weeks since we arrived back in Cape Town after an 8 year stint living abroad, and I am still hesitant to write this post.  I keep thinking that I need to give it more time, that my unconditional euphoria about being back has to be some kind of temporary adrenalin rush.  That the other shoe will drop and suddenly I’ll be faced with a strange reality, left only with thoughts of “What have we done!?”  And maybe that will still happen.  But right now, as I sit on our balcony in Sea Point overlooking the Promenade and the vast blue ocean, I’m tempted to give up the fight and embrace what my wife told me over lunch today… What took us so long to move back?

It’s hard to explain, but my spirit lifted the minute we landed in Cape Town (after a grueling 2-day journey with our 6-month old, but that’s a story for a different blog post).  After recuperating at my parents’ house in Stellenbosch for a few days, we moved into our flat in Sea Point a week ago, and we just can’t believe how lucky we are to live here in this amazing place.

The beauty in this area of the world is simply stunning.  This weekend I got up and went for a run along the ocean as the foghorns were working overtime, and 100s of runners were enjoying the early morning ocean-quiet with me.  We spent the day at Camps Bay and Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens, and we were left only with thoughts of how blessed we are to have all of this right at our doorstep.

There is chaos here, but it doesn’t feel like chaos, it just feels like life.  When we walk around in downtown Sea Point I sense an energy and a vibrancy that is almost tangible.  As I watch and talk to people, as we experience the diversity of cultures and emotions all around us, I can’t help but fall in love with Africa all over again.  And my wife, who is American, feels exactly the same way.

There are those who tell me we’re crazy for moving back, but the love-hate relationship South Africans have with their country is also part of what draws me to this place — we don’t shy away from the bad stuff, and we don’t shut up about our opinions.

Yes, there are many problems in South Africa.  Serious, serious problems.  And I am not oblivious to it — I remain vigilant and always mindful of the safety of my family, and I’d be lying if I said this weekend’s killing of Eugene Terre’blanche doesn’t make me nervous.  But I see in this country a potential that is so different and unique to anything I’ve experienced living in Australia and America.

Let me put it this way.  When I was in high school, rugby was everything.  The problem is that our school really sucked at it.  We weren’t even allowed to play in the same league as our main rivals in town (Paul Roos Gymnasium), because the embarrassment would just be too devastating and there were fears we would grow up weak and bruised for life.  But the words our coach spoke to us one afternoon after practice have stuck with me ever since:

He told us, yes, we could attend Paul Roos and be part of a great rugby school, a school that has accomplished everything there is to accomplish, a school at the top of the rankings.  Or we could stay here, at Stellenbosch High, and help build something from the ground up.  Now, sure, he was just trying to make us feel better.  But the words rang true.

Living in America was wonderful — I love the country and its people, and I am amazed at how smoothly everything works, and how easy it is to live there.  But here’s the thing: America doesn’t need me.  I can’t really contribute much there.  There are 1,000′s of people there who have the exact same skillset I do.

But here, in Cape Town, in my country, I can become part of something.  The Silicon Cape initiative is getting off the ground.  The user experience community is starting to thrive.  I can be a part of that — and here’s the bonus: I can do it in a place that is brimming with hope and immeasurable beauty.  How can I pass that chance up?

During our last week in America, I reminded my wife at some point that we are taking a big risk by moving here.  The job pool is smaller, there are countless political challenges.  You know what she told me?  ”A safe life is a boring life.”  And she was right (as usual).

So we take this risk and we embrace it with both arms.  So far we are loving every minute of it.  Hard times will come, but we are here, now, and this is our home.  Here, in Africa, we plant ourselves.

I think we love American Idol because it is such a complete window into the full spectrum of human nature. In the confines of an hour on TV we see an exaggerated version of every type of person we might ever encounter in our daily lives.  We see the ones we hate, the ones we love, the ones we feel sorry for, and the ones we want to be.  In essence, we see people in various combinations of different levels of ability and arrogance.  And that’s why I think there are four types of people in this world.

Let me first say that I am just as appalled as you are that I fell for the old “there are X types of people…” trick.  I’m reminded of the old joke: There are two types of people in this world – those who believe there are two types of people in this world, and those who don’t.  I’m squarely in the don’t column on that one.  But hang with me for a bit please – I’m reasonably certain that this will make sense to you in the end.

So here we go.  4 types of people, based on their ability level (low or high) and their level of arrogance about their abilities (low or high):

Actually, I think we all spend some time in each of these four quadrants as we go through life.  Sometimes we live in all four quadrants in a single day.  It is somewhat inevitable.  But we should strive to spend more time in some quadrants than others.  I’m getting ahead of myself, though.  Let’s go through each of these in turn…

1. The Realist (low ability, low arrogance)

This is the guy who strolls onto the American Idol platform, squeaks out a barely audible rendition of Unchained Melody, and immediately hangs his head in shame.  He wanted to give it his best shot, but he knows he’s in over his head, so faced with the blank stares from the judges, he just turns around quietly and leaves.

It’s sad to see, but we’ve all acted this way.  We’re inspired by something or someone so we try to do something new, only to realize that, yeah, maybe surfing in the Mavericks surf contest after watching “Surf’s Up” wasn’t such a good idea after all. 

Once, in high school, I decided I would be a good DJ so I put me hand up to be the DJ at one of our school parties.  I was really bad at it.  And walking around with a perpetual wedgie for a week also really gives you some additional perspective on your talents.  But there was good in that.  It showed me I should probably pursue other things.

I think we should spend as little time as possible in this quadrant.  Stay away from the things you’re not good at (unless there is a real chance you have the talent to become good at it with enough work).

2. The Obnoxious Wannabe (low ability, high arrogance)

These are the cringe-inducing American Idol auditions that we can’t watch, but simply have to.  The girl who comes in wearing an elaborate costume, going on about how all her friends tell her she’s the next Kelly Clarkson.  And then she opens her mouth and you start to question the existence of intelligent life on earth.  Because they couldn’t possibly be any worse at singing.  These auditions usually end pretty badly.  Some even end with an arrest, as in this example:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VfbWAmwaK44

The thing is, we all dwell in this quadrant sometimes.  Maybe more than me might care to admit.  On American Idol our response is, “don’t these people know how bad they are?”  But then we go out and pretend like our opinion is the only one that matters.  At work, we’re always right, and we refuse to admit that someone else’s ideas might be valid.  This is a very dangerous quadrant to spend time in.  It’s an easy thing to spot in others, but we’re so often blind to it in ourselves.  American Idol inspired me to dial up my internal Wannabe Radar a little so that I can get better at stepping out as soon as I venture into this area.

3. The Rock Star (high ability, high arrogance)

These auditions make you so jealous and so happy, both at the same time.  You know the ones.  The girl who walks in with a cocky swagger and belts out a Celine Dion song like it’s nobody’s business.  She hits it spot on, she knows it, and she’s not shy about it.  Think of bands like Coldplay and U2.  Think of musicians like John Mayer.  Arrogant as the day is long, but these guys simply wouldn’t be where they are today without being both good and cocky.  That’s sometimes what it takes.

In life, this can be a very effective way to get ahead, but it can also backfire fairly quickly.  Those who really use this to their advantage learn to disguise the fact that they believe they’re the only expert to ever exist on a particular subject matter (let’s call them Modified Rock Stars).

This is the celebrity quadrant, and I think in the back of our minds we all want to spend our time here (Balloon Boy, anyone?).  But here’s the thing.  I think spending too much time in this quadrant just makes you tired, and doesn’t bring you any closer to happiness. Which brings us to…

4. The Game-Changer (high ability, low arrogance)

Some American Idol auditions make you cry.  Go on, admit it.  These auditions are usually accompanied by a life story that includes overcoming a difficult event, like sickness or a death in the family.  These are people who have been beaten down by life, learned from it, and got up.  They show up at the audition with a sincere appreciation for the opportunity.  They can sing, but they have also experienced enough disappointment in their lives to know that nothing is guaranteed.

But man, can they sing.

You know the ones I’m talking about.

I call them Game-Changers, because they have a life-changing impact on the way you view the world (even if it’s in a small way), and they stay with you long after you get in contact with them.  You think about the audition when you wake up the next day.  You remember the words of a high school teacher that meant a lot to you.  You follow the advice of a work mentor who never played the corporate game well, but always seemed to be content and fulfilled in their jobs.

I don’t spend nearly enough time in this quadrant, and frankly, I want to get out of the other quadrants and into this one as often as possible.  Because this is the quadrant where you operate in the realm of your natural talents, and you have a real opportunity to impact other people in a positive way.

This is different from the Modified Rock Star (see description above) because the motivation is different.  Modified Rock Stars may appear humble, but they are still only out for themselves.  The Game-Changer’s motivation is to truly and honestly contribute to their communities (professional as well as personal), and leave those places better off.  They are aware of their talents and what they’re good at (and come on, we all have something we’re good at).  But they see this as a gift to be shared, not an accomplishment to lord over others.

This is where I want to spend my time.

How about you?  What is your “Game-Changer” talent?

And now you’ll have to excuse me, I have to go look for mine…

I remember the first time I left South Africa.  I was in my early twenties, and I got on a plane to Australia to study there for two years.  I had no idea what I was doing or how it would feel to be in another country.  I also had no idea what jet lag was all about.  The first night I went to bed at 4pm.  Big mistake.  I woke up at 2am, wide awake and hungrier than I’ve ever been in my entire life.  I got up to go hunting for food, and the KFC burger I found most likely saved my life that night.

I think of that experience often when I see Aralyn experiencing new things, because the look in her eyes reminds me of how I felt that night.  The realization that the world is so much bigger than you ever imagined can be as frightening as it is exhilarating.  And for Aralyn, every day is like a flight to a new country.  From the smallest discovery that she is able to move her toes, to the overwhelming experience of being in an airport with all its noises and people, “overstimulation” in babies is no made-up thing you say when the crying doesn’t stop.  It is very, very real.

A few nights ago Jess and I flew down to San Diego to spend Christmas with family.  It was the first time I flew with Aralyn, and I was a total ball of stress for days ahead of the flight.  And for good reason.  Let’s just say that things did not go well, and that I am strongly considering staying in San Diego until she is around 8 years old and able to fly without incident.  She cried inconsolably throughout the flight, and even though there were probably a few sympathetic parents somewhere, I couldn’t find any as I scanned the plane with a facial expression that hopefully conveyed how extremely sorry I was for the inconvenience we were causing them.

But it also got me thinking about the experience of becoming fully human.  I understand why Aralyn was crying.  She was in a completely foreign environment, with loud noises and bright lights, full of people she has never seen before.  Just like I felt when I woke up at 2am that first night in Australia.

But despite these traumatic experiences we eventually get older and learn how to deal with newness and the things that expand our world views.  I do think that anything we do that increases the size of our worlds has some essence of the effect I see it has on Aralyn.  She can’t talk yet, but her eyes scream her emotions: “I don’t know what this is, and it scares me to death, but please give me more of it.”

And so it is that, even at the tender age of 3 months, my daughter is already teaching me about life.  She is teaching me that we should all keep doing things that scare us.  Because those frightening experiences are what allow us to experience life fully and become, truly and happily, human.

Speaking of hospitals, let me begin by saying this.  Although we received excellent care at the Kaiser Permanente Santa Clara hospital, I did question their judgment when they told us we can go home with the baby.  You mean to tell me we’re allowed to take a whole human being home with us, without anyone supervising us?  Highly irresponsible of them, if you ask me.  But I digress.

Speaking of digressing (and I’m allowed to do that since I didn’t sleep last night), here’s another observation.  When you first tell people that you are about to have a baby, their initial reaction is always a wonderfully self-affirming excitement, followed by the universally agreed-upon “when are you due?” question.  (Or, as one friend put it, “When did it happen?” None of your business when it happened, buddy!).

What happens next is also quite predictable.  Those who don’t have kids move on to other subjects and the matter is quickly forgotten.  But those who have kids take a different route.  There are a few seconds of silence, a widening of the pupils, a knowing and mysterious smile, followed by the words, “Your lives are going to change.” These words are usually spoken in a chilling monotone that somehow seems to suck the air out of the room.  I’ve always wondered about that.  There is so much emotion and experience bundled up in the simple words “Your lives are going to change,” that I was too afraid to ask them to elaborate.

Well, now I know what it means.  It means that elation, helplessness, joy, tiredness, ridiculous love, and feelings of inadequacy actually become one giant ball of emotion when you have a child. All these things become so intertwined that you can’t tell them apart, just as you have trouble telling night from day.  And I think this is a good thing.  I think it is good that for the first few weeks/months of a child’s life, you are physically incapable of focusing on anything else in your life.  Because caring for a child is that important, and you should not be allowed to make it just another part of your life.

And so Aralyn, Jess and I survived the first two weeks of her life.  Here’s a brief rundown of what we survived.  These might seem like small accomplishments, but they sure feel big to us:

• We survived the first night of trying everything in our power to soothe her while I speed-read The Happiest Baby on the Block in a desperate attempt to learn the inner workings of swaddling.
• We survived our first two visits to the Kaiser “Newborn Club” where the nurses taught me made-up words such as “hooter hider” and “nipple confusion.”
• We survived our first freak-out session over her erratic breathing and the (what appeared to be a) 10-year old doctor who couldn’t get an accurate oxygen reading, gave up, left the room, and called a nurse to help us instead.
• We survived our first appointment with the pediatrician who I’m pretty sure was in the cast of Fawlty Towers at some point in his life.  At least he could get an accurate oxygen count, though.
• And most of all, we survived the lack of sleep.  Nothing can prepare you for the lack of sleep.

I also feel obligated to answer a question my friend G-J asked me on Twitter today:

@RianVDM Are the nappies [diapers] as terrifying as you anticipated? Is the Diaper Genie II holding up well?

The answer to both of those questions is a resounding YES!  Diapers continue to be extremely terrifying to me, especially the variety of colors and smells that currently make up the poopiness inside.  Right now we’re at the “Dijon Mustard” stage, and sometimes at 3am it’s so eerily similar that I almost want to go toast some bread and… well, you know what I mean.

But the Diaper Genie II is a magnificent piece of equipment.  It’s one of those rare products that actually delivers on its promise of keeping dirty diapers out of sight and smell.  Although we did learn an important lesson last night.  When it’s full, it’s full.  The bags tear easily so don’t keep pushing things down in there, otherwise you will be forced to put on full scuba gear and dish washing gloves to clean up the resulting mess.

So here we are, two weeks in.  And even though it might sound like I’m complaining, I assure you that I am not.  The hardest part of parenting so far, for me, is the occasional feeling of helplessness.  The fact that she is crying, there’s something wrong, and there is simply nothing I can do about it.

But most of the time I just dream about her.  I wonder what kind of person she will be, what her passions are going to be, what she will teach me over the years, and how on earth I am ever going to learn to say “no” to her.  Because when she falls asleep on my chest, I realize that those who told us “Your lives are going to change” had it right, but they should have followed it up with even truer words.

“And you won’t want it any other way.”