The Importance of an Occasional Forced "Sure"

“He laughed back, reached behind the counter, and pulled out a small jar of it, holding it out to me.”

Originally published January 2017

Sitting in the shade,

a slight chill from the lake breeze cut by the warmth of sipping my (third) cup of coffee, alternating between writing and watching people from all over the world walk by me with their Ferg Burger and Patagonia Ice Cream and sunglasses and jandals (flip flops) and backpacks, a street musician playing soft ambient music (currently a dreamy rendition of “Amazing Grace”) that is radiating through the entire Queenstown Town Centre… One of my favorite ways to exist in the world.

Yesterday we picked up the K’s and started the day at the Remarkables Market, the Queenstown Lakes District’s Saturday farmer’s market. We walked through, trying the creamiest most flavorful grass-fed cheeses from local dairy farmers, dying at the cutest baby beet roots, smiling back at the tanned, wrinkled farmers’ faces as we went booth to booth, soaking in the beauty of art and food and produce and smells of people making really good food, all of which you wish you could try but don’t have the money for.

I walked around by myself for a while, not intending to buy anything, just appreciating the food and people around me, and then a guy brings me out of my internal dialoge asking if I wanted to try this “Magic Balm.” Sometimes I like to engage the sellers of random booths becasue I know being able to talk to the occasional passerby probably makes standing out in the hot sun for multiple hours trying to pitch your product a little more enjoyable.

So I said, “Yeah, why not?”

We talked for a while, about the balm and all of its uses, me asking questions about the process, the ingredients, asking questions like “What’s your favorite thing to use it on in your life?” To which he replied his cracked heels in the summers, because the hot New Zealand climate can be pretty rough on your feet.

It turns out his best mates are a couple from North Carolina. They both went to Wake Forest and came to New Zealand for a while to work, and ended up making this Magic Balm while they were here. They were off traveling for a week or so, so he offered to take over their booth while they were gone. Small world. We talked for a while longer, about his growing up in Arrowtown, a small town near Queenstown, and about his favorite hikes in the area (to which he wrote out directions and drew a very detailed map on a scratch sheet of paper and gave to me), and then toward the end, he offered up, “So do you think you need this Magic Balm in your life?”

“Well unfortunately I don’t think this balm is in my traveler’s budget, regardless how magic it is,” I said laughing.

He laughed back, reached behind the counter, and pulled out a small jar of it, holding it out to me.

“Here.” He said smiling. “You can take it back with you to North Carolina, and you can write to us letting us know how it works on your hands when they get all cracked in the winter, like you said.”

“Wait. Seriously?”

“Go on. Take it.”

I was so caught off guard. It was a fairly expensive thing to just give away to someone. Are you sure? I kept insisting. I thanked him and thanked him, gave him my best wishes, and promised I would market the hell out of Magic Balm in the states.

People are so nice.

Sometimes it’s really important to just stop for a second and look into the eyes of a stranger, and smile while you listen to them. It’s good for everybody.

Those little moments of connection.

Those little moments of feeling seen.

Those moments that feel like gifts from the Divine.

The random additions like my new little vial of Magic Balm aren’t the point, they’re just a bonus, a reminder to get out of our heads every once in a while and engage with someone you normally would just walk by, saying “no thank you.”

Sometimes a forced “sure” opens ourselves up to the greatest gifts.

There it is. Isn’t it beautiful? Want some? Click here to go to Oddfellows Dispensary’s website and buy some! Support this baby business of friends chasing big dreams. I’ve been using it on my sun-scorched skin every day and I’m obsessed.

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After the market, we went to hike Queenstown Hill, which, let me tell ya, “hill” here means something way more steep and giant than “hill” in the states. Trails here are on a different scale, where the “moderate” rating given to this Queenstown Hill hike would have the average American tourist turning around after 10 minutes. But we trekked along, my legs feeling the combined fatigue of the 8 miles Kelly and I did yesterday and the now steep grade I was pushing them up now.

We made it up to the summit in one piece though, faces sweaty and ankles covered in a rim of gray, filmy dust that we are finding happens on any hike you do in New Zealand.

It was the first time we were high enough to really see the mountain range that Queenstown is tucked in. We were surrounded by peaks on all sides, with Lake Wakapitu reflecting its bright blue surface back to us in the only way that a pure, clear, glacier-fed lake can do.

Ugh I could have stayed up there forever, but we were hungry, and Ferg Burger was calling our name.

Ferg Burger is the world renowned burger restaurant in Queenstown. There is a line out the door at all hours of the day, even 9am for breakfast and even at 4am after everyone is done partying and wants a late-night snack. This is something I am noticing about Queenstown, that it is accepted to eat giant meals and Patagonia Ice Cream at all hours of the day.

So. We started with a giant cup of Patagonia Ice Cream, a whopping double scoop of the most decadent and rich dark chocolate and a creamy and smooth scoop of vanilla and cookies on top.

I think it was seriously the best ice cream I’ve ever had. Kelly was raving about it from when she had it 4 years ago when she was here, and now I can see why. I don’t have a picture. I ate it too fast.

Then we napped on the lake shore in the sun,

and then a couple hours later, finally sat down with burgers the size of our face, diving into them, making those weird effects that helplessly come out when you come into contact with phenomenal food, juices and sauce dribbling down our chins.

I found out I’m allergic to red meat this year (freak thing), so unfortunately there was no grass-fed beef burger for me, but vegetarian burger honestly was better than any beef burger I ever had.

I ordered the “Holier Than Thou,” consisting of tempura fried tofu, topped with a satay coconut cilantro cream sauce, greens, tomatoes, onion, bean shoots, and aioli.

Oh the aioli.

And then fries. With more aioli. Of course.

One of the most enjoyable hours of food consumption I’ve ever had, all the while sitting with our feet dangling off the concrete wall that leads to the main beach on Lake Wakatipu, right in the middle of town. A group of Kiwi guys from down south had come up for the weekend and we’re drinking beers and joking and talking with us, sharing laughs at their friend who was frolicking in the water acting a fool and talking in between bites of burger.

Days with simple bliss like this one are the days that end on your knees, sinking down in your unworthiness, asking why in the world you have deserved such a gift.