Melina Gerosa Bellows on Her 50th Birthday in Bali Family

My 50th Birthday in Bali

Courtesy Melina Bellows Melina Bellows wears a traditional conical hat while on vacation in Bali. It's been a year since I went to Bali to celebrate my 50th birthday. It wasn't a great time for a vacation: My ex was declining with a terminal illness, our kids were busy and confused, work was always crazy. But would it ever be a good time? The advantage to being an adult is having control over your life. The disadvantage is being fully responsible. Midlife crisis might be overstating, but I definitely felt the need to set an intention for the rest of my life. And maybe an Eat, Pray, Love moment would help me do just that. Cut to me, doing on a pavilion facing the sea at a super-fancy resort named Ayana. A Balinese instructor lead us through sun salutations. E-ver-so-slow-ly, a white sailboat glided across the horizon. The scene was yogurt-commercial perfect. Except for the bitchy narrator — me. I was complaining about how hot it was and how much ground I'd lost with my yoga practice due to months of back problems that affected my mood as much as my body. With an intense effort, I pulled myself out of my Always Never Anywhere fugue and back into my quaking quads. Breathe. Just breathe. That afternoon I headed to Ayana's Resort and Spa Aquatonic Pool. For two hours, geysers and jets of Indian Ocean water massaged me. I emerged to the comfort of a cotton batik robe, a spicy cup of ginger tea and the revelation that the process (allegedly) leaves one 2 pounds lighter. The next morning I headed to Jimbaran Bay to soak up the local color. The open-air market was a chaotic melee. No souvenirs there, just food stalls and speeding motorbikes. The vendors sold spices, fruit and chopped-up chickens; the pungent combination made me feel a little faint. Onward. My next destination was the funky artists' enclave named Ubud and the small, family-run Viceroy Bali. I felt as if I'd reached movie Bali. It was just as you'd picture it. Thatched-roof pavilions, gleaming dark wood, white cushions, orchids galore. (Where was Javier Bardem?) The infinity pool jutted invitingly out into the lush, aptly named Valley of the Kings. But my dip would have to wait. There's something to be said for sending the past out in style, and the Balinese have an annual monster bash. Think New Year's Eve meets Halloween meets the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. I headed for Ubud's main drag. I heard the parade before I saw it. Young boys clanged and banged as they carried their town's ogoh-ogoh, an elaborate mythological male demon made of papier-mâché, down the road on intricate rafts of bamboo planks. Nyepi arrived the following morning, and I awoke to total silence. On this day the entire country "plays dead" so the evil spirits will think the party's over and move on. No one goes outside, no one uses electricity. Nyepi is a day of quiet reflection, and even visitors must comply. I wandered onto my balcony and listened to the whoosh of a river I could not see. The dawn crept through a curtain of palm trees. I was alone except for the dragonflies. There must have been 30 of them. I tried to focus on setting my intention. Nothing came to me. I went to the gym and then spent the rest of the day lounging around in paradise. It was like a snow day, but at the pool. It would have been perfect if my intention hadn't been weighing on me like a homework assignment. The following morning at dawn I trekked through the Tegalalang rice terrace, a 500-year-old farmers co-op. I huffed and puffed as I climbed the daunting, skinny switchback, fearful that I'd lose my footing and fall off the mountain. The view from the top was dazzling: bright green with natural water fountains gurgling here and there. The perfect vantage point to clear my mind and commit to that new life ... But aaahhhh. The only thing I noticed was an unlucky tourist fall off the footpath and into a mud puddle below. His group applauded loudly. On the way back, I shopped my way up the main drag. I snapped up colorful sarongs and prayer beads for friends and wooden puppets for the kids. As I passed the town square, I saw the pumpkin-size ogoh-ogohhead lolling in the grass, left over from the monster bash. It looked pathetic. My flight would leave that night. I felt pathetic. I hadn't settled on a plan. Mental snapshots of the trip appeared in my mind's eye: a stunning mountaintop view with a man falling in the mud, an evil demon head lying motionless in the town square. And me: trying to decide on a future in the space of a few days away. Then a guy on a bike rode by. He had a plastic water bottle perched on his head. He grinned. I had to laugh. That moment seemed, suddenly, to be the beginning of an answer. Or maybe a sign. Perhaps the key to contentment is the practical, original, even humorous pursuit of balance. A year later, turning 51 and my life drastically changed, I've forged a new self — one who seeks balance with a smile on her face.

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