Lost in Bangkok: How Steven Tyler Changed My Life

The following is an excerpt from my book-in-progress—a story from my Serenflipity journey about getting lost, finding unexpected guides, and the magic of asking for what you need (even when it's awkward as hell). I’d love your thoughts, reactions, and reflections in the comments. Enjoy the sneak peek!

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I’m dusty and greasy, soaked from the tropical humidity and caked with Bangkok’s street soot. I’m wandering through this crazy city with nothing but a backpack and a stack of handwritten cards, following the directions scribbled on today's challenge.

Alone in a maze of millions, I am lost.

It’s not that I don’t know where I am or how to get home. I’m lost in my life. The card in my hand reads: Ask a stranger for a mantra.

This city has me dizzied: the golden temples on each corner, glowing amber in the fading sun. The tang of street food and tinge of incense. The flashing lights and lure of dark windy streets. The motorbike rides that force me to close my eyes, trust a partially drunk man with my life, and leave me with shaking knees after twists and turns so close that I can feel the exhaust pipes of other bikes and cars breathing into my bones.

Vibrating from my nearest brush with Bangkok’s traffic, I take refuge in a hotel lobby in search of silence and space. The patter of high heels echo on marble floors and a waft of powdery perfume trails the silk blouse of a business traveler. I sink into the sofa to look at nothing and consider how badly I’ve failed on today’s adventure card. I passed thousands of people, and even a few monks, and could not muster the courage to ask one for a mantra.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a famous face, below long tousled hair and above layers of distressed denim. He is perusing the shop windows in a hotel lobby, admiring a kaleidoscope of silk fabrics and sparkling gems.

I fidget in the overstuffed lobby chair, smoothing my wrinkled tee shirt and sniffing to see how badly the day’s residue wears, as I pull out the card. I have 6 hours before I have to report to my blog that I failed to do the adventure at hand.

Is he really who I think he is? Slowly I start to walk over towards this man sauntering casually in an off-stage moment, calculating how to start a conversation. I admire the showcases just a few feet away, pretending I, a weary traveler wearing knockoff Tom’s Shoes, am also in the market for silks and sapphires.

Then I overhear a familiar rasp, and take a deep breath, resolving to do the most uncomfortable thing I can think of. I’m going ask a rock star for advice. I blurt out: “That’s a familiar voice!”

He smiles and turns to me, with my greasy humidity glow, ponytailed hair, dust-torn satchel, and worn shoes, ripe from hundreds of thousands steps walked across three countries.

Yup. It’s definitely Steven Tyler. As in, the Steven Tyler. As in the Steven Tyler from Aerosmith.

He gives me a toothy smile. “Well, your voice is familiar too. Where in the States are you from?” I mention some of the cities I’ve lived in. “You lived in Aspen?” he says, as casually as if he’s picking up with an old friend. “Well how’s your ass been?”

“Well, it’s been great,” I respond with an awkward hip slap. What? Why am I talking to Steven Tyler about my ass? Be cool, Cara.

I summon a deep breath. “I have a strange request for you.” He looks at me, perhaps expecting an autograph or a request for a large donation to a charity. “My friends gave me challenges to do while I travel alone for 90 days, and today I have to ask a stranger for a mantra… Would you be up for giving me one?”

He smiles and crosses his arms in thought. “Wow, that’s a good challenge.” He runs his hand through his tousled hair, and one of the three pairs of sunglasses sitting atop his head. I start to sweat and feel a wave of nausea disorient me. I’ve imposed too much! Who do I think I am?

“It’s completely fine if you can’t think of one,” I falter, stepping back.

Two young girls inch over, curiously, toward us. A couple tip toes slowly toward the cases of silks, pretending to peruse, as they listen in. An austere man in a suit scowls. A pinched woman in pearls sniffs in our direction. This is so not what should happen in the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental. I cringe, growing red. “Well, it can be a phrase, a word of advice, a flash of inspiration… Whatever comes to mind.”

Everyone turns toward us. “No, no. This is good. A mantra. Just one word?” I can’t believe you asked this man for a mantra…

His silence feels like forever. Finally, he turns to me and says: “The only way to get to the other shore is to lose sight of the one you’re on.”

We all pause in silence. He nods to himself. He nods to the silks in the case. Then he nods to us.

It is at that moment I set my sights on a new and distant shore.