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I almost threw it away; it was unrecognizable. Lying there next to me as I got up from the couch, it finally looked like what it had become: a dingy grey, slightly odoriferous, gnarled sliver of twisted rope. But as I scooped it up to toss in the trash, I glanced over at my left wrist and realized my mistake. That grimy piece of silly string was actually my companion, comfort and helpmate during the most tumultuous – and, ultimately, one of the most gratifying – years of my existence. Was it time to bid farewell to my magic bracelet?
That string came to me on one of the most magical nights of my life. A little more than a year ago, I found myself sitting on a hilltop overlooking the fairy-tale village of Luang Prabang in Laos. I wasn't supposed to be there, but a good friend of mine living in Asia insisted I see it, even though it was nowhere near anywhere else on my itinerary.
My schedule for this whirlwind trip-of-a-lifetime through the continent was crazy enough; in just three weeks (the longest vacation of my working career), I was already visiting Tokyo, Hong Kong, Shanghai, Beijing, Bangkok, Phuket and Singapore. How on Earth was I going to squeeze in another town in another country?
But I trusted Robert and found myself on a tiny propeller plane flying precariously close to a mountain range towering over rivers, rice paddies and the most magnificent collection of Buddhist temples on the planet. Luang Prabang is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, home to 33 gilded, ornate wats, or temples, overseen by hundreds of saffron-clad monks who are a major presence in the tiny village.
And, as fate would have it, the one night I was spending in the village was the most celebrated of the year.
I had arrived just in time for the annual Lai Heua Fai Festival of Lights, highlighted by a never-ending evening parade of monks and villagers, musicians, acrobats and fire breathers, carrying giant paper boats laden with candles through the main street and down to the Mekong River.
There, the magnificent and ephemeral floats were ultimately launched, carrying their owners' problems and concerns with them.
So there I sat on that hilltop, a solitary, middle-aged Canadian among a sea of Laotians, contemplating what brought me to this place on this day.
I wish I had made a boat to release; I certainly had problems and concerns of my own to float downstream. In the past year, I had lost my father after an agonizing battle with Alzheimer's; lost my wife (to divorce) after a 25-year marriage; lost my family's house (again, to divorce); and was about to lose my job of 17 years (a casualty of a reorginization that happened shortly upon my return).
As the parade began, a young German woman sat down near me and we started talking. She had just finished a volunteer year working in a remote village, teaching English to a group of Buddhist monks.
Therese explained that as she was bidding them farewell, an elder presented her with two simple, brilliant white-cotton bracelets. These baci threads had been blessed by the monks and were offered to provide protection and good fortune. One was for Therese to wear; the second was for her to tie on the wrist of the first new friend she made on her journey.
Although we were almost complete strangers (and would never see or talk to each other again), what Therese and I were witnessing and experiencing together was so beautiful and powerful that we felt a special connection.
At the end of the evening, as she tied the glorified string on my wrist, I was touched and honoured by the gift she chose to bestow upon me. I made the decision then and there to leave it on until it fell off.
I assumed this would occur in a week or so – little did I know it would become part of my body for the next year.
Through rain, sleet, snow and hail, skiing, tennis, biking and swimming (not to mention hundreds of showers and baths), and travelling from Arizona's Grand Canyon to the Wadi Rum desert in Jordan – that tiny little string clung to my arm with a resilience I could only admire and respect.
And what a year my bracelet and I ended up experiencing upon my return from Asia. Though it could easily have been a "woe is me" annus horribilis – a sad, depressing and frightening period as I embarked upon my new role as a fatherless, homeless, unemployed bachelor – 2016 turned out to be one of the best years of my life.
It came with me as I moved into a fantastic apartment near the beach where I go for long, contemplative walks daily. I met a special woman who reminds me how wonderful close companionship can be.
Though not employed yet, I have been given the gift of time to travel, think, read and write. And I continue to be blessed with good health, two amazing children, fantastic friends and a loving mother and siblings.
I never really considered myself a superstitious individual, but there is something that made me keep that smelly, grungy bracelet on my wrist besides the sentimental souvenir value.
Even now, I can't bring myself to throw it away.
Ken Gruber lives in Toronto.