I've been spending a long weekend in Ward Colorado. My boyfriend is doing some work on a friend's house and I am using the time to write. Inspiration abounds in the mountains. The first day I found myself going through all my old writing, dating back to 1998, when I was a creative writing student at Colorado State University. Those have been interesting, if not funny to look at now. I stumbled upon what is to follow in a notebook. The first four moments were written on January 25, 2004, while I was still living in Santiago. The rest were written yesterday.
Moments in Santiago
1. Dan and I walk down Lota and see a motorized bicycle riding down El Bosque. We both look at each other and laugh. Dan comments on the speed in which in travels. I say I've never seen that before.
2. While walking from one ministry to the next trying to get the paperwork for my boletas, I see on a wall a message stamped in black repeating itself every ten inches or so. “Bush es el terroista,” it said over and over again. I point this out to Rene and he says, “well, he is, isn't he?” I am reminded that I am an ex-patriot living in a country that sees things very differently than my own.
3. Yesterday, while sitting on the bus waiting at a red light, Esteban and I are entertained by a man on a unicycle juggling fire. It is the middle of the day, in the middle of the street. I think, “only in Chile.”
4. On the metro today I sat across from a little black boy whose laugh was absolutely contagious. He was maybe five years old and he had me, his dad and the man next to him smiling and laughing along with him.
5. Joel and I playing Frisbee in Las Lillas the first time. The father and son who stopped to stare, the jogger who slowed his pace to see what we were doing, the dog that ran in to catch it. Joel and I sitting on our airplane blanket after. They've got to play Frisbee in Chile.... right?
6.Karaoke in Geo pub. A consequence of Never-neverland. I'd never do that in the states. Or perhaps in was the office.
7. The walk to Bridge Linguatec from my apartment. The vibrant pink of the bougainvilleas, thick and lush on every gate and wall. The men sweeping their sidewalks with a broom. The other men waiting to park a car for a few monedas. The lady asking me for directions. The day I knew I lived in Santiago. And me able to answer her.
8. Chess in the plaza with Joel. Our tiny travel set magnetic pieces on the giant table sized boards. Los viejos gathering around us, staring at one another, and slowly chuckling, nudging their partners to take a look at the crazy gringos.
Moments in Fort Collins
1. The morning of the first big snow of the year. Marty and I bundled up, making snow angels in the backyard, throwing snowballs for the neighbor's dog to chase. Walking through the streets of our neighborhood. Quiet. Snow melting as it reached my nose.
2. Sitting on our back porch, 10 or 11 at night. The lightening show just for us. The thunder that didn't end. Our hands held across the chairs. He leans in and kisses me.
3. Sitting on the couch. Pisco tears by. Marty says, “have fun.” I think, be back by midnight. The closest we may come to kids.
4. The drive back from the show. Laying flat in the truck bed. Watching the stars and streetlights speed by. Dropped off at the fire station, the walk home making everything new. We pause to stare up at the giant weeping willow, we, every other day, would take for granted.
5. Breakfast at Lucille's. Bloody Mary's that serve as appetizers. Seats on the deck. Cutie-pie our server again.
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Monday, July 11, 2011
Moments in Santiago
I've been spending a long weekend in Ward Colorado. My boyfriend is doing some work on a friend's house and I am using the time to write. Inspiration abounds in the mountains. The first day I found myself going through all my old writing, dating back to 1998, when I was a creative writing student at Colorado State University. Those have been interesting, if not funny to look at now. I stumbled upon what is to follow in a notebook. The first four moments were written on January 25, 2004, while I was still living in Santiago. The rest were written yesterday.
Moments in Santiago
1. Dan and I walk down Lota and see a motorized bicycle riding down El Bosque. We both look at each other and laugh. Dan comments on the speed in which in travels. I say I've never seen that before.
2. While walking from one ministry to the next trying to get the paperwork for my boletas, I see on a wall a message stamped in black repeating itself every ten inches or so. “Bush es el terroista,” it said over and over again. I point this out to Rene and he says, “well, he is, isn't he?” I am reminded that I am an ex-patriot living in a country that sees things very differently than my own.
3. Yesterday, while sitting on the bus waiting at a red light, Esteban and I are entertained by a man on a unicycle juggling fire. It is the middle of the day, in the middle of the street. I think, “only in Chile.”
4. On the metro today I sat across from a little black boy whose laugh was absolutely contagious. He was maybe five years old and he had me, his dad and the man next to him smiling and laughing along with him.
5. Joel and I playing Frisbee in Las Lillas the first time. The father and son who stopped to stare, the jogger who slowed his pace to see what we were doing, the dog that ran in to catch it. Joel and I sitting on our airplane blanket after. They've got to play Frisbee in Chile.... right?
6.Karaoke in Geo pub. A consequence of Never-neverland. I'd never do that in the states. Or perhaps in was the office.
7. The walk to Bridge Linguatec from my apartment. The vibrant pink of the bougainvilleas, thick and lush on every gate and wall. The men sweeping their sidewalks with a broom. The other men waiting to park a car for a few monedas. The lady asking me for directions. The day I knew I lived in Santiago. And me able to answer her.
8. Chess in the plaza with Joel. Our tiny travel set magnetic pieces on the giant table sized boards. Los viejos gathering around us, staring at one another, and slowly chuckling, nudging their partners to take a look at the crazy gringos.
Moments in Fort Collins
1. The morning of the first big snow of the year. Marty and I bundled up, making snow angels in the backyard, throwing snowballs for the neighbor's dog to chase. Walking through the streets of our neighborhood. Quiet. Snow melting as it reached my nose.
2. Sitting on our back porch, 10 or 11 at night. The lightening show just for us. The thunder that didn't end. Our hands held across the chairs. He leans in and kisses me.
3. Sitting on the couch. Pisco tears by. Marty says, “have fun.” I think, be back by midnight. The closest we may come to kids.
4. The drive back from the show. Laying flat in the truck bed. Watching the stars and streetlights speed by. Dropped off at the fire station, the walk home making everything new. We pause to stare up at the giant weeping willow, we, every other day, would take for granted.
5. Breakfast at Lucille's. Bloody Mary's that serve as appetizers. Seats on the deck. Cutie-pie our server again.
Moments in Santiago
1. Dan and I walk down Lota and see a motorized bicycle riding down El Bosque. We both look at each other and laugh. Dan comments on the speed in which in travels. I say I've never seen that before.
2. While walking from one ministry to the next trying to get the paperwork for my boletas, I see on a wall a message stamped in black repeating itself every ten inches or so. “Bush es el terroista,” it said over and over again. I point this out to Rene and he says, “well, he is, isn't he?” I am reminded that I am an ex-patriot living in a country that sees things very differently than my own.
3. Yesterday, while sitting on the bus waiting at a red light, Esteban and I are entertained by a man on a unicycle juggling fire. It is the middle of the day, in the middle of the street. I think, “only in Chile.”
4. On the metro today I sat across from a little black boy whose laugh was absolutely contagious. He was maybe five years old and he had me, his dad and the man next to him smiling and laughing along with him.
5. Joel and I playing Frisbee in Las Lillas the first time. The father and son who stopped to stare, the jogger who slowed his pace to see what we were doing, the dog that ran in to catch it. Joel and I sitting on our airplane blanket after. They've got to play Frisbee in Chile.... right?
6.Karaoke in Geo pub. A consequence of Never-neverland. I'd never do that in the states. Or perhaps in was the office.
7. The walk to Bridge Linguatec from my apartment. The vibrant pink of the bougainvilleas, thick and lush on every gate and wall. The men sweeping their sidewalks with a broom. The other men waiting to park a car for a few monedas. The lady asking me for directions. The day I knew I lived in Santiago. And me able to answer her.
8. Chess in the plaza with Joel. Our tiny travel set magnetic pieces on the giant table sized boards. Los viejos gathering around us, staring at one another, and slowly chuckling, nudging their partners to take a look at the crazy gringos.
Moments in Fort Collins
1. The morning of the first big snow of the year. Marty and I bundled up, making snow angels in the backyard, throwing snowballs for the neighbor's dog to chase. Walking through the streets of our neighborhood. Quiet. Snow melting as it reached my nose.
2. Sitting on our back porch, 10 or 11 at night. The lightening show just for us. The thunder that didn't end. Our hands held across the chairs. He leans in and kisses me.
3. Sitting on the couch. Pisco tears by. Marty says, “have fun.” I think, be back by midnight. The closest we may come to kids.
4. The drive back from the show. Laying flat in the truck bed. Watching the stars and streetlights speed by. Dropped off at the fire station, the walk home making everything new. We pause to stare up at the giant weeping willow, we, every other day, would take for granted.
5. Breakfast at Lucille's. Bloody Mary's that serve as appetizers. Seats on the deck. Cutie-pie our server again.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Never-neverland
There's a reason that people who live abroad, live abroad. Instead of living in whatever country it is, you are really living in a place more aptly named Never-Neverland. There is a sense while abroad in which you do not age, you do not suffer consequences and until you return to the aptly named “real world,” you can be whoever you want to be, because no one is around to know the difference.
I never really took advantage of the latter in either of my living abroad experiences. I always found it harder to be someone other than me. As Mark Twain once said, “If you tell the truth you don't have to remember anything,” I guess I have a bad memory.
I did however reap the other benefits of Never-Neverland. Though I'm not sure reap is the right word. I turned 30 in Honduras. I remember thinking, before I was certain I was leaving, when I still thought I'd be stuck in the US of A, how horrible it would be to turn 30 in the states. Somehow, I had this feeling that it would be so much more significant, perhaps worthwhile, to grow older in another country. The idea of staying in one place was completely unappealing to me and my birthday seemed to amplify that notion.
At nearly 30 years old, I was the oldest in our endearingly named row of houses, The Compound, the fellow teachers and I lived. I took solace in the fact that the really old teachers lived by themselves and so I, was therefore, not the oldest of all the teachers, just those in the compound. I suppose it was little solace.
Perhaps it was their youth that I reveled in, perhaps it was simply being around those who did not know from where I came. If I wanted to, I could have very easily lied about my age, told everyone I was a ripe, young, 25 -year -old, exploring the world. I could have let my other two friends, only months my junior take my place in seniority. But simply being there was enough for me to be ok with turning 30. If one has to turn 30, they should surely do it in another country.
Lets talk about consequences. There are certain rules in the states that do not apply in most of the rest of the world.... yet. I used to tell people when they would ask me why on earth I was moving to Honduras, that I was moving so that I could smoke where ever the hell I damn well pleased. My departure date aligned with the start date of the no smoking ban in Colorado Springs. I had, before than, somehow avoided the law in the states. I continued this avoidance through my arrival back in the states in Chicago a year later, a welcome, welcome, till I arrived in Colorado the next day. A right I had managed to keep all my life, was finally taken from me. I found that reason enough to live abroad at the time.
When you're abroad it is easy to think of it as a very long vacation. We all know, on vacation we do things we might not normally do at home. It is, after all, supposed to be a break, is it not? It is hard to lose that mentality while living abroad. You have very little sense of permanency, especially in the first year or so, and so you live as though you are permanently on vacation. I must admit, not exactly a bad way to live.
Abroad, I smoked when I wanted to, drank too much and often, stayed out too late and ate whatever I wanted to, or could. Not having a car, and, therefore, having to walk nearly everywhere, made up for the latter. I was always amazed when I would put on a pair of jeans, and they still fit. I was even more amazed, whenever I might find a scale, to find that I had not gained any weight.
My other vices were more of a problem. The party aspect of living abroad was always appealing to me. I somehow found a way to rationalize all the things I could not have rationalized in the states. You can't get cancer in Chile right? You can't get fired, or piss off a best friend in a foreign country. Drinking too much isn't a problem when you've got no one holding you accountable. My jobs never suffered from my late night shenanigans because it was often me who treated them as more important than my employers. Another fact to add to the Never-neverland effect. Yes, I had a job, but no, it was not exactly a priority. My jobs were simply a means of getting me to the next country. And it seemed, most employers knew this. They'd take what they could get. Especially if the resume said I was good at what I do. And I was. I was good enough to do it half assed day in and day out and still impress the bosses.
In the states my job was career, in Honduras and Chile my jobs were a joke. My jobs were a way to a pay check, which I saved month to month so I could eventually quit and travel some more. And I did. In Chile I traveled south through Argentina and Chile, zig zagging my way to El Fin Del Mundo, Ushuaia Argentina and eventually making it all the way to Antarctica. I traveled north to Peru and east to Uruguay. In Honduras I traveled first north to Guatemala and then south, to El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica and Panama. I knocked out all of Central America except for Belize. Another time I told myself.
I suppose this Never-neverland is what I still dream of now. Here in the states, where my job is a career, my boyfriend is the same guy I go to sleep with every night and my cats need feeding every day, it is easy to get comfortable. In fact I think I have, and this scares me a bit. Ok, a lot. I think there is nothing in this world more frightening than being complacent. So I dream, I find places to go and travel and see and I plan. And while I may not ever live abroad again, unless I can figure out a way to get my cats and my boyfriend there, I will most certainly continue to travel; and travel, even more so than living abroad, feels a lot like Never -neverland.
I never really took advantage of the latter in either of my living abroad experiences. I always found it harder to be someone other than me. As Mark Twain once said, “If you tell the truth you don't have to remember anything,” I guess I have a bad memory.
I did however reap the other benefits of Never-Neverland. Though I'm not sure reap is the right word. I turned 30 in Honduras. I remember thinking, before I was certain I was leaving, when I still thought I'd be stuck in the US of A, how horrible it would be to turn 30 in the states. Somehow, I had this feeling that it would be so much more significant, perhaps worthwhile, to grow older in another country. The idea of staying in one place was completely unappealing to me and my birthday seemed to amplify that notion.
At nearly 30 years old, I was the oldest in our endearingly named row of houses, The Compound, the fellow teachers and I lived. I took solace in the fact that the really old teachers lived by themselves and so I, was therefore, not the oldest of all the teachers, just those in the compound. I suppose it was little solace.
Perhaps it was their youth that I reveled in, perhaps it was simply being around those who did not know from where I came. If I wanted to, I could have very easily lied about my age, told everyone I was a ripe, young, 25 -year -old, exploring the world. I could have let my other two friends, only months my junior take my place in seniority. But simply being there was enough for me to be ok with turning 30. If one has to turn 30, they should surely do it in another country.
Lets talk about consequences. There are certain rules in the states that do not apply in most of the rest of the world.... yet. I used to tell people when they would ask me why on earth I was moving to Honduras, that I was moving so that I could smoke where ever the hell I damn well pleased. My departure date aligned with the start date of the no smoking ban in Colorado Springs. I had, before than, somehow avoided the law in the states. I continued this avoidance through my arrival back in the states in Chicago a year later, a welcome, welcome, till I arrived in Colorado the next day. A right I had managed to keep all my life, was finally taken from me. I found that reason enough to live abroad at the time.
When you're abroad it is easy to think of it as a very long vacation. We all know, on vacation we do things we might not normally do at home. It is, after all, supposed to be a break, is it not? It is hard to lose that mentality while living abroad. You have very little sense of permanency, especially in the first year or so, and so you live as though you are permanently on vacation. I must admit, not exactly a bad way to live.
Abroad, I smoked when I wanted to, drank too much and often, stayed out too late and ate whatever I wanted to, or could. Not having a car, and, therefore, having to walk nearly everywhere, made up for the latter. I was always amazed when I would put on a pair of jeans, and they still fit. I was even more amazed, whenever I might find a scale, to find that I had not gained any weight.
My other vices were more of a problem. The party aspect of living abroad was always appealing to me. I somehow found a way to rationalize all the things I could not have rationalized in the states. You can't get cancer in Chile right? You can't get fired, or piss off a best friend in a foreign country. Drinking too much isn't a problem when you've got no one holding you accountable. My jobs never suffered from my late night shenanigans because it was often me who treated them as more important than my employers. Another fact to add to the Never-neverland effect. Yes, I had a job, but no, it was not exactly a priority. My jobs were simply a means of getting me to the next country. And it seemed, most employers knew this. They'd take what they could get. Especially if the resume said I was good at what I do. And I was. I was good enough to do it half assed day in and day out and still impress the bosses.
In the states my job was career, in Honduras and Chile my jobs were a joke. My jobs were a way to a pay check, which I saved month to month so I could eventually quit and travel some more. And I did. In Chile I traveled south through Argentina and Chile, zig zagging my way to El Fin Del Mundo, Ushuaia Argentina and eventually making it all the way to Antarctica. I traveled north to Peru and east to Uruguay. In Honduras I traveled first north to Guatemala and then south, to El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica and Panama. I knocked out all of Central America except for Belize. Another time I told myself.
I suppose this Never-neverland is what I still dream of now. Here in the states, where my job is a career, my boyfriend is the same guy I go to sleep with every night and my cats need feeding every day, it is easy to get comfortable. In fact I think I have, and this scares me a bit. Ok, a lot. I think there is nothing in this world more frightening than being complacent. So I dream, I find places to go and travel and see and I plan. And while I may not ever live abroad again, unless I can figure out a way to get my cats and my boyfriend there, I will most certainly continue to travel; and travel, even more so than living abroad, feels a lot like Never -neverland.
Never-neverland
There's a reason that people who live abroad, live abroad. Instead of living in whatever country it is, you are really living in a place more aptly named Never-Neverland. There is a sense while abroad in which you do not age, you do not suffer consequences and until you return to the aptly named “real world,” you can be whoever you want to be, because no one is around to know the difference.
I never really took advantage of the latter in either of my living abroad experiences. I always found it harder to be someone other than me. As Mark Twain once said, “If you tell the truth you don't have to remember anything,” I guess I have a bad memory.
I did however reap the other benefits of Never-Neverland. Though I'm not sure reap is the right word. I turned 30 in Honduras. I remember thinking, before I was certain I was leaving, when I still thought I'd be stuck in the US of A, how horrible it would be to turn 30 in the states. Somehow, I had this feeling that it would be so much more significant, perhaps worthwhile, to grow older in another country. The idea of staying in one place was completely unappealing to me and my birthday seemed to amplify that notion.
At nearly 30 years old, I was the oldest in our endearingly named row of houses, The Compound, the fellow teachers and I lived. I took solace in the fact that the really old teachers lived by themselves and so I, was therefore, not the oldest of all the teachers, just those in the compound. I suppose it was little solace.
Perhaps it was their youth that I reveled in, perhaps it was simply being around those who did not know from where I came. If I wanted to, I could have very easily lied about my age, told everyone I was a ripe, young, 25 -year -old, exploring the world. I could have let my other two friends, only months my junior take my place in seniority. But simply being there was enough for me to be ok with turning 30. If one has to turn 30, they should surely do it in another country.
Lets talk about consequences. There are certain rules in the states that do not apply in most of the rest of the world.... yet. I used to tell people when they would ask me why on earth I was moving to Honduras, that I was moving so that I could smoke where ever the hell I damn well pleased. My departure date aligned with the start date of the no smoking ban in Colorado Springs. I had, before than, somehow avoided the law in the states. I continued this avoidance through my arrival back in the states in Chicago a year later, a welcome, welcome, till I arrived in Colorado the next day. A right I had managed to keep all my life, was finally taken from me. I found that reason enough to live abroad at the time.
When you're abroad it is easy to think of it as a very long vacation. We all know, on vacation we do things we might not normally do at home. It is, after all, supposed to be a break, is it not? It is hard to lose that mentality while living abroad. You have very little sense of permanency, especially in the first year or so, and so you live as though you are permanently on vacation. I must admit, not exactly a bad way to live.
Abroad, I smoked when I wanted to, drank too much and often, stayed out too late and ate whatever I wanted to, or could. Not having a car, and, therefore, having to walk nearly everywhere, made up for the latter. I was always amazed when I would put on a pair of jeans, and they still fit. I was even more amazed, whenever I might find a scale, to find that I had not gained any weight.
My other vices were more of a problem. The party aspect of living abroad was always appealing to me. I somehow found a way to rationalize all the things I could not have rationalized in the states. You can't get cancer in Chile right? You can't get fired, or piss off a best friend in a foreign country. Drinking too much isn't a problem when you've got no one holding you accountable. My jobs never suffered from my late night shenanigans because it was often me who treated them as more important than my employers. Another fact to add to the Never-neverland effect. Yes, I had a job, but no, it was not exactly a priority. My jobs were simply a means of getting me to the next country. And it seemed, most employers knew this. They'd take what they could get. Especially if the resume said I was good at what I do. And I was. I was good enough to do it half assed day in and day out and still impress the bosses.
In the states my job was career, in Honduras and Chile my jobs were a joke. My jobs were a way to a pay check, which I saved month to month so I could eventually quit and travel some more. And I did. In Chile I traveled south through Argentina and Chile, zig zagging my way to El Fin Del Mundo, Ushuaia Argentina and eventually making it all the way to Antarctica. I traveled north to Peru and east to Uruguay. In Honduras I traveled first north to Guatemala and then south, to El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica and Panama. I knocked out all of Central America except for Belize. Another time I told myself.
I suppose this Never-neverland is what I still dream of now. Here in the states, where my job is a career, my boyfriend is the same guy I go to sleep with every night and my cats need feeding every day, it is easy to get comfortable. In fact I think I have, and this scares me a bit. Ok, a lot. I think there is nothing in this world more frightening than being complacent. So I dream, I find places to go and travel and see and I plan. And while I may not ever live abroad again, unless I can figure out a way to get my cats and my boyfriend there, I will most certainly continue to travel; and travel, even more so than living abroad, feels a lot like Never -neverland.
I never really took advantage of the latter in either of my living abroad experiences. I always found it harder to be someone other than me. As Mark Twain once said, “If you tell the truth you don't have to remember anything,” I guess I have a bad memory.
I did however reap the other benefits of Never-Neverland. Though I'm not sure reap is the right word. I turned 30 in Honduras. I remember thinking, before I was certain I was leaving, when I still thought I'd be stuck in the US of A, how horrible it would be to turn 30 in the states. Somehow, I had this feeling that it would be so much more significant, perhaps worthwhile, to grow older in another country. The idea of staying in one place was completely unappealing to me and my birthday seemed to amplify that notion.
At nearly 30 years old, I was the oldest in our endearingly named row of houses, The Compound, the fellow teachers and I lived. I took solace in the fact that the really old teachers lived by themselves and so I, was therefore, not the oldest of all the teachers, just those in the compound. I suppose it was little solace.
Perhaps it was their youth that I reveled in, perhaps it was simply being around those who did not know from where I came. If I wanted to, I could have very easily lied about my age, told everyone I was a ripe, young, 25 -year -old, exploring the world. I could have let my other two friends, only months my junior take my place in seniority. But simply being there was enough for me to be ok with turning 30. If one has to turn 30, they should surely do it in another country.
Lets talk about consequences. There are certain rules in the states that do not apply in most of the rest of the world.... yet. I used to tell people when they would ask me why on earth I was moving to Honduras, that I was moving so that I could smoke where ever the hell I damn well pleased. My departure date aligned with the start date of the no smoking ban in Colorado Springs. I had, before than, somehow avoided the law in the states. I continued this avoidance through my arrival back in the states in Chicago a year later, a welcome, welcome, till I arrived in Colorado the next day. A right I had managed to keep all my life, was finally taken from me. I found that reason enough to live abroad at the time.
When you're abroad it is easy to think of it as a very long vacation. We all know, on vacation we do things we might not normally do at home. It is, after all, supposed to be a break, is it not? It is hard to lose that mentality while living abroad. You have very little sense of permanency, especially in the first year or so, and so you live as though you are permanently on vacation. I must admit, not exactly a bad way to live.
Abroad, I smoked when I wanted to, drank too much and often, stayed out too late and ate whatever I wanted to, or could. Not having a car, and, therefore, having to walk nearly everywhere, made up for the latter. I was always amazed when I would put on a pair of jeans, and they still fit. I was even more amazed, whenever I might find a scale, to find that I had not gained any weight.
My other vices were more of a problem. The party aspect of living abroad was always appealing to me. I somehow found a way to rationalize all the things I could not have rationalized in the states. You can't get cancer in Chile right? You can't get fired, or piss off a best friend in a foreign country. Drinking too much isn't a problem when you've got no one holding you accountable. My jobs never suffered from my late night shenanigans because it was often me who treated them as more important than my employers. Another fact to add to the Never-neverland effect. Yes, I had a job, but no, it was not exactly a priority. My jobs were simply a means of getting me to the next country. And it seemed, most employers knew this. They'd take what they could get. Especially if the resume said I was good at what I do. And I was. I was good enough to do it half assed day in and day out and still impress the bosses.
In the states my job was career, in Honduras and Chile my jobs were a joke. My jobs were a way to a pay check, which I saved month to month so I could eventually quit and travel some more. And I did. In Chile I traveled south through Argentina and Chile, zig zagging my way to El Fin Del Mundo, Ushuaia Argentina and eventually making it all the way to Antarctica. I traveled north to Peru and east to Uruguay. In Honduras I traveled first north to Guatemala and then south, to El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica and Panama. I knocked out all of Central America except for Belize. Another time I told myself.
I suppose this Never-neverland is what I still dream of now. Here in the states, where my job is a career, my boyfriend is the same guy I go to sleep with every night and my cats need feeding every day, it is easy to get comfortable. In fact I think I have, and this scares me a bit. Ok, a lot. I think there is nothing in this world more frightening than being complacent. So I dream, I find places to go and travel and see and I plan. And while I may not ever live abroad again, unless I can figure out a way to get my cats and my boyfriend there, I will most certainly continue to travel; and travel, even more so than living abroad, feels a lot like Never -neverland.
Friday, May 13, 2011
NOV. 4, 2009-May 13, 2011
What if she could? What if she had to?
She would run away. That’s what she’d do and she knew it, from the first day. If they broke up she would run away. She’d run back to the life she was leading before he came along. Back to the life which was hers, a life before love was found. It was as if that life was on hold. Like the pause button had been hit and was waiting to resume, right where she left off. She was too scared, or perhaps to aware, to give it up fully. To let it go completely.
So she held on to fragments of a life she once thought would be forever. A seashell from the beach in Puerto Viejo, a faded photo of a boy whose name she could no longer recall, a lapiz lazuli necklace no longer worn, but kept separately in its own special box, a postcard she never sent. These trinkets remained, while her life in the states moved forward.
That life she once led was not bad. In fact, it was all she knew until him. It was her trademark, this running and going. It wasn’t that she was running from something, like everyone would ask, but rather running to something. She was running to the newness, the adventure, the possibility. Though this time she would most certainly be running from him, and from this and from whatever horrible thing would have to happen in order for a break up to occur. She knew all this from the first day.
It wasn't such a bad thing to run from something she rationalized. At least one could run when things got to be too much. She looked it running as a type of resource, if all else failed, here was this option here, she could run. It was something she already knew she was good at. Too bad she couldn't put it on her resume, under skills perhaps.
But love happened, and loved seemed as good a reason as any to stay. She never counted on love. Not for a second really. In fact, she had pretty much adjusted to a life without love and was able to fill it with everything else good; like adventure and culture and the thrill of new places and things and people. This thrilled her; she did not need love to be thrilled, she had told herself, though she knew it was simple an excuse.
What she hadn’t known, because she could not know, was how different a thrill love was. Love knocked her off her feet. It made her stay in one place for the first time in her life. And most of the time she wanted to be there. So what if that will be the reason? So what if her passion for life and travel will be the cause of their demise?
Everything is temporary. If you really think about it, everything ends eventually, she thought. Nothing lasts. She had always had a very keen sense of the temporary-ness of things. Sometimes it is a blessing, other times a curse. When you live with this knowledge you begin to recognize the good times and enjoy them more, because, even if no one else knows, you know that this too will end. So she would enjoy it while she could.
“This too shall pass,” an adage that people give as advice when others are going through rough times, brings on a whole new meaning when you think of the temporary-ness of life. She knew to use it for the good and the bad. She didn’t get wrapped up in good times, because they too shall pass. She considered herself lucky to have come to this realization so young. The whole idea that, without hate there is no love, was prominent in her mind. The natural progression of that was to understand it in all situations. With the great times comes the bad times. We must not get too comfortable.
She adopted a cat. A week into their relationship, she adopted a cat. She had been planning it for a long while. She had searched on line at all the different shelters until she found the one. She showed up early at Petsmart and brought a friend. Good thing, otherwise her cat, the one she had picked out on line through pictures, would have been snatched right out of her hands whilst she was filling out paper work.
If he had known her better then, he would have understood what this truly meant. He would have known that though she was the biggest animal lover anyone had ever met, she never had any of her own. She was ok with simply loving the various cats and dogs and rabbits that came along with the roommates whose lives she came in and out of. Not having animals meant being able to leave when she wanted to. She would never leave an animal behind. Never take on the responsibility only to let it go when she needed to leave. So, even though she longed to have a companion of her own, she gave up the most important thing to her, to have the next: the freedom to come and go.
If he’d known her better then, he would have understood that adopting her cat meant more than life with hairballs and meows. That really, it meant she was finally going to stay in one place for a bit. Because now, in her leaving fantasy,she had to some how figure out what she was going to do with her cat. And leaving her was never an option, nor was putting her on a plane and risking the mistreatment she might incur.
What gave her satisfaction, was knowing that this decision to adopt, and thus stay in the United States, was made before he came along. She had been planning it since she had first returned to the country. She was making decisions for herself and they included not leaving for the first time. They included staying and making a life and putting down roots, something her mother had wanted for her all along. And, for the first time, she truly believed she did not need, nor want, to leave. Of course part of this decision had to do with the fact that she actually did want to find love. She knew that the more she kept leaving, the less likely she was to find it. And she turned out to be right.
He was beginning to change the way she saw the world. And she had seen much of the world. She was beginning to get wrapped up in the good times. There seemed to be so many of them with him. But she knew that with the good times, comes the bad times. And though they were minimal the idea of them happening, which surely they would, terrified her. So she held onto the mementos of her past life and would take them out of their hiding places any time things began to get to be too much or too small. She'd sit with her cat on her lap and tell her stories of a life not so long ago. Remembering every detail she could as she sorted through the keepsakes.
She had found that people soon tire of hearing stories of the glory days, but her cat never did. She had stories no human had ever heard, though she longed to share them with him. She knew they were a burden to those she shared them with, a reminder of a life not chosen, stories to make you wish you were there and then regret every decision that led you to this life and not that one. Regret is such a funny thing she thought. She was happy she had none.
No one ever understands the difficulty of staying when they've never left. Staying for them is a relief, not a burden. She was finding it harder and harder to remain. Not because things were bad but because things were ceasing to be new. Many people are comfortable with the same 'ol same 'ol, but a traveler can never be. Perhaps it is the curse of the wanderer; feeling at home everywhere, except where you should.
So she holds on, she remains, she dreams and she wonders. And things are just good enough to every so often forget that this too shall pass.
What if she could? What if she had to?
She would run away. That’s what she’d do and she knew it, from the first day. If they broke up she would run away. She’d run back to the life she was leading before he came along. Back to the life which was hers, a life before love was found. It was as if that life was on hold. Like the pause button had been hit and was waiting to resume, right where she left off. She was too scared, or perhaps to aware, to give it up fully. To let it go completely.
So she held on to fragments of a life she once thought would be forever. A seashell from the beach in Puerto Viejo, a faded photo of a boy whose name she could no longer recall, a lapiz lazuli necklace no longer worn, but kept separately in its own special box, a postcard she never sent. These trinkets remained, while her life in the states moved forward.
That life she once led was not bad. In fact, it was all she knew until him. It was her trademark, this running and going. It wasn’t that she was running from something, like everyone would ask, but rather running to something. She was running to the newness, the adventure, the possibility. Though this time she would most certainly be running from him, and from this and from whatever horrible thing would have to happen in order for a break up to occur. She knew all this from the first day.
It wasn't such a bad thing to run from something she rationalized. At least one could run when things got to be too much. She looked it running as a type of resource, if all else failed, here was this option here, she could run. It was something she already knew she was good at. Too bad she couldn't put it on her resume, under skills perhaps.
But love happened, and loved seemed as good a reason as any to stay. She never counted on love. Not for a second really. In fact, she had pretty much adjusted to a life without love and was able to fill it with everything else good; like adventure and culture and the thrill of new places and things and people. This thrilled her; she did not need love to be thrilled, she had told herself, though she knew it was simple an excuse.
What she hadn’t known, because she could not know, was how different a thrill love was. Love knocked her off her feet. It made her stay in one place for the first time in her life. And most of the time she wanted to be there. So what if that will be the reason? So what if her passion for life and travel will be the cause of their demise?
Everything is temporary. If you really think about it, everything ends eventually, she thought. Nothing lasts. She had always had a very keen sense of the temporary-ness of things. Sometimes it is a blessing, other times a curse. When you live with this knowledge you begin to recognize the good times and enjoy them more, because, even if no one else knows, you know that this too will end. So she would enjoy it while she could.
“This too shall pass,” an adage that people give as advice when others are going through rough times, brings on a whole new meaning when you think of the temporary-ness of life. She knew to use it for the good and the bad. She didn’t get wrapped up in good times, because they too shall pass. She considered herself lucky to have come to this realization so young. The whole idea that, without hate there is no love, was prominent in her mind. The natural progression of that was to understand it in all situations. With the great times comes the bad times. We must not get too comfortable.
She adopted a cat. A week into their relationship, she adopted a cat. She had been planning it for a long while. She had searched on line at all the different shelters until she found the one. She showed up early at Petsmart and brought a friend. Good thing, otherwise her cat, the one she had picked out on line through pictures, would have been snatched right out of her hands whilst she was filling out paper work.
If he had known her better then, he would have understood what this truly meant. He would have known that though she was the biggest animal lover anyone had ever met, she never had any of her own. She was ok with simply loving the various cats and dogs and rabbits that came along with the roommates whose lives she came in and out of. Not having animals meant being able to leave when she wanted to. She would never leave an animal behind. Never take on the responsibility only to let it go when she needed to leave. So, even though she longed to have a companion of her own, she gave up the most important thing to her, to have the next: the freedom to come and go.
If he’d known her better then, he would have understood that adopting her cat meant more than life with hairballs and meows. That really, it meant she was finally going to stay in one place for a bit. Because now, in her leaving fantasy,she had to some how figure out what she was going to do with her cat. And leaving her was never an option, nor was putting her on a plane and risking the mistreatment she might incur.
What gave her satisfaction, was knowing that this decision to adopt, and thus stay in the United States, was made before he came along. She had been planning it since she had first returned to the country. She was making decisions for herself and they included not leaving for the first time. They included staying and making a life and putting down roots, something her mother had wanted for her all along. And, for the first time, she truly believed she did not need, nor want, to leave. Of course part of this decision had to do with the fact that she actually did want to find love. She knew that the more she kept leaving, the less likely she was to find it. And she turned out to be right.
He was beginning to change the way she saw the world. And she had seen much of the world. She was beginning to get wrapped up in the good times. There seemed to be so many of them with him. But she knew that with the good times, comes the bad times. And though they were minimal the idea of them happening, which surely they would, terrified her. So she held onto the mementos of her past life and would take them out of their hiding places any time things began to get to be too much or too small. She'd sit with her cat on her lap and tell her stories of a life not so long ago. Remembering every detail she could as she sorted through the keepsakes.
She had found that people soon tire of hearing stories of the glory days, but her cat never did. She had stories no human had ever heard, though she longed to share them with him. She knew they were a burden to those she shared them with, a reminder of a life not chosen, stories to make you wish you were there and then regret every decision that led you to this life and not that one. Regret is such a funny thing she thought. She was happy she had none.
No one ever understands the difficulty of staying when they've never left. Staying for them is a relief, not a burden. She was finding it harder and harder to remain. Not because things were bad but because things were ceasing to be new. Many people are comfortable with the same 'ol same 'ol, but a traveler can never be. Perhaps it is the curse of the wanderer; feeling at home everywhere, except where you should.
So she holds on, she remains, she dreams and she wonders. And things are just good enough to every so often forget that this too shall pass.
NOV. 4, 2009-May 13, 2011
What if she could? What if she had to?
She would run away. That’s what she’d do and she knew it, from the first day. If they broke up she would run away. She’d run back to the life she was leading before he came along. Back to the life which was hers, a life before love was found. It was as if that life was on hold. Like the pause button had been hit and was waiting to resume, right where she left off. She was too scared, or perhaps to aware, to give it up fully. To let it go completely.
So she held on to fragments of a life she once thought would be forever. A seashell from the beach in Puerto Viejo, a faded photo of a boy whose name she could no longer recall, a lapiz lazuli necklace no longer worn, but kept separately in its own special box, a postcard she never sent. These trinkets remained, while her life in the states moved forward.
That life she once led was not bad. In fact, it was all she knew until him. It was her trademark, this running and going. It wasn’t that she was running from something, like everyone would ask, but rather running to something. She was running to the newness, the adventure, the possibility. Though this time she would most certainly be running from him, and from this and from whatever horrible thing would have to happen in order for a break up to occur. She knew all this from the first day.
It wasn't such a bad thing to run from something she rationalized. At least one could run when things got to be too much. She looked it running as a type of resource, if all else failed, here was this option here, she could run. It was something she already knew she was good at. Too bad she couldn't put it on her resume, under skills perhaps.
But love happened, and loved seemed as good a reason as any to stay. She never counted on love. Not for a second really. In fact, she had pretty much adjusted to a life without love and was able to fill it with everything else good; like adventure and culture and the thrill of new places and things and people. This thrilled her; she did not need love to be thrilled, she had told herself, though she knew it was simple an excuse.
What she hadn’t known, because she could not know, was how different a thrill love was. Love knocked her off her feet. It made her stay in one place for the first time in her life. And most of the time she wanted to be there. So what if that will be the reason? So what if her passion for life and travel will be the cause of their demise?
Everything is temporary. If you really think about it, everything ends eventually, she thought. Nothing lasts. She had always had a very keen sense of the temporary-ness of things. Sometimes it is a blessing, other times a curse. When you live with this knowledge you begin to recognize the good times and enjoy them more, because, even if no one else knows, you know that this too will end. So she would enjoy it while she could.
“This too shall pass,” an adage that people give as advice when others are going through rough times, brings on a whole new meaning when you think of the temporary-ness of life. She knew to use it for the good and the bad. She didn’t get wrapped up in good times, because they too shall pass. She considered herself lucky to have come to this realization so young. The whole idea that, without hate there is no love, was prominent in her mind. The natural progression of that was to understand it in all situations. With the great times comes the bad times. We must not get too comfortable.
She adopted a cat. A week into their relationship, she adopted a cat. She had been planning it for a long while. She had searched on line at all the different shelters until she found the one. She showed up early at Petsmart and brought a friend. Good thing, otherwise her cat, the one she had picked out on line through pictures, would have been snatched right out of her hands whilst she was filling out paper work.
If he had known her better then, he would have understood what this truly meant. He would have known that though she was the biggest animal lover anyone had ever met, she never had any of her own. She was ok with simply loving the various cats and dogs and rabbits that came along with the roommates whose lives she came in and out of. Not having animals meant being able to leave when she wanted to. She would never leave an animal behind. Never take on the responsibility only to let it go when she needed to leave. So, even though she longed to have a companion of her own, she gave up the most important thing to her, to have the next: the freedom to come and go.
If he’d known her better then, he would have understood that adopting her cat meant more than life with hairballs and meows. That really, it meant she was finally going to stay in one place for a bit. Because now, in her leaving fantasy,she had to some how figure out what she was going to do with her cat. And leaving her was never an option, nor was putting her on a plane and risking the mistreatment she might incur.
What gave her satisfaction, was knowing that this decision to adopt, and thus stay in the United States, was made before he came along. She had been planning it since she had first returned to the country. She was making decisions for herself and they included not leaving for the first time. They included staying and making a life and putting down roots, something her mother had wanted for her all along. And, for the first time, she truly believed she did not need, nor want, to leave. Of course part of this decision had to do with the fact that she actually did want to find love. She knew that the more she kept leaving, the less likely she was to find it. And she turned out to be right.
He was beginning to change the way she saw the world. And she had seen much of the world. She was beginning to get wrapped up in the good times. There seemed to be so many of them with him. But she knew that with the good times, comes the bad times. And though they were minimal the idea of them happening, which surely they would, terrified her. So she held onto the mementos of her past life and would take them out of their hiding places any time things began to get to be too much or too small. She'd sit with her cat on her lap and tell her stories of a life not so long ago. Remembering every detail she could as she sorted through the keepsakes.
She had found that people soon tire of hearing stories of the glory days, but her cat never did. She had stories no human had ever heard, though she longed to share them with him. She knew they were a burden to those she shared them with, a reminder of a life not chosen, stories to make you wish you were there and then regret every decision that led you to this life and not that one. Regret is such a funny thing she thought. She was happy she had none.
No one ever understands the difficulty of staying when they've never left. Staying for them is a relief, not a burden. She was finding it harder and harder to remain. Not because things were bad but because things were ceasing to be new. Many people are comfortable with the same 'ol same 'ol, but a traveler can never be. Perhaps it is the curse of the wanderer; feeling at home everywhere, except where you should.
So she holds on, she remains, she dreams and she wonders. And things are just good enough to every so often forget that this too shall pass.
What if she could? What if she had to?
She would run away. That’s what she’d do and she knew it, from the first day. If they broke up she would run away. She’d run back to the life she was leading before he came along. Back to the life which was hers, a life before love was found. It was as if that life was on hold. Like the pause button had been hit and was waiting to resume, right where she left off. She was too scared, or perhaps to aware, to give it up fully. To let it go completely.
So she held on to fragments of a life she once thought would be forever. A seashell from the beach in Puerto Viejo, a faded photo of a boy whose name she could no longer recall, a lapiz lazuli necklace no longer worn, but kept separately in its own special box, a postcard she never sent. These trinkets remained, while her life in the states moved forward.
That life she once led was not bad. In fact, it was all she knew until him. It was her trademark, this running and going. It wasn’t that she was running from something, like everyone would ask, but rather running to something. She was running to the newness, the adventure, the possibility. Though this time she would most certainly be running from him, and from this and from whatever horrible thing would have to happen in order for a break up to occur. She knew all this from the first day.
It wasn't such a bad thing to run from something she rationalized. At least one could run when things got to be too much. She looked it running as a type of resource, if all else failed, here was this option here, she could run. It was something she already knew she was good at. Too bad she couldn't put it on her resume, under skills perhaps.
But love happened, and loved seemed as good a reason as any to stay. She never counted on love. Not for a second really. In fact, she had pretty much adjusted to a life without love and was able to fill it with everything else good; like adventure and culture and the thrill of new places and things and people. This thrilled her; she did not need love to be thrilled, she had told herself, though she knew it was simple an excuse.
What she hadn’t known, because she could not know, was how different a thrill love was. Love knocked her off her feet. It made her stay in one place for the first time in her life. And most of the time she wanted to be there. So what if that will be the reason? So what if her passion for life and travel will be the cause of their demise?
Everything is temporary. If you really think about it, everything ends eventually, she thought. Nothing lasts. She had always had a very keen sense of the temporary-ness of things. Sometimes it is a blessing, other times a curse. When you live with this knowledge you begin to recognize the good times and enjoy them more, because, even if no one else knows, you know that this too will end. So she would enjoy it while she could.
“This too shall pass,” an adage that people give as advice when others are going through rough times, brings on a whole new meaning when you think of the temporary-ness of life. She knew to use it for the good and the bad. She didn’t get wrapped up in good times, because they too shall pass. She considered herself lucky to have come to this realization so young. The whole idea that, without hate there is no love, was prominent in her mind. The natural progression of that was to understand it in all situations. With the great times comes the bad times. We must not get too comfortable.
She adopted a cat. A week into their relationship, she adopted a cat. She had been planning it for a long while. She had searched on line at all the different shelters until she found the one. She showed up early at Petsmart and brought a friend. Good thing, otherwise her cat, the one she had picked out on line through pictures, would have been snatched right out of her hands whilst she was filling out paper work.
If he had known her better then, he would have understood what this truly meant. He would have known that though she was the biggest animal lover anyone had ever met, she never had any of her own. She was ok with simply loving the various cats and dogs and rabbits that came along with the roommates whose lives she came in and out of. Not having animals meant being able to leave when she wanted to. She would never leave an animal behind. Never take on the responsibility only to let it go when she needed to leave. So, even though she longed to have a companion of her own, she gave up the most important thing to her, to have the next: the freedom to come and go.
If he’d known her better then, he would have understood that adopting her cat meant more than life with hairballs and meows. That really, it meant she was finally going to stay in one place for a bit. Because now, in her leaving fantasy,she had to some how figure out what she was going to do with her cat. And leaving her was never an option, nor was putting her on a plane and risking the mistreatment she might incur.
What gave her satisfaction, was knowing that this decision to adopt, and thus stay in the United States, was made before he came along. She had been planning it since she had first returned to the country. She was making decisions for herself and they included not leaving for the first time. They included staying and making a life and putting down roots, something her mother had wanted for her all along. And, for the first time, she truly believed she did not need, nor want, to leave. Of course part of this decision had to do with the fact that she actually did want to find love. She knew that the more she kept leaving, the less likely she was to find it. And she turned out to be right.
He was beginning to change the way she saw the world. And she had seen much of the world. She was beginning to get wrapped up in the good times. There seemed to be so many of them with him. But she knew that with the good times, comes the bad times. And though they were minimal the idea of them happening, which surely they would, terrified her. So she held onto the mementos of her past life and would take them out of their hiding places any time things began to get to be too much or too small. She'd sit with her cat on her lap and tell her stories of a life not so long ago. Remembering every detail she could as she sorted through the keepsakes.
She had found that people soon tire of hearing stories of the glory days, but her cat never did. She had stories no human had ever heard, though she longed to share them with him. She knew they were a burden to those she shared them with, a reminder of a life not chosen, stories to make you wish you were there and then regret every decision that led you to this life and not that one. Regret is such a funny thing she thought. She was happy she had none.
No one ever understands the difficulty of staying when they've never left. Staying for them is a relief, not a burden. She was finding it harder and harder to remain. Not because things were bad but because things were ceasing to be new. Many people are comfortable with the same 'ol same 'ol, but a traveler can never be. Perhaps it is the curse of the wanderer; feeling at home everywhere, except where you should.
So she holds on, she remains, she dreams and she wonders. And things are just good enough to every so often forget that this too shall pass.
Friday, March 25, 2011
The Baby Blanket
3/16/11
The Baby Blanket
While living in Honduras I traveled to Guatemala over Christmas break. I visited a very small town, known amongst travelers for its huge craft market. Chichicastenego consisted of a church, a plaza and a market to rival any I’ve seen. I had been waiting to visit it. I had saved my money and not been foolish buying other trivial trinkets along the way because I knew this was the place to do my shopping. I had a list in my head of what I would buy for myself and the friends and family I had back in the states.
I wandered up and down the long, narrow aisles, admiring the handmade purses, skirts, scarves, sandals, finger puppets and other various nick knacks. I took my time walking through the entire market once before I even though to purchase anything. I haggled with the different sellers over price and quality. I took inventory in my head of the various styles and colors I liked. I noted the stands I would return to to finally purchase my goods.
As I wandered, my eyes were often draw to the various vibrantly colored baby blankets I passed. Each one of them seemed to tell a different story, each one painstakingly detailed and brilliant. They were not on my list of things to get; for whom would I get a baby blanket? Yet I could not take my mind off of them as I walked about.
I finally bought the various purses and scarves I had come there to get. But I was hesitant to leave. Next to the last stall I had made purchases at, was a stale full of baby blankets hanging from high above. They looked like someone was hanging them out to dry in the sun. I stood and admired them. One in particular caught my eye.
It was 4x4 feet, and contained all the brilliant colors of the rainbow. It had twelve squares all depicting various scenes from the country. The center square showed two young girls weaving a hammock. Others showed the Guatemalan national bird, the Quetzal, also the national currency. While others yet, showed the sun setting over Lago Atitlan.
I tried to rationalize buying it. No one I knew was having a baby. I wasn’t having a baby anytime soon, or ever as it may turn out to be. Why did I need a baby blanket? But it didn’t seem to matter. I had somehow already determined that I would not be leaving Chichicastenego without that blanket; even though it was my most expensive purchase, even though it wasn't on my meticulous list, and even though it was seemingly without purpose.
Months later, while still living in Honduras, I received news of my brother’s engagement. Ok, I thought, this must be why I bought the blanket. Soon they would have kids and I could give it as a gift from their aunt. This made sense to me, and I believed it for a long while. I would love to share this beautiful blanket with my new niece or nephew, I thought. Until, in fact, they did have kids. Two kids, neither to which was I ready to give the blanket.
So, the blanket moved back with me to the states. It sat in boxes in closets of the various places I have lived since then. I told myself I would hang it in the guest room where I displayed my other travel mementos. But a baby blanket just always seemed to me to belong in a baby's room. There the colors and images would excite and entertain a small infant.
Occasionally I take it out to admire it. I dig into the box in the back of the closet. I take out the blanket and carefully unfold it. It is only lately that I have begun to let myself understand that I bought the blanket for a child of mine.
It is only now, now that I have met the man with whom I would want to have that child. Now that I have decided to stay in one place for a while. Now that it might actually be a possibility. Now that it is getting very late. Now, I realize, what I could not have then, what I always did know without speaking it out loud. What I always wanted without letting myself want it.
Sometimes we have a way of pushing down the thoughts that might be too difficult, or too demanding for us to deal with right now so that we can continue on with the day to day. But sometimes, also, we have a way of reminding ourselves without being too aware of it; without it being too pushy. Sometimes, there are subtleties in life we might be better off paying attention to. Sometimes, you hold onto things for no apparent reason, only to discover you were holding onto your self.
The Baby Blanket
While living in Honduras I traveled to Guatemala over Christmas break. I visited a very small town, known amongst travelers for its huge craft market. Chichicastenego consisted of a church, a plaza and a market to rival any I’ve seen. I had been waiting to visit it. I had saved my money and not been foolish buying other trivial trinkets along the way because I knew this was the place to do my shopping. I had a list in my head of what I would buy for myself and the friends and family I had back in the states.
I wandered up and down the long, narrow aisles, admiring the handmade purses, skirts, scarves, sandals, finger puppets and other various nick knacks. I took my time walking through the entire market once before I even though to purchase anything. I haggled with the different sellers over price and quality. I took inventory in my head of the various styles and colors I liked. I noted the stands I would return to to finally purchase my goods.
As I wandered, my eyes were often draw to the various vibrantly colored baby blankets I passed. Each one of them seemed to tell a different story, each one painstakingly detailed and brilliant. They were not on my list of things to get; for whom would I get a baby blanket? Yet I could not take my mind off of them as I walked about.
I finally bought the various purses and scarves I had come there to get. But I was hesitant to leave. Next to the last stall I had made purchases at, was a stale full of baby blankets hanging from high above. They looked like someone was hanging them out to dry in the sun. I stood and admired them. One in particular caught my eye.
It was 4x4 feet, and contained all the brilliant colors of the rainbow. It had twelve squares all depicting various scenes from the country. The center square showed two young girls weaving a hammock. Others showed the Guatemalan national bird, the Quetzal, also the national currency. While others yet, showed the sun setting over Lago Atitlan.
I tried to rationalize buying it. No one I knew was having a baby. I wasn’t having a baby anytime soon, or ever as it may turn out to be. Why did I need a baby blanket? But it didn’t seem to matter. I had somehow already determined that I would not be leaving Chichicastenego without that blanket; even though it was my most expensive purchase, even though it wasn't on my meticulous list, and even though it was seemingly without purpose.
Months later, while still living in Honduras, I received news of my brother’s engagement. Ok, I thought, this must be why I bought the blanket. Soon they would have kids and I could give it as a gift from their aunt. This made sense to me, and I believed it for a long while. I would love to share this beautiful blanket with my new niece or nephew, I thought. Until, in fact, they did have kids. Two kids, neither to which was I ready to give the blanket.
So, the blanket moved back with me to the states. It sat in boxes in closets of the various places I have lived since then. I told myself I would hang it in the guest room where I displayed my other travel mementos. But a baby blanket just always seemed to me to belong in a baby's room. There the colors and images would excite and entertain a small infant.
Occasionally I take it out to admire it. I dig into the box in the back of the closet. I take out the blanket and carefully unfold it. It is only lately that I have begun to let myself understand that I bought the blanket for a child of mine.
It is only now, now that I have met the man with whom I would want to have that child. Now that I have decided to stay in one place for a while. Now that it might actually be a possibility. Now that it is getting very late. Now, I realize, what I could not have then, what I always did know without speaking it out loud. What I always wanted without letting myself want it.
Sometimes we have a way of pushing down the thoughts that might be too difficult, or too demanding for us to deal with right now so that we can continue on with the day to day. But sometimes, also, we have a way of reminding ourselves without being too aware of it; without it being too pushy. Sometimes, there are subtleties in life we might be better off paying attention to. Sometimes, you hold onto things for no apparent reason, only to discover you were holding onto your self.
The Baby Blanket
3/16/11
The Baby Blanket
While living in Honduras I traveled to Guatemala over Christmas break. I visited a very small town, known amongst travelers for its huge craft market. Chichicastenego consisted of a church, a plaza and a market to rival any I’ve seen. I had been waiting to visit it. I had saved my money and not been foolish buying other trivial trinkets along the way because I knew this was the place to do my shopping. I had a list in my head of what I would buy for myself and the friends and family I had back in the states.
I wandered up and down the long, narrow aisles, admiring the handmade purses, skirts, scarves, sandals, finger puppets and other various nick knacks. I took my time walking through the entire market once before I even though to purchase anything. I haggled with the different sellers over price and quality. I took inventory in my head of the various styles and colors I liked. I noted the stands I would return to to finally purchase my goods.
As I wandered, my eyes were often draw to the various vibrantly colored baby blankets I passed. Each one of them seemed to tell a different story, each one painstakingly detailed and brilliant. They were not on my list of things to get; for whom would I get a baby blanket? Yet I could not take my mind off of them as I walked about.
I finally bought the various purses and scarves I had come there to get. But I was hesitant to leave. Next to the last stall I had made purchases at, was a stale full of baby blankets hanging from high above. They looked like someone was hanging them out to dry in the sun. I stood and admired them. One in particular caught my eye.
It was 4x4 feet, and contained all the brilliant colors of the rainbow. It had twelve squares all depicting various scenes from the country. The center square showed two young girls weaving a hammock. Others showed the Guatemalan national bird, the Quetzal, also the national currency. While others yet, showed the sun setting over Lago Atitlan.
I tried to rationalize buying it. No one I knew was having a baby. I wasn’t having a baby anytime soon, or ever as it may turn out to be. Why did I need a baby blanket? But it didn’t seem to matter. I had somehow already determined that I would not be leaving Chichicastenego without that blanket; even though it was my most expensive purchase, even though it wasn't on my meticulous list, and even though it was seemingly without purpose.
Months later, while still living in Honduras, I received news of my brother’s engagement. Ok, I thought, this must be why I bought the blanket. Soon they would have kids and I could give it as a gift from their aunt. This made sense to me, and I believed it for a long while. I would love to share this beautiful blanket with my new niece or nephew, I thought. Until, in fact, they did have kids. Two kids, neither to which was I ready to give the blanket.
So, the blanket moved back with me to the states. It sat in boxes in closets of the various places I have lived since then. I told myself I would hang it in the guest room where I displayed my other travel mementos. But a baby blanket just always seemed to me to belong in a baby's room. There the colors and images would excite and entertain a small infant.
Occasionally I take it out to admire it. I dig into the box in the back of the closet. I take out the blanket and carefully unfold it. It is only lately that I have begun to let myself understand that I bought the blanket for a child of mine.
It is only now, now that I have met the man with whom I would want to have that child. Now that I have decided to stay in one place for a while. Now that it might actually be a possibility. Now that it is getting very late. Now, I realize, what I could not have then, what I always did know without speaking it out loud. What I always wanted without letting myself want it.
Sometimes we have a way of pushing down the thoughts that might be too difficult, or too demanding for us to deal with right now so that we can continue on with the day to day. But sometimes, also, we have a way of reminding ourselves without being too aware of it; without it being too pushy. Sometimes, there are subtleties in life we might be better off paying attention to. Sometimes, you hold onto things for no apparent reason, only to discover you were holding onto your self.
The Baby Blanket
While living in Honduras I traveled to Guatemala over Christmas break. I visited a very small town, known amongst travelers for its huge craft market. Chichicastenego consisted of a church, a plaza and a market to rival any I’ve seen. I had been waiting to visit it. I had saved my money and not been foolish buying other trivial trinkets along the way because I knew this was the place to do my shopping. I had a list in my head of what I would buy for myself and the friends and family I had back in the states.
I wandered up and down the long, narrow aisles, admiring the handmade purses, skirts, scarves, sandals, finger puppets and other various nick knacks. I took my time walking through the entire market once before I even though to purchase anything. I haggled with the different sellers over price and quality. I took inventory in my head of the various styles and colors I liked. I noted the stands I would return to to finally purchase my goods.
As I wandered, my eyes were often draw to the various vibrantly colored baby blankets I passed. Each one of them seemed to tell a different story, each one painstakingly detailed and brilliant. They were not on my list of things to get; for whom would I get a baby blanket? Yet I could not take my mind off of them as I walked about.
I finally bought the various purses and scarves I had come there to get. But I was hesitant to leave. Next to the last stall I had made purchases at, was a stale full of baby blankets hanging from high above. They looked like someone was hanging them out to dry in the sun. I stood and admired them. One in particular caught my eye.
It was 4x4 feet, and contained all the brilliant colors of the rainbow. It had twelve squares all depicting various scenes from the country. The center square showed two young girls weaving a hammock. Others showed the Guatemalan national bird, the Quetzal, also the national currency. While others yet, showed the sun setting over Lago Atitlan.
I tried to rationalize buying it. No one I knew was having a baby. I wasn’t having a baby anytime soon, or ever as it may turn out to be. Why did I need a baby blanket? But it didn’t seem to matter. I had somehow already determined that I would not be leaving Chichicastenego without that blanket; even though it was my most expensive purchase, even though it wasn't on my meticulous list, and even though it was seemingly without purpose.
Months later, while still living in Honduras, I received news of my brother’s engagement. Ok, I thought, this must be why I bought the blanket. Soon they would have kids and I could give it as a gift from their aunt. This made sense to me, and I believed it for a long while. I would love to share this beautiful blanket with my new niece or nephew, I thought. Until, in fact, they did have kids. Two kids, neither to which was I ready to give the blanket.
So, the blanket moved back with me to the states. It sat in boxes in closets of the various places I have lived since then. I told myself I would hang it in the guest room where I displayed my other travel mementos. But a baby blanket just always seemed to me to belong in a baby's room. There the colors and images would excite and entertain a small infant.
Occasionally I take it out to admire it. I dig into the box in the back of the closet. I take out the blanket and carefully unfold it. It is only lately that I have begun to let myself understand that I bought the blanket for a child of mine.
It is only now, now that I have met the man with whom I would want to have that child. Now that I have decided to stay in one place for a while. Now that it might actually be a possibility. Now that it is getting very late. Now, I realize, what I could not have then, what I always did know without speaking it out loud. What I always wanted without letting myself want it.
Sometimes we have a way of pushing down the thoughts that might be too difficult, or too demanding for us to deal with right now so that we can continue on with the day to day. But sometimes, also, we have a way of reminding ourselves without being too aware of it; without it being too pushy. Sometimes, there are subtleties in life we might be better off paying attention to. Sometimes, you hold onto things for no apparent reason, only to discover you were holding onto your self.
The Baby Blanket
3/16/11
The Baby Blanket
While living in Honduras I traveled to Guatemala over Christmas break. I visited a very small town, known amongst travelers for its huge craft market. Chichicastenego consisted of a church, a plaza and a market to rival any I’ve seen. I had been waiting to visit it. I had saved my money and not been foolish buying other trivial trinkets along the way because I knew this was the place to do my shopping. I had a list in my head of what I would buy for myself and the friends and family I had back in the states.
I wandered up and down the long, narrow aisles, admiring the handmade purses, skirts, scarves, sandals, finger puppets and other various nick knacks. I took my time walking through the entire market once before I even though to purchase anything. I haggled with the different sellers over price and quality. I took inventory in my head of the various styles and colors I liked. I noted the stands I would return to to finally purchase my goods.
As I wandered, my eyes were often draw to the various vibrantly colored baby blankets I passed. Each one of them seemed to tell a different story, each one painstakingly detailed and brilliant. They were not on my list of things to get; for whom would I get a baby blanket? Yet I could not take my mind off of them as I walked about.
I finally bought the various purses and scarves I had come there to get. But I was hesitant to leave. Next to the last stall I had made purchases at, was a stale full of baby blankets hanging from high above. They looked like someone was hanging them out to dry in the sun. I stood and admired them. One in particular caught my eye.
It was 4x4 feet, and contained all the brilliant colors of the rainbow. It had twelve squares all depicting various scenes from the country. The center square showed two young girls weaving a hammock. Others showed the Guatemalan national bird, the Quetzal, also the national currency. While others yet, showed the sun setting over Lago Atitlan.
I tried to rationalize buying it. No one I knew was having a baby. I wasn’t having a baby anytime soon, or ever as it may turn out to be. Why did I need a baby blanket? But it didn’t seem to matter. I had somehow already determined that I would not be leaving Chichicastenego without that blanket; even though it was my most expensive purchase, even though it wasn't on my meticulous list, and even though it was seemingly without purpose.
Months later, while still living in Honduras, I received news of my brother’s engagement. Ok, I thought, this must be why I bought the blanket. Soon they would have kids and I could give it as a gift from their aunt. This made sense to me, and I believed it for a long while. I would love to share this beautiful blanket with my new niece or nephew, I thought. Until, in fact, they did have kids. Two kids, neither to which was I ready to give the blanket.
So, the blanket moved back with me to the states. It sat in boxes in closets of the various places I have lived since then. I told myself I would hang it in the guest room where I displayed my other travel mementos. But a baby blanket just always seemed to me to belong in a baby's room. There the colors and images would excite and entertain a small infant.
Occasionally I take it out to admire it. I dig into the box in the back of the closet. I take out the blanket and carefully unfold it. It is only lately that I have begun to let myself understand that I bought the blanket for a child of mine.
It is only now, now that I have met the man with whom I would want to have that child. Now that I have decided to stay in one place for a while. Now that it might actually be a possibility. Now that it is getting very late. Now, I realize, what I could not have then, what I always did know without speaking it out loud. What I always wanted without letting myself want it.
Sometimes we have a way of pushing down the thoughts that might be too difficult, or too demanding for us to deal with right now so that we can continue on with the day to day. But sometimes, also, we have a way of reminding ourselves without being too aware of it; without it being too pushy. Sometimes, there are subtleties in life we might be better off paying attention to. Sometimes, you hold onto things for no apparent reason, only to discover you were holding onto your self.
The Baby Blanket
While living in Honduras I traveled to Guatemala over Christmas break. I visited a very small town, known amongst travelers for its huge craft market. Chichicastenego consisted of a church, a plaza and a market to rival any I’ve seen. I had been waiting to visit it. I had saved my money and not been foolish buying other trivial trinkets along the way because I knew this was the place to do my shopping. I had a list in my head of what I would buy for myself and the friends and family I had back in the states.
I wandered up and down the long, narrow aisles, admiring the handmade purses, skirts, scarves, sandals, finger puppets and other various nick knacks. I took my time walking through the entire market once before I even though to purchase anything. I haggled with the different sellers over price and quality. I took inventory in my head of the various styles and colors I liked. I noted the stands I would return to to finally purchase my goods.
As I wandered, my eyes were often draw to the various vibrantly colored baby blankets I passed. Each one of them seemed to tell a different story, each one painstakingly detailed and brilliant. They were not on my list of things to get; for whom would I get a baby blanket? Yet I could not take my mind off of them as I walked about.
I finally bought the various purses and scarves I had come there to get. But I was hesitant to leave. Next to the last stall I had made purchases at, was a stale full of baby blankets hanging from high above. They looked like someone was hanging them out to dry in the sun. I stood and admired them. One in particular caught my eye.
It was 4x4 feet, and contained all the brilliant colors of the rainbow. It had twelve squares all depicting various scenes from the country. The center square showed two young girls weaving a hammock. Others showed the Guatemalan national bird, the Quetzal, also the national currency. While others yet, showed the sun setting over Lago Atitlan.
I tried to rationalize buying it. No one I knew was having a baby. I wasn’t having a baby anytime soon, or ever as it may turn out to be. Why did I need a baby blanket? But it didn’t seem to matter. I had somehow already determined that I would not be leaving Chichicastenego without that blanket; even though it was my most expensive purchase, even though it wasn't on my meticulous list, and even though it was seemingly without purpose.
Months later, while still living in Honduras, I received news of my brother’s engagement. Ok, I thought, this must be why I bought the blanket. Soon they would have kids and I could give it as a gift from their aunt. This made sense to me, and I believed it for a long while. I would love to share this beautiful blanket with my new niece or nephew, I thought. Until, in fact, they did have kids. Two kids, neither to which was I ready to give the blanket.
So, the blanket moved back with me to the states. It sat in boxes in closets of the various places I have lived since then. I told myself I would hang it in the guest room where I displayed my other travel mementos. But a baby blanket just always seemed to me to belong in a baby's room. There the colors and images would excite and entertain a small infant.
Occasionally I take it out to admire it. I dig into the box in the back of the closet. I take out the blanket and carefully unfold it. It is only lately that I have begun to let myself understand that I bought the blanket for a child of mine.
It is only now, now that I have met the man with whom I would want to have that child. Now that I have decided to stay in one place for a while. Now that it might actually be a possibility. Now that it is getting very late. Now, I realize, what I could not have then, what I always did know without speaking it out loud. What I always wanted without letting myself want it.
Sometimes we have a way of pushing down the thoughts that might be too difficult, or too demanding for us to deal with right now so that we can continue on with the day to day. But sometimes, also, we have a way of reminding ourselves without being too aware of it; without it being too pushy. Sometimes, there are subtleties in life we might be better off paying attention to. Sometimes, you hold onto things for no apparent reason, only to discover you were holding onto your self.
The Baby Blanket
3/16/11
The Baby Blanket
While living in Honduras I traveled to Guatemala over Christmas break. I visited a very small town, known amongst travelers for its huge craft market. Chichicastenego consisted of a church, a plaza and a market to rival any I’ve seen. I had been waiting to visit it. I had saved my money and not been foolish buying other trivial trinkets along the way because I knew this was the place to do my shopping. I had a list in my head of what I would buy for myself and the friends and family I had back in the states.
I wandered up and down the long, narrow aisles, admiring the handmade purses, skirts, scarves, sandals, finger puppets and other various nick knacks. I took my time walking through the entire market once before I even though to purchase anything. I haggled with the different sellers over price and quality. I took inventory in my head of the various styles and colors I liked. I noted the stands I would return to to finally purchase my goods.
As I wandered, my eyes were often draw to the various vibrantly colored baby blankets I passed. Each one of them seemed to tell a different story, each one painstakingly detailed and brilliant. They were not on my list of things to get; for whom would I get a baby blanket? Yet I could not take my mind off of them as I walked about.
I finally bought the various purses and scarves I had come there to get. But I was hesitant to leave. Next to the last stall I had made purchases at, was a stale full of baby blankets hanging from high above. They looked like someone was hanging them out to dry in the sun. I stood and admired them. One in particular caught my eye.
It was 4x4 feet, and contained all the brilliant colors of the rainbow. It had twelve squares all depicting various scenes from the country. The center square showed two young girls weaving a hammock. Others showed the Guatemalan national bird, the Quetzal, also the national currency. While others yet, showed the sun setting over Lago Atitlan.
I tried to rationalize buying it. No one I knew was having a baby. I wasn’t having a baby anytime soon, or ever as it may turn out to be. Why did I need a baby blanket? But it didn’t seem to matter. I had somehow already determined that I would not be leaving Chichicastenego without that blanket; even though it was my most expensive purchase, even though it wasn't on my meticulous list, and even though it was seemingly without purpose.
Months later, while still living in Honduras, I received news of my brother’s engagement. Ok, I thought, this must be why I bought the blanket. Soon they would have kids and I could give it as a gift from their aunt. This made sense to me, and I believed it for a long while. I would love to share this beautiful blanket with my new niece or nephew, I thought. Until, in fact, they did have kids. Two kids, neither to which was I ready to give the blanket.
So, the blanket moved back with me to the states. It sat in boxes in closets of the various places I have lived since then. I told myself I would hang it in the guest room where I displayed my other travel mementos. But a baby blanket just always seemed to me to belong in a baby's room. There the colors and images would excite and entertain a small infant.
Occasionally I take it out to admire it. I dig into the box in the back of the closet. I take out the blanket and carefully unfold it. It is only lately that I have begun to let myself understand that I bought the blanket for a child of mine.
It is only now, now that I have met the man with whom I would want to have that child. Now that I have decided to stay in one place for a while. Now that it might actually be a possibility. Now that it is getting very late. Now, I realize, what I could not have then, what I always did know without speaking it out loud. What I always wanted without letting myself want it.
Sometimes we have a way of pushing down the thoughts that might be too difficult, or too demanding for us to deal with right now so that we can continue on with the day to day. But sometimes, also, we have a way of reminding ourselves without being too aware of it; without it being too pushy. Sometimes, there are subtleties in life we might be better off paying attention to. Sometimes, you hold onto things for no apparent reason, only to discover you were holding onto your self.
The Baby Blanket
While living in Honduras I traveled to Guatemala over Christmas break. I visited a very small town, known amongst travelers for its huge craft market. Chichicastenego consisted of a church, a plaza and a market to rival any I’ve seen. I had been waiting to visit it. I had saved my money and not been foolish buying other trivial trinkets along the way because I knew this was the place to do my shopping. I had a list in my head of what I would buy for myself and the friends and family I had back in the states.
I wandered up and down the long, narrow aisles, admiring the handmade purses, skirts, scarves, sandals, finger puppets and other various nick knacks. I took my time walking through the entire market once before I even though to purchase anything. I haggled with the different sellers over price and quality. I took inventory in my head of the various styles and colors I liked. I noted the stands I would return to to finally purchase my goods.
As I wandered, my eyes were often draw to the various vibrantly colored baby blankets I passed. Each one of them seemed to tell a different story, each one painstakingly detailed and brilliant. They were not on my list of things to get; for whom would I get a baby blanket? Yet I could not take my mind off of them as I walked about.
I finally bought the various purses and scarves I had come there to get. But I was hesitant to leave. Next to the last stall I had made purchases at, was a stale full of baby blankets hanging from high above. They looked like someone was hanging them out to dry in the sun. I stood and admired them. One in particular caught my eye.
It was 4x4 feet, and contained all the brilliant colors of the rainbow. It had twelve squares all depicting various scenes from the country. The center square showed two young girls weaving a hammock. Others showed the Guatemalan national bird, the Quetzal, also the national currency. While others yet, showed the sun setting over Lago Atitlan.
I tried to rationalize buying it. No one I knew was having a baby. I wasn’t having a baby anytime soon, or ever as it may turn out to be. Why did I need a baby blanket? But it didn’t seem to matter. I had somehow already determined that I would not be leaving Chichicastenego without that blanket; even though it was my most expensive purchase, even though it wasn't on my meticulous list, and even though it was seemingly without purpose.
Months later, while still living in Honduras, I received news of my brother’s engagement. Ok, I thought, this must be why I bought the blanket. Soon they would have kids and I could give it as a gift from their aunt. This made sense to me, and I believed it for a long while. I would love to share this beautiful blanket with my new niece or nephew, I thought. Until, in fact, they did have kids. Two kids, neither to which was I ready to give the blanket.
So, the blanket moved back with me to the states. It sat in boxes in closets of the various places I have lived since then. I told myself I would hang it in the guest room where I displayed my other travel mementos. But a baby blanket just always seemed to me to belong in a baby's room. There the colors and images would excite and entertain a small infant.
Occasionally I take it out to admire it. I dig into the box in the back of the closet. I take out the blanket and carefully unfold it. It is only lately that I have begun to let myself understand that I bought the blanket for a child of mine.
It is only now, now that I have met the man with whom I would want to have that child. Now that I have decided to stay in one place for a while. Now that it might actually be a possibility. Now that it is getting very late. Now, I realize, what I could not have then, what I always did know without speaking it out loud. What I always wanted without letting myself want it.
Sometimes we have a way of pushing down the thoughts that might be too difficult, or too demanding for us to deal with right now so that we can continue on with the day to day. But sometimes, also, we have a way of reminding ourselves without being too aware of it; without it being too pushy. Sometimes, there are subtleties in life we might be better off paying attention to. Sometimes, you hold onto things for no apparent reason, only to discover you were holding onto your self.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
#7
There is a postcard I have framed which I keep in my bathroom. It is a daily reminder of a specific goal and a dream completed. When I start to feel defeated I can simply look at that postcard and remember all that I am capable of.
The postcard is one I sent to myself. It is not so much the message I wrote, as the place from which I sent it that is important. I purchased the postcard in Buenos Aries. It has a beautiful picture of what I later learned are called jacarandas. They are these gorgeous, purple flowered trees that just fill up the space with purple. I bought the postcard because it reminded me of my time living in Chile (another dream realized).
I lived near Parque Las Lillas in Provedencia, Santiago. More often than not, I could be found in this park on any given weekend day. I might be reading, writing or playing Frisbee, (apparently a completely American pastime if I trusted the stares we received as we played.)
I remember one day in particular. While I’d always enjoyed the abundant purple flowers, I gained a new appreciation for them on this day. It must have been nearing the end of summer because as I approached the park I was overcome by the blanket of these flowers covering the ground. I could see no green, only purple. Nature so often surprises. I remember walking through the park to my usual spot and feeling incredibly calm, immensely at peace. I sat down at my spot; not bothering to spread the blanket I had brought. I ran my hands through the flowers like one might do to sand. I was overcome by the vastness of purple, the beauty of it all.
There were moments in that city when calm and peace often escaped me. I remember feeling so grateful for this little park so close to the city, this refuge from the chaos. It was like something changed that day at the park, like somehow I knew from that day forward I could make my own peace; I could find my place of calm.
When I saw the postcard in Buenos Aries I had to buy it. It was such a lovely reminder of that perfect day and, really, my entire time in Chile. My plan was simply to frame it once I returned to the states. I hoped it would be a simple reminder of my life abroad. But as so often happens with plans, that postcard had greater destinations.
In the postcard, the trees line either side of the path and the path is of course covered in that purple blanket. Along the path walks a person with a red umbrella. The face is covered by the umbrella so I do not know whether the person is coming or going. Often I imagine it is me.
The postcard was waiting for me in the states, waiting for me to return from the place I had sent it. It made it to the states much quicker than I. But that was the final plan. It is a long way from Antarctica to the United States after all.
I can distinctly remember the day I set the goal to travel to Antarctica. Rather, the goal was to travel to all seven continents, though I knew that Antarctica would be the most difficult to reach.
I was on a ship, traveling to 10 different countries. I was a student on Semester at Sea, a goal I had set over eight years prior. It was a goal I had worked toward through high school and college. It was the most significant goal I had ever achieved at the time. It gave me the confidence to know I could do anything, and I reveled in this newfound knowledge. It was like I had figured out a secret and I was ready to test it again and again.
My cabin was on the Bali deck, the lowest deck before the staff. No windows (but we still could see). Simply put, we were the poor kids. And we bonded in this knowledge. On day one, after the lifeboat drill and the mandatory running around the ship and exploring, we had a Bali deck meeting. We all gathered at the bottom of the stairs, sitting cross legged on the floor. Our resident assistant, Heather, led the meeting.
She started with a ‘get to know you’ game I have since used in all my classes on the first day. It is called two truths and one lie, perhaps you know it? Students had to come up with two truths and one lie about themselves and the rest of us had to guess which was the lie. I do not remember which was my lie and it has changed since anyway, but I remember one of my truths. I had said that after this trip around the world, I would have traveled to five of the seven continents. That was a pretty big feat at only 21 years of age. I was proud and excited to share this realization with my fellow Bali mates. But instantly, as the idea for my truth formed in my head, I was unsatisfied. Why settle for only five? There was so much more to see, I thought. And so it was, in the moment of revealing my truth to my fellow shipmates, whilst sailing around the world completing a forever goal, I formed my next goal; I would travel to all seven continents.
I was never worried about not achieving it. In fact that thought never crossed my mind. I was so confident in my ability to make my goals a reality, after all, I knew the secret now. Traveling around the world was proof that I could do anything. I lived for a long while off of the high of that dream becoming a reality. I merely had to think about that to know that I could do it! It was simply a matter of when and how, not a matter of if.
Chile, or rather, South America was my sixth continent, as you may have guessed. And it wasn’t until about halfway through my time there that I started to realize, as I planned my trip south, that Antarctica wasn’t too far away.
Before I had left to travel south through Chile and Argentina I had attempted to secure passage on a navel ship to Antarctica. The idea was to reach Ushuaia, Argentina, El fin del mundo (the end of the world, and only if you consider Antarctica the beginning), and possibly be a deckhand on a navel ship. My boyfriend at the time, tried to help me. He was Chilean and had some connections he had written. They corresponded for a while. I was very hopeful for a while too. But I headed south, with nothing coming to fruition and having broken up with my boyfriend. I was on my own.
As I traveled south that month, I began to hear more and more about last minute deals to Antarctica. In hostels, I would overhear travelers traveling back up from Ushuaia talking about their amazing voyage to Antarctica. My heart would beat irregularly, a common side effect of realizing how close I am to my goal. I was not shy. I would quickly introduce myself and begin overwhelming them with questions. The answer was always the same, go there, wait. Be ready to pay $2,000.
I had a credit card. I had never used it my whole time in Chile but I figured this is why we have credit cards. I had time. I was only a month into my two and a half month trip. I was ready to change all plans if it meant I could make it to Antarctica.
I was about halfway from Santiago and halfway to Ushuaia. I was so ready, so giddy, so impatient to be there, that instead of continuing by road and ‘seeing the sights’ as I had planned, I purchased a plane ticket, luckily under $100. I took a rather scary puddle jumper airplane. I was on day two of a cold that wouldn’t be finished for another four days. My budget was not happy with me.
Though I did not hesitate, I was hesitant. There is a feeling you get when you are so close to your dream, it feels a bit like disbelief, you worry that perhaps someone might grab the cookie that is dangling in front of you and laugh in your face. Silly girl, this is too good to be true.
During the bumpy plane ride I contemplated the merits of my decision. Was I completely crazy? What exactly did I think I was doing? Nothing was certain. I could fly all the way there and find out there were no more voyages for the season, or they might be all full, or they might not take a credit card, or it might be even more than $2000, or they might not take Americans. All the silly, foolish thoughts one has when one makes such a rash decision. I didn’t let myself think of what would happen if I actually did make it on a ship; that would have induced that irregular heart beat which I wasn’t sure I could handle on this already shaky plane ride.
The plane landed. I took a taxi to a random hostel. I dropped off my bag and immediately went walking. I was determined to find these last minute deals so many travelers were telling me about. It was drizzling rain. It was a dark and gloomy mid afternoon in Ushuaia. I was coughing and sneezing. Had I not been on such a high from the giddiness of being so close to my goal, I would have been miserable.
It didn’t take long. There seemed to be a travel agency on every street. I walked into the first one I came upon, but not before taking a deep breath, letting it go and making a mental note of this moment. This was the moment it was all about to happen. I was consciously, vividly aware that I would walk out those doors different from when I walked in. There are certain defining moments in your life, some come and go with little to no recognition at the time. They are only felt upon reflection, perhaps years later, yes, in fact that was when everything changed, you realize. This was not that way. This was clear from the very beginning. I was so acutely aware that I wanted to, maybe needed to, take that moment and remember what life was like before.
I walked in. I was nervous, as I often am when I know that a dream is so near. I knew that there was no turning back, and though that wasn’t what I wanted to do, there is a distinct feeling of fear and an overwhelming sense of ‘Oh my god!’ There is a wavering in your mind, a wondering, is this really what you want? Though you spend so much of your life wishing and dreaming, planning and scheming to make it happen, at the time it is about to happen, you need to contemplate it one more time, weight the pros and cons of this decision. Though what could the cons possibly be? You get to this quite quickly and carry on as planned.
I remember calling my mom. I remember thinking how convenient is was that the travel agency was also an internet/phone center. I told her I was going to Antarctica by asking her to please open and pay the credit card bill that would be arriving shortly at her house. I promised I would pay her back, and I did, within my first two months back in the states. I was crying when I ended the phone call. Talking to my mother made it final. I was going. She knew. I was going.
The lady behind the desk ran my credit card. I was still crying. I was not ashamed, rather I kept smiling at her when she looked at me in confusion. Crying is how I show just about every emotion and I do not do it shyly.
I walked out of the agency. My tears mixed with the rain as I quickly walked back to my hostel. I remember thinking I should celebrate, enter the next bar I came upon and tell whoever would listen. But I was tired and sick. I went back to my hostel, looked at the credit card receipt for the hundredth time and recall thinking, I will have this forever, it will be the first thing I put in my scrapbook. This is the beginning.
I had to wait nine days for the next voyage. It wasn’t difficult. After you wait over six years for something, not knowing when it will ever happen, often thinking you will do it when you are old and gray, but you’ll do it someday, nine days is nothing. Not to mention there are worse places to explore than Ushuaia. I spent my time discovering the different paths and wildlife in Tierra De Fuego. I bought a week pass and went nearly every day. I moved hostels for a more lively, friendly one and in all my time spent socializing before the voyage I met no one who would be going. In fact everyone was in awe and quite jealous of my venture. As a traveler, there is nothing more satisfying than going somewhere few have ever been.
The day we set sail there was a double rainbow above us as we all assembled for the lifeboat drill. I admit, I cried. What better way to send us on our way. The Drake passage was eventful, nauseating, and Dramamine filled, though I am quite certain I did not complain once. Who can complain when you are sailing to Antarctica?
Before I left, I gathered the necessary items to make a sign. It held one number; the number seven. It was my plan to have my picture taken with it the moment I stepped onto the continent. I would eventually put it on the cover of the book I would write about my travel experiences. The next goal was already formed. Apparently that is how I work. Before I had even accomplished this dream I was beginning the next. That is how life should be led.
That picture was taken. One of me alone with my number seven, yes, tears in my eyes, and one with the other five folks for whom Antarctica was number seven. Apparently, amongst serious travelers, there is little no one else has done. I was, however, the only American in the picture.
I mailed the postcard from Port Lockroy, our second to last landing. This is what I wrote on it… “Caro! You did it! Your dream has been realized! Now on to the next… the book! You can do it, you have lived it! Do it! Antarctica was so far away and now you’re walking on it! The book can and will be realized too! Dreams come true and you know it! Finish the book! – Kari.” That was it, complete will punctuation. Give me a break, I am allowed to be sickly, sadly cheesy when sending myself a postcard from Antarctica, if there are exceptions to cheese, this was one of them.
I was the last one on the ship after our last landing. The crew and my shipmates conceded me the privilege. Apparently if you talk long enough about how this was your dream, people start to think it’s pretty special. I was grateful to them, I considered it an honor, to be nearly alone on that continent and say my goodbye to it. I took my time. I had to be told to leave. I had fallen in love with the place, with the dream. I rode back to the ship in the zodiac with just me and the driver. My eyes didn’t leave the spot I had just.
I see that postcard everyday, five or six times a day probably. I think about Antarctica and all I did to get there everyday. I remember how encouraged I was, how motivated and how determined I was. I take that with me always. There comes a time when you do something so crazy, so out there, so impossible, that everything after it seems incredibly, easily attainable.
#7
There is a postcard I have framed which I keep in my bathroom. It is a daily reminder of a specific goal and a dream completed. When I start to feel defeated I can simply look at that postcard and remember all that I am capable of.
The postcard is one I sent to myself. It is not so much the message I wrote, as the place from which I sent it that is important. I purchased the postcard in Buenos Aries. It has a beautiful picture of what I later learned are called jacarandas. They are these gorgeous, purple flowered trees that just fill up the space with purple. I bought the postcard because it reminded me of my time living in Chile (another dream realized).
I lived near Parque Las Lillas in Provedencia, Santiago. More often than not, I could be found in this park on any given weekend day. I might be reading, writing or playing Frisbee, (apparently a completely American pastime if I trusted the stares we received as we played.)
I remember one day in particular. While I’d always enjoyed the abundant purple flowers, I gained a new appreciation for them on this day. It must have been nearing the end of summer because as I approached the park I was overcome by the blanket of these flowers covering the ground. I could see no green, only purple. Nature so often surprises. I remember walking through the park to my usual spot and feeling incredibly calm, immensely at peace. I sat down at my spot; not bothering to spread the blanket I had brought. I ran my hands through the flowers like one might do to sand. I was overcome by the vastness of purple, the beauty of it all.
There were moments in that city when calm and peace often escaped me. I remember feeling so grateful for this little park so close to the city, this refuge from the chaos. It was like something changed that day at the park, like somehow I knew from that day forward I could make my own peace; I could find my place of calm.
When I saw the postcard in Buenos Aries I had to buy it. It was such a lovely reminder of that perfect day and, really, my entire time in Chile. My plan was simply to frame it once I returned to the states. I hoped it would be a simple reminder of my life abroad. But as so often happens with plans, that postcard had greater destinations.
In the postcard, the trees line either side of the path and the path is of course covered in that purple blanket. Along the path walks a person with a red umbrella. The face is covered by the umbrella so I do not know whether the person is coming or going. Often I imagine it is me.
The postcard was waiting for me in the states, waiting for me to return from the place I had sent it. It made it to the states much quicker than I. But that was the final plan. It is a long way from Antarctica to the United States after all.
I can distinctly remember the day I set the goal to travel to Antarctica. Rather, the goal was to travel to all seven continents, though I knew that Antarctica would be the most difficult to reach.
I was on a ship, traveling to 10 different countries. I was a student on Semester at Sea, a goal I had set over eight years prior. It was a goal I had worked toward through high school and college. It was the most significant goal I had ever achieved at the time. It gave me the confidence to know I could do anything, and I reveled in this newfound knowledge. It was like I had figured out a secret and I was ready to test it again and again.
My cabin was on the Bali deck, the lowest deck before the staff. No windows (but we still could see). Simply put, we were the poor kids. And we bonded in this knowledge. On day one, after the lifeboat drill and the mandatory running around the ship and exploring, we had a Bali deck meeting. We all gathered at the bottom of the stairs, sitting cross legged on the floor. Our resident assistant, Heather, led the meeting.
She started with a ‘get to know you’ game I have since used in all my classes on the first day. It is called two truths and one lie, perhaps you know it? Students had to come up with two truths and one lie about themselves and the rest of us had to guess which was the lie. I do not remember which was my lie and it has changed since anyway, but I remember one of my truths. I had said that after this trip around the world, I would have traveled to five of the seven continents. That was a pretty big feat at only 21 years of age. I was proud and excited to share this realization with my fellow Bali mates. But instantly, as the idea for my truth formed in my head, I was unsatisfied. Why settle for only five? There was so much more to see, I thought. And so it was, in the moment of revealing my truth to my fellow shipmates, whilst sailing around the world completing a forever goal, I formed my next goal; I would travel to all seven continents.
I was never worried about not achieving it. In fact that thought never crossed my mind. I was so confident in my ability to make my goals a reality, after all, I knew the secret now. Traveling around the world was proof that I could do anything. I lived for a long while off of the high of that dream becoming a reality. I merely had to think about that to know that I could do it! It was simply a matter of when and how, not a matter of if.
Chile, or rather, South America was my sixth continent, as you may have guessed. And it wasn’t until about halfway through my time there that I started to realize, as I planned my trip south, that Antarctica wasn’t too far away.
Before I had left to travel south through Chile and Argentina I had attempted to secure passage on a navel ship to Antarctica. The idea was to reach Ushuaia, Argentina, El fin del mundo (the end of the world, and only if you consider Antarctica the beginning), and possibly be a deckhand on a navel ship. My boyfriend at the time, tried to help me. He was Chilean and had some connections he had written. They corresponded for a while. I was very hopeful for a while too. But I headed south, with nothing coming to fruition and having broken up with my boyfriend. I was on my own.
As I traveled south that month, I began to hear more and more about last minute deals to Antarctica. In hostels, I would overhear travelers traveling back up from Ushuaia talking about their amazing voyage to Antarctica. My heart would beat irregularly, a common side effect of realizing how close I am to my goal. I was not shy. I would quickly introduce myself and begin overwhelming them with questions. The answer was always the same, go there, wait. Be ready to pay $2,000.
I had a credit card. I had never used it my whole time in Chile but I figured this is why we have credit cards. I had time. I was only a month into my two and a half month trip. I was ready to change all plans if it meant I could make it to Antarctica.
I was about halfway from Santiago and halfway to Ushuaia. I was so ready, so giddy, so impatient to be there, that instead of continuing by road and ‘seeing the sights’ as I had planned, I purchased a plane ticket, luckily under $100. I took a rather scary puddle jumper airplane. I was on day two of a cold that wouldn’t be finished for another four days. My budget was not happy with me.
Though I did not hesitate, I was hesitant. There is a feeling you get when you are so close to your dream, it feels a bit like disbelief, you worry that perhaps someone might grab the cookie that is dangling in front of you and laugh in your face. Silly girl, this is too good to be true.
During the bumpy plane ride I contemplated the merits of my decision. Was I completely crazy? What exactly did I think I was doing? Nothing was certain. I could fly all the way there and find out there were no more voyages for the season, or they might be all full, or they might not take a credit card, or it might be even more than $2000, or they might not take Americans. All the silly, foolish thoughts one has when one makes such a rash decision. I didn’t let myself think of what would happen if I actually did make it on a ship; that would have induced that irregular heart beat which I wasn’t sure I could handle on this already shaky plane ride.
The plane landed. I took a taxi to a random hostel. I dropped off my bag and immediately went walking. I was determined to find these last minute deals so many travelers were telling me about. It was drizzling rain. It was a dark and gloomy mid afternoon in Ushuaia. I was coughing and sneezing. Had I not been on such a high from the giddiness of being so close to my goal, I would have been miserable.
It didn’t take long. There seemed to be a travel agency on every street. I walked into the first one I came upon, but not before taking a deep breath, letting it go and making a mental note of this moment. This was the moment it was all about to happen. I was consciously, vividly aware that I would walk out those doors different from when I walked in. There are certain defining moments in your life, some come and go with little to no recognition at the time. They are only felt upon reflection, perhaps years later, yes, in fact that was when everything changed, you realize. This was not that way. This was clear from the very beginning. I was so acutely aware that I wanted to, maybe needed to, take that moment and remember what life was like before.
I walked in. I was nervous, as I often am when I know that a dream is so near. I knew that there was no turning back, and though that wasn’t what I wanted to do, there is a distinct feeling of fear and an overwhelming sense of ‘Oh my god!’ There is a wavering in your mind, a wondering, is this really what you want? Though you spend so much of your life wishing and dreaming, planning and scheming to make it happen, at the time it is about to happen, you need to contemplate it one more time, weight the pros and cons of this decision. Though what could the cons possibly be? You get to this quite quickly and carry on as planned.
I remember calling my mom. I remember thinking how convenient is was that the travel agency was also an internet/phone center. I told her I was going to Antarctica by asking her to please open and pay the credit card bill that would be arriving shortly at her house. I promised I would pay her back, and I did, within my first two months back in the states. I was crying when I ended the phone call. Talking to my mother made it final. I was going. She knew. I was going.
The lady behind the desk ran my credit card. I was still crying. I was not ashamed, rather I kept smiling at her when she looked at me in confusion. Crying is how I show just about every emotion and I do not do it shyly.
I walked out of the agency. My tears mixed with the rain as I quickly walked back to my hostel. I remember thinking I should celebrate, enter the next bar I came upon and tell whoever would listen. But I was tired and sick. I went back to my hostel, looked at the credit card receipt for the hundredth time and recall thinking, I will have this forever, it will be the first thing I put in my scrapbook. This is the beginning.
I had to wait nine days for the next voyage. It wasn’t difficult. After you wait over six years for something, not knowing when it will ever happen, often thinking you will do it when you are old and gray, but you’ll do it someday, nine days is nothing. Not to mention there are worse places to explore than Ushuaia. I spent my time discovering the different paths and wildlife in Tierra De Fuego. I bought a week pass and went nearly every day. I moved hostels for a more lively, friendly one and in all my time spent socializing before the voyage I met no one who would be going. In fact everyone was in awe and quite jealous of my venture. As a traveler, there is nothing more satisfying than going somewhere few have ever been.
The day we set sail there was a double rainbow above us as we all assembled for the lifeboat drill. I admit, I cried. What better way to send us on our way. The Drake passage was eventful, nauseating, and Dramamine filled, though I am quite certain I did not complain once. Who can complain when you are sailing to Antarctica?
Before I left, I gathered the necessary items to make a sign. It held one number; the number seven. It was my plan to have my picture taken with it the moment I stepped onto the continent. I would eventually put it on the cover of the book I would write about my travel experiences. The next goal was already formed. Apparently that is how I work. Before I had even accomplished this dream I was beginning the next. That is how life should be led.
That picture was taken. One of me alone with my number seven, yes, tears in my eyes, and one with the other five folks for whom Antarctica was number seven. Apparently, amongst serious travelers, there is little no one else has done. I was, however, the only American in the picture.
I mailed the postcard from Port Lockroy, our second to last landing. This is what I wrote on it… “Caro! You did it! Your dream has been realized! Now on to the next… the book! You can do it, you have lived it! Do it! Antarctica was so far away and now you’re walking on it! The book can and will be realized too! Dreams come true and you know it! Finish the book! – Kari.” That was it, complete will punctuation. Give me a break, I am allowed to be sickly, sadly cheesy when sending myself a postcard from Antarctica, if there are exceptions to cheese, this was one of them.
I was the last one on the ship after our last landing. The crew and my shipmates conceded me the privilege. Apparently if you talk long enough about how this was your dream, people start to think it’s pretty special. I was grateful to them, I considered it an honor, to be nearly alone on that continent and say my goodbye to it. I took my time. I had to be told to leave. I had fallen in love with the place, with the dream. I rode back to the ship in the zodiac with just me and the driver. My eyes didn’t leave the spot I had just.
I see that postcard everyday, five or six times a day probably. I think about Antarctica and all I did to get there everyday. I remember how encouraged I was, how motivated and how determined I was. I take that with me always. There comes a time when you do something so crazy, so out there, so impossible, that everything after it seems incredibly, easily attainable.
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