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.
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