For as long as my feet were grounded on Guatemalan soil, trivial things had no claim on my thoughts. One foot in front of the other, days were conquered in succession, with the following weeks or months as mere dots on the horizon, never worthy of concern. Weekends were planned only for the sake of climbing the next volcano or eating the next taco, we never planned just for the sake of having a schedule. To do lists were completed at leisure, with steady faith that everything would eventually come together. Days were laid back, imitating the slight breeze and warm sun, giving a radiance to those walking in the streets. Work was done on a strictly need-to-do basis and what wasn't competed one day would be there until the next. I think we can be born of places we've never been, endowing us with the duty to seek our spirit's birthplace. I say this because something about Guatemala resonated with every part of my being, long before I ever called the place home. My friends, near and far, know of my inability to plan, my frazzled state when trying to prepare for anything. Guatemalans don't stress about plans, so therefore I never did either, and Guatemalan time was in my blood before I left the country. Life in Guatemala was precious because it coincided with everything I loved, even before I knew it existed. It will always be a place that I go to find myself. When things get messy and I forget what it's all supposed to look like, I know my heart will wander back there. It's like an old friend, breathing life back into my tangled sails and soothing me back into the ocean of contentment, restoring faith that the world is going to be okay after all. For years I've wondered if I've been born in the wrong place or wrong time, feeling a slight disconnect between what is considered society's norm. I mean this not as self-deprecation nor me thinking too highly of myself; believe me when I say I have very little figured out. But what I do know is that I've always been more interested in nature than clothes, and I intentionally don't wear a watch because I like being lost in time. I would take a great friend over a room full of people any day. Food is my motivator and laughter is my soul's drink of choice. I've always just thought that maybe I've been cut from a different cloth, and now I realize - perhaps despite the distance, a Guatemalan one. Maybe I'm crazy and just throwing out sub-par ideas into a void, I'm not sure. All I know is that it is incredibly confusing as to how I could feel more at home in a foreign country than I do in places I've known for years. How my life could feel in sync with a culture before I spoke the language or learned the customs. It's like my heart caught on fire and I'm left fanning the flames with old photos + conversations with friends too many miles away.
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It’s a material cleansing. You comb through your possessions, whittle away at the excess, prioritize and reprioritize. You learn to mentally take inventory before making a purchase, and I’ve found this to be incredibly gratifying. I always feel a little lighter with such a lifestyle, never weighed down by my stuff. Like I could maybe just float to my next destination. Your bags are packed with only the essentials, and your heart is packed with the adventures you invested in instead. I miss that simplicity. These days I find myself intoxicated by the options at the grocery store or Target. I stand in the aisles drunk off the vast number of things I don’t need but still want. I find myself either shamefully buying four of the same shirts I already own or rushing past the line at the register in an attempt to avoid unjustified spending. Ideally I would get rid of something when I buy something; a replacement system, if you will, similar to what I do when I’m living out of a suitcase. Maybe that’s the key, to live as though my suitcase is already packed and ready to go. Sometimes the only answer is to run, suitcase in hand. I guess I’m still mourning the loss of being in a space where the question wasn’t "you only bought one mug?" Rather, admiration for the one mug that I did buy.
I've been back for less than a month, without a job or without any commitments larger than dinner with a friend or plans to get a beer. To fill my time, I've been reading and writing, both to take my mind off missing San Lucas as well as to help me process. It's hard to leave a culture where it's not within their nature to compare things, and even harder to then come back into a culture where the first thing we do is make comparisons. I've been trying to write in a way that isn't completely black and white, less comparisons, more observations. They say comparison is the thief of joy, and the more I think about that, the more I agree. I'm trying to appreciate home while writing down all the things I love and miss about Guatemala before my memories fade. Instagram has become a refurbished journal, and I've been collecting those posts on here for awhile now. Here are a few of my posts since I've been home. taken from my journal two nights before my departure flight // I've been sitting here watching the pulsing embers of the fire & wondering why it's been so easy to fall back in step with life here. How quickly I've grown accustomed to the sound of tortillas being made in the streets & Guatemalan slang being interjected amongst good friends. How quickly I've become infatuated with the color of the mountainside & the eternal spring. How deeply I've fallen in love with the easy-going nature of the locals & the nearly tangible compassion shared between strangers. I can't put my finger on any one thing specifically. Much like the unseen wind, this place shakes & rattles everything I thought I once knew & it makes me take inventory of what I truly consider important. Love is at the heart of it all. The least tangible but most easily felt emotion I get to experience here every day. // it's good to be back stateside but damn do I miss it already
There's nothing worse in this world than isolation, the feeling of being utterly alone in the universe. For that reason, the words "I hear you, and I see you." are like medicinal remedies for the soul. All it takes is an empathetic listener to make you feel like the world isn't crumbling beneath your feet, that you are in fact not going crazy. However, it is painfully easy to nod absentmindedly, to quickly change the topic out of discomfort, to be more interested in the perfect filter than by the human trying to share part of their heart with you. Distractions like these chip away at our relationships, wear away our reliability. When we tune out another person's pain, fear, anxiety, we put a wall up against vulnerability. Every time we ask a question but don't engage in their response, we send a message that we don't actually care, we were just asking to fill silence, to kill time. Because of interactions like these, we're failing our loved ones. We're bypassing opportunities for growth and community. Guatemalans are the best listeners I know. They ask questions with genuine interest, and they don't get skittish when things get uncomfortable. They have mastered the art of leaning in, embracing the mess + loving people through whatever life throws at them. I've been holding those lessons close to my heart these past few days & I'm beginning to wish everyone had Guatemalan friends to learn from. Traveling liberates. It has no tolerance for perfectly constructed plans, washing away detailed schedules with the delay of a flight or a missed train. You learn to give way to chaos, knowing that unforeseen challenges are always around the corner, and you become more adaptable with each passing day.
Traveling teaches independence, yet tosses you into the throes of childlike dependence at the same time. You must rely on the unearned kindness of strangers to give you directions. You learn to ask for help in the universal language of charades. You are at the complete mercy of the universe when you are in a new place, and you learn to love the unknown. You fall asleep each night with battered knees, in a daze of wide-eyed wonder. You make peace with the notion that you will never know this world as well as you wish, and you laugh, knowing that you are crazy enough to try. It’s scary yet exhilarating. And it’s a drug; once you’ve experienced it, you’ll spend the rest of your life itching for another hit. |
Alexandra Rosetravel enthusiast. lover of yellowstone, coffee, and a good book. passionately curious. hopeful wanderer. Archives
January 2018
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