Writer's block

Clearly I have not been very good these past few months at writing things of importance. Writing has become a real lackluster attempt at communicating my thoughts and ideas, probably cause I've had few of either to write about. That being said, it makes me sad that I don't even want to reread the stuff I've written lately. Its objective and drawn out and lacks feeling. So what should I write about?

I could write about leaving I suppose. My time left pales in the amount of time I have spent here. In one month, I will be in another country, most likely Colombia if all goes according to plan. I will have left my crappy couch bed, my plastic kitchen set, some moldy clothes, my mountain view and a life I have fully participated in designing for the last 2 years. There's not much more to write about, right?

And why don’t I have emotions? Well I do, or else I wouldn’t have cried in front of 50+ people at our opening day event for our green classroom. But why every time I look up and see blue sky behind misty mountain rain clouds, do I feel like I can take a deep breathe? And why is it that every flair up of nostalgic reflection is met with a wall of fire extinguishers that leave the notion soggy and unappealing? 

Part of it is probably that I am in full blown logistics mode, every activity from now until November 22 is still up in the air, including how I’m going to get Maggie home to my mom. Logistics mode is dangerous. It means that I will stay busy until the moment I planned not to be and then reflection mode, with all it’s pent up potential energy floods and overwhelms me, and I end up a wrung out and exhausted.

Part of it is probably because while there were plenty of hours I spent doing nothing of real significance, I don’t regret the hours I spent stressed out about actually doing things. I’ve tried and failed and tried again a different way a few months later with different people, which still often failed. I set out with some big ideas in the beginning; murals, camps, park renovation or something infrastructural...to name a few. And to my surprise and delight, my counterparts and I got pretty far on a few of those goals. But the beauty in the projects is that they started as great ways to foster youth empowerment and had potential for sustainability. And now, as I write up my laundry list of acronym reports, the only thing I really care about is the relationships that came out of the projects. They where just the excuse in order to better get to know the people I worked with; the students, the moms, the teachers and the staff. Without the projects I wouldn't get multiple warm hugs from girls asking if I can take them to the states in my suitcase, or a gift from a young boy who's mom tells me he's genuinely sad I'm leaving. These relationships are priceless and the most important thing I can take with me. It’s hard to be sad when I feel I’ve made it to where I ultimately wanted to be; I am part of this community, and they are part of me. 

This is home to me. It’s my second home, and by home I mean the place I find my self. Even when I’m not, I’m learning something. By now it’s second nature to assume I’m detrás el palo, ignorant of how things work around here. It was a struggle for the first year or so to know I hadn't found my niche. I wasn't good at anything, and even speaking the appropriate language was a struggle. I can't say now I'm any better, but it’s the only thing I know. I’ve been through many changes in my life and new beginnings. This experience has taken me apart like a puzzle, away from everything comfortable, and put me back together piece by piece; adding new pieces and not so subtly, leaving more room to grow than I ever thought I was capable of. With the feared “unknown” as my constant companion, I can finally accept and appreciate the patience it takes to not worry about what will be and I can almost feel excited to see how it will all turn out.
I guess writing about why I can't write is better than nothing at all.