homecoming

No one can say what its going to be like. Its called a transition and a readjustment time period. I left a place I called home and still sometimes do. I left a job I put my existence into. I let it define me and give me meaning and purpose. Towards the end I realized I was most proud of my relationships and would miss them the most. I had a chance to go back 2 months or so after I left and when I came back to Florida, I was even sadder than the first time. I came back the first time optimistic, looking forward to a change and happy to have a chance to make up for lost time. I overwhelmed myself with errand running, Christmas shopping, cookie making, and being readily available for all who call. While filling my days I emptied my energy and found myself, on my second return, feeling more out of place. Going back to my site so close to leaving was great to see my students have their end of the year party, all grown up and ready for their summer and the rest of what awaits in life.  All my hugs were filled with love and appreciation that filled a void I didn’t realize I had. This void was the absence of certainty, surefootedness, and understanding, things I haven’t found yet on my own again in the states. Few ask about it, fewer understand. My past two years weren’t just a job oversees where I contributed time and work to the greater force of good for some people. It was two years of discovery of the process and time and rhythm. It was a connection to something real, like hiking a mountain and lying on a rock face soaking in the sun. It is a slow heartbreak when I came home and realized none of that matters, “that’s not how we do things here”, and that I can’t talk about it because it requires full attention and empathy and intrigue and things no one has time for. Its personal, it was my light I was cultivating and a vision for myself I built. The struggle to not loose it means letting go of what I thought would happen and let what will happen, happen. I will find it again, my surefootedness, my accomplishment, my purpose, and it will happen how it always does, when I stay true to myself.

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.