Upheaval and Commitment

Traveling is not all fun. It puts you in situations that are new and unknown. It throws challenges at you that would be difficult in the comfort of your own home, but are amplified by a foreign context. Often once overcome, those challenges fill you with a sense of accomplishment and usually a good story. Still, traveling is not all fun.

These past few days have been those days. It is a combination of things, as it always is. I am entering into my final couple of weeks of travel, finding myself drifting a bit more often into "the future," stressed a bit by how to "make the most" of my last two and a half weeks, frustrated that the peace of the beach is already so hard to keep present, oh and the bed bugs or fleas that invaded my deeply personal space. Sometimes, it is just a bug bite that you need to push you over the edge...

So Friday, I moved out of my friend's apartment, my planned base for my remaining time in Mexico and cried a lot. I cried walking down the street. I cried in Spanish class. Every emotion that had just poked at the surface over the last several weeks, was ripe and ready to flow. Maybe it was all the scratching of my bites. More pores for feelings to flow through. Whatever it was, I was off-kilter, tripping on sidewalk cracks and stumbling down stairs. By the end of the day, I moved into a hotel that was recommended to me by a few people, and was starting to feel a bit more at ease. That is until 7am the next morning.

I woke up to drilling and nonstop hammering above my head. And there the tears were again, as if they had been waiting at the door for just that knock. When I asked about the construction, it became clear it was not going to stop any time soon. I had already paid two nights, but I would have to move again on Sunday. I sat down to eat breakfast in my hotel Saturday morning, obsessing over my bad luck, when I looked up and saw Regula eating her breakfast. Regula is one of the owners of Lo Cosmico, the hotel I stayed at in Zipolite. What were the chances? We caught each other's eyes and quickly embraced. She was on her way back from dropping her daughter off at school, and was staying a few nights in Oaxaca. Maybe this was a sign I should go back to Zipolite before I leave, or a reminder that even when you feel really bad,  you are never alone, or just coincidence. Regardless, it pulled me out of my misery momentarily, allowing one of those smiles from deep within to emerge. The kind of smile that you try to deny, but is just too strong and persistent. The kind of smile that connects us to our humanity.

I got through Saturday with some church sitting, market going, and delicious food. Then, Sunday was the day that really brought me back. I reconnected with a friend I had made on the beach and we went to Hierve el Agua. A 2-hour adventure to get there, making friends with Roberto, a farmer from the Mixtec region, and two teenage couples taking the opportunity to get away from the city for a day of making out and photo ops. It was well worth it. As trite as the words can be, Hierve el Agua is truly a beautiful and magnificent place. There are two sulfur springs you can swim in on the edge of a mountain with water the color of paradise. And all around the springs have created unique rock forms known as petrified waterfalls unlike anything I have ever seen. We hiked around all the petrified waterfalls for hours taking in the vistas, the birds, and the water formations forever stuck in mid-drip. There was something marvelous about the idea of a frozen waterfall. Waterfalls are usually in such a hurry to get down from the mountain. The defiance of these structures against being what they are supposed to be was inspiring for a YOOTer like me. The day culminated with a swim on the edge of a cliff. The sensation of swimming in fresh spring water while looking at 270 degrees of mountain is etched deep into me. Elation does not even begin to explain what I felt.

Now, I am staying in a youth hostel. It is the first time on my trip I am fully doing the youth hostel thing. I am cozied into a bottom bunk of a 4-bed dormitory. So far, no other women traveling alone have showed up, so at this moment it is like I have a single room. Despite my natural reprieve yesterday, I still awoke today feeling a bit consternated. Not knowing if I should stay in the youth hostel, try and find a home stay, move on from Oaxaca. So far this trip, I have prided my self with maintaining a clear and decisive inner compass. This morning, I felt the needle spinning in every direction.

Then, I heard the words of one of my favorite college professors, John Riker, in my head. He often lectured on the idea of the "freedom of commitment." I was feeling afraid to commit, afraid to make the wrong choice, and in that place of choice, felt trapped. So, I went and paid for 4 nights at the hostel. I am here. For better or worse, I committed. I am not going to say that the emotional storm passed the instant I committed, but it did start to retreat. I am excited to do the youth hostel thing for a week. I am excited to keep working on my Spanish. I am excited to go to an art class tomorrow. I am here. For at least 4 days more.

This brings me to a mantra that came to me on the beach in Zipolite and has done a lot to keep me present through my travels. When I am here, I am everywhere. When I am everywhere, I am never here. O en espanol, Cuando estoy aqui, estoy dondesea. Cuando dondesea, nunca estoy aqui.