17 February 2009. 1132. Hugo and Maria´s house - in the computer room. Listening to Eddie Vedder “Into the Wild” soundtrack.
I started this trip as a vacation. I really wanted it to be just that. The psychic threw water in my face and made me realize I could lie to everyone else, including myself, but not to her. “It´s a spiritual journey,” she told me and angrily I agreed. So, I left for Peru in denial that I was seeking a moment of spiritual enlightenment and secretly hoping that I would experience something like that. I suppose like all things in life the fear that I wouldn´t and the disappointment that would cause kept me from letting myself be honest and seek what I really wanted. We really are our worst enemies.
I have discovered that “spiritual enlightenment” is like god him/her/itself. It can come in whatever form you percieve it to be in order for you to be able to accept it. For me it has been in the laughter of a deaf child, the astonishing size of the Amazon River, a man and a woman who owe their success in marriage on the strange jungle brew they have been drinking together over 30 years, strangers on the trail to Machu Picchu, the books that introduced me to Chris McCandless, Ernesto Guevara and Paulo, a man in a wheelchair and his wife, a kid from Sweeden who quit his job to travel and is truly happy with himself and his uncertain future, a tugboat captain, an unexpected marriage proposal, a new friend who is younger than me but calls me “kid”, a psychic and a variety of other characters I have met on this trip. To me they are all messengers sent from god. Not a christian god, or muslim allah, or buddhist chant or incan prayer. My god. The one I have come to terms with on this trip. The one I define for myself and my beliefs and nobody elses. The one who has blessed me with challenges in life that have helped me grow and the patience to finally understand the lessons. The god who has never answered my questions, but let my curiousities take me to far corners of the world that so many people just dream about going to see. The god that I threw my fists into the sky cursing at time and time again. The god I danced with on empty roads. The god I stopped believing in for a long time, but now sits at my side like a long lost friend. My god doesn´t threaten me with eternity in hell or promise me heaven. He just helps me grow and learn and most of all reminds me that none of this will last forever so I better enjoy it while it´s here.
My only desire now is to be a messenger for the world; more specifically for those who still dream. I want to share the message that the only thing that is stopping you is YOU. I really hope everyone who reads this, knows me, or has met me along the way understands that anything is possible at any point in your life. I truly believe this and only wish more people could discover this truth. I hate receiving emails saying “I´m jealous.” I want to write back and remind people how simple life really is - we are born, we live and we die. That is it. The sooner we realize this the sooner we can stop worrying about everything else and enjoy what we have.
Yet, even in simplifying life down to just those three major events there are always going to be complications and conflicts. There are negative messengers that come in the same form as the positive messengers. They are not bad, but are ready for a fight. You have to learn thier lessons the hard way. After all if everything was given to you how would you appreciate what you have? I call these messengers our devils because they go straight for our weaknesses - our fears and insecurities. They challenge the very core of who we are or who we strive to be. If we let them win we loose so much and most of the time we don´t even realize we´ve lost for a long time. Now that I have fought one of my own devils and won, I recognize the struggle in others. I am sad to say that most people don´t even put up a fight.
I was on an island last weekend. It is in between Panama and Costa Rica and the main town is called Bocas del Toros. It has a population of expats from all over the world. There are the young hippies running businesses like restaurants or hostels listening to Bob Marley all day with their dreadlocks and tan, taught youthful skin and worry free attitude. There are the retirees who come to enjoy the beautiful sunsets, the weather that is easier on their joints and I suppose to relax and wait for the inevitable end and whatever comes next. There is a small population of locals who try to sell their crafts, cheap goods and water taxi service to the many tourists that come through. The biggest population is the tourists. There are surfers from around the world, people traveling through Costa Rica on their way to Columbia, college kids escaping their studies and people like me - just there to see it, relax and get some sun.
I went to a bar Friday night alone. Something I have become accustomed to over the last six weeks. Ironically, I used to go to the Sod alone knowing that when I got there it would be filled with my friends. Now I take comfort in knowing I am about to walk into a room of strangers instead of a room of my friends. It was around 10 when I got there and not too crowded. There was a group of girls that looked so similar to the sorority girls I went to school with that I was faced with the same insecurities I had at DePauw. The feeling of not being pretty enough, skinny enough, stylish enough, rich enough - enough for what? I have no idea, but that is the absurd nature of our insecurities. It didn´t take long for more people to start showing up. The surfers and other 20 something boys with their shaggy hair, lean musclular bodies and ridiculous outfits they wear trying to be the “cool kid” in the room. I start to write an essay in my head about how the human race lacks creativity. Here I am far from any university and far from my college days and they are exactly the same. It reminds me of how the conversations with other backpackers start to repeat themselves. What is funny is the fact that we all think we are so original. Myself included. I am no different than anyone else here except by nature I am an introvert and a writer - I watch life instead of participating in it when it comes to parties and crowds. I am entertained by one of the former sorority girls who is trying to gain control of her post-college life. She has ended up living her worse fear - the same meaningless yuppie existance as her parents. Her only weapon now is rebellion - smoking, drinking, one night stands. She thinks it´s too late to change things so she tries to make small revolutions against what we are taught is healthy and responsible. She rotates between sucking on the straw in her mixed drink and the cigerette in the other hand as she talks to one of the cute boys who´s shaggy hair and unshaved face demonstrates his rebellion against responsibility.
This girl that I have never seen before nor will I ever see again (nor would I recognize her if I did) reminds me of a girl in one of my creative writing classes at DePauw. I will not post her name to protect her as she has done nothing wrong but provided a host for the messenger I didn´t have the courage to face at DePauw. For the ease of the story I will refer to her as Amy.
In all honesty I remember Amy´s real name even though we never spoke to one another and I can´t even remember how old I am most days. From the first workshop we had together we disliked each other. I don´t know who started it as it was a mutual battle. Each time we workshopped one another´s essays we turned our constructive criticism into personal attacks. We did not follow the expected half and half ratio of positive and negative comments expected in a midlevel undergrad writing course. We would each say one sentence of nice and 3/4 of a page of “suggested improvements”. I never had a conversation Amy, who was a Kappa Alpha Theta, the sorority known as the rich, snobby girls who make their pledges stand in their underwear so t heir sisters can take a black marker and circle the fat they need to loose. Yet, Amy threatened my identity. It is only now that I realize I threatened her identity in the same way. To me she was everything I will never be in this world - too thin in the hollywood way that normal women starve themselves to look like, beautiful in that sorority girl way of perfect clothes, hair and makeup, popular, wealthy, spoiled, etc etc. She was everything I have never really wanted, but have always been curious if I had these things would my life be easier? Similarly, I threatened her happiness. My strange confidence with my crazy thritstore clothes, purple hair and independent friends (DePauw is 90% greek) made her question all the things that identify her and her world. Her I don´t give a fuck attitude was revered in the world of Theta, but when I looked at her with my I don´t give a fuck attitude her insecurities came out. In short we were each other´s devils. The exact opposite of one another in personalities, backgrounds, and futures, yet we were curious why the other seemed so much happier.
Amy is at the bar in Bocas, talking to the cute frat boy I don´t care to talk to, but I still want to notice me. She is still cool and confident, sipping on her drinks and her cigerettes with her nonchalant, I don´t give a fuck attitude that impresses all her friends. The difference between me, Amy from DePauw and the girl at the bar is the last 5 years of life. I watch her. I study the way she sips on her drink and elegantly smokes her cigerettes making it look sexy like the old fashioned movie stars. I watch her flirt with the boys while acting like she isn´t interested in love, sex or marriae (even though she is) while her friends look so desperately for that certain future with the same boys. I begin to notice the sadness in her eyes. The same sadness that was in my eyes 5 years ago. Her small acts of rebellion - alcohol, cigerettes, and sex are her dreams going down with an antidepressant. I can see the fear of leaving the life that has been laid out for her full of money, success, big houses, things, little girls that will grow up to be a Theta. She is so scared to leave that life behind that each puff of smoke from her lips is another dream escaping her soul.
Now, I´m not saying that all frat boys and sorority girls at this bar or at DePauw or in life end up miserable, alcoholics addicted to Zoloft and resenting everything they own. In fact I hope that Amy found happiness in her life with a rewarding career, but this girl at the bar is providing a body, a messenger in the same way that Amy did at DePauw. I didn´t fight my devil in college, but now is the time to draw my sword.
The girl at the bar in Bocas sees me watching her. I don´t avert my eyes like I might have at DePauw. No longer ashamed to be studying her and trying to figure out why I am so threatened by her I watch. I am happy and confident with who I have become and what I have done with my life. I´m not afraid of the unknown, of leaving the conventional life behind and trying to discover why I am here. I am not afraid of dying because I am not afraid of living. I start to realize that this is what seperates me from Amy and this girl and the other kids playing college one last time before getting married and moving into their cookie cutter houses. To some, probably most, this will make them happy. This is truly what they want in life. Not me. I have realized through my struggles and triumphs over the last 5 years that I do not want to get married, have a house, two kids, a dog, etc. etc. There is nothing wrong with that life except it is not what I want and would never make me as happy as I am right now. Remembering the cold stares from Amy, and watching this girl I know that the path they have choose is not making them happy either. I also recognize the fear in their heart - they are terrified to leave behind the comforts of stuff, the security blanket of a job and husband. Their devil is in me, looking them in the eye and they are too afraid to draw their sword and wage battle. They don´t wan to know what life could be if they had the courage. They would rather live a life in the comfort of mundanity than to realize what true happiness is. I see all this in the tears they are fighting so hard to hold back. We are each other´s devils. I am the life they don´t have the courage to live and they are the life that I am running away from.
We make eye contact again and I can tell I am making her very uncomfortable. It is late and there is no need to ruin her night. I might have enjoyed this 5 years ago, but not now. I have won. I found the courage to fight living a life that isn´t for me, but was expected of me. I am happy with the life I have choose because I will never question how things might have been if I had the courage to follow my heart.
I think about the decision I made that led me here. I left the security of a career where I know exactly what posts to take and billets to fill to get promoted all the way to Lieutenant Colonel. The security of a job in a time of an epic economic crisis. A job that pays well and takes care of you if you just play the game. I left all that behind for a future of unknown struggles and oppurtunities.
I stand up to leave and look my devil in the eye and whisper, “I defeated you this time, but I know you will return to test my courage to follow my heart. I will always look forward to our battles because they will teach me so much.”
As I leave the Rasta bar, the frat boys and sorority girls, the loud reggae music, the laughter and dancing, I imagine the girl at the bar telling her girlfriends, “What was up with that weird, quiet girl? Did you see her staring?” I laugh outloud and skip through the dark, quiet dirt road.
On my way back to the hostel I am approached by a young kid in his early 20´s on a bicycle. He has already asked me my name twice earlier in the day, but again fails to recognize me.
“What is your name?” he asks again. I tell him in an annoyed voice. “Livvy, where are you going?” he asks, riding closer to me. It´s not that I feel threatened, I have been in the habit of carrying a knife with me ever since I was in Iraq and he is skinnier with a smaller body frame. If I had to I could fight him off. I am just annoyed. I just waged war with my devil and came out victorious. I am sad for the girl who didn´t face her devil in me and exhausted from the battle.
“I´m going to my hostel,” I answered trying to get rid of him. In the split second that he keeps my attention I walk by my hostel without realizing it. He keeps following me along the empty road and I can hear loud music from one of the shacks built on the piers, right over the water. Not realizing I have already walked past the safe haven of my hostel I duck inside. Like all bars it is dark and loud. The dance floor is empty and at first inspection it doesn´t seem unusual. I walk over to the bar and order a beer because it will be faster and buy me more time to finish. I walk across the dance floor and feel every set of eyes staring at me. I scan the edges of the dark bar to realize that there are no other tourists here. Not even a group of friends checking out the “townie bar”. Just me. I find a corner along the edge and sit down to relax and think about what just happened. A man approaches me and starts talking in rapid Spanish.
“Sorry, no hablo español,” I explain and he walks away defeated. Another man takes his place as quickly as the first man gets up and starts talking in rapid Spanish. Annoyed, I tell him the same thing.
“No Español!” he asks in shock.
“Poquito,” I say holding my hand up to show the symbol for ‘a little’.
“Me, umm, not so good English,” he explains with a genuine look of effort on his face. We start a conversation that is half in broken English and half in broken Spanish. He asks me questions in English and I answer him in Spanish. We do the best we can. He leans close to me and I lean further and further away. It reminds me of the man who taught me the Arabic word “Habibi” in Iraq. The further I lean away the closer he gets. I eventually give up this fight and sit up straight. Noticing my confidence the man leans a little further away.
I sip on the beer I didn´t order to drink and manage to say, “vaya bailar with another bonita chica.”
He laughs and raises his hand to the dance floor, “dance?” he asks.
“No, you go bailar with chica,” I say pointing to a large black woman dancing away with a skinny and much shorter man.
Swept away in our horrible conversation I stay much longer than I originally intended, but I am now sure I lost the kid on the bike. I ask “donde la playa?” but with my American accent or bad Spanish he doesn´t understand that I´m asking where the beaches are so I make a swimming motion.
“Aquí?” he asks puzzled. I laugh and make a motion to jump into the water off the pier and we laugh. It´s not a real conversation by any means, but it is better than the small talk at the tourist bar. Our hand gestures and broken sentences make me laugh so hard I am crying. I realize how great it is to be able to share a moment of happiness with someone. I also realize that I am facing another one of my devils - my fear of trying because my fear of failure. This is the first time on this trip I have even attempted to speak Spanish to anyone.
I only make it through half my beer and it is warm and gross. The man gets up to get himself another cerveza and as soon as his back is to me I dump mine out into the water so I can leave when he returns. He sits down and realizes mine is empty and as he tries to ask me if I want another a man across the room breaks one of the cheap plastic chairs and falls to the ground. I don´t know what it is about falling, but it is the funniest form of comedy in this world.
“He is borracho,” the man exclaims and I remember that borracho means “drunk” and burst out laughing.
“Sí! Yes,” I agree as I wipe tears from the corners of my eyes again. “Ummm, Voy…dormir?” I say hesitantly hoping I am saying I go to bed and not accidently invite him to sleep with me. He gets the point and we stumble through goodbyes and he tries to get me to make arrangements to go to the beach mañana. I recognize that the messenger has already left him and say “no gracias,” as I walk away.
I walk back to the quiet hostel after realizing my mistake of walking right by it earlier. I raise my face to the sky and laugh. I now know why the kid on the bike approached me for the fourth time that day.
I try not to make a sound as I get ready for bed. As I try to fall asleep I listen to the noise of the dance bar, the creeks of the crickets, the water hitting the pier and the occasional footsteps along the street. I thought that I had experienced my spiritual enlightenment on the weeks leading up to the top of Machu Picchu. I had already come to find peace amongst myself and my solitude. I didn´t realize that naturally this is when my devil would attack. My guard was down and I could easily fall on my own sword had I not recognized the need to use it. The moment of peace would pass and I would (and already had) question everything I have learned and left behind. I defeated my devil in Bocas and my a peaceful sleep sweeps over my body like the waves crashing into the the pier.