On Photographs (or, What Will 2012 Bring?)

This quarter, I am taking just one class: memoir writing.  In it, we were instructed to choose a photograph---any photograph---which we are to later write a reflective essay on.  Instantly, I thought of this photo:

One of my favorite snapshots of our time in the Dominican Republic, this picture captures a lot of things for me: the peacefulness and reflectiveness of travel, the life of the rural Dominicans, the poverty that sneaks up on you as a traveler, waiting around corners and in between buildings, ready to expose itself when you least expect it.  But most of all, this image captures a moment in time, a place I loved, and an adventure I won't soon forget.

Jarabacoa, where the photo was taken, is a rural mountain town known for its crops: strawberries, coffee, and peppers, as well as its flowers.  It's a beautiful little place with a nonexistent nightlife, not much in the way of tourism, and definitely little to offer the spoiled traveler who came to the DR for the beaches and five-star resorts; but to us, it was a favorite spot, just a two-hour bus ride away.

It's also the place where some pretty crazy things happened: the bat that got stuck in our room and dive-bombed me while I was sitting in bed; the hour-long horse ride through the mud and muck of the jungle, in which my husband and friend complained most of the time (but I really enjoyed); the waterfall excursions and swimming in the pools below; drinking beer in el parque, pretending not to feel out of place as the only gringos there; eating at the same restaurant three times because we couldn't find anywhere else; the final trip with a dear friend of mine in the DR, before we parted ways.  These are the things I love about my travels to Jarabacoa, the things I'll reminisce about for years to come.

And while I was looking for the above picture, I came across this one:

I call this my "explorer pose," because I, well, was trying to look like a traveler/explorer.  To me, this photo, while posed and a bit forced, shows a great deal about me as a person and how I changed in 2009.

Case in point: Doug loves to tell the story of how, shortly after we started dating, I said something like, "Oh, yeah, I don't stay in hotels less than four stars."  At the time, I think Doug just looked at me strangely, not wanting to offend his new girlfriend; later, he told me---and anyone else who would listen---how silly he thought I was for saying such a thing.  (I admit, it was a bit silly.)  But just a little over a year after that statement, here I am, clad in my explorer outfit, living in a new-to-me third-world country, wearing Chacos and my Timbuk2 bag, ready to tackle some adventures.  This is after riding a bumpy bus through winding mountain roads (which, I later learned, is a super deadly and dangerous road), checking into a MUCH less than four-star hotel, and eating some questionable food at a local joint across the street.

Ah, yes, 2009: the year I became tough.

As I look at these photos, I can't help but wonder what the heck I'm doing now.  If 2009 was the year I became tough, 2010 was the year I "went with it" by randomly moving to Asia, and 2011 was the year  my career took off and my hard work was finally recognized, what will 2012 be?

Well, for starters, it can be the year I realized a lifelong goal: writing a book.  But what else?  How will I grow personally, professionally, and spiritually?  How will I find adventure when I'm stuck here in the U.S., not traveling, and not immersing myself in new cultures?  Reaching a lifelong goal isn't enough for me this year; I need to do something big, to keep up with the tradition of years past.

But, really, you can't plan these things.  All you can do is take the opportunities life offers, go with the flow, and try to enjoy it.

I guess I'll just have to let life be what it is and see where it takes me.  As the Dominicans say, "A ver..."

Some Thoughts About Travel

The People's Committee Building, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, during Tet holiday

It's official: it's been too long since I've traveled.

I do realize that I flew to Boise a little over a week ago, but that doesn't really count, now does it?  I'm talking real travel.  The what-is-this-stuff-I'm-eating, talking-with-hand-guestures, everything-is-totally-new-and-different sort of travel.

For all the whining I do about wanting to be back in Boise, I really do miss being abroad.  I miss the strangeness of it, the empowerment I feel when accomplishing little things (like taking a taxi by myself for the first time in a new country), the ever-present "otherness" that permeates everything I do.  I miss sitting at a table in Phu My Hung, Ho Chi Minh City, eating yellow noodles, and looking around and realizing how wonderful and full life is.  I miss Sunday mornings: leaving late to get to church at the Notre Dame Cathedral, a lunch of eggs, rice, and baguettes afterwards, ordering coffee at Western coffeeshops.  I even miss Ben Thanh: its stinky fish smell, the hands grabbing at my elbows, the particularly good bootleg DVD stands, the smiles that quickly fade when you decide not to buy.

I even miss the Dominican Republic sometimes: my students, who became like siblings to me; twice monthly trips to amazing beaches; egg sandwiches (sin mayonesa), fresh mango smoothies (sin azúcar), and tostones at that little restaurant in the Zona Colonial; trying not to fall asleep during mass, with the echoey, Spanish words lulling me in the hot, old buildings; cobblestone streets that elicited that feeling of real traveling.

But what does this mean, exactly?  Will this nostalgia lead to more travels, new locales, another home abroad?

For now, we are in Ohio.  But in two years, who knows?  And even if we don't move back abroad, I plan to explore every inch of this world of ours.

NaPloBoMo: Ohio Isn't So Bad

Frisbee Golf Course at Mt. Airy in Cincinnati, Ohio

I know it's early in NaBloPoMo, but I'm kind of giving up on the site's prompts.  Today's is: Can you listen to music and write?  What song did you hear today?

Instead, I'd like to talk about Ohio.

On my flights to and from Boise last week, each seat mate initiated the typical conversation:

"So, where're you headed?"
"Boise."
"The blue field, huh?  Is that where you're from?"
"I'm from there, but I live in Cincinnati."
"Oh, that's nice.  Cincinnati is a nice place."
"Eh.  It's okay."
"Just okay?"
"Yeah, just okay.  You know, it's no Boise."

At this point in the conversation, the person sitting next to me usually paused, thinking quietly.  I could almost see the thoughts floating around, reasons why Ohio, Cincinnati in particular, is a very nice place to live.  And, sure enough, everyone did their best to convince me of its livability and general goodness.

No one could really understand my blasé attitude toward the Midwest and Ohio.  I mean, it's fine.  Livable, even.  Maybe even a little pleasant.

But it's no Boise, Ho Chi Minh City, or Bangkok.  And yes, I did just compare Boise to two Southeast Asian cities.

Here's the deal: Ohio isn't so bad.  Or at least my little sliver of Ohio isn't.

A few examples: 

• Last weekend, my husband and I had a very enjoyable frisbee golf game in a national park.  This park is actually a beautiful, hilly, wooded area, and it's just 15 minutes our apartment.
• Day before yesterday, I had a nice five-mile run up and down steep hills, part of which was along a beautiful tree-covered road.  
• Midwesterners are generally nice people, and they are very welcoming to outsiders.
• I have yet to see or hear about someone seeing a dead body.

Okay, so the last one is a little bit of a stretch, but my main point is that Cincinnati is relatively safe.  It's not Boise safe, but it's definitely a lot safer than some of the places I've lived.

Seeing as I have to live here for another two or so years, I'm going to try to keep growing this list.  I'm going to try to stop thinking about all of the fabulous places my husband and I could be living and really try to appreciate the place we're living now.

Ohio isn't so bad...and perhaps I'll eventually even think it's a nice place to live.

Re-entering the World of Academia

Today, it begins: the first day of the next two years.  At 4:00 eastern time, I start my master's in professional writing and editing.

Two years ago, I was making the decision to wait on graduate school.  In fact, two years ago today, I was one and a half months into my position at the Ashton School of Santo Domingo.  I had five classes of Dominican children who disliked me (they came around eventually, but it took them awhile), and I was just starting to explore the country.

One year ago, I was leaving the Dominican Republic, returning to Boise for a few weeks, and then headed off to Vietnam.  And it was six months ago that my husband and I left Vietnam and returned to the States, leaving a region we fell in love with...but jobs we did not.

In a way, graduate school feels like a temporary stasis of travel.  That's fine--expected, even.  But I will miss that part of my life, and I will certainly miss the weekend trips, adventures, and even the danger.

So, today, I re-enter the world of academia.  But this time, it's on my terms: the program is exactly what I need and want to further my goals and career, and I think that the next two years will be rather pleasant, if not a little ordinary.

Here's to the next two years!

Holy D*bt!

Original image found here

How many of us, at the I-know-any-and-everything age of 18, applied for a credit card?  Most of us were told that we needed it to build credit, to strengthen our score, to prepare for eventually buying a house.

Sure, yeah.  That makes sense.  Give an 18-year-old a credit card right before he or she moves into an empty apartment with an empty fridge.  Great plan.

Here's the problem: everywhere we turn, as Americans, we are bombarded with credit offers. It doesn't stop when you turn 18.  Heck, it sometimes doesn't even START when you turn 18.  Lots of us even got credit card offers as kids, and it just heightened after we became adults.

(Not that that's news to you.  We have a real debt problem in this country, so much so that the government just loves to keep us down.  How, you ask?  The costs of medical care and college are easily the easiest to accrue debt-wise, and we don't have much help from Uncle Sam there.  Of course, our good old uncle has debt himself, so we couldn't expect much help in that area.  Misery loves company, I guess, right?)

Let's look at a timeline of a typical American life, starting at age 18:

18-22:  Apply for first credit card. Apply for student loans. Start borrowing student loan money, usually above and beyond tuition. Graduate with so much debt that you can't even comprehend it.
23-25:  Nausea begins to set in when the first student loan bill comes, but luckily all graduates have a 6-month deferment. First "real" student loan bill comes.  File for a "financial hardship" deferment.  On a 28,000 salary with all that credit card debt, who can afford loans?
26-28:  Realize that your BA in art metals won't get you that swanky job on Wall Street.  Go to graduate school.  If you're lucky, get it paid for.  If you're not, take out more loans.  At this point, some medical debt has probably accrued.  Start paying on that, since it can't be deferred.  Make minimum plus payments on credit cards.
29-32:  Finance a house.  Finance a car.  Pay toward the cards.  Pay toward the medical debt.  Pay toward the student loans. 

...and so it goes.  Americans love debt.  Or, at least, we think we can't live without it.

Here are some scary statistics from creditcards.com:

$15, 799 -- the amount average household credit card debt.
3.5 -- the average amount of credit cards per household as of the end of year 2008 stats
13.10 percent -- the average APR on credit cards with a balance
$2.43 trillion -- the total of U.S. consumer debt
13 -- the number of credit obligations the average American has; this figure includes cars, cards, and homes, among others

Holy d*bt!!!

So, what's a practical, not-so-willing-to-become-a-slave-to-the-system guy or gal to do?  Let's think about this.

1. Don't buy what you can't afford.
2. Don't take trips you can't afford.
3. Don't buy something with a credit card if you can't afford it right that second.
4. Don't spend more money than you make.
5. Set up a budget and stick to it...or at least know what you can spend on what.
6. Don't lend money unless you can afford to lose it.
7. Don't finance anything, except a house.
8. Really, don't finance anything...even a car.
9. Really, really don't finance anything at all.
10. Seriously.

When will we stop being slaves to this debt cycle?  Can we teach our children (future children, in my case) to get out of this mindset and, rather, focus on buying things they can afford?

As I say this, I'm looking around my partially furnished duplex.  We haven't even bought a table yet, and the rooms we have furnished really aren't complete.  But, that's okay.  We've had four expensive international moves in the last two years, and we don't want to overextend ourselves.  Money in the bank is better than money owed to the bank.  And, our dining room might be table-less at this moment, but our fridge is full.  With grad school starting in three weeks, we'd be foolish to spend our reserves on furniture.  Better to be without stuff than to live with debt, I'd say.

What about you?  Are you a slave to debt?  If you are, when will you stop living a life of indentured servitude and move toward a life of financial freedom?

I'm still working toward that.  Those student loans I took out in college don't pay themselves, and I'm counting down the days until I can scream, "I'm debt free!" Until then, I'm not borrowing another penny. No sir-y.

Stories? Advice? Suggestions? Pondering? Do tell!