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..."

Courage Is the Thing, You Know?

For my birthday, my sister got me Matthew Kelly's The Book of Courage, which contains pages and pages of quotes on the subject of courage.  (Interesting fact: Kelly has been compiling these quotes since he was seventeen years old!)

At first, I didn't really "get" why courage was such an important topic.  I mean, I understood why a person would want to have courage in certain circumstances -- public speaking, for example -- but I didn't really understand why fear is such an all-encompassing, and often debilitating, emotion.

In his introduction, Kelly explains why fear is so pervasive: it keeps us from accomplishing our goals, from attempting new things, from bouncing back after life-altering or traumatic circumstances.

Fear keeps us stagnant, tentative.  Courage gives us the inner power to pursue things that matter.

One section of the introduction really grabbed me:

Don't waste your life, because life is there -- all you have to do is reach our and embrace it.  Anything is possible.  Whatever your dream is, make it happen.  Have courage.  Start today.  You will be amazed what life will give you in return for a little bit of courage. 

Be certain of one thing, the measure of your life will be the measure of your courage.

Powerful words, right?

Those of you who know me personally know that parts of my life have been a truly uphill battle, and I don't hesitate to call myself courageous.  But after battling through that part of my life, I thought I didn't need to be courageous anymore.  Wrong.

Courage is always present in our lives.  It is the driving force, the thing that gives you the "umph" you need to keep on keepin' on.

Courage is stepping away from the comfort of a 9-to-5 and pursuing your passion.  It's skydiving.  It's traveling to new places and meeting new people.  It's going back to school after 20 years.  It's writing a book.  It's starting to exercise and taking control of your health.  It's attempting a new home improvement project.  It's joining a social group and making new friends.

Courage is small, and it is big.  It can be easy to come by, and it can be the most difficult thing in the world to muster.

Kelly says:

So, what are we waiting for?  We only get one shot at life.  Isn't it time for a little soul-searching?  Visit a quiet church in the middle of the day.  Take a walk in the park.  Turn off the television and talk to your children.  Open the paper and look for the job you've always wanted.  Keep a promise.  Tell your mom you love her.  Restore an old Ford.  Make friends with your neighbors.  Say yes instead of maybe.  Watch a sunset.  Write your spouse a love letter.  Fly a kite.  Say "sorry".  Ask that girl out on a date.  Try a food you've never tasted before.  Make peace with God.

He's right: what are we waiting for?  Life is so precious and so short -- let us go out into the world and make the most of it.

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.