On being lost

When I set out on this journey to south america I didn’t realize that I was looking for something. It took me a month and a week- and almost 3,000 miles- to  even see the question that I’d been trying to answer. Where am I going and what do I want to be? I’d managed to lose all sight of that original fierce sense of purpose that I’d felt when I began this whole chapter of my life in the first place. That crystal sharp hopeful conviction had been muddied by reuniting with Elijah, then subsequently scattered by heartbreak, and altogether obscured and faded by the months of directionless work, recreational drugs, sitting on couches watching shows instead of catching sunrise in mountains, and general slew of challenges which came with moving to the city. 

 

Now, I learned many valuable lessons this past year- centered mainly around connection with other people, different kinds of love, the meaning and finding of those who you come to call “family” the pain that comes from healing. It was a valuable year, a precious and important year, but a year where my sights turned away from that deep inner kernel of fire, and I lost my sense of direction. 

Some deep quiet part of me- I suspect the same part of me which has manages, time and time again, to guide me to the people that I end up needing to meet in my life- recognized this loss and the need for some sort of remedy, and this part of me lead me from one thing to another and carefully, subtly, shuffled my cards in such a way that I ended up traveling alone again in a completely new continent.\

 

That was when it really hit me how lost I was. After all the familiar, soft, comfortable patterns and routines of my portland life were gone and I was left with nothing but my self- my own thoughts. It was only then that I realized how badly my mind and spirit needed tending. A garden so overgrown and disorganized that I could not even recognize the different facets. I could not hear my own voice anymore. Even now, writing this, my voice sounds strange to me. Halting and shy, the thoughts in my head struggle to form themselves in a way that makes sense of what that deep part of me is feeling. 

 

The moment it really hit me was when I was face timing with my dad from the little coastal town of Taganga. I’d spent HOURS and hours that morning trying to figure out what to do that day, itching to leave the town after being there 6 days but not being able to settle on my next destination. Anxiously deciding on one town, then weighing the merits and changing my mind, and going around and around in circles until I was completely stuck in choice paralysis and absolutely unable to make any sort of decision to grand me forward movement whatsoever. Later that night I was talking to my dad about that strange feeling when suddenly it hit me. That feeling was the same one I’d been having in my life at large lately. The same one which had been dragging on my heels in portland, and which finally-here in Colombia- I was able to actually look in the face and see for what it was. “Where and I going and what do I want to do?” I had asked myself aloud, and those were in fact the questions that had kindled the alarm bells deep inside my mind way back in Portland and pushed me into this adventure. 

 

My mind, when faced with strife of the soul, knowing that the best way for me to find the solutions was to lose myself somewhere completely new and unfamiliar. 

 

I was stuck. 

 

I am still stuck. But I am moving. A twitch of my finger, a blink of my eyelids. Opening my eyes and consciously looking for the things that make me happy, cataloging them into my mind. Seeing who I am inspired by, what makes my heart beat faster.