Step 1?

Cochabamba Urkupina Festival 2013 - Photo courtesy of David Clow on Flickr 

I've been pushing this post off for quite some time now.  Maybe it's because I'm a slacker, but maybe it's because none of this has seemed real.

Five months ago I took a leap of faith/insanity/desperation and applied for a month long trip to Bolivia.  This isn't news to most of my friends by this point, who have all been so excited for me, but with less than a month until my flight, it's just starting to feel real.

Here's how it all went down last summer.  I was having a mild life crisis, which you've seen some of in previous posts, where I was getting restless and reading travel blogs multiple times a day.  I was getting jealous of the lives others were living.  I started looking into trips I could do just for fun while I still held onto some semblance of reason.  Then in a moment of weakness and insanity, I found myself filling out forms and hitting submit before I could stop myself.  It still didn't feel real though, they had to actually accept me and who knew if that would actually happen.  A little voice tucked deep down called out hoping they would never see my application.  Then I got the email stating they had in fact seen my application and everything looked good pending a Skype interview.  What had I done?  I wasn't ready for all this.  I couldn't even fill out the travel dates because I had no idea when I'd be able to go.

I moved forward with the process because I felt I had no other choice (and because I wanted to, but that voice was not the dominant one).  The following month I did a little fundraiser for the trip that still didn't seem like it would happen.  Now I am three weeks out from my travel date, and all I need to do is pick up my visa and step onto the plane.  How did this happen?  I'm a moron.  What was I thinking?  If I hadn't spent so much money on the flights, vaccinations, etc, I would totally be writing a letter lying about how I suddenly could no longer help with the organization's program.  I'm terrified.  That's right.  For the girl who claims to love traveling, I don't know why I'm doing this.

This could be the stupidest smart thing I've ever done with my life.  I planned it as well as I could around my work schedule. However, as is common in entertainment, schedules change.  Unfortunately plane tickets don't (at least not without penalty).  Have I just royally screwed myself financially?  Have I just thrown off my whole future work trajectory?  Wait, I'm going to have to speak Spanish on a daily basis?  WHAT HAVE I DONE?!

Let's take a moment for a calmer side tangent, and I'll tell you about this organization I applied to that is forcing me to realize my dream of traveling.  Agapé Adventures.  It's an organization based out of Ireland that has programs around the world.  They teach children, bring medical aid to communities, stimulate local economies, care for wild animals, and more all around the world.  They help fund their endeavors by allowing travelers to come help their programs for short periods of time.  The trip I'm going on is to teach children of Cochabamba, Bolivia subjects like math and reading while also helping with their sports program.  It's totally voluntourism, which is a touchy subject and some days I question if what I'm doing is morally right, but at least it is still helping in some ways, hopefully more than it's harming.  If I find that not to be the case after this trip, I'll work that knowledge into my future plans.

From what I've read, the program seems to be really doing good in the world and other volunteers have sung their praises.  I hope I can actually be of service to the programs and not just another face that comes and leaves with fun stories but leaves nothing good behind.  It's this hope that helps keep me somewhat motivated when faced with my screaming fears of this whole trip.

Speaking of which, SERIOUSLY, WHAT AM I DOING!?  It's been a tumultuous week since being back from the holidays.  This fact is not going to go away anytime soon.  I think I will worry up until my feet hit the soil of Cochabamba.  Then there's is no turning back.  It's that milestone I'm racing towards while simultaneously pulling away from.  It's that date of no return where I can enjoy the unknown and know that there is nothing I can do to change the path I'm on.  The next three weeks will be filled with fears fueled by the option (that's really not an option) that I can still back out.

Who is this scared little girl?  I can't wait to get back to the confident woman I know I can be.  Cochabamba, maybe you'll be my saving grace after all.  But dammit, I won't admit that until I get there.

Predictability

I was thinking tonight about what makes me feel restless about my circumstance.  I try to avoid the word unhappy because of what it can mean, and I don't want to say unsatisfied because I don't want to sound ungrateful, but there is something that nags at me about my outlook on where my life is going. Don't get me wrong, I am so fortunate with where I am, but what I realized tonight is the predictability of everything is what is not working for me.

For some, predictability is the anchoring factor in their life that provides the stability they seek, and I can't deny that I crave stability, but I don't know how to have that without the predictability that just doesn't mesh with my personality.  My whole life I have had at least one milestone to look forward to with a specific time stamp on it.  Graduating high school I always knew would be June 2007.  Graduating college: May 2011.  Moving to LA: September 2011. After each of those milestones there was this realm of the unknown.  I had a general idea of what I was to expect, but nothing concrete enough to limit my imagination.  And knowing that time of uncertainty was ahead of me was what I always had to look forward to, to race towards.  It was my weird version of a safety net.  As an adult though, those timestamps get removed.  Life's milestone may have a vague expectation of when, but no specific date to work towards.  This is what I think I've been having a hard time adjusting to.  I've been on my own for over three years, but I'm still getting used to the idea of just what it really means to have my whole life ahead of me.  A long, undefined amount of time ahead of me.

Now that I'm thinking about it, to some, knowing the "whens" can seem like predictability, and I guess in a sense they are.  How I always viewed them, though, was a new adventure of the unknown.  So, what I guess I'm trying to convey is that my future doesn't have any specific new adventures for me to look forward to, just the same day to day life.  Again, don't think that I don't love my life, because I do.  In general, this is the happiest I've ever been.  I have my independence, people I can relate to around me, a sense of accomplishment, but I wasn't built to have that all remain the same for extended periods of time.  No matter how positive they are.

Confession time:  Growing up I learned that people don't stick around for too long.  The best friends I made always left in some sense, whether it was to a new group of friends, a new school, or a new town. I'm not sure if this shaped me or if my personality type was what drew me to these people but didn't make me follow them.  So now I find myself trying to find new ways to meet new people.  I get bored knowing that I've met everyone I can in my current circle.  I like keeping my friends around, but only if it's relatively easy.  If it's difficult to get together I don't see that as our friendship fading, rather as more opportunities to make new friends to add to my repertoire.  New people excite me because I can tell the same stories over again, I can learn new stories from them, I can gain new experiences.  I love old jokes and shared stories and the ease of sitting around drinking wine on an afternoon, but I like the unpredictability of a new friendship and what exactly we will bond over.  The predictability of a friendship is what I appreciate, but still doesn't satiate something inside of me.

All of this is a crazy way of saying that I need to know when the unknown will happen.  I need that push that says it doesn't matter if you're ready or not, this is happening.  And strangely that means I have something to plan for.  It's a complicated web my mind weaves.  I'm forced to finish all of my preparations because there is no pushing them off, even when it's something you can't really prepare for.  I hope I'm making at least a smidgen of sense.

To finish my rambling, I am my own biggest obstacle anymore.  I've always been the procrastinator, so deadlines were my friend as much as they were an enemy.  When I don't have that deadline, I find ways to push it off.  Which is what I can see myself doing for the foreseeable future.  That's what scares me.  Never having the excitement of the unknown because I stifle my own chances with fear and excuses.  It's this struggle that will make traveling that much sweeter, even if that much more nerve-wracking.