The F-Word

It has been so good to be back.

Back to grocery shopping, swerving for pot holes and waiting in line at the bank.

Back to saying buenos dias and buying fresh squeezed orange juice from the stand with the green umbrella.

Back to my messy desk and piles that make sense only to me. Back to a dog that likes to sleep as much as I do.

Back to sunny mornings, and church bells and fire crackers.

Our car needs new tiers, the house is dusty, and I feel a little behind on everything, but we are home.

And home feels so good.

I don’t exactly remember when Guatemala started to feel like home. I came here for the first time in 2007, and didn’t want to  leave. But it wasn’t really home quite yet. I visited in 2008 and 2009, and was tempted to move, but that seemed too crazy. What I do remember is for about a good two years while living in Santa Barbara I had this consistent, quiet heaviness that lived buried underneath layers of busyness and stress. I kept my schedule full and my heart just slightly disengaged. I thought I could be the best teacher, run an after-school program on the Westside, make it to the gym, meet with my small group, do some emails and cram in a quick dinner and get by.

But if you have ever tried to keep anything buried inside for too long than you know how this goes. Things buried inside eventually do come out, and often not in the prettiest way.  Mine came out through tears on Friday afternoons while sitting in my white Honda and then, eventually in a counselor’s office. I had to learn to listen to myself. And to stop being so damn, practical. My life looked great on paper and I was trying my hardest to convince myself that it was. But I’ve learned that a life that looks good on paper, may not necessarily be the life that I want.

I knew deep down I wanted a change. I needed a change. Something was missing from my life. And it scared me because I knew that in order to find it I would have to take a risk. To let go and leave.

And for me that risk was Guatemala. Maybe for you that risk is starting a grad school program, or making the first phone call, or being willing to move even when it makes sense to no one else. Risks are hard. Especially for pragmatic, controlling people like me. Risks don’t always make sense in the process, and maybe not always in retrospect either. I think that’s the nature of a risk.

It would be misleading not to mention that dating and marry Gerber was a huge part of this “something missing.” My longing for a partner and to be married for most of my twenties was obviously part of my journey, but it wasn’t everything. For years in Santa Barbara I had this ache to be settled, to feel at home. And for a reason I may never understand…this tall, white, California girl found it here, in Guatemala.

I guess 5 weeks away makes me appreciate it all the more.

Where do you feel most at home? Or with whom?

P.S And yes, I will get around to posting a few pictures from our travels- even though it is wonderful to be home, we did have a great time in the states!

October is kind of like June in Guatemala. Not the weather or the temperature outside, but the feeling that comes when a another school year has ended, final grades and projects are turned in, graduations, more commonly know as claursuras, have just about finished and students begin the glorious 10 weeks that are known as vaccaciones. And teachers do the same.

My schedule and job have changed quite a bit since leaving Santa Barbara in 2010, but at the end of a school year the feeling is still the same. My body and mind want to slow down, soak up quiet mornings and settle in.

A few weeks ago when Gerber asked me what I wanted for my 30th birthday I said, something relaxing. And it was just that. He invited a few friends to Earth Lodge, one of my favorite local get-a-ways, where lunch is eaten at picnic tables, and cornhole and Adirondack chairs line the grassy lawn and naps are taken in hammocks. It was splendid. After having spent the prior week camping and building water filters with 12 jr. highers this was just the kind of day I wanted.

We celebrated later, just the two of us at our favorite restaurant, Hector’s. Which is basically where we go for engagements (well, just one engagement), birthdays and whenever we have out of town guests visiting.  The atmosphere is intimate, with no more than 8 tables and you have to step through the kitchen to get to the single stall bathroom. But the food is superb. A limited menu ensures that you can’t go wrong. My favorites: The roasted tomatoes and Gouda cheese. Hands-down, best margarita in Antigua. Tender duck with roasted grapes and the orange chocolate fondant is pure delight. Seriously, if you’re ever in Antigua this is a must go to.

We talked about this next season and what we want to get done before we head to the states in December. We dreamed about our next possible travel destination and how to add a 2nd level to our house. (Yes, you read that correctly…In Guatemala, you just build up. So, we’re hoping to add a 2nd story to our 2 bedroom, 1 bath casita.) While we finished the last of our desserts, he asked me what I’m most looking forward to in my 30s?

My response was contentment. For the first time in a number of years, I breathe a little easier. My heart feels a little more settled. I am content with who I am, my body, where I live, and our life together. By no means does it mean I don’t get stressed or have horribly frustrating days, but somehow this birthday I celebrated something new. Maybe it’s something that comes from taking a risk, leaving everything, starting over and trusting that God has a better plan than I do. During my 20s I felt like I was working hard to be content, wrestling with myself and who I thought I should be and questioning God often. But maybe that’s the funny thing about contentment, you can’t work on it. It washes over you when you finally surrender and say here I am.

Here I am, and I am quite content with 30 thus far.

Last night I posted a [before] picture of my first attempt at making kale chips. 10 minutes later I pulled out something that resembled burnt seaweed, and looked nothing like the crispy, curled lovely chips seen on the recipe’s website. I immediately chalked it up to the fact that Guatemala kale must be different than kale in the states.

However, I was not about to post an [after] picture of my failed kale attempt because some how failures and mess-up don’t seem Facebook and Instagram worthy.

I sometimes wonder if the danger with Facebook and instagram is not what we do post, but we don’t.

Next time you’re scrolling through instagram or Facebook notice what do you and I tend to post pictures of? Cute kids and smiling couples, gorgeous landscapes from recent travels, fun weekend outings and our pinterest inspired recipes success, right? And I believe all of these things are true and worthy of celebrating and sharing, but I have to remind myself that it’s not the whole story.

I think the whole story is that most of us have some hard days and some lonely days and some days where nothing goes as we planned- like burnt kale. But we don’t usually post those pictures. Now, I am not advocating that Facebook become a confessional for venting every lonely, angry or frustrating moment. But I do wonder if sometimes we find it harder to admit and acknowledge these small daily failures or feelings when it seems like everyone else’s instagramed and facebooked life doesn’t have them.

I’ve mentioned Shauna Niequist on here before, not because I’m a slightly stalkerish, but because I really like her willingness to share the whole story. She spoke at her church this Mother’s Day and talked about “taking off your fancy facebook self – because no one’s life is as good as they make it appear on Facebook.” And then my friend and writer, Lesley Miller wrote her reflections to that talk and what it means as a new mom and wife of cancer survivor.  The hope in writing or sharing the whole story is that someone else will feel less alone.

I appreciate both of them for their honesty and their bravery to share the real story of motherhood, of less than perfect families and less than perfect recipes.

Facebook and Instagram don’t tell the whole story, and maybe they are not meant to. But I do believe we need people in our life who do see the whole story. Other writers, friends, moms, mentors and couples who see and tell the whole story. It makes me appreciate the kind of friends who are committed to telling the whole story:

When the recipe works and when it absolutely fails.

When the adorable baby is nothing but joy and when she is cranky, spiting-up and won’t-sleep-for-more-than-three-hours.

The beauty of when you promised, “I do” and the difficulty of keeping it three years later.

When you’re planning an exciting vacation and when you are tired of traveling by yourself.

When you purchase a new home and how you struggled to get out out of debt.

These kinds of friends inspire me to want to do the same: to share the whole story….

…starting with posting how I failed at making kale chips.

 What keeps you from telling the whole story?

The thing is I have them. Lots of them and sometimes I find they bring more  disappointment and discouragement than I care to admit. If you’ve followed my blog you probably know that I’ve written about expectations before. For better or worse, it’s kind of been this recurring theme during this season of my life.

So, my friend and author, Paul let me guest post again on his blog All Groan Up. You can check it out here.

I missed out on last Friday’s post, but I am back this week.

Thanks to Gypsy Mama’s FiveMinuteFridays. All you have to do is just write for 5 min. And not worry if it’s just right or not. No editing. No revising. Just write.

Today’s Prompt: Distance

Distance is the longing that stretches between countries and also the emptiness that can so easily fill a room. It’s interesting to me how we can feel distant from loved ones who live in a different time zone; there is a missing, a nostalgia and a longing that permeates when there is a physical distance between two people. I know, I feel it often. However, there is another kind of distance and perhaps it’s more painful. It’s the distance that isn’t measured in miles, but in emotions. It’s teh distance you feel when you’ve argued with someone you love. You can be sitting in the same car, or even on the same couch cushion but feel miles apart and misunderstood. This kind of distance is heavy and lonely.

I’m not sure if I like the word distance….do you?

photo credit: elizabethbunsen.typepad.com

How often do we tell only half of the story? We share about recent events or holidays, but carefully omit and edit certain aspects. We can cut and paste the details of our lives to highlight our own or our children’s recent accomplishments, but we tip-toe around out insecurities and worries.  We have learned the art of positive re-framing and mastered the simplistic, polite response “I’m good” when really everything does not feel so good. I too, do these things and to be honest I am not sure why. Sometimes it seems we value positivity over authenticity. We want our life to feel or appear a certain way so we tell ourselves and others just how good things are.

One Year Ago

Last year for New Years 2010 I wrote a post here about Expectation and Hope.

“Understanding the difference between hope and expectation is critical if we are to allow our future to be shaped by God. Hope longs for good but is able to be flexible about how that good might appear. Expectation grasps at solutions and becomes easily attached to outcomes. When we are hopeful, our imagination and creativity flourish. But when we are locked into expectations, it is easy to turn our pictures of the possible future into an idol.” (Helen Cepero, Journaling as a Spiritual Practice)

And if I had to describe my last year it would be just that; Letting go of expectations and hanging on to hope. Letting go of my plan, my job, my comforts and my idea that I know what is best. Maybe more accurately, it has been a process of letting go of control. Yet at the same time, learning to hang on to hope. The hope that life is full of surprises, the hope that God has a plan far more creative than I could imagine, and the hope that saying no to something, means saying yes to something else.

New Year’s 2011

My sister recently sent me this AMAZING link of a TED talk by Brene Brown, a research professor at the University of Houston. (Seriously watch it! You will not be disappointed. It may be some of the best uses of 20 minutes you’ve spent) With an academic, yet  humble spirit Brown speaks about the Power of Vulnerability. She looks at what gives people worth, and how shame and belonging factor into our lives. But the part that stood out the most was when she described courage.

She explains that courage comes from the latin word cor, which means: to tell the story of who are with your whole heart.

TO. TELL. THE. STORY. OF. WHO. ARE. WITH. YOUR. WHOLE. HEART.

She describes that people who do this; people who tell the story of who they are with their whole heart, are authentic and compassionate and vulnerable. These are people who “let go of who they thought they should be, in order to be who they are.” It made me re-think how often do we tell our stories, share our opinions or post on facebook so that we can live up to who we think we should be? Or worse yet who we want others to think we are?

In the year ahead I want to be a person who has courage. A person is not afraid of being authentic. I want to be someone who tells the whole story. Sometimes it can be tempting living and serving overseas  to tell “part of the story”- the good, the exciting and the fun. I can easily glorify what life is like. But I also want to tell the “other part of the story”- the unknown, the confusion and the worry. Because I am coming to believe that both are extremely important. It’s the whole story, the whole person, the whole heart that connects us with others.

What keeps you from telling the story of you are with your whole heart?

I have a theory that there are two types of people in our world: people who thrive on change, and people who well, don’t. I am the latter. Change creates stress for me. Even seemingly good or exciting changes still creates this inner need to obsessively label boxes, organize and re-arrange cupboards and write seemingly unimportant things on post-its. This is how I cope with change. Or sometimes I just cry.

I think some people’s tears are hardwired to their anger or their empathy. However, mine are hardwired to change. Dear friends (and complete strangers) take note: I cry when there is change. And this past week there have been more than a few tears shed. I have been packing up my current apartment, so I can move into my new place in January. {insert: change} I’ve been trying to finish up work proposals and lessons here, before the new school year starts. {insert: more change} And at the same time I’m preparing to come home to visit. Two words that still feel like they don’t belong in the same sentence “home” and “visit.” {insert: Big change}

In·be·tween·ness

In·be·tween·ness: \in- bi-ˈtwēn\ n. is defined as the feeling or state of being pulled between two often-contrary things. (definition courteous of me) In the past 6 months I’ve had a lot of in-betweenness in my life. Sometimes I feel like I am swinging back and forth between two worlds. Two cultures. Two languages. Two different currencies. Two different ways of being. My cell phone language changes daily between English and Spanish, depending on who I am texting. My mind constantly converts dollars to quetzals and quetzals to dollars, depending on what I am purchasing. And sometimes my heart feels this pull between the here and there. Especially now as I head back to California, I feel the in-betweenness.

Here I am

I’m still figuring out this whole cross-cultural living thing. I am often reminded that I am not from here (Guatemala that is.) I will always be a little taller, a little whiter and little bit different. There are jokes I don’t get, and traditions and customs that I still don’t understand. But at the same time this is where I live right now and I am grateful and content. This feels like home, but now I am heading back to my other home. Back to California, where my family and sweet friends await me. Where I can smell the ocean and lie on the Mission lawn and consume all the wonderful conveniences that Trader Joe’s has to offer.

So I continue to swing. Back and forth, back and forth. In-between Guatemala and California. In between Spanish and English. In between where I am from and where I am going. Estoy aqui. So, I am here, somewhere in-between.

Thanksgiving in Guatemala isn’t quite the same. I missed turkey and my mom’s homemade gravy and stuffing. I missed seeing friends and family gather around the table to share a meal where we eat too much and then somehow still look forward to leftovers the next day.

This Thanksgiving was different. But I am learning that sometimes in the different there is a lot to be thankful for.

I am thankful that what I once viewed as necessities, are now seen as privileges. I am thankful for running water that easily streams from my faucet with a turn of a knob. I am thankful for the men who drive the camionetas each day. I am thankful for the people who invented skype and that my mom still sends me care packages with dark chocolate. I am thankful for a hand to hold.

I am thankful for change, even when it may feel hard. I am thankful for the beauty of living with less and going slowly. I am thankful for the patient women who sell me vegetables in the market. I am thankful that three of my best friends flew down here just to spend 5 wonderful days together. I am thankful for surprises. And that some things don’t always go how I expected. I am thankful for parks to sit in and books to read and smoothies to drink. I am thankful that I am (slowly) learning more and more Spanish.

I am thankful that I sometimes feel slightly uncomfortable. And that I have to remember to ask for help. I am thankful that I have a new understanding of what it means to feel like a foreigner and not quite fit.  I am thankful for a wonderful boyfriend who writes me sweet notes on napkins, does the dishes and helps me be a better person. I am thankful for my health. And that I have legs that allow me to walk along these cobblestone streets.

I am thankful that I am learning the humble task of how to depend on God and not on my own capabilities. And I am thankful for tortilla soup on Thanksgiving with two of my favorite people.

What have you been thankful for?
Recipe found here (of course with some of my own adaptations)

(this was supposed to post the day after Thanksgiving. oops. Well, here’s to keeping the Thanksgiving spirit alive)

“Thou who has given so much to me, give one thing more: a grateful heart.” -George Herbert.

I happen to think birthdays are kind of a big deal. I don’t mean huge celebrations and fancy gifts, but I do think they are important markers in someone’s life. They offer a chance to celebrate and remember where you’ve been and where you’re going.

This birthday seems somewhat significant only because I remember exactly what happened one year ago. I cried. Yep, I cried on my birthday. I know the song says, “It’s my party and I can cry if I want to” but usually I think birthdays are better celebrated without tears. For my birthday last year I went out to my favorite little beachside restaurant in Santa Barbara with two of my best friends. And while we were sitting over burgers and beers one of them asked, “So, what are you most looking forward to in the year ahead?”

Something Needed to Change

It’s a simple, very appropriate birthday-ish question. But I froze, because the truth is I couldn’t answer it. I tried to swallow back the lump in my throat and squeeze back the tears, but my attempt was futile. The tears came. Slowly at first, and then the whole waterworks show. The thing is it wasn’t a bad question at all, but I wasn’t exactly in a “hopeful-joyous-lets-dream-about-the-future” kind of place. I was so confused and worn-out that I honestly didn’t know what I hoped for in the year ahead. Fear and doubts were more prevalent than hope and joy. I felt stuck; like I was waiting for something to change, but the worst part was I didn’t know what I wanted to change. I couldn’t name the feeling or the longing inside.

So what do most women do when we don’t have the right words to express what we’re feeling? That’s right. We cry. We just let the tears come. Sometimes tears triumph over words, languages and longings. men: a helpful note when your (insert any female in your life) begins to show the first sign of tears, sometimes words are not beneficial.  In this case, just hug.

One Year Later

Yesterday I celebrated my 28th birthday with new friends, chocolate birthday cake and a wonderful surprise by someone special. There were no tears and for this I am thankful. But I am even more thankful that I’m in a different place. Not so much physically, but emotionally. This past year has been a lot of letting go of my plans and my expectations. Its meant being ok feeling a little uncomfortable and a lot out of control. It’s meant taking a risk and giving myself room and permission to try, to dream and to hope. This birthday I celebrated the wonderful things that happen when you listen to that unsettled, longing inside in order to welcome something new.

Here’s to every women (and man) who has cried on your birthday. May you know that it will not always be like this. Sometimes painful tears give way to beautiful surprises. So, what am I most looking forward to in the year ahead?

Learning how to celebrating the surprises.

Lately, I have been very grateful for skype and text messages and other handy forms of electronic communication. People back home often ask me, How are you doing? How’s life down there? Do you like it?

I sometimes find myself fumbling over my words in a half-ass attempt to explain what my life is like here. Or even worse I give a cliche answer like “yeah, everything is going great.” But I think that is because sometimes I honestly don’t know how to describe the changes that have taken place. Not big drastic changes, but small, still significant shifts in my heart and soul.

If I had to describe it in a word: Contentment.

For maybe the first time in years, I can honestly say I feel this peace and contentment with who I am and where I am. I’ve realized that I often spend a fair amount of mental energy comparing myself to those around me. It’s almost a subconscious thing.

I compare my myself to my friends who are newly wed or newly dating. I compare houses or apartments and think about whose place is better decorated. I compare jobs, and cars and who is a better cook or faster runner. I compare myself to girlfriends who have the precious baby bump and wonder if I’ll ever have children. Probably only my female readers will understand this, but sometimes I even compare myself to other women for the infamous who-has-a-small-size-jeans check. Yes, I realize this sounds superficial and pathetic (it is), but gentleman I know for a fact that other women do this too!

I think these kinds of comparisons can happen anywhere, but for those of you who have lived in Santa Barbara you know that SB has an odd standard for what’s “normal.” These past 2 months have given me a much needed break and a perspective change. My standard of what is “normal” or necessary has changed.

I’ve begun to realize how often comparison leads to envy, which leads to worry and then a general lack of faith. Basically, an equation for a disaster. This is not how I want to live.

I believe there is something beautiful about learning to be thankful and let go of the expectations that my life is supposed to look a certain way. When we stop comparing ourselves to others we leave room for God to say, Look, this is what I have for you. A life of peace and contentment. A life that is open to surprises and something new.

There is a verse in the book of Colossians that I have been re-reading this past month. It says that God “is before all things, and in him all things hold together.” This is a new mentality for me, a new reminder that He holds all things together, so I don’t have to. A new perspective that allows me to trust He has gone before me. I know this does not equate to instant happiness and tangible rewards, but it does allow me to live with this new found contentment.

I think the challenge will be figuring out how to integrate this new mentality and way of living back in the states. But, we’ll deal with that when it comes. For now, I could not be more content to be here.

photo: reflection of el arc, a new perspective