So I get on the plane, check into my hotel, and get up in the morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Ok, so that's inaccurate. I can't imagine a scenario in which the phrase bright-eyed and busy-tailed would describe me at any hour, but that morning it was as good as I was gonna get, motivationally speaking. Confession: now that I'm back in the U.S., this blog could accurately be summed up as "first world problems" or "stuff white people like." This is where stuff gets real. Apparently salt and flying and generally unhealthy lifestyle choices cause you feet to swell. And those adorable, comfortable flats you purchased and broke in just for this occasion... Well they are no longer broken in. Do I let this stop me? Heavens no, bravely I soldier on.
The shoes, however, they bested me. I spent the rest of the week in the same pair of shoes, waiting for the day I could wear my beloved birkenstocks again. And they did not let me down. The conference ended Friday morning. So I used my excellent navigational skills to go exploring sunny San Diego all by lonesome. What could possibly go wrong? I decided to see the zoo, and I wanted to take the trolley. However google maps had this silly idea that the bus was the more direct route. Whatevs. So I wandered to the trolley. The station I found was near the actual San Diego depot. It was lovely and Spanish and old style, so of course I had to take pictures of it like a good tourist.
I procured a transit pass, the trolley thundered up to the platform, and I was off on adventures. There was still the matter of getting on to the trolley. Being the cool, savvy traveler that I am, upon seeing all doors were closed, I pretended it was cool and I played on my phone. If this trolley didn't want me, well by golly I had no use for it. I wasn't gonna knock on the door or anything, because that would just look stupid, right? Well after seeing a transient gentlemen of questionable mental acuity stand in front of the door, which turned out to be automatic, I reconsidered my approach.
If anyone was looking out the window at the weird white girl avoiding the train like her ex, saw that she just turned around and got on, that'd be weird, right? I seriously considered waiting for the next trolley. Yes. I know. #firstworld problems. But I mustered my courage, stepped up to the door, and indeed I was off on adventures. Except when we (me and 30 of my best middle school friends) were waiting for eternities at each subsequent station.
It was a really slow trolley. So with that under my belt, I decided to hop off and follow google's excellent bus advice. I walked around the block several times, much to the bemusement of the locals (whom I seem to bemuse wherever I go) looking for the bus stop. After much wandering, I finally found it! Next to the train station. Literally. I was so excited with my expert navigating. I hopped on the bus; adventures beginning anew. And begin they did indeed. As I watched the street names, I realized that I was in fact going the wrong direction. Unlike Chicago, San Diego's buses do not tell you what the next stop is.
It adds an element of mystery and excitement to the whole experience. Will it be Park and 1st? Park and Harbor? Who knows? Only God. So I deftly got off at the next stop, found a woman carrying heavy bags on to the bus, grabbed her bags, and we got on the bus going the right direction. By grabbed, I mean I assisted her carrying her bags onto the bus, I didn't mug her or anything. We set off adventuring! Get off at zoo drive, google tells me. Alas the bus driver is not as on top of his game as google. We breeze by various unnamed streets, occasionally stopping, never actually naming a location. So I decide that this is as good a place as any to stop. There's an animal poster. I get off I rediscovered my blog from SE Asia today. And I must say, used to be quite a good writer. You should definitely check it out. Seriously, it's worth your time.
https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6840395830571099844#allposts
It made me remember how much I love to write, how much it soothes my soul, and what an incredible sense of humor I have. Ah ha, I jest. Honestly, the reason I started reading my old stuff is because I was looking for ways to supplement my income and wanted to see if my old writing is any good. That's not really the point though. Between student loans and car troubles, I find myself in a place that 18 year old me never thought 28 year old me would be. Unable to save money. Well... unable may be a stretch. I like to buy stuff. And eat. So there's that. But more to the point, I keep thinking about who 18 year old me thought she might become vs where I am right now, at 28.
If tumblr is to be believed, I'm in the same boat as many other people my age. I can support myself, but loan payments cut into my disposable income. So I can't really buy things that I can't eat. But I do anyway.
But more to the point:
I guess when I think about 18 yr old me, she was adorable. She was awkward. She had been told she had all the answers. Inside she was terrified that she didn't.
She was going to live in a hut in rural unheard-of-third-world-country. She was going to make a difference. What that would look like, she couldn't really articulate.But nevermind that. She wouldn't need to worry about money, because for one reason or another, she would always have enough. 10 years later, 18 yr old me was both spot on and wrong about everything. 18 yr old me knew the importance of serving strangers and travelers. But she thought that you needed to go far away to make a difference. 18 yr old me knew that she wanted to be independent.
She didn't understand that she couldn't be who she really was without the people around her. 18 yr old me knew that justice was big and important. She didn't understand that it was also small, and mundane. In many ways, I have become exactly who 18 yr old me knew she always. But my life looks nothing like she thought it would. That's fine. It's fine because she forgot that joy and fulfillment aren't about places but people. She wanted the outward trappings worldliness and sophistication.
Along the way, she learned that joy is where you are loved, there is no limit to the number of people you can fit in/on a truck, justice is both elusive and universal, and that nothing is as simple as it seems, and that most things boil down to doing right by people even when it's hard or they suck.
Along the way, she's learned that caring for strangers and travelers can happen in your own backyard. That justice isn't glamourous, and that it's really hard. She's learned to milk sheep and cube mangoes and drive big vans and listen to what people have to say. She's failed at lots of things, from opening a coconut with a machete, to working at the UN, to knowing what to do with her face in pictures, to listening to what other people have to say.
She's made mistakes that have cost her. Done bad things she never thought she was capable of. Maybe changed her life. She's still messed up in a lot of ways. But it a lot of ways she's not. She's different now. Not better, or worse, just different. MUCH better at the whole driving thing in general. In her head, she is the most kind and understanding and compassionate person. In reality, well... You've probably figured that out by now. Don't get in her when she's driving a big van 18 yr old me would probably disapprove of 28 yr old me. But she'd get over it. Because she's tough like that. I guess a better title for this post would be "An Ode to Myself." Self-serving poetry's annoying, so I'll end with something much better: You, You there. Yes you. You are fabulous! Mainly because you're here reading this. But also for a host of other reasons. I don't need to explain. This manatee knows what's up.
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