Leaving Home

I had a yoga teacher once describe the practice of breathing deeper into a posture as "becoming comfortable with discomfort." I suppose the same could be said about putting yourself in a number of awkward positions, such as traveling alone in strange, faraway lands. There is an obvious and undeniable comfort in simply staying home, whether that means a physical place, a cultural niche, or a frame of mind. Traveling uproots you from home in every sense, allowing (or sometimes forcing) you to see your life and its broader context in different ways. You gain new appreciations of nature and humanity, of the people in your life, of the little things that you've always have taken for granted without much of a passing thought. At the same time, you also begin to viscerally understand points of view that you previously only comprehended abstractly, putting meat on the bones of rickety sentences floating around in textbooks and cerebral cortices. As an outsider, you discover new, beautiful, and sometimes jarring things about the world, your home, and yourself. Just as in yoga, there is a great deal of personal enrichment to be found when embracing such discomfort, all the while remembering to breathe.

 As the time gets closer to my departure date, my excitement begins to subside into anxiety and apprehension. Part of this is due to my friends and co-workers frequently describing my loose itinerary of solo traveling in South America for three and half months as "crazy" or sometimes even "brave," often pairing the "better you than me" head shaking with jokes about my abduction into white slavery, my soon-to-be-burgeoning collection of tropical skin diseases, or my all too eager indoctrination into a Marxist rebel group. After so many comments, I started to think maybe they were right, that my travels were ill-conceived and reckless. I've had a few moments of self-doubt where I was given pause to wonder what the hell I'm doing with my life. Maybe I am being foolhardy and irresponsible, more careless than carefree. I am starting off in Bolivia after all, South America's poorest country with 60% of the population below the national poverty line, an average household income of around $900US, and a nation perpetually beset with protests, demonstrations, and complex political turmoil. I fully understand why such a place might not whet the appetite of the average First World vacationer, but honestly, that is not what really bothers me about leaving.

What bothers me is who I am leaving behind: my sister and brother-in-law who had graciously opened their home to me for the last year; my brand new nephew, Evan, who will be twice as big and four times as smart by the time I return; my co-workers who threw a "Ben Voyage" party for me on my last day; my bosses who fought hard to make sure that I have a job when I come back; my yoga instructor who believed in me enough to offer me a teaching position when I return; my friends and family who have always been there for me whenever I needed them, and for whom I desperately want to reciprocate; and finally, some wonderful new friendships that are just barely sprouting before I skip the country. Oddly enough, I have never felt more "at home" than I have these last few months in Cleveland (my lack of permanent residence not withstanding), and it is very hard for me to leave.

Whereas I focused for the last six months on the grand experiences that I would have in South America, now I am also eagerly anticipating the exciting next phase of my life that will begin when I return -- essentially homeless and broke -- but with some amazing fresh prospects. In the meantime, though, I am going to be absorbing new cultures, making new friends, learning new skills, butchering the Spanish language, and hopefully having some kind of small but positive impact on the places that I visit. My plan is to volunteer with wildlife in Bolivia, complete an intensive yoga teacher training program in Peru, and maybe even help with a coral reef restoration project in Colombia.

Along the way I am going to visit old friends, see the sights, and have as many adventures as I can manage. Everything in my life right now is uncertain, challenging, and new... and I am oddly comfortable with that.