Major Milestones

I read in an article recently that humans are much more likely to undergo big, life-altering feats in the year before they reach certain age milestones. 29, 39, 49, 59. They’ll run marathons, change jobs, move across the country, start businesses, and take on other bucket list type adventures. For me, this year was true to the theory. I left a job, accepted a new one, traveled to Asia, self-published a book, made a big move, and, as of yesterday, visited IKEA for the first time.

I didn’t need much, just a set of drawers for my closet and a small trash can for under my desk. My sister asked why I didn’t just go to Bed Bath & Beyond or Homegoods--some of our usual home furnishing haunts. “No, no,” I said, “I want to have the IKEA experience.”

I knew enough to avoid weekend crowds by going in the middle of the day on a Tuesday. I even found ground level parking right outside the store. My tummy was rumbling since I’d come from the gym, so I stopped in the restaurant first. In my imaginings, based on what I’d heard from friends, there would be platters of complimentary Swedish meatballs along every aisle and a fountain of all-you-can-eat frozen yogurt waiting at the end of the maze. I didn’t see any of that yet, but was impressed by the food court offerings. 4 meatballs for $1 and veggie options as well. I filled my belly and began the trek.

I should say that modern European design is not really my taste, so I’m not sure what I was hoping to find there. I’m more of a cozy wooded cabin or, in some cases, beachy bohemian kind of gal. White walls, light colored wood, and all those sharp edges just seem sterile to me. I perused the showrooms. There was so much to see, but none of it that I wanted. Closet organization systems, plastic plants, and squares upon squares. I walked past a model micro-apartment, which apparently singles in cities are flocking to these days. I imagined living there, dying there, and felt sad.

“Grab a cart! You’re about to have your hands full!” The end-cap signs warned. Full of 69 cent plastic wastebaskets, glass cacti, and various lamp shades that somehow all managed to look the same. I twisted and turned, exhausting my feet and eventually settling on some new towels that I kind of needed so no one would question me at the register.

The warehouse at the end seemed convenient and slightly robotic. So many boxes in so many rows. I remembered reading an online forum post once about what it was like to live in Stockholm. The author said that although almost everyone was polite and open-minded, if you had moved from another place and, for example, tried to host a taco dinner on a Tuesday, no one would show up, explaining, “Oh no, not on a Tuesday. Everyone knows Tuesday is pizza night here.”

Notes from the Road (Pt. III)

Just kidding; there's not really a Part Three since the last day of the drive only took 4 hours. I just passed through a bunch of Star Wars desert, then there were some mountains where it started raining, and then I was in Los Angeles. 

California Cori. That’s me now. I suppose I’ve read enough about spirituality to know that the place in which you live doesn’t have much to do with who you actually are, but I would like to think that I’m made up mostly of sun and sea. I hope I could be a little bit of succulents and fruit trees. And I’ll be damned if I’m not at least partly avocados and In-N-Out Burger.

I live here, and it feels like I’m wandering in a dream. It's been raining-- it rains here, who knew-- which was not ideal for unpacking a fully loaded car, but which could be symbolic of my renewal and rebirth. I'll take it.

The house is a testament to putting full faith in Craigslist findings. I had only seen it and met the roommates via FaceTime before driving out here, but so far everything seems to be surpassing my expectations. I had wished for down-to-earth people, in-home laundry, and an included parking spot. I arrived to find that the room is bigger than it looked in the photos. The whole house is brighter. Outside there is a patio, a garden box, and a lemon tree. The backsplash in the bathroom makes it look like a hotel and makes me feel like my toiletries aren’t nice enough to be there. The roommates have a friendly dog and cat that kept me company while I hung up clothes and shifted boxes.

On the first full day, I went out for breakfast with my new roommates. There was vegan cheese, avocado toast, and $7 lattes, and it felt like I had officially woken up here. Later, I ran to the park, past a man screaming at the top of his lungs in the street.

Notes From the Road (Pt. II)

(6:50am)

It’s 24 degrees when I start the car. I tiptoed around the ski cabin, careful not to wake anyone since we started drinking yesterday around 2pm when the ski area handed out free PBR’s after the races. Most of us didn’t stop until about 10pm.

Hour 1- I’m tired. Possibly too tired for an 11 hour drive. At least the visions of mountains are enough to entertain my mind.

Hour 2- The sun rises over the mountains. I breathe deeply. Everything’s going to be fine.

Hour 3- I stop at Chick fil A for breakfast. Starbucks and Panera are right next door, but Chick fil A is my road trip food and I think this is the only one I will see.

Hour 4- Why have I done this to myself?

Hour 5- I call my dad to tell him how we went skiing one day and hiking the next. He says maybe I should be moving to New Mexico instead. I tell him New Mexico might be too weird for me. He says Austin is weird, California is weird. I say Yeah, but New Mexico is weird in a trailer park with meth head neighbors way. He has been here. He agrees.

Hour 6- Two of my best friends now live in NM. They’re from Texas and Tennessee, and I think they are reconnecting with their southern roots. Everyone I met was from Texas or Oklahoma and I said I was from New York, but not in the proud way like I sometimes say it. I said it in the way where I quickly follow up with, “Upstate, not the city” like when I want the listener to know that I’ve gone fishing and ridden four wheelers through the woods.

Hour 7- 468 miles of I-40. Dear God.

Hour 8- I call my grandma. She is excited that I’m going to stay with her brother tonight. I haven’t seen him in about 20 years. She asks what if I have so much fun that I want to stay another night and postpone my drive to LA. We’ll see.

Hour 9- There is another Chick fil A in Flagstaff. Soon I will be moving in with two vegetarian girls and will probably become a vegetarian, so what’s one last chicken sandwich? I ask my great aunt for their address and discover that they live another hour past Vegas.

Hours 10 & 11- @#*/>!

Hour 12- My car climbs the mountains over Las Vegas. My grandma calls again and tells me about her visit here and says I have to visit Death Valley. Later, her brother tells me that they ran out of time to take her to Death Valley. I’m not sure who to believe.

I’m in Pahrump, NV. It’s 74 degrees.

New Mexico True

After the 12-14 hour first day road trip, I woke up in Red River, NM. It was a ski day where the sun was shining and the tickets were half priced for me, since I was there to visit my friend who is working as a ski instructor. I was thrilled to have ski friends because I hadn't had any of those since at least early college. I was on my own on that first morning while everyone else clocked in for work. The chairlift was slow and quiet. The trails were uncrowded and groomed. My headphones were back at the apartment, so it was just me and my thoughts.

I got a satisfied feeling like when you gaze around and life looks the way you used to dream of it looking. Here I was skiing at an almost-empty mountain on a warm day, my friend is working at the resort and she knows all of the ski crew and bartenders in town. 16 year old Cori would be proud.

Notes From the Road (Pt. I)

(6:20am)

Today is the day where I leave Austin and I don’t come back. I don’t have plans to come back. I drew the Cloak of Christ card from my roommate’s Rumi deck. I held my hands up to the barely lit sky asking for universal protection on this journey. It’s the longest I’ve ever driven on my own.

Hour 1- I listen to 102.3 The Beat radio station to see how far it goes. I cry, not in a heaving, debilitating way, but in a gentle, nostalgic way that comes with an accepted goodbye. Austin deserves a good cry.

Hour 2- 102.3 The Beat makes it farther than I was expecting-- all the way north of Austin where there’s nothing left but churches and cattle fields, and probably much less interest in urban hip-hop radio stations.

Hour 3- I have to pee already, but can’t let myself since it’s only been two hours. My friend Brianne calls me from Argentina. We’ve lived far apart for 8 years but she continues to get me.

Hour 4- I stop to pee and get coffee. I try to leave it black like a healthy person who is bothered by all the nasty stuff in Coffee-Mate, but I see they have pumpkin spice and I pump away.

Hour 5- I listen to Radiohead and the new Khruangbin. I’m dance-driving.

Hour 6- I stop at Torchy’s Tacos in Lubbock, TX and the line from the counter out the door takes my breath away. It’s my last Torchy’s though, so I have to stay. I sit at the bar, but it takes a while for anyone to come for my order. I go back to the line. It moves quickly and soon my tacos and I are back at the wheel.

Hours 7 & 8- Lots of windmills. Very flat. I decide to definitely go to see the Cadillac Ranch art installation outside of Amarillo.

Hour 9- The terrain gets more exciting. The dirt turns red and starts forming into mounds and swirls. I see the car art.

Hour 10- The terrain turns back to flat nothingness.

Hour 11- I call my grandma. She tells me she went to her first chair yoga class so she would feel connected to me. She asks if I will get together with my aunt and cousin when they’re in LA next month. I say yes. She asks me again ten minutes later.

Hour 12- I make it out of Texas. The time changes. I call my dad, my mom, my sister. The Torchy’s and the Cadillacs and the peeing have set me back 2 hours. I don’t mind.

Hour 13- I listen to mp3s from my life coaching course. I see that the sunset is putting on a show for me right as mountains appear on the horizon. Perfect timing. I am thankful.

Hour 14- It’s dark and the road is winding through the mountains. I discover that I can make a cool buzzing sound if I bend my tongue in a certain way and hum behind my teeth.

I arrive in Red River at 7:20pm. That wasn’t so bad.

On Leaving

I have some explaining to do! My stuff and I have left Austin for the foreseeable future. It was a fast moving move, but one that I'd been anticipating before I landed back in the U.S. I have dreamed of living in California for a long time, and now here I am in California living. I have a job which I will tell you about soon because it deserves a post of its own. I moved into a house that is a testament to putting full faith in Craigslist findings. I had only seen it and met the roommates via FaceTime before driving out here, but so far everything seems to be surpassing my expectations. The two roommates are kind and inspiring, they have a cat and a dog, and there is a lemon tree outside my window. I am here. 

When I told friends and strangers I was moving to Los Angeles, almost everyone had an opinion. Some gave words of warning and others offered encouragement. There would be traffic and crowds and money needed to buy things. But there would be art and talent and vibrancy as well. I was (am) looking for change and growth. Austin had become so familiar to me that I started to take it for granted. The longer I stayed, the more time and money I spent going on adventures elsewhere. I was running out of activities and places to tick off the checklist and, while I'm trying to cut back on my constant seeking of novelty, I felt the need for something bigger and new.

I didn't want to have a going away party from Austin, since it seems like I'm always going away from someplace or another. And I'm one of the ones who comes back to visit as much as I can. Plus there's always the frightful chance of everything completely falling apart and the possibility having to return a few months later. "You can't Irish exit a city," my roommate told me, and I'm glad I listened. Having all my friends together in one place with too many beers made my heart happy.

Thank you for being such a big part of me for the past 5 years. <3

How I Became a Mermaid

Earlier this year, as my time wound down in Central America, I found myself interested in squeezing every last drop of global movement into as few flights as possible before re-potting my roots back in the U.S. of A. I had my mind on my travels and my travels on my mind. Miraculously, I figured out how to get to Guatemala, Los Angeles, Boston, and back to Texas for pretty far under $1,000, and that was sounding like a perfectly swell amount of vagabonding for me. By the end of it, I was happy to be back in Austin, staying in my room and sleeping in my bed for many days (weeks!) in a row. So you might be wondering how a few weeks later it came to pass that I was jet-setting over to Orlando, Florida to hang out with a group of aerial yoga teachers and dress up like a mermaid on the beach...

To explain, we must go back to the lakes and lagoons of Nicaragua, where one day, at one of them, I happened to meet a girl named Margie. I was just there to eat some colorful vegan food, swim a little bit, and check out a retreat center for future international teaching endeavors. Margie had purple hair and was at the Apoyo Lodge teaching yoga. We ate lunch together and talked about yoga experiences, spiritual centers, and meditation retreats. We exchanged contact information and went on with our days. I didn't know it then, but Margie is an amazing aerial yoga instructor, worldwide traveler & filmmaker, and online business coach.

A couple weeks later, while I was still in the travel-planning-take-over-the-world mindset, I found out that Margie would be hosting a small retreat for aerial yoga teachers and studio owners in Orlando during February. The price was right, and I still had enough reward points leftover on my Chase Sapphire Card (pay me, Chase!) to get the flight for free. What's that you say? I don't practice aerial yoga, teach aerial yoga, OR own a studio where anyone does yoga or aerial yoga or any type of yoga? I know, I was nervous, too. On top of that, it was a sparkly pink and purple unicorn/mermaid themed weekend, and I'm usually much more of an earth-toned kind of girl. I didn't know if I would have the knowledge, skills, or sparkle to hang with a bunch of full-time teachers and aerial studio owners. I did know that I was excited to do yoga and hang upside down, that I was inspired to meet a bunch of female business-owners who are doing what I love, and that a lot of circumstances had to come together to put me at the same lunch table as the Aerial Yoga Goddess herself.

So about two weeks after landing in Austin, I was on a plane again, headed back to the east coast to spend a weekend doing flips and learning the some of the tricks of online yoga business. My mom asked if I was staying at an Airbnb with a group of girls from Austin, but nope-- I'd never met any of them and we had arranged everything online without knowing what to expect. We were coming from all over the country, united by our love of yoga, flash tattoos, and living out our dreams. 

There was no need for all the worry--I found myself bonding right away with my fellow mermaids, and the trip gave me a chance to put my fancy purple wig to use. We spent the weekend setting up and playing on aerial yoga rigs and silks in the house, on the lawn, and at the beach. It felt right to be around a group of awesome ladies who I can both look up to and be fully myself around. My lack of experience was even a bonus, since it left my mind completely open to new ideas and my ears interested in hearing everyone's stories about owning their studios and keeping up with this lifelong practice. I had booked the trip hoping to learn a few aerial yoga moves and have fun playing dress up, but I came out of it with an heartwarmingly supportive group of friends, role models, and spirit sisters. Maybe that's the type of travel reward I was looking for all along.

Dodging Doubt

In case you didn't notice from reading this blog or on various forms of social media, I recently started a yoga-themed YouTube channel (it's here). Sometimes it feels like something very silly to me, and other times it seems like something very relevant and necessary. It's a difficult balance of the brain, going back and forth between doubting ourselves and pursuing our passions. I enjoyed this blog post about it: here. 

I'm pretty adept about having ideas and taking those first steps to put them into action-- I don't like to let them linger around for years-- but usually after the first or second day, doubt starts to creep in and overshadow my hopes. It tells me maybe the original idea wasn't that good, or who was I to think I could take on something like that? Fear sweeps in to keep me comfortable, safe, and fine existing just the way I am.

That's nice, but in order to grow, sometimes we have to be a little uncomfortable or at risk. We must step outside our familiar boundaries to expand our horizons. Fear arrives to test our commitment. "Ok, so you said you were serious, but how serious?" it asks. "And how about now?" as another potential roadblock appears.

But the trick about dealing with fear is to know that you can't go wrong. If you're following the voice deep inside from your heart or soul or wherever those ideas come from, you can't make a mistake. Sure, sometimes your idea doesn't take off, or your plan doesn't quite go as expected and you're forced come up with a new one later on, but, man, it feels so much better to do it and see what happens than to wonder "what if" for the next few years down the line. You'll always end up where you need to be, despite any detours, and the people you need and who need you will be there to support you. Even if it's something small, like taking an art class or visiting a new place in your town, why let fear stop you from doing the things that feel right to you?

Thank you for watching, reading, writing, or just being you and being here!

Showing Up for Love

I'm just beginning to work my way out of the choco-coma leftover from last week's festivities. Being a solo participant in the holiday is actually not that bad because your friends and family tend to take pity on you and send extra sweets and other good things. Whether as a single person or part of a couple, I've never been someone who hates Valentine's Day. Unless you're in elementary school with a mandated one-card-or-candy-per-classmate policy, you're really never forced to buy anything (get creative! make a craft! go on a picnic!), and it's just a day to tell the special people in your life that you love them. I've been calling it Pal-entine's Day for a long long while now.

This one was not my best February 14th because, when I showed up to the yoga studio to teach my nighttime class, I found that there was a huge pug-themed and pug-filled Valentine's basket waiting on the front desk. If you know me, you probably know that the axis of my life is spinning around those furry, wrinkly balls of joy, but, sadly, the basket included a card addressed to "Mummy" and, thus, was not for me. I was disheartened, but glad it was there to make someone else happy, and I could go on to do some yoga (and eat a lot of chocolate) with my own class.

Romantic valentine or none, I was still showing up in pink clothes with my heart earrings on, and I was still showing up for love-- love for my friends and family who take good care of me, love for life, and just the general idea of love as an energy that exists and propels us toward connecting with each other and being our best selves.

Here's a video if you ever need a little extra:

Why You Should Always Ask For What You Want

It's strange to be back in Austin on what seems like a "temporary visa". When my plane touched down beside that misplaced field of longhorn cattle grazing next to long-term parking lots, I didn't know what to feel. The weather was cloudy and rainy. Not exactly the warm, bright welcome I'd come to expect from the pretty city that has been my home for the past five years. "How does it feel to be back?" asked my friends and family members during run-ins and phone calls. It felt good, and it felt weird.

After a long backpacking trip, I've found that it's always a relief to be able to stay in one place where all your stuff is, and where you don't have to unpack all your belongings just to find your toothbrush or clean socks. It felt weird because I wasn't coming back to many commitments. I had tickets to a concert that night, a longtime fulfillment around which I'd arranged my return trip. But what would I do when the week started, with no work to go to or classes to attend?

I had some job applications, interviews, and decisions to make that were keeping me in the limbo phase. I knew I wanted to get back to teaching yoga as soon as possible, but it's hard to ask for a permanent class at a studio or apply to new jobs when you're not sure if you might be gone in a few weeks. My personal practice was struggling, too. In Austin, studio teaching jobs and work trades had spoiled me into getting my yoga on a budget. I wanted to ask for my work trade job back at my favorite studio, but I was nervous. It's a pretty good deal-- manning the desk in between classes for your monthly membership. I didn't want to ask for freebies from yoga teachers, since I am one and I know how hard they work.

I was very close to clicking the link to sign up for a $39 for 30 days pass at one of the fancy downtown studios when I remembered the trick to ask for what you want. Wouldn't my studio rather have me work for them than spend my money somewhere else? I emailed the studio manager and asked if she might need any help over the next two weeks while I was sure to be in town. She replied that it was the perfect time to ask, because there were a few days she needed coverage before the end of the month. I returned to the studio for class and training the next day, and the day after, and the day after that. Ask and you shall receive.

Storytelling

Two years ago, during my yoga teacher training course at Dharma Yoga, one of our teachers, Camila, shared a story to demonstrate the level of power our reactions have over our experiences. That same story came back to me two times in recent weeks, so I decided to include it (or at least a much less eloquent version than the one Camila told) at the beginning of one of my new yoga videos. 

In the parable of a Chinese farmer, one day the farmer's horse runs away. His neighbors hear about it, and they come over to express their concern. The farmer is unaffected; he says "I do not know whether this is good news or bad news. All I know is that my horse has run away. We will see what happens." The next day, his horse returns with a group of horses. The neighbors are back, this time to convey their excitement. Again the farmer replies, "I do not know whether this is good news or bad news. We will see what happens." Soon, while his son is helping to break in one of the horses, he falls off and breaks his leg. The neighbors, of course, are anxious. The farmer is much less worried. "All I know is that my son has broken his leg," he says. "We'll see what happens." Then, some short time in the future, the army comes to town to enlist young men to serve as soldiers in a battle with a neighboring village. The son's injury saves him from being drafted. The neighbors stay at home that day.

When something unexpected happens to us in life, we can be so quick to categorize it as a positive or negative event. Much of our energy is spent celebrating little successes or course-correcting when something goes wrong. However, over the course of a lifetime, we find many examples where what seemed like a loss eventually resulted in a much greater gain, or when we yearned for something that only led to trouble down the road. The example of the Chinese farmer teaches us to sit quietly and observe while we take in a wider perspective. When we step back from the day-to-day action, we are able to see that these small ups and downs become part of a more majestic whole.

I hope you are enjoying the videos! Thank you for putting up with my story telling.

Namaste.

New Video: Yoga after Work

I've been trying to make the most of my free time, and the empty room that has become available in our house. It's a pretty lucky spot for practicing yoga and filming videos! Here's one for loosening up after spending a lot of time working at your desk or your computer, which, sadly, most of us do way too much.

Hope you enjoy! Check it out and let me know what you think.

New Video: Root Chakra

In case you missed it, I've been rolling out my mat in the house and making some yoga videos. This is the first one, and it turns out that it can be a little scary to talk to the camera. I'm hoping it will get easier the more times I try. Isn't that the way it goes with all these life adventures?

Enjoy and let me know what you think!

Hanging On

I'm back in Austin, and desperately clinging on where I can to the memories of days that were too hot for sleeves and the only decisions were which attractions to walk to and what flavor of smoothie to order! Not that we are really suffering much on those fronts here in Central Texas, but we surely are driving a lot, talking about jobs, and, maybe for a month or so, wearing sleeves.

It's so easy to fall into the same old routine once we're back on our home turf. And it's usually the little changes that help us slow down and step out of that big familiar picture. I kept the mild weather, maximum relaxation lifestyle alive by making chia pudding that reminded me of Bali and Nicaragua, and green curry that reminded me of Thailand. It could happen with food, music, or souvenir reminders hanging around to bring us back to the sweet memories of those wonderful places, but all it takes is a little effort to make sure the feelings aren't all lost once we step off the plane.

New Traditions

Actually, this should really be called "no traditions" since we are still figuring out all these new things and haven't developed a routine about it at all. Like I told you already, this was the only year that I didn't go home to see my family for Christmas. One reason was because I scored a remarkable yoga teaching job in Nicaragua, and the other was because Christmas for us has changed a bit over the past couple years.

Growing up, my sister and I were lucky that our parents kept living near each other after they split up. We always spent the Eve with our dad's family and the Day at our mom's house, and everything was equal and easy-peasy as far as broken homes go. Then everybody got remarried and changed houses, our mom went to live in the Deep South (I guess I did too?), and my aunt and grandma stopped coming down for the holidays. Travel plans to see the whole family became a little more complicated for my sister and me. There was a little bit of a break that probably happens for us all as we age. Christmas wasn't as much "ours" anymore.

But we still wanted it! We're merry and young, and just trying to come up with a way to reconcile all these new schedules and locations. So, last weekend, Elayne and I came together in Boston to turn on Christmas lights, make Grandma's cinnamon rolls (pretty well, I might add!), and pop bottles to celebrate her passing the veterinary board exams. Space was held for yoga, brunch, pedicures, and all those things some sisters do when together. It was a relief to hang onto some traditions, even when the inevitable winds of change have been sweeping in around us.

Navigating New England

It takes a true amiga to break from their yearly visit home from Argentina to pick you up from the Boston airport in the middle of January! Brianne and her dad came for me carrying jackets, sweaters, hats, and gloves since I hadn't fully planned for my return trip through the Northeastern states. I didn't even pack pants that came all the way down to my ankles.

Unbelievably, it had been two years since the last time we had seen each other, but, thanks to the technology that lets us communicate all throughout the year, it was like no time had passed at all. I was grateful for the opportunity to catch up-- unplugged and face-to-face. There was snow on the ground, but New England had warmed itself up for my arrival and it felt good to be so close to where I grew up. Your residence can move anywhere around the world, but there is no feeling quite like finding home in the heart of a friend.

On the Zipline

During this trip to Central America, I made the tough and boring decision not to go ziplining. For me, it was one of the more expensive activities, and I had already done it a couple of times before in Mexico and Costa Rica. We took a day tour on Ometepe Island, where our hostel owner drove us around to stop at different sights to see, one of which was a ziplining course because Andrea, my newfound travel companion, had her heart set on soaring through the canopies.

It was hard to resist saddling into the harness once we were at the sign-in booth, but the guides told us we could all hike up to the first platform together to check out the views from the top. Even though we were walking up the steep sides of a volcano, hiking felt so refreshing after a few days of traveling and typical holiday overindulgence. As we climbed higher, I could feel the crisp air invigorating my lungs as my body worked toward a physical goal.

Once we slowed to a stop at the lookout point, my racing heart and the awesome view reminded me that I could enjoy hiking just as much as ziplining. I could find these same sensations while kayaking, jumping off a rope swing at a swimming pool, or simply on a brisk walk through the woods. Our bodies crave movement, and almost any activity can provide an adrenaline rush if your brain is fully attuned to what you're doing. You can even find a sense of awe in the changes of your heartbeat and the rhythm of your breath. Of course, there are some adventure sports that seem unmatched in their sense of excitement, but a lot of the time, our level of attention is what makes the difference.

Detours

It probably comes as a surprise that I went from Guatemala to California to New England to Texas. California and New England are not exactly "on the way" from Guatemala to Texas, but they're also not "not on the way". Anywhere can be on the way to anywhere else, it just depends on the way you're going.

There's never a bad time of year to visit Southern California (besides when it's on fire or falling in on itself), and it's an unbelievable treat to find yourself camping on a mild night in early January (especially when it's free for Martin Luther King Day). I got to put my indoor bouldering (lack of) skills to the test outdoors when I turned my dreams of Joshua trees into reality. 

You don't even need to leave the country to find wild wonders, but, if the temperature rises above double digits, you should probably go outside.

Lake Atitlan

Wow! Full disclosure, my visit to Guatemala was pretty rapid-fire and based purely on pictures I had seen of friends visiting the area. I knew I would have a little time left after my yoga trade ended in Nicaragua, and I wanted to be able to "check off" another country while I was in the area. I am sometimes guilty of being a checklist traveler; I even have a scratch off map that I keep updated every time I go somewhere new. This is a silly way to go about things--there's so much depth of experience that can be gained by staying in one country for longer amounts of time--but it is the way of the Enthusiast and it is the way of me.

I planned to spend an extra week heading to the island and coast of Nicaragua, and then found a one-way flight from Guatemala back to the U.S. Initially, I tried to beg my Guatemalan roommate to meet me that week, but she had some January work travels to attend to. I couldn't shake the idea of going, and the international flight price was right-- Interjet is a real legitimate airline with real cheap Central American flights-- so I scrounged up some credit card points to help me get to Guatemala and there I went.

Antigua was a lovely stopping point, but magical Lake Atitlan had been calling me to it, so I decided to make the 3-4 hour shuttle-then-boat journey there, which was reasonably bouncy but not so much that I couldn't eat Pringles and a chocolate bar and think that everyone else needed to settle down and enjoy the views. The small girl in front of me got sick two times, and while I wish I were the type of person who, when a child gets sick near me on the bus, thinks "Aw, poor sick child", instead I am the type who wonders why a person decided to bring their family of four on a windy, bumpy shared shuttle bus when every single member gets horrendously carsick, and when that person also needs to periodically change and feed their baby all across the seat next to me. Anyway, compassion; I am working on it and the lake was a good place to do so:

The shores of the crater lake look like what I imagine parts of Italy look like. Tiny towns are built into the hillside, and the only sane way to travel between them is by very efficient and entertaining boat taxis. You could spend a month or more visiting each of them and uncovering the gems in each one. I only had a day and a half, so I went to the one for the yogis and spiritual-minded community, drank some golden milk turmeric tea and jumped off a platform into the chilly waters. Jumping from high places into lower wet places is a favorite of mine, so it was a very delightful day.

Hola Antigua

There comes a point in any backpacking trip when the obligatory introductions get really worn out, and you just can't bring yourself to listen very hard to where people live and how they got here and where they were before this and where they're going next since you know it's all going to blend together anyway, and you'll probably forget everything five minutes into the conversation. It was a nice change when, at one hostel in San Juan del Sur, we agreed to skip that stuff and didn't even learn each other's names until two days into the visit. We still shared plenty of stories and joked a lot, and our time together seemed to offer a deeper and more enjoyable connection than when you're talking just to talk and your consciousness feels like a floating alien presence watching your mouth go through the motions of trying to detail how long each bus ride was or how many days you spent in which part of the country.

Guatemala has been like that, too. Once I've stopped looking up and tripping over stone streets long enough to go into a place, everyone I've talked to has felt like a familiar friend. I've noticed that here, versus in Granada, the expat community seems to be a bit younger and more in favor of befriending locals. I enjoy seeing this blend, where foreigners have come to fully participate in the culture rather than create their own separate scene. Antigua's parks and plazas make it feel European, but the colors, crafts, and markets remind of the indigenous peoples who were here long before. The air is fresh and crisp, and there's a whole bunch of beauty to breathe in.