I’m sitting in my parents’ kitchen in my Snugmee (yes, people actually wear these), awaiting this monstrous storm that’s supposed to be hitting the east coast, and figured it was a great time to sit down and blog about Nicaragua. Technically, I should create a new blog dedicated to this amazing little country, documenting all the adventures, amazing people, and overall voyage on a personal level. But in a strange way, I’ve been finding it difficult to write. And I’ve found it equally challenging to field the question, “How was Nicaragua?” in a way that really captures what the journey meant for me, my experience there, and how it feels to be back. I’m sure this blog will become mercilessly long, and I’ll end up dividing it up into a few shorter snippets, but for now, I’m just allowing myself to ramble.
A main objective of this trip south of the border was to create some mental space in order to process all the changes going on in my life…my return from Rwanda, my unemployment, my upcoming decisions about my career and relocating and where I really want and need to be…and in that sense, Nicaragua was the perfect backdrop for that type of personal work. I quickly recognized that in order to cultivate that mental space, I needed to let go of a lot that’s been holding me down—expectations about where I should be in my life, friendships and relationships that just aren’t giving me what I need—simply allocating some affirming energy and effort on me—without the daily distractions, stresses, or influences of the normal routine. And this magical little place in the middle of Central America did just that, and so much more.
Nicaragua is charming in a really honest, genuine, simple sort of way. The people are proud and family-oriented, hardworking and kind, helpful and humorous, affectionate and diverse. Nicaragua is cobblestone streets, papayas the size of small toddlers, riding on the handlebars of a friend’s bike. It’s corner parks and lime trees, brightly painted walls and sunshine, running children, toothy smiles, churches, churches, and more churches. It’s guitar playing and salsa, riding horses down the beach and hand-washing clothes in the lake. It’s ice cream, cowboy hats, hammocks, and fishing boats. In a month’s time, I felt as though I had barely scratched the surface. I travelled along the western side of the country, visiting a deserted beach on the Pacific coast among small fishing villages; a quiet mountain community growing coffee and raising cattle; colonial cities teeming with colorful churches and history; and eventually made my way to the peaceful volcanic island situated in the middle of a very large lake.
I was lucky to not only meet some amazing Nicaraguans, but travelers as well. It seems that all of Canada has migrated south for the Winter Olympics and the 40 below temperatures. Who can blame them? I hadn’t realized how long it had been that I had actually traveled anywhere, simply for the sake of discovering new places and understanding new cultures. It was nice to feel that sense of connection and unity again, visiting with and meeting people who were in Nicaragua for the sole purpose of wanting to see more of the world, better understand who we are as human beings, and the common threads that unite us as people. Truly incredible, fascinating individuals. And a hell of a lot of fun, too.
Overall, I left Nicaragua feeling an unexpected connection to the culture and the people there, feeling revitalized and revived, feeling appreciative that I had allowed myself this time to grow and process and just be. The journey felt timely and important and full of lessons. I learned to accept the discomfort of my loneliness. As much as I am longing for love and companionship and connection, I also don’t ever want to feel like I am convincing someone they want to be with me, or convincing myself I want to be with them. Persuading someone I’m worth the effort or the risk, or that our time together was more than it was meant to. I don’t want that for myself. I deserve more. I just need to have the patience to let the universe unfold in its own way and appreciate the solitude for what it is—time to learn more deeply about myself, figure out what I want and where…and just maybe, eventually, that void of who will be filled by someone at the exact moment it’s intended. I also learned that I may never feel “settled” or satisfied, that there is just way too much of the world to see and understand and discover, too many people to connect with and seek community and connectivity with, too much truth and beauty to stay put in one place for too long. And I feel pretty darn ok with that, too.
