Homeward Bound -- Devon, England

No work or love will flourish out of guilt, fear, or hollowness of heart, just as no valid plans for the future can be made by those who have no capacity for living now. 

~Alan Watts

 

Sunday morning was quiet. I talked about my few volunteering adventures with the new workawayer and had a special moment wherein I realized that the experience I've gained as a longterm traveler and volunteer were really valuable to someone else. 

I sometimes feel like what I'm doing isn't important. Like there are significantly better things I could be doing with my life than hopping on plane every couple of months and living with families/visiting friends. 

I could be advancing my career as a yoga teacher. I could be building a theatre community in a city like Portland. I could be buying a house and decorating the walls with art that I've made through auditing university classes. 

Or I could be sharing yoga with my hosts around the world. During my travels, I have taught classes to a German fellow on the top of a riad in Marakech, to a French WWOOFer on the porch of our trailer in Kildare, to a group of marathoners on a farm in Kilkenny, to a class of Spanish business men and women at an English immersion program for Spaniards, in the living room of my French hosts in Toulon, to a to a dancer at Waddesdon Manor in England, in the beautiful backgarden of a family home in Buckinghamshire, to a group of rather intoxicated Irish lads on the streets of Cork, to my Kenyan host in a park in Cardiff, and to a French friend on the beach in Nice.

I may not be improving as a teacher as much as I'd like, but I'm reaching a lot of people. And that makes me wondrously happy. 

When I feel like what I'm doing isn't important, I get on craigslist and look up rent prices in Portland and San Francisco. I look up how difficult it would be to find a job in Canada and the opportunities for yoga teachers in Seattle. I feel bad about myself, where I am with my life and what I've done with my 24 years. 

And then I teach a yoga class or I share a bit of my experiences to someone who is desperate to travel long term but doesn't think it's an option, and I rediscover a bit of my original purpose.

I travel to learn. I travel to share. I travel to do my bit in creating a more accessible world. Today that involved laughing at a joke with Violet, having another great discussion with Jack, and getting to participate in a family lunch at a gorgeous riverside pub. 

Jack is a funny guy. A really, really funny guy. If I haven't mentioned this aspect of his personality yet, I've been terribly remiss in my account of my English family.

"Man, I'm jealous of you," I complained after recovering from laughing at one of his particularly entertaining witticisms. "I wish I could be funny. That's one thing that I really don't appreciate about my personality and I wish I could change. People laugh at me because I'm awkward, but I want to be clever. I'd much rather be witty than awkward," I pouted my lips like a boston terrier and awkwardly shrugged my shoulders. Like I do. Jack contemplated my dilemma for a moment and then said, "Aimee... you're a storyteller."

Jack. If you're reading this, I want you to understand just how much you affected me with those few words. You helped change my focus from something I found rather self-derogatory to something of which I can be truly proud. I know it's not a good idea to identify with career choices or character traits, but I'm still learning -- and while learning to let go, I'd much rather be a storyteller than awkward Aimee.

I travel to learn. I travel to share. I travel to do my bit in creating a more accessible world. And I'm going to tell some spellbinding stories in the meanwhile, see if I don't. 

So. I'm going to give up my dream of somehow morphing into a combination of Oscar Wilde, Tom Robins and David Sedaris. I'm going to tell my stories. My way. If that involves boston terrier pouts and awkward shrugs, so be it -- they'll only be a part of the act and not the act itself.

Last morning/afternoon in Devon. We all went out to lunch at the Crabshell and spent a glorious few hours eating fish pies, contemplating the virtues of owning a boat, and lowering bacon into the water to catch crustaceans.

The drive home... was long. "Safety" was by far the most popular word of the backseat, and tired kids who can't find a comfortable way to rest their sleepy heads make challenging bench fellows.

Oy.