Skeletons -- Bad Munster, Germany

Skeletons.

We all have a few, I suppose. Like the awkward, obnoxious relative we try to avoid during family reunions. The dishes piling up in the kitchen that we ignore ("let's pretend it's Jenga! Keep stacking plates until they fall! Loser sweeps up the mess.) The unopened facebook message from your ex with the bitter opening statement of "I have no idea why or how we even got toge --" The list of unchecked off personal growth resolutions and the vegetables that just don't get eaten no matter how many delicious recipes for kale chips and spaghetti squash you find.

We all have skeletons and we all know they're around. Clinking, clanking, lurking, leering.

Or we suspect, anyway. If we're stone deaf and bat blind to all that blithe clinking, clanking, lurking, leering business, we at least have a vague notion that the skeletons are out and about. Doing their rounds. Chatting up the ghosts and ghouls in the recesses of all the moments we want to dismiss. Lingering and loitering when we just wish they'd bugger off already.

We know they're around, but we try not to think about them. It's a constructed reality that helps keep us present and our adrenal glands in working order. In my philosophy class last semester, we discussed the idea that (bear with me) life is like a boat going through the ocean, and like the boat, we are not driven by the wake.

The wake merely serves as a sign that a boat has passed.

The wake is a momentary undulation in a forever changing ocean. It doesn't motivate us. Doesn't define us. It is only a fleeting trace that shows where we have been.

And where we have been isn't the same at all as where we are or where we're going. We create our wake -- our wake doesn't create us. Just like we create our skeletons, because what are skeletons if not unsavory vestiges of the wake we make as we propel ourselves through life? The remnants we leave behind as we move. But sometimes we move in circles. Sometimes we lower the anchor and rest for a while. Sometimes we chance upon the final ripples of the wake we created weeks, months, years ago.

We all have skeletons, but we try to forget them. Dwelling on piles of bones from the past is stressful and doesn't amount to much, anyway. Skeletons have metaphorical minds of their own and will pop out of the closet to scare the bejesus out of you whenever they get bored stuffed away in the dark or suspect you're getting too comfortable for your own good.

Perhaps I've been getting too comfortable for my own good. I've settled. Let down the anchor. Relaxed.

Or perhaps the bones got bored. 

Regardless of the reason, a skeleton popped out of the closet yesterday morning and scared the bejesus out of me.

George.

I knew it was coming. I'd just been trying to forget.

I've been waking up at one in the morning, two in the morning, three in the morning, as of late. I'm not sure why a full night's sleep has been so elusive to me these past few days, but I accept it as a phase and play around on the computer, knit, read or watch Stephan Colbert until I drift off for a fitful half hour before I wake up again.

Something fun and addictive about traveling the way I do is all the accounts I get to check.

Did someone get back to me on couchsurfing in Rome? Anything new on crewbay.com, hosteljobs.net or helpex.net? Any facebook messages from people with whom I've arranged to stay? How about paypal telling me that someone donated to my adventure? 

I woke up at 1:00 am yesterday, cursed my inability to sleep like a normal person and grabbed my macbook.

I started with workaway.info.

And there was my skeleton.

George. In the form of a green frowny face negative reference. No words. No explanation whatsoever. Just the negative reference.

I felt sick. My insides turned into knots and I knew I wouldn't sleep again for the rest of the night.

That isn't fair, I thought as I stared in disbelief at the menacing little frowny face. I came to stay with you as a friend, not through workaway. I came to stay with you as a friend, the friendship went bad and I was so unhappy that I was physically ILL, so I left early. TEN days early. That isn't fair, George. This is my way of life you're messing with. This is how I get around. You KNOW this is how I get around. I hope you feel satisfied that you've adequately avenged yourself. Or whatever it is you were hoping to get out of this.

I tasted bile in my mouth. Memories of the last few days in Tipperary tumbled out of the closet, casting their horrifying shadows over me as I faced my past alone in the darkness of my loft in Bad Munster. I hadn't heard from the cantankerous old man since I left his stables during the last week of June. "Ve vill not be friends again," and "I vill invite you to my funeral," some of the last things he'd ever said to me.

No. No, George. We will not be friends again. 

I'm angry, sad, frustrated, disappointed. One negative reference on a profile means everything. One negative reference and you'll be lucky if you're ever hosted again.

Thanks, George. 

Hours passed. I tossed and turned, restless and frightened.

How am I going to rearrange my life?

I need to become a better listener. I think that I've grown so comfortable that I don't really pay attention anymore. I have a method that seems to work and I've contentedly settled in. I couchsurf, volunteer through workaway.info and stay with friends. I take buses and trains and planes and ferries to get to my couch, floor, bed or chair. I only allow myself money to purchase coffee and local foods. I don't buy clothes -- people give me clothes they don't need. These are the questions I ask hosts, these are my expectations, these are my rules for myself when in new situations. 

I've managed to turn one of the most chaotic, adventurous ways of living I can imagine into a system. How dreadful. 

I've been a terrible beginner these last two months.

There are two types of questions, Bourget. The questions that you ask in order to feel safe and comfortable and the questions that you ask in order to challenge yourself. 

You've become a pro at asking the questions that make you feel safe and comfortable. "How does your oven work?" "How do I get to your house?" "HELP ME, I'M LOST!" 

If you want to keep growing, you're going to have to ask the questions that challenge. In order to ask the questions that challenge, you're going to have to listen.  If I really listen to what's been going on lately... what life has been telling me, it could be that I'll find something that comes naturally. Something that flows out of this and feels even better. Yoga... my real passion is yoga. I mean, alpacas are awesome and I feel so lucky to be in Bad Munster with this communicative, cheerful, comical family, but what I really want to be doing with my life is traveling, writing and teaching yoga. 

Can I flow in that direction? 

As I mentioned in an earlier post, my fellow workawayer has been inspiring me to continue in my efforts of letting go of my stranglehold on plans and leaving room for spontaneity and surprise.

"I really believe that everything happens for a reason," Joe said during our first few days together.

This is a statement that used to make me cringe because of the context in which it was spoken.

"Eh, everything happens for a reason," is often said when the speaker has no desire to ask, "Why? Why has this happened?"

It's also spoken by people who have no desire to take responsibility for their actions.

"Yeah, well, everything happens for a reason," a morose looking chap might say after losing his job because he showed up for work with a hangover for the umpteenth time.

But coming from Joe, this statement didn't make me cringe. It made me think. It made me question and it made me listen.

What has been happening lately? Just happening? And why?

Well...

My account for workaway.info expires tomorrow. 

I just signed up for Helpex.

I've found all these amazing opportunities volunteering on boats. 

I'm discovering how popular yoga is with couchsurfers. I just received an invitation to stay with a very nice looking retired university professor in Istanbul for three months in exchange for a few yoga classes a week. If I didn't already have such a marvelous volunteer opportunity set up with Umit, I would totally go for something like that. Maybe this is something I can try in various cities throughout the world -- where couchsurfing is popular, that is. "Host me for three weeks and I'll give you a yoga lesson every morning!" It could work. I mean, I would let a yoga teacher stay with me in exchange for free classes.

I'm finding that I can just contact yoga retreats and ask if they'll let me volunteer for room and board. I emailed wellness centers in Croatia and Montenegro to see whether or not they had volunteer programs, and they both responded very positively and said they'd be interested in letting me work with them next spring/summer. 

I feel more and more tug toward South Korea every day. I really want to teach English there for a year and offer donation based yoga classes for women. 

Maybe these are the reasons I received the reference from George. Maybe these are the the signs to which I should be paying attention. 

So I'm letting go of my workaway.info account. It expires tomorrow and I won't reactivate it.  I'll still volunteer with the family in Turkey (teaching English) because they look absolutely wonderful and I'll get some more experience teaching English before I go to South Korea.

After that? I'll try to see if my life can flow towards yoga and English and away from volunteering with activities that aren't my real passion.

Thanks, George. Thanks for shocking me out of my safe questions. Thanks for sending me that little green frowny face and forcing me to listen.