“Smile,” his surly voice growls at me and I get a strong whiff of whatever he was drinking last night/this morning.
The internet doesn’t work.
The music is distracting.
The coffee tastes like acid.
Main Street Bagels is closed for maintenance. It's a sad day in the life of Aimee Bourget.
It's a sad, COLD day.
Poverty.
I've been contemplating the fact that I'm twenty-five years old and have only been above the poverty line one year out of my seven years of independent living.
But I certainly don't feel "poor" -- except for those moments wherein I have to decide if becoming Canadian or getting my wisdom teeth out is more important.
'Cos girl can't afford both.
Poverty. Mmm... poverty is like biking. Or walking. You arrive at a deeper understanding of what's important to you.
I have four dollars. Is it important to enjoy one cappuccino or two drip coffees? Or is it important that I save this money for a plane ticket? I have five hours. Is it important to spend those hours lollygagging on Facebook or baking gluten-free bread and watching Ratatouille with Troy?
Not having much money keeps me from accumulating material possessions that serve to weigh me down (or too many cappuccinos/peanut butter cookies. Which weigh me down in a very different sort of way).
Not having a lot of time in one place keeps me consistently DOING the things that I want to be doing. Keeps me appreciating the people I want to be appreciating. Little time means less time to develop meaningful relationships, but it also means I'm less inclined to tolerate bullshit.
Little money = few trinkets
Little time = immediately intimate relationships minus bullshit
And for having no money, I live extraordinarily well.
But this is mostly/solely due to the fact that I meet extraordinary people.
(Cathy saved me TWO pieces of bacon today. And filled the cheese drawer in the fridge with so many varieties of moldy milk. And bought my favorite kind of yogurt. And let me make gluhwein. And my mom went far out of her way to drive me around so that I didn't have to bike in the cold. Girl. Be. Loved)
A friend drove me to the Kelleher's after an afternoon of cooking.
"Do you live in a mansion?" he stared at the sprawling house in incredulity.
"Kind of," I admitted. "The floor in my room is heated. And there is a hot tub... but I mostly love the house because of all the art and all the good memories. It's my happy place."
I've been struggling to not feel guilty for all the good that's been flooding into my life and the relative lack of good I feel like I'm giving back.
This is a season to receive. I'll be volunteering for the foreseeable future. So I'll be giving back then. But regardless of whether or not I'd be giving back, it is okay to just receive. Just be mindful of boundaries and make sure you always express your gratitude. 'Cos you might only have ninety dollars in your bank account, but you've got a god-awful lot of gratitude.
A woman and dear friend for whom I garden decided to give me a five dollars an hour pay raise. And asked for my social security number so that she could include me in her will.
I was rendered sort of/completely speechless.
I have so much love for this person. I'm glad that she can see it. I don't know how to respond to this expression of love, though.
I hugged her sort of/completely like a crazy person.
Another woman for whom I garden owed me two hundred and forty dollars for the work I'd done. But took me out to coffee and handed me an envelope with three hundred dollars bulging inside.
I'm glad I don't believe in "deserving" things. 'Cos I certainly didn't "deserve" this.
My mother drives me around and takes me out for lunch. My father meets me for coffee and paid for our girls only roadtrip to Oregon -- which was one of the most fun, relaxed, bonding family adventures in our history of familydom.
Cathy lets me go crazy in her kitchen, treats me like family and pays me to garden.
"I've worked almost fourteen hours, but only pay me what you think it's worth. I mean, you've been so good to me..."
"Well, you've done a lot around here, too," Cathy said as she wrote down my hours.
A lot? Certainly couldn't be enough to deser -- damn, there's that word again. Girl don't believe in deserving. Girl believes in simply giving and receiving and in leaving the word "deserve" to hang out with the word "judge".
But should there be a balance between giving and receiving? Or is seeking balance the first act of turning a gift into a transaction?
Just.
Be.
Grateful.
"Thank-you, Cathy."
And let gratitude manifest itself in as many parts of your life as possible. Not only in saying,
"Thanks a lot."
I fly into Puebla on the third of December.
I don't believe I've shared the story of how/why I decided to fly to Puebla.
My trajectory had Miguel in line. Which would have meant flying into Mexico City to spend a couple weeks with him and his family.
I knew I was supposed to go to Mexico. Most of life has been shoving me in this direction for months.
I knew I wanted to see Miguel.
But for some reason or other, I just couldn't bring myself to buy the ticket.
As trusting my gut is something I learned while hitching through the Balkans, I put my credit card away and thought, hmmm... wonder why I can't buy my ticket... Okay. Guess I'll find out soon enough.
Miguel contacted me a couple of weeks later to tell me that he'd just won a screenwriting residency in Pamplona, Spain.
God, that guy is brilliant. Suppose I can't expect him to be anywhere for long. Ha. Guess that's why I couldn't buy my ticket. Way to go, gut. Way to go.
Miguel told me that his family would be happy to show me around, but I'm a stubborn lady. I prefer to see places for the people, and I kind of wanted to see Mexico city for Miguel. So I told him that I'd wait to visit Mexico City until he could show it to me.
Well... what now? Do I just fly into Puerto Escondido? I mean, I know I'm supposed to go to Mexico. I just know it. I know I'm supposed to go to this retreat. But why.... I stared at the ticket on kayak.com, why can't I buy this ticket?
I trusted my gut for the second time (that dude was on a roll) and put away my credit card.
I wonder when I'll discover why I couldn't buy THAT ticket... maybe I'll hear from my friend in England... or maybe I'll be offered a job in Montenegro... or maybe --
I was contacted by a couchsurfing friend the next day.
Jonas: Hi Aimee, I've been following your travels on your blog from time to time. If you should come through Puebla in Mexico. Give me a call or shoot me a text. And enjoy your time in Holland. Oh in case you forgot who I am (I know that happens quickly if you're meeting a lot of interesting people) - I stayed with you like a year and a half or so. I think I only stayed a night or two but I was impressed by your yoga skills.
Aimee: Jonas! I definitely remember you -- you were one of the first people to make me feel like a yoga ninja. I don't think I'll be passing through Puebla, but if i do, I'll definitely let you know. What are you doing there, by the way?
Jonas: OK let me know. No pressure. I'm here as an exchange student. Until December
Aimee: hmmm.... when in december are you leaving? 'cos if you're in Puebla between the 3rd of December and the 14th of December, I could visit you (and would love to) -- but I'd need to try to find a cheap way to get to Puerto Escondido afterwards.
Jonas: My semester here ends on the third. After that I don't really have any plans. There will be a friend from Germany coming over but we haven't fixed a date yet. So yes I could be here. Actually if you like we could do a bit of travelling because I won't have lot of a chance to do that while the semester still is running.
And then my gut let me buy my ticket.
Right now my gut and my heart are in conflict. My intuition tells me that Mexico is the next step in my life as a gallivanting grasshopper. That invaluable learning experiences are waiting for me in Puebla, Puerto Escondido and San Marcos.
But my heart is calling me back to Europe. And this time in the states is giving my heart cause to pine for Colorado.
For some reason, I understand that my lesson right now lies in learning to trust my intuition. The next few years will be guided by my gut. Damn. I've always had a sensitive stomach.
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