Rumbling, Tumbling, Bumbling Rolling Stone -- Lake Atitlan, Guatemala

There's something about living a life of constant movement that is incredibly deflating for my ego. There's something about the fact that what I leave behind is totally immaterial that challenges my sense of worth. I'm not like the Norwegian volunteer who created a hydroelectric system that will help supply the Yoga Forest with clean energy for years and years. 

I come. 

Sometimes I break a bowl. A vacuum cleaner. A French press. I do an absolute shit job ironing a nice shirt and leave a burn mark between the buttons (ironing confuses me). 

I (perhaps) invite people to feel a bit better in their bodies. A bit more grounded in the present. A bit more in love with themselves. 

I go. 

There's nothing tangible about what I'm leaving behind at The Yoga Forest (although I take partial credit for a few toned quadriceps), so I have to find peace with understanding that my impact has been purely relational. And that it's entirely possible I'll never again meet the people with whom I've spent the last month developing relationships. 

It isn't easy. Especially when I leave behind a place that I've loved and a community in which I've thrived. 

I experienced a similar sensation when I left Billie's ancient farmhouse in Bad Munster, Germany. I remember taking my sheets off the bed and realizing that the person sleeping there that night would be taking my place. Perhaps using the mug I'd commandeered every morning for coffee or curling up in my favorite part of the couch. Taking over my chores and enjoying evenings with Bille and Julia and their countless animals the way I had been for the past three weeks. 

And it just

makes me feel

infinitesimally small 

insignificant

insecure. 

This insecurity is exacerbated by anxiety about my future. I try to move from placement to placement confidently. With grace. With no expectations but with an understanding of my current needs and enough compassion for myself to actively create space for those needs to be met. But three years of low-budget travel has stripped me of my naivety and of my once unbridled enthusiasm and unrealistic expectations. A great couchsurfing profile with 47 positive references does not mean that my drink is not going to be drugged. A fantastic volunteer site with rave reviews does not mean that when I arrive, my new host won't ask me to be at his beck and call twelve hours a day in return for living in either a bug infested shack or a tiny one person tent.

I've now been in so many exploitative volunteer situations that leaving something safe and fulfilling for something... well... totally unknown puts me on edge.

Will the environment in San Cristobal be toxic? Will I be fed properly? Will the hours of work be reasonable? What will I do if all goes to hell lickety-split in a hand basket? WILL THERE BE KITTENS?

I loathe how the insecurity and anxiety affects how I react to the people who are happily stepping into the shoes which I'm regretfully discarding. I want to be one hundred and twenty percent supportive of them, but I find that my insecurities infect my thoughts.

Will the shoes fit this person better than they fit me?

So instead of being one hundred and twenty percent supportive, I find myself trying to pinpoint the qualities and gifts I bring to the table of life that make me special.

Umm... well... I was able to help Nina find her handstand. But... I mean, any yoga teacher would be able to do that. I did a bunch of Thai massage -- that's kind of great, right? I led acro yoga jams and  -- 

Aimee. 

Enough. 

Christ. 

This is not a competition. You're not here to compare what you bring to the table of life to what Sara will bring. You're here to graciously, openly give what you have to give.

Most people who visit The Yoga Forest have something spectacular to share. I've noticed that the more insecure I feel about what I'm bringing to life's table, the more reluctant I am to receive the offerings of others. Feeling secure, feeling grounded in myself not only helps me give more freely and sensitively -- it helps me to receive.  

Bourget... you're here to gratefully, openly receive what others have to give. 

But instead of directing my energy towards receiving the extraordinary gifts of the next person to wear The Yoga Forest shoes, I catch myself waging mental warfare about whether what I had to offer was any different, any better, anything special at all.

I'm a rolling stone, rumbling, tumbling, bumbling down a hillside.

I'm gathering absolutely zero moss.

What I leave in my wake are relationships. Exquisitely beautiful connections, but connections without roots.

Sometimes my ego would very much like roots. And moss. And other things onto which it can cling. 

A false sense of ownership (even though ownership doesn't apply to people, we still behave like it does).

"Amelia is my friend."

This is Amelia. She's the yoga instructor who's been kind enough to take over a couple classes a week. It's thanks to her that I was able to visit Erin in Panajachel on the weekends. This is a lady I sincerely hope to see again. And I promise I'll stop accidentally calling her Amanda 60 percent of the time...

But I'm leaving Amelia. I don't know if I'll ever see Amanda -- I mean AMELIA -- again. I have to be content with this last month of friendship and accept that this marvelous chapter with Amanda -- I mean AMELIA -- might be closed. 

Identification.

"I am the yoga instructor at The Yoga Forest."

I'm leaving The Yoga Forest. Leaving that identity. There's nothing for me to hold onto here. These are some of the best and hardest lessons in non-attachment and in understanding how ephemeral identities can be. 

I have no idea what I'll really be doing in San Cristobal. I think I'll get to teach a little yoga, but I'll probably spend more time working at reception and cleaning rooms. If my sense of worth is attached to being "THE YOGA INSTRUCTOR," then I'm in for a miserable month in Mexico. This is something I struggled with when transitioning between my month of teaching on Vis Island and my week volunteering at Camp Full Monte in Montenegro. Steve and Denise were amazing hosts, their eco-friendly campsite was stunning and the work was fine.

But I was no longer "THE YOGA INSTRUCTOR." And the loss of this identity made my transition from leading vinyasa to sanding chairs and white washing walls very frustrating. I wasn't able to take as much from the experience as I could have, because I spent more time thinking, "I'm a YOGA INSTRUCTOR... why am I not teaching yoga?" than immersing myself in the community of Full Monte and the tasks at hand.

My goal for San Cristobal is to...umm.. not let this happen again. To take the lessons I learned at The Yoga Forest and leave behind attachments and identifications.