"Aimee... You Dance Like Mr. Bean." -- Lake Atitlan, Guatemala

Nights are getting cold at The Forest. I'm wearing a sweater, a scarf, and my thickest pair of smartwool socks, and I still wish I was wearing more. Nele sips hot tea to ward off the chill, sporting her gigantic pink sweater (which looks like the Easter Bunny died to make it) and bright red scarf. A giant moth is trapped inside of one of the globe lanterns, its wings creating a beautiful silhouette as it flaps about in panic and confusion. The crickets chirp loudly, the drum circle from Del Lago pounds steadily in the distance, and the night guard and his son murmur quietly in Q'eqchi' in the kitchen.

I'm beat. Exhausted. But in a satisfied sort of way. I'm the kind of tired that comes from completing a monumental checklist. A checklist wherein every item is something you're happy to do. 

I took a glorious shower this morning, water deliciously hot and the sun peeking over the mountains just in time to warm my shivering body.

Indoor showers are going to feel so anticlimactic after this. So "meh". So, "where's my spectacular sunrise over a glittering lake?" 

Lame.

I spent a couple hours in blissful meditation with my watercolors while Kayla stalwartly sliced a veritable mountain of fruit.

I gave an hour Thai massage to a German chap who'd had only horrendous Thai massages in the past. So I was a bit nervous going into the massage, feeling like I would just add to his prodigious stack of unpleasant massage memories.

All you can do is your best, I comforted myself with the cliché. And closed my eyes, centered myself, and gave my best. 

"That was perfect," he said at the end. "Just what I needed."

Oh, thank god... I thought, giving the guest a relieved hug. There's not much better than giving someone a massage that makes them feel wonderful... and not much worse than giving a shit massage. And then receiving money for it. Gah. 

Then I rushed down the path and finished painting two signs for a new acupuncture school just a hop and a skip down the path from The Forest.

"They look great," Christian nodded at the signs. "Thanks for all your work, maybe I'll have something else for you soon."

"Super, let me know," I smiled, gratefully pocketing the 300 Q I'd been paid for my work.

I picked up my laundry from Hotel Quetzal, happily smelling the wonderful thing which is machine washed socks, and then moseyed on over to Circles. Where I wrote, Skyped home, and drank my cappuccino with too much sugar.

(I compensate for the dearth of sugar at The Forest by dumping an excessive amount into my coffee at Circles)

I gave another massage after dinner tonight. And I've another scheduled for tomorrow at one. I've sold four paintings today and have been commissioned two more.

I feel busy. 

"Aimee, you're in the flow," Nele says whenever I bring up all the jobs jumping out at me.

"I think so," I chew my bottom lip thoughtfully. Then again, I've come to a place wherein my specific skill set is desirable. It might be difficult to NOT be in the flow in San Marcos la Laguna. This town is all about massage, yoga, art. All I have to do is be open, trust myself, take chances, rise to occasions.  

Which isn't easy. I struggle with oodles of self-doubt. Especially when surrounded by so many other people who have my same skill set... just a more advanced version. So rising to the occasion includes letting go of fear of my own inadequacy. Includes not comparing myself to others. Includes trusting that what I have is good enough and that other people aren't lying to me when they say they like it. 

I think that's probably the thing that keeps me out of "the flow" most often in my life. Not lack of opportunities. Lack of confidence in my own abilities. 

During the past few weeks of living in such an intimate community I've grown incredible comfortable with the other volunteers at The Forest. And when Girl gets comfortable, her silly side rears its ridiculous head. A head which has its pros and cons. 

Pro = making salad becomes significantly more fun.

Con = making salad takes significantly longer. 

Many of the foreigners who visit San Marcos la Laguna stay for a few days. Many stay for a few weeks. Those who stay for a few weeks tend to search out pieces of routine in their lives (I wouldn't know anything about this...). So if they like yoga at The Forest, they come back consistently. And when people come back consistently, I feel like I can invite them to play a little bit more.

It's bittersweet, though; making friends for just a few weeks and then saying goodbye. I've gotten used to these two ladies in my classes. Their presence makes me feel comfortable, happy, easy-going. Their playful energy and openness makes teaching fun. Something that makes me want to walk up the heinous, butt-sculpting stairs first thing in the morning.

And now they're off to explore more of this crazy, exciting, massive world. And I'm happy for them and sad for me. Which is normally how these things go. 

I've also lost my Circles Cafe buddy. Farina. The friendly German who always said hello, complimented my paintings, and was forever compassionate regarding my lack of change.

The teacher training ends in just a few days, so there will be many more goodbyes before the weekend. As a way to celebrate our time together, we had pizza night and a talent sharing session.

Kayla played her music (Kayla has excellent taste in music. I wish it was mine. The taste and the music), and I let my silly side rear its ridiculous head and danced with euphoric abandon.  

"Aimee... you dance like Mr. Bean," Kayla looked both awed and appalled by my funky dance moves.

Hmm... not actually a compliment. But it's far better than when my dance teacher in university told me, "It's so nice to watch you try..." 

...

Yeah. I'll take "You dance like Mr. Bean." 

Bre (like the cheese) does not dance like Mr. Bean. And one does not watch Bre (like the cheese) "try". One watches Bre (like the cheese) kick ass. The girl is a fantastic tapper. A tapper so dedicated that she travels the world with her freaking tap shoes in her backpack. 

 

 
Yes. 

New hero. 

Bre (like the cheese). 
 

There are a few Forest rules that still get under my skin. Primarily the rule that whilst a teacher training is underway, we're not allowed to speak until ten in the practically-afternoon. I've been told that this rule is in place because it's good for people to maintain sacred silence and meditation in the morning. But I think the real reason is because they no longer serve coffee at The Forest, and they don't want a lot of pissed off, caffeine-deprived yogis grouching at each other. 

This rule makes me crazy. Drives me absolutely bonkers. Morning is the most beautiful time of day, coffee or no coffee. Morning is the happiest time of day (okay, it's happier with coffee). It's when I want to engage people, laugh with people, moan over the delicious pineapple and eggs and avocados and -- 

-- and it's when I am required to be silent (I'm becoming quite well-known for breaking this requirement, though).

I'm trying to observe my resistance to rules. My aversion to particular behaviors. Because usually, resistance and aversion tell me much more about myself than the people exhibiting the particular behaviors or enforcing the unsavory rules.

The silence rule.  And any sort of condescension. These are the things that aggravate me to an absurd degree. 

Okay. So, why does the silence rule piss me off? 

Because it forces me to participate in someone else's spirituality. It's being told that silence is good for me -- when I know that this brand of silence isn't -- and being forced to participate for the sake of others.  And I have... errr... rather extreme reactions to being coerced into participating in any spiritual activity. 

Why does the condescension piss me off?  Why does it irritate the living hell out of me when someone interacts with me as if they're on a different spiritual plane?

a) condescension in general is comprehensively maddening to me because I'm insecure. If I was more secure in myself, I could brush it off instead of stewing on it. But most of my life is spent being a beginner. Being the one who sucks the most at everything -- because I don't live in a place long enough to become remotely competent at anything. So when someone condescends to me, it triggers all my insecurities about being incompetent. And I can become aggressively defensive.

b) The vacant stare of a practicing yogi will always make my blood boil. Methinks there's no help for this. I melt into a burbling puddle of "what the fuck are you trying to achieve with that?" every time I witness the completely lucid stare of someone who believes that eyes are the windows to the soul (and is trying to show you how pure theirs is), but also the empty expression of someone who isn't really there anymore. Vacant lucidity. I just want to scream in frustration, "Be here! Be human with me! Let's have a conversation about the delicious powers of chocolate instead of the enlightening powers of cacao! About this life instead of all your questionable other ones." 

I think my aversion and resistance is heightened because I wish so badly it wasn't there. I wish I could simply fit in perfectly with this community. So when I notice the parts of myself that don't harmonize -- the parts that are discordant -- I react defensively. As if I need to somehow prove that I belong here, even though I have edges that poke out all awkward like. Like the edge that believes in vaccines and antibiotics. But I need to learn how to live the honest expression of my heart while being receptive and curious about other beliefs. 

I need to let go of my desire to fit perfectly. Because I never will. Anywhere. Period. And I need to stop being so butt-hurt and insecure about it. I need to be okay with my awkward edges. And I need to honor and protect them whilst reaching out curiously to learn about the beliefs of people wherever I am.