I recently came back from a three week vacation absolutely spent.
I was more tired than I had been in a while. It got pretty dark. Like “what exactly is going on here” dark.
We were in Nicaragua where we had recently bought a home. The weeks leading up to a vacation for us are treadmill-like busy in attempts to minimize the chaos that will be faced upon return. Add in trying to pack for and organize entry into home ownership in a foreign land, and let’s just say, we were hoping to land and quickly begin to decompress. However, in the weeks leading up to our trip, Nicaragua began to unravel and over the course of our time there it only got worse. There were days when we were told to “make sure you have enough fuel and supplies for the rest of your time here and stash money in case you have to get out fast”. Now, remember, we’re pretty vanilla here folks. And we were there with young kids and older parents. And we were also there in the most dynamic season change I have ever felt.
We landed at the end of the dry season. The heat was a heavy, dusty blanket and every living thing was holding on, with its mouth wide open, for the first drops of rain to fall. It hadn’t rained in months and didn’t look like it was going to. Regardless, the farmers planted, just praying that the rains would come soon. If they did not, then crops would be wasted and hunger would go on. The rains did come. Mostly at night. Rain like you can’t imagine. Thunder that cracked and rolled for minutes, long minutes, and didn’t let up all night while our two girls, aged 5 and 8, slept alone in their bed learning how to navigate their fear (unbelievable now that I think of it). The landscape changed completely over a course of days. The jungle was a new colour every morning; from brown to bright Cortez yellow, to purple to every shade of green. The wildlife literally exploded. Sometimes in our bedrooms. Nicaragua is not a subdued country. Think passion and drama and fever, think the opposite of Canadian middle ground.
So Mother Nature was unfolding, the country’s people were finally pushing the lid off of their pressure cooker, and we were settling in, making plans, learning customs, meeting new life long friends, marching to market to lawyers to accountants to banks and then back again. We sat on hot beaches, crashed in waves, went to sleep to animal calls and woke early to howlers and an amphitheater of birdsong. We were there for about three weeks. We were the last people that we knew that were able to exit out of Nicaragua. Everyone else we knew had to leave through Costa Rica.
In the last few days of our trip I felt it coming. Sorrow. For so many things. Mostly because I felt powerless and we were leaving. It was not an easy trip, but I didn’t want to leave. I longed to stay. Our last night we had to drive into town last minute. The bank needed one last signature. They realized this an hour after they had closed so they had texted a mutual friend and were waiting there at the bank for us just in case we were able to make it back in. Unbelievably generous, but that is just the norm there. As we drove into town the sky was other worldly; pink and purple and bright and warm and knowing. As if it knew and was saying “it will be ok”. The next morning we left at the break of dawn with a driver who took back roads and fields to get us to the airport safely. I ate my last fresh papaya and drank my last sips of Nica coffee. The roads were lined with people. Helping. Smiling. Trying. Not the faces you would have expected. Not the faces you forget.
Since we’ve left, those faces have continued to endure more than any of most of us reading these words will ever come close to facing. April 1st 2018 I thought that we had made a shrewd purchase of a vacation home in paradise that was, until then, frequently fully booked. It would cover our costs, maybe even make some money and allow us a piece of paradise to visit as often as we wanted. Two months later, that dream is not the same. The property has been and will be empty for the foreseeable future. There are serious doubts as to when it will be safe for us to visit again. We thought we had leveraged but in fact exposed our young family to potential financial strain. I am proud and so thankful to say, that the financial aspect of what happened bothered me for about a sum total of 24 hours. What lingered was the heaviness of knowing that a country that got under my skin and seemed to bedazzle my cells with flowers and sunsets and dusty roads was suffering. Those faces. All I could think of was how can I know what is going on there and not help. Not be able to help. Be unable to help. Sorrow.
Abundance.
Intuition.
Caring.
Surrender.
Seasons.
These words have been swirling for months in my head and I’m not sure where they will land. But as they persist the sorrow has lifted. The tincture of time, the love of those who walk with me, and a few realizations have been a quick antidote. Do I regret investing in Nicaragua? Absolutely not. If someone offered to buy our home there would I sell it? Absolutely not. Do I believe that we will be back there and that that is where we belong? Absolutely yes. Has the country made our lives richer our poorer? Oh so much richer. What do I feel when I think of Nicaragua? Pride, hope, magic, life, community, joy. Our intuition was correct. This is just another of the country’s seasons. You can’t fight it. Surrender to it. And as you do so, don’t begrudge your place amongst abundance. Use it. Prepare for what you will do to help when that season comes. This is the mantra now and it fills the belly with those neon butterflies. The dream is not over, it has just changed. I dare say the dream is far better. We will continue to make our home a beacon for those who dare to tip toe back into Nicaragua and be rewarded with all it has to offer. We will also more tangibly give back, inspired by the courage and heart we’ve more clearly seen now.
So, I still care deeply about what is going on in Nicaragua. I check Twitter and Instagram way more than I should. I am heavily preoccupied. I struggle to figure out the process of tangibly helping. In some moments the heaviness gets dark but as I’ve said before, this is not something to recoil from. Caring and feeling and rolling around with your thoughts is ok. I am proud that I care, because of my strength I care. And it’s through the process of caring that I will figure out how to help.
So, my friends, please don’t be afraid to care and to care deeply. A very, very eloquent friend of mine recently pointed out that we may be losing the ability to actionably care. We can “like” and “follow” and “retweet” to get a quick hit, but your soul needs more than that. You are more than that. Dig deep, roll around in it, and figure out where to focus your strength and love. Let the brief sorrow lead to butterflies.
xoxo
J