I believe that the road to success is not straight. There is a curve called failure. A loop called confusion. Speed bumps called friends. Red lights called enemies. Caution lights called family. you will always have flat tires called jobs. But if you have a spare called determination, an engine called perseverance and a driver called God you will make it to a place called Success.
– Judith Morales-Kim
Friday, June 29, 2012 (DAYS 117 - 120)
The room is still pitch black, as I am being shaken awake by Lindsay and Michelle. It is 3am, and the last two members of the traveling family that arrived with me in San Juan del Sur twenty-three days ago are about to depart for the airport in Managua. Groggy and confused in my current state, the hugs and goodbyes are brief before falling back into my comatose position. When I finally come to life several hours later, the morning sun is shining through the only window in the bedroom and I am already missing the two charismatic girls from Victoria. From our first meeting in San Pedro La Laguna, Guatemala I would have never imagined the friendship that has developed over the past few months, nor traveling through four countries together and sharing countless memories full of laughter–navigating the horrendous cascading poo streams that became rivers, walking to Spanish school together, Sunday Fundays around the pool, the gluttonous brunch that causes that wonderful pain from eating too much, riding out an epic lightening storm on the beach in El Salvador, creating numerous nicknames for the characters we experienced together, surviving torrential tropical rainstorms that appear without warning while sitting comfortably on the beach, impersonating Leo on the bow of our boat on our fishing expedition, and the list goes on.
The room is still pitch black, as I am being shaken awake by Lindsay and Michelle. It is 3am, and the last two members of the traveling family that arrived with me in San Juan del Sur twenty-three days ago are about to depart for the airport in Managua. Groggy and confused in my current state, the hugs and goodbyes are brief before falling back into my comatose position. When I finally come to life several hours later, the morning sun is shining through the only window in the bedroom and I am already missing the two charismatic girls from Victoria. From our first meeting in San Pedro La Laguna, Guatemala I would have never imagined the friendship that has developed over the past few months, nor traveling through four countries together and sharing countless memories full of laughter–navigating the horrendous cascading poo streams that became rivers, walking to Spanish school together, Sunday Fundays around the pool, the gluttonous brunch that causes that wonderful pain from eating too much, riding out an epic lightening storm on the beach in El Salvador, creating numerous nicknames for the characters we experienced together, surviving torrential tropical rainstorms that appear without warning while sitting comfortably on the beach, impersonating Leo on the bow of our boat on our fishing expedition, and the list goes on.
Finishing Catching Fire, my gift from Michelle Maffia with double f’s because I’m guessing those were the most common grades she brought home to Momma Dukes and Daddy Maffia, is the final book in the triology, Mockingjay, with a very lovely set of handwritten rules I should live by while on my continued journey:
1) Don’t ever wear jeans to go swimming.
2) No locals and no Aussies.
3) If you watch Grandma’s Boy without me you’re a dead man.
Unsure if I should accept these three simple rules from someone that has contracted a very horrific case of herpaids on her hands, I have decided that the jury is still out.
1) Don’t ever wear jeans to go swimming.
2) No locals and no Aussies.
3) If you watch Grandma’s Boy without me you’re a dead man.
Unsure if I should accept these three simple rules from someone that has contracted a very horrific case of herpaids on her hands, I have decided that the jury is still out.
Since my life is in a perpetual state of motion–the nomadic dance that is my indication that I am truly a vagabond–today I am leaving behind the acon den that has been an enormous luxury for Central America for a private room with a private bathroom for only $8 a night at Orlando’s House. In spite of renting the place two days ago, I have been reluctant to spend much time here since the room is both without the recycled cool air of Grandma’s house and a window to alert me of the time of day. The last time I stayed in such claustrophobic room deprived of windows was on the Mexican Riviera cruise with the guys four years ago. It amazes me how different all of our lives have turned out and where life has taken us. Scattered throughout the States, some are now married even with children, while others live out the glory days of their childhood acting careers that peaked with the tune of, “everywhere you look (everywhere) there's a heart (there's a heart) a hand to hold on to. Everywhere you look (everywhere) There's a face of somebody who needs you.”
Appreciative of the friends that I know will always be there in spite of my current physical absence in their lives, the memories remain fresh of our seven days at sea and the high energy that we brought aboard those fateful days in September. Barely making it through dinner the first night before retiring to an unforgettable karaoke performance on stage with our entire group of Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline, bum-bum-bum. The shameless efforts in our ability to sing even without holding a proper note, our presence caused others to gravitate to us like the bathrooms that beckon upon immediately consuming food at Casa Bonita. It is with this same infectious personality that I continue to meet amazing people on my journey through life unsure of who I may run in to or meet each day.
Stepping out the front door of the place which will be home for the next month, I walk the two short blocks to the beach to enjoy the sunset in solitude. Even after twenty-four days of being in SJDS, the beauty of watching the sun disappear over the Pacific is nothing short of magnificent. Walking along the shoreline as the waves rush in over my bare feet, I stop and take a seat on the sand to enjoy a front row seat of the end of another day in what can easily be called paradise. This serene moment, sitting alone, causes me to continue to be ever thankful for taking that first step to breaking free and having the courage to face the uncertainty of what many called a risk. But this risk I have chosen has rewards that I could never have expected and I hope that what I am doing causes a revolution to inspire–to motivate you beyond an existence of complacency by encouraging you to examine the missing element in your life and to passionately find your way to the fulfillment of a life that is not wasted, but brings you back to who you were always meant to be.
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