This is Traveling

Travel is the ultimate reinforcement on the idea of mindfulness, of being present in every moment because none of this might happen again. It’s becoming engrossed with every tree and mountain around me, trying to memorize each detail, drinking it all in before I pick up and move on. Eventually it means I forget to even take pictures, because I know that they never capture what I really feel in that moment. Even if I remembered to photograph everything I loved, I’m too busy doing new things to go back and look at them.

Travel is meeting people who I feel I could be best friends with and then having to say goodbye the very next day as I discover they’re flying to the next town or out of country. This happens more often than I’d like it to, and it’s strange that meeting beautiful people can begin to wear on me. Sometimes it’s becoming incredible friends with them and trying to figure out how we can ever see each other again, because a few weeks just isn’t enough with a person.

Travel is falling in love and not knowing if I should tell the other person, because I don’t want to be the one responsible for changing their plans or inhibiting their dreams. It’s telling them anyway, because the risk might be worth it. If things fall through I never have to see them again, but if I say nothing then I also might never see them again. Travel is deciding whether I can still hold onto my independence while choosing to start a new adventure with someone else. It is a whole new level of terrifying, and there is nothing so far that has prepared me for it.

Travel is pushing new friendships and relationships much farther and more intensely than they would be in the real world, because there’s no time to waste. A week in a hostel with a good roommate can make it seem like we’ve been friends for years. We eat, travel, share, explore, and go everywhere together. Travelers understand the lives of other travelers, because there’s no other lifestyle like ours. Our bonds are created quickly as we share tips on things only other backpackers have experienced – finding jobs where bosses don’t care if we leave in three weeks, knowing who gives out free food or who puts on free events, where to get the cheapest and most durable clothing is. Backpacking is a network, and every person has something to add. On top of the advice we can offer, we also share everything – clothes, cigarettes, food, toiletries. We are the best example of a barter system there is.

Travel is missing holidays and special events back home. The first few are physically heart aching as I try to hold onto my family’s traditions or the memories of my little loves on their birthdays. It’s realizing that every time I come home the children will be a little bit older and will need me a little less. It’s missing the deep, familiar hugs from each of my family members and the way I never stop laughing when I’m with my girls. Eventually this will fade as I become comfortable on my own, but my heart will never stop being full of them.

Travel is seeing things I never knew I was missing out on and sometimes having no one to share them with. This is not necessarily a bad thing, as I’m finally beginning to recognize that my emotions and awe need no validation from anyone else.

Travel is the pinnacle of creativity and resourcefulness. It is fixing things with poor sewing skills or found pieces of twine. It’s wearing clothes that are worn so thin that they offer virtually no barrier from the elements.  It is eating pasta or hot chips 4-5 nights a week, the only variations being foods other backpackers have left behind. We are poor and nutritionally lacking, but we are never hungry. We waste as little as possible in every area.

Travel is taking risks that would seem bizarre to anyone else. It is deciding how to get to a town on the other side of the country as quickly and cheaply as possible so I can work a job for someone I’ve never met. It is hitchhiking or deciding if I should buy a car that’s 15+ years old and hoping it doesn’t break down as we explore a country I’ve never been in. It’s constant trial-and-error or listening to the advice of well-meaning strangers.

Travel is wondering if I’ll ever settle into a routine that is more socially acceptable but not particularly wanting to. It’s having to sacrifice a lot of the stability of a traditional lifestyle, which sounds like freedom but is still difficult in a whole new way.  It’s wondering how aging will affect the sustainability of what I have going for me now, and it’s scary to think that if I ever go back I’ll have no marketable skills to offer prospective employers. It’s constantly being aware that what I have sounds enviable at first but personally knowing that it’s also a constant struggle with uncertainty and nonstop transitions. For every new choice I make it’s asking myself, “Is this crazy?” It’s then answering myself, “What’s so wrong with crazy?” It is hectic, but I am in love with it.

Travel is exhausting while invigorating parts of my heart I had forgotten about. I rediscover things about myself I wasn’t sure existed anymore. I am less physically healthy as I snack on whatever is convenient, but my mental health has never been better. I am almost always comfortably satisfied, if not downright happy. Every day presents an infinite amount of possibilities, and the best part is that nothing ever turns out as expected. Despite the fact that everything can feel wildly out of control at any given time, this lifestyle always makes me feel that everything is connected in some hippie dippy way.  If home is where the heart is, then I have found it; I am always home.

The Road From Oz

When I was younger I spent an inordinate amount of time journaling. I got my first diary when I was in primary school and my writing exercises didn't die down until about 3 years ago (24+ journals later). I remember being terrified of forgetting the things I'd done. This, along with my borderline OCD symptoms and overall neurosis, fueled my unquenchable need to document every up and down of my seemingly chaotic life.

You would think, then, that I'd be good at updating my blog, but I'm shit at it.

As most of you know, I've been in Australia for the past 20 months. For as long as I can remember, I've been pretty nearly obsessed with Australia and the idea of visiting it one day. I don't know why or how this fixation began, but when I finally made the decision to come over I was beyond stoked.

Because of the accessibility of Facebook, I don't feel I need to talk about all the things I've done here or the friends I've made along the way. Everyone knows that one of the most important things about traveling is what we learn from it, how it shapes us. I want to dedicate this blog entry to what I've learned about travel, traveling as an American, and things I've discovered about myself (in no particular order).

• Despite the fact that Australians also speak English, there was a much bigger language barrier than I expected. Aussies abbreviate/ change nearly everything, and there are actually a lot of words that are the same but mean something entirely different (example: marinara for them means a seafood mixture, whereas it's a tomato based sauce for us). I honestly had an easier time communicating with the locals in Thailand and Cambodia than I did with a lot of Australians (through no fault of anyone). Now that I've picked up on a lot of it, I'm going to miss the slang of Oz the most. And I will forever be trying to normalize the word "cunt" back home in the States.

• Guys - other countries do not love Americans, but let me tell you they are obsessed with us. American politics and happenings are on the news here constantly, and I'm always being asked about what's going on back home. The most common topics of discussion I get are about Trump or guns. Pretty much everyone is appalled by the behavior of us "damn Yanks", and it's a bit embarrassing to even admit where I come from half the time. I do blame the media, however, for some of the inaccurate ways we're portrayed, because any time I've met an Aussie who's actually been to America they say they loved it and met tons of nice people. Only the people (not just the Aussies) who learn about us through movies and the news seem to hate us because there are so many distortions of the truth. I know a lot of the hatred is towards our government, but as with anything that can be commonly misdirected towards us as individuals.

• Australia is a big, big place. I was warned about this before I came here, but I was somehow in denial about just how sizable it is. This means that just like back home I've found shifts in accents/ slang depending on where I go. People here have prejudices about different parts of the country just like we do back home about different parts of ours'. Overall, though, there was never a time I was here when it didn't feel like Australia to me. 

• Australia is gorgeous. When people ask me what my favorite parts of Oz are, I say the animals and the landscapes (in that order). Because of its location, there are so many creatures here that don't exist anywhere else in the world. The beaches all look straight out of postcards. The sky feels bigger. The sun is so much brighter (I wear my sunnies even when it's cloudy). For anyone wanting to come on holiday here, I'd 100% recommend that. There are so many things I didn't get around to seeing, but I was in awe of the natural beauties I did.

• When it comes to any group of peoples it would of course be inappropriate to make generalizations about them, but I'm going to do it anyway. In Oz I met some of the most amazing, incredible women I've ever known. They were hospitable, charming, independent, intelligent, spunky - I can only think of one or two women I met in the entire country that I wouldn't want to spend a lot of time with. I was constantly blown away about how down-to-earth and warm they were, and I wish I didn't have to leave them all behind. The women of this country made my adventures so much nicer.

• As I traveled I  met heaps of other travelers (backpacker culture is super strong here), and it taught me a couple things. First off, even though I'm much older than most of them, I'm glad I waited until now to set out on this adventure. Mentally I never would have been capable of taking this on if I'd gone when I was younger. Secondly, I really love traveling alone. While I miss companionship and the familiarity I have when I'm traveling with people I know well, I would rather be by myself than with strangers I just met somewhere in a hostel. A lot of the younger people here seem to just hop in cars with people they just met and go from place to place. It seems like a bloody nightmare. I'm happy getting to go wherever I feel like and whenever I feel like it. It's been a soothing respite from the life I used to live, which was primarily being continuously surrounded by others (but I really do love and miss all of you!)

• The longer I'm away, the less likely I find it that I will settle down any time soon. I'm so happy to be single, childless, and with no other strings attached. I'm immensely grateful to the family and friends in my life who support me and don't take offense to this life approach of mine. I hate that these are sacrifices I've had to make, but the beauty of the friendships I'm in (and in conjunction with technology today) is that they are strong across distances.

It feels surreal to me that I've been away from home for nearly 2 years, and it's even more bizarre than my time is coming to an end. I'm happy to have come here, but I'm going to be real in saying that I wouldn't want to live here (although Tasmania and Perth have both captured my heart).
I can't wait to head home to see everyone in person, and I can't wait to take everything I've learned and apply it to my next travel destination (New Zealand). See you all soon!

Aussie Update

I'll be the first to admit that I have been an absolutely dismal blogger as of late. I've been in Australia for the past 10 months, and I haven't published a single word about it aside from the occasional Facebook status updates. Beyond that, I never even got around to writing about all the other events I felt were really important to discuss, despite the fact that without them I wouldn't be where I am today. It's safe to say the last several years (one might even go as far as to say the entire last decade) have been nothing short of chaotic for me, but I am so grateful for a large deal of that chaos. I'm even more grateful that I am currently - finally - living close to the best version of my life. As far as this blog entry goes, though, I'd love to catch you up on what's been going on with me in Oz. This will have to be mostly a summary, as there's no way to briefly encapsulate the emotions of all these events.

After months of planning, anxiety, and paperwork, I finally flew into Brisbane, New South Wales, Australia late last August. I spent 2 weeks WWOOFing in The Pocket, near Mullumbimby, and then I house sat for my American mate and her husband for 6 weeks. During that time I did my best to acclimate to my surroundings, find my way around, learn how the various bus/ library/ shopping centers, etc. worked. I later pet-sat for two more families in neighboring towns and then set off to start making my way around this country.

First major stop was Coffs Harbour, NSW. Technically I was in Boambee, but Coffs was the closest major city. Coffs is only about 3 hours south of where I started out in Lennox Head, and it's an easy Greyhound trip away.

I lived with a lovely family who had found me on the WWOOF site and contacted me because of my love of bees.  I lived with them for 2 months, and I couldn't have asked for a better family to take me in. I learned so much, from plowing fields to using tools I'd never heard of. I was able to work with the honeybees I love so much, and despite so many bee stings, I never get sick of that. 

On top of teaching me various invaluable skills, I got on really well with the parents, the children, and their awesome neighbor. This is always a huge plus when traveling, for obvious reasons. I always felt safe with them, and they went out of their way to include me in everything they did. I even spent Christmas and New Year's with them, and I had such an amazing holiday with them. I am forever thankful for the way they invited me into their family.

About a month into my time there, I received an email from immigration telling me that Americans were now eligible to apply for a 2nd year visa. I had emailed them months before asking them about something else, and if I hadn't I never would have found out about this in time.

So for all you who have asked me about this, the process sounds simple but is a lot more of a cluster cuss than you would expect. To be eligible for a 2nd year visa as someone on my type of visa one has to complete 88 days qualified (full time, paid) work in a designated region (north of the Tropic of Capricorn) before turning 31. There are a lot more rules involved, but that's the gist of it.

I had just accepted a job to head to after my Coffs trip when I'd gotten this email. I redacted my job acceptance and traveled north to Cape Tribulation in Queensland instead to a small resort that will remain unnamed for the privacy of everybody who worked there.

The trip north was a disaster. There were bus schedule snafus, early flights, broken down cars in the pouring rain, whiny backpackers, and a slew of other nonsense before I finally arrived to my destination around midnight. Backpacker life does not always ride on the back of convenience.

I'm going to be real - I had a lot of ups and downs at this place at first. I didn't get on with most of the backpackers who were there when I first arrived. Because everyone goes to work for 3 month stints, it's easy for cliques to form and for those groups to not connect as much with the new people. I was happy to be put in a room by myself (which only lasted a couple days), and I was bloody ecstatic to be assigned to reception. If I hadn't been put on reception, I honestly don't think I would have stayed as long as I did. Fortunately I was blessed enough to become fast friends with an American girl who showed up a few days in, and I just love her so much to this day.

As with all things good or bad, this place was still a valuable experience for me. Despite having two really terrible humans running the place, I got a lot of perks. I went on all the local tours, because it was part of my job to sell them to guests. After a month or so, I got my own private room. I made friends with one of the local tour guides, and he was awesome enough to show me around on our free time. To top it off, the beauty of the rainforest (especially during wet season) is absolutely unreal. There are animals up in the Daintree that don't exist anywhere else in the world. I made a few friends that I love and care for even now, and their friendship alone would have been worth putting up with all the other shit that went on at the place. Overall, the farther away I am from there, the fonder I've become of it.

Around this time, I was steadily becoming more and more broke. I applied immediately for my visa (I was turning 31 very shortly) and headed down to Jambin, Queensland to work as an allrounder (someone who does a bit of everything) in their pub/hotel. Jambin is a small town, flat and brown, with a population of close to 300. Their local activities are basically pig hunting and drinking when they're not farming.

Instead of raising my blood pressure by going into too much detail, let's just do a little Pro and Con action.

Pros: Had my own room. I love to tend bar, which is what I mostly did. I got free ice cream. I made a steady wage. My female boss was lovely. There was a pub cat. I was allowed to drive their car to town when I needed to. I had plenty of time to read. There was SUCH a good health food store/ cafe in town that had amazing vegan cheesecake and really yummy chai.

Cons: Very few vegetables or basically anything except for meat. The patrons weren't that amiable (they were actually quite miserable). I had no friends. I had nothing in common with basically anyone. The male boss was the worst fucking human I've met in a long, long time and being around him was exhausting and frequently infuriating.

In all my time here, I was never as unhappy as I was in Jambin. Fortunately, my mental health is at the best stage of its career, so I was able to handle the 6 weeks there with aplomb...and a lot of swearing...as opposed to having any sort of breakdown or frantic escape plan. Sure, I was bitter and dead inside after just a few short weeks, but I survived to tell the tale.

One of the motto's I live by is to "give credit where credit is due", so of course I have to tip my hat to the otherwise ungainly Jambin for introducing me to the next phase of my adventure.

While serving the usual slovenly masses one night, I met two Aussie blokes who were nice and funny, which was absolutely shocking to me at the time. We all got along incredibly well right away (though I suspect they get along with almost everyone right away, charming buggers that they are), and to make a long story short, the boss invited me to come stay on their farm when I was finished in Jambin, so I did. 

When I got to their 17,000 acre farm up past Calliope, QLD, none of us really knew what I'd be doing (working, relaxing, etc.) or for how long, so I did what I do best - I tried to involve myself in absolutely anything available. I woke up early every morning to work with the boys despite having little to no knowledge of the going-ons of a cattle farm. They taught me how to ride a horse (I'm rubbish at it) and how to work with bulls, heiffers and weaners. They let me tag along everywhere with them and never complained (at least to my face) about it. The family and the two employees were 100% patient, kind, and educational with me. They single-handedly restored my faith in Australian humans (and cows!) I ended up spending 6 weeks with them, and those weeks flew by faster than I could have imagined.

This brings us up-to-date and full circle, because right now I'm sitting in my room in Lennox Head getting ready for the next phases of my trip. There's so much more I could tell you, so many little stories I want to share, but those will all have to wait.

For now, here are the answers to the most asked questions I get:

Q: What's happening with your visa?

A: God only knows. I applied 11 weeks ago. When asked to send in more paperwork, I did a week later. So I've been waiting 10 weeks. Yes, I've called Immigration. It is taking forbloodyever, but I'm doing okay about it. If I get rejected, that just opens different doors for me.

Q: Where are you going next?

A: On Friday I'm flying south to Tasmania. Yes, that's still part of Australia. After a week there I'm heading to Melbourne to see one of my favorite people I've met here. After that I'll be heading up to Coffs to see that host family I mentioned above. The idea here is that if my visa gets rejected, I'll be able to see all my favorite people again before I have to leave the country. After all that, I'll be heading back up to the cattle farm to work and wait until I hear about my visa.

Q: Have you found a handsome Aussie bloke to marry?
A: Absolutely not. That will probably not happen.

Q: When are you going to come home and get a real job?

A: I might not have a career, but I work as hard as I can wherever I end up. I'm happy and I'm fulfilling my dream of traveling and constantly learning new things. 

Q: When are you coming home to visit then?

A: I don't know; I miss you too.

Fallopian diagnosis: Clamped (Pt. 2 of my Journey)

As many of you know, yesterday was the day I went in to get my tubes "tied". I didn't sleep well the night before; my anxiety levels were high. I'd never been put under anesthesia before, and I was worried about it going wrong.

Both of my parents accompanied me to the hospital and waited with me until a nurse called me back to get me ready. When the nurse had checked my vitals, inserted my IV and had me undress and redress, my mom came back and sat with me. I had an incredibly wonderful and personable nurse, for which I was grateful. Having my parents come with me greatly decreased my stress levels.

My surgeon came by and once again gave me all the warnings he's required to give and asked me if I was sure I still wanted to go through with it. I said that I was and then I asked if it would be possible for him to take some pictures of my guts while I was unconscious, because I love guts. He totally didn't even hesitate when he said he'd make sure to do that. I almost cried I was so excited. GUTS!

Everything happened as efficiently and promptly as they'd promised, which I definitely didn't expect. Hospitals tend to be notorious for having people wait due to a high traffic volume of patients.

Surgery itself I obviously can't tell you much about, since I was asleep for all of it. I remember the staff chatting with me and telling me exactly what they were about to do. I remember the first medicine administered through my IV to make me start relaxing. I remember an oxygen mask, and that was that.

The first thing I asked when I woke up was, "Did I pee?" (I'd been very concerned that I might do that and how embarrassing it would be.) Then I rolled over slightly and tried to throw up (probably due to the nausea and the tube they'd just removed from my throat.) Lastly, I said, "No more miscarriages ever," cried a little, and passed out again. I don't know if this is a normal thing for people coming out of anesthesia, but no one said anything.

I spent the rest of yesterday drifting in and out of sleep at my parent's house and making sure not to rip the gauze off the two incision sites. I'm still pretty groggy, light headed, and disoriented today, but I'm overall quite pleased with how everything went.

Originally I was going to use this second blog as a way of further explaining my choice, but I've decided it's not necessary. The majority of my friends and family have given me their support, even if they don't fully understand. I think that's the best I can ask for, and I realize that it's been mostly just a difficult concept for a lot of people to grasp. It's unconventional, which coincidentally is the one word that I find best describes me.

After all is said and done, I'm so grateful to all of you who prayed for me or sent me good vibes and texts. I'm humbled to have received so many messages from women who felt my story was something they could relate to.

Lastly, I think I should clarify that "fallopianologist" isn't actually a word. I just made it up and liked the sound of it. Sorry if I confused anyone. :)

ALSO I GOT TO SEE MY GUTS!

What Does it Mean to Be a Woman?

In an age where gender has become fluid and specific to each individual's needs, it's hard to know how to define what being a "man" or a "woman" really entails. As today is International Women's Day, I'm left wondering what it means to be a woman. While I feel like there's a woman inside me eager to express herself, I never know if the things I do or think are because I'm a woman, or just because I'm me.

Growing up I was raised during the day by my father while my mother worked full time. If you were to affix labels on them, then, my father would have been "The Nurturer" while my mother would be "The Breadwinner". Yet I never felt that I lacked nurture from my mother, and I never found it strange that my dad was the one who stayed home. It was the way I was raised, and I've never been displeased with it.

My dad, to break another stereotype, was the 1st feminist I ever met (and he remains the most prominent one I know today). Throughout my childhood he was a psychotherapist who specialized in working with victims (and often perpetrators) of Domestic Violence. He also visited Africa a handful of times and spoke out against female circumcision (a barbaric mutilation at best) and violence towards women in tribes where men felt they were somehow entitled to mistreat their wives. He made sure I knew from an early age that women never deserve to be treated this way and that no man has "the right" to be a batterer. Ultimately, of course, he taught me that these weren't just lessons he was spreading far away from home - he was applying them to me. My father always knew that I would grow up one day and be outside his protection, so he gave me the tools early on to protect myself. He showered me with respect (and more than a little spoiling - I am still a daddy's girl) and love, because he hoped that when I grew up I wouldn't settle for anything less in my potential partners.

Now, despite my father's great love and respect for women (or what I now realize is because of), my family was very anti gender stereotypes. My dad put pants under my dresses when we went to the park, because I was a born climber. He would put me on top of the monkey bars and let me scramble around, and he put pants on me because they were comfortable and obviously more decent than having nothing on underneath while I'm above everyone else. I loved messes (and still do), and this was also not discouraged. I had very few Barbies, maybe 3 or 4, and I was never forced to wear pink. I was not told I wasn't allowed to do something due to the fact that it wasn't "lady like" to do it. The only two times I can ever remember my gender playing a role in a decision my parents made for me were when a) I became too old to start having co-ed sleepovers (which I respect), and b) when I wanted to join the wrestling team in middle school. My parents didn't like the idea of me wrestling with only boys, especially if they were boys going through puberty. I was furious about it at the time, but now I'm 100% grateful they made that choice.

Additionally, me being able to rough and tough with the neighborhood kids did not warrant me being labeled "tomboy" by my family. Nor did I have to suffer inquiries (from my parents at least) about whether or not I'd grow up to be a lesbian just because I wore my hair short and preferred activities that may have appeared not feminine. My peers at school were obviously a different matter, and I was teased mercilessly for a myriad things, most notably my short hair, straightforwardness, and (I'll admit) a bit of a "fuck off" attitude. Because of my parent's solid affirmations that I could do anything a boy or girl could do, however, I continued to do what I enjoyed and did my best to ignore the haters, even when it was an immense and lonely struggle.

Given all this, you'd think I'd know how to stand up and say I know exactly what it means to be a woman. I don't, though. I know that gender is such a sticky subject, and I don't want to make the mistake of saying "all women are like this and not like this". What I can do, however, is try to express what being a woman for me  is.

I am a nurturer - I love the children I work with more than anything. They brighten my days, warm my heart, and teach me what it feels like to be maternal.
I am empowered - I know my choices are my own to make, but I also know that many of the choices I make affect those around me, so I accept responsibility in trying to do what's best for myself while trying not to hurt other's unnecessarily.
I am curvaceous - No, this does not make me more of a woman than someone who is thin, someone who is perfectly fit, or someone who is obese. I accept my body, though, and embrace it, loving it as much as I can while living in a culture that tells me I shouldn't.
I am outspoken, sarcastic, opinionated, honest often to a fault, passionate. Sometimes I mistake them for being the same thing.
I am flawed.
I am capable of bearing children inside my womb, but I am confident enough to decide that I won't.
I am a reader. I also love to play video games, watch movies, crochet, hike, teach myself art.
I am a Daughter of Eve ("To Narnia and the North!")

At the end of the day, are these the things that make me a woman? I don't know. But when I think about them, something inside my gut tells me that I'm being a woman the best way I know how to. Namely, without thinking about it. I'm just being who I am, and I think that being proud of who I am is one of the best characterizations of my womanhood.

Lastly, and I hope you aren't sick of this poem (I'll just put the first part) by Maya Angelou, because I can never get enough of it:

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size   

But when I start to tell them,

They think I’m telling lies.

I say,

It’s in the reach of my arms,

The span of my hips,   

The stride of my step,   

The curl of my lips.   

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,   

That’s me.

So happy International Women's Day to all the amazing, wonderful women I know, and to the men who appreciate and cherish us for being that way.

My Visit to the Fallopionologist - Part One of my Journey

2/20/15

I have been anxiously awaiting this appointment since I set it up a month or two ago. I am nervous that I will have to argue my case to the doctor, because I’m young and I’ve heard that it can be hard to convince someone to do this operation without some haggling. I’ve been suffering a heavy depressive episode for a solid week now, however, and I think that fact alone will be enough to push my case in the right direction.

I sit in the waiting room at the Women and Children’s Pavilion and take glances at the other patients. I wonder if some of them are here because they’re already planning their families. I’m almost smug as I think to myself that I won’t have to worry about starting a conventional family – that I have decided to take this step and define my own version.

After I’ve been called in to the doctor’s room and had my vitals taken, I sit alone staring out the window. I wonder if I should be staring at my phone when the doctor comes in, or if that makes me look like I’m too immature to make adult decisions. I’m not sure if this is an irrational thought or not, but I pull my book out anyway. I want to appear educated, well informed, capable of making such a big decision at a young age.

When the doctor – a man I chose specifically based on his experience in this field – walks in, the first words out of his mouth are, “I will do a tubal litigation on you, but…”

Although I’m listening to the rest of his speech, I’m so relieved that I won’t have to fight him to do the surgery that a smile begins to creep on my face immediately.  I pay close attention as he tells me all the things I’ve already heard and researched – this is an irreversible decision, I may come to regret it, and if I ever choose to get pregnant in the future it will cost at least $30,000 with no guarantee of success. He tells me that there are methods of birth control that I can use now that aren’t permanent, and they often have the added bonus of reducing my periods. I can tell that he is genuinely concerned, but I can also tell he knows I’ve already made up my mind – he only tells me the facts out of obligation, not as a means to persuade me to alter my decision.

He looks over my file and confirms a few things about me and we discuss which procedure we both think would be best suited for my body – a body that has never given birth to a live child and is now opting out of ever doing so.

I again find myself staring out the window. I’m looking at the trees and letting the weight of my decision sink in again. I look at the trees to ground myself. I have always thought trees to my closest connection to God. I let all the thoughts and doubts tumble around in my brain. I see those trees and remind myself that there is beauty in the world, even when I can’t see it. I think, “Is it selfish to not produce a child to experience this beauty?” I think, of course, of the traumatizing and brutal miscarriage I had 7 years ago. I think of how I’d always yearned, ached to give birth to a child of my own. I think about how beautiful and humbling it would be to let God place a human inside me, let it grow, and birth it into the world.

And yet…that is what I can’t do. This world is the reason I can’t do it. While part of me will always grieve the fact that I won’t experience the miracle (and oh, it’s such a beautiful miracle!) of childbirth, I know in my heart that wanting to birth a child is not enough reason to have a child. Because when you have a child, it’s a living, binding contract with that human for the rest of your lives. And I’m not prepared to make that commitment. I will never be prepared. There are too many factors involved in raising a human being, and I respectfully acknowledge that this will not be my lot in life.

I think again about the world, and it confirms my decision again. I think about the depression and anxiety I have lived with all my life and I think about how selfish I would be to pass that on to my child. I think about the way I was treated by my peers when I didn’t fit their standards, and I know how helplessly heartbroken I would feel watching my offspring experience the same. I think that, even if they do fit in with the world, is that really what I would want? Do I want to have a child who submits to peer pressure, follows the crowd into potentially dark territory? Do I want to watch from the sidelines as my child grows up and chooses a path that may lead it away from me? Do I want to watch a human being that I created and love experience heartache, fear, anxiety, seclusion?

This may sound harsh, and I know that not everyone will understand or agree with me. I know they will tell me that there is also so much joy and beauty in the world. I know this to be true, 100%. I won’t dispute that. But we live in an age of terror, and I genuinely fear things will never get better. We live in a world where people kill each other over race, religion, and sexuality. We live in a world that produces “role models” in the form of pop singers and misogynist celebrities. We live in a world where people hide behind their keyboards while going out of their way to ridicule, shame, harass, and torment their online peers.  For as much chance as a child has of experiencing joy in this world, I do not believe I will ever be ready to take that chance, especially if it is born with the same mental darkness that I've been plagued with.

There are many other reasons, of course. I like to sleep in. I love to travel. I hate being tied down to anything. I like to know that I can, at any moment, uproot myself and move onto something new. Additionally, I’ve worked with children for over a decade. I love those children endlessly. I have loved many of them as if they were my own. At the end of my life, I can happily say that I played a positive, influential role in their lives. So even without producing babies of my own, I have still impacted the lives of many. This brings me satisfaction and I am eternally humbled to have been entrusted with the care of other people’s treasures. The loves of their lives have also been the loves of mine. I have done my best to guide them, protect them, and teach them as I would had they had been mine. To have been able to share my heart with them is something I will always be grateful for. I believe God gave me the gift of compassion to care for many, even if it means sacrificing caring for just one.

All these thoughts enter and exit my head slowly and methodically. I don’t realize until later, but this is my way of grieving what could have been while also fully embracing what will be. When I leave the doctor’s office, the delight and relief I feel is the happiest moment I've had in weeks, and I know I’m doing the right thing.

Bee Life Pt. 2

My friends! Only a week and a half has passed since my last posting, but it feels like I've been here much longer. The family and I have developed a really great dynamic that makes my living situation as comfortable as could be desired. I'm feeling quite at home here, and the parents both seem to like me.

In the last week I've learned as much, if not more, as I did my first week. This time, though, it's been even better since I've felt accepted enough to offer my own feedback now and then. I don't always, since I know I'm still a beginner, but it feels good to know that I can speak up. B has encouraged me to do so, actually, saying that it helps strengthen our communication. The fact that anyone has to encourage me to talk more must seem surprising, but I'm actually pretty quiet here. B told me I'm "hard to read" which I don't think I've ever had anyone tell me before. He also says I'm intimidating. That I'm more familiar hearing.

I've been doing a lot of gardening. When I moved here I neglected to tell them that I have somewhat of a black thumb and tend to kill any plant I come in contact with. I figured that it can't be something I'm born with, that I can overcome it, so I kept silent. As of yesterday I've successfully planted two entire gardens. It took me three or four days, but I estimate I planted 100+ plants by hand, not counting the sunflowers I sowed in another field. After B taught me how to work the drip line system, I also spent a lot of time working on that (which is why the gardening took so long). For those of you who don't know, a drip line system is a series of plastic hoses set up to a central water line. We install small emitters up and down the hose alongside the plants so that when we turn on the main line (or set the timer up to turn on twice a day, like we did), all the plants get watered at once. Here's a sample picture that I didn't draw (don't sue me, Internet).

I've never planted a garden before, and I assumed it was pretty self explanatory.It was a bit harder, or maybe just more arduous, than I'd planned on. We had to dig up all the previous plants that were there that hadn't worked out, so that was three rows of space we cleared up. Then of course we had to use the rototiller on the whole thing to de-weed everything. After that I planted row upon row of plants myself. If all goes well, in two or three months we'll be able to start eating fresh veggies that I grew myself! 

Whenever I garden, I get really excited at the idea that everything in life comes from little to nothing. These tiny seeds, anywhere from the size of a comma to a dime holds within them the ability to grow into something life sustaining. It just blows my mind. 

In addition to gardening, I've spent several various days with our bees! We picked them up last week from where they'd been for the past few months. I've been stung a total of five times. Currently my left eye is swollen halfway shut due to the sting I received on my left temple yesterday. Other than that, all my stings have reacted quite well. That's another thing that amazes me - the size of a bees' stinger is hair thin, but it hurts like a bitch. We dissected a couple bees last week so B could show me their anatomy, and it's incredible how sharp their stings are! They're also barbed, which helps them lodge into the skin. When you get a chance, you should definitely Google it. Every part of the bee is so perfectly and amazingly designed, I can't get over it.

I can get into what exactly I'm learning to do with the bees (answer: everything there is to learn) later, but I want to talk about our swarm calls first. When bees relocate, they travel in a swarm (around their queen, of course). They rest often because a queen bee is unaccustomed to flying long distances. When they do this, they temporarily hang out in places like branches, roofs, or wherever they land. Meanwhile, they send scouts out to look for a new home to build their next hive. When this happens near someone's house, the owner's first reaction is usually to call pest control. Well B has set it up with all the local pest control businesses to call him in this situation instead of eliminating the bees (they are so important to our ecosystem, guys!) and then he goes and removes the swarm himself. He charges a small removal fee and we get to keep the bees. We study them to see how healthy they are and if we can use them in our own hives. In the last week (swarms start in the spring) we've responded to two swarm calls. Both of them were about 45-55 minutes away, but the bees we got out of the deal are doing really well here with us now. It's one of my favorite parts of life here. When we're out there, we get a chance to educate people about the bees. This is crucial, because once someone's interest is sparked they're less likely to kill any future bees they might find on their property. Awareness is key! Always. 

Among everything I've done recently, here are some of the highlights:

~ I got to pull honey from frames for the first time. This involves uncapping the honey with a hot knife, putting it into this metal spinning machine to basically shoot the honey out of the frame cells, then double straining it. B says I should tell all my friends that I make good honey. Obviously I can't take all the credit, since the bees did most of the work, but I'll take it. 

~ The 21 month old has gotten to the point of hugging my legs when she sees me. The way she pronounces my name is pretty unintelligible, or I'd try to type it out for you, but the fact that she tries is pretty sweet.

~ I was sent on my first bee mission by myself! Two of our hives are down the road at a friend's. We took the queen out of one of the hives recently because she was getting too old, so B sent me to check out how the hive was doing without her/ if the bees were making a new queen. I was pretty excited that he trusted me enough to send me out on my own.

~ B says we'll build a hive for my very own that we keep separate from the other hives so I can learn more that way. He didn't go into too much detail, but I'm pretty excited.

I'm just loving my life here. For those of you who didn't see my Facebook status, it looks like I'll be staying here up until possibly July. I can hardly fathom how much more there is to learn, but I'm so excited and blessed to be here. I love and miss you all!