Finding My Way Forward

So what are you doing after January?

My own inability to answer makes the question inevitable, alluring, and addictive. When I see a gringo, it's my go-to conversation starter, and the responses are as various as the possibilities. Some people are taking the summer to travel around the continent, and others are staying put and getting ready for another year in the city. A good number are moving on to find a job in another part of the world, and more than most still have no idea and glare at me for asking. I only ask because I am trying to take bits and pieces of their answers and mold them into one of my own.

For most foreigners living in the city, we are all trying to strike that balance between leaving Chile too early and leaving too late. It's a fine line, and I've seen plenty of people falling on the wrong side of both. There is no right answer or formula to follow for the best-case scenario. All we have to go on is a gut feeling, a sense of what we know is right for us, and an ojalá cast out into the universe.

A few years ago, I made a commitment to myself that I would never leave a place without finding out what makes it beautiful. A lot of people who moved here got lost in the haze of the city, and they never made it to the point of calling Santiago their home. I remember the confusion, the doubt, and the regret I felt in my first months here. But I have seen the light shining through the cherry blossom trees and tasted the subtle complexities of carménere. I revel in the asados and the ungodly amount of mayonnaise slathered on "salads." At long last, I am starting to piece together the broken Spanish that surrounds me, and when I tell a joke, (some) people laugh. I am comfortable here, and without a doubt, this is my home.

In spite of that, I truly believe that the best time to leave a place is at the peak of my experience. Living abroad is like any relationship that won't last forever: there is a point when it turns bitter. Before I leave, I want to have seen Chile at its best and its worst, fallen in love, and smile when I remember what we shared together. I never want to feel as if there is nothing left to learn about a place or that there is no space left for me to grow. I would rather leave a place while I am still fully enthralled than wait for the magic to end.

Thankfully, Chile still has its mysteries, and we have a lot to discover about ourselves and each other. Sitting on my desk, there is a small pile of travel guides, highlighted and dog-earred to mark the places I have yet to see. Last week, I stumbled through the cueca as my partner laughed and nudged me through the steps, knowing one day, I will wave my pañuelo like a professional. I thought one year in Santiago would be enough to scratch Chile off my list. But if anything, I have realized how vast and profound this country and culture really is.

I'm not done with Chile, and once I am, there is still so much left of South America. I can't tell you first hand how Pisco form Peru compares to the Pisco here in Chile, although I'm sure my bias will get in the way. I have yet to get lost in the swarming crowds of Rio during Carnival, and of course, life here would be incomplete without waking up to the smell of roasting Colombian coffee in the morning. That only covers part of South America.

The more I travel, the more the world seems to expand. How beautiful is a beach-side thunderstorm in the Dominican Republic? How do the Himalayas and Pyrenees mountains compare to the Andes? What about the rolling green hills of Ireland? Are they as green and gorgeous as Google images makes them look? If I ever want to stop and settle down, I will have to finally find an answer to every traveler's question: when have I seen enough of the world?

I have no doubt that day will come. I know that one day, I want to find myself back in the States. I want to work in a public school and have "Mr. Rogers: English" above the door. I want to have students their freshmen year of high school and then cheer them on as they walk across the stage at graduation. I absolutely see the value of choosing a place that I can see myself in for five years, fifty, and forever. There is something extraordinary about belonging to community and being there long enough to watch it evolve. There is stability, continuity, and an unbreakable attachment to a home that is meant to be permanent.

But I am still fascinated with the life that allows me to look at a map and ask myself where I want to go next. Maybe one more year will be enough. Maybe in three years, I'll go back to the States, realize that I'm not ready, and go back out again. Maybe I'll find someone who stops me in my tracks and I'll never go home. All I know is that I don't know.

In this moment and at this place, I'm not ready to stop. No one can say where this path is leading me, least of all me. But I will follow it one step at a time, finding my direction as best as I can on the way. Right now, that next step is forward. So forward I go.

Spring in Santiago

A jar of freshly squeezed pineapple juice sits on the table, and around us, the sweet smell of hookah mixes with the springtime air. The sun pours in through the windows, bathing the room in a soft yellow. I’m having a bad Spanish day, so I have to focus on José as he tells me his story. He’s wearing a worn-out gray t-shirt, sweatpants, and his puppy dog pantuflas. I’m not sure what time it is, but it must be early afternoon. Thankfully, there’s no rush to be anywhere other than right here, right now.

The change was gradual: the sun started rising earlier, the trees went into bloom, and the birds picked up their song where they left off in the fall. But at long last, it is spring.

Naturally, I decided I was done with winter weeks ago. When I saw the first flowers of the season, I started walking through the streets of Santiago as if I was Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. I began congratulating people on surviving the winter, and I refused to wear anything heavier than a hoodie, which meant too many brisk walks to work, hunched over as strangers judged my obviously foreign ways. My spring began by a sheer force of will, and finally, the world seems to have come around to see it my way.

Naturally, my friends thought I was crazy. My roommates told me to go put on “real” pants, and my coworkers dutifully pointed to the calendar hanging on the wall. September 23rd is the Spring Equinox and the official end of winter. No sooner, and no later. I found myself struggling to explain the extent to which I needed this new season to start, with or without the support of reality.

The magic of spring cannot be contained in inked boxes on a calendar. Spring begins with each inhale I take into my lungs just for the simple pleasure of breathing. Spring grows in the deepening hues of pinks and purples that stain the soft skin of the magnolias. And it ends with each petal that falls from the cherry blossom trees on my morning run. Another breath, another flower, another falling. This season is an endless series of beginnings, endings, and the lives that fill in those spaces.

For me, spring isn’t just about the world changing: it is also about changing the way that I see the world. Winter passed by in a blur of grey and monotony. I found my routine, and I walked it every day for months on end. But with spring, I am reminded that my time here is short. Each day, each moment, is a separate experience that begins and ends, and it’s up to me to live it fully. ‘Tis the season for going to the restaurants I always walked by but didn’t have the money or the time to go into. Now is my chance to discover new parks and lounge in the sun with a mote de huesillo in hand. I have paved a path, but this is my last opportunity to break away and find out everything that is waiting in the periphery. Sometimes, that deviation means an impromptu weekend trip out of the city, and at others, it simply means walking down a street I’ve never taken before.

One of the most beautiful tragedies of seasons is the fact that they end. I cannot hold onto spring any more than I can hold onto sunshine. But I can stretch out my hand and feel it as it passes by. In December, I will still say goodbye to Santiago. I don’t have a day picked out or a plan in mind, but some part of me is telling me that it is time to move on to something new. So for the months to come, I will cherish the feeling of shorts on my body and sun on my skin. Spring is a breaking open and bursting out. It is a brown budding green: a life that is starting to be lived again.

My time here is slipping  through my fingers day by day. I have three months, and all I can do now is reach out, make contact, and eventually, let go.