May 31, 2024
Salt Lake City, Utah
Riding a city bus in Ireland is equivalent to being in a human car wash. Take your foot off the brake and wait...and wait... and wait, pray you fit on the track, glide along in neutral, rain pours, tree branches whack your arms-face-hair- back, cloudy rainbow foam surrounds you, (it starts to smell really good) the high-powered wind begins, and then the process repeats... rain pours, tree branches whack. You arrive clean but dripping wet with disheveled parts that need adjusting. That’s what was happening while having a conversation with a white man in his 70s sitting next to me. “Why are you traveling alone?” He asked. “Isn’t that scary for you?” What he was really saying was, "isn't that scary for you as a woman all alone?". I smiled at the familiar question and told him the same thing I told my mom:
I’m not alone.
I’ve got my capable self.
And the world by my side.
Before becoming a world traveler, I worked as an elementary public-school teacher and then district specialist for 25 years. In the months before leaving, I found myself in one toxic situation after another. Between legislators deciding that I could not teach equity or share a picture of my family, and folks who let their ego get in the way of making sound decisions... my body and soul broke apart. It started with a lack of energy and tumbled into heart problems, anxiety attacks, and gaining 25 pounds. One morning I woke up covered in shingles that carried into my eyes. I found myself in a hospital bed questioning how I had gotten to this point. I poured through literature like "The Body Keeps the Score" and "Untethered Soul" to gain a clearer picture about why I had gotten to where I was, but finding out how to fix the situation... that felt as blurry as a Monday morning hangover.
A visit to my doctor provided the medicine I needed, but in the form of a pep talk. Dr. Wisdom sat next to me, held my hand, and said "Becky, I have known you for 5 years. In that time, I have watched you acknowledge and leave a sexually abusive relationship with your husband, come out as gay, navigate relationships, steer through a PTSD diagnosis, and much of that without support. Maybe 25 pounds is worth the knowledge you have now. The best medicine and diet plan you need is to be kind to yourself, give yourself space to heal". I was desperate, yes, but also feeling like this was the direction I needed to take. "How do I do it?" I asked Dr. Wisdom, “Well,”, she said, “What would you do if your children came to you saying the same thing?” I told her I would talk in soft calm tones and find them a place where they felt loved and could heal. "Then that's what you need to do. Put yourself in a place where you feel loved and safe. And not for a day. Six weeks if you can.”
I went home curious. “Six weeks in a place I feel loved and safe… does that exist?” I asked myself as I stared at a blank sheet of watercolor paper. I pulled paints out from under my bed and wet my brush. Closing my eyes, I asked myself again, "What place makes you feel loved?". My paintbrush began moving, slowly at first and then picking up speed. When I was done painting, I looked at it for a minute. A rock wall. Green grass. Grey skies. It felt familiar, although I was certain I had never been. It reminded me of stories I had read about my sheep herding Grandmother who lived in a small village in Ireland. A place where they wrote stories, and then stuck them in the cracks of rock walls... like my picture. It was where writers like Yates found solace. It clicked. I needed to go to Ireland. Perhaps my grandmother's homeland had the answer for me. "Hey, Siri, tell me the name of a small farming town in Ireland off the northern coast of Ireland" she listed off a few until I heard the familiar name... Sligo. I hopped online and found a booking place for long term stays. There it was. A little cottage on the ocean, 20 miles south of Sligo. I read that Ireland was the first country to legalize gay marriage. That was a step in the “safe” direction. "That's where I need to go", I said. And so, on my return trip to my doctor, I told her that I found a place that felt safe and where I felt love. “Now, I said, I just have to figure out how I’m going to make that happen.” Then she gave me my second dose of medicine "Becky, start finding a way to say yes to yourself.”
I did. I went home that day, and I wrote a list of all the ways I could think of to travel to this tiny little town in Ireland where I can stick a poem in the crack of a wall.
My finances were tight, month-to-month was a challenge. Looking at all the obstacles, helped me think of all the ways I could say yes to myself. I figured that if I sold my home and my car, I could travel in the summer while on break. I circled that idea in my notebook and got straight to work, calling my friend & realtor.
“Yes " was put into motion. I sold my house. I sold my car. With practice, it became easier to get rid of belongings like bikes and sound bowls. Once I got rid of furniture, it became easier to donate my clothes. I didn’t have a budget for storage, so I just started giving things away. I held a garage sale. Sold couches for $40, just to get rid of them. It wasn’t easy overnight. But day by day, I started to notice that I felt lighter. The less I had, the lighter my soul felt. Saying "yes" to me and "no" to things genuinely became easy. Well, except for one thing... books and pictures. That never stopped being hard, getting rid of them never got easy. There is a cost to everything. I sifted through important documents and photos time and time again until I was down to what fit into a shoebox and handed that off to my mom.
In two months', time, the only thing I owned was a child’s size backpack filled with 4 shirts, two pairs of pants, and 5 pairs of socks and underwear. I had grand dreams about keeping three different kinds of shoes but, in the end, the only thing that would fit in my pack was a pair of sandals and the tennis shoes on my feet. That was it. If the backpack got too heavy, I knew I couldn't carry it for long. I knew my limitations. At 200 pounds, I was not in shape to carry a heavy backpack. Crazy or not, here I come.
On the last day of school, I closed my classroom door, went to my baby daughter's graduation, and then took an Uber to the airport to begin my adventure. To find a place where I could start saying yes to myself. A place where I could finally breathe again.
Several times I have been asked why I travel alone. I've heard everything from "That must be easy" or the popular "I'd love to do that but can't." Spoiler alert: I'm not traveling for fun, and sacrifices were made. Don't get me wrong, I am not naive enough to think that everyone has the ability to do this, but certainly, this has not been easy. Here is what I travel for: connection. To breathe in wild wide spaces and exhale the fear that has been holding me back. I hope that somewhere in the cracks of those rock walls is the answer I am looking for. A connection with humanity that would bind me to life. Where I can breathe. I hope that answer is in the crack of walls, dark corner alleys, bus stations... everywhere. Can love and connection be everywhere? I'm on a mission to find out. I'm about to board the plane now. I've been sleeping on the floor, inhaling a million germs because my flight was delayed, and my body is still exhausted from the shingles. Apparently, I can sleep anywhere. I'm taking a breath and whispering to myself, “yes”.
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