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During & after the trip
So what was the trip like, and what did I get from it?
While I was in the Southwest, I met an astounding number of people, some Hispanic, some Native American (Dine, Hopi, various Pueblos along the Rio Grande, and Zuni), some immigrants from other countries. Not nearly as many of European decent as there are in New England, to the point that at one point the color of my untanned skin utterly perplexed me. They were, for the most part, friendly and helpful. This is actually true of my interactions with people in general; they are mostly friendly and helpful.
I heard and read a fair bit of the various Native American cultures and histories, with - to be expected - conflicting accounts of who was where first. In many cases, I suspect this is because many of the tribes out there are made up of a few different sets of people who came together - or back together - later. I saw the art created, both to be sold and as part of daily life, as well as the hardships that are the lot of everyone in a climate where water is astoundingly scarce and rainclouds are a symbol of the best possible future ahead (both literally and figuratively). I had reason and excuses to be physically active in ways that it's difficult to do here, at least since I was not living on campus. I was reminded of how much happier I am when I have reason to be physcically active, and volunteering on a college campus means that I have a small amount of that still.
Were it not for the attachment I have to Boston, for the people in it, the social opportunities I have found here, the prospects - both scholastic and for employment - available here, the fact that there _is_ public transit, I could see myself living in the SouthWest. Possibly Colorado Springs, possibly Albuquerque. For the light, the sun, the warmth. For not having had even the slightest twinge of seasonal affective disorder all summer (_not_ something I can say in Boston, for reasons of it sometimes being cloudy for days). For that being poor is not an automatic problem, if one is also happy. It's a place that I could see myself retiring, should it turn out to be a possibility. Not a place I would be happy now, even if I did not
have personal attachments here. Not long-term. I loved visiting, though.
I learned about the type of pottery that is done using coils, and was reminded yet again that I really want to take a class in pottery. Now, most probably, in hand-done instead of wheel-thrown. I saw many things of beauty, both hand-made and natural. I had places to hike and explore and enjoy. I had so much quiet. So many stars.
I had trials and tribulations, and survived them all. Often with help, of course, but I am of the opinion that it is absurd to try to handle difficult situations entirely on one's own, if one does not have to. Especially when in an unfamiliar location.
I did things that I was not planning to do, and did most of what I had wanted to do. I took random detours to things that were suggested, or that had interesting road signs. I thoroughly enjoyed my Hidden Southwest book. I have many places I would like to see again, and many more that I would like to see next time, in part due to suggestions from very friendly people who live there.
I learned again who I am on my own, without so many things I _had_ to do, when my life was mainly about following my immediate desires. And, again, I am reminded that this is something I greatly enjoy doing - and indeed need to do every so often, to break out of my day-to-day
patterns - as well as being something which is hard on me. Having no stable home for three months, plus the transition states around both ends of the trip is not easy on me.
Having to handle things suddenly being very different from what I expected is both hard on me and good for me to remember that I _can_ do. When I have people to lean on in that situation I will generally tend not to try to cope with difficulties on my own (it being easier on me, and on people who care about me, to not have me do that sort of high stress things). I was reminded that I _can_ handle plans needing to change at the last minute, in part by leaning on local help as needed, as well as giving myself the time I need to adjust to the sudden change.
Sometimes it's difficult to remember who I am when I've got a lot going on, whether because I'm working full-time or in school, or because I've got a lot going on socially. Just as the meditation retreat helped, this helped in a different - and for me, more valuable - way. I _like_ people, quite a lot. And, when I don't get a regular dose of people from living with them, as I had learned the last time I lived alone, I miss them and seek people out. I seriously missed my people during that trip, at the very same time as valuing the time where I was largely on my own. I need reminders that I need people, sometimes.
I do; this is why I should not live alone, even though in some regard I derive value from it. It's a lot harder to seek people out when you need people interaction if you don't live with them. This does go along with it being harder to get time to yourself when you do, of course. And trying to define 'time to myself' is itself complicated. Time to recharge, which varies depending on what I need right then. Out west, I could - and did - just go for random walks and explore. Being as it is so sparsely populated, and fairly empty of things that block my view, it's much harder for me to get lost if I just go for a walk. Here, weather, surroundings being largely full of buildings and people, it's just harder to go for a walk and derive sufficient benefit from it.
I got a reminder of who I am, with many fewer distractions. I got a reminder of who I miss, how much I miss them, and why I miss them. I got beauty, lots of beauty. I got memories of things too enormous to comprehend, which were nonetheless welcoming places. I got freedom until it was no longer freedom, and a bit past that point. I got a reminder of how much I need to have a home. I got quiet. So thick I could cover myself with it, wrap myself up with it, so complete that when tourists started being around to break it, it was offensive to me. I was welcomed, by many, many people. None of whom were my home, my tribe, my people. But they were still people, friendly, helpful, and kind. I also got reminders that my instincts are better than I give them credit for, and possibly being a cultural clash is not enough reason to be overly forgiving of subtle signals. I got to learn what I like and do not like in pottery, as well as what makes a piece better or worse than another piece. I learned terminology for things I didn't know I needed words for. I got my break from being in work mode, many times over. I got, in short, an extended holiday.
While I was in the Southwest, I met an astounding number of people, some Hispanic, some Native American (Dine, Hopi, various Pueblos along the Rio Grande, and Zuni), some immigrants from other countries. Not nearly as many of European decent as there are in New England, to the point that at one point the color of my untanned skin utterly perplexed me. They were, for the most part, friendly and helpful. This is actually true of my interactions with people in general; they are mostly friendly and helpful.
I heard and read a fair bit of the various Native American cultures and histories, with - to be expected - conflicting accounts of who was where first. In many cases, I suspect this is because many of the tribes out there are made up of a few different sets of people who came together - or back together - later. I saw the art created, both to be sold and as part of daily life, as well as the hardships that are the lot of everyone in a climate where water is astoundingly scarce and rainclouds are a symbol of the best possible future ahead (both literally and figuratively). I had reason and excuses to be physically active in ways that it's difficult to do here, at least since I was not living on campus. I was reminded of how much happier I am when I have reason to be physcically active, and volunteering on a college campus means that I have a small amount of that still.
Were it not for the attachment I have to Boston, for the people in it, the social opportunities I have found here, the prospects - both scholastic and for employment - available here, the fact that there _is_ public transit, I could see myself living in the SouthWest. Possibly Colorado Springs, possibly Albuquerque. For the light, the sun, the warmth. For not having had even the slightest twinge of seasonal affective disorder all summer (_not_ something I can say in Boston, for reasons of it sometimes being cloudy for days). For that being poor is not an automatic problem, if one is also happy. It's a place that I could see myself retiring, should it turn out to be a possibility. Not a place I would be happy now, even if I did not
have personal attachments here. Not long-term. I loved visiting, though.
I learned about the type of pottery that is done using coils, and was reminded yet again that I really want to take a class in pottery. Now, most probably, in hand-done instead of wheel-thrown. I saw many things of beauty, both hand-made and natural. I had places to hike and explore and enjoy. I had so much quiet. So many stars.
I had trials and tribulations, and survived them all. Often with help, of course, but I am of the opinion that it is absurd to try to handle difficult situations entirely on one's own, if one does not have to. Especially when in an unfamiliar location.
I did things that I was not planning to do, and did most of what I had wanted to do. I took random detours to things that were suggested, or that had interesting road signs. I thoroughly enjoyed my Hidden Southwest book. I have many places I would like to see again, and many more that I would like to see next time, in part due to suggestions from very friendly people who live there.
I learned again who I am on my own, without so many things I _had_ to do, when my life was mainly about following my immediate desires. And, again, I am reminded that this is something I greatly enjoy doing - and indeed need to do every so often, to break out of my day-to-day
patterns - as well as being something which is hard on me. Having no stable home for three months, plus the transition states around both ends of the trip is not easy on me.
Having to handle things suddenly being very different from what I expected is both hard on me and good for me to remember that I _can_ do. When I have people to lean on in that situation I will generally tend not to try to cope with difficulties on my own (it being easier on me, and on people who care about me, to not have me do that sort of high stress things). I was reminded that I _can_ handle plans needing to change at the last minute, in part by leaning on local help as needed, as well as giving myself the time I need to adjust to the sudden change.
Sometimes it's difficult to remember who I am when I've got a lot going on, whether because I'm working full-time or in school, or because I've got a lot going on socially. Just as the meditation retreat helped, this helped in a different - and for me, more valuable - way. I _like_ people, quite a lot. And, when I don't get a regular dose of people from living with them, as I had learned the last time I lived alone, I miss them and seek people out. I seriously missed my people during that trip, at the very same time as valuing the time where I was largely on my own. I need reminders that I need people, sometimes.
I do; this is why I should not live alone, even though in some regard I derive value from it. It's a lot harder to seek people out when you need people interaction if you don't live with them. This does go along with it being harder to get time to yourself when you do, of course. And trying to define 'time to myself' is itself complicated. Time to recharge, which varies depending on what I need right then. Out west, I could - and did - just go for random walks and explore. Being as it is so sparsely populated, and fairly empty of things that block my view, it's much harder for me to get lost if I just go for a walk. Here, weather, surroundings being largely full of buildings and people, it's just harder to go for a walk and derive sufficient benefit from it.
I got a reminder of who I am, with many fewer distractions. I got a reminder of who I miss, how much I miss them, and why I miss them. I got beauty, lots of beauty. I got memories of things too enormous to comprehend, which were nonetheless welcoming places. I got freedom until it was no longer freedom, and a bit past that point. I got a reminder of how much I need to have a home. I got quiet. So thick I could cover myself with it, wrap myself up with it, so complete that when tourists started being around to break it, it was offensive to me. I was welcomed, by many, many people. None of whom were my home, my tribe, my people. But they were still people, friendly, helpful, and kind. I also got reminders that my instincts are better than I give them credit for, and possibly being a cultural clash is not enough reason to be overly forgiving of subtle signals. I got to learn what I like and do not like in pottery, as well as what makes a piece better or worse than another piece. I learned terminology for things I didn't know I needed words for. I got my break from being in work mode, many times over. I got, in short, an extended holiday.