A Journey to Change

There is a phrase, and it goes a little like this:

The hardest things in life are often the most rewarding.

I am hoping that by the end of my journey in Costa Rica I will have a new appreciation for this truism. 

I have been very lucky in that I never wanted for anything necessary. Often, I don’t even want for unnecessary things. I have always had food, clean water, and a place to sleep- the necessities of life. On top of these commodities, I have also never been in need of clothing, entertainment, or affection. My mother and father are fortunate and persistent enough to have stable jobs and a comfortable combined income. They have never neglected or abused me.

I have been very lucky, but because of these things, I have never truly worked hard to earn something. Yes, I finished high school and am pursuing a college degree, but even those things have come to me relatively easy and without too much tedious work. At the best, I am a quick learner. At the worst, I am lazy and unmotivated. 

The things I have worked on the hardest in my life are my drawings, and I cannot describe to you the satisfaction of toiling for countless hours on minute details to be rewarded with a stunning piece of work. Usually, I am even too lazy to trouble myself with detailed work. Perpetually I am falling short of truly working hard; however, sometimes those terribly hard things can be taken one step at a time.

Acts of valor and perseverance need not be grand gestures of bravery or toil (not to belittle in any way these acts for they are immeasurably admirable). Sometimes the smallest actions betray a larger sense of dedication or bravado. Perhaps my views are this way in order to justify, in some manner, my laziness, but I hold them none-the-less.

Manifestations of such quality appear without much ado and don’t leave much of an impression, but they shape who we are. For example, perhaps you don’t run ten miles every day or perhaps you can’t manage to do a single pushup, but you take the stairs or  walk you dog or play outside with your kids. Maybe you haven’t rescued a baby from a burning building, but you adopted an old cat from the pound or you offered your seat to someone on the bus. These seemingly insignificant or unmemorable behaviors build one on top of another and create that same sense of reward and benefit.

This is how I feel I have been living my life. I can’t run a single lap without hyperventilating, but I walk a mile almost every day either to or from Tirimbina. Often, I walk both to and from Tirimbina. I haven’t done any acts of heroism, but I pick up the trash I see on campus, I thank ever person who has helped me in some way. When I am afraid to do something (assuming this something isn’t potentially fatal), I try to take two steps forward and do it anyway.

I didn’t speak about it, but in the last days leading up to my departure, I was terrified. I already missed my family, my friends, my bed- but I left with my chin parallel to the ground. I didn’t have any clue how this experience was going to unravel, but I am so glad that I didn’t back down. It is muggy and uncomfortable, I sometimes ache to hug someone familiar, but if given the chance to change anything I would decline. I would not trade four months of this sky and this sweaty adventure for four months of familiarity and comfort.

I struggle often with myself. Finding value in my experiences and my contributions (or lack thereof) leaves me feeling vacant and useless. I have done so little with my life so far, so I like to live my life in steps. I can’t save the world, but I can save water, electricity, paper. I can’t feed every empty stomach, but I can change the way I consume resources, pay more attention to the corporations I support, actively seek change.

Coming on this trip has been the most challenging step I’ve taken in my life. It is hard. My legs ache from walking. I have, quite literally, scratched my bug bites to the point of bleeding. I miss stupid things like movies (in English) and rewindable TV. I am reminded every day how limited my Spanish vocabulary is, how poor my grammar must sound. Every person, sight, meal- is different, strange (even the hotdogs aren’t the same), but I’m here. I’ve done it. I’m learning and growing and (hopefully) becoming a person that can change the terrible things in the world. And that- is a different kind of reward.