Honeycomb Club #2: The competing desires of being alive
On living within the paradoxical desire for both freedom and groundedness.
Dear reader,
Inside me there are two wolves. One says “ground, root, find your home,” the other says “hit the road, see the world, be free.”
Against all the best advice, I am feeding both wolves. SOS.
Over the last six years, the longest I’ve lived somewhere is 18 months. On average, I’ve spent just about 3-4 months in one place.
My most intense bout of travel yet took place just before I moved back to the states with my partner last summer. We traveled at breakneck speed through Guatemala, India, Fiji, Vietnam, Thailand, Morocco, Spain, Ireland, the US, and Mexico all within the span of one calendar year.
I lamented my lack of groundedness the entire time. All I wanted was an ergonomic desk facing a window overlooking some trees. A reliable coffee maker and a place to set up a little altar.
No matter where we were, my productivity suffered. We were simply moving at too quick of a pace to really root, ground, and get shit done.
It was also one of the best years of my life. I went spear fishing with my sister in Fiji, trekked through the Himalayas, learned how to surf, and rode a camel through the Sahara desert.
The hardest part to admit is that while I look back with the fondest of memories, my fears and anxieties around my lack of productive output made living in the present sometimes downright excruciating.
For instance, while I was working from the floor of Glacier National Park’s gift shop during a camping trip, I yearned for our spacious 7th floor apartment in Morocco, where we could see the ocean from our bedroom and eat fresh tuna steaks on our balcony.
I failed to remember how the shadeless apartment would flood with scorching sunlight every day from 1-6 pm, making it near impossible to get any work done in the afternoon.
In Vietnam, as we moved somewhere new every week for over a month, I ached for the slower pace of travel we had taken in India. As I worked from guesthouse beds, windowless city apartments, and hole-in-the-wall cafes while hotspotting from my phone, I kept wishing I was back in the Himalayan foothills, doing yoga on our guesthouse balcony.
Of course, I was conveniently forgetting how laughably common the power outages were, including the time a monsoon blindsided us and we were stranded in a village tea shop with piles of work waiting on our laptops and no internet for hours.
The culmination of all the go-go-going was a final decision to stop trying to travel and work at the same time. I no longer wanted to move from place to place while holding the expectation that I’d get anything done. I was sick of the uphill slog to be productive, which simultaneously robbed me of the joys of really enjoying where I was in the present moment.
(This also conveniently aligned with our plans, as my partner was headed back to the US for law school, and I had decided to join him.)
And so I dove headfirst into creating a sense of home, rootedness, groundedness. I bought an aeropress, a standing desk, a fucking mug warmer to place on that standing desk.
I printed and framed photos of my beloved friends and hung them up around me. I got a library card and became a regular at the farmer’s market. I ordered a salt lamp, started pulling a weekly tarot card, recovered my crafting bin from college, and invested in the somatic luxuries of a foam roller and a foot massager.
I bought renters insurance and a goddamn swiffer mop.
I love my routines and all the little things I’ve acquired over the last year that make it lovely to live here. I have been here, for better or worse. I have been here, whether I like it or not.
So why is it that just 7 months later, the itch has struck again? To up and leave once more, as I’ve done so many times. To renounce all my little comfort items, and hit the road this summer to volunteer and backpack my way through Central America.
It’s already happening. I’ve bought the tickets.
I’m planning to stay in national parks, jungles, rainforests, and tiny beach towns with little infrastructure. Yesterday I was considering whether I want to bring my laptop stand or my aeropress. What if I went without all of it?
I need a light pack anyway. Best to cut out as much as possible.
And so I find myself feeding both wolves at once.
I’ve yet to reach any conclusions on this facet of my personality. In truth, I think enjoying the present as it unfolds always comes with a taste of difficulty. It’s so often only in hindsight, when we can see how the plot of our lives unfolded, that we can reach a sense of peace and joy about what we’ve experienced up until this moment.
I know that this summer will challenge me in old and new ways. I don’t want to hop on my flight to Guatemala with the expectation that somehow, working from abroad will just magically work this time. I’m counting on struggling to get things done. I’m counting on late buses, getting caught in the rain, losing cell service, and getting frustrated when things don’t go my way.
Maybe that’s the best I can do: walk towards the future with my eyes wide open to how it’s always a little easier to look back and love what you’ve done than to love what you’re doing while you’re doing it.
And maybe, just maybe, that’ll make it a little easier to find peace and presence in the moment.
Even when the bus is late. Even when I get caught in the rain without an umbrella. Because I don’t want to be miserable and wet only to look back months later with a teary-eyed nostalgia for Costa Rica’s rainy season. I’d rather pull a Drew Barrymore, perhaps making a fool of myself but humbly staying in the moment regardless.
1. CONTEMPLATE THE IMPERMANENCE OF ALL THINGS
How We Live Is How We Die, book by Pema Chödrön
I’m a big fan of Pema Chödrön, though this is my first time reading this specific book. I was particularly struck by the mantra she encourages her retreat guests to memorize in order to contemplate the impermanence of all things:
“Like a shooting star, a visual fault, a candle flame, an illusion, a dewdrop, a water bubble, a dream, lightning, a cloud: regard conditioned dharmas like that.”
Chödrön explains: “this verse is meant to impress impermanence on our minds so we can get used to its presence in our lives—and so we can learn to become friends with it. ‘Conditioned dharmas’ means anything that has come into being: anything that has begun and is in the process of changing and at a certain point will end—in other words, all phenomena.”
2. FANTASIZE ABOUT WORKING AT AN INDIE RECORD STORE IN THE 90’S
Empire Records, film by Allan Moyle
An impeccably fun 90’s movie about a ragtag team of young folks who work at a record store. Prepare for friend envy and first-job envy.
One of my favorite things about the film is that while it’s got that classic trope of underdog independents vs a big box chain, so little of the movie is dedicated to following that tired storyline. In fact, without spoiling it too much, the employees saving the record store is by far the least interesting aspect of the movie’s plot. Oh, and the soundtrack is absolutely banging, too.
3. ASK RICH WHITE DUDES IF THEY’RE ACTUALLY EVEN HAVING ANY FUN
“Are You Havin’ Any Fun,” song by Elaine Stritch
This is possibly my life’s manifesto put to song. It’s jaunty, it’s fun, it’s a little fucking wild. I’ll tease you with the opening lines, though please know that there is NO replacement for Stritch’s delivery and so you must listen to it as well:
“Hey!
Fellows with a million smackers and nervous indigestion,
Rich fellows,
Eating milk and crackers, I'll ask you one question:
Are you having any fun?
What you getting out of living?
Who cares for what you've got if you're not having any fun?”
1. BUILD AN ALTAR OF PRECIOUS NOTHINGS
Carve out a teensy space for your little beloved scraps of matter. Think: the lucky penny you picked up last week, the feather your niece handed you on a walk, a half used candle you’ve owned for a decade, a postcard from a friend you hold dear. Let it be a testament to the ways we can create meaning out of anything, and beauty out of that meaning alone.
Try it out: collect a handful of errant knick-knacks and tchotchkes and gather them in one place. Arrange them mindfully. Consider putting everything on a silk scarf, a high bookshelf, or a nook in your kitchen.
2. PUT A NEW TWIST ON AN OLD CLASSIC
It’s easy to fall into a bit of a rut when cooking meals. We know what we like, and so we execute that over and over again. My partner and I are both traveling this summer, so we have a lot of pantry items to get through. I decided to use up the rest of our rice noodles by making a cold spicy noodle dish. I used my favorite peanut sauce recipe, but I took out the peanut butter, replaced the soy sauce with fish sauce as we need to use that up too, and the vinegar with limes because, why not?
Give it a go: push yourself to create a new recipe or adapt an old one, but using just the items you have on hand. Cut up the vegetables that are rotting away in your fridge, zhuzh it up with a new sauce. Swap flour for ground oats, or sugar for maple syrup. Having to be resourceful is a wonderful way to infuse a little creativity in your cooking!
3. GROUND YOURSELF INTO SPRING’S INTENSE BLOOMING ENERGY
From A Year In Practice: Seasonal Rituals and Prompts to Awaken Cycles of Creative Expression by
I’ve just checked this book out from the library and am immersing myself in the chapter on spring rituals and practices. I highly recommend you check out the book yourself for the full chapter, as well as the holistic practices and prompts Suskin includes for the other seasons of the year. In the spring chapter, Suskin poses a series of insightful questions to harness the intense energy of the season in our creative lives. Here are some of my favorites:
“Describe in detail some of the things you now accept that you once thought were impossible.
As you envision the next steps for this moment of newness in your practice, write a pep talk for yourself that focuses on an area that feels lacking.
Make an inspiration list. What best informs your practice during spring? If you lose focus, read over this list and home in on the energy it supplies.
Take time to envision the most ideal outcome you can imagine for the projects that are calling to you. Really sit and see yourself in the future space of completion. What does it look like? You don’t have to see every detail, just a glimpse will do. Let this vision ground you as you commit to your practice.”
Try for yourself: take time to journal out your answers to one or a few of the questions above. For an extra juicy spring ritual, set aside a few minutes to do the visualization in number four.
That’s all for now, pal. Talk soon!
Katie
i have felt this way many times before! longing to travel when i'm not, longing the office when i am. I always felt ungrateful for the opportunities I had. It's freeing seeing it's something that happens to more people. Thanks for writing this