Surrender
I have left the Philippines and am now in New Zealand. A destination I had not even considered when I first set out on this journey. A rented station wagon was here waiting for me when I arrived. A small detail I had planned out when I first realized it was time to move on from Manila. Driving on the left side of the road feels less foreign, allowing more of my attention to drift towards my surroundings. So clean, lush green with overly saturated blue skies, a definite contrast to the smog and traffic filled streets that I had grown accustomed to in Manila. Whangarei, sitting two hours north of Auckland, is my targeted destination. I came to meet a couple of friends to begin an 8 day road trip down the north island. I am not sure what to expect with the 10 year age gap between me and my new companions, but I am welcoming the company.
Sarah, also from the states, has spent the past three and a half months traveling with her friend around New Zealand. I met Sarah last year during a very difficult time for me. I was three days removed from Nepal and attempting to transition back into western culture.
I remember laying on the truck bed of my parents' old SUV. I had borrowed it for that first week of June while attending a wilderness medicine course in Santa Barbara. My friends and family had welcomed me home the night before. We shared a meal and made small talk before everyone sat in silence as I moved to the front of the room and recalled all the dark secrets of Nepal. It was an emotional night. Surreal almost. Walking to the bathroom of that busy restaurant triggered quite a bit internally. Seeing all those happy faces of strangers that had no idea what I had just been through made me feel resentful. They didn't deserve it, but it's all I could feel that night. And even though I was surrounded by people that loved me, my combined circle of support, I felt alone in my experience. Convinced that anyone who didn't experience Nepal first hand would never understand what I was feeling or what I had gone through the two months prior.
I warned my family when I arrived that I was going to be distant and asked for their patience as I worked my way through the emotions of it all. It must have been difficult for them not knowing what I needed. But then again how could I tell them what I didn't know myself? I think many found it odd that I came all the way home just to leave the following day. But I didn't know how else to transition.. Telling my story and learning how to be more prepared should something like Nepal happen again felt like a good place to start. Which brings me back to that day in June.
I remember laying on that truck bed. Exhausted. Jet lagged. And mentally decompressing after my first day of training. There was still plenty of daylight left and several classmates sat at the table area to my right, laughing, socializing, and making plans for that evening. It was the first of nine nights of camping, a pivotal moment in social correctness. I caught myself glancing over at them several times intrigued by the distant conversations. I wanted to go over there. I really did. Yet I was paralyzed in the truck bed, staring out into the beautiful surroundings, but seeing nothing.
I mustered up the strength to call my friend Anupa in Australia. She had been with me in Nepal up until we rode to the airport together and boarded flights headed in different directions. She is the only reason I made it as long as I did. I stopped counting the number of times we cried together. But that afternoon, tears flowed one more time while admitting how difficult we were both finding it to transition back into our home environments.
"They'll never understand..."
"I spill my soul, yet I look into people's eyes and know that they don't feel what I do."
It took me several more of these conversations to finally understand that not many would. But on that day, I had experienced my first sense of relief. I may have felt alone where I sat in that moment, but I wasn't alone in my experience and that made a difference while learning to re-engage with my surroundings.
A voice called out my name from the distance. I opened my eyes and realized I had dozed off after talking to Anupa. It was evening now. The glow of the sun holding on to its final moments of the day. The voice belonged to one of my classmates. It was Sarah.
"We noticed you fell asleep. A few of us got together and cooked you dinner."
It took a while to register what was happening and to sputter out a response.
"That's very kind of you, but you really shouldn't have. I could have made something for myself."
To which she responded, "you helped all those people in Nepal.. The least you could do now is let us make you dinner".
I still tear up thinking about that moment. Not just because of the act itself, but because of what it represented.
In life, we experience only what we are ready to. And in that moment, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't see past the negative aspects of humanity. I saw too many underlying agendas in Nepal to trust people giving and helping others merely because it was the right thing to do. But as I mentioned in my last post, I still needed to understand what these judgements were telling me about myself. Why did I really stay and help? Was I naive to think that helping others would be a more positive experience? And why did I have such a hard time accepting help and support from others? Answers that would reveal themselves in time.
I tell this story not because I am meeting Sarah here in New Zealand. I tell it because of the message it brings. I believe we are all destined to face hardship and suffering at some point in our lives. Pain, anger, and sadness demand to be felt. So when they come for you, feel them deeply. Do not run, do not pretend they are not there. Do not pack them away thinking they will eventually go away. They will not. They are there for a reason. Surrender to them. Stay and wallow in the dark for as long as you need. You will know when it is time to leave. But while you are there, pay attention to yourself. The things that bring you comfort, the moments that upset you and make you close off, the self destructive behavior, things you think about when you're staring off into open space. Chances are those observations will point the way to the portions of yourself that need healing. Areas that run far deeper than the trauma or transition at hand. A day will then come when you are ready to stand again. And on that day, remember all those who offered you gifts of kindness to help ease your pain. Remember the people who were trying to move forward just like you were, who shared the same experiences and feelings as you did. Remember those that supported you just by being available and standing by your side. These people that offered you kindness and support in your time of darkness will be the ones who will lead you back. Not because of what they will do, but because of what they have already done. For they showed you that even in the moments when you couldn't see past your own pain, when everything felt negative and you were angry at the world.... The light was still there. Shining through each and every one of them waiting for you to come home..
Surrender.