since i was sixteen years old and i made my first trip west to visit my cousin in california, i have believed that travel is one of the most important aspects an individual can foster in their life. but what good is travel if, in the end, we are left only with our thoughts and memories of the places we have visited and the one life that remains to be lived is inside of us, venturing to find out who we are? this is a question that i could answer myself by simply realizing that quite often, most people take the lump sum of their experiences once their days have expired and they look back. if they've traveled or if they haven't, those decisions were their own and they must decide whether or not the life that they led was enjoyable. however, as i said previously, i am most often unable to simply accept the things that are put in front of me so travel, experience, a life lived must inevitably have some point. i wonder if i'm not in the vast minority.

i left missouri in july of this year hoping that i would find something in myself that i had been missing since college. my tumultuous two-year relationship had finally ended and i believed that i needed a complete break from my surroundings, so i paid my tuition and headed to chile to learn how to teach english as a foreign language. i hoped, simply, to lift the veil of inactivity and depression that had been plaguing me since the day i moved to new york some three years prior.

to put faith in running, though, is about as useful as putting faith in your lucky lottery numbers--there inevitably comes a point when you have to stop guessing and accept what is in front of you. travel is a suspension of belief. hoping to find yourself in another country is simply naive.

chile is a beautiful country that has helped me relearn the language that i invested ten years of my formal education into learning. santiago is teeming with life and overflowing with art. the people, once you crack their thick exterior and let your warmth seep into their lives, are quite welcoming. but in the back of my head, i've just never felt that i've belonged here. i can't bring myself to leave, though.


lately, it isn't hard for me to fall into a fit of tears, worried about what the future will hold. when i left missouri i had very little and when i arrived in chile, i sold it all. i have almost nothing here, save the ties and collared shirts that i teach in, my ipod and some shoes. i can't afford to have anything here. when i stop to actually consider my reimmersion into the united states, i am overcome with fear. the hours of an english teacher are not steady, the pay hits just at the poverty line and the hours spent walking from business to business are exhausting. i didn't expect any of this.

people keep telling me, though, that it's a part of life--an adventure. nothing here is stable, not even for the natives. at least i have something to run back to. it's just strange to be working in a place that under normal circumstances i would visit as a tourist and not think twice about once i had left. i'm trying to function, though, and it isn't always easy. it isn't easy to be the best at what you do (after all, i'm a native english speaker) and to receive almost nothing for your efforts save a meager paycheck and the promise of summer. travel, this time, isn't just for fun.

i guess, now, it's accepting the challenge of being a living human being in a place that is, for all intents and purposes, completely foreign and doing my best to make the most of what i'm given. writing costs very little and my thoughts, which abound with the overwhelming amount of freetime i'm given, are free. it would just be nice to know that none of this is in vain, that in the end my struggle will amount to something. for once, i'd just like to stop holding my breath.