Two names on a list

Jonathan:
It's funny, trying to notice changes in your perspective is a little bit like looking in a mirror every day to determine if you're getting taller. Each day feels pretty much the same, and progress seems dauntingly slow if apparent at all. So, you have to look for the milestones-- moments of distinct gratification when you suddenly realize you can do something you couldn't do before-- like being able to reach something on a top shelf, or unexpectedly bumping your head on a door you've been through a thousand times. My personal process has not been exactly comparable to hitting my head, but the idea is the same.

In this case, our milestones are revealing themselves to us through our reactions to the somewhat repetitive trials and tribulations that seem to be an inherent part of an adventure like this-- The rugby scrum of taxi drivers who maul us as we exit a bus terminal, trying to cement their next fair by ripping our backpacks from our hands and shoving them into a trunk before we can remember how to say "get your f*ing hands off my bag" in Spanish; or arriving at a hotel after 10 long hours on a sweaty chicken bus only to discover that our room's full-size bed touches three of the four walls, and the other wall is emanating a combination of dripping and scratching noises. Three months ago experiences like these were enough to send the two of us cowering into a corner, or at least into a swanky, overpriced, American-style hotel.

It seems that in the past month or so we've developed a tolerance for the not-so-plush aspects of this kind of travel, or at least a sense of humor about them. The bitter arguments with stubborn drivers about overpriced fairs have slowly been turning into friendly conversations about how rising gas prices are tough for all of us; and the weird hotel noises provide us with an opportunity to smile at each other through the darkness before drifting off to sleep.

It's interesting though, this new found comfort with the uncomfortable has left me with a bit of an empty feeling that has been tough to put my finger on. It's almost as if our preoccupation with the trials of travel itself was keeping me engaged. Now that we no longer have to work so hard to get what we need, moving from place to place feels like... well, just moving from place to place. In a way it echos the feelings we were having in Mazatlán a few months ago when we decided the "vacation feeling" was wearing off-- Just being in a different place wasn't really doing it for us anymore. Back then we decided we wanted to make a conscious effort to engage more with the places we were visiting, whatever that meant, and at the time I remember my dad saying, "you know, there's only so much snorkeling you can do." I think he was right. It has taken us just over three months of snorkeling, hiking, diving, caving, and sailing to realize that self-indulgent side of this trip just isn't going to be enough. I think we always knew that, but I'm glad we've taken time to be sure.

We've allowed ourselves to become just two more names on an endless list of travelers who signed up to do whatever it is travelers like us enjoy doing. It feels like it's time to start leaving those two spots for someone else, and once again set out to find new ways to engage-- to shift our focus from what we can get to what we might be able to give. That is, after we go snowboarding down the ashes of an active volcano in the morning... we've already booked that one.