It's 3 months exactly since I first landed in San Salvador. And just like that first day, I spent this one traveling through airports. Every 90 days I have to renew my tourist visa, and as I drove back to my home in the Miralvalle (after visiting Costa Rica - many thanks to the San Jose Diocesan Office for hosting me!), I was struck by everything that felt familiar... a strange comfort so distinct from that first confusing, disorienting, open-ended ride from the humid coastline to see my new home.
We've just finished Thanksgiving, and now the trees on our street are covered in Christmas lights. I'm listening to the same cheesy holiday music, but for the first time Frank Sinatra's sultry voice is the backdrop to windy palm trees instead of frigid Boston winters. I could draw these parallels all day long, but what I want to share with you after these three months are the slow changes, the ones that are more easily felt than seen or illustrated through black and white parallels.
On my mini visa-renewal vacation, I tried to reflect on these little, but deep, changes. Empirically I knew I would gain more from El Salvador than I could ever give, but now I am starting to understand what that looks like. As I walked through the streets of tourist towns, for the first time I wasn't ashamed to be a white traveler. Not because I felt distinct from the tourists - I was as much a gringa as anyone else - but because it didn't matter. There was no one to impress, nothing to prove, just simply a beautiful country I had the incredible privilege to be in.
I've started to take greater risks in ways I never before considered risky. Being able to say no and truly take care of myself for the first time... starting to own all my gifts, not simply the ones that make me look good at work or with friends. Probably the best illustration I have of this is last week for the first time I published a spoken word piece (you can listen to it here). I know factually it's just a simple internet recording, but putting this up for the world to see (and criticize) was more terrifying than buying my first flight to San Salvador. But if not today, when? As the Genie in Aladdin says, "Beeeeeeee yourself." Now I'm realizing that's a full 360 degree exercise - both incredibly scary yet exhilarating all at the same time - to imagine I might be more than the identity I've come to cultivate and selectively share with others.
I'm beginning to see the inertia of my new lifestyle - the subtle impact of my presence here on the communities I'm a part of. While I was in Costa Rica, I met a wonderful friend who reminded me that the true consequences of our actions are often ones we never get to see. In any sort of community work, I'm constantly questioning whether I truly work for the greater good or just for that heroic feeling of playing the martyr. Working for long-lasting, sustainable change often means having the patience of a saint rather than a hyperactive 24-year old, trying to forcing a result as proof your work is paying off and not for nothing.
Every little moment is surrounded in faith - faith it will work out when it really feels like it won't, trusting my gut rather than experience that says to stick to the tried-and-true same old, same old. More than anything, I want to express my gratitude to all of you who have supported my work here, with no promise of results. To my family who had to imagine all the terrible things that could happen to their baby girl going to what the State Department portrays as the gangiest of the gang-ridden countries in Latin America. To the churches in Olympia and Massachusetts that opened their doors to a complete stranger; to the incredible community of YASC volunteers around the world who answered (and continue to answer) all my nagging questions; to my family here in El Salvador who allow me to make mistakes and then wait around in case I need help to get back up again.
Happy Holidays
HP
We've just finished Thanksgiving, and now the trees on our street are covered in Christmas lights. I'm listening to the same cheesy holiday music, but for the first time Frank Sinatra's sultry voice is the backdrop to windy palm trees instead of frigid Boston winters. I could draw these parallels all day long, but what I want to share with you after these three months are the slow changes, the ones that are more easily felt than seen or illustrated through black and white parallels.
On my mini visa-renewal vacation, I tried to reflect on these little, but deep, changes. Empirically I knew I would gain more from El Salvador than I could ever give, but now I am starting to understand what that looks like. As I walked through the streets of tourist towns, for the first time I wasn't ashamed to be a white traveler. Not because I felt distinct from the tourists - I was as much a gringa as anyone else - but because it didn't matter. There was no one to impress, nothing to prove, just simply a beautiful country I had the incredible privilege to be in.
I've started to take greater risks in ways I never before considered risky. Being able to say no and truly take care of myself for the first time... starting to own all my gifts, not simply the ones that make me look good at work or with friends. Probably the best illustration I have of this is last week for the first time I published a spoken word piece (you can listen to it here). I know factually it's just a simple internet recording, but putting this up for the world to see (and criticize) was more terrifying than buying my first flight to San Salvador. But if not today, when? As the Genie in Aladdin says, "Beeeeeeee yourself." Now I'm realizing that's a full 360 degree exercise - both incredibly scary yet exhilarating all at the same time - to imagine I might be more than the identity I've come to cultivate and selectively share with others.
I'm beginning to see the inertia of my new lifestyle - the subtle impact of my presence here on the communities I'm a part of. While I was in Costa Rica, I met a wonderful friend who reminded me that the true consequences of our actions are often ones we never get to see. In any sort of community work, I'm constantly questioning whether I truly work for the greater good or just for that heroic feeling of playing the martyr. Working for long-lasting, sustainable change often means having the patience of a saint rather than a hyperactive 24-year old, trying to forcing a result as proof your work is paying off and not for nothing.
Every little moment is surrounded in faith - faith it will work out when it really feels like it won't, trusting my gut rather than experience that says to stick to the tried-and-true same old, same old. More than anything, I want to express my gratitude to all of you who have supported my work here, with no promise of results. To my family who had to imagine all the terrible things that could happen to their baby girl going to what the State Department portrays as the gangiest of the gang-ridden countries in Latin America. To the churches in Olympia and Massachusetts that opened their doors to a complete stranger; to the incredible community of YASC volunteers around the world who answered (and continue to answer) all my nagging questions; to my family here in El Salvador who allow me to make mistakes and then wait around in case I need help to get back up again.
Happy Holidays
HP
Hannah, you have a way of putting into words exactly what I'm thinking. Our work is very different, but I know what you mean when you talk about little deep changes. They aren't easy to describe to people, that's for sure!
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