Review Notes
On Fear and Fellow Travelers
Lesson: I am too young and not Catholic enough to live in a convent. That’s why I am on a converted 1968 Greyhound, leaving the country with 26 people who also have no business in a convent. Lesson: buses of strange people are scary, as are stingrays, burros, scorpions, rattlesnakes, and bad water. It’s good for me to be around these things.

I like that we dispensed with small talk in San Diego. With all our other baggage, no need for that too. I didn’t understand anything Christine said, though. She has an L.A. vibe (what is a vibe?) that sailed right past me. I was skeptical, and looked for signs of phoniness. By midweek I picked up a few phrases, and though I thought it would be hard for us to find common ground, she herself is genuine and that is enough. A good lesson in ‘keepin’ it real.’

4:30 am, somewhere far from most somewheres, the bus stopped. There were more stars than sky, more light than void, which surprised me. I couldn’t take it all in, because sometimes you can’t wake up all at once, and it was time to get back on the bus.

Much of the year I get up before dawn. It makes me feel tough, serious, hard-core. Seeing the sunrise here is effortless, so I lose that masochistic pleasure, but glorious, and I’m thrilled to be awake. It’s quiet. Everybody knows there are no words worth saying. I’m doing this every day.

I love getting out of the sea and not having to shower. I don’t miss my mirror, because I never looked in it very carefully anyway, and in Baja I don’t even have to pretend. This felt much more normal.

It is time to plan less, act more. Be a little impulsive. There is no need to plan anything here. At home I plan my next class, my next job, my next vacation, my next meal, but I can’t plan my next love. Patti said she would be rich in life and love if not in money. I should learn from her, but I still haven’t managed to part with my watch. So much for Baja time: for me, it’s 4:26 pm.

I learned new ways with tofu and eggs. I killed a lot of clams. Is that bad karma? Actually, I am not so concerned about karma, just about the fact I thought it was so much fun to split them open. They fought so hard, and I found it satisfying. I miss cooking. Why do I have a job where there is no cooking? Trac is very good on the cast iron. I try to imitate him.

Kayaking is harder than it looked, and burro riding easier, which may have had something to do with my attitude, which was not excellent on kayaking day. I didn’t fall out or off either of them, but I let the burro do as he liked and we got on fine. I felt like I fought the kayak much of the day, but I think we were supposed to be working together. I felt silly in the kayak skirt, but there were orangy-pink crabs.

Sarah Lash does everything 100%. Running, emptying dishwater, laughing, she spares no expense. Amazing freedom. Jeremy talks to everybody, includes everybody, finds common ground. We need more people like that.

A lot of us seem to be seeking new direction. Funny how this trip became less about Mexico and more about ourselves. Or maybe we planned it that way. In the desert, what do we create? I didn’t write (not that I ever do…another fear), or really even take photos. This was a time when it was okay to sing off-key or have ten people touch you at the same time. We created that, I suppose. And there is hardly any complaining about anything. Should I do this again? I feel more creative here than at home, more inspired, but still not daring to act on my inspiration.

It’s weird to flirt, and gossip about other people flirting, but also rather fun. I certainly have done my best not to learn how up to this point. Another fear to face. All these males! I feel like an anthropologist investigating a new species. Must remember to have male friends when I return to my estrogen filled life. Josh totally stroked my ego, if not other parts of me. I have been trying to figure out how he manages us so easily.

Baja peeled off my outer layers—the manufactured enthusiasm, the sterile language, the buttoned up teacher-blouse. My skin and soul haven’t seen that much sun since college. Jeremy reminded me to wear sunscreen. He is right about cancer, and I probably don’t want to look older, but my worry is that I will be wrinkle-free, have no badge of a wild youth. I want evidence that I have lived. I guess I haven’t done enough of that lately.

None of my high-heeled friends would last an afternoon choosing between the outhouse and the pee tree, but I fantasize about leaving behind more comforts. Ironically, I am now letting my friends fit me with high heels (another fear: falling off them) so I will have more opportunities to flirt. I worry about this transformation from the outside in being superficial, and that everything I learned in Baja will be crushed by schoolgirls. Transcripts of this trip are already garbled in my mind, but I am more honest—not that I was dishonest before—I just didn’t know how much I wasn’t saying, wasn’t feeling. I am spending much more time in front of the mirror.