Finally, after much pressure, my first post to our blog!
The tides flow, the tectonic plates shift, the flowers open and close, the animals run, fly and swim in search of food, and all the while, people move about them. In so many ways, movement is the essence of life. We walk to get to where we are going. We run for freedom. We swim to see how long we can move without taking a breath. We dance to express. We play sports for competition. We stretch because our muscles demand it. We practice yoga, tai chi, chi gong, martial arts, as moving meditations for balance and health. We shovel, heave, lift, hammer, plant, deliver, sweep, scrub, polish and prepare, because we must make a living.
We migrate… when there is no other option.
For a very long time, migration was life: when staying alive meant having to follow the movement of animals, or scavenging for plants and berries until resources were exhausted.
As “civilizations” formed, we exchanged our portable lives for foundations laid in earth, for structures meant to last more than just a few nights. We grew plants and domesticated and specialized and so on. In the end, our lives became less governed by constant movement. But hurricanes, tornadoes, floods, draught, fires, scarcity, illness and wars kept us migrating, because again, we had no other choice.
Then in the 17th-20th centuries, the United States, the “New World”, became a symbol of choice and opportunity for many. People were choosing to migrate there, and in no small order. In the U.S. and every other country today, we continue to migrate, to move, whether out of necessity, or opportunities for work or a better life somewhere else. Often we migrate for the promise that the grass is greener somewhere else, whether we actually know that grass grows there at all.
So I guess I fit in here, a migratory person, sometimes missing routine, but more often feeling encumbered by the knowledge that I will be in the same place a year from now. My mind, body, and creative self, or whatever one may call it, craves movement. While it may seem like living a grass is greener life, traveling has shown me that the grass is never really greener…it’s just different. And so I will continue to wonder about and travel to see what people make of their patches of life, whatever grows there.
In 2009, when I began moving south from San Jose, Costa Rica, I met a handful of other travelers on the same route. As we neared the border of Colombia, but would have to return north for our return flight, I resolved to start there, in Colombia, a few years later, in order to see the rest of the continent. So this is what T.L. and I have done, and without a return ticket to halt our movement.
Our plan is not unique, like most migrations, we follow a route set out by thousands before us, although we are not confined to a specific path. We will bus, hike, and walk wherever we need to go, with all the things we need on our backs, again something humans have been doing for thousands of years. There is a quiet and constant beat to the traveler’s movement, TL and I have already begun to write our own rhythm atop this beat, here in Colombia.
I hope you all enjoy our story…