You're traveling where? By yourself??

Wow! You're so brave! I could never do that!

Don't you get lonely?

Isn't it dangerous?

You're traveling how long? What about a job?

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Some of the questions I get when I go on these long solo journeys... Maybe you have these questions too. When I get these questions, sometimes I get sucked into this way of thinking and start to doubt myself. What are you thinking Christy?! It feels like I am the only one in the world who would even think about traveling solo to "dangerous places". The criticisms seep in. You can't just go travel for an indefinite amount of time without a job, without a source of income, without a plan. So irresponsible of you!

We could go down that rabbit hole and find all kinds of other questions… you're how old? (Almost 42) And you're still just wandering around the world? (Yes) And you don't own a house or even have an address? (That's right) What about a retirement plan? (Um...) so you're just living out of a backpack? (well, actually 2, a big one and a small one) …

But I don't want to go down that rabbit hole. Instead, I followed my intuition. I came to Mexico. With no return ticket. Instead, I chose to go somewhere that I only halfway speak the language with the goal of becoming bilingual. Instead, I sat at the bar one night overlooking the beach in Mazunte watching a guy juggle at least 5 machetes, then sat on the beach eating salchichas with the Dutch guy I just met talking about philosophy and the stars. Instead, I took a 3-hour van ride through the mountains that makes some people vomit to stay at a place that sells magic mushrooms at the reception desk. 1 didn't buy them, but I did walk through a magical forest, following a little river, unexpectedly coming across giant agave plants. 

Instead, I met a fellow traveler from California, and we went one day on a crowded public bus from Oaxaca City to Teotítlan del Valle (where I made a rug a few years ago), and talked to the local people there who are so friendly and shared about their lives and how they make the natural dyes for their beautiful woven textiles. One friendly weaver even drove us to the next town to show us the big market and helped us find the bus back to the city. Instead, 1 took salsa lessons at my hostel and another night sang karaoke with the woman from Cali and a group of 10 Dutch frat guys. You really cannot plan these things. Instead, I got on a little boat with 20 strangers to ride through the beautiful Cañon del Sumidero in Chiapas and see crocodiles and spider monkeys.

 Instead, I wake up most mornings to join the free breakfast at the hostel where I'm staying and meet ten other people from all over the world who are doing their own unique version of what I'm doing. Well, not everyone is traveling solo, but a lot are, and a lot of them are women. And not everyone is currently unemployed, but some are. One of them is an 84-year-old man who plays harmonica and is staying in hostels for 8 weeks, in the dormitories sleeping on bunk beds, journaling, drawing, and walking around the city … and he travels without a cell phone.

For some reason, I was resisting starting up this blog again, but I got inspired yesterday to share with all of you what I'm up to, so you can find out just how dangerous, lonely, irresponsible, and brave I am. Plus I love writing. (And so I don't have to send the same pictures to everyone all the time… but I do want to stay in touch with you, so please e-mail or whatsapp anytime.)

I'm dedicating this trip to my Dad. Bill. He left this world a year and a half ago. If he were still alive, he would hate everything about my choice to go on this trip. It's too dangerous. I should get a job (although if I got a job, I should get a different one that pays more and has health insurance.) And he likely wouldn't read this blog. So the ironic thing is that I couldn't go on this trip without him, and the inheritance I got from him. Well, actually, I could - I have gone on trips like this with waaaay less money. I know that underneath all his criticisms and disapproval was a deep, sincere wish for me to be successful and safe and happy. I think he struggled to find those things for himself and he wanted me to have what he thought he couldn't.

I like to think that now he's in a different place, where he's not limited by the narrow definitions of success and safety he subscribed to, where he can appreciate my choices, and see that I am successful, safe and happy, and where he can feel at peace. I had a dream last year that he was up high somewhere I couldn't see, but out of this black hole (I knew he was in there) he was sending down red and green balloons to me. So I'm receiving this playful, joyful, ephemeral offering. And any criticism or disapproval coming from inner or outer critics, I'll put into these balloons and send out into the atmosphere to be popped into pieces. I love you Dad.

Yep, that’s me, with my Mom and Dad