Travel Lesson #12

"What’s you’re persona. About this Americana rhymer"
- Estelle feat. Kayne West "American Girl"


Three months after leaving my job in accounting to travel and volunteer, I'm still dreaming about work. The other night it was about getting the files ready for the company audit in May. Waking up, confused, heart-racing in the dark, it takes a minute to realize where I am and more importantly where I'm not.



Listening to the now familiar symphony of bullfrogs and roosters crowing, staring out the window at the silhouette of a mountain sky, I drift back to sleep.



In America so much of work informs your identity - from how you dress to what you drive to who your friends are, where you live. Work dominates everything from your love life or lack thereof because your at work to time with your family because your at work or even when your with them your at work.



I know, I know that S.A.T prep course and the summer at space camp for the kiddies is not going to pay for itself. In a consumer driven society, where what you do and what you own says a lot about who you are its hard to reconcile the person I see now, whose belongs fit in a 36x48 inch back pack.

Without a persona I'm faced with someone I don't know, besides a cup of coffee as big as her head, which is more a need than a want, its beyond me what it'll take to make this person happy navigating outside the blueprint of the American Dream.




Ah, yes the American Dream which has progressed from a dream to a nightmare to Armageddon. Look what free will has brought us - student loans, houses we can't afford, more debt then the gross domestic product of all Latin America combined.




When was it ever a good idea to fiance a dream by going into debt? Sort of like spending thousands of dollars on lotto tickets or your kids college tuition at the casinos hoping to make it rich. It wasn't just Wall Street, we all gambled that it would be okay, that it was worth it, whatever we had to do to live the dream. Now finally up from the blackjack tables, broke and busted in the after dawn light, we're disgusted to find we owe everyone in town - Sallie Mae, Visa, Chase, the IRS, the gym, the dentist, friends, family, heck, future generations that aren't even born yet..

Instead of reaching for that chocolatey snack or the remote or your laptop to update your facebook status that this blog is depressing you, now maybe a good time to step back and take a hard look at our futures.




With all this free time on my hands, its only fair to go first, to sort through the series of reckless choices and haunting regrets we all have.

A friend I play chess with every Wednesday invited me to his house for a get together of a rag-tag group of musicians, activist, lawyers, teachers, and poets. Pulling up to his house, I'm taken aback thinking as a doctor whose testified before the UN his house would be on the "good side" of town. Behind the gates of decaying brick buildings, is a beautiful, old colonial home straight out of an Isbel Allende novel or Castro's Cuba.



Naturally, learning there's an American in their mist the conversation turns to all things wrong and right about my country. War on terrorism - wrong. President Obama - right.


They ask about my impression of their country, seeing my chance to go behind the Lonely Planet version of Guatemala, I tell them the truth. I'm confused by the lack of wealth I see. Noting that as doctors and lawyers, the upper to middle class of Latin America, I'm not seeing the usual procurements of their status.



Ask to elaborate, I give the example of why as a doctor my friend isn't pushing a Benz or the lawyer a Lexus. The cars in the driveway could be a round up of Cash for Clunkers. The group laughs, and it feels like being patted on the head, they ask what being a doctor has to do with having a Benz. I tell them in my country a doctor driving a 89 Datsun probably has a coke habit and three ex-wives he's paying spousal support.



Fernando explains they don't need those things, not because they can't have them, but because they don't want those around them to feel bad. How can you be happy in that environment, ask the poet, when someone will always have more then you. Our country's a simmering stew of envy, which makes sense considering we keep butting our heads up against our limitations. No matter how much we have it never feels enough judging by last months credit card statement. I mean really, what does it mean to get ahead when your charged 35% in interest to do so...



But still, finding this Kumbaya response suspicious, I press on and ask what do they judge each other by. The response is your judged on manners, what you know (which is very little when the topic changes to mesoamerican art), how you treat your family and others. The family thing I can believe based on the reaction of my Spanish teacher when I made a joke about putting my parents in a home, she recoiled in horror, telling me in Xela they don't even have nursing homes. Its expected that your kids will take you in when the time comes. We in America have a long way to go...



So far life among the locals, around people without even a Spanish word for persona, has taught me that the real moments of sweetness and gratitude come when you are completely yourself, hiding behind nothing, accepting reality the way it is, not needing a five car-garage or a Louis Vuitton bag to valid your existence.



Not accepting the substitutes we use to keep us going. Like a glass of wine for a feeling of inner calm, pornography for a fulfilling sex life, consuming hours of television for personal growth or meaningful long-term relationships.

In a conversation with a German traveler at my posada, I find my feelings aren't that unique. Breaking it down in a pragmatic manner as only a German can - her observation is that with the financial crisis affecting nearly everyone, all over the world, our fake lives are crumbling around us and maybe something resembling an authentic life is now possible. Wouldn't that be nice...