Holbox Island: Leaving to Return (Again)

TS Eliot has a poetry book call The Four Quartets. Part V of "Little Gidding", the last poem in the series, states "We shall not cease from exploration / And the end of all our exploring / Will be to arrive where we started / And know the place for the first time." Are you struck by a thought? I was the first time I read these lines: how incredibly true. How perfectly, genuinely, thoroughly true. And we all know this - we do. But I am going to delve into my most recent experience of this sentiment -- a trip to Isla Holbox.

Sandy splits on an empty beach. Beach yoga is one of my favorite parts of tropical travel.

The trip started as most trips for Wyoming residents do: with a 6 hour drive to the nearest international airport. Though we left our house at 5 in the morning, it was past midnight when we finally arrived at our Cancun hotel. There we met up with two of our dearest friends, Jack and Mary, who had flown in from North Carolina earlier that day. Weary from travel (and dizzy from the excessive amount of mirrors and halogen lights in the DF airport), we were soon fast asleep. The next morning I woke to unfamiliar bird calls and foreign scents in the humid air. While the others continued to sleep, I snuck my foldable yoga mat out into the hotel's garden and proceeded to sink deeply into "vacation mode". By the time we left for our final destination (Isla Holbox) that morning, we were all in sandals, drinking mezcal, and fully immersed in our new surroundings - not a care in the world.

Always these moments surprise me -- these times when I so quickly adapt to new settings, people, routines, expectations. I expect myself to worry about my animals at home or to get consumed in the "what if's" that any travel entails, but instead I leave them on the plane where I can conveniently pick them back up upon my return. This proves something to me: that my worries really are more optional and situational than I tend to believe. And I think that "situational" part is key. Because I struggle. I have dealt with depression and anxiety since my teenage years and I know -- I know -- how impossible those worries sometimes feel. And I know, too, that we often respond to them by pulling in further; by sticking to what is familiar and known and "safe". But by receeding into our bubbles we further obscure the rest of the world, trapping ourselves deeper in our own perceptions (which, in my anxiety-ridden case, often leads to a dramatic detatchment from what is real and true).

I have dealt with depression and anxiety since my teenage years and I know -- I know -- how impossible those worries sometimes feel. And I know, too, that we often respond to them by pulling in further; by sticking to what is familiar and known and "safe". But by receeding into our bubbles we further obscure the rest of the world, trapping ourselves deeper in our own perceptions (which, in my anxiety-ridden case, often leads to a dramatic detatchment from what is real and true).

So what can we do instead? Well, how about something entirely different. How about something scary and intense and unpredictable. How about leaving (like literally, physically leaving) in order to gain perspective. For me, this works wonders -- and it makes sense why. The more we know, the more we know, right? I live in Kinnear, Wyoming. I am one of 43 residents there. 43. When we left for Holbox that left only 41 people in town. It's pretty safe to say that I have a very particular experience there. And while that is lovely and extremely valuable in its own right, it means nothing without comparison. What is light without dark? What is life without death? What is easy without complicated? What is Kinnear without Holbox (et al)? It turns out, Kinnear on its own is cold, dry, windy, empty, stressful (home ownership, animals, ranch life), and quiet. Kinnear with Holbox is something else.. it becomes refreshing, comfortable, mellow, fulfilling (home ownership, animals, ranch life), and quiet. Lovely what gained perspective can do.

Now I want to clarify -- this isn't a better/worse type of deal. I mean, Holbox is my favorite foreign land yet. It made for an absolutely perfect vacation, and in no way am I saying Kinnear is better than Holbox. What I am saying is that we sometimes need to gain more experience before we can accurately judge a place. And then a few months later, when our appreciation has faded, we need to do that again -- to continue to explore and then return and know the place for the very first time. As we expand (and contract) so do our capacities for love.

As we expand (and contract) so do our capacities for love.

This is true also of our human relationships. As relationships are hard. And they are work. But they are only the work that we make them to be -- that is, it is much easier to just disengage and not work. If the person next to me in line at the store is smacking their gum (a personal pet peeve of mine), it is easier for me to walk away and enter a different line rather than stay there (and forget even thinking about talking to that person!) If my husband did something to bother me, it is likewise easier for me (particularly as I love my alone time) to minimize interactions and just do my own thing. And while alone time and distance can be helpful at times, there are many instances where it is simply an out - unhelpful to the greater relationship. And what I have found is that as we irritate or frustrate one another, the threshold for tolerance lowers which only helps to perpetuate the cycle further. What I have also found is that travel (and other such jolts to routine) can be incredibly helpful in these moments.

What are the things you and your partner/friend/etc fight about? Money? Housework? Whose turn it is to get the groceries?

What are the things you and your partner/friend/etc do that get you feeling like you're in a slump? Hold expectations? Have a predictable routine? Ignore each other to be on your phones? Complain about your day at work?

So many of these things, by default, have to fall to the wayside while travelling. You aren't doing housework; you aren't going to work; you aren't following a predictable routine. You are not free of all burden or worry, but you are mostly free of the familiar ones. This makes it so much easier to approach each other with fresh eyes and remember why you love one another in the first place.

Sometimes, we can't do that reset on our own. Sometimes we need outside help (a counselor) or a different dynamic change (travel; job change; etc). Sometimes, we just need to transplant ourselves - no matter how big of an investment (of time, energy, money, faith, work, etc) that may be. Because it is worth it to grow. It is worth it to expand. It is worth it to connect. It is worth it to gain new perspective that we may return to what we know, and know it for the first time.

#travel #travelblog #tseliot #fourquartets #explore #perspective