Getting Lost

I really enjoy getting lost. Getting lost physically, en route to a destination, getting lost in thought, getting lost in love, getting lost in a book, getting lost in life.... It also scares me half to death sometimes, but at multiple points in my life, it is through getting lost that I have found my way. Yesterday, my compañera, a young woman from London and Barcelona whom I adore, and I got lost on the way to our volunteer site. We work in La Matanza, a province outside of the Capital. We take two buses to get there, and it's not well-marked at all, but still not super difficult to navigate once you've done it a couple of times. The problem is we enjoy each others' company so much that we got lost in conversation and got on the wrong second bus. We ended up about a ten minute walk from where we needed to go, in a neighborhood that is pretty run-down but very friendly and safe--if you're from there. We are clearly not. In the midst of different people giving us different walking directions to get to where we needed to go, a woman who we had seen at the busstop and her 11-year-old daughter took us under their wings and walked us the whole way to our destination. We encouraged them to utilize the programs at the Coop where we work, so she left her daughter with us and I spent the afternoon teaching her English and doing art projects with her and another girl. As I've gotten older I have realized that when my mom used to worry about me and be what I thought was overly cautious, there was some rhyme to her reason. Still, I have been very lucky and blessed in my life and have found people willing to share their light with me even in the darkest situations.

After spending the weekend on the beach in Uruguay, getting lost in the burning hot sun and the refreshing, beautiful, beautiful water, sitting through classes is painful. My motivation level is low; a huge part of me wants to leave school and work a desk in a hostel on the beach somewhere. I suppose it might be hard for me to spend my days hearing stories of other people's adventures getting lost, though. I'm learning how to navigate the Subte (subway) system here in Buenos Aires, though, so while I have yet to get lost underground, the possibility always lingers, and I'm feeling confident enough in my sense of direction that I get lost in my book while riding the train (I am currently reading Zora Neale Hurston's "Mules and Men," which I grabbed off the bookshelf of my dorm's lobby).

My 21st birthday is fast approaching, and it doesn't feel like March. I've never been in summertime weather around my birthday before, so maybe that's why; usually my birthday weekend ends up being the first day of sun for the season. I know a birthday is supposed to be a marker of maturity, of life progression, but I have never felt different when a new number gets tagged on to my introductions. I'm definitely growing...growing up though? As my mama always says, "you have to grow old, but you never have to grow up." 21 is supposed to signify American adulthood (meaning I now have license to poison myself with alcoholic beverages and still have to wait two years to rent automobiles), but I'm not so sure that's something I want.


(The picture above is "La Mano," in Punta del Este, Uruguay. I thought it fit well with this blog post. Why? I dunno, you tell me....)

With love and lostness,

Lilly