Seeing the mountains anew

 *whhhhhhhhhh*

Pardon my cheesiness as I  blow the dust off this old blog. Wow, it’s crazy to look back on in so many ways. Much has changed since those early posts about Mexico and Albania and even my babies. 

I was 17 when I wrote those journal entries about my first week “by myself” in Mexico (and I still struggle to remember how in the world that whole idea & plan came about made sense in my young head). Yet even with my “mom brain” the memories come right back as I read.

So many years, so much change, and yet, as I look back, that girl is still in here somewhere. That’s what brings me back to this page— last month I had the chance to behold those mountains of Maneadero in person again.  8 years since the last time I had seen them, and more than 15 years since those two summers I dared to make myself “at home” at Casa Esperanza. 

The truth is, I almost didn’t go on this last trip. 34 year old me is apparently not so fearless as that 17 year old, or perhaps has a more realistic & seasoned head on her shoulders with maybe a few more burdens and responsibilities. I had some nerves about going with my husband and 3 kids, even with the group. We had a funeral and a sick child the day we were supposed to leave, and I felt my own stomach knot up a bit with anxiety, but things improved & we left the next day. My husband told me as we drove that he looked forward to glimpsing my “Mexico side” again, and I wondered if it was still there. For now, I was busy considering how I’d keep my kids safe and healthy, and wishing I had taken time to touch base & make plans with more old Mexico friends despite my hesitancy. 

But we made it. And on Tuesday morning as those gorgeously lush and imposing hills glowed their deep green down on me, my heart felt just the same. Conoci an ella otra vez… A slightly dreamy-eyed girl eager to build bridges to the “other world” before me.  Oh I won’t say there weren’t parts of me that wondered what that young girl had been thinking. That saw with a mix of embarrassment and pride my own naievete, and held in tension the idealism I once had with the realities and not-so-happy endings I know now. Perhaps some of that shall find its own post another day.

But. Those mountains are still here, and so am I. And so are many of those faithful believers who push on with conviction even after idealism is shattered. (More so, they’re still kind enough to remember me fondly and welcome me). Beautiful examples for me to look toward on the days I see no connection between the passion of my endlessly hopeful teenage self and now. 

It’s all there. I just have to let go of fear, and look.