Being
authentic is the best thing you can do for yourself. It is also the worst because authenticity
isn’t exactly what everyone around you is looking for. Much like climate change, everyone knows it’s
there but the work and sacrifice it requires is daunting. Life is hard.
Why make it harder? Why not just
focus on the good while the going is great?
Why not just remain in blissful denial?
It is – for better or worse – a hell of a lot easier. Authenticity, after all, requires
honesty. Honesty requires
vulnerability. Vulnerability requires
pain. Pain removes Ego. And then all you are left with is you…
Last
night as Ken and I walked back to our hotel, he asked me, “When we get home and
all this is over, what do you think you will say about this trip? If you knew that it was going to be like this
would you have gone?’ These are deceptively
easy queries but ones that are far too complicated to answer in trite
form. A good journey should change you
in a profound way. I am slowly coming to
recognize that the profoundness required for that change is not one that is
meant to be pleasant. Authenticity means
you will own your true self and no longer be afraid to show it. It also means that you will have to deal head
on with the fact the people are not going to like it. They really are not going to like it. Authenticity means you will never feel so
strong about who you are and so deflated by what that means all at the same
time.
A few
days ago our group became aware of the “Rage” post on the blog. It was morning at a homestay and as I made my
way to the common area for breakfast I could sense that something was afoot. There were whispers and side-glances. My name filtering through a few times and a
group member rushing about with his iPad trying to find our driver and tour
leader. As I poured my coffee, our
driver and tour leader marched up to me and said, “OK! Outside now!
We need to talk!” I was hurriedly
rushed down and out the door and so began a very thorough “undressing” of
myself and my blog.
Needless
to say – it was intense. I don’t know
how long this went on for but it felt like forever. I remained stoic and respectful. I reassured our tour leader I did not hate
her and that I haven’t even had a chance to get to know her on this trip. When our driver asked me if I would commit to
no longer writing I calmly said “I need to speak to Ken about this first but
no, I don’t see myself not writing.” This sounds like I was strong in my being and
committed to my right to be authentic and be heard and all that other heroic
rhetoric that goes along with taking a stand.
Truth is, my autonomic nervous system had just completely shut down and
I was breaking out in an ice cold sweat.
I knew I was going to throw up in about 10 seconds so really, I was just
being a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf – I went limp and placid and hoped I could
make it to safety before I completely left my body.
I
somehow made it back upstairs to our room where Ken had been frantically
looking for me. I told him what had
happened. Saying he was furious is an
understatement. I was beyond any
emotional response whatsoever. We tried
to eat breakfast. The woman from the
dock incident made a point of getting between the serving table and us to
announce “GOOD MORNING” in a cheerful voice.
It was odd and unsettling. Later
on we would find out why.
It
was a long silent truck ride to our camp.
When we arrived our tour leader announced that Ken and I wanted a group
meeting to discuss some things openly and that until the meeting was over,
everyone was to refrain from drinking. I
immediately felt ill with fear and utter confusion. I had not asked for or wanted a meeting. Unbeknownst to me, Ken did and he quickly
stated that to the group. I’d like to
say that made me feel a bit better but it didn’t. For the next 90 minutes leading up to this
“discussion” the tension was so thick it was uncuttable. I did my camp chores and went to bed. By now, my head was throbbing, my heart was
breaking, and my stomach was churning.
Eating had become harder over the past few weeks and now it was simply
impossible.
The
meeting was held and Ken came to bed. He kissed me and said “I support you and
love you more than ever” but he didn’t speak at all about what happened. I could see in his face that it had not gone
as he planned and that he was trying to process it all. He looked both confused and determined. Underneath that, I felt a simmering anger…
The
following day we arrived in Yerevan (Armenia) and now being in civilization and
away from the group we found a coffee shop and proceeded to decompress. Ken opened up about what happened at the
group meeting in last night’s camp.
The
group at first was angry I was not there and did not really want to speak to
Ken. But our driver stood up for Ken and
said “Well I am interested in what Ken has to say.”
Some
group members remained silent and one spoke from a place of “moderation” but
the overall consensus was the following:
My
blog was untrue (in all aspects) and was ruining the trip for everyone
My
blog was a form of cyber bullying
My
blog was badly written and I needed to read blogs that others on the trip were writing
to learn how to write a proper one.
I was
unhelpful (interestingly, this was not coming from anyone who’s work groups I
belonged to)
I
acted/wrote like I was better than everyone else
None
of these in themselves are bad. People
have a right to their opinions and I am the first to admit that I am not the
easiest person to get to know. I have
never been a good “sales person or politician” so working a room with small
talk and superficial pleasantries is a never-ending stressful challenge for me.
Being slightly autistic I always avoid
eye contact. I am extremely introverted
– and a damaged one at that. I am a
perfect recipe for how to give people the wrong impression by not having to do
anything other than be in the same space as they are. Writing a blog definitely does not help me
hide under the covers and simply go away. I am a writer and writer's are odd. I let my words fly often untethered and free. That, I am learning, has some deeply profound pros and cons.
Then
things took a darker turn…
One
group member flat out lied to the group (and Ken) about an incident where he
was talking to another group member and I walked up to him and insulted him
publically. (THIS NEVER HAPPENED!)
The
woman who raged at us on the docks looked Ken dead in the eyes and said “I was
going to apologize to you the next day but then I talked to some of the group
they said I didn’t have to because they agreed with me.”
The
partner of the woman who got sick in Baku voiced some strong opinions about
what she thought about me-specifically about my blog (none of which were good). The irony being I have never had a
conversation with this person other than a few sentences about her dog and the
price of housing in Sydney versus Vancouver.
The
meeting ended with the antagonists wanting me to agree to another meeting at
next bush camp in 3 days.
After
Ken filled me in he said in exasperation, “I honestly don’t know what is going
on with this group or why the blog even matters.” Then he switched into righteous warrior
mode. He was furious about the lie –
even more so about the fact that people in the group actually DID support the
dock incident. He felt betrayed by the
woman whom we reached out to help when her partner was ill. He was adamant that I keep writing. He read and re-read everything I had written
and like an exceptional defense lawyer, he prepared himself for the next camp
encounter. I just sobbed into my coffee.
“I
know you want to win this one Ken and I know if it comes to that you will. But this is becoming a war. And in war there are casualties. I’m the one getting shot at. I am bleeding to
death out here. You need to focus on
getting me to safety and not bombing the enemy into submission.”
It
was defeatist. Perhaps even
cowardly. But some fights, even if you
know you will win, are far too costly in the end. “If you fight for me Ken it just shows them I
am too weak to do it on my own. And I
am. I can’t afford to be seen as any
weaker than I already am. It makes me a
target and I have no where to run to protect myself.”
We
sat in silence at the coffee shop. Then
Ken took out his phone and logged onto the Internet. I watched the man I love go from “We paid
good money for this trip and we have a right to enjoy it however we see fit!”
to a resigned “I don’t care how much it costs.
I am finding a way to get us home.”
So
back to those deceptively easy questions about what would you say and would you
do it again. Back again to authenticity
and the real reasons we journey inward and out ward…
No
matter how hard it is there is always beauty to be found. Small beauty like an insignificant red beetle
in your hand or large beauty in a monastery hewn into a mountain. It is hard to be self-pitying when you
realize the privilege you have in just being here. Here in this place. Here in this life. I have always found coffee (eventually!) and
more than enough cats to love. I was
given the chance to meet an Orthodox monk who dedicates his life to God and his
beautiful buzzing ladies who bless him with their sweet nectar. I’ve tasted grapes sweeter than I’ve ever
known and the wine they have produced in exactly the same way for a thousand
years. I’ve crossed deserts, climbed
mountains and seen things most will only dream about. I’ve danced in the rain. I’ve wept under the stars. I’ve even hugged a few camels! But most of
all, I did all of this with a man I fell in love with all over again. I could not have asked for a better friend
than I found in Ken. Travel changes
you. Travel tests you. Travel – when done in the right way – has you
come home a different person than you were when you left. No matter what has come our way his support
for me has never waivered and I do believe he sees me differently now – as I
see him. So yes, I would do this a
thousand times over and I would say it was the most meaningful journey we’ve
ever taken. Bumps, bruises, angst and
all.
