STEPHANIE MORK

Why is it that upon my return to the states, I feel as though I haven’t stopped moving? I hit the ground running – getting back to work, seeing all the people I need to see, celebrating friendships, relationships, family and birthdays.  All good things, but I’m tired and I will relish this week of relative slowness.

I am finally getting to a place where I can debrief with myself what it’s been like to come back to the states (three weeks later). Granted, I wasn’t gone very long, but I considered Managua my home for those weeks and culture shock is still a thing when you are deep in the heart of Central America.

My first reactions to being back were: everything is so clean, white, bright and easy.  As a society, we are excessive and extravagant and don’t realize the relative wealth we have.  The streets are clean, I am not getting whistled at, I can find a seat on the bus with ease, and I can put my toilet paper in the toilet instead of the trash can.  I find myself marveling at the simple luxuries of not sweating, of having a couch, of easily accessible food, and of having a refrigerator that is way bigger than my needs.  Minneapolis, you sweet, sweet city.

I think my biggest questions now are: how can I find a balance of being an active member of society in my city without being extravagant? What do I actually need, and what do I actually want? How can I spend my money and time in a way that reflects what I care about and what I believe in?

These are questions that are still unanswered, but are important for me to think about in these next months.  I am challenging myself to have less and do less this summer, which in this society is very countercultural.  Working on slowing down (hence coming up for air), spending time doing things that energize me and spending my money on things that I actually need or on things and people that are important to me.

How can you choose to live with a little less this summer? Instead of coming up for air, just give yourself the space to breath.

Dictionary.com defines paradise as: (n) a place of extreme beauty, delight, or happiness.

What does this mean? How do you define your paradise when you really think about it?

I think the problem for many people is this:  We get to paradise, we are awestruck, we enjoy it for a bit, but then it’s like well, now what? How can we as humans BE in paradise and continue to truly be there – not continuously looking for the next thing.  If we are in paradise, why aren’t we enjoying it?

I think that paradise can be found on a rainy day at home with a hot cup of tea or on a day spent by the beach with a juicy mango in hand.  How can we bring this paradise attitude and mindset to every day of our lives?  How do you define your paradise?

It has been so interesting for me to observe my mind throughout this experience in Nicaragua.  To find paradise in the midst of discomfort and also in the midst of actual paradise.  I have learned a lot about exercising my mind to be present, to be in the moment and to let go of expectations.  I have learned that it is a decision to be content and it is not always an easy one.

Sure, I have dreams and I worry and I have ideas about what I would like to do in the next chapter of my life – but I am also learning how to keep those things fluid and to be ok with whatever is tossed my direction.

This post about paradise is inspired by the few days I spent on Little Corn Island.  A place with no cars, no electricity for half the day, and beaches that have been mostly untouched by man.  To be there was an amazing end to Nicaragua.  Beaches, warm water, snorkeling, amazing food, views beyond words, people that I will never forget and moments of pure bliss that will stay with me forever.  A place that was easy to be.  To be content, to flow with the rhythm, and to really be in the paradise.

So here I am, with less than a week left in Nicaragua and feeling the feels of the end of an experience – all the bittersweetness of it.  As I sit here in an air conditioned coffee shop listening to John Mayer I am reminded of the true luxury of my home – where air conditioned coffee shops are the norm, not where only the people with money go.

I am reminded of the privilege I have to be able to come all the way to Nicaragua and to have these experiences.  The opportunity I have had to take two months to travel, volunteer and experience a new culture is not lost on me, and I will look back on this period with fondness.

I am one of the lucky ones, but aren’t we all really? We are the lucky ones just to be alive.