There is a picture in front of me at my desk. A colorful pink frame is appropriate for the vibrant scene it borders. Two girls standing among bright swatches and textiles, huge flamboyant sombreros on their heads, sunlight dancing on their laughing faces, some joke long forgotten. My best friend and I.
I remember that trip to Mexico, Thanksgiving of my junior year of college when we had nothing to worry us and were responsible only for our happiness. I couldn’t speak Spanish nearly as well as Liz, I still know barely enough to get by and will never be as fluent as she is. That didn’t matter though. Why should I be articulate in the language? Nothing bad would happen to us, we always survived.
In the picture we look skinny. I suppose we were, we hadn’t eaten a decent meal in days at that point. By decent meal I mean anything other than tortilla chips topped with ketchup or overly processed jelly. We would steal the packets of each from restaurants and cantinas whenever we got the chance,. We had very little money, but that too didn‘t matter. What did we have to do other than lay on the beach, explore the market, learn the culture?
At night we would dress in our best, most revealing, most “American-looking” clothes and go to the bars on the ocean strip. They had names like Pirate bar, Oasis and Isla. We would meet fishermen there or other American boys, if we could, who were desperate for a familiar language and accent. When they would buy us drinks we would order the most elaborately garnished drinks we could think of, pina colodas and daiquiris. We would eat the fruit garnish as soon as the drink arrived, our stomachs craving the flavor, sugar and sustenance of it. Fresh pineapples and kiwis, strawberries, cherries and coconut. It was delicious, especially when your mind knows your next meal may not be for a while. After we would drink our alcohol as an afterthought almost. It’s much easier to get fishermen to buy you drinks than meals you see.
Later, when they were occupied and their backs were turned we would sneak away from our benefactors, back to our hotel. We actually did stay in a real hotel that trip, that was the drain on all of our money, before we were comfortable staying in hostels or with strangers as we would later grow accustom to. We would crawl into bed, still dressed, and laugh at how clever we were. Eventually we would fall asleep, pleasantly buzzed, under the Mexican moon, listening to the pacific ocean crash in the surf 17 floors below us.
That time in Mexico was only one of hundreds of adventures I’ve had with Liz, and our other best friend Heather, who hadn’t made that particular trip. The three of us grew up in a very small, close-knit community, in a very liberal state where we were permitted from a young age to indulge our desires. Our parents believed in allowing us a fair amount of freedom and self expression that most kids probably don’t get.
The few rules that we had required that we were self sufficient in our antics, meaning that I got my first job at 12, and that we at least call and check in daily if possible. Pierce your nose at 12? Sure, if you hate it you can let it heal closed. Dying your hair fushia this week? What’s wrong with that. First tattoo at 15? Excellent idea. We were free to make our own choices and were liable for the consequences of those choices ourselves.
Given our freedom I’d say that the three of us turned out very well. We didn’t start drinking at too early an age. We were not sexually promiscuous. There was very little experimentation with drugs. Only two out of the three of us have minor criminal misdemeanors. In the end I think we turned into very strong, level headed young women.
This childhood freedom and the idea that the world was an open book for us to read, did come with at least one major side effect however. Ever since our teenage years the three of us, my two best friends and I, have had a serious case of wanderlust- the need to always travel and be on the move. If I’ve been in one spot for too long I get, what can only be described as “itchy” to get on the move.
I’ve followed my best friends around the globe because of that itching. Whether its two of us, or all three of us its hard to feel complete when we’re not together, on the move, on an adventure. If its not surfing in Australia, exploring galleries in Europe, backpacking through Costa Rica or drinking in Canada, its something, somewhere, and wherever it is, we’re happy.
We don’t live in Neverland though. Everyone grows up, graduates, falls in love, falls into a career, accumulates bills to be paid, and generally “settles down”. That everyone is me. One day I woke up, in a northeastern city, with a great job, a dog and even real furniture of my own. No longer can I pack up and go, hop on a plane, a bus, a boat. People actually depend on me! I’m responsible for another living thing(not a child no, but a pudgy black pug named Koko who I am sure could not survive a night on his own)! I have another 22 years of student loans to pay off!
I’m not alone. Heather fell in love and followed him to the Midwest, and is now actually preparing to depart for a year abroad in Europe. Liz took her need to save the world and is finishing her first of 2 years in a poverty ravaged rural community in Nicaragua. And I am here. Alone with my job, my career that I had to have.
Thinking back on our adventures and travels I feel a little bit crushed, some days I even feel suffocated actually, fighting the urge to hop a flight to anywhere but here. It’s something I’m learning to live with though., like a medical condition or an extra limb. I know that I can still head out, leave on a jet plane, meet Heather and Liz somewhere across the world. Only for a week or two a year now though, not months at a time. I can live with that, I really can, besides someone has to hold down the fort, keep family and friends updated on everyone’s whereabouts, own a dog, or send care packages.
In the end I am so grateful for my freedom and experiences. I am grateful for the choices I’ve made. They have made me who I was and who I still am. I am grateful most of all for my friendships. I know that it is a rare thing to be separated from your best friends by hundreds of thousands of miles for months or years at a time and still survive, unchanged, exactly the way we’ve always been.
