My Map

I'm standing there at work. It is a slow day and I have found myself drawing a map on the back of narrow receipt paper. It seems like it will be easier this way. I have on it North America, divided into countries and states, South America, also divided and labeled just in case. I have added Europe and Africa. I look up and ask, "Okay, are you ready?" She nods expectantly, looking focused.

Familiar Journeying aka My life

I begin where I was born, in the wrong city. A line goes from that city, the capital, to where we were actually living, then up to the US, then back down to Peru. Each line comes with an explanation of my age and the next destination. She is watching and I can tell she is trying to envision it all. The lines between Ecuador and Uruguay overlap each time, and in my mind I know that even these straight lines don't show the whole story. They don't show the nights in airports, the boat rides, the bus rides. But this is about understanding, not accuracy.

Next the lines hop around the United States. They jump from coast to coast, top to bottom. Then they are skidding across the seas to Africa. And finally they jump back and land on where I am, where she is.

She glances over at her map, with three lines on it. It shows one bay with three dots. One dot is "home", one dot is "college", and the last dot is "now". As she looks she draws another line and dot showing "boyfriend" but it is easy to follow. My map looks like a child stole my pen and scribbled across it. I realize that I may have made it harder. Maybe a timeline? Or color coding for age? I'm concerned as I look between the maps. I look up at her and she is grinning.

"That's complicated," and if she isn't saying it with her words she is saying it with the way her eyes are trying to retrace all the lines in order. I laugh nervously wondering if I have lost her, my new friend.

People don't ask anymore. They take the answer I give and stop trying to understand the whole story. They don't blink when I add another country, they just shake it off. So this moment, this rare opportunity to try and explain it all, it means something to me. I don't realize until now I am breathing lightly as if not to disturb the precarious moment. She could easily write it off as confusing, and she probably will. Only she doesn't. She looks up and nods as if it suddenly makes sense. As if I make sense.

This is one of my favorite photos in the world. It feels like me. Thank Iain Anderson.

Do I dare? I have questions for her too. They baffle people as much as "where are you from?" baffles me. "What was it like living in one house your whole life?", "In the same city your whole life?", "Do you want to travel?", "Do you miss your home?"

She answers as best she can, struggling to put words to concepts and feelings. I recognize it, only she is struggling to identify something I may never understand. I'm listening like she is speaking an alien language, watching her gestures like she is foreign, and in many ways she is. I stop her each moment she skims over something, assuming I will know. But I don't.

Suddenly, we are at a standstill, each holding our maps which represent pieces of us, and mysteries to the other. But I am happy we did it. We know now we are different, but we also know now why and how it has shaped each of us. We understand a little more. It gives me hope that I am not unreachable. That for every ten, or hundred, or thousand times I dodge the dreaded question with a vague response, someone will want to know my list, will try to understand how my heart is somehow tied to each place. And for those rare moments, all the others are worth it.

I have hope that I can make real friends who will never relate, but will maybe understand. And if that is true then those who can sort of relate are sure to be real friends, and those who can mostly relate are more than sure to be real friends, and those who are like me will know my heart immediately. Suddenly there is potential in everyone where I only saw frustration. Someplace in this she has given me hope.

The next day I will try again, and another friend will listen and ask and nod. And I will be able to breathe just a little more freely than I have before. And I will keep trying until I must leave. And when I do it will hurt in all the most beautiful ways because I know that I will leave my heart there with them, just as I have in all those other places, with all those other people.