Why would she....?

.....leave her job, her home, her friends and future? This is what I am sure the guy next to me on the first leg of my trip from Portland, Maine to Boston, Mass was thinking (that and..."nice nose ring"). My plan was to turn thirty and ride on out of town on my very own white horse on Valentine's Day. This did not happen, folks. The most romantic storm hit our coast and my heart and froze me to my spot for another two days, as I contemplated the reality of what I was (am) about to do. I just left my job of four and a half years, doing social work with Portland's homeless community, a job I passionately loved. I also left my family, my work organizing a food co-op for the city that is developing at a pace I cannot handle, comfortable living, and the ability to purchase all manner of food for my eco-concious diet. Did I mention healthcare?

Aren't you a little bit scared? he asked. The young pastor from Mt. Desert Island to my right studied me. He wondered if it unnerved me to go where I have no plan, no prospects for work, basically no idea.

The truth is it scares me to stay in Portland, Maine right now, and I believe there must be another way to approach life than what I have been up to. Most of the people I know and tend to believe in are attached, secure and stable. At thirty, I have been stuck in the spin cycle, turning my wheels on life's icy roads. I have a definite habit of chasing my own tail. Contemplating further education several months ago, I introduced the thought of travel back into my mind. What if I just left?...stored my belongings, grabbed a map and just left? What if I got to listen to my own heart for awhile? What would I hear? My world had gotten too small and I needed to shift my perspective. My pastoral travelling companion suggested the importance of letting the other shoe drop once in a while. I responded that I believe in switching the whole pair altogether (although I must admit it was hard to leave those suede boots behind).

Moreover, for four and a half years I have shared a history with the homeless and Latino individuals I have served. I gained respect for and awareness of the events that bring so many immigrants to my community. The wonderful and tremendous responsibility of knowing this population continues to motivate me to study the culture of immigration in my country, especially at a time when it is one of the greatest political forces shaping its future. I planned to take a couple of months to do this. Once I opened my perspective, a couple of months became indefinite because the contacts and information came pouring in.

My goal is to trace the route of the Latino people I have known in Portland, ME, back to the US/Mexico Border, stopping and learning in different communities from activists, advocates, workers and families that have experienced the struggle with immigration. Professionally, I hope to gather information of trauma and resistance to further heal our community. I want to speak the language of immigration and the immigrant. I want to kick up dirt and get my hands dirty. I want to find and sing the blues and bike for peace! I am thirsty for the south!

I am not so sure how I come to identify with this struggle more than others. But it is the sweetest blessing to fight for someone you love. I also know that being on the road has been so important to me , for other reasons. For now, I am a little bird in flight. And being in flight means witnessing the whole picture, the aerial view of it all.

I arrived at Boston to stay with family and connect with East Coast contacts. My first stop. My priestly companion to my right had asked if I am spiritually lost and insinuated guidance. I told him that since I planned to travel I have not been lost. I have arrived.