Lean Forward and Just Let Go

/ Greta Matos / Leave a comment

“How are you feeling Greta, are you scared?”  I grin widely and shake my head no.  “What’s your social security number? Just kidding, I better see that smile when we get to the bottom.”  My skydiving instructor laughed lightly at his own joke, I felt a tickle in my chest and laughed as well as the small biplane banked slightly.  It was almost time to jump; I was ready.  I glanced across the plane where my brother sat, he too had a wide grin on his face.  I gave him a thumbs up as I was strapped onto my instructor for my first tandem skydive, here we go.

As I leaned out over the edge, I had no instinct to hold on any longer, no desire to pull myself back into the safety of the plane, I quite simply just leaned forward and let go.  As we were free falling my eyes raced to see as far as I could see, to witness as much of this Earth that I could fit into view as I fell back down to it.  I wanted to absorb every detail, to etch it into memory.  The wind pulled at my cheeks, broadening my smile even further.  With an abrupt tug, we were safely floating by parachute, enjoying the gorgeous day, reveling in the quietness that was so contrast with the roaring wind from a moment before.  I let out a giggle, overflowing with glee, that was simply too much fun.

I was 22 the first time I jumped out of a perfectly good plane.  It was probably the riskiest thing I had ever done at that point in my life.  Taking that leap of faith would come to be somewhat of a trend in other areas of my life, moments when I would realize the opportunity at hand, ultimately trusting that I was meant to land on my feet.  In every instance it has been worth the flutter of the heart as I leapt into the unknown.

Risk is a funny thing, it both inspires innovation and spurs imagination, while also confronting vulnerability and discomfort.  Risk pushes us to perform beyond the best of our ability, it takes us out of our comfort zones where real growth is tangible.  That risk I took jumping out of the plane had very real consequences, positive and negative consequences that ran parallel and a mix of luck, fate and preparation helped determine my experience of these consequences.

Over the years I’ve tried to make a habit of embracing risk with the same zest that I do when I jump out of planes; to maintain that thirst for experience, that desire to soak in every ounce of living from the moment I have left the ledge, stepped away from the safety zone, let go of the security and comforts of that which I am used to and acquainted with.

At this very moment, the sound of seagulls fills my ears.  The sun is warm, gently kissing my face as it slowly wakes up the rest of Valparaiso.  I sit from a balcony, overlooking the colorful city, homes of every shade of pastel you can imagine, ships sitting out in the harbor, the Pacific resting calmly to my left as I look out over the rolling hills.  It is quiet, the sounds of morning dominated by birds, with faint ship engines motoring off in the distance.  I have been exploring, and this place has filled me with imagination and wonder.  The cobblestone streets, the homes painted so many various hues of color delight at every turn.  Risk brought me to this little city by the sea built up into the the hills, whose charm is intoxicating alongside its grit.  A leap of faith brought me to this very moment that is filling me with so much joy and wonder. 

I believe that each and every one of us feels a tug to do something every once in a while that others may consider crazy.  Every single one of us has ideas that seem perhaps too risky, that we may be too easily talked out of.  Yet, there is greatness in taking bold action, there is so much growth awaiting us in the discomfort of the unknown.  To defy the fears of others, and perhaps the fears of yourself, by listening to the desires within and taking that leap of faith- this is truly living.  I recently walked away from a lot of very obvious opportunity for perhaps the less obvious ones.  Making that bold move, to write a chapter where I would be drawing on every ounce of strength I could muster, where I would again be searching every landscape to etch in memory the beauty it beheld, that has pushed me beyond what I believed capable, this is my latest leap of faith, and the journey has just begun.

A week ago I was rock climbing gorgeous granite deep in the Andes, discovering waterfalls and meeting the sunrise as it spilled through deep valleys.  Two days ago I was galloping horses up a mountain outside of the gorgeous organic vineyard where we’ve been learning about biodynamic viticulture. Today I am walking the streets of Valparaiso, ready to further discover this place, ready to soak in as much as I can with eyes of wonder.  Tomorrow, well, who knows where tomorrow will lead, but I will be sure to take a moment to acknowledge with gratitude the decision to take this leap, to embrace this risk, to lean forward and just let go.  Today, I let out a giggle of glee, this is simply too much fun. 

So, what is that thing that makes your heart skip a beat?  What is that leap of faith you have only imagined taking, but haven’t given it serious thought, yet?  Think about it, imagine it taking shape, and believe that you really are strong enough to lean forward and just let go.

The view from where I sit, writing this post. Valparaiso is a gem of beauty and grit, a lovely place to meander, to explore and to imagine.

Wishing Away the Present

/ Greta Matos / 2 Comments
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Freshly cut hay, always invokes many memories of my youth.

“Soon, this will all be over.” I was 11 years old, standing on the back of a bumpy hay wagon, reaching with a hay hook for the bales as they were being pushed off the bailer. It was 97 degrees, but it felt like 110 with the humidity. The air was heavy with heat, and my bare arms were aching, itching from the sweat pouring into the scrapes made by each bale. I was exhausted, this was the third and final wagon of the day and the sun bore down on us as the hot summer day wore on.  “Soon this will all be over.” I repeated the mantra in my mind as I reached for another bale and carried it to the back of the wagon to stack.  We pulled around the corner, the final row of freshly cut meadow grass racked into the bailer and deposited once more into neat, rectangular bales.  I took a long drink from my water bottle, the water was hot by now but I didn’t care, I swallowed quickly, dropping down on the nearest hay bale. I breathed deeply, enjoying the soft breeze that now kissed my face as the tractor changed gears, speeding toward the barn. Once at the barn I hoped off the wagon, unhitched the bailer and connected the tractor directly to the wagon.  Back up on the wagon, we slowly pulled the teetering tower of freshly cut hay into the bank barn, the floorboards creaking heavily as the weight of all that hay we had just lifted by hand settled in. Silence rested upon my ears as the tractor engine was cut.  I let out one last sigh, lifted the last hay bale I had just stacked neatly in the wagon and heaved it up into the balcony to be stored.  Time to unload…I begin my mantra again as I bend, lift, toss, bend, lift, toss, bend, lift toss.  “Soon this will all be over.”

Growing up on the farm was an incredible period of my life, we experienced moments of hardship, but also so many countless moments of joy and beauty.  I did so much discovering in that place, discovery of the world, discovery of myself.  One of the greatest things I learned was to cope with temporary discomfort when I knew that it was contributing toward a reality that was worth it.  When I was working for something that I loved, it was all worth it, no matter what momentary hardships might present themselves.

Although bailing hay was incredibly hard work, especially when I was so young, I accepted it as my responsibility, my “cost” for being privileged enough to grow up with horses. The privilege, to wake up before the sun, walk quietly out to the barn in a heavy sweater, and thick boots, pull back the barn door and be greeted by the warm smell of horses and the soft sound of their welcoming nickers.  To grab a bridle, pull open the stall door and lead my horse out into the pre-dawn night.  To pull myself onto her back, her thick fur immediately warming my legs, her ears forward looking into the night.  To lie close to her neck, trusting that her eyesight at night is better than mine, and to lean into a smooth gallop with her, darkness enveloping my vision, the crisp air catching my breath, the stars shining softly as they fade into dawn.  To lie flat on her back as she grazes, staring up at the sky, dreaming up ideas and futures, listening to the world wake up as the sun pulls itself slowly above the horizon.  To sit, and embrace the warm golden rays as the sunshine spills into the field.  This was all a gift, and every ounce of sweat was worth it.  Without question.

Later on in life I would reach back into the memories of those hot summer days spent bailing, and I would retrieve that Mantra “Soon this will all be over.”  The long drives on I-95 from Pennsylvania to North Carolina when I would be traveling between the home of my childhood and my new home of young adulthood.  The late nights working as a bartender, having that one incredibly inappropriate come on that made me cringe and just want to dissolve into the wall.  The commute across the Chinese/Hong Kong border with the roughly 300,000 other people every day after hours spent inside toxic factories.  The hours spent walking in the pouring rain, rain that had been pouring for six days straight, and had taken up residence in every article of clothing that I had.  The moments between homes, spent living out of suitcases on couches, with little privacy or feeling of independence. The end of the month that the numbers just don’t add up, and bills must be paid by credit card.  The breaths taken behind a mask as I walk the streets of countless polluted cities, my lungs forever tarnished from exposure in China those many years before.  “Soon this will all be over.”

Beyond all of those little moments of hardship, those brief memories of pain or discomfort, every single one of those moments was building toward something greater.  Each was contributing to my growth as a person, to my development of self and my fearlessness and courage.  Each of these moments that I once wished away, I continue to learn from with each reflection.  I have realized over time the weight that these six simple words carry, and that they are not to be used lightly, as they go beyond the immediate moment, they go to the core of our own existence.  Soon this really will all be over, and there will no longer be future moments in our life to cope with.  In the end, we actually live our lives very quickly, the good and the bad.

I catch myself now, when I am wishing away my present, and rather than uttering that Mantra, I try to look for small opportunities to acknowledge and appreciate beauty within the present.  Today I spent the day pruning vines on an organic vineyard.  The task itself is not overtly laborious, it is not overly taxing but it can be somewhat monotonous and the mind tends to wander.  After hours in the hot sun snipping and plucking, walking row after row, my mind was tempted to reach again for that Mantra.  But no, not this time.  This time I took a moment to acknowledge and appreciate. Looking at the horizon I am surrounded by mountains, all with dynamic shapes, sizes, colors and reliefs- snow caps straight ahead, to my right cacti blanket the mountainside, to my left steep thick green ridges.  I smile, standing in awe of the rawness of their beauty.  I look down at the vine I am trimming back, feeling love for the beautiful little buds that I am encouraging the vine to channel sap to.  I imagine the small role I play in the life of this plant, the grapes that will be born from it, their journey to grow, be bottled and eventually end up in a glass poured in celebration and cheers- suddenly I am a vessel of fate for these grapes.  My smile gets bigger. A soft breeze plays with my hair, I relish in the feeling of being outside all day, dirt on my hands, the sun on my back, surrounded by trees and birds, breathing in the clean, fresh air. I begin imagining how I will take the knowledge I am gaining from this project and build something from it.  Gratitude overwhelms me.  It is a lovely day, and I hope that this is not over too soon; I continue onto the next row.

Have you ever caught yourself wishing away your present moments, rather than digging in and pulling out every last drop of life you have in the present?  What have you done about it?  It takes practice, for me anyway, and a level of consciousness, but I have found there is so much beauty around us, it can always be found, should we only choose to seek it. Our perspective of challenges can be shifted dramatically when we find moments to appreciate within the midst of them, before it’s all over.

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Loving every single moment while I have it in this magical place

 

Acting as a Vessel for Fate

/ Greta Matos / 2 Comments
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Caught up in a moment of exhaustion after climbing up and slipping down many mountains along the Appalachian Trail. Later this day we would receive the wonderful “Trail Magic” from the lovely family described below.

The day had been absolutely exhausting and I was spent.  I had spent several hours at the DMV in Greensboro trying to get my Pennsylvania license transferred over to North Carolina where I had recently declared residency and bought a new car.  The day had turned grey, rain was pouring down and I had spent the past 25 minutes trying to find my way back to the highway from some random corner of the city I had never ventured into before.  All I wanted to do was get home.

I finally merged onto a road that looked half familiar and felt reassured I would be back in my comfy apartment within 45 minutes.  As I was cruising toward the edge of the city, I saw a woman walking on the side of the street, a look of desperation strewn across her face. She was very skinny, probably in her early forties although she looked worn in a manner that aged her and rain dripped off her dark skin.  I slowed down, rolled down my window and asked her if she was okay. With a look of shock and surprise at my stopping, she told me how she had just missed the last bus, and she had to get to this address before they closed at 6 o’clock or else she would not be able to begin her new life in Florida.  I told her to get in, that I would drive her and we would make it by 6.  It was 5:47.  I stepped on the gas and away we went.

As we zipped our way back into the city she repeatedly said, god bless you child, and then proceeded to tell me a little bit of her story, how her church community had collected enough money to buy her a ticket to Florida where she had a friend who had arranged a new job for her.  She was supposed to start this new job on Monday.  She told me of how she had lost everything, her family and her job in Greensboro, how this was her last chance to start her new life.  She described how horrible and hopeless she felt chasing after that bus on a rainy friday evening, knowing if she did not pick up the plane ticket before 6 o’clock she would not be able to fly the next day. It was now 5:54.

In my entire life I had never picked up a hitchhiker, nor had I ever invited a random stranger into my car.  There was just some indescribable feeling that I had, my gut telling me I was meant to play a role in this woman’s life.  We wound our way around the city, getting a bit turned around here or there as this was before iPhones and Google Maps and we were just using my atlas to navigate.  Eventually we pulled up to a very small little building, the address matching the scribble note she was holding- to our relief the light was still on.  I quickly hugged her and wished her good luck on her journey and her new life, and told her I was so happy that I could was able to help her today.  She thanked me again, over and over, before jumping out of the car and dashing to the building.  I sat for a moment, making sure the building was still open and she would be okay.  When she waved to me after entering, I backed out of the drive and again found myself lost in the city, in the grey rain. It was 6:01.

I no longer felt exhausted, I wasn’t dreaming of my warm bed or wishing myself home, I didn’t care how late it was or that I was lost again. I was laughing out loud. I was smiling so big that my cheeks began to ache.  Yes!! We had made it!! I had no idea what would happen to this woman, I had no way of knowing what would become of her or her new life, but I had played some magical part of her journey and wow did it feel incredible.  I acknowledged how fantastic it was to give with no expectation for oneself, to be able to trust and act as a vessel of fate for another human being.

Years later, when I was thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail I had this similar experience many times, but the roles were reversed.  As a thru-hiker you experience countless moments of tired exhaustion, days when you have walked for 25 miles, crossed rivers and summited three mountains, you are out of food and out of water and walking along the highway, trying to get a hitch into town so that you can have a warm meal and wash the six days of dirt and grime off of your sweaty body and your rotten smelling clothes.  Cars roll by without slowing, and on you walk, your aching feet begging for a rest.

One day, after a very rough week that had us hiking through mud and rain for six days straight, we were having “one of those days” and could not get a hitch.  After two miles hiking along the road, a minivan pulled over and a clean and cheerful family rolled down the window and beckoned for us to climb in.  The father up front had a strong Irish accent, the two children in the back seat stared at us with enormous eyes of wonder. Names were exchanged, and the questions began around what our story was.  When we told them had walked 845 miles to get to that very place, they stared at us in awe. We provided the name and address of the hostel where we intend to stay, but the father said first we must come for dinner.  They proceeded to take us home, offered us showers and washed our clothes, cooked and served us the most incredible salmon and steak dinner you could imagine, all the while asking countless questions about what our lives on the trail were like, why we were hiking and what kind of characters we had met along the way.

As we described countless adventures, the parents told their children to listen to us closely, to ask us questions and to imagine what a great journey we were on.  After treating us as honored guests in their home, they drove us onward to the hostel where we were able to finally sleep in a bed with full bellies and clean clothes.  As they dropped us at the hostel, the family thanked us for the time we shared with them. They thanked us…the vastness of their kindness was overwhelming for us, and there were no words that could express how much we appreciated their selfless generosity. Yet here they were, thanking us for being a brief part of their lives, just as I thanked that woman in North Carolina, for being in that place at that moment so that I could play some role in her journey.  Gratitude. Oh what gratitude comes when we encounter these vessels of fate, who deliver us where we are meant to be, in moments when they are most needed, the drivers of whom we also inevitably inspire, even if done unintentionally.

Our lives are intertwined with the lives of others; and even as we weave our own lives individually, we are constantly crossing the paths of one another, making connections and perhaps building bridges where they are needed, even if we are not the ones meant to cross them.  There is so much beauty in acknowledging this, and appreciating the moments when that little magic vessel shows up. Whether you are the driver or the passenger, you are ultimately equally blessed.

In what moments of your life have you experienced the vessel of fate arriving in the nick of time?  Have you had the beautiful gift of being able to be at the helm of the vessel, delivering some selfless act of kindness in the absolute perfect moment it was required?  How fantastic did you feel!?

When Opportunity Lies Beneath the Cloak of Frustration

/ Greta Matos / 1 Comment

When I was spending most of my time in China, going to factories everyday, I witnessed a sliver of the daily lives of the factory workers.  The workers would often look up at me as I walked by, staring openly.  I suppose I was a bit of an oddity to them, considering I was a very young western woman, something they were less accustomed to seeing in the far-flung remote factory cities.  It was much more typical for them to see older western men in suits.

At the time I was studying Mandarin via Rosetta Stone, but my Chinese was not anything to boast about, and my direct interaction with the workers was hardly anything beyond observing the repetitive processes they had to do while constructing our products.  As we prepared for audits, I would skim the records of the IDs the factory presented to me, searching for those who were underage.  I would tour the factories and dormitories, walking into their sleeping quarters, seeing the wooden platforms they slept on, the cramped spaces they shared, the corner where their food sat in a pile on the cement floor, awaiting cooking after they finished for the evening.

At the time, I was there to do a job that had very little to do with caring about those workers, aside from being sure there were enough of them to meet our production targets.  I was there to make sure those workers were making the products to the quality specs we had negotiated with the factory, to be sure the materials being used were those we had signed off on, and to confirm that the factory hadn’t outsourced our production elsewhere.  I was not there to evaluate the conditions in which the workers were being managed, aside from a high level tour of the factory to confirm there were no children or obvious violations.  I was not there to care about the people that were fundamental to the success of my company. In retrospect, it sounds harsh, but it is an honest depiction of the role thousands of manufacturing manages play for companies all around the world.

Over time, I was exposed to things that made me uncomfortable, finding within the midst of the production lines underage workers here and there; the harsh tones factory managers would use when disciplining a worker, the toxic fumes the workers were exposed to without masks, the blatant sexism and gender discrimination.

I had to face these things, because once I witnessed them, I felt in some way responsible if I did not take action.  This lesson was massive, as it was definitive in determining the path I would take my career- the choice of complacency or action, the choice of rolling up my sleeves or turning a blind eye.  The reality that complacency and a blind eye are the comfortable, easy paths of least resistance; the reality that choosing to take action meant preparing for uncomfortable conversations, acceptance of reality but commitment to the conversation of change.

When I began working on the other side of the industry, in the field of social compliance auditing and human rights, actually facing these issues head on and working to build solutions to the vast challenges that arise when you are managing an international supply chain in a global economy, I had no idea the depths of darkness this work would expose me to.  I also had no idea the brightness of the light that could shine when even just one worker was impacted in a positive way.

There is something to be said for leaning into things that scare the hell out of you, or make you angry.  Of stepping back and realizing that things that piss you off are essentially cloaked opportunities, and they are pivotal in defining the kind of person you want to be.

I hate the vastness of the problems that exist in supply chains all around the world.  I hate knowing the likelihood of slave labor contributing to the products that I buy.  I hate that there are some many companies in this world that simply don’t give a damn.

But I love the fact that there is a huge network of people collectively working toward improving the lives of these workers, of reducing the negative impacts production has on the environment.  I love that we can now have conversations, legislation and accountability when it comes to sticky uncomfortable realities such as slave labor.  I love that there are companies who care, and they are trail blazing and finding creative ways to tell their stories.  They are inspiring others- companies and consumers alike, to challenge the norm when it comes to a broken system.

There are millions of opportunities for us to do better, in everything we do.  It takes a willingness to roll up our sleeves, to be willing to get some dirt on our face, to walk boldly into a dark night, to leap from a cliff and know we will be caught.  It takes finding your voice, and USING your voice, believing in something and standing steadfast.

But it also takes acknowledging that you cannot do it alone, we need one another, we can be incredibly powerful when focusing on our immediate sphere of influence- knowing that there will be a ripple effect beyond our control and our sight.  I have experienced countless moments feeling defeated, in this work, seeing so much work to be done and not feeling as though I am having an impact; and yet, when I bring myself back to my immediate sphere, and I see the positive impact I can have with each person I touch and know, I am again inspired to get back to work and continue pushing.

Think about it.  What have you confronted to find the opportunity beneath the fear, the anger or the frustration?  What has made you stop and say, wait, this isn’t okay with me, and I’m going to do something about it?

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Standing with workers in the fields of Morocco. These women were so filled with light, they were so curious and sweet, smiling and shy. When I asked for a photo with one they all gathered around.

Follow that Ever-So-Bold Heart

/ Greta Matos / Leave a comment
Following my heart across the Appalachian mountains- just at the start of my five month journey, loving the rugged wilderness of Maine.

Following my heart across the Appalachian mountains- just at the start of my five month journey, loving the rugged wilderness of Maine.

Often times when I speak about my travels, my work or the adventures I’ve had, people ask me how I got here, how I’ve made those things happen.  And it’s funny, because the first time I was asked that I didn’t even think about it, I simply responded that I “have a tendency to follow my heart.” In a kind of weird way, it’s actually that simple.

Throughout our lives, we are all faced with millions of decisions- many of which we don’t even acknowledge because our brains are too busy filtering out the unfamiliar so we can make sense of it all in the comfort of the familiar.  Our hearts don’t really work that way though.  Within the heart, we have the comfort of intuition, the quiet, sure, “knowing” self that never demands center stage but always comes through in times of need.

I suppose I was a pretty self-aware kid growing up.  At a very young age, I learned what it was to work hard for something I loved and I never questioned that work, no matter how challenging.  I knew that if I was pursuing my love I was following my heart, and that very basic principle became my guiding light at the ripe age of 7.  It has translated over the years through the course of the jobs I’ve taken, opportunities I’ve pursued as well as those I’ve walked away from.

Our hearts can be pretty bold forces in this world, when given the chance.  Mine has certainly led me down paths that my rational mind challenged with fear and doubt. The beauty of it is that when you commit to the heart, when you commit to that bold voice within you, you are overtaken with a strength that allows you to look ahead, to set intentions without expectations, and to boldly go where you’ve never gone before.

Today I sit in gratitude for the boldness of my heart, for her constant guiding confidence, for the places she’s taken me, and for this next adventure whose ledge I rest upon.  In several weeks, my husband and I move to Chile with our dog, and only whatever we can manage to carry comfortably.  What do we seek? We seek a beautiful story, we seek adventure, we seek the friends we have yet to meet and the places that will take our breath away.  We seek that which pulls our hearts to a place neither of us has ever been, yet one that will no doubt push us beyond what we feel we are capable of. And we embrace it.

This state of being reminds me of another time, when I sat quietly contemplating an adventure that took every ounce of boldness within my being- the decision to walk continuously for 2,176 miles, from Maine all the way to Georgia, with my then boyfriend of 8 months (now the very same husband embarking on this Chile adventure).  This journal entry nicely captured the essence of embracing that boldness:

2008, April: “Oh this life…these twists and turns and winding trails of this beautiful life.  I’ve been longing to write- aching for it;  and yet you’ve sat by as my life is jarring and spinning.  Being in the woods again and writing takes me back to China, the hours of walking, the solitude and comfort in discomfort.  And I meditate on the new discomfort I will soon carry and embrace- to walk for hours, days, weeks and months.  To carry all of my belongings on my back and cherish the simplicity of my daily choices. 

The primary anxiety is only in the here and now, wanting so badly to wrap everything up finally- sell the car, pay off the last of the credit cards, everything else sold, stored or forwarded; all that remains of Greta either in motion or in memory.

I crave a shift in perspective- the change this will bring to my pursuits and my lifestyle, the chapter of my life that will be as foreign as those that unfolded before it.  There is no doubt it’s what I should do, regardless of how I came about doing it.  I am so ready to again embrace the beautiful boldness I felt not so long ago as I walked along the other side of the world.”

What bold step have you taken by acknowledging your heart’s desire?

What adventure did you embrace with the strength drawn from knowing it was just what you were meant to do, and that was all the reason needed?