Chile

Welcome Home

/ Greta Matos / 2 Comments
Home

My many “homes” in the last 18 months- San Francisco apartments, tiny tents, two person+1 dog hammocks, and Pucon properties owned by others (just to name a few)

The customs agent looked down at my passport, turning the pages until he reached the last one. After a year of constant travel and daily border crossings from Hong Kong to China, I had effectively filled my entire passport with stamps and needed to add pages while I was in the States for the next three weeks. I looked up at him, somewhat disheveled from the 13 hour flight and the jet lag that was my constant travel companion. He smiled at me, stamped my passport and handed it back to me.

“Welcome home.”

Home. There have been a few chapters in my life where the concept of home seemed to be an elusive idea, playing hide and seek with me as I bounced around the world living out of a backpack or a suitcase. Chapters spent literally flying around the world every three weeks, living in hotels, airports and temporary bases- finding homes wherever I happened to be. Chapters spent climbing mountains and crossing rivers for five months, living out of a backpack, carrying my home on my back. Chapters spent in that in-between travel mode that was a mix of couch surfing, country-hopping, friend and family visits and constant movement for weeks on end. And chapters like this last year, spent living on the road, on the trails, and care-taking the homes of others here in Chile. It has been a chapter where home was not a destination, but instead a creative venture- one of pure flexibility and freedom, and one that constantly challenged the traditional idea of the word.

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Finding myself at home in the air, on the road, or on the trail!

Personally, I don’t consider myself a nomad, even though I probably travel more than the average person. I have never thought of myself as one of those people who can constantly be on the road and on the go. I like home-making sometimes. I LOVE to cook, and I love to host and celebrate friends and family in our home. I love to have the things that give me comfort available. And I am one of those weird people who actually enjoys cleaning and organizing, so I adore those cold rainy days that motivate me to sweep up the house, light some candles and pick some fresh rain-soaked flowers for the kitchen- ideally from my own garden. I love sharing in the abundance that having a home allows.

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Cooking in my house kitchen and cooking in my road/trail kitchen- I’m happy as long as I’m cooking 🙂

On the other side of the coin, there is an invigorating freedom that comes with releasing yourself from the responsibility of home and taking to the “road” (or sky, or trail) and living light for a while. I equate this way of life to something that one of my favorite poets, David Whyte, discusses when he talks about how essential it is to “go hungry” at least once a day, to say no to everything that is not a yes, so that when you finally dig in, when you finally say yes, it is such an incredible experience you are overwhelmed with gratitude for it. Regardless of its simplicity or complexity, the experience is, in and of itself, a reminder of what it is to live.

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Backyards with sweeping city views are sweet, but so is having remote tiny towns or endless wilderness out the back door (or tent door).

There are two key things I always look forward to when giving up my home to explore and adventure into the unknown.

First- the discomfort that comes when you let go of the comforts of your home. It is in this space of discomfort that I experience so much growth, it is here that I face my fears so fiercely, as if my life depends on it, becomes it often does. Letting go of the trappings of your home makes you seriously appreciate the bare necessity. To this day, I cannot tell you how deeply I appreciate every single time I stand in a shower and feel hot water come out of the faucet. Before I thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail, where I had to endure cold splash baths in icy ponds and otherwise go without showering for a whole week at a time, I never gave that hot water a second thought. Now, even seven years after my hike, the appreciation for this simple thing is still so intense.

When I start to crave this discomfort, that is usually when I realize it is time for a shift, it is time to let go of something in order to make space for something else. And often I need to let go of something big, in order to allow for something bigger to arrive.

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The comforts of home can take many shapes and forms

Second- the physical act of letting go of what I do not need in order to be comfortably mobile for any extended period of time. I like to refer to it as “living lean”. You cut away the excess, you purge your closets and your cabinets, minimize your belongings to the bare essentials and the things you love so deeply you would run into a burning building to save them. The rest you let go of. And afterward, you actually feel physically lighter. It’s like this invisible weight that you were never aware of is taken away- and it feels amazing.

As thru-hikers, we called this “pairing down”- and it was an essential lesson during our hike. When we first started, Ale and my packs were so incredibly heavy. We quickly learned the lighter your pack, the less physical pain and suffering. It’s funny how this lesson can be applied to the way we choose to fill our homes with “stuff” we may not need or have the money to pay for- the less of that we have, the less credit card debt we have, and therefore the less stress (i.e. pain and suffering) we have to manage. There is a higher level of consciousness of the physical things we consume, and with that comes a confrontation of why we consume them, and if we really need to in the first place.

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Ale and I cut the weight of our packs in half while thru-hiking. The photo top left is Ale’s pack at the start of the trail, the one on the right top is midway through after serious pairing down. We also paired down heavily when we moved to Chile. The Uhaul on the left was filled with all of our belongings when we moved to San Francisco 6 years ago. The photo on the right, is us driving our 1998 Subaru Forester here in Chile, with all of our belongings packed in the back (we moved to Chile with 6 bags total).

I am not suggesting that everyone out there must abandon their home, sell their belongings and hit the road in order to really appreciate life. That isn’t the point. The point, is that there is humility, beauty and strength awaiting us all when we actively participate in some form of letting go of what makes us comfortable in order to embrace what makes us uncomfortable. Whether that is choosing to do one thing each day that scares you, making more space in your home by giving away or selling the things you no longer need or love, or simply giving yourself time away from the clutter of your daily existence.

Today, I write this post from my kitchen table. After 18 months on the road, having roughly 27 different places that could be described as “temporary homes” in six different countries, we once again have a home in the traditional sense. On this day one year ago, Ale and I got on a plane and flew to Chile with hearts and minds wide open, and the idea of home a distant intention. The focus at that moment was embracing the discomfort and pairing down to travel with ease.

Mission accomplished. Our focus and intentions shift as we once again retreat to the comforts and responsibilities of this home. Although I don’t have any intention to start filling this place with more stuff, it sure feels good to take all of my belongings out of their weary and worn packs and finally have a place of belonging. It feels good to have a consistent space for creative ritual, to have a place to do yoga each morning that overlooks the mountains and trees filled with hummingbirds. I am filled with gratitude to retreat to a mattress each night after a tough day of climbing mountains, instead of my thin Thermarest. Oh, and how I adore having a kitchen again, where I can cook up lovely things to share with my husband and visitors. Best of all, we have space to host friends and family comfortably, something I longed for while living in our tiny one bedroom in SF, and couldn’t even imagine as we lived on the road these past 18 months.

The culmination of all our experiences here, all our travels, and now having a place of our own once again, all of it has been instrumental in building this feeling of home here in Chile. And it feels good to be home.

Road Home

So, on that note, who’s coming to visit?

Cómo se dice “cancer” en español?

/ Greta Matos / 1 Comment

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The words in the email stared back at me silently as I wrapped my mind around their meaning. They were delivered with no emotion, offering no reaction to my receipt. They were just words, serving their purpose, delivering their message.

“Please let us know that you received this. Also please note that this is a skin cancer that will need treatment.”

The house was quiet, still dark as the sun was just making its way over the mountains to finally spill into the valley. Ale had already left for work, and I was alone. I opened the path report that was attached, sent from my dermatologist in the States, read the diagnosis, and sat back pondering what I should do next.

I guess I wasn’t really surprised, when I had originally noticed the pinkish spot that didn’t go away, I knew what it could be; and when I saw the dermatologist during a quick visit to the USA, he seemed pretty concerned. However, in all my years traveling and living abroad, I never had to face a medical issue in a foreign country. I never had to imagine the possibility of working with doctors and hospitals who didn’t speak my native language before I was fluent in theirs. I didn’t really know where to begin, sitting at home alone with no doctor in front of me to answer my questions; so I began with Google. And what was my first question?

“Cómo se dice cancer en español”.

As I typed the question into the Google search, I felt about as helpless as a lost child all alone in a new city. And finding out it was simply “cáncer” somehow made it worse. It was kind of a bizarre moment that sums up the essence of leaving the comforts of your home country. Being self-reliant, confident and independent have been attributes I’ve always celebrated about myself; but in that moment, my independence and self-reliance felt so insignificant.

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Learning to communicate in Spanish and have general conversations is one thing, but being able to find and talk about cancer treatment here in Chile is an entirely different kind of beast. However, as I learned more about my diagnosis and options, I actually found myself continuously reassured by gratitude, rather than fear.

First, my diagnosis was Basal Cell Carcinoma– a very common form of skin cancer (in fact, the most common form of all cancers), and one of the easiest to cure. As I learned more about this type of cancer and the available treatments, it was reassuring to know that the risks associated with it were not life threatening, and that treatment should be pretty straightforward.

Second, I have with me my incredibly handsome, intelligent and reassuring husband who also happens to speak Spanish as a first language. Although I have always managed my medical issues for myself, being able to lean on my husband now to help me find the right clinic, get the right doctors, ask and translate the questions and answers has saved me so much stress and confusion. It is humbling to really need someone when you are in a vulnerable position, but it is also empowering when you see your individual strengths and weaknesses collectively supporting one another.

Third, I am living in a country with a great medical system and have easy access to excellent doctors- even in our tiny little town in southern Chile (much to my surprise). To top that off, I have friends here who were quick to offer recommendations of trusted clinics and contacts of doctors who had treated other friends. It is a gift to live somewhere with access to great healthcare that is also extremely affordable. This fact is not lost to me when I think of so many loved ones in the USA who are buried under medical expenses associated with any type of cancer diagnosis. Part of me also cringes at the fact that this will now be in my medical history and if I do move back to the USA someday, I’ll have to contend with the discrimination of insurance companies there.

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The helplessness that I originally felt when I received the diagnosis shifted entirely when I began my treatment. My experience working with the doctors and hospitals here in Chile was so incredibly different compared to every experience I’ve had with hospitals and insurance companies in the USA- even with the language barrier. The feeling that was embracing me all along the way was one of sincere kindness. And that simple kindness really did make the whole process of having a piece of me cut out that much easier. The abundance of gratitude, just kept flowing.

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Throughout this process, one thing has really struck me- and it is something I hadn’t really expected. From the time I received the diagnosis, to the process of learning more about this type of cancer and discussing it with my doctor, all along the way I realized that somehow cancer has become kind of a “normal” thing in my generation. I remember this being different when I was a kid, when losing someone to cancer was a rare shock.

However, at the age of 31, I wasn’t entirely shocked that it happened to me. I have friends my own age and younger who have fought battles with many different types and stages of cancer. I know of young families who have had to deal with the devastation of a child being diagnosed with cancer. I have lost friends and family members to cancer. Without necessary rhyme or reason, these days cancer affects nearly everyone I know in some way or another.

Although some cancers have specific and direct causes, many are still hard to pin down. Personally, I believe that the environments we have constructed in our maddening pursuit of a consumer-driven, industrialized society are huge contributors. We are of this Earth; and in our time on this Earth, humans have radically altered the environment in which we exist. Much of this alteration has been done with blatant disregard for the impacts on our Earth, directly threatening our own ability to continue thriving on this planet, of which we come from. We cannot damage this Earth without directly damaging ourselves. We must be stewards, not pillagers. It is our own health and the health of our children that we rob when we damage the ecosystems we live within.

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As I’ve been healing, I’ve spent a lot of time retreating to the wild places that surround my home in southern Chile. I’ve spent quiet time sitting atop mossy fallen trees that lie strewn beside waterfalls. I’ve climbed mountains that toyed with stealing my breath as I struggled up their steep inclines, only to have that breath taken away entirely when reaching to top and standing in awe of the view before me. I’ve sat quietly inside the trunk of a living Coigue tree, feeling as though I was sitting in the warm embrace of a womb. I have felt every single cell in my body rejoice as a warm breeze, the first sign of the coming spring, twisted my hair, and the smell of rain falling in a dense forest filled my nostrils. IMG_3929

So what can be done? How can we as individuals slow the progress of this degrading industrialized system? We can begin by demanding transparent information about the contents of the things we buy, and the manner in which they are produced. From the food we eat to the products we wear and use to adorn our homes, information is power, and the more we know about what chemicals and toxins are involved in producing the goods we consume, the more control we have when it comes to limiting our exposure. And, perhaps more importantly, this allows us to begin the conversation with the companies manufacturing these goods. It is up to us to hold them accountable- it is up to us to demand this information, this level of transparency, and to demand products that do not inflict harm on this Earth and our own bodies. If we do not require it, the things we buy will continue to be made with a focus only on higher profits and lower costs- at the expense of our health, our environment, and the health and vibrance of the people and communities who make the things we buy.

The Environmental Working Group has been publishing reports on chemical and toxin transparency for years- and their reports are hugely helpful to any consumer trying to navigate the barrage of “natural” and “eco” labels out there today. The latest Cancer Prevention Edition landed in my inbox the morning after I had surgery to remove my skin cancer. The irony of it is not lost to me, which is why I felt so motivated to share my little story, and take some time to speak up in the hope that others consider doing so as well. You can also join the conversation by checking out the Just Label It campaign working to demand greater transparency in the USA food supply. Together, we can find a better way.

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So, what do you do?

/ Greta Matos / 2 Comments
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Me posing with Volcan Villarica after an invigorating climb on a crisp, beautiful July day.

“Oh you live in Chile? Wow, so, what do you do there?”

“Well, mostly I climb mountains and surf.” I say with a smile and a little laugh. I laugh because this response inevitably always draws a quizzical look and a flurry of follow up questions. I smile because this simple little statement is a true reflection of how I’ve been spending most of my time lately, which was my intention when I closed the last chapter and began writing this one.

By now when someone hears that I live in Chile, they typically first assume that I am here for my job. That is why I stopped telling people what I do for a living when they ask me what I do in Chile. I didn’t come here for my work, I came here for my life. Their next assumption is usually that we moved here for family- also not accurate since neither my husband or I have any family here. I get it, I’m in my thirties, most people don’t just up and move to a remote part of the world for reasons other than work and family, but I also kind of love the fact that we did.

I remember the pangs of fear that crept in when I initially decided to quit my job and move to Chile, fear about answering that question, “what do you do,” as so much of my identity had felt tied to my work. I remember thinking about how I should update my Linkedin profile, how I could validate my credibility as a capable and successful professional without the title that went with my role. Even with those questions and doubts causing concern, the greater concern for me was that I would spend the majority of my life in an office, in front of a computer screen, finding time to do the things that brought me the most joy only around the edges of my life, not within the focus. I didn’t only want to experience joy in the edges, I wanted it to be flowing constantly.

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Pre-surf yoga always helps me clear my mind and connect with my intention before heading into the waves.

It’s funny how we subscribe to society’s definition of success, and learn to build our goals and dreams about achieving it through that lens, rather than the lens of our own souls. It is a practice to refrain from pursuing success in this manner, it is a practice to go within, to listen, to understand what ignites joy within you, what makes that feeling of love and gratitude just overflow to the point of uncontrollable giggling and mile-wide smiles. I don’t think this is a struggle, but I do think it is a practice. But when we engage in this practice, oh wow. Wow what unbelievable beauty can unfold!

In the past month, I have hiked through the backcountry of the incredible and ancient snow-dusted araucaria forests of southern Chile, climbed to summits where I had 360 degree views of wild landscapes filled with volcanos, waterfalls, lakes and a huge variety of forests. I have explored the southern coast in search of clean surf breaks, perfect for a cold but sunny winter surf session. I have spent days meandering down dirt roads, deep into unknown territory with my favorite person on the planet, laughing and finding magic places that only we know about, where we can someday bring our loved ones to share. I have put skis on and skinned up a smoking volcano, overlooking massive jewel-toned lakes with craggy mountains on the horizon, then turned around and skied down, back home in time to make a fire, do laundry and cook up a feast. I have also put in a good bit of time working on some exciting consulting projects, logged the necessary hours on my computer, all the while feeling creatively energized. As much as I love the work that I do, I still relish in the fact that I can step out my back door and huff and puff my way up a mountain that will totally have me giggling with childlike glee when I reach the top. This is my bliss, and now that I have it within arm’s reach, I try to embrace it daily, on some level.

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With this as your backyard, it is hard to justify spending a day inside in front of a computer screen 😉

So, when someone asks me what I do, my gut reaction is no longer to tell them about my work. Although I love my work deeply, it no longer feels as though it is the most important part of my identity. Instead, I want to share what I actually do, what makes my heart sing, what invigorates me and reminds me that THIS is living, and I should be doing what makes me feel most alive as much as possible while I am able to.

How would you answer the question “what do you do,” if you were referring to how you spend the majority of your time? Does your answer excite you? Does it make you smile and laugh? If not, what would it take for you to pull joy from the edges of your life to the focus?

The Open Road, An Untouched Roadmap, And A Smile

/ Greta Matos / 1 Comment
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Taking a moment to smile, appreciate and document some of our adventures in the backcountry of Chile.

What a day!!  After several days in County Cork bouncing between hotels, pubs and business meetings, I found myself in Ireland with one day entirely to myself before I would catch my next flight on to Hong Kong. I woke up early, grabbing my carry-on bag, the keys to my rental car and a road map of Ireland. Once checked out of my hotel, I sat at a crossroads and considered consulting my map; instead, I decided randomly to turn left.  What was left? I had no idea, but I knew I had one day and I wanted to spend it getting lost in one of my favorite places in the world.

I managed to meander my way to the coast simply by choosing random lefts and rights along the way, my roadmap sitting untouched on the floor of the passenger side of the car.  Oh the coast of Ireland, how this place makes my heart ache!  It had first stolen my heart two years prior when I had been studying abroad there.  Ireland was the first country I had ever visited outside of the USA, and my what a place to introduce me to the beauty that awaited on the other end of an overseas flight.  Now as I sat again on the cliff’s edge, breathing deeply the crisp sea air, I marveled that I had managed to get back to this place that I loved so dearly without even trying.  How funny that one of my biggest clients would be based in County Cork, and that it would be a business trip that would return me to this place I held so closely in my heart.  The thought of all the random twists and turns of the past two years that brought me back here, similar to those random twists and turns that brought me to the very place I sat that day, triggered an uncontrollable grin.

Eager to see what else could be discovered, I jumped back in my car, invigorated by the jewels I was finding simply by wandering aimlessly across the country. I completely disregarded my roadmap once again and instead drove north along the coast, now in search of some Irish fish and chips. I found my way back to the lovely Galway, one of my favorite cities in Ireland, and dug into by far the most delicious fish in chips I’d ever eaten as I sat at the edge of town beside the water’s edge. From Galway I hit the road again, heading a bit further north up the coast before deciding to wander inland a bit and cruise the country roads of middle Ireland, heading in the general southern direction so as to end up somewhere semi-close to Shannon airport from where my early morning flight would depart.

The smile on my face just could not be undone, as I passed countless stone farm homes, pastures of sheep and horses, the only traffic to bother were the occasional herds crossing the road.  As the sun began to set and evening descended, I decided it was time to finally consult that map and see where the nearest city or village was.  Luckily I wasn’t too far from Ennis so I decided that would be my final destination where I would find a room for the night at a local pub. Considering I hadn’t intended to arrive here, I was delighted to find such a lovely little town overflowing with charm and an age that took one back to medieval times.

As I sat at the bar in the pub enjoying a hot beef stew with mashed potatoes washed down with an incredibly delicious Guinness, I jotted down some favorite moments in my journal, smiling to myself with each little memory.  I was approached by three very jovial flight attendants- Sara, Chris and Tony, from the USA who happened to be staying in Ennis as well before flying back to their Detroit base in the morning.  We swapped stories of world travels, laughed a lot, and probably managed to sample all of the pubs in Ennis until the wee hours of the morning.  As we parted ways and I gave everyone farewell hugs, Tony looked me straight in the eye and said, “Never stop smiling, your smile brings more light to others than you could ever imagine.”  I smiled again, saying thanks and that I would always try to keep that in mind.

The next morning I awoke with a start, frantically grabbing for my phone to check the time.  Oh no!! It was 8:30!! My flight departed at 9:15…how on Earth was I going to make my flight?  I shook my head as I quickly pulled all of my clothes into my bag and dashed down to reception to check out.  Into the little rental I raced, stepping on the gas and willing my trusty car to get me to the airport in a mere 20 minutes rather than the 35 the innkeeper had estimated.  Oh I couldn’t miss this flight!  I had meetings lined up already in China, and was on a three week travel stint and oh how irresponsible of me if I screwed this up!!

My heart was racing as I quickly tossed the keys of the rental car to the attendant and ran for security.  I smiled at the security personnel, looking wildly disheveled, explaining that my flight left in 10 minutes and I had to run.  The guard let me pass through the separate line for flight attendants- I smiled to myself remembering the fun I had with the crew last night and threw my bag on the conveyor. “Beep beep beep”…the security guard asked me to open my bag. Oh no I don’t have time! I thought nervously, quickly unzipping my carry on and finding that I had forgotten to separate my liquids and they were messily strewn about with my clothes.  I hear my name being called over the loud speaker as a final departure call for my flight. I looked desperately at the guard and smiled, she simply said in a thick Irish accent, “Don’t worry love, RUN!” and smiled broadly.  I grabbed my bag, zipping it as I ran, raced down the terminal to my gate where I found the door just being closed.  “WAIT!!!” I desperately called ahead.  The gate attendant looked at me, oh what a ridiculous sight I must have been, she smiled and picked up the phone, hanging up and opening the door to the jetway.  Oh my God I had made it.  I breathlessly thanked her a thousand times and ran onto the plane, apologizing for my lateness and quickly finding my seat.

I was sweaty, my hair was a mess, uncombed and flying every which way thanks to the lovely wet Ireland air.  My face had no makeup, and I think it’s very possible I was still wearing my pajamas.  But I had made it.  Oh wow had I made it.  I sat there wondering at the day I had just experienced, all those little moments that had drawn a smile to my face, and the lovely little reminder that a perfect stranger had given me about the power of that smile. I leaned back deep into my chair and once again was overcome with an uncontrollable grin.  The passenger beside me looked over and said, “Well it appears you’ve had quite an adventure, what have you been getting into over here in Ireland?”

In all my travels, my smile has been a constant companion.  And as I’ve gotten older, even more so.  Not only does it physically make you happier when you smile, it is actually contagious, and inspires those around you to smile as well.  My smile has brought some pretty wonderful people into my life, people who may not have approached me had I not been wearing it.  It has also been a wonderful way for me to become more present and conscious of the experiences I am having.

The past few weeks I have been exploring Chile with my husband.  We began our travels heading to the coast, in a similar manner to the way in which I chose to meander through Ireland so many years ago.  We have our wetsuits, surfboards, yoga mat, rock climbing gear and backpacking gear ready for whatever Chile had in store. As we arrived in Matanzas, a tiny little town along the coast that reminded me warmly of the California Coast and had been recommended by a local for the surf, I ask “How long will we stay?”, to which Ale responded, “what do you think, as long as we want?”

“Sounds good to me. And then where to?”

He smiled and said, “Further South I suppose, and when our arms need a rest from all this paddling, let’s begin driving East to the Andes for some trekking and climbing, give the legs a workout.”

I smiled and nodded, “sounds good to me.”

I think over the course of these past few weeks I have probably smiled hundreds of thousands of times….hopefully I’m getting closer to millions.  I am constantly in awe by the beauty we discover at every turn, constantly in a state of gratitude for this journey I am blessed to be traveling, for all of the twists and turns in my life that have brought me to the very place I sit, and for the prospect of so much unknown opportunity awaiting on the horizon.  I smile now as I relive that brief but hilarious moment in Ireland, and cherish the words that Tony left with me. I am sharing this smile all across Chile, and just as this country is inspiring light within me, I hope that my smile inspires light within others.  We should all smile more, it’s good for ourselves and great for one another. If you don’t believe me, just listen to this fantastic gem about The Hidden Power of Smiling by Ron Gutman.

Here are a few of the places that our random little journey has brought us here in Chile and that keep invoking this ever-present smile:

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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.

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?