Don’t Doubt the Magic

June 16, 2017June 17, 2017 / Greta Matos / 1 Comment

I looked at Ale as he stared out across the expansive lake.

Not a single person lingered near the dock. We were alone, with our horses and our dogs and all of our belongings, waiting.

“I don’t think they’re coming,” I said.

“They’re coming, they’re just late- it’s South America.” Ale responded.

There was no one to ask, no one to call; all we could do was wait. So we did.

Six days earlier we had made the decision that ultimately brought us to this empty dock overlooking this seemingly empty lake. We had approached the cross roads on our way north and Ale called back to me-

“So, what’s it going to be? Puerto Tranquilo or Chile Chico?”

My mind raced. Ever since we’d left Cochrane we had been experiencing dryer and dryer territory, and it was getting more difficult to find quality pasture for the horses to graze. We’d been warned that the route north along the Carretera Austral was very dry and there would be virtually no food for them in the low country; however, we knew this route- we had hitchhiked through Puerto Tranquilo and had a sense of what lay before us thanks to our past experience.

Alternatively, we had the option of following the road west to Chile Chico to the border of Argentina, where we would have to take a ferry across the vast Lago General Carrerra in order to continue north. It would take us four days to traverse the lake on horseback, and there was no guarantee that we could even put the horses on the boat. We had to assume there would be a way to move livestock across the lake- this was Patagonia after all.

It was a fifty-fifty toss up- Chile Chico was a gamble, in that if we arrived and couldn’t put the horses on the boat, our only option would be to turn around and ride the four days back to the Carretera Austral- losing 8 days total. Riding north along the Carretera Austral meant we would likely push longer days in search of pasture and water and have to deal with the constant flow of traffic that we were surprised to find whenever we dropped onto the road (Patagonia in the summer is not nearly as remote as one might think). Road riding is terribly stressful with the dogs; the horses hated it, and so did we.

Ultimately we decided to gamble and veered from our northern heading to spend a few days due west along the quiet, dusty road toward Chile Chico.

And so, for days we plodded along the border of the magnificent Lago General Carrera.

We arrived in Chile Chico at dusk on a Friday, and invisible help seemed to appear at every turn as we found a farrier to shoe the horses, land where we could camp and graze the horses and an actual grocery store to resupply our food for the next leg of our journey. We rested the crew, washed and repaired the few clothes we had and enjoyed the first hot shower in nearly two weeks. It was delicious.

Sunday morning I laid out all of our newly purchased food, packed the horse feed and dog food and organized our equipment while Ale hitchhiked into town to get details about the ferry. Around 2:00pm I received a call from him, telling me to urgently pack the chiwas (packs for our horses) and get the horses saddled and ready to go. He didn’t have time to explain and instead simply said we had to get to the dock by 5:00pm that night or we were screwed.

Somewhat bewildered I hung up and began scurrying around, collecting our scattered gear and haphazardly stuffing our sleeping bag back into its dry-sack. The horses stared at me quietly as I fed them the last bale of hay to munch on while I packed frantically.

Curi Cuyen solemnly staring up at me as I quickly pack up camp. The story behind her cone of shame is forthcoming 😉

When Ale arrived I was just tying off the last Chiwa. He brought the horses over and began grooming and saddling, quickly telling me all that had unfolded.

Apparently, there was a new company running the ferries across the lake- and this company did not allow horses onboard unless they were contained in a truck. Our dogs were required to be transported in crates. These were new rules, and were quite a surprise to us as we’d grown so accustomed to moving across Patagonia without the need of a car or truck- simply carrying all we needed on the horses.

Patagonia is changing though; and as it does, so do its priorities. As more and more companies move into the region to capitalize on the burgeoning tourism industry, they’re quickly cutting away core aspects of the true Patagonian way. One of these is the ease at which you can move across the region on horseback. Gauchos still primarily move through the mountains on horseback, with packs of dogs- this is absolutely commonplace in the southern region of Patagonia. However, the further north we rode, as there were more roads, towns and fences, we saw less and less of it; and felt the direct impact of this ease being taken away.

In southern Patagonia, it was common for gauchos to ride alongside us with packs of 10-15 dogs. As we traveled north, this became less common

As Ale recapped the story, my logical mind began to race- what would it cost to find a truck? And how much would we then have to pay for ferry tickets? How would we find crates for the dogs? How much would we have to spend on that? And then what would we do with the crates when we reached Puerto Ibañez? We obviously wouldn’t be able to carry around Patagonia strapped to our packhorse…nor would we want to chuck them in the trash.

Just as my mind was having a hay-day of whats and hows, Ale threw me a dash of Magic.

“So then this guy behind me asked if we were the ones he’d seen ride through town with a pilchero” (pilchero this word most often used in Patagonia for the packhorse).

“I said yes, and he told me about a boat that was coming tonight. It’s the boat that’s traditionally been used for locals to transport their animals across the lake- the old way- just walk them on, tie them up and sail. According to this guy, they’re retiring the boat, and tonight is its final run. The guy put in a call and arranged for them to pick us up. They arrive at 5pm.”

I stopped what I was doing and looked at Ale, stunned.

The sequence of events that brought us here, to this place, to this moment in time, to this one in a million chance coincidence of catching a lift on this boat during its final haul…a boat that only moments ago we had no idea existed…it was almost too much for my mind to process.

Every single moment of our lives had to have unfolded in the exact moment in which it did in order for these crazy stars to have aligned. And that fact took my breath away.

As the nearly full moon rose, we rode to the dock, arriving just shy of the 5pm departure time. Time ticked by, each passing minute brought a fresh wave of doubt that threatened the wonder that had previously overwhelmed me. 5:30pm, and I felt the butterflies in my stomach. My mind raced with all of the reasons the boat was late, followed by all the reasons they may not be coming at all. By 5:45 I had nearly lost all hope; I decided to walk around the block to the grocery store to get a drink. Ale shook his head, saying they would come; I doubted it. I was already planning what we would make for dinner back at the campsite.

As I walked back to the dock from the grocery store, I saw the large silhouette of a boat approaching in the evening light. I broke into a run, coming up to Ale just as it reached the dock. He turned and laughed, calling for me to guess the name of the boat.

What?

Pilchero.

Pilchero, the very word used to describe our packhorse. Hahahaha. Oh universe, you my friend, have a delicious sense of humor.

Once the boat docked the crew waved us on. We loaded the horses one by one, followed by the dogs. We shook hands with the crew and looked around at the boat; aside from us and the crew, the boat was totally empty.

They had come only for us.

As the sun set and the boat powered through the crashing waves, we sat with the crew in collective disbelief of how well timed our luck had been. The crew could laughed with us, and they seemed to delight in the fact that the Pilchero’s final haul across the grand Lago General Carrera would carry friends who were upholding the Patagonian tradition of traveling by horse with a pilchero carrying all we needed- just as their previous generations had.

As we’d experienced so many of the old ways of Patagonia changing during our ride, it felt as though we were riding the coat tail of its previous generations. Our presence, with our horses and dogs, on that boat, felt like a small gift to Patagonia; just as the boat’s very existence, and the generosity and friendship of its crew, was an absolute gift for us. We all felt the reciprocity of the Magic.

Sometimes I need to be reminded that magic can flow into my life in the most unexpected of moments. I think we could all use this reminder. We don’t often leave room in our lives for magic- we want to control the outcomes of our efforts, have everything neatly planned out for success and efficiency. I’m endlessly grateful that we decided to leave our journey across Patagonia so open, to allow for so much magic to flow in, thanks to the lack of concrete plans confining us. We let that journey take us where it wanted, rather than making it fit into a clear cut plan to serve some pre-formed agenda.

Magic has no interest in such plans or agendas. It aims only to delight in our surprise when it wraps itself around us unexpectedly.

Don’t doubt the magic. It’s real.

The Art of Embracing Uncertainty

August 7, 2016August 8, 2016 / Greta Matos / 3 Comments

My heart delights when I adventure into the unknown.

Away we go, toward another horizon leading to the unknown

It’s enticing, the sense of adventure and the stories that I will live to tell. The people who will come across my path, inevitably linking me to another part of my journey and perhaps an entirely new chapter of my life.

As Paulo Coelho says, “What makes life interesting is the unknown. It is the risks that we take every single moment of our day, every single day.”

There is something innate within us that craves this unknown, while also seeking a sense of security and safety. It’s such a dichotomy, such a wild and provocative thing to examine, to wonder at and to learn to dance with.

We often feel most alive when we step into the unknown

I’ve taken up this act of living with a sense of uncertainty, of consciously carrying a level of uncertainty with me as a companion to my soul. For years I adventured with the idea that my ultimate destination was a sense of security…and yet recently I’ve seen this destination fall away entirely and make room for some degree of uncertainty to live comfortably within me.

The mystery of life is the unknown, the uncertainty of it all, and rather than spending time and energy trying to figure it out, I’ve decided to embrace it as a friend and listen to what it has to teach me. I’ve acknowledged that it’s going to be with me all the days of my life anyway, and rather than being afraid of it I may as well delight in its company.

A mix of courage, heart, and trusting the unknown brought me here

Earlier this year Ale and I rode our horses nearly 1000 kilometers across Patagonia.

Rather than following my initial reflex of thoroughly pre-planning this expedition, I surveyed what it would take for us to cover our essential bases, and otherwise left the journey entirely open to unfold however it wished.

When we began our journey, we’d never been to Patagonia before and we didn’t even have horses. Our friends drove us from our home in Pucón to Puerto Montt and left us with our two dogs on the dock leading to the ferry. We waived goodbye to them, and waived goodbye to the last aspect of our trip that we’d actually planned. From now on we would be dancing entirely with fate- stepping fully into the embrace of uncertainty.

Embracing uncertainty is not always easy, or comfortable, in fact it rarely is. It brings with it, as can be expected, many unexpected things. Looking back on how our journey unfolded, I can’t help but smile, because in hindsight it really does seem kind of fantastical and even crazy by some accounts. And yet, it happened so fluidly, it was such a wholesome journey, such a grand adventure and such an awe-inspiring experience, I wouldn’t trade the uncertainty we baked into it for anything. And I couldn’t have planned a better adventure in my wildest dreams.

Deep in the heart of Patagonia

When we stepped off the boat carrying our excessively heavy packs, full of our backcountry gear, horse equipment and dog food, we had no comforts awaiting us. We didn’t even know how we would get to Villa O’Higgins, some 1200+ kilometers to the south. We were certain we’d get there though, and once we did, we were certain we’d find the horses we needed to ride home. Don’t ask me why, all I can tell you is we knew it with all our hearts, even as we began walking south along the Carretera Austral, our thumbs out and our hearts open.

That first day we walked for miles. And then it began, the rides came. In quick succession we found ourselves with our feet propped up in the back of a pickup truck, the wind blowing our hair back, our puppies tongues hanging out happily and the mountains of Patagonia blowing by. For six days we were carried across Patagonia by the kindness of strangers- catching hitches each morning with ease and making our way steadily across the region.

When we arrived in Villa O’Higgins it was time to buy our horses. Scratch that, it was time to find our horses. Just as we had been certain we would get to Villa O’Higgins, we were certain we’d find the right horses, but in reality we had no control over making this happen. We were in an incredibly remote part of the world where people use everything they owned- and horses are a vital part of the lifestyle here. Folks weren’t just selling horses off, and before we would find our faithful equine companions we would have to spend time getting to know the families living in the region, and give them the chance to get to know us. When we walked out of town three weeks later with two of our three horses, we had uncertainty to thank for the tears of gratitude and hugs we received from the friends we had made.

The morning we left our adopted Patagonian family at Los Nires in Villa O’Higgins

We walked out of Villa O’Higgins, our horses and dogs walking beside us. We ventured up into the mountains where we’d been told we could find another horse. Nothing was certain, the horse might not be healthy, he might not be trained, the gaucho who owned him might not want to sell him for what we were willing to pay. The only thing we knew was that we could keep walking if we had to, and if we had to walk all the way to Cochrane with only two horses we would. But we had a feeling our third horse was waiting for us up in the mountains.

Into the mountains we go

It turned out he was, and he would prove to be our boldest, strongest and bravest horse of all.

The great Picante, our third horse found deep in the mountains of Patagonia

The first month of our ride we spent traversing the eastern mountain ranges of Patagonia, riding north from Villa O’Higgins to Cochrane following an old unmarked pioneer route. Because the trail was unmarked, it was incredibly challenging to find our way. There was a trail, sometimes, but we would often lose it as it disappeared across lakes or rivers or we would mistaken the tracks of wild horses or herds of cattle and follow them for hours before we knew we were off trail.

I have never, in my entire life, been so uncertain of where exactly I was in the world. I’ve always enjoyed wandering into the unknown, but I’ve also always had a way to find exactly where it was I’d wandered to. This particular section of the trail was incredibly challenging because even though we were never technically lost, we lost our way so many times that we would lose entire days backtracking and route finding. What we expected to take 13 days ended up taking 24 days. We had to ration our food. We had to send reassuring messages to our families using our emergency GPS tracker so that they didn’t call in the army to come find us.

Following rivers to the glaciers they are born from deep in Patagonia

We found our way though. And we kept finding our way for several more months as we steadily continued north. We ducked and swerved mishaps as needed, we cared for our horses and our dogs, connected with locals and learned to find comfort in the simplest joys that embraced us daily. I felt the elements of Patagonia taking hold of each cell in my body, I felt the songs of the wind begin to live in my ears, the kiss of the rain felt familiar on my skin, I felt the endless pristine beauty of it take hold of my heart and squeeze it ever-so-gently. The constancy of the ever-changing sky and weather became a reliable companion, as did the uncertainty of what each new day would hold.

Everything about this ride took longer than expected, but brought with it such unexpected beauty and laughter and joy, if anything it made the length of time entirely insignificant when compared to the depth of living we did in that time.

And that, perhaps, is my most favorite thing about carrying uncertainty around with me as a companion. It reminds me of the depth at which I can live my life when I allow a bit of mystery to weave itself into my story.

We don’t have to always be the heavy handed narrator of our lives- when we let go of the need to see exactly what lies far beyond the horizon of our future, and instead get busy with the moment before us, when we fill our arms and minds and attention with this moment here, the uncertainty of what lies ahead is no longer frightening or overwhelming. Quite contrarily it’s enticingly exciting.

My what wonders have come from adventuring into the unknown…and my what wonders await as we continue toward the next horizon, embracing the uncertainty that adventures along with us.

A Simple Act of Kindness

July 28, 2016July 29, 2016 / Greta Matos / 2 Comments

Plump, swollen, frustrated tears formed around the edge of my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. I sat beside the riverbed, the misty rain beginning to chill my bones, feeling utterly defeated as I held our broken water filter in my mosquito-bitten hands. I had been trying to get the pump to work for nearly twenty minutes, all to no avail. I pushed myself up, wiped the mud from my knees and headed back to our campsite.

What had already been a tough day filled with steep elevation gains, constant rain and sadistic mosquitos that could fly in the rain and bite through rain gear, was now made a whole lot worse by the realization that our primary method of water purification was broken; and the nearest road crossing was a 4 day walk from where we were. Crap.

Yet another very wet day on the Appalachian Trail

Ale and I had been on the Appalachian Trail for 9 days, we were just beginning our 5 month journey walking on foot from Maine all the way to Georgia. Prior to this “little” adventure of ours, neither of us had really done any backpacking; we’d both done a good bit of camping before, but nothing like this. Everyday seemed to hold a new lesson about what it would take to live on the trail.

Simple lessons learned on the trail: best technique for climbing over fallen trees

I guess you could say the mountains were “testing” us, giving us a run for our money, proving whether or not we had the wear-with-all to walk the entire 2,189 miles to Georgia. Blisters were forming on our feet and I had them appearing ominously on my collar bones, right where my 45lb overloaded backpack sat rubbing heavily. An overloaded backpack filled with everything EXCEPT a back-up water purification method…Crap.

When our water filter stopped working, we were in the middle of a remote stretch of trail called the 100 Mile Wilderness, which is essentially 100 miles of trail with zero road access; so once you go in, it’s totally up to you to get yourself out. It’s pretty much the worst place on the entire Appalachian Trail to have a critical piece of gear, like a water filter, fail.

Taking in the vast, expansive section of the 100 Mile Wilderness

Ale and I surveyed our options and decided to boil all of our drinking water for the next few days rather than risk a bought of giardia. We would be cutting it close, but if we took care we should have just enough fuel to get us to Monson, the first town at the end of the 100 Mile Wilderness where our first re-supply box awaited us.

The next two days were brutal. Each morning we pulled ourselves from our warm, dry sleeping bags only to be greeted by cold, damp clothing that never dried in the wet night air. The mountains battered us with steep ascents to cold, windy summits followed by slippery, knee-jarring descents. At the base of the mountains, we were met by swollen, freezing, fast-flowing rivers that had to be crossed carrying our packs overhead, soaking us to the bone. All the while the mosquitos tortured our psyche, swarming our heads and attacking any exposed flesh.

Ale going “all in” to cross the swollen rivers and find the trail. He came back to carry my pack across, as I was afraid if I slipped it would pull me under and I’d drown

I was jolted awake on the morning of the third day sans-water filter by a terrible dream that ended with us running out of fuel. I looked around the dark and quiet lean-to, reassured that it was just a dream. We were 19 miles from Monson, about 2 days of hiking (at this point we didn’t have our “trail legs” and hiking 11 miles in one day was a pretty big deal). I pulled out our camp stove and fired it up, pouring in water to boil.

Just as the water began to boil I heard the distinct sound of the canister emptying it’s last bit of fuel and *poof* we suddenly had no way of purifying our water or cooking the rest of our food.

Once again Ale and I surveyed our options as we gulped down our half-cooked mac and cheese. After nearly a week of soaking rains the likelihood of finding any wood dry enough to start a fire was low to none. Neither of us had much drinking water left, I had maybe half a canteen and Ale had half his Camelbak. Aside from Nutri-grain bars and trail mix, the only food we had left required cooking for eating. It looked as though we would have to try to push out the last 19 miles in one day with no water.

We left camp with a sense of urgency, climbing up Mount Barren, quickly soaking in the views and moving on. The sky was finally clear and the sun was warm, a nice change from the rain, but not really helping with the thirst. We hiked onward for hours, soon running entirely out of water.

Taking that very last sip of water

My mouth was parched as we hiked along, sweat beading up on my brow. As we came around a bend in the trail, we saw two hikers ahead of us, walking along the river. They didn’t have any backpacks, and appeared to have just hiked a short distance to check out the trail. Ale ran ahead to ask if they had any water they could spare.

Now- mind you, we are looking pretty worn and torn by now. Neither of us have had a proper shower in 12 days, we smell…simply awful. Our clothes are covered in dirt and sweat. By most accounts we probably looked a little bit crazy, suddenly emerging from the woods. However, none of that seemed to phase Jake and Gram. Without missing a beat they immediately invited us to follow them back to their campsite nearby where they had bottles of water in ice filled coolers.

Ice. Filled. Coolers. I never thought I would looks so forward to hearing those three words. But after two days drinking boiled/hot water and hours of hiking without a sip of anything, this suddenly seemed like a dream.

We followed Jake and Gram back to their campsite where we met their four other friends- Matt, Russ, Loney and Chad. All six of them had been best friends growing up, and even though they had families now and lived all over the country, once a year they had an annual guys weekend out in the woods.

Ale and the guys

Before we had even finished introductions I had an ice cold bottle of water in one hand and a double stacked cheeseburger in the other. As we guzzled our water and inhaled our cheeseburgers, they peppered us with questions about what on earth we were doing and how we’d ended up in our current situation. As I finished my burger, without missing a beat, they passed me another and replaced my empty water bottle with a beer.

Not only did the guys maintain a consistent flow of food and beverages along with their questions and endless jokes, but they offered to drop us in Greenville on their way back to civilization that afternoon. I was overwhelmed by their kindness, their unhesitating willingness to help and their genuine openheartedness.

As we jumped in the back of the truck bed and pulled away from the trail, the wind whipped my hair and I closed my eyes, smiling, relishing in the speed at which we could suddenly move. We’d moved so slowly for the past 12 days, to suddenly be cruising at 80MPH down the dirt logging road was exhilarating to say the least. I let out a belly laugh and watched as the forest zipped by with dizzying speed.

As promised, the guys drove us to Greenville where we were finally able to buy water treatment that would hold us over until we fixed our water filter. We offered them money for gas, which they refused, and instead they offered take us all the way to Monson (a good 20 minutes out of their way) so that we could resupply food. Their selfless generosity flowed like a swift moving river, and it lifted us up and carried us onward, momentarily allowing us to lay back and simply rest.

When we reached Monson, they wished us luck on the rest of our crazy adventure, shaking their heads and laughing as they piled back into their pickup trucks to head home to their families. Ale and I shouldered our heavy backpacks and walked toward the nearest hostel where we would sleep in a bed for the first time in nearly two weeks. My feet ached, my muscles ached, my blisters threatened to pop and my bug bites itched- but all I could feel was the lightness of my dancing heart, so thankful for the simple act of kindness from a few random strangers. For the next 2070 or so miles, this lightness would remain with me in many ways, carried forward by the kindness of many more strangers, and would play an essential part of my journey toward Georgia.

Our capacity to be kind to one another is truly remarkable and one of our greatest treasures. We all share this capacity, regardless of race, religion, gender or ethnicity. Throughout our lives, opportunities to offer simple acts of kindness often arise out of nowhere. Our lives intertwine unexpectedly in the most essential of moments. Each time we cross paths with someone, each time we have a conversation or share a random encounter, we have the opportunity to choose kindness. And when we do, we can only imagine how far that simple act of kindness may travel…

Live to the Point of Tears

June 29, 2016June 30, 2016 / Greta Matos / 2 Comments

Three months ago I was wiggling my fingers and toes as I rocked back and forth in the saddle, willing my body to maintain whatever heat it could generate to keep my extremities from going numb. I pulled my wool hat a bit lower and tugged on the hood of my jacket to keep the cold rain out of my face. I held my reins in my right hand, my thin gloves soaked all the way through, the tips of my fingers poking out of the holes; I tucked my left hand under the saddle pad, feeling the warmth of Picante’s thick coat, still dry beneath his saddle.

Picante resting as we traverse a deep mountain valley in the middle of Patagonia

It had been raining for three days straight. Our equipment was soaked. Our tent was soaked. The dogs and horses were soaked. Our boots and socks were soaked. Dampness seemed to be creeping into my bones, the days of wet travel through Patagonia were wearing on us.

Another rainy day of riding

Ale turned in his saddle, calling back to me- “How’re you doing?”

“Freezing, I’ve lost feeling in my toes again, do you mind if we get down and walk for a while?”

Ale nodded and we pulled the horses off to the side of the dirt road. I loosened Picante’s girth, hung his stirrups over his saddle and gave him a hug. He lowered his head, his ears pointed forward and he curiously nuzzled my back. Check and Curi Cuyen ran up behind me, tails wagging, searching for some explanation for our dismount. I gave them both a quick pat before rubbing my hands together and stepping forward to follow Ale and the other horses. The rain continued to fall heavily, and we continued our long journey north.

Together we walk

After an hour of walking, the blood was sufficiently flowing in our bodies again and the feeling of cold limbs was replaced with the feeling of hungry stomachs. Luckily we found a brief escape from the freezing rain in a small refugio on the side of the road. We let the horses graze in the rain as I quickly pulled out our Jet Boil stove, a cup of instant mashed potatoes, a carton of cooked vegetables and a can of tuna. The dogs curl up beside our backpacks and slept as we cooked.

A welcome refuge on a cold rainy day

I paced around the refugio, trying to stay warm, grateful for the roof and walls that were momentarily blocking the wind and rain. This place felt like a little paradise after days of riding and walking outside in the elements. The water quickly came to a boil; I combined the ingredients, adding a dash of merken, a pinch of salt and a healthy dose of oregano. We feasted quickly as cars sped by, splashing cold puddles on our feet.

Happiness is shelter and warm food on a cold day

The warm food disappeared just as quickly as it had cooked, our bodies seemed to be in a constant state of hunger as so much energy was required to simply stay warm. There were no leftovers when it came to meals on the trail.

We loaded the chiwas (packhorse packs) back on Zalig, bridled Aysén and Picante, pulled on our wet backpacks and climbed back into the saddles. The rain had turned into a drizzle and the clouds seemed to dissolve into fog, drifting in between the mountain ridges. Maybe, if we were lucky, it would stop raining by nightfall. Maybe, if we weren’t so lucky, it would rain everyday for the rest of the week. Either way, onward we rode.

Rain or shine, we travel on.

About a year ago, I was listening to one of my favorite poets giving a talk about the depth at which we must be willing to dive, in order to fully embrace the lives we are given. During his talk, he mentioned the famous quote by Albert Camus- that we must “Live to the point of tears.”

Those words grabbed hold of me in that moment, they captivated me in a manner that made my heart beat a little faster. That was it- those words captured the essence of what I was seeking. Living to the point of tears felt like an invitation to pursue the grand adventures that visit us in our dreams, that give us such stunning experiences while we live them that we could cry with delight and gratitude.

I wrote down in my journal that I wanted to live to the point of tears- that this was my intention as I moved forward with this grand adventure called life, and I believed that my adventure on horseback in Patagonia would allow me to do just that.

Standing in awe as I look out into the expansive wildness of southern Patagonia

In some ways, that’s exactly what it is. Our ride across Patagonia was an unbelievable dance with the rawest forms of being present that I’ve ever experienced. We witnessed wild places that were so beautiful they did invoke tears. We faced hardships that resulted in tears of frustration and tears of overwhelming gratitude when relief was realized. We met strangers who embraced us as friends, and were overwhelmed by the gratitude that flooded our hearts after they showered us with simple things such as homemade bread, sharing a warm stove together, and giving us their undivided attention.

Waving farewell to Don Patricio, a deaf gaucho who opened his simple home to us late one evening after we’d ridden for hours into the night in search of water for the horses

Embracing grand adventures that demand a larger experience of living is important- but I’ve found it’s not entirely the essence of this whole “living to the point of tears” business.

What I’ve realized since finishing our ride, and returning to the “day-to-day” post-adventure living, is that the wholesome act of living in the present and acknowledging the simple things that bring us joy, continuously nurtures a deeper appreciation for life in general. When we find gratitude in our moment-to-moment existence, we may find ourselves living with the same fullness that we experience in those “bucket list” pursuits.

The inspiration for this post was a simple moment that happened a few days ago. After dinner, I poured the leftover curry into a recycled pickle jar and strolled over to the refrigerator. As I held the door open, scanning for a spot to stuff the jar, I suddenly felt goosebumps and tears well up. I leaned back, shaking my head with a smile.

My refrigerator is so full, practically overflowing, and it suddenly took my breath away. Fresh vegetables spilled out from the bottom drawer and lower shelves; a chicken sat on the middle shelf defrosting; on the door there were a dozen eggs of varying shapes and sizes, homemade cheese and butter – all bought the day before from the neighbors down the road. We don’t have a huge refrigerator, but as I looked at it’s contents and tried to squeeze in leftovers from our last meal, I was overtaken by a wave of gratitude by the abundance before me.

Acknowledging the abundance of our community

There I was, staring at a refrigerator full of food, on the verge of tears.

These days I could cry with joy each time I step into a hot shower, or put on a lovely smelling lavender lotion. The waves of gratitude are palpable. Each morning I awake and I look out my front door and see our horses grazing, the joy bubbles up in my heart and I’m again on the verge of tears of gratitude. I notice more moments in the day that delight me- the moment the sunlight dapples the forest with shimmery gold, the hay we have neatly stacked to feed the horses for a month, the way the sun bursts through the clouds on a rainy afternoon, the warmth of the house when I come inside after working outside all day with the horses. I take a moment to simply close my eyes and smile, so thankful for this roof, these walls, and this wood heating our little home as winter settles into the mountains of southern Chile.

Crisp early winter sunrises with the river and volcano in our backyard

“Live to the point of tears.”

Looking back, I didn’t actually think that living to the point of tears would be so literal. But it actually is. Not to say I’m walking around all day crying (don’t start worrying), but the fierceness of the joy that overwhelms me when I acknowledge this underlying gratitude- for incredibly small things- it brings me just to the point of tears, quite literally.

I do experience a heightened sense of gratitude for hot showers and a warm house on a cold rainy day, for a full refrigerator and left overs after being able to eat to my heart’s content. To be sure, that heightened sense of gratitude is easily invoked thanks to all those cold rainy days we endured riding across Patagonia.

But, what I’m continuing to discover is that living to the point of tears is actually a way of being that we can carry with us through our daily lives. It can elevate us in moments of everyday hardship and uncertainty by allowing a constant celebration and acknowledgement of the small things we can easily be grateful for.

After all, life is not always a grand adventure- and in fact, the small, quiet moments make up much more of our lives than the risky bold adventures do. With each breath we take, with each new day, we have the opportunity to wholeheartedly live to the point of tears.

Life after the grand adventure continues to invoke incredible moments of gratitude

So, what inspires a deep sense of gratitude in you, one so powerful it may just bring you to the verge of tears, followed by an outburst of joyful laughter?

In the Presence of Abundance

April 28, 2016July 12, 2016 / Greta Matos / 2 Comments

The air is brisk; I can see my breath as I climb the steep slope in the dawn light. The moon sits quietly above the glacier, lingering with the last few stars in an otherwise empty sky. Curi Cuyen trots in front of me, pausing every few steps to look back at me before carrying on her endless search for that unsuspecting bird. I’m tickled with excitement as I climb higher and higher, the vastness of the valley unfolding before me, the mountains and peaks, the glaciers and rivers that had silently hidden behind the thick, cold fog yesterday now sit vibrantly exposed.

I climb to the top of the rocky slope that sits high above our camp. Curi and I trot along the ridge, all the way to the tip where two large, flat rocks form a nearly perfect chair- setting quite the stage to watch the world wake up. I drop down, sitting cross legged with my camera and journal by my side. Slowly I pull my hat further down to cover my ears, the chill of the morning shadows creeps down my neck. Curi curls up in my lap and I’m immediately warmer thanks to her furry little body.

I take a moment to sit with my eyes closed, feeling the stillness of the morning. I feel the absence of the wind, the absence of the wet, cold rain, the absence of the pelting sleet.

Generally speaking, Patagonia is not a quiet place- between the ferocious wind and the roaring rivers, there’s almost a constant symphony of powerful sounds weaving their way through these wild places.

But this morning, high up in these mountains, up above the mouths of the rivers, beyond the glaciers from where they are born, tucked in between the tops of the peaks where the wind cannot travel- here I find stillness. And this stillness fills each and every molecule- it is vast and grand, as large as this wild place I look out upon.

I sit in the shadows of the mountains and watch the slow, sultry entrance of the majestic sun. Even this has a stillness to it. The sunbeams creep forth, constantly in motion and yet seemingly motionless. I turn my head and it has inched its way further while I was looking the other way. I’m reminded that there is always an abundance of light, despite the length of the night, the light always returns. As the first sunbeams reach beyond the highest mountain ridge and the warmth of the morning sun rushes over me, a smile rises with my temperature. Sunshine. Oh how wonderful to feel warm sunshine.

25 days.

It has been 25 days since I’ve had a hot shower.

25 days since I’ve had any contact with friends or family via telephone or internet. 25 days sans email or Facebook, sans Instagram likes or BBC news updates.

24 1/2 days since I was certain I knew where we were going and how to get there.

20 days since I relinquished control and discarded expectations of this journey and instead decided to focus only on the demands of my present existence.

19 days since I’ve felt full after a meal, since we’ve been rationing our food, uncertain of how many more days it would take us to emerge from these mountains, how many more days we would spend deep in the belly of this Patagonia wilderness.

And yet here I sit, so full of a simple abundance. So full of this stillness, so full of the abundance of sunshine, the abundance of clean water, the abundance of light, the abundance of fresh air and the abundance of love for my little family of husband, horses and dogs. I’m full of the abundance of strength and resilience that I have found within me. I sit, overwhelmed, as I have been so many times before, by the abundant beauty of this earth that we are blessed to walk upon.

I climb down from the mountain, down into the valley where the sunshine is now flooding across our campsite, drying the dew on our tent, bathing our horses in its warmth. Ale is walking up to each horse, hugging them, brushing them and checking their hooves. I catch my breath and feel another tickle in my chest. This is our home! This is our life! This is our story!

I stroll up to our grazing horses, our faithful companions and adventure partners who have carried us across rivers, glaciers, through sheer mountain passes and rocky canyons. I hug each one, thankful for their willingness to carry us through this adventure, their willingness to endure the ferocious winds, the cold hail and rain, to endure our uncertainty and our endless desire to explore and continue onward.

Ale and I pull our damp sleeping bag and soaking wet sheepskins out of the tent and lay them across the rocks. We unpack every single piece of gear- most of it damp from the days of relentless mountain storms- and lay them in the sunshine.

All of these things have our stories wrapped up in them. I love every single thing that I handle, placing them gently in the sunshine so that they too can indulge in the abundance of warmth.

I peel off my clothing, most of which hasn’t been changed in nearly a week, my skin feeling the cool air and warm sunshine for the first time in a long time. Each piece of clothing is handled with gratitude, as it has kept me warm and dry through the most rugged terrain I’ve ever ventured into. I adore the bright colors of our belongings as they lay strewn across the rocks, the patterns and layers- each item serving a simple but essential purpose. These clothes are our companions, just as our horses and dogs are, and they play a vital part in this story.

I set up my little kitchen on a semi-flat rock, pulling out our fuel, stove and cookware. I collect water from the glacial stream and set about to cooking breakfast- measuring a cup of dehydrated mashed potatoes. I add what’s left of our salt, a heavy dash of oregano and merken. Even though we’ve been eating this mixture for weeks, it’s somehow incredibly delicious as we dig into breakfast in the abundant sunshine this morning. I put another cup of potatoes aside for lunch and pack up the rest of our food, it isn’t much, but it’s enough.

I splash in the shallow river that’s gushing from a nearby glacier, gasping at the coldness, laughing at the freshness, smiling from the glee of feeling clean for the first time in weeks. I dry myself in the sunshine, standing naked on top of a cold boulder with my arms outstretched like a bird drying her feathers. The sunshine wraps itself around me and I’m blanketed in its soft warmth. These are seemingly small things- this abundance of water, of sunshine, of time in a beautiful place- but they are so precious, so essential, and inspire overwhelming gratitude in this moment.

As our things and ourselves dry, we slowly begin the process of breaking down camp, repacking all of our belongings, saddling our horses and loading everything onto our packhorse. We take our time, deliberately enjoying the pace of this day. As we put everything away, I feel grounded in a reassurance that we have all we need on this journey- on this adventure through Patagonia but also this adventure through life. It’s a simple moment acknowledging the abundance that we carry with us no matter where we are.

We begin to follow the unmarked path along the stream, uncertainty hovering above us as to whether or not we are on the right trail. Yet we are also accompanied by a confidence that no matter what lies ahead, we have all we need- and we are always in the presence of abundance as long as we take time to acknowledge it.

Beyond the Boundaries of Imagination

February 7, 2016 / Greta Matos / 1 Comment

My heart beat rapidly as I looked upward and stared at the belly of the massive condor flying directly above us, diving and swooping and soaring up and over the edges of the surrounding peaks of Patagonia. It was a magnificent creature, looking prehistoric. Although I’d seen condors in other parts of Chile, I had never been so close and the sheer size of it was overwhelming, and we were overcome with a distinct sense that this was his territory, we were in his kingdom now.

As we continued climbing Alejandro snapped photos in quick succession and I kept a wary eye on Curi Cuyen, who I imagined must look like a delicious morsel to the large dinosaur-like birds circling above us. The wind picked up, tugging at the flaps of my hat and drying the sweat forming on my brow. I pulled out my vest as the air cooled the higher we climbed. 360 degree views of jagged snow-covered peaks and numerous hanging glaciers surrounded us. Jewel-toned lakes dotted the valleys below. The blue sky was crisply dotted with fast moving puffy white clouds. A wide smile spread across my face, this place, like this trip, was so beyond my imagination.

Majestic Patagonia

Our dreams are born from our imagination. They are carefully nurtured within the boundaries of our minds- the have edges and lines, distinct colors and shapes. These boundaries and lines are necessary for the dream to be constructed, they are necessary for us to fully grasp the idea of the dream, and the possibilities it could lead to. However, there comes a time when we must deconstruct the dream, we must erase some of those edges and lines to let the universe in.

When this dream of riding horses across Patagonia was born, it began very simply- a basic image- us sitting on the backs of our horses, staring at the jagged snowy mountain ranges of Patagonia. The grass of the meadow where we sat reached our knees and was tinted golden in the warm sunlight. A soft breeze blew across the valley, invoking the sound of a million tiny whispers as the grasses bowed in it’s presence. Exactly where we were, or how we would get there was not yet exposed- there was only this image, and this feeling of weightlessness.

When we decided we were actually going to make this happen, we began the process of constructing the boundaries of the dream. How would we pay for it? Where would we buy the horses? What would we do with them after the ride? What would we share about our journey, was there a larger purpose? How would we set our route? Where would we buy the equipment for our horses? How would we travel to southern Patagonia in a very remote region with our dogs?

We didn’t originally plan to hitchhike the Carretera Austral, but by doing so we opened ourselves entirely to the kindness of strangers- and they showed up without delay

The unfolding of this adventure has felt a bit like this hike up Volcán Chaitén (our first adventure in Patagonia just before we began hitchhiking south)- stunning moments of beauty awaited each immediate step. And even though we couldn’t see exactly where the path was leading, we knew we were heading in the right direction.

Our imagination began to construct possible ideas and solutions to answer all of those questions. At the same time we prioritized what questions actually needed immediate answers and what could wait until we were in a more appropriate place to find (or simply receive) the answers. Here and there we erased lines and boundaries, we left questions unanswered and options wide open. In a delicate manner we focused our energy on preparing for anything, rather than preparing for everything.

One of those “pinch me” moments hiking along the Carretera Austral with our pups

What began as an image of a guy and a girl sitting on the backs of their horses staring at the snowy mountain ranges of Patagonia has evolved into these life experiences that keep defying the boundaries of my imagination. Never in my life have I imagined I would hitchhike 1200 kilometers across Patagonia with our dogs. I couldn’t have written into this script unfolding in my mind the countless characters we’ve encountered already who are continuously connecting us to our next destinations. Heading over to the local radio station in a tiny remote town in southern Patagonia to announce that we wanted to buy three horses and two saddles…nope can’t say I planned that. Nor could I have fathomed I would eat one of the best sandwiches I’ve tasted here in Chile on the porch of this bus as the sun lit up the breathtaking Cerro Castillo for our viewing pleasure.

Just stopping for a quick bite mid-hitch on the Carretera…no big deal

So here I am- writing this post from the southern tip of the Carretera Austral, in the tiny town of Villa O’Higgins where we’ve set up base camp in search for our horses. We’ve been traveling across Patagonia for nearly a month, and the answers to all those hows and all those questions are still unfolding. We’re not rushing though, we’re not trying to manage this with a forceful hand. If we’ve learned anything down here in Patagonia it’s that everything will unfold in the time that it’s meant to; in the meantime patience and enjoyment of the present moment trumps all. That is, after all, how we managed to get here in the first place.

Check, Curi and I overlooking Villa O’Higgins, our temporary base camp while we find our horses for the ride north

We’re spending the next two and a half months riding our horses 1800 kilometers across Patagonia. We’re not following a set route or a strict path; rather we’re weaving our way through the backcountry and trails that aren’t marked on maps but are instead held in the minds and hearts of the people and communities who’ve lived throughout this region before any roads existed. Once again, just as we did in order to get to our first destination (Villa O’Higgins), we’re opening ourselves up to the kindness of strangers and intentionally seeking their participation in this journey. We’re leaving edges and lines undrawn so that they can contribute and weave their stories into our own.

When we finally arrived in Villa O’Higgins and found this statue in the town square, I knew we’d chosen the right place to find our horses and begin this adventure!

Don’t let your dreams be dreams.

The last little bit of this dream, kind of a dream within a dream, is tying my work into this adventure. When we left San Francisco, I always had the intention of finding a way to tie together my passion for wild places and outdoor adventure with my passion for sustainability and ethical supply chains. In many ways this dream is still in motion, still in transition from idea to reality, but it’s already begun to evolve and I’ve decided to bring it into this ride in order to give it a path forward. Again it’s a bit like that climb up Volcán Chaitén, I can’t quite see where the trail is leading, but the beauty of the path forward is continuously unfolding with each step I take, and I know I’m heading in the right direction.

When I first began working as a manufacturing manager overseeing production in factories across China, I had no idea where that work would lead me. At that moment in time it was so beyond my imagination that those experiences would ever connect with my other life passions, or even inspire them, and yet here I am, redefining the work I can’t not do.

In addition to sharing stories about our adventures on the trail, I’ll be writing stories about the things we carry with us, and the life that we give these things. Through creative storytelling, I hope to inspire curiosity about product life cycles, invoke reflection on the life we give the things we own, and motivate creative thinking about how the life of these things can continue beyond a landfill. I’ve got some ideas about how I’ll continue this work after the ride, but I’ve erased some lines and boundaries here as well, so that something can evolve that truly exceeds the boundaries of my imagination.

I would love for you to follow along on our adventures across Patagonia, and my husband and I created a website to document our travels. I’ll continue to post stories of our adventures on this blog, but you can find more stories on our other site that will carry three main themes- adventure (sharing adventure stories as they unfold), simplicity (celebrating the simple things that inspire gratitude) and curiosity (stories of the things we carry with us, the lives they lead and the role they play in our life on the trail). Here’s a link to our website: www.abriendocamino.net – here you can find our blog, photos, profiles, and a bunch of resources to help inspire curious consumerism (check them out here!).

We’ve got a Facebook page where we are sharing great articles on solutions to move toward zero-waste economies and conservation and will also post trail updates, blog posts and photos.

Lastly, this is an adventure through one of the most stunning places in the world. All the photos in this post were shot on our way south- you can see more of this beautiful corner of the world by following our Instagram @abriendo.caminos

For me, watching this all unfold as it has, it’s a beautiful reminder that we can’t let our dreams live only within the boundaries of our minds, we can’t delay bringing them into our reality until they are “perfect” and all the hows have been answered; instead we must let them grow wings on their own, we must let them evolve in ways that defy the constructs of our reality and instead let the universe influence their growth and development as well. If you have any doubts, let them go; if you need any reassurance that the world is waiting for you to step off the ledge, the world is waiting to celebrate your boldness, believe me it is.

The Most Delicate Dance

December 6, 2015January 3, 2016 / Greta Matos / 3 Comments

It’s a delicate dance, the act of acknowledging a dream, envisioning it, pouring loving energy into it, allowing it to grow and expand and be guided by intention and intuition. At the same time to roll up your sleeves, show up for the heavy lifting when there is heavy lifting to be done, and make time to do something each day that brings your dream closer to reality. To plant your dream and give it roots on this earth, while also giving it wings. To embrace this delicate act of trust and effort simultaneously. It’s likely the most delicate dance I’ve ever attempted, and my latest dream that I’m dancing into reality has taken the most effort to remain balanced and open through it’s evolution.

Hatching up dreams on tops of mountains

We exist in this dynamic state of being, in an incredibly dynamic world. We need to believe in the power and beauty of our dreams, we need to be able to visualize them to the point of almost being able to reach out and grasp them. Yet, on the other hand, we cannot grow attached to this dream, we cannot set expectations for how it may come into reality, we cannot latch the dependence of our happiness to the realization of this dream. We must somehow manage the belief that our dream will happen, and it will be amazing, with the realization that it may not happen, and even if it doesn’t, life will still be amazing. Delicate? I’d say so.

I’m by no means a master of this dance. Seeing as this is the most conscious I’ve ever been of its existence, I’m a beginner at best. Still, I’ve chosen to approach this dance the way I approach dancing in real life- I feel the beat of the music and I move to it, I don’t worry too much about learning the steps. I don’t care if others think I look ridiculous, I move with the music, with my partner, and I laugh and twirl and enjoy. For me, when I’m dancing, if I put all my focus on memorizing steps, I overthink things, I lose my rhythm, I make one misstep and then another and another until I am so discouraged I stop laughing, I stop enjoying, I stop dancing. And I LOVE to dance.

I love to dance, and luckily I married a man who might love dancing even more than me!

That’s not to say learning some basic steps doesn’t help. When I was a little girl my mom enrolled me in ballet and tap dance. I did gymnastics and taught myself to trick ride while galloping my horse bareback across our fields. My parents are musicians, so I also grew up with music in my house. I learned to read music at a very young age and was blessed to be able to study piano, clarinet and violin before finally settling on the cello. Balance and rhythm have come pretty naturally to me. All of that music and body movement of my youth has definitely supported me in my rebellious dance techniques that throw caution to the wind. So, even though I can’t salsa to save my life, my husband and I often receive congratulations from perfect strangers whenever (and wherever) we start dancing.

People tend to enjoy watching us dance with wild abandon; probably because we so enjoy it too

I’m taking a similar approach as I cultivate this latest dream of inspiring curiosity about where the things we buy come from while riding horseback across Patagonia. Now, I think it’s safe to say that this type of dream probably doesn’t come with an instruction manual. In fact, I think most dreams don’t come with an instruction manual, and if they do, you should be suspicious of them- or at least of that manual. Throw it out the window. You already have all you need to know within you, you just have to take the time to ask.

As I dance this dream into reality, there are a few steps I’ve learned along the way that are helping me. My teachers?

Past life experiences- most of which I wasn’t even aware were dreams in the first place. Shifting my work away from something that contributes to the degradation of the planet and society, toward something that contributes to solutions that improve the impacts of business on society and the planet. Walking for five months, through 14 states, carrying everything I needed on my back. Moving to foreign countries with little or no contacts or “conventional opportunities” and finding friends, adventure and grand stories awaiting me. Finding the love of my life in this crazy world, and building an adventurous life with him. Looking forward to each day the way I used to look forward to the weekends. Wholeheartedly feeling alive and present most of the time, rather than only during an hour of meditation or yoga.

Sunrise hikes don’t have to wait until the weekend, this magic happens every single day, we just need to choose to be present in order to witness them

All of these experiences, as well as many others, are constant teachers for me; and they hold within them the secrets of this dance I’m currently dancing. They give me the beat, the rhythm, the flow. They give me my foundation from which I can draw confidence while rebelliously throwing the rules out the window.

We’re now in the midst of the final prep for our journey across Patagonia on horseback. A lot of things remain open and unknown, and on one hand that could be stressful because if feels unfinished. On the other hand that aspect is incredibly exciting as it means there is still so much opportunity for unexpected and wonderful things to happen. I’ve given this dream a lot of attention, a lot of time on the dance floor. We’re spinning and twirling and I’m getting ready to let go, to throw my hands in the air, tilt my head back and just set it free.

Ready to gallop off into the horizon

Perhaps this dream will achieve all that I’ve imagined, and perhaps bringing it forth and realizing it will make things happen well beyond my imagination. Maybe only part of this dream will actually be realized, and other aspects will fall away. The point is, I have no way of knowing exactly how it will unfold. And I can’t control it anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.

All I know for sure, is that I want to contribute to the world in a positive way. I want to take risks that push boundaries- professionally and personally- and move us toward positive solutions. I want to face my fears and answer the calls of my wild heart. I know, at the very least, that I can do these things by pursuing this dream. I’m not getting too caught up on the other confines of a pre-defined “success”. Let the success of this journey define itself as it evolves. And it will. Because no matter what, it will be amazing. No matter what.

That last bit has me smiling as I remember a favorite quote of mine. These words are great to keep in mind as you play with the idea of bringing forth your own dream, as you learn the steps of your own delicate dance required to take it from a dream to a reality. As you balance the delicate embrace of trust and effort, of intention without expectation.

“There are two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”~Albert Einstein

No matter what, everything is a miracle. Now, go dance your heart out!

Letting Go of the Weight of The World

October 20, 2015October 29, 2015 / Greta Matos / 6 Comments

I dropped heavily into the back seat of the car, exhausted from a full day bouncing between production lines and meetings with factory engineers. The air conditioning was a welcome escape from the hot, thick air of summer in China. I stared out the window, trying to clear my mind. The streets were packed. People were everywhere, walking with umbrellas to fend off the sun, others driving cars, riding bicycles or tractors or some bizarrely constructed vehicle that seemed to be a combination of both. This place felt so heavy. For me, at this moment in time, China felt heavy and full; full of meetings, full of people, full of factories to visit, full of pollution, full of fires I had to put out, full of billions of things being manufactured in every single breath I took, full of potential and full of irreparable damage. It was Just. So. Full.

A moment in the streets of China

My driver made his way aggressively down the crowded streets, at times pulling up onto the sidewalk (full of pedestrians mind you) in order to avoid the red lights and traffic jams. Oh how badly I wanted to teleport myself back to my tiny apartment in Hong Kong and retire for the day. Finally we made it to the highway onramp and began accelerating. I watched as the half-constructed sky-scrapers faded behind us, replaced by flat stretches of watery rice fields.

The ever-present cranes line the skylines of nearly every Chinese city I have ever stepped foot in

Suddenly, without warning, my driver slammed on the breaks, threw the car in reverse and spun us around, quickly accelerating and flying past the ramp we had just used to get on. Startled, I leaned forward just in time to see a line of cars that were blocking the entire highway, sitting at a standstill. Apparently my driver was trying to save us from hours in this traffic jam, but as a result we were cruising the wrong way down the highway at 70 MPH. I sat deeper in my seat and thought, what the hell are we doing?

Just another chaotic traffic jam in China

At that moment, this question wasn’t inspired solely by my driver and the fact that we were flying in the wrong direction way too fast. It was a much bigger question that had woven itself into my view of the world. It was a question embedded in the products my company was sourcing for our clients. It was a question embedded in my mind every time I walked across a bridge with water flowing beneath it so polluted I had to cover my nose and quicken my step. It was a question that taunted me after I began having to wear masks whenever I left my apartment in order to keep my lung condition from worsening. It was a question embedded in the realization that everything, every single thing, carries with it a cost when we choose to bring it into existence.

I continue to struggle with chronic inflammation in my lung tissue due to the black carbon exposure while living in China

The weight of it all settled on me silently, almost unconsciously and even as I continued with my work, that “what the hell are we doing” question just wouldn’t let me be. And yet, what could I do? I was just one person, this massive system had been around far longer than I had, and “business as usual” just felt so… usual. The experience burned me out. It shut me down, stole away my fuel for inspiration and reinforced the belief that it was all too big for me to have an impact that mattered. It made me feel small and insignificant.

I felt this way the other day, as I walked the shores of the Rio Trancura, along the outskirts of Pucon. Since October 1st, I’ve made time everyday to get outside. Some days I have hours to spend out exploring. Other days I might only be able to steal away for a half hour or so. Regardless, I try to find new spots every day, and I am finding that it’s a beautiful way to constantly discover new angles through which to see this lovely place I call home.

A sunny afternoon hike up the Rio Turbio outside of Pucon

In addition to getting outside everyday, I have committed to post a photo of any trash that I happen to collect during my adventure. My intention from the start was to raise our collective consciousness of the stuff we consume. The entire project has turned into a kind of experiment, and I can feel how radically it’s already shifting my perspective as my mental filters change and I continuously acknowledge the incredible volume of stuff around us, even in this wild and remote corner of the world.

All of the trash I packed out during this same sunny hike up the Rio Turbio

As I pulled into the somewhat overgrown lot with a dirt boat ramp, my eyes immediately swept back and forth between the huge piles of trash. It looked as though the area was recently designated as the public dump. I was shocked. Throughout my efforts this month, I’ve picked up a lot of trash, much more than I have in the past, mainly, I think, because I just see more of it now. But this place was by far the most polluted and it just kept getting worse as I edged closer to the river.

A discouraging site as I pulled up to the trailhead

I got out of the car, let the dogs out, put my backpack on and began walking toward the river. As I walked to the water’s edge, I looked to my left and right, trying to decide which way to go explore; but all I could see was trash. Everywhere. Instead, I walked back up to the car, took my gloves and trash bags out of my backpack and left my pack in the car. Today would not be about the adventure. Today was about the trash.

I was so pissed off at the end of this day. I spent about an hour collecting trash along that incredibly beautiful river, and I was never more than 100 feet from my car the entire time. I focused on the trash closest to the river, along the trail and in the sand. I packed out diapers, paint cans, cardboard boxes, bottles, plastic, cans, clothing and by far the most styrofoam to date. 3 kayakers floated by, waving at me as they moved along; 4 large rafting groups also passed by. The sight of them discouraged me, as I felt indignant that they were not making more effort to care for this precious place we were all so lucky to enjoy.

I lugged the two trash bags that I had filled back to the car, cursing that I hadn’t thought to bring more. I sat in the car with the engine off feeling heavy. Feeling that same silent weight I felt when I was in China, when I was just becoming so aware of the amount of stuff we were producing. Here the weight was tied to my heightened awareness of all the stuff we were consuming. My efforts felt futile, small and insignificant. The two bags of trash in my car didn’t even appear to make a dent in the garbage that remained. Yet again I felt like we were speeding the wrong way down a highway and I was sitting there wondering what the hell are we doing?

Over time, I have found that confronting big, heavy, challenging realities can be overwhelming and discouraging. I have also found that confronting them can lead to some of the most inspiring and motivating work I have ever done in my life. The trick, for me anyway, is to first get out from under the weight of it all, to begin by letting go of the weight of the world. We simply do not have enough strength or space to bear this weight while also imagining positive solution-oriented ideas that lead to incredible change. While the process of getting really pissed off and angry about a certain reality can be a pivotal catalyst for action, in order to be effective with whatever action you take, you have to let go of that anger and frustration to make space for all the creative juices to flow.

I draw so much inspiration from wild places

For me, the most powerful way I have learned to let go and make space is to go outside into nature. After reaching an overwhelming state of cynicism during my first few years working in global manufacturing, it wasn’t until I retreated to the Appalachian Trail and removed myself from the discouraging environment that I really began to see how I could influence change in this space.

Learning to let go of the weight of the world while thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail

Sometimes you have to go out to go in. After my angry evening on the river, I decided I should go climb a mountain the next day. I went to a remote area where I would have to work physically to muscle my way up. As I hiked up the steep trail, I spent time with all of my thoughts and frustrations from the day before. I acknowledged them, dug a bit to the core of what was motivating them, and then I let them go. The higher I climbed the lighter I felt. As I entered the incredible mixed coihue and araucaria forest I stopped repeatedly, leaning back and staring in awe at the huge trees. A child-like grin spread across my face as I was filled with delight and wonder by my surroundings.

An amazing, massive araucaria reaching for the sunshine. This tree is around 1000 years old, inspiring awe and deserving respect

As I reached the ridge I stopped to catch my breath and take in the view of the three incredible volcanos on the horizon.

I felt invigorated and strong. I continued along the trail and began thinking about different approaches I could take to inspire curiosity about the things we buy. I explored how I could motivate changes in behavior locally in a way that could also inspire others globally. I imagined tangible solutions I could contribute to immediately, and played with big, fantastic solutions that had huge-reaching impacts. I just let all of the creative ideas come in and excite me and it literally felt as though my excitement about these solutions was filling the space I had made when letting go of the anger about the problems. I didn’t feel heavy with this invisible weight, I felt lifted by this invisible force.

I can do this. You can do this. We can do this. Whatever it is- whatever impossibly huge thing you want to tackle, whatever negative thing that you see in the world that you believe can be turned into a positive- it can be done. Don’t be discouraged by the weight of the world. It is not your responsibility to carry it. It is important to acknowledge it, to face it and see it for what it is, but then let it go. Let it go and get on with the good stuff, the stuff that excites and inspires.

The Work You Can’t Not Do

September 23, 2015September 29, 2015 / Greta Matos / 9 Comments

My legs were on fire, the muscles burning with exhaustion from the effort to overcome gravity and continue up the steep slope through the knee-deep snow. The sun shone warmly, reflecting bright rays back up from the white, untouched snow. The bright blue sky was a welcome surprise, having begun the day under heavy cloud cover and the prospect of rain. The air was brisk with the slightest hint of warmth, a whisper of the coming spring. My heart felt fit to burst, but not from the exercise, it was pumping wildly from the ear-to-ear smile across my face, overflowing with gratitude and joy for this moment, in this place, and every single moment before it that brought me here. Gratitude for the feeling of full participation in my own life.

Taking a moment to catch my breath and embrace all the beauty around me

A year ago I let go of a lot of things I loved in order to make space for the things that truly brought me joy in life. I left a company filled with wonderful people, and work that was fulfilling and meaningful. I also left a daily commute through the bustling city streets of San Francisco and the required daily onslaught of emails and hours in front of a computer in the confines of an office building. I left a comfortable little rent-controlled one-bedroom in Noe Valley with a hot tub and a lemon tree. I also left the “need” for a bigger home and more things to fill it with. I left beloved wild places all around the USA that I could have spent a lifetime exploring. I also left the limitation of the brief two-day weekend window in which I was allowed to explore them.

My last year in San Francisco I tried to find balance between city life and my love of the outdoors, but ultimately the desire to be outdoors outweighed all else

As I take a break in the middle of this mountain in Southern Chile, on a Tuesday, my snowboard strapped to my back, my chest heaving, the sunshine drawing sweat from my brow- that joy and gratitude threatening to burst forth from my heart is inspired by that decision to choose a different path for my life. It is a brief moment taken to celebrate the delicacy of life, to acknowledge the preciousness of it, and to be thankful for the courage to step onto the unmarked path and break trail on my own.

Literally breaking trail in the Chilean mountains behind my home in Southern Chile

Recently I received news that a beautiful soul had lost his life while climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. To say the least, Scott Dinsmore was a beacon of light in this world. In his very brief time on this planet, he directly impacted hundreds of thousands of people, inspiring them to let go of the things in their life that aren’t working to pursue what they are passionate about. With all of his interactions- in person, over email, or in his writing/recordings online, he emitted an energy that was both inspiring and challenging, that embraced you while also pushing you. And he could achieve this without even really knowing you. He built a global community, Live Your Legend, that existed with the sole purpose of positively encouraging one another to pursue our dreams and build a meaningful life. With the news of his death, this community came together and thousands of people have expressed how Scott changed their lives, many of whom he never even met.

The last Instagram photo that Scott posted before going offline to climb Mount Kilimanjaro

This, is a life well lived. Regardless of its length, the depth of his life is simply incredible.

In his last blog post he wrote about the decision to book this trip to Mount Kilimanjaro. He talks about how it almost didn’t happen because of fear, and how it would have been a tragedy if he had not decided to go for it:

“I almost decided not to book this Tanzania trip because I didn’t think I could (or should) step away. How ridiculous is that? To pass up an adventure I’ve talked about for years – because I’d convinced myself I couldn’t disconnect. Or more truthfully, because I couldn’t find the courage to do it.

That would have been a tragedy.”

The gut reaction when reading these words is that it was a tragedy for him to have gone for it, because by doing so he lost his life. But that is the kicker of it all- it is not a tragedy for him, it is a tragedy for those of us who feel the pain of his loss. For him, it is a grand success. It is the essence of the life that he decided to live. Mount Kilimanjaro was the whole point of the journey up to that moment, and had he not pursued it, then it would have been him who experienced the tragedy of a dream unfollowed. Scott didn’t die just doing something that he loved, he died having lived a life that he truly loved, one he celebrated often, and as a result one that will continue to inspire love, risk and a tireless addiction to life in countless other people around this world.

We should all be so bold. We should all be so courageous to consider pursuing a life that threatens to explode our hearts with gratitude because it is simply So. Damn. Beautiful. How different would this world look if we did? That is what Scott was trying to accomplish, and he certainly initiated the ripples necessary to bring about waves of positive change.

For me, this year has been all about embracing this boldness. I’ve taken time to redefine the work that I do, and take it beyond the confines of the corporate definition. And I’ve committed to spending more time in wild places, which brings me the purest form of joy and inspiration. Although I have a much less “public” life than Scott, and I am still exploring the delicate vulnerability of using my voice in a public manner, his boldness with his own vulnerability is a constant source of inspiration for me as I embark on new adventures in a public space. I know that I met Scott for a reason and that I too have an opportunity to inspire others by encouraging a tireless addiction to life by choosing to live deeply myself.

Take a moment to jump for joy when you feel as though your heart may explode with gratitude. Laugh, run, turn your face toward the sun and jump.

In January 2016, I am planning to ride my horse, self-supported, along the length of the Chilean Patagonia. The estimated distance will be 1200KM (around 745 miles) of the Carretera Austral, although we’ll likely be venturing off trail quite a bit as I connect with local ranches en route. I am estimating that the ride will take two months, and it will take us through some of the most pristine and wild places I have ever experienced. The purpose of my ride is to celebrate simplicity while inspiring curiosity. I will be focusing on the necessity to travel light (and as a result reduce our general consumption and the negative impact on the planet) and celebrate the simplicity of life on the trail.

Getting ready to take to the mountains of Patagonia on horseback!

I will also be weaving my passion for sustainable supply chains and corporate social responsibility into my ride. Rather than asking companies to sponsor me with new gear, I’ll be connecting with a handful of the companies who made the things already I own, and asking them to sponsor transparency in their supply chain by helping me tell the story of where my things come from. It’s a little like “Worn Wear” meets “Planet Money Makes A T-Shirt”– I plan to weave the stories of the raw materials, the factory production, the transcontinental shipping, all of these “life-stories” of my things, into the stories of our adventures in the harsh and wild conditions of Patagonia. My intent in doing this is to tell beautiful stories that invoke curiosity about product life cycles, inspire reflection on the life we give the things we own, and motivate action that encourages greater transparency in supply chains globally.

Something that Scott said during his TedEx talk several years ago was “What is the work you can’t not do?”- and these words are on repeat now as I wrap my head around the logistics, the costs, and the raw reality of embracing this adventure. This ride will challenge me physically, mentally and emotionally, but it will also challenge me to use my voice in a way that is meaningful- to lead a revolution beyond just conscious consumerism toward curious consumerism, and to bring environmental impact to the forefront of all business and personal consumption decisions. This is the work I can’t not do.

So with that, I am putting this out there in an effort to open every door possible and see the “hows” unfold. All the pieces of this expedition puzzle are not yet in place, but Scott also said you should take “imperfect action”- even if you aren’t 100% ready- so here I go. I ask that if you are interested in contributing to this adventure and revolution in any way, feel free to reach out to me here – I am always looking for thought partners! You can also follow along with updates on the expedition as it evolves here.

Finally, if you want to join me in my efforts to build a community of Curious Consumers, watch this space, I will soon be creating a place where you can join me in taking the Pledge.

The last thing I’ll leave you with is one simple question, the question that Scott asked himself when he left the work he didn’t love and began his pursuit to build Live Your Legend; the question that has become an affirmation for me as I attempt to take on one of the most challenging experiences and works of my life; and the question that could change your life if you give it some real thought:

What is the work you can’t not do?

Seek Those Awe-Inspiring Places

December 13, 2014December 13, 2014 / Greta Matos / Leave a comment

Standing in the midst of giants- Humboldt County, California

I am awake, uncertain of what provoked it but my eyes are open and I look up at our orange tarp shielding our hammock from the morning dew. The light of day is still just creeping in, softly waking up the world around me. I peer over the edge of the hammock, gasping slightly as my eyes catch the glowing mountain ridges in the distance, the vibrant pinks and oranges lining the crest, like icing atop cupcakes, all various shapes and sizes. I smile to myself. It is a lovely morning, and I am in a wild place. I slowly unzip my side of the sleeping bag, pulling my legs out and over the edge of the hammock, rocking it softly but not enough to wake up Ale. I tuck the sleeping bag around him, he rolls over in his sleep paying little attention to my dawn exit.

I slip on my boots, grab my yoga mat and run up to the mountain ridge just above the quiet hidden grove where we’ve strung our hammock for the night. The sun has still not risen above the ridges to my left, and as I trot along I steal glances at the vibrant hues painting the horizon as the day unfolds. I reach a small flat ledge overlooking the deep river gorge where we had set top ropes to climb the day before. The flat ledge is nearly level, wide enough to stretch out easily, just long enough for my mat to lie flat without taking me too close to the edge. Oh what a lovely little spot! I had spotted it yesterday as we wrapped up our climbing session and were hiking out along the ridge. I remember thinking, ah, the perfect spot for a sunrise yoga session! I drop down on my mat, my legs folded, hands rested atop my knees. I breathe deeply, eyes closed, then opened, and I smile, drinking in the expansive views of far reaching green valleys and wild places as far as my eye can see. In the midst of this vast place, I feel small, but far from insignificant, I actually feel quite significant, filled with gratitude for this moment, this place, this morning and this life.

There is something pretty magic about being in a place that has the power to make you feel small. Perhaps this is what pulls me to wild places, but it is almost indescribable how precious these places feel when you are in their midst. Whether it is amongst the enchanting giants in the Redwood National Parks, the incredible granite towers and massive waterfalls of the Yosemite Valley, the breathtaking scale of the glaciers of Alaska or the vast wilderness dotted with volcanos and waterfalls I’ve been most recently exploring here in Chile, these places all take hold of your senses, captivating your mind and heart in the rawness of their sheer existence. The vastness of these places make you feel utterly present. In the daylight, you enter the groves, dance beneath the waterfalls, climb the granite slaps, paddle out to the vast walls of ice and often catch yourself simply staring with wonder at the greatness of these places. In the darkness of night, your breath is again stolen as you look up to a sky like none possibly witnessed amidst the neighborhoods and cities most of us call home.

When we lived in California, we had some pretty incredibly awe-inspiring places right at our fingertips, and we made it a point to play in them. I would return from a weekend spent amidst the redwoods feeling as though I had taken a two week meditation retreat. Three days in Yosemite would have me buzzing for at least a week and those massive glaciers in Alaska had my head in the clouds for a good month or so. As we currently wander across Chile, through the countless deep river valleys and winding dirt roads with massive volcanos on our horizon, I find myself constantly in a state of gratitude to be lucky enough to explore this place.

Places like this ignite my soul. They drive my creative process and inspire me with wonder, they bring peace and quiet to the noise of the ever-present distractions that taunt us constantly in this digital age. When I choose to go back into the woods, to hike the steep path up to the ridge, to put my fingers and toes to the cold rock walls, to paddle down a river or into an ocean, to coast down a snowy powder bowl in the falling snow- each and every time I am reminded of the natural order of things, of the simplicity of the existence of life.

In this day and age, it is easy to get caught up in the hustle and bustle of society’s priorities. We set incredibly unnatural expectations for one another- companies must show profitability every single quarter, professionals are expected to constantly climb corporate ladders with no moments of rest, with no opportunities to stop, to look around and perhaps walk another path for a while. The expectation of constant growth and lack of opportunity to rest and reflect is overwhelming. Parents are expected to raise wholesome well-rounded children while they themselves are struggling to feel like half the person they were before taking on all this responsibility of life. Pressures of debt and rising prices, higher taxes and lower wages all weigh heavily on the need to constantly be earning more money rather than more experiences.

In nature, all of those pressures dissolve. The purpose of existence is simple, it just is. Everything experiences cycles of life, trees lose their leaves which fall to the ground and feed the soil and ecosystem below, they rest in the winter in order to be vibrant and productive in the spring and summer. The rivers swell with the rain and retreat with the draught. The snow falls softly, gathers, melts and feeds the soil, rivers and creeks surrounding. Everything is interconnected, and even though it is functioning independently it is all supporting the life surrounding it in some significant way. It is an incredibly complex system, and yet it functions so simply. It just is. Going into these places and witnessing this simplicity, it can be a powerful reminder for us to remember that we are also part of this ecosystem, that we are intimately connected with the natural order of things and with one another. We gain so much from this acknowledgement, and it can inspire personal fulfillment while challenging us to radically shift our societal priorities. Who knows what solutions to the massive challenges we face could be discovered if more of us, both leading and following, were filled with awe by nature a little more often. If more of us were willing to seek those awe-inspiring places, and to let ourselves feel small within their vastness, yet significant within their presence.

Today, we hit the road and head to Northern Patagonia and I am simply bubbling with anticipation. There is a childlike glee that has taken hold of me as Patagonia has lived in my dreams almost as a mythical creature all these years; and while this is just a brief encounter I hope that it is the first of many adventures there. Either way, I know that inspiration awaits, to both motivate and to challenge- and I can’t wait to see what ideas are borne in the midst of this next wild place.

Feeling incredibly inspired in the midst of this wild place during my morning yoga. Gratitude simply becomes second nature in the midst of places like this.

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"Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. To keep our faces toward change and behave like free spirits in the presence of fate is strength undefeatable."- Helen Keller

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