The Generosity of Presence

March 7, 2018March 8, 2018 / Greta Matos / 1 Comment

The sunlight danced through the tree canopy as we rode through the open forest; it dappled the hides of the horses and tickled and teased my eyes.

Oh how delicious it felt to know we were going the right way, to have a clear and distinct trail in front and behind us.

Oh how delightful it felt to have a blue sky above, sunshine in our eyes, and to be arriving where we’d actually meant to arrive, and in mid-afternoon no less!

Winding forest paths dappled with sunshine

It’s a wonderful practice to notice what you naturally gravitate toward when you’ve pared down all of your comforts to the barest of the bare. At this stage all I needed to squeal with delight were three simple things:

sunshine,
clear skies, and
a sense of certainty that we were moving in the right direction.

Up to now Patagonia had whittled away all other necessities (even food, as we grew more and more accustomed to our incredibly small daily rations); and with these three gems of the day I felt like queen of the forest.

All the necessary gems

As I rocked gently with Picante’s steady pace as he plodded across the soft forest carpet, a sense of curiosity awoke within me and I imagined who exactly it was that we were about to drop in on.

Woodland magic

This gaucho who lived in these deep and wondrously remote glacial valleys of southern Patagonia, all alone. A man who rode his horses into town only once a year- a minimum 4 day ride (when you know the way- when you don’t know the way, and lose it often as we did, it takes far longer)- to gather supplies that sustained him in his life way “off the grid”. A man who was somehow a crucial puzzle piece to our journey, and the only person who would be able to share with us the way forward- a way forward that was not documented on maps or guide books or on GPS. A way forward that lived in his mind, in his heart, and in the musical descriptions falling from his tongue of the rocks, the rivers, the forest and the glaciers that would be our guides from there onward.

Wild Patagonia

As the trail dropped down we arrived at the edge of a deep, fast flowing river. The icy blue water licked my boots as Picante waded belly deep. On the other side we were greeted by several more dogs, Check and Curi Cuyen said their hellos and then trotted on after us to continue their inspection of this lovely little home in the wildest corner of the world.

La vida del campo

I suddenly felt self conscious as we rode closer to the house- what if he didn’t want visitors? What if we felt like a burden, coming to him with our questions about the route, with our empty bellies, so hungry from weeks of rationing food? What if he didn’t even like company?

He did, after all, willingly choose to live in one of the most remote places in the world, with only his dogs, horses and cows for company…well, dogs, horses, cows and all the rest of Patagonia’s wild wonders.

But still…what if our arrival felt like an intrusion?

The horses climbed the last hill and as they did we saw a small, thin- yet sturdy- old man striding toward us. His soft, suntanned face broke into a wrinkly smile as he reached up his hand to take Alejandro’s in his; and then he took mine. He looked us in the eyes, held each hand with both of his, and warmly he welcomed us to unsaddle our horses and unload our chiwas (the traditional Patagonia packs loaded on our packhorse).

He pointed us toward the small smokehouse at the top of the hill and told us meat was cooking over the fire, and we must help ourselves to it. He said he had to go off and take care of some things, but when he returned we would sit and drink mate together.

Arrivals

I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so warmly welcomed, so wholeheartedly received by someone who moments before had only been some fictional being; someone pulled from a story who now was wrapping his entire heart around us with his presence and generosity. I felt so received and embraced, and for the first time since we had departed on our journey across Patagonia, I felt a sense of true arrival.

After unsaddling the horses and letting them loose, we raced to the meat and ravenously began slicing pieces off, the juices dripping off our fingers as the soft meat was gobbled up. For the last 7 days we had primarily been living off of instant mashed potatoes and rice- so the meat arrived on our tongues with a sudden level of decadence I could never have imagined. Our dogs also seemed joyous to be eating anything other than rice as they joined us in the feast, finishing off the bits of cow that the other dogs had not yet gotten to.

Cooking meat in the smokehouse

A feast for all

Later in the evening Don Rial returned with a few other gauchos who had stopped in to help him brand and castrate a few cattle. Alejandro would join them in this work the following day. In the meantime, we dropped into an easygoing conversation and exchange of story, meat, sopaipillas (a typical chilean dish of dough fried in freshly rendered fat), and shared wonderment of the surrounding beauty as the sun dropped behind the mountains and lit the clouds aglow with pink.

Fresh sopaipillas

Asado

Our time with Don Rial was far too short in reality; but those three days were deep in their width, despite the shortness of their length. He was everything that had been spoken of him, and more. When he spoke of this place he lived, of his love of this wild place, it was like listening to a poet read their most divine verses worthy of nobel prizes.

Dinner is served

When he spoke of being gaucho, and the pride he felt for it, he described it not as being a cowboy-like figure who could handle cattle and horses and work the land, but instead as a human being who honored friendship and kindness above all. To receive others with an open and generous heart, and to be a friend to all- this is what truly made one a gaucho.

When he spoke of friendship, I felt I actually understood the depths of the word in a way I never had before. When he spoke of connection, and the way he could live so far from people, yet still feel so deeply connected with everyone he had ever crossed paths with in his lifetime, he stretched my capacity of understanding there as well. Through and through his words carried the depths of how powerful we can be with our generosity of presence, with our generosity of friendship.

He was, and is, quite simply, a sage.

A moment with our friend, Don Rial

To be with him for a brief moment in time felt like a gift from the universe. To know him, to call him my friend, this too feels like a gift from the universe.

The details of our time with Don Rial will emerge with time, his personality, his sweetness of life, his quick wit and sense of humor, the gorgeous simplicity of his life and being, his commitment to the place, and to his soul- they are all far too large to fit into this brief glimpse of a blog post.

Yet, I had to invite his presence into all of your lives, in this moment in particular. It is two years ago that we were in his magical presence, in his magical home, deep in the belly of Patagonia.

Don Rial leading the way

He is 80 years old now, still living all alone in his remote cabin. News from the south has been carried to us that our dear friend has grown much weaker, and he is challenged in his ability to care for himself. Also, that he continues to honor his soul, and wishes to remain on the land that has fed it for so long.

A soul’s delight

I wish to sit with him again, to drink mate together around a crackling fire as the sun sets, casting glistening pinks and blues across the glaciers that embrace his homestead; to simply be with him in a way that honors a friendship, and his generosity of life. I wish for another chance to meet his endless generosity of presence with my own.

Regardless of wishes coming true or not, I carry forward a new impression of friendship thanks to Don Rial, and a stunning awareness of how essential a gift it is to be so generous with our whole being.

I’m thankful to my life for all of the curious paths it led me down that brought me into the presence of this incredibly bright, vibrant and shimmering light of humanity, this gaucho who lives all alone, in the belly of Patagonia.

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.

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!

Little Moments Filled With Magic

November 25, 2015December 29, 2015 / Greta Matos / 1 Comment

The phone rang as I drove around the airport parking lot; I picked it up and immediately heard laughter spilling through from the other end. “We’re walking outside,” Ale said.

“Okay, give me thirty seconds. You’re with the guys?”
“You knew?!” Ale laughed even louder and I could hear Eto and Alfredo, two of our best friends, laughing in the background.

It was Ale’s birthday in the coming days, and Alfredo and Eto had flown down to Chile to make some memories with us for the week. Originally they were arriving different days, but thanks to a little tweaking of schedules they managed to organize flights together to arrive with a little surprise. To top it off, our other friend Cristobal was arriving from Santiago the following day, let the adventures begin.

Los hermanos venezolanos

You know the friends that you just never skip a beat with? The ones who would move mountains if you asked them to, or die trying? These guys fall into that pool for us. We all lived together in San Francisco, and for a brief moment in time, we were able to share the same city and make some amazing memories while living there.

Now we are all scattered across the world, Eto is in California, Alfredo is in Brazil, Cristobal is up in Santiago and of course here we are in a somewhat remote little corner of southern Chile. I miss having these guys show up at my doorstep every Sunday for an arepa feast. I miss hanging with them in the San Francisco parks and having adventures with them in the Sierras. But most of all I miss the random hug and being in the presence of their unconditional love. They are our family, our Venezuelan brothers. So, when they arrived in Chile this past week, it was a gift that went way beyond any “thing” money could buy.

Camping along the Puesco river valley

The past few days with them have been overflowing with magic little moments. Catching up on each other’s lives while sharing a mate. Strolling the streets of our little volcano town and introducing them to all the friends we have here. Filling our car with laughter as we road trip east to the mountains of the Puesco river valley to celebrate Ale’s birthday at Puescofest. Camping under the nearly full moon at the base of the majestic towers. Introducing them to our ancient forests, lakes and volcanos.

Magic moment as the moon emerges beside the towers

Yesterday we pulled ourselves from our beds at 5:30am and attempted to ascend Volcan Villarica, the most active volcano in Chile. Since it’s eruption in March, all ascents had been forbidden, but a week ago local guides were cleared to climb again. When our guide Claudio told us the chance of a full summit to the crater was about 50/50 due to the changing weather, my crew was the first to enthusiastically say yes, let’s try anyway. If we turn around, we turn around. We are here, together for this brief moment in time- either way we are making a memory that will last a lifetime.

The best crew

Blue skies teased us as the morning unfolded, periodically bursting forth from the heavy, fast moving clouds. We climbed single file reaching the first rest spot after about an hour. The clouds cruised across the deep valley, quickly changing in color, shape and size. We waited for a while, to see if our luck might change and the clouds changed course. Our guides eventually decided it was safe to proceed, despite the constantly changing sky; so onward we climbed, up into the clouds.

Blue skies teasing us as the clouds move along

We climbed into white out conditions, passing la Capilla, carefully securing ice axe handles into the volcano and placing each foot into the footprints made by our lead guide as he broke trail. The silence of the snow and the clouds was broken by the laughter of my Venezuelan husband and brothers as they occasionally broke out in song. We reached the glacier, which was covered with snow, the white sky melting seamlessly into the volcano, making it impossible to differentiate the two. Finally we reached the crest of a very steep ascent, arriving at la Pingüinera. We dropped our packs to rest while Claudio took a call on the radio.

Deteriorating conditions as we climbed on

He came back and announced we would have to turn around, that we would not be able to continue to the summit due to the unpredictable weather. Our group sat quietly as a cold gust of wind kicked up the snow and we looked out into the white abyss.

White out conditions and deteriorating weather ended our try for the crater summit

I reached into my backpack and pulled out a bag of arepas I had prepared the night before, meant to be shared on the summit. We passed the bag around to all of the climbers and our guides. Despite the news that we wouldn’t summit I didn’t feel an ounce of disappointment. I laughed with happiness at the surprise and delight of the guides, my friends and the other climbers as they dug into the arepas- so happy to share a little flavor from tropical Venezuela in this cold place and in a moment that some may have felt disappointment.

For me, I was so happy just to be sitting on steep edge of this breathing volcano, atop a snow-covered glacier, eating an arepa with some of my most favorite people in the world. I didn’t care that the view around us blended in with the snow beneath us; I don’t think I could have been happier even if we had bluebird skies and were sitting beside the smoking crater instead. The moment was perfect, full of magic, and I couldn’t stop smiling.

After we descended the steepest part of the glacier, our guides determined it was safe for us to indulge in a little fun. We stopped at the top of a steep powdery bowl, strapped on a plastic sled that fit on the belt of our pants, and one-by-one we dropped into the powder bowl zipping down the mountain like little passenger cars on a train. As we zoomed by one another our booming laughter filled the air.

Having our house full of people that I love, it’s nearly impossible to describe how wonderful it is after spending the last year and a half on the road and in a state of constant motion. As always, the distance traveled to be together is simply minutes that melt into miles, and miles that melt into smiles. These moments, the little moments filled with magic, they are the essence of being present. They are the ultimate gift. They are the glacier that feeds this overflowing river of gratitude flowing from my heart, coursing through my veins.

This Thursday is Thanksgiving, a day of gratitude. In this moment I have more to be grateful for than I have time to tell. For starters, I am grateful that I woke up to a house full of people that I love. I give thanks for the hugs I received as my friends made their way downstairs for breakfast. I give thanks for the kiss that my husband gave me just before he and the guys left for a mountain bike adventure this afternoon. I am thankful for the food in my kitchen and the wood in our stove. I give thanks for every single little magic moment that has been full of laughter and love the past few days, and throughout my entire life.

What little moments of magic have you experienced today? What little moments ignite a flutter in your heart and inspire a smile to spread widely across your face?

The Open Road, An Untouched Roadmap, And A Smile

October 24, 2014November 25, 2014 / Greta Matos / 1 Comment

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:

Lean Forward and Just Let Go

October 12, 2014 / Greta Matos / Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wishing Away the Present

October 4, 2014October 4, 2014 / Greta Matos / 2 Comments

Freshly cut hay, always invokes many memories of my youth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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

Living in the present