Confronting Writer’s Block and Traveling Without Kapil
I am a list person. I have lists for everything, even before “bullet journaling” was popular. One of the many lists contains the topics I want to write about which is getting extremely long (among them are experiences in Colombia, Peru, and Bolivia) and overwhelming. I feel behind but I can’t seem to reliably carve out enough time to sit and write…and I have noticed my motivation to wake up early to write, wane over the last few weeks. This post is my attempt to remove the “block” or the “to dos” from my mind and just get back on the wagon…and write! As such, this post does not have a designated topic and will evolve as I “think-write” so just try and follow-along!
The last three months flew by. From Colombia (which truly deserves its own post) to seeing grandparents in Ecuador and then moving onwards to Bolivia and Chile. In just these few months, we have covered nearly all of the world’s biomes (also a homeschool topic) and examples of evolution from the Galapagos Islands, volcanoes, to the altiplanos (high plains) of the Andes, rainforests of the Amazon, salt flats, deserts, and now deciduous forests. For each biome type, we read a corresponding picture book as a family and compared what we learned in the book to what we observed. It has been pretty cool to do this live learning, and has made the annoyance of carrying two curriculum suitcases full of material, very worth it. It has also been fun to donate children’s books to schools and libraries, as we finish them. It is surprising to see how eager children in South America are to learn and hold a book in English, and yet there are very few stores that carry any.
We’ve gotten used to speaking Spanish (though the language really does change from region to region), throwing our toilet paper in a trash can, determining our water source with each move, and eating just about anything. And though our activities and climates have been varied, we have gotten used to living out of suitcases, completing “school sessions” (now with very little sass—thank goodness), and adapting to new beds and neighbors.
The one thing that we haven’t adapted to, and probably never will, is missing our people. The hardest part about traveling for an extended period is missing the witnessing of milestones in the lives of family and friends. We have learned that when you travel, your nuclear family (and your suitcases) truly becomes all you have. They are your anchor as you move from place to place and build/re-build your community of momentary neighbors (e.g., hostel travelers, volunteer program participants, hotel staff, tour guide, etc.). And if you choose, you can maintain a virtual community of like-minded adventurers and loved ones through social media, because those connections can be on your terms, and rarely require full presence or full reception like calls do.
While this kind of nomadic living is so enriching for us as a unit (with all of its ups and downs), it can feel very isolating when you miss witnessing monumental moments. Since we have been traveling, we have missed celebrating five pregnancies, four new births, countless birthdays, weddings, and holidays. We also have lost two important family members on both sides of our families. Both were the first losses in our parents’ direct generation.
About one month into our trip, my uncle, Dr. Rahim Ul-Haq died very unexpectedly while we were in Cuba and joining family in Pakistan would have been extremely difficult. My reception was very limited and my heart hurt for my aunt, Saeeda and my cousins. Not being able to talk to family made it feel even worse. Then three months later, Kapil’s aunt, Dr. Anisha Malhotra, whom we spent time with 1-2 times per year, suffered for weeks before passing away. With four months of travel under our belt, warning time, and more accessible airports, we made the decision for Kapil to join the family in England. It was an emotional time for all of us, especially because the kids were also very fond of Anisha Daadi (paternal grandma in Hindi).
While Kapil was gone for about a week, the kids and I moved three times, including two border crossings—from Santiago (Chile), to Mendoza (Argentina), and from Bariloche (Argentina), to Puerto Varas (Chile). And let me tell you, it was tough…on all of us!
Within minutes of Kapil’s departure, our moods shifted. The kids became grumpier and seemed to have even a harder time listening to instructions. They were getting on each other’s nerves and couldn’t keep out of each other’s space. I became irritable too and I found myself threatening to take any fun experience away—from Ukeleles and Uno cards, to cameras and Kindles---you name it. I was looking for a consequence that would be impactful and none could be found. Of course, my barking commands at them did not help and just before bed, they all vocalized how much they missed Daddy…and the compliments of how fun and loving he is, quickly turned to digs at Mommy not being fun, kind, or even a good teacher. It was in that moment that I realized that they were doing the same thing that I had modeled to them. They were trying to provoke a reaction in me. I brought them close and acknowledged how much we all miss Daddy, but that we could all do a better job of kindness and listening. We all agreed that we would try harder the next day.
In reflecting, I was pretty surprised that I was so off my game with Kapil’s departure. After all, for the last two years in a row, I have traveled to the UK alone with the kids for 3-5 weeks at a time, but in those travels, I still had a home base. We didn’t have to travel to different countries or honestly move too much once we were there, with family, no less. No, this was different. After nearly 4 months of spending nearly EVERY minute in our insular unit, any addition or deletion of energy (however welcomed) would disrupt the normal flow of behavior. We are severely out of practice of being a lone <INSERT TITLE HERE e.g., daughter, mother, son>. In other words, everyone had their own reaction to our “disruption”—from emotional responses of sadness and concern to physical responses to increased responsibility. Personally, I noticed that my fatigue, which resulted in being short, was equally from not having a partner to co-witness the craziness or to later laugh at an incident. And with the constant movement, I missed not being able to rely on a partner to help with the load—from meal planning, and preparations for the day (water, rain jackets, etc.), to directions, heavy lifting, and a second hand for an unpredictable mood. I found that I didn’t have energy to plan for long hikes or other adventures.
During that time, I thought about one of my dearest friends who will be traveling solo with her three kids next year. What would I have done differently if that was my reality? Move slower. If this had been a planned departure, I would have picked a place where we could really settle down for 8-10 days and would have gotten ahead of the moods by advanced planning for meals, activities, and schools. It would have been an attitude of “let’s make the most of our trip” rather than “let’s do our best without Daddy”. Most importantly, I would have shifted my mindset from co-captain to captain, which would have meant expending energy in the things and places that allow me to refuel and be “whole” for the kids.
We were very happy to reunite with Kapil when we got to Puerto Varas and there was a feeling of completeness that each person found in our tight group hug. For Kapil, the hug after 36 hours of travel was undoubtedly comforting to his heart, as we later learned that his head was in a tailspin. Kapil’s luggage was lost along the way and the stress of knowing he had two days to figure out where his suitcase was, or replace its contents, in time for our Antarctica trip was hard to subdue. Nevertheless, we spent our evening of reunification cooking and admiring our new sunset view in our 58th “home”. We knew we would figure it out—we always do.
