About a year ago, my friend Meghan, yoga teacher and owner of Aluna Adventures, asked me to co-lead a yoga adventure to Morocco. At that particular moment in time, I had believed my traveling days were over due to some drastic shifts in my life. I was feeling lost and unsure in my path, but immediately felt this was something I was called to do. We spent months envisioning and crafting our trip. My anxious mind kept manufacturing things to fear; anything from no one signing up, to the Ebola outbreak spreading north, to surges in the saharan scorpion population. Thankfully, none of my wild speculations were correct, and on March 27th, I found myself at JFK International, with the intent to fly to North Africa. I was excited; I was hopeful. I met up with Meg and our group, and we snacked together by our gate. Everyone was buzzing with energy and anticipation. I fed off of their energy, but as time went on, my excitement became peppered with a flavor of fear I hadn’t expected to experience.
For half a decade prior, I had been in a loving and supportive relationship, during which my love of travel was born. Though I had returned home from afar by myself before, I never embarked “on my own”, and had zero experience going to place as foreign as Morocco. Traveling with a partner was an emotional security blanket that I no longer had. I was surrounded by wonderful people I trusted, yet the fear swelled up in me. Could I be a good leader? Could I be there for others without having someone who loved me unconditionally at my side? In my every day life, I had dealt with this and become stronger and independent. With the new catalysts of international travel and leadership, my insecurity emerged once again. When we were called to board, my stomach dropped. In that moment, I didn’t actually know if I could go.
But, I did. We all did. One step at a time, we boarded the plane. Meg gave me a reassuring, loving look as we went to our respective seats in different aisles.
The cabin itself felt like a foreign country. An Arabic song with a haunting, wailing, minor melody played as we shuffled into our seats.In English, the pilot proclaimed the plane would arrive in Casablanca at 7am. The Arabic translation was a bit different. Though I don’t speak the language, I was able to ascertain this much: “Inshallah (God willing), the plane will land in Casablanca at 7am”.
“Jesus Christ,” I thought, “That’s not particularly reassuring”. Everything felt up in the air. Everything was up in the air, as it was supposed to be, and the flight was quite uneventful. I spoke to an American man of Moroccan descent who gave me some insight into the country, and eventually faded into some strange twilight state until our breakfast was served.When we touched down, Casablanca was enveloped in a thick fog. At the airport, there was no jetway- one walks down the stairs directly to the tarmac. In my exhausted state, something shifted. I smiled at the pathetic fallacy as I emerged from the plane, and let the misty, humid air surround me like a cocoon. I wasn’t supposed to see what was ahead, and even more, I didn’t need to. I just had to respond to what was directly in front of me. It wasn’t necessary for someone to hold my hand to do it; I just needed to be present. As I’d soon discover, Morocco all but commands one’s full attention. I steadily descended off of the last step, on my own, and into the mist.
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