It’s been two years, 731 days since I got on a plane and left my home country with only a one-way ticket, a backpack, and a burning desire to not get stuck in a mundane life.
It’s unbelievable to think about what all has transpired in the last two years. Not just for me personally, but the ENTIRE world. We’ve changed. We’re not the same people we were two years ago. Our priorities are different. Our mindset is different. There has been a global shift. I found a lot of comfort in thinking about how, in a way, this pandemic put us all on a level playing field. None of us knew what the eff was happening and none of us had any control over it. As much as it sucked, looking at it that way helped me significantly. For all the Type A control freaks out there, kudos for pulling through.
It would be hard to put all of the details of the last two years in this post. I could write an entire book detailing all the commotion and perfection this time has provided me. And there’s obviously a back story that leads up to these two years that I feel compelled to touch on.
I’ve lived outside of my home country for two years during a global pandemic with not one single regret. Not one. I left the states and never looked back. When I left, I told my friends and family that I would be gone for a year. I think my best friend who knows me better than any other human on this planet knew that was total BS, but saying it had a way of making it feel less daunting. Being the Type A, undiagnosed OCD person I am, I put everything in place prior to leaving. I made sure there was nothing lingering that would force a premature return. Bank accounts, beneficiaries, POA, life insurance, you name it. I think I did it.
Now, grab a warm beverage and cozy up because this part is somewhat lengthy, but essentially required to get to the present moment (which is exactly what you’re looking at in the picture below). I’m going to delve into some of the backstories that brought me to where I am right now…
*****
In the early months of 2016, my life blew the eff up. Certainly not for the first time and definitely not worse than times before, but it felt so similar in that the decision was made for me and not by me and I had absolutely no control over “fixing” it. Despite all the planning and doing the right things and being the person I “should” be for someone else, it all blew up in my face. Unfortunately, in this case, my loyalty and devotion meant nothing. This time, the man who was my husband blew up the scene. My first experience of life getting turned upside and spun around was by my father and then many shit bags in between.
I was blindsided, shocked, and devastated. I felt utterly embarrassed, humiliated, and completely unworthy. I didn’t feel this way because it was my fault, but because it was too familiar and the pattern was continuing. Deceit. Lies. Abandonment. These are my deep-rooted fears and triggers and just when I thought that game was over and I was in a safe place with a human I trusted, BAM. I was suddenly seventeen years old again and trying to understand why everyone, especially my parents jumped ship and left me out to dry. The only difference was that this time, I was trying to heal and come out on the other side through forgiveness and compassion rather than blind rage and revenge.
While I was keeping all this tightly under wraps and not telling anyone what I was going through, I was also desperately trying to keep my shit together. At this time I was working every night and weekend to build my business while also working my full-time day job. I didn’t really have time to crash and burn. At any moment the potential of me having a total meltdown in front of strangers, coworkers, neighbors, family, and my best friends was high. I was riding down a bumpy road on the struggle bus.
By accident, as all good things happen, I met this chick who was (and still is) a total fucking badass. She’s an intense girl with all the strength and determination of Hercules himself. She did what she wanted when she wanted and she didn’t let anyone stand in her way. Her athleticism was beyond my comprehension. I was intimidated by her intellect. I was inspired by her travels. Physically, she’s tall and skinny, but her energy is huge and she took up loads of space. I can’t forget the date because it’s hugely significant in my story. April 20, 2016. Yup. 4:20. That night we sat in my living room and decided we would travel the world. I busted out my journal and started jotting down countries and goals and budgets. While we didn’t end up traveling the world together, I did take my first international trip with her that year and another one in 2018. I owe a lot of my last five years of travel to her. She inspired me and proved to me that I didn’t need anyone to hold my hand and accompany me to follow my dreams. “Rach Rach. Wait for no one.”
I chose the year 2020. I wrote it on a huge world map that I looked at every day. Why 2020?? Well, first of all, in 2016 we had no idea the world would blow up in 2020. Because I am who I am, I made this decision solely based on my life number – 4. The sum of all the numbers in my birthdate totals four and the sum of 2020 is four. It was that simple. Every move I made from that point on was focused on leaving. I saved every single penny I could, I didn’t purchase anything without asking myself “can I take it with me?”, and I had the mindset of “this is temporary”. Even when taking the risky and terrifying leap to launch Real Food Gratitude full-time at the end of 2016 and finally do what I loved, I knew it was temporary because I WAS LEAVING.
*****
In June of 2018, I took my very first solo trip to Colorado. I was going to climb my first 14’er and hike every trail I could put my feet on. I rented a car and went everywhere I could in those 7 days. I drove narrow switchback mountain roads that I had never driven on before. Every moment felt like a new challenge had been conquered. The vibe was different. This was NOT the conservative Bible Belt of TN. I fell in love. True love. The mountains stole my heart and I was feeling all those heart feels you witness in romcoms where they’re at the airport and it’s a theatrical goodbye that results in one person forgetting all aspects of life as they knew it and dramatically running back to catch the other human they became so naively infatuated with. When it was time to fly back home, I called my bestie who was picking me up at the airport in Nashville, and said “don’t leave your house just yet. I’m not sure I’m actually getting on this plane.”
****
Reluctantly, I got on the plane. I got home on a Friday night and woke up that Saturday morning and called my landlord (who happened to be my ex-father-in-law) and told him I was moving. My bestie knew. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind. Next, I called my friends and then the parentals. Just like that. Decision made. That was on June 10th. By the end of the month, I had sold the entire contents of a three-bedroom home with the exception of what would fit in Ruby, my red Subaru that would escort me to Colorado. I felt like TN was not so subtly kicking me out. I had totaled my car, my rent was increasing, and the building I had secured to expand my business was scooped out from underneath me. It was time to go.
I continued working for the following month while I finished up some important events I already had on the books and then closed up shop. That was hard. I had poured my heart and soul into my business and received so much love and support from strangers in my community. Customers quickly turned into friends.
****
One year. I was adamantly clear that I was moving to Colorado for one year only, then I was gone. I did exactly that. That year was a lonely year. I never really found my people, but I adored the mountains. I was undeniably single, but falling more in love with the mountains and Mother Nature by the day. I took countless road trips, car camped, and hiked more miles than I ever had in my life. Mostly solo. (My mother absolutely despised this.) I not only lived through my first real winter, but this TN girl THRIVED. I figured out how to drive in snow and on ice. I shoveled so much snow. I chopped wood and heated my little cabin with a wood stove. I was starting to get comfortable with the discomfort, but the push to leave was getting stronger just like it did in TN when it was time to go. I was trying to fight it. I was attempting to talk myself into staying longer and making it work despite my original plan. Why is it that the idea of change is often way scarier than being stuck in something that’s not serving you?! I woke up abruptly in the middle of the night from a dead sleep and booked a one-way ticket to India to depart November of 2019. I was leaving a little earlier than my 2020 plan, but… Divine intervention. That wasn’t supposed to happen any other way.
****
I packed up and left Colorado in September and spent the next two months, my last two months in the States, researching, reading every blog, and watching every YouTube video I could about India. Spoiler alert – nothing really prepares you for India. I also took this time to see every single person I could before leaving. So many hugs. So much love.
****
Laura, my best friend, and I did what we do when we know we just can’t. The twenty-four hours prior to my leaving, the conversations were vague and eye contact was minimal. I knew that we would continue to talk daily just like when I was in Colorado, but this was by far the hardest goodbye of them all. She took me to the airport that morning. She was sitting in the car waiting on me fifteen minutes before we were scheduled to leave. I felt the pressure to hurry up. Her punctuality is extremely over-the-top. The entire ride to the airport was a cycle of me having the anxious pees and us trying not to burst into tears. We made it to the airport and it was game over. Ugly crying, lingering hugs, and the authoritative whistle of the douchebag security guy yelling at us to move along. Read the room and fuck off, yo. I’m trying to say goodbye to the only human who has consistently stood by my side and never let me down. Geeze. These guys show no mercy. They get to witness more love in an hour’s time than any of us ever have the chance to see with our own eyes and they just spend their day shooing it away.
I made it through security and all that jazz with tears in my eyes and an overwhelming combination of fear, uncertainty, and oddly enough, certainty. I was sure I had to go. I was uncertain how it would all play out but confident in my decision to go. I told myself “You’re just going to New York.” That was the first connecting flight and easy enough to tell myself I could fly right back home from there if necessary. By the time I reached NY, I was all set. All was well. The emotions subsided and I was chill. And for the long-haul flight, I hit the ultimate jackpot – the seat beside me was empty!
****
I’ll never forget the first morning I woke up in India. It took me exactly 48 hours to reach Chandigarh, India from Nashville, Tennessee. The flights were long and so were the layovers. Jet lag and exhaustion were in full force. When I finally reached the place I intended to stay for the next two months, I crashed. Coma style. I didn’t eat and I didn’t fully process where I was because honestly, I didn’t even know. The cab from the airport to the farm I was staying at was all a blur. I got a very small glimpse of Indian roads and traffic and what the streets looked like. The next morning I woke up in a damp room. It was small and white, no bigger than a jail cell. It reminded me of what I think of when I think of an insane asylum. I saw black mold on the walls. The mattress was the equivalent of what we use in kindergarten for nap time. I could feel all sorts of shit festering in my mind. “What the fuck have I done?” “Where am I?” “Why did I leave all the comforts of home for this?!” The pictures I looked at hundreds of times online before arriving here were not this. At all. Not even close. “Was this all a scam?” “Am I safe?”
I had to pee and I needed water. I opened the door to this hole that was referred to as a room and saw this older tattooed man with long grey hair. I can’t even imagine what he was thinking when he saw me. I looked like a terrified and confused bridge troll when I emerged from that “bed” and opened the door not having any recollection as to what was on the other side. He told me where the bathroom was and pointed to a clay jug and told me I could drink the water from it because it was filtered. He saw me carrying my Steripen because I was under the impression that if even one drop of water from this country entered my body I would die a slow and painful death. I didn’t even brush my teeth with tap water for the first six weeks I was there.
****
I changed rooms and settled in. It didn’t take me long at all to find my footing. Kind of. I mean, as much as one could in a place where you never really knew exactly what was happening. Still completely baffled by everything, I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be. That tatted-up cool cat with grey hair ended up being my first friend in India. We were inseparable for the two months we stayed at Aura Pottery Farm. He was like a big, protective older brother. The two months I spent at this booshie little farm on the outskirts of Chandighar was a stepping stone for “real” India.
****
It took me no time to realize that “home” was never really “home”, but it took me a helluva lot longer to understand why. The moment it finally occurred to me why I have no desire to go back was a game changer. Understanding is EVERYTHING. Subconsciously, all this time, my only understanding of “home” was the locale where I was birthed, semi-raised, left to navigate life on my own, and felt stuck. I’ve felt more at “home” in the last year than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
I’ve climbed mountains and bathed in holy waters. I’ve visited mosques and temples and prayed in gompas that have stopped me dead in my tracks from their sheer magnificence and magnitude. I’ve eaten some of the best and most delectable food my mouth has ever tasted. I’ve seen things and smelled things that made my stomach turn. I hardly have any concerns left in me regarding germs and sanitation. I’ve somehow managed to find my way from place to place. Not without struggle, but I have managed. I’ve ridden in all forms of public transportation from trains to busses to auto rickshaws. I’ve been in hospitals and thought “Nope. I’ll just suffer at home.” I’ve stayed in the homes of people who were complete strangers, but are now friends. I’ve given love and felt loved. I’ve stayed in five-star hotels in the city and plywood boxes in the high mountains. I’ve seen families of goats riding on top of buses and babies on motorcycles in the bustling chaotic traffic. I’ve sat in complete blissful silence for ten days with no cell phone, laptop, or communication with the outside world. I’ve lived with fewer material possessions than I have throughout my entire existence but felt happier and more content. Now I have two bags rather than one and that’s an annoying hindrance to me. I found myself in a super sketchy predicament where I extracted an American girl from what was essentially a hostage situation in a village outside Jalandhar. I’ve learned what real chai is. Starbucks and anyone serving “chai tea lattes” should be ashamed and eradicated immediately. This list could go on for days. The eyegasms and sensory stimulation is never-ending. Every day it’s something new, something mind-blowing, and something incredible.
****
I did a lot of things and saw a lot of places before the lockdown was imposed. Each place deserves its own individual post because there’s just too much to tell about each.
Hands down though, the best part of these two years has been the humanity and benevolence I’ve encountered. The kindness. The generosity. I grew up learning a vastly varying range of standards for equality and humanity. The grandparents were most certainly racist and my mother was the love-everyone type. My dad and brother, well, they are conservative republicans. My personal perspective has changed over the years. I’ve had to relearn and educate myself so I could figure out what my own personal truth is.
****
My truth is that I truly don’t give a damn what color you are, what god you pray to, who you voted for, or what your financial status is. We’re different, and that can’t be denied, but we’re the same and that can’t be denied either. There is good residing in every single human on this planet. I wholeheartedly believe this. I may not always see everyone’s good and mine certainly isn’t a blinding ray of sunshine hitting you in the face at all times, but it’s there. I also believe that when your intentions are pure and you’re doing your best to radiate good and help others, then it flows right back to you. Not that all the happy people in the world won’t come across shitheads and bad days, I’m simply saying that with the right perspective and motivation, the good stuff comes pouring in.
****
Most asked question from westerners: Why India??
As privileged, coddled westerners who have no concept of living within their means or what suffering actually looks like, we’re told all the bad stuff about India – “people are shady and you can’t trust them, women will get raped and killed, it’s unsanitary and you’ll die from parasites and food poisoning, there isn’t ample healthcare…” this list could go on, but you get the idea. It’s all BS. These realities are everywhere, including the good ol’ USA.
My interest was sparked when I was fourteen years old. Initially, because of all the colors, textures, and patterns I saw in photos and then because of my spiritual exploration. I was very fortunate that even though I was raised in the church and brought up in a Christian household, my mother allowed me to explore other religions, belief systems, and spirituality. She gave me the freedom to make my own decision as to what I chose to believe, trusting I would follow a path that was right for me. Not one time did she ever mute me when I questioned things or put fear me in to believe what I wasn’t sure about. With India being the birthplace of some of the world’s oldest religions, it was on my radar from an early age. Then, the food. Holy shit. The food and the masalas. With my interest and passion revolving primarily around food, India couldn’t be dismissed. When I decided I was going to travel the world, everything I read and everyone I spoke to who had traveled extensively said India was the most difficult county in the world to navigate. That settled it. I decided it had to be done first. In my mind, everything post-India should be a walk in the park.
****
Most asked question by Indians: Children? Husband? Are you alone?
FYI, By Indian standards, I’m old and expired.
***
I may not have my own, but some things never change. Rachel “Ma’am” throws the best slumber parties! I spoil ‘em rotten, sugar ‘em up, and send ‘em home!
***
So, in conclusion, happy two-year anniversary to me! This is quite possibly the longest and most productive anniversary I’ve ever acknowledged. Two years of being completely out of my comfort zone. Two years of growing, learning, experiencing, and making a conscious effort to become a better version of myself. Two years of meeting amazing people and connecting with humanity on a level that was incomprehensible to me. Two years of constant surprises. Two years of uncertainty that hasn’t killed me. Two years of successfully maintaining the long-distance relationships that matter most to me. Two years of not missing “home”.
