Dale, mi reina

Dale, mi reina, no tenga pena. These were the words I didn’t know I needed to hear. It’s a Monday afternoon and the start of my third week in Guatemala City. Though I take the bus home from work everyday,  today is different. I’m heading back half an hour later than normal after stopping to pick up a few things for my new shared apartment.  Those extra 30 minutes mean that it is now prime rush hour time. The bus is stuffed to capacity, about 115 people. And I’m crammed in the middle, every part of me touching someone else. I try not to dwell on this; it makes me uncomfortable. My hands are firmly in front of me on my messenger bag, and I can hardly move. Every window and door is so blocked with people that I can’t see which stop we’re at. I  have to rely on my memory of the number of stops we’ve made to determine where we’re at. The next stop is mine. When the doors open, a couple of people get out, while others from the platform try and get on. I push and prod to no avail.  Con permiso. perdón, “Excuse me, sorry” I say. No one moves. They can’t. I push again tentatively. Nothing. Ni me van a dejar salir, “you won’t even let me out, “ I say out loud. My frustration is coming out, and with it, anxiety…

Normal bus ride. not at capacity.

How did I end up here? The fact that I’m on a crowded Guatemalan bus at all is amazing. I’ve been trying and failing for years to find job opportunities in the international public health sector. This January, fed up and at the end of my rope, I followed the advice of a mentor and made an action plan for things I wanted to accomplish in the next year. It was essentially new year’s resolutions with time sensitive action items. The first objective on the list was “get a new job by September”, and the first action item: apply for 10 jobs by the end of January. To make a long story short, one of the 10 jobs I applied for was the two-year food security and leadership fellowship that I was ultimately was accepted into. It was a wonderful opportunity to gain specialized international experience and guidance while still working and most importantly, getting paid.  It was just what I needed.

 When I started my last job, I felt too young, like an imposter. Then after almost 6 years in the same position, I felt too old, like my opportunities to ever work overseas again were slipping me by.  This fellowship was the change I was wanting, and surprisingly enough, it started in September. I was achieving the goal I had made for myself!  Yet almost as soon as I started our weeklong training,  familiar self-doubt started to creep in.  A part of me felt too old to be starting over again.  The sentiment amplified upon learning that I was the oldest person in my cohort of 14. “What the hell am I doing here? I should have my act together by now”,  another thought amplified by the fact that the majority of my closest friends are married or have children.  And also by the account of a dear friend of my same age who was told she should freeze her eggs “before they rot”.

With these thoughts on my mind, I started by journey into a new city, a new country, in a new field, and in a new office where most people think I’m a college intern (no good word for Fellowship in Spanish), and where it is apparent that my professional Spanish vocabulary leaves something to be desired. But my mind was also filled with other thoughts and lessons learned from my pre-fellowship training.  For three weeks, these thoughts kept repeating themselves:

1.      I am not throwing away my shot! (thanks to the Hamilton soundtrack)

2.      If you consider the state of the world hunger and are optimistic, you don’t know enough. If you are pessimistic, you can’t be effective. You need to have hope.-Speaker from our first day of training.

3.      “Yes, and…” - an improv technique that allows you to embrace ideas, however crazy they may seem,  and build from them until new possibilities emerge.

4.      Comparison is the thief of joy.-  Theodore Roosevelt reminded me that I can’t compare my journey with those of my fellow fellows, or my friends. I’m just me.

Somehow, it took an overly crowded bus to reconcile these mixed thoughts and force me to act. As I feel the anxiousness and helplessness of not being able to get out of the bus, I hear words I’ve been needing to hear.  A small woman, one head shorter than me gently says Dale, mi reina. No tenga pena.  Her words surprise me, particularly because of the many meanings in the words she’s chosen. The same Spanish word can mean different things depending on the country you're. And since I’ve lived in many Latin American countries, all at once I’m being told, to: go ahead and not to worry, don’t be embarrassed, don’t be sad. Not only this, but she’s added the endearing term mi reina, literally, my queen. She’s not angry at my pushing. She sees my frustration and is trying to help.

And so, with her blessing, I push more forcefully than before-willing there to be an opening where there once wasn’t. Only this time I don’t care if I’m rude, or think about the fact that I’m literally pushing and shoving women, children, and probably some grandparents. Slowly, almost imperceptibly,  I start to move forward, emerging from the multitudes on the bus and to the equally congested platform outside. First with one leg, then with another. My left arm clutching my bag to my chest and my right arm pushing until at last I slide sideways onto the other side, surprisingly with all of my possessions in tow. With the escape from the bus I have a new found clarity. Though it gives me no pleasure to shove others out of my way, sometimes it has to be done. There’s no need to apologize or be embarrassed. In life, and in the city, I have to do what I feel called to do. This is my first lesson learned here. 

So, with this new chapter, a new mantra inspired by the words of a stranger: Dale, mi reina. No tenga pena.