My Truth- A Delightful Burden

I was depressed during my sophomore year of college. Looking back, my situation wasn’t so desperate; I was attending a great school, had a boyfriend who loved me, and didn’t have to worry much about money. But I was living in quiet desperation- playing the leading role in a life that didn’t belong to me. I remember feeling tired and anxious all at once….I felt as if I couldn’t take a deep breath….like there was a wet blanket wrapped tightly around me- not a soft comfortable one, but those scratchy, synthetic blankets used by search and rescue. If that’s not irony, I don’t know what is. When my depression became the scary kind, my loving boyfriend took me home to New Mexico. I remember crawling into my childhood bed with my mom the night we arrived, and sobbing for hours. My desperation was no longer quiet- it was as loud as my sobs. The next day I woke up with eyes so swollen that I barely recognized the girl in the mirror. Fitting, as I hadn’t recognized her for quite some time. I was embarrassed of how alien I looked with swollen eyes, so I avoided my boyfriend as my mom walked me to the car. I remember catching a glimpse of his face as we drove away…a portrait of confusion, anger, disappointment, and worry. I wanted to tell him I loved him. Instead, I just cried. We went to our family doctor, who put me on an anti-depressant that was supposed to fix everything. I went back to Texas with a pill bottle full of hope. The medication did help; it helped me dive deeper into the realms of depression. The antidepressants made me more tired than depression did. Everyday tasks like going to the grocery store or to class turned into exhausting, all-day productions that I didn’t have the will or energy for. I quit taking my ‘hope pills’ cold turkey after a month of this hell. When the semester ended, my parents suggested that I move home. Humbled, I packed my car and started the next semester at Fort Lewis College, an hour away from home. Two years later, I graduated from FLC with pride and joy in my heart.

I tell you this story not to bum you out, but to give a more valid representation of me. It is easy to use social media to present a false version of ourselves by showing people only the best parts of us- the highest moments, the weddings, the good hair days, the vacations and adventures…. It would be easy for me to use this blog as a platform to lead people to believe that my life always works out the way I want it to. But life doesn’t always hold good hair days. And that’s beautiful, too. Since my first experience with depression, I have always been aware of the danger of going back there. I thought about it when I moved to the tennis ranch in Texas last year. I discussed it with my parents before I moved to China. The fears of diving into the depths of depression always loom behind me, gentle reminders to take care of myself and stick to my truth no matter what. I am committed to this because I know the consequences of making choices that are not in line with my truth.

This is why I quit my job last week. I absolutely love teaching tennis, and I have found that this is not the ideal environment for me to do so. I spent about four days mourning this. I racked my brain to try to pinpoint what went wrong, what part I played in it, and what I could have done differently. I walked around the city, and walked the line between overwhelming humility and beating myself up. Humility won….usually. When it didn’t, I called someone. I had coffee with Jerry and Ann, dinner with Adrian the Canadian’s family, and held babies at New Day. On my last day of work, I finished my last lesson and went home. I walked through the door, tears streaming down my face. Once again, I found myself on my knees; face down, in excruciating limbo. ‘What am I going to do?’ ‘How did I get to this point?’ ‘What happened?’ ‘How can I go through with the walk to Beijing now?’…..and again, a resounding, ‘What am I going to do?’  Just

A 'hands-in' after P.E. class at a local school

then, my phone notified me of a message. I wiped my tears and picked it up to see a new email- subject, ‘draft letter of rec’ from Geno. I had asked him to write a letter of recommendation for my graduate school applications, and it came through. In my moment of darkness, self-doubt, and despair, it came through. With eyesight blurred by tears, I read the two-page letter highlighting exactly what makes me a phenomenal person, how bright my future is, and how I successfully strive to be an effective leader in everything I do in life. He talked of my humility and determination, stating, ‘This humility belies a sharp intellect and indomitable spirit that make you realize that once she sets her mind to accomplish something, she will do it.’ More tears. And then the voice. The voice came, not from behind me, not from inside of me, but from me. It was my voice.

‘Get up, Darrah’.

I took a deep breath, dried my tears again, and got up.

‘Ok. It’s time to make a plan.’

Even though parts of my life are crumbling, even though I am currently a homeless, unemployed vagabond, even though I have a headache from last night’s search for the answers to my problems (the answers are not at the bottom of a bottle of Tsing Tao), there are still wonderful things happening in my life. JB and I had an incredible trip to Yangshuo. We ate, drank, swam, biked, hiked, and met many great people from all over the world. When we returned to Zhongshan, we had a great time walking

JB in his element. Me, happy we've stopped riding

around the city, biking around the reservoir, and watching countless episodes of Diners, Drive-ins and Dives. It was nice to have someone to do nothing with. We had a teary goodbye at the ferry building, (my tears, not his) and I sent him off to Malaysia on his next adventure.

The walk is blowing up, too. As I mentioned in a previous post, I have gained a walking partner, Ann. She is small in stature, but strong-willed, a Chinese woman with a heart of gold and fantastic English. She is married to Jerry, whom I first met at Holiday Plaza to see his exhibit of pictures from his and Phil’s bike ride across China. They are an incredible couple- kindred spirits in the belief that nothing is impossible. Ann and I have been busy finding sponsors, planning a route, and connecting with people who can help our walk to Beijing go smoothly. One man, a leader in the Youth Volunteers Association of China, has committed to help us find hosts in his network of volunteers along the way. He will also help us communicate with the government on our journey to partner with them in the safety of our travels. Ann and I have discussed the possibility of our walk being shut down

Ann and I

by the government, and we have decided to go straight to them and even ask for their help. It is a bold move that will hopefully pay off. Holiday Plaza has committed to handle our public relations. We are meeting with them soon to discuss the best way to reach out to sponsors and get the word out about our walk. We are very excited about the developments unfolding in front of us, and about the valuable relationships that are forming. This project is already bringing people together, and that gets me very excited.

This is a time in my life when everything seems to be unclear. I’m not sure what I am going to do. I am not sure if I’m falling or flying. I’m not really sure of anything right now. But I do know one thing- in this moment, I am being true to myself. And because of that, I am happy. 

Looking forward in Yangshuo

*Side Note: It has been brought to my attention that this post doesn't shed the best light on anti-depressant medication. In my experience working in the field of mental health with adolescents, adults and geriatrics from all walks of life, I have seen anti-depressants and other similar medications truly help some people. In my writings, I speak only from my personal experience, and in the case of anti-depressant medication, it was not a good one. I have found other ways of regulating my mood that work much better for ME i.e. meditation, exercise, therapy, and making life choices in line with my heart. Sometimes, your truth may be that anti-depressant medication helps you be the best version of yourself. I believe YOU must figure out what works for YOU (whatever that is!) and pursue it relentlessly. Thank you. (Steps off of soap box)

Booze and Bruise in Yangshuo

Traveling in China is a pain in the ass. The language barrier makes it difficult, there is endless haggling with taxi and scooter drivers, and the bus, train, and boat stations are unsanitary at best and unbearable at worst. But in Yangshuo, a small tourist town an hour south of Guilin, bicycles prevail as the main means of transportation. And as I sit on the back porch of the Cosy Garden guest house watching the sun go down, a pillow under my bum after a long day of riding, I can tell you that bikes cause pain in the ass, too. Here’s the story.

Life carried on as usual after deciding to walk to Beijing to raise money for New Day foster home. But it was also different. My mind became obsessed with the idea to the point where I couldn’t eat or sleep. I could hardly breathe, think, or speak without each word leading each conversation toward the walk. It was a feeling very similar to being in love- that sickeningly powerful drug that draws you to another, compulsively. Upon gaining the commitment of a walking partner, Ann (the wife of Jerry, one of the men who biked across China….go figure), I shifted my focus to a new project: entertaining JB.

When he got off the plane from San Francisco, JB seemed fresh as a daisy. It wasn’t until we arrived back home to Zhongshan that the jet lag caught up to him and he slept a full day. After a weekend of bumming around Zhongshan in-between my lesson schedule, we bought two bus tickets to Guilin and hit the road. This was no ordinary bus, but a sleeper bus. It had two aisles separating three rows of beds, one lining each side, and one row in the middle. To each row, there was a top and bottom bunk. We made our way to the back and found our bunks. Thankfully, the bus was not full, (as we were traveling on the holiday of the Chinese Moon Festival) so we were free to spread out. We talked and slept and arrived in Guilin 12 hours later, at 6 in the morning. We got off the bus, braved the disgusting bus station bathrooms, and haggled with a taxi driver to take us to our riverside hotel. Thankfully, the man at the front desk let us check into our room even though it was early in the morning and our reservation was for that night (the great thing about China is that people make their own rules; the awful thing about China is that people make their own rules). The second we got through the door, I flipped on the TV. On the other side of planet Earth, the US Open final was being played by Marin Clinic from Croatia and Kei Nishikori from Japan- the first ever Asian man to reach a Grand Slam final. The picture was terrible; through the static, I couldn’t see where the ball was, but had to guess, judging by which side of the screen the fuzzy players ran to and swung their racquets. I only caught the last two games of the short match before Clinic won in straight sets. I tried to listen to the players speak their minds during the press conference following the match, but I could hardly hear them over the obnoxious woman translating their words to Chinese. Frustrated, I gave up and went to find coffee.

Guilin was nice, but not what I was looking for in a vacation. It is a city more beautiful than Zhong Shan, but a city nonetheless. Our first day was a blur of US Open tennis, sleep, and watching old women do Tai Chi by the river. When we finally felt rested, we set out on a Guilin adventure. We decided to walk across the main bridge over the Li River, where we turned up an alley and found a street lined with bustling outdoor restaurants and street vendors. I tried a stir-fried snail from a food cart (I wouldn’t recommend it) and JB bought a bracelet from a Chinese woman who had her jewelry spread out on a large rug on the sidewalk. We decided on a restaurant by looking at the food on the plates of people already eating there, resulting in strange, uncomfortable glances from the patrons. My language skills were tested as I ordered three traditional Chinese dishes, two beers, and hot water to wash the dishes with (a Chinese normality). The meal was delicious and the conversation was scrumptious as well. Unfortunately, a large chunk of our time in Guilin was spent resolving minor financial issues, as the airhead that I am forgot my debit card on the bedside table at home. After a New Mexico bailout, we were back on track.

Getting to Yangshuo was a production, but I knew it would be worth it. After a half-day of traveling, we made it to the Cosy Garden guest house, which is a 10-minute bike ride out of town and is surrounded by fields and limestone mountains covered in foliage that make Yangshuo unique and beautiful. JB took a long nap and I took a long walk, exploring the area and the neighboring villages. I counted the flattened frogs on the concrete road as I walked, and moved to the side of the road so a woman holding a big stick and herding her three cows could pass by, staring me down all the while. That night, JB and I went out for dinner and drinks, meeting up with an American who we had met on our way into town. We found him at Demo bar, a favorite for the Westerners who have settled in Yangshuo. Many of them have the similar stories; they came to visit and decided to stay. I can see why. Yangshuo is a town kept alive by adventuresome tourists. There are many things to do, ranging from kayaking the Li River to rock climbing and bamboo rafting. The towering limestone mountains are like nothing I’ve ever seen, and remind us of landscape from the movie Jurassic Park. At Demo, we played bar trivia and lost (who knows or cares how many spikes the Statue of Liberty has?). After the game, we chatted with the Western crew for a while before navigating the streets back to our bikes and riding home. When we arrived back at the Cosy Garden, I immediately sprawled myself out on a picnic table out on the porch. I needed to be in nature after spending three months in the concrete jungle. I needed to see stars after seeing only city lights all summer. I needed to hydrate after drinking three gin and tonics. A few hours later, I made my way up to the room and crawled into bed.

The morning was beautiful. I slept too late and enjoyed my first cup of coffee in the shade on the back porch as the day heated up. JB was up and gone somewhere, but he returned and we discussed what to do with our day as caffeine entered my veins and I began to think clearly. I wanted to swim. He wanted to bike. We made a plan to bike across town to a swimming hole on the Yu Long River that one of our new friends had tipped us off to the night before. In my pocket I found a crumpled little map based on her directions that I had drawn on a small piece of paper torn off of the trivia answer sheet. With my makeshift map in hand, and an actual map that JB decided to grab, (some people have no faith) we set out on bikes.

Before you go ahead picturing a beautiful scene of JB and I cruising through peaceful rice fields, waving friendly ‘hellos’ to rice farmers and laughing the day away, you should know that I am not a biker. I will hike all over this world. I will run until I drop. I will walk to Beijing for heaven’s sake; but if you put me on a bike, the best I can do is try to keep up and not cry. JB, on the other hand, is a natural. On a bike, he is in his element- as skilled and comfortable as a Comanche warrior on a horse’s back. I watched enviously as he nimbly fishtailed in patches of dirt, hopped up curbs, and rode down stairs as if he was using his very own legs. Meanwhile, I pedaled heavily to catch up, nervously pulling off of the road every time a tour bus or dump truck whizzed by. My knuckles turned white as I held onto the handlebars tightly, steering to avoid the many potholes and oncoming scooters. Mind you, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the efficiency of a bicycle. They are no doubt an earth-friendly, efficient, and reliable form of transportation. It’s just that every time I get on a bike, I feel that I might fall over or get hit by a car. On a level road I can manage fine, but take me off-road and the bicycle becomes a mere accessory that hinders my hiking. Plus, bikes HURT. I’ll spare you the details, but I believe it’s possible that Lance Armstrong got cancer because certain parts of his body were revolting against the abuse he put it through day in and day out. As I struggled through the ride, I somehow managed to breathe in and appreciate the scenery around us. We had made our way to the southern edge of town, along the Yu Long River. Well out of Yangshuo, we biked on dirt and paved roads that wound though small villages. Each village was similar, consisting of buildings that were falling apart that housed small convenience stores, and old men asleep in the shade. In one of these villages there was a collection of women selling various hand-made goods. JB bought a few scarves and hand-woven sandals made of dried reeds and re-purposed plastic cord. One sweet old woman convinced me to buy a flower head piece that she had made. I put it on my head, then gave it to a little girl- the daughter of the woman JB had bought a scarf from. JB bought me a new one that was even more beautiful than the first. We stopped to watch people ride down the river in bamboo rafts, then at a ‘restaurant’ that looked more like someone’s living room. There, we bought two local beers (think watered down PBR), then turned down a bumpy dirt trail toward the

riverbank. After pausing to watch a man lead his ox out of a stream, we finally reached the swimming hole. I couldn’t get off the bike and into the water fast enough. There I stayed for two hours. The water was the perfect temperature for such a hot day: cool, but not cold. I floated face-up and let the slow current take me down river as I took in the view of the sky, clouds, sun, and the surrounding mountains. I practiced mindful breathing techniques, letting myself rise and sink in the water as my abdomen filled and emptied of air. JB decided he’d had enough of the river and ventured off to take pictures. As I lay on a bamboo raft just off the shore and soaked in the sun, two boats floated into view. On them were two guides holding long bamboo poles and three Chinese tourists sitting in bamboo lounge chairs under umbrellas. When they neared, I greeted them with a friendly ‘Nihao’ and waved. They laughed and invited me onto their boat. I swam over to them, pulled myself onto the bamboo platform and took a position in the empty lounge chair under the umbrella. I stayed just long enough for the Chinese tourists to ask me where I am from (Wo shige MeiGuo ren- I am an America person) and snap a picture of the strange, funny American girl with flowers on her head before I cannonballed off of their boat and back into the river, much to the delight of my new friends. My chattering fan club disappeared downstream as I swam upstream to where JB was watching, shaking his head at my shameless performance.

After groaning, complaining, and pedaling my way back to the Cosy Garden, JB and I inhaled stir-fried vegetables from the local kitchen, popped the cap off of two Tsing-Tao beers, and let the sun go down as we played ping pong, trash talking our way through three sets. Currently, I find myself back on the porch, where I started the day, watching the last of the sun’s glow disappear from the horizon- the last bit of evidence that the sun has come and gone, creating this beautiful day. Though, my own evidence of a great day remains in the form of a sun-kissed nose, tired muscles, and a calm spirit. The first stars twinkle in the sky, the beginning of another beautiful night in Yangshuo.