Riding on Top of the Bus, with Bags of Beans

With a generous blast of a horn, the brand-new bus, striped with brown and red paint, trundles down the gravel hill.

Martina motions up the back ladder, and we climb up and up. We nestle down amongst massive bags of frijoles and the journey home begins.

We crawl along the rutted, jungle road, laying flat to dodge branches along the way. Above me, all I see is a network of leafless tree branches against the immense, cloudless blue sky. For a minute it looks the branches are roots, dipping into a massive lake. It’s like a whole new world, opening up before me, as I sit on my back, swaying with bags of beans.

I’ve never felt more tired, or more alive. I could never imagined last year I’d be touring coffee farms in Nicaragua, racing horses, or riding with a couple kids on the top of a bus. I could hardly imagine leaving my Seattle home and traveling for five months to places I’d only dreamed of. Even just being friends with the landlord of my summer house in France. I grin at Martina.

Life is one crazy, amazing thing. Truly and really.

There were a lot of turmoil and challenges in the  last few years, that I could have never imagined. But without them, those difficult moments, I wondered if I’d appreciate this moment as much? If I’d even be here, at all, right now.

Staring at the blue sky, I wonder what comes next.