The Elusive Truths about Jennie Meharg:

Wow! It's been a long time since I last wrote. A month and a half to be exact, that's how long I have been back from Uruguay. I have been writing generously in my journal about my day-to-day gripes, emotional pains, and social irritations, but Uruguay has been noticeably distant from my writing mind. Today I have the day off, almost entirely, and so it is my goal to tackle this side of my psyche that keeps memories of my recent travels at a safe and comfortable distance from my reach. This is nothing new to me, though, as I have traveled a great deal in my life and I have run into this same 'problem' of stalling to talk or write about my travel experiences. Even the photo albums I buy to display photos from distant places loom in the distance disturbing my sleep witht heir calls of "you should be putting me together". Sometimes I feel like I just don't have the energy to recreate the images in my mind in order to share them with others. My memories go into hibernation mode.

When I decided that seeing the world was something that I needed to do in my life I had no idea how hard it would be for me to actually express my experiences with others. Sure I take pictures and tell swell anecdotal stories about the crazy zany things that happened, but there is something in a deeper place that I find hard to talk about. I want to generalize my experiences into quippy easily expressible past statements, but that's not how I have ever felt about any of my trips. What am I really feeling? Inadequate? I think somewhere inside I imagine that I don't deserve to have such wonerful memories. So I drag my feet, taking weeks, or months, or sometimes years to process my experience into something less threatening, something that seems more like a movie. It's in the past so now I can feel nostalgic about it, and the nostalgia gives me a little power over my inner enemy of self doubt.

The Real Truth of Then:

I loved Uruguay. I loved the smell of the air and crystal blue sky. The Uruguayan people are so friendly and low key. I was amazed at how quick my family was to accept my life choices. Here in the US I have found that when I tell folks I'm an actor I immediately feel like I'm being judged, like now I have to take a test to prove that I am worthy of my chosen profession. I never felt that way in Uruguay. Ideas of mine that I thought of as rather simple and plain, my cousins adored. There was no judgment, just acceptance. My family was so thrilled that my sister and I made the effort to travel 8,000 miles to meet them, that they welcomed us as though we had known them always.

So much Uruguay and my family was new to me. My mom told me some stories, but I think she too is challenged with having so much in her mind to express and feeling so unable to express it. For her I think it was easier to turn away from the memories rather than work to have their meanings heard. Ultimately though, I know she was happy that we went.

Uruguay, and My Amazing, Spectacular Memory Trips:

It was fall when we arrived, early in the season so the leaves were just starting to turn. The weather was hot when we first arrived and then cooled some. Nights were down right cold by the time we left. The smell of the Parrillidas scattered throughout the city was intoxicating. This fact is a surprise to me, having been a strict vegetarian for the last 10 years the last thing I would want to admit would be liking the smell of grilled meat. But smells carry me off into my memory; dinner at my grandma's house when my father was still alive and we were a family. Struggling to survive the summer heat in Nepal and the overwhelming mix of shit, death, and gasoline lingering in the air. Peacefully laying on the knoll in Italy watching the shooting stars zoom overhead and marveling at the magic of the Italian male. Or the smell of the Mexican floor cleaning product in El Paso and how it transported me to the shops and restaurants in Merida, and tiendas in Isla Mujeres. And now 3 years later, I found myself longing for Mexico, wishing I could lose myself across the border and disappear for a while.

I imagine in weeks, or months, or even years from now a new longigng creeping in as the smell of burning wood and charred meat permeates my senses. I will long for Uruguay and the broken sidewalk tiles along Dr. Aquilis Lanza as I walk to the paneria for a baguette. I'll miss the way the autumn light filtered through the trees making me feel so natural and out of place, hadn't my body already processed fall a couple of months ago. I was all geared up for spring and now...I'll think about the terror that seized me everytime I went to speak, as my broken Spanish would surely shatter the illusion of me as a South American. I would have to come clean, Yes, I look like all of you, but I was born in the good ole US of A. And the inevitable Q:"Do you like your president?" A:"Do you like our president? No, well there's your answer."

Conclusion?:

I don't know what any of this has done other than make me feel better about my "memory avoidance". Maybe clue me in a little more about me. I learned some things from Uruguay, and these are clearer than my clearest memories:

I belong everywhere, and my choices have been just fine. My family is my most important support structure. I can always go home...where ever that may be... And most importantly they want me home.

Photo's? Some.
Memories? Lots.
Marveling at what I am able to experience and learn from this incredible planet we live on? More than I can express.

Viva la Vida