On Friday, I am astonished to report, I lost a bet.

As I was packing to leave Alaska (two weeks ago), I struck a deal.

You see, I worked on the docks, wearing bright green and directing tourists to their excursion(s). 

My job was basic, early mornings without a lot of pay. My co-workers were wonderful. The backdrop was matchless. The social options were ever-present. Dancing happened, fishing happened, hiking happened and I worked hard on my writing. 

I felt vibrant, alive, normal, happy, independent, supported, supportive and liberated. 

I co-mingled with attractive gentlemen, befriended sweet and powerful women, fell-in-love with my 76-year old boss Suzanne, skimped on groceries, splurged on coffees, dabbled in drink, lost my Nana, accidentally murdered a slug, didn’t enjoy the hikes as much as everyone else but still enjoyed them, got annoyed with tourists and frustrated with the exorbitant cost of rent for a dorm room. It was real. It wasn’t utopia, it was real. 

It was RESPLENDENT.

I’m convinced that this has more to do with being occupied and being known than anything else. 

Having a task is indeed important, even if it makes you tired and pulls you from your hobbies. I used to think I hated work, period. I loathed being behind a quiet desk (my desiccation chamber), work relationship dynamics stress me out and making mistakes sends me into a tizzy. But I worked six months in Alaska and learned that I can maintain a job and not hate everything, in fact, be happy even! 

But it must have been a fluke. Contentment is not a stream I step in back to back. I thought, this summer will be the chapter in my memoir called “Happiness” and the next chapter will be called “Back to Normal.” 

Before Nana died, she said “Natalie sounds so happy” every time we ended a call. She would tell my mom often. I called almost every day, 5 minutes was usually all we could harvest. Nana’s dementia worsened in the last three years she lived with my parents. Nana couldn’t remember where I was, but she could tell: I was happy. In a different way than before.

Now, back to my dorm room in Ketchikan.

I was assessing my space, like I do, and my mind was gripped by a completely unexpected possibility: Maybe when I leave Alaska, I will still be happy. Maybe I will be happy AGAIN. Maybe I can be happy… indefinitely?

“YOU SAID WHAT?” I said to my Brainmouth. 

Brainmouth said: “It wasn’t me! It was your heart.”

I said: “Heart, you said what?” 

She responded: “Lub-dub, lub-dub.” 

She’s so committed.

And then I struck up a deal.

I entered the corner saloon called Lady Life and walked up to a cowgirl packing heat and staring me down. I interrupted her game of Poker.  

Her name is Happiness. She goes by Haps. 

“Haps,” I said. “Is this town big enough for the both of us?” 

And she said “I don’t know. Go to Guatemala and we’ll see.”

I stepped back, I was not expecting that answer. I sized her up, and said: 

“Fair enough.” I pocketed my rubber-band slingshot, patted it twice. It fits perfectly in my bedazzled denim skirt.

I sauntered over to the bartender, her name is also Lady Life (she founded the joint, obviously). I had a message for her. 

“You havin’ your usual?” She asked. Lady Life is a tough broad, she’s been running the joint since the Adam and Eve debacle. 

I smiled and tipped my hat. She started on my Shirley Temple. 

I said, “Okay. If I am happy in Alaska and happy in Guatemala, I’ll be a loyal customer until I leave this town.” 

She said “How’s your Spanish?” 

I said “Gracias.” 

She said “It’s a deal.” 

And I walked out of the joint, saloon doors swinging, patting my rubber-band slingshot to make sure it was still in my pocket. Nervous habit. I saw another cowgirl walking in. Haps gets all the visitors, keeps that place in business. I shook my head, smiling, as I hopped on my horse and rode off into the sunset. It’s a pogo-stick horse, don’t kid yourself. 

In my room in Alaska, I said “Okay, If I am happy in Guatemala followed by Alaska, I will open myself up to the possibility that I can be happy in a lot of places. It’s possible. I don’t have to be struck by tragedy at every turn. Loss is inevitable, but maybe I will learn how to be happy in the midst of every circumstance. Maybe I can be happy.. indefinitely.“

When I got home to Atlanta on September 19, I got busy and got distracted and forgot the deal. I was too sad about leaving Alaska to think about Haps. One emotion at a time. I was anxious and harried and a bit short with my family, but I made it to Guatemala. 

When I got to training in Houston, we were all excited but I think we were also relieved. We didn’t need to talk about it to know, committing to the unknown for 2 years was disconcerting and logistics were complex. And the questions were repetitive and unanswerable, coming from a good place, but impossible to answer nonetheless. 

In Santa Lucia Milpas Altas, the flowers in the courtyard are fat with sunshine.

Our group is starting to gel (Training Day Two) and we are finding ourselves enamored. There are 28 of us. There is still so much to learn about ourselves and one another. 

It’s early yet, and I still don’t know what I’m getting myself into. 

But it’s starting to sink in, it’s getting real. I am going to be in this country for two years. I am going to learn Spanish and make lifelong relationships with my host families. I am going to be torn to shreds when it comes time to leave. A few shreds will probably stay in country. Some happinesses don’t come in travel-size.

A few days before departure, I received a SEVEN PAGE newsletter from Peace Corps called “Menstruation.”

It explained in detail how menstruation is addressed in country. In Guatemala, it is certainly taboo to discuss, and you have to be proactive about sanitation. You can find yourself in situations without running water, toilet paper or waste disposal. I appreciated the respect that Peace Corps paid the situation it’s due attention. 

So wait, what am I about to do? Something that requires a Menstruation Newsletter?

I spoke briefly with Naima, she is a COS- close of service. She is in the office this week, hanging out with us and sharing her experience. She said she’s been crying all week, that this will go so fast and will be the experience of a lifetime. 

Hearing her say that relieved me: she loved her family and she lived in a comfortable house. I got excited at the beauty of her connection with this country. I was also excited about the possibility of a normal mattress. As I stood on the courtyard just as we started lunch, I thought: What if I love it here?

I’ve just imagined that it would be hard, lonely, frustrating and foreign but completely worth it. The possibility for complete and utter LOVE for this place hadn’t occurred to me. 

I’ve been going into this like: Hey, this is what’s next. I’ve made up my mind. I haven’t been compelled so much as decided. My gut told me “You can’t go back to the office, and you have to do something.” It’s been as simple as that. 

But as the sunshine beamed down with the brightness turned all the way up, I thought: “Oh God, what if I love it here, too?” 

Bewildered and uncertain, as if the thought made me do a double take.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. 

PerHaps Haps and myself aren’t as different as I thought. PerHaps Haps and I are learning to live peaceably. Maybe she’s been frequenting the other saloons because there have been certain characters she hasn’t wanted to hang around. Maybe I’ve addressed them and sent them out. 

Perhaps This Town Is Big Enough For the Both of Us.