Mormon Mommy Meets Eat, Pray, Love

In the spirit of wayfaring, Ashley joins us today with the kind of travelogue I’d love to hear in testimony meeting.

 I’m the one with my mouth open wide and feet sitting in a pool of flesh-sucking fish, what Southeast Asians term a “fish spa.”  I don’t think I’ve ever felt so joyously wigged out.  It turned out to be the best pedicure I’ve ever had.  I am still adventurous. In mid-February my 6 month-old daughter and I boarded a 24-hour flight to Singapore to visit my brother.  His job will only keep him there for a year, so I figured, “Carpe diem!” Armed with two kinds of baby carriers, a stroller, baby toys, chocolate, books, a full iPod, clothing for all kinds of weather, a handful of pacifiers, sunscreen and bug spray, I felt as prepared as possible to face the trip that had become an increasing source of anxiety for me.  I was leaving two older children behind, and two weeks away made me worried I might lose the ability to enjoy myself.  But it was exciting, a sort of ritualistic asserting of my independence, a self-discovery.    A sort of Mormon mommy meets Eat Pray Love adventure.  I would be traveling to Cambodia, Thailand and Laos.

On the flight I felt almost overwhelmed with all the things I had planned for myself to accomplish.  Between books I wanted to read, an embroidery project and movies to watch, I had set goals for the 24-hour flight.  I had productivity at stake. “Me Time” means business! Arriving in Singapore, my brother was waiting.  He had some special Asian yogurt and cereal waiting at his apartment just for me. Within ten minutes of brushing my teeth, my brother, his roommate and I were already in stitches, laughing.  After so many years, my brother and I still belong to each other.

Touring the many Hindu/Buddhist temples scattered about the area was a highlight of the trip.  Buddhist thought is a new interest, and I looked forward to being in the heart of its training ground.  I hoped to find time to meditate or gain spiritual insight.  At Angkor Wat, the most famous temple of all, I got the chance. We were one of comparatively few visitors to work our way through a maze to enter the top of Angkor’s highest tower. It was so silent up there. I was finally beginning to feel open to the spiritual insight I had been seeking.

I found a small corridor with a huge towering Buddha sitting alone, almost inviting me to sit with him.  Too self conscious to kneel, I stood in front placing my hands on the cold stone and closed my eyes.  I began by breathing deeply and allowing my mind to wander.  In true Mormon mommy fashion, my thoughts traveled to my children.  I reflected on the joy of rearing them that seemed so often to escape me and the part of me that wants to find that joy more often.  I could feel how their lives had become entangled with my own opinion of myself.  I understood in that moment that who they were and would become was not a part of me.  More than ever before I was aware of their separate and individual lives.

As I exited I passed yet another Buddha in a silent hallway.  His hands were filled with tiny offerings: a flower, a shell and a strand of hair.  I had already offered of my own hair, somewhat mindlessly, at a previous temple, so I searched for something different and found a little white pacifier.  Perfect.  In hopes that all of my children and I could find more joy in self-discovery, I gave my offering.  I was giving my children back to themselves. I have insight in my own life.

At another temple in Laos, my brother and I struck up a conversation with the young monks that lived there.  Sivone,  a 15 year-old boy, barefoot, head shaven and swaddled in orange robes, really enjoyed practicing his English with us.  He had been a monk at this particular temple since he was 11.  His parents lived in a remote village far enough away that he only sees them once a year.  “Do you miss them?”  I asked.  “Of course!” he answered, amidst a sheepish grin and a subtle giggle, as if it were obvious.  We peppered him with more questions learning who he was.  Before leaving I asked if there were things he might want or need.  Expecting an answer more like “American food, shoes, a pillow, or a computer game”, he first answered that any gift should be up to the giver.  With some persuasion he finally responded that he might like some English grammar books.  Everything about this boy said, “driven to make a better life for himself.”  I wrote down his address, took his picture and in my head made plans for future packages, a foreign exchange student and a pen pal for my older kids.  People still teach me.

Skype and email communication with my older kids proved a fun part of my trip. My six year-old son wrote me a poem:

I miss you

my mommy

you missed all the fun

so why did you leave, Lovey?

My four year-old daughter dictated a message to her grandmother for me:

i  love you and i miss you and i want you to know that i want to sing a song for you and i miss you and i’ll always like you.   i wish i could come to singapore with you and i love you and i didn’t want you to go.   i want you to come see me and i wish i could see you too….and i wish i could see juliet and i love you and i wanna see you and i know it’s night time in singapore and i want you to know that i’m doing fine.   i really want to see you forever.

i love you.

I am the mother of three marvelous creatures.

My carryon for the flight home was much lighter.  Considering all I had planned to do on the way over actually made me laugh two weeks later.  This time I was going to sit doing my best to get rest, watch whatever movie I wanted to no matter how fluffy and enjoy Juliet during all of her waking moments.  More than merely survive it, I would live it!  Even today, three weeks after my trip, my smile is deeper, my sense of humor closer to the surface and my sense of self more secure.

Travel is good for my soul.

What do you learn from travel?