Knowing what will happen next, while not absolutely necessary, is what makes me feel most comfortable. At school, I often find myself writing a structured to-do list, blocking out the time I have between my classes and designating specific tasks to each gap, be it making lunch, completing a specific assignment, or going to a workout class. This isn’t to say I can’t be flexible. In fact, I pride myself on my ability to adapt to changes in my carefully laid plans, making space to spend time with friends should the opportunity arise, or allow myself to pick up on an assignment again the next morning should I find that the words on the page of my reading are beginning to blur together.
However, my normal mode-of-operation, a structured day with carefully planned activities has completely fallen to the wayside since arriving in Mexico. At first, it was a matter of scrambling to fill my newly wide-open days, which meant jumping at every opportunity and half-formed suggestion. I played soccer in the park with other students and locals, despite my complete lack of skills apart from those learned in elementary-school gym class. I took advantage of Valladolid’s ubiquitous taxi service to explore nearby cenotes and pueblos, and I spent an absurd amount of time during my first couple of weeks just wandering – racking up my step-count with friends or alone, getting a feel for the layout of the city, and creating a ever-growing list of restaurants and cafes to try. I solved the initial problem of openness by leaning into the freedom, letting my desire to connect with new people and a new place lead me to do everything that my normal structured schedule would not allow at home. I packed those first weeks to the brim, and as a result, I built a strong base of friendships and familiarity of the city allowing me to jump into my research and with a sense of security and confidence in where I am and who is around me.
As time has gone on, though, opportunities have begun to stack up. While we don’t have any classes to attend here in Valladolid, as we are conducting individual research, making connections with people in the city and at our partner university has opened up a plethora activities in which to participate – collaborating with English professors and students, participating in events with activist groups, and traveling with host-families. All these opportunities have come amidst deepening involvement in my research, which means that any plans I make to participate in a given opportunity can be upended with a moment’s notice should I get a text from a contact who is suddenly available to be interviewed, or get the opportunity to hand out surveys to a large group of students. The reverse is true too, as more than once plans to assist with an English class at the university, an activity which I have planned my entire day around (the university is on the outskirts of Valladolid, and so a bit of a trek to get to), has been cancelled due to a change in the professor’s plans, leaving me aimless once again.
More than once, Pitt professors or curious Vallisoletanos (Valladolid locals) have inquired about what my “typical” day looks like here, and each time I have been at a loss. Being abroad in Mexico, conducting independent research, and relying on the fluctuating schedules of others means that as much as I yearn for consistency and try my best to create structure, there is no “typical” day. Daily adventures and pitfalls unfold only as I forge ahead, revealing themselves to me little by little and constantly reminding me that there is no place for expectations when navigating a new experience. Being abroad, especially here in Valladolid leaves no room for counting on what you hope or want to happen, rather there is room only for what is. I have learned to navigate my days here with a nearsightedness that I don’t often exercise at home. In Valladolid, I have found that what is happening in the now must take precedence over what I hope to do or accomplish in the future, giving each moment a unique value.
One of my favorite afternoons here in Mexico was a product of accepting the situation that presented itself to me, without attempting to mold it to fit any presuppositions. After eagerly accepting an invitation to visit the hometown of a friend, a pueblo with 395 residents, I found myself in an increasingly familiar situation, loosely constructed plans crumbling before me as my guide for the weekend apologized profusely that he could no longer take me to see the Camino Blanco as intended – his brother’s car had broken down somewhere between the city and pueblo, and it was he who would go to the rescue. The afternoon stretched out before me, an empty space that I yearned to fill, but that two tienditas and four streets seemed insufficient to occupy for an undetermined number of hours. In my moment of stillness, standing idle beside the home of the family that had graciously offered to host me, I was at the mercy of my surroundings. It was in my instant of aimless vulnerability that a score of new guides approached, at the ready to show me their pueblo from a different lens. That afternoon, I was led around town by a group of four-year olds, stumbling into the houses of neighbors who were also relatives, trudging through the selva looking for tortugas, scrambling behind as they hitched rides on tricycles, and exercising my Spanish skills as I attempted to decipher jumbled retellings of older siblings’ stories. That afternoon, I experienced the magic of immersion in its purest form, surrendering any semblance of control to those who knew better to take me where they may.
Responsibilities and aspirations at home do not leave much room for the unplanned, as much as we may claim to be open to spontaneity. My afternoon in the pueblo was a rare moment of freedom, not only without obligations, but without the know-how or resources to fill up the empty space myself. Being abroad means allowing yourself to let go, to yield control in order to allow for those experiences which can not possibly be planned.
That’s all for now. One more week in Valladolid, too many plans to count, and hopefully some room for the unknown too.
