Coming up for air on Lake Atitlán.

“Then it settles to quietude, or maybe gratitude, as it feeds as we all do, as we must, upon the invisible gift: our purest, sweet necessity: the air.” 

—Mary Oliver, Thirst

It started with a text from my sister Brooke:

“I’m going to Guatemala!!!!!!!”

I may or may not be recalling the exact number of exclamation points correctly, but in that moment, all I knew was that there was not even a decision to be made. It was obvious that I would have to join her there.

For the last year or so, Brooke has been an ambassador for a jewelry company called Noonday. They partner with groups of local artisans around the world—from Ecuador to India to Vietnam—creating jobs, helping families provide education and healthcare for their children, and turning out some seriously beautiful jewelry in the process.

As soon as Brooke found out she’d have the chance to visit the artisans working near Antigua, Guatemala, I started looking into flights—for both of us. Never mind that we’d only have two days to hang out after her week with Noonday; I couldn’t pass up the chance to see my beloved sister on foreign soil for the first time.

With summer plans wide open, I booked a flight and gave myself seven weeks in Central America—and as it is so easy to do, I immediately started thinking big. In addition to Guatemala, I could go to El Salvador and Honduras and…

My mind raced to plan adventures, but my soul swiftly put her foot down—because deep down, my soul knew that what I really needed most from these seven weeks is stillness.

* * *

I couldn’t be more grateful for all that the first half of this year held—from ringing in 2015 on Bangkok’s Chao Phraya River, to glimpsing the Northern Lights in Norway, to taking part in my first artist-in-residence program in the Costa Brava region of Spain.

But at the same time, I find myself thinking of a day two summers ago, when I was staying on the Outer Banks of North Carolina with my parents. The ocean was unusually rough one afternoon and the waves intense. I went swimming twice—riding the surf, fighting for air between each wave, loving the feeling of being tossed around by something much bigger than myself.

It was fun, exhilarating—and also, I would realize each time after walking back up to the beach, a bit exhausting.

When I think about it now, it feels like the perfect metaphor for this spring—a series of very fun waves that left me little time to come up for air in between. And so when I set about envisioning what this summer in Central America needed to look like, I finally had to accept that maybe it would involve a little less movement than normal; that maybe, as one of my favorite authors—Pico Iyer—writes in his latest book The Art of Stillness, what I need most this summer is an adventure in going nowhere.

So where I’m writing you from today, my friends, is the tiny corner of Guatemala I am currently holed up in, for about five more weeks before meeting my sister in Antigua. Thanks to a listing on AirBnB, I’ve rented a quiet casita on Lake Atitlán—a beautiful body of water encircled by hills and volcanoes in the country’s Western Highlands.

I chose this region simply because it was one of the only areas of Guatemala I’d heard of, but I can’t help feeling now it’s no accident I’m here. I can see the lake from my front yard, and as I look out onto it each day, it feels almost as if its calm, smooth, entirely unruffled surface has a message for me…a reminder that for all the thrill and opportunity of movement, there is beauty in stillness, too.

But even in these seasons of quietude there can be newness—in the way the surface of the lake is never the same shade of silvery blue twice; in the way the clouds are forever shifting across the sky; and in the way the golden light of sunset is different every night.

* * *

These are the two halves I’m seeking to reunite in myself this summer—the movement-loving wanderer and the stillness-seeking homebody. I’ll be seeing less of the country than I might normally prefer to, but I hope that what I do see, I’ll see well.

My main goal for this self-designed retreat is to write and illustrate three chapters for a memoir I’m at work on. I’ll also be planning for the workshop I’m co-teaching at this year’s Book Passage Travel Writers & Photographers Conference. As I’ve written about before here, this conference has played a huge role in my journey as a writer, and it’ll be an incredible honor to contribute to it as a faculty member in August.

Finally, I’m planning to write more about this next week, but lest you think I won’t be sketching while I’m here, I’m returning to my sketch artist roots this summer—keeping a smaller sketchbook, creating faster sketches, and pairing them with short observations and travel ephemera (bus tickets, beer labels, etc.). It’s been a while since I’ve kept such a sketchbook, and I can’t wait to share more about this with you soon.

These three goals are keeping my days full and fulfilled so far—and through it all, Lake Atitlán has become a truly grounding presence.

“You know,” my landlady Ada said the day I moved in, after I’d asked her around what time the sun rises each morning, “many people who stay here find themselves adjusting to more natural rhythms.”

As I sit along the placid shores of Lake Atitlán each night—breathing in, breathing out, giving thanks for the cool mountain air—I’m grateful to count myself one of them.

* * *

So! Those are my summer plans; now I’d love to hear about yours. From projects to trips, where are the next few months taking you?