I first conceptualized my summer in Greece as a happy accident. I had rejected the idea that graduate students "get to study abroad” but, was thankfully proved wrong. A poet I admire, David Whyte, who served as my constant companion through his writings on many a Cycladic beach, drew me to a more concise realization. This adventure was an invitation. A hand had been extended to me and my task was to clasp it in my own or perhaps slap it away. The portal of opportunity could have as easily shut without my accepting the call. Every invitation we encounter is designed as such, whether or not we actively think of it that way.
I moved through Greece in a group, as a pair, and then solo. I was never more aware of the invitation than when I was completely alone. The quiet internal voice that is regularly snuffed out by external stimuli suddenly was center stage and making inquiries:
Why had I decided to stay here alone? How long would I be here? Would I know when it was time to go? What if I never wanted to leave?
I was tapping into a freedom I wasn’t sure I had ever encountered before. While I had to work within some real world constraints like finances and visa time limits, I was at liberty to define this chapter, its length and, its details.
I soon realized I treasured the simplest moments most. Sitting on a towel with David Whyte’s poetry in hand as the waves lapped at my toes. Driving an ATV triumphantly from one side of an island to another, mostly grateful to have arrived safely in one piece. Poised on the back of a motorbike with the blast of the engine in my ears, wind gusting through my hair, eyes watering, taking in the grassy hills, white windmills, and a sapphire sea. Soaking up sunsets that engulfed the sky in peach, cranberry, and lavender. Admiring nude babies who frolicked on the beach, unconcerned by their naked form and wholly devoted to living their innocence. Encountering so many incredible people who taught me about their homes, culture, and worldviews and thus challenged my established ways of thinking. My entire body clinched more than once as I hoped to memorize the moment, recognizing its brevity, and thinking, “this will disappear if I blink."
Your reluctance to hear the call is as much an invitation as if the door had opened in the broad heavens and called you through. -David Whyte
“How could I ever leave this?” I thought at first. But somehow, I knew when it was time.
Returning home was another invitation. I prize my home and my path as much as I prize the freedom to have immersed into an entirely unknown yet welcoming place. And I often think of Irvin Yalom’s somewhat curtly phrased dictum, “for every yes there must be a no”. This is the choice in invitation. I cheerfully and even longingly take every lesson of this adventure with me into the next adventure. Accepting the summons invariably means rejecting so many others. But, in my mind, it's gift to be able to do both.