All That Is Bitter and Sweet_ A Memoir - Ashley Judd [139]
Chapter 16
PROJECT LIFE
Kate, Salma, and me at one of our many press conferences.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.
—H. W. LONGFELLOW, “A Psalm of Life”
fter a very late arrival in Guatemala City, I woke up early to dash out of bed straight to a waiting helicopter. It was a Eurocopter, the same kind that Dario flies, and I was pleased with how familiar and comfortable it felt to jump in, use the five-point restraint, and grab my headset. Our destination was Coatepeque, a small city in southwestern Guatemala, near the Mexican border, where we would be meeting a military escort to accompany us to a clinic. I’ve always been grateful for governmental cooperation and protection, which supplements Papa Jack’s service, and I knew that the need here was non-negotiable. In the aftermath of decades of civil war, where two hundred thousand civilians died, mainly at the hands of U.S.–backed military dictators and their death squads, Guatemala is now a democracy, but it is also one of the poorest countries in the hemisphere, with 75 percent of the population living below the poverty line and a dangerous, heavily armed postconflict zone. We had been instructed not to travel long distances by road, even in broad daylight. I was grateful that a wealthy supporter had donated the use of his helicopter, while I internally saluted and admired the humanitarian and aid workers who regularly make perilous overland journeys without protection, risking their lives to be of service. It isn’t fair I have such assistance, and they do not. I would be meeting two such intrepid and unsung heroes at the end of this flight.
As we flew over sharp volcanic peaks and hillsides checkered with bright green coffee plantations and pastures, I pulled my eyes away from the stunning scenery to write for a while with my nondominant hand. I’d been up a good bit of the night with anxiety, and I needed to process a lot of emotion. Ever since I left Shades of Hope five weeks earlier, I had faithfully followed the after-care plan that included fellowshipping with other recovering folks, morning meditation, recovery and inspirational readings, and other exercises—even when I had to do them in the backseats of cars or on an aircraft. I realized now that I was freeing a lot of fear about the feelings that would inevitably come up on this trip, as I ventured into areas of our global reality that can be agonizing to acknowledge and witness. On previous trips I had felt such pain; I wondered if I would now feel even more.
It would have been wonderful if six weeks in treatment could have magically erased all my difficulties, but it doesn’t work that way. Recovery is a process, lived one day at a time as a reprieve, not a “cure.” It does not promise me perpetual, emotional equanimity (what sort of life would that be, anyhow?). It does guarantee me a design for living that works under all conditions, a process I can count on always, and healthy ways to feel all my feelings safely. The lived effects of abuse and trauma do not vanish overnight, and neither do the coping behaviors developed over decades in an attempt to manage such deep wounding. I had already noticed that a few of my old stress-induced cleaning habits had reemerged during my flight south. At least now I could do a spot check of my behavior and self-correct.
I was intrigued, curious, and open to observing the changes in me, witnessing my new self in the context of my work. My three previous activism journeys were fixed points, frames of reference against which I could compare how I now functioned and responded.