There's a Lizard in the Bathroom!

On Burnout, farm life and living in the jungles of Belize

Dear friends,

It’s been a while. If I'm being honest, I have been feeling pretty guilty about it. I’ve been feeling stuck somewhere in-between a rock and hard place.

When we were on the farm the days were busy and long. It was hard to really think about anything other than what was right in front of us in the present moment. Which was a good thing. It was amazing to feel absorbed by our surroundings, and connected with the earth.

On the other hand there was too little time devoted to refilling our cup which ultimately led us both to a state of burnout yet again.

I like to look at our ability to tackle everyday life like we have a variety of internal gas tanks. We have a gas tank for our mind, for our soul and for our body.

Burnout is the experience that occurs when those three tanks have depleted. When our tanks have moved into a perpetual state of extraction; depleting faster than we can refill them.

Just like a gas tank in a car, when it empties we need to refill it in order to keep driving. There are lots of ways that we can refill our gas tanks, such as getting a good night’s sleep, eating a nutrient rich diet and exercising.

As unique individuals there are also ways to refill our gas that are circumstantial to the individual. For example, spending time with friends, meditation, or listening to music works well for me.

When our tanks have emptied– but life demands that we keep on driving– we have a backup gas tank that kicks into gear. Anyone that is familiar with the forty hour work week can probably relate to the feeling that you can’t do it, but you have to, so you do. This backup gas tank–which at times is incredibly useful– can keep us going so long that we become blind to the fact that the gas light turned on miles ago.

Burnout is more than just an experience of fatigue, it is all consuming.

During my most recent bout of burnout I was feeling uninspired and unmotivated to write. My creativity felt hollow, like an empty well waiting desperately to be replenished. There was a part of me that worried this might be my new reality.

But something inside me held out hope.

Something inside of me remembered that it was just a short drive to the next gas station.

Since this period of burnout, rest has been abundant. We have transitioned into a state where our gas tanks are being refilled faster than they are emptying. The comforts of a warm shower, and a soft bed bring me back to my center where a light is still flickering.

That light is our creative spirit.

I am currently writing to you from the beach in El Salvador where we will be resting in comfort for the next month before heading to Nicaragua to house sit on a farm for seven months. Alex and I will have the joy of taking care of five dogs, while working online, slowing down and preparing to tackle South America. We will continue to volunteer on farms, learning new agricultural techniques, building upon our hands-on experience, and documenting as much as we can as we drive South to Ushuaia.

When I last updated you we had just arrived at the regenerative farm in Belize. We ended up spending 6 weeks there.

The farm was located in the jungle valleys of Barton Creek. To get onto the property we had to drive through four creeks and down a long and bumpy “road”. Vast, untamed mountains of palm trees and forest encircled the three acres of land that the farm is nestled in. Chickens, ducks, geese, guinea fowl, rabbits, dogs and goats inhabited the land alongside the owner of the farm– Michael. Michael had worked as a psychotherapist for most of his life, before moving to Belize three years ago to build a regenerative natural haven.

On one piece of the land there is a small cabin, an outdoor kitchen, a shed and a greenhouse. Beside that are a variety of shelters for the rabbits, chickens and goats. At the other end of the land is an old shipping container that has been converted into an office/storage space. The container is attached to a large enclosed porch and the roof has solar panels. The solar panels supply power to the shipping container- the only part of the land with lights and internet.

Behind the shipping container is another shelter for the birds, although the majority of the time the birds are allowed to roam freely all over the land. At night, they are put back into their cage, so larger animals don’t get to them.

On the farm we are entirely off-grid.

Living off-grid means being disconnected from a central-power grid and encourages the use of renewable resources to power homes. It encourages a lifestyle of sustainable living and self-sufficiency where one doesn’t rely on public utilities, in an effort to reduce our carbon footprint.

There is no plumbing on the land, so there is no toilet, shower or laundry. We poop into a hole, and shower from a bucket. And you guessed it– do all of our laundry by hand. The water needed for this is harvested from a rain collection system that is attached to the roofs of the buildings, and during the rainy season it is endlessly abundant.

A large portion of the food we eat comes from the land. We are growing a variety of fruits and vegetables such as tomatoes and okra, papayas and melons. We have two cows that provide three gallons of fresh milk a day as well as fresh eggs from the chickens on the land.

Despite having to cross four creeks to get to civilization the nearest supermarket is about thirty minutes away, where we have access to anything else we might need.

Luckily, prior to moving out here we had spent the last three months in the jungle. So we were used to the spiders, scorpions, ants and howler monkeys. But we definitely weren’t used to cockroaches the size of our palm….yeah that was an adjustment.

Every day was a new adventure on the farm.

Learning to milk cows and sow seeds, plowing the land with a horse, planting trees and pineapple suckers on the ridge of a mountain. Feeding the bunnies every morning, collecting eggs from the chicken pens, and walking the goats to large grassy pastures. Digging holes deep into the ground and collecting soil to run under a series of tests to determine its health and more. Burning brush and mixing it with goat poop to turn into fertilizer called biochar, getting stuck trucks out of ditches, making homemade cheese, replenishing the earth and completely and totally falling in love with farming.

I had been struck with a childlike curiosity as I stuck my hands into the dirt and rode the ATV through the jungle over the creeks and past the pastures of cows.

Deep in the jungle, no cars pass us for miles, leaving the constant lull of the natural world to rest upon our ears.  The creek down the hill gurgles at night, while the stars above us twinkle.

The sounds of the jungle drifted me to sleep while I laid in a deeply fulfilling rest from a day of hard work.

I’ll be honest with you.

When we first arrived, this lifestyle was a massive adjustment. I was actually struggling a lot. I didn’t feel strong enough, both mentally and physically.

The days were hot and the labour was grueling. I was overwhelmed by the complexities of weeding a large field by hand, or using a machete to clear spindly branches scorched by wildfires. One individual task could take an entire day, and my motivation to keep going was dwindling.

Slowly, as time passed, my patience grew. With each weed I yanked from the earth my strength began to grow, and before my eyes the fruits of our labour revealed itself.

Farming is a labour of love that forces you to slow down and enjoy the process. It’s about small increments over time which is a totally different reality to the instantaneous world we are used to in cities.

Living off-grid, while at times challenging, taught me that we really don’t need that much to survive, and we really don’t need that much to be happy.

Ultimately, living with less taught me to appreciate so much more.

Like the farm fresh eggs and milk every morning.

Or the sounds of the jungle rising with the sun.

The wind that rushes through the valley in the middle of the afternoon.

The sudden thunderstorms followed by the serenity of stillness.

The sound of the rain puttering against the tent.

The feeling of dirt in my hands.

The joy of watching things grow, and then getting to eat it.

I felt protected by the land and connected to the nature we were working to save.

As mentioned earlier, by the end of this experience we were treading through burnout. Farming can be intense, and living without any comforts took its toll. Working from sunup to sundown then making dinner for the farm team made us realize the importance of proper communication and fairness when living in community.  It became yet again a familiar lesson.

We are not invincible and that is ok.

The past couple weeks have been the most rest we have gotten on this entire trip. It’s been the kind of rest that makes you realize how depleted our gas tanks really were. The kind of rest that reminds me of the creative spirit inside of me.  

When I started this newsletter it was mainly to give me a reason to practice my writing. It had been years since I wrote any sort of cohesive piece that I was sharing with the public. I wanted something consistent and I wanted to write about the human experience.

Since then, I have realized that it is about so much more than this. It’s about nurturing this flame inside of me.

On that note, you may have noticed that the design of the letter has changed. The essays are set to take more structure and I will be releasing essays less frequently giving myself the time to produce more meaningful work.  

I am constantly blown away by the experiences we have been given, and this opportunity to learn so much about ourselves, each other and this beautiful world, and I can’t wait to share more with you soon.