Off the Beaten Trail: A Young Man's Soul-Searching Journey Through Central America

Prologue

March 19, 2015

Sitting at Gate 55A, I felt at peace. It seemed strange how serene I was considering the present circumstance. I was drawn to the faces of the people around me, pondering what their lives were like, what they were thinking, where they were going, and what drew them to this moment in time.

I was waiting to board a one-way flight to Guatemala with just a backpack. I barely spoke any Spanish. I had no phone. I had never traveled alone before. I was going by myself to a third world country where I was going to board a bus and embark on a nine-hour trip to a rural, northern town. Part of me felt like I was walking into a disaster. But the other part assured me that true courage is stepping past your fears in pursuit of your wildest dreams even if you don’t know exactly how you will get there. I chose to focus on the latter.

It’s comical how unpredictable life is. There is absolutely no way in hell I would have believed someone if they told me a year ago that I would be where I was in this moment. But reality speaks the ultimate truth. And there I was, an ambitious and maybe slightly naive eighteen-year-old kid whose curiosity led him to journey on a completely unknown and uncommon path. Excitement, eagerness, and trepidation all stirred through my body and mind. But I was resolute. Outwardly, what I was doing could be perceived as ludicrous. Yet, despite my feelings of consternation, I felt wholeheartedly that this decision was going to lead me in the right direction, even if I didn’t know where that was.

Of course, experience is such a personal commodity, and it is ultimately up to the individual to attribute meaning to one’s own life experiences. It is actually irrelevant whether or not others agree with your interpretation. As life coach Tony Robbins says, Nothing in life has any meaning except the meaning you give it. So make sure that you consciously choose the meanings that are most in alignment with the destiny you’ve chosen for yourself.

When I embraced this realization and disregarded my fears, I felt overwhelmingly tranquil. The events that had transpired in my life had led me to this moment. And I couldn’t help but reflect on the last seven months and how I ended up here…

CHAPTER 1

Are You Satisfied with the

Life You’re Living?

August 2014

"Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know

what you’re gonna get."

—Forrest Gump

It all started in August 2014, three days after I arrived in Ohio to attend Ohio State University. I noticed some bumps on my thighs. Red, itchy, and extremely irritating bumps. I didn’t know what they were, but their presence was impossible to ignore. They grew in number, and the stinging itchiness that accompanied them only continued to get worse. Before long, I waddled almost everywhere I went, as even the touch of my shorts on these bumps was extremely aggravating. I felt like a duck. I would have liked to say I felt like a lion entering college roaring with confidence. But no, I felt like an uncomfortable, weak, and insecure little waddling duck.

Great, I thought. A speed bump that I will just need to get over, and then my skin will be fine, and in no time, things will be great! But I had no idea what I was in for. For the entire semester—almost daily—I awoke to new hives and rashes on my body. Even if it were a single hive, I was afraid of it breaking out into a big rash because that’s how my worst skin problems developed. This fear made me severely anxious.

I was convinced something in my new environment was causing these problems; a toxin or chemical that I was exposed to disagreed with me. All I need is to get back home to San Diego and I will be fine. Screw Ohio for causing these problems. I had not envisioned anything like this happening to me. Why me, of all people? Why can’t someone else get this?

Unfortunately, the rashes and hives didn’t subside. Not only were these rashes aesthetically unappealing, but they were awfully uncomfortable. I literally did not feel comfortable in my own skin. My negative thoughts and anger only made the situation worse. My skin problems seemed to drain all of my self-esteem. I felt insecure and self-conscious. I had no confidence. I dreaded going out because I felt so uncomfortable, both physically and mentally. But worst of all, I began to hate myself.

By the end of my first semester, I had also lost all confidence in the medical system. Immunologists, allergists, and dermatologists had recommended so many different pills and creams, yet nothing worked. I had been tested for just about everything. I had had video camera tubes stuck up my butt and down my throat; I had peed in diagnostic jars and pooped in test tubes; I had spit in test cups; I had been patch-tested for thirty-six allergens all over my back; I had taken skin-prick tests and blood tests; I had blown in a diagnostic paper bag for three hours; and I had gone through skin biopsies. The doctors eventually diagnosed me with chronic urticaria (chronic hives), another way of saying, We have no idea what the hell is causing your problem, but hives and rashes are a result of it. I felt as if this condition was preventing me from living the life I wanted—a life of happiness. And it was—but only because I let it happen.

I didn’t choose to be optimistic about my condition. I didn’t choose to stop complaining about my problem. And I definitely didn’t choose to allow myself to be happy—in my eyes, I couldn’t be happy as long as my skin was like this. My brain decided that as long as I had this condition, my life would suck and I would be miserable.

* * * * *

When winter break finally rolled around, I was beyond relieved. Perfect, leaving Ohio is just what I need. When I’m back in San Diego, my skin will return to normal! But being back home didn’t seem to change anything. My mom, with her background in nutrition, had been saying for a long time that she thought my skin issues were related to my gut.

So I went to see a holistic doctor who put me on a strict diet to avoid gluten and other potentially harmful foods. The doctor explained to me, We must solve the root of the problem. He said that the skin ultimately reacts to what is either being put in or on the body. It made a lot of sense to me that what I was eating could be a culprit. I started a new diet on January 1st. It seemed appropriate with the New Year—hopefully, a new beginning as well. My skin started to clear very slowly, but the stinging and itching did not quickly subside.

While home, I thought a lot about not going back to school. As a senior in high school, I had considered taking a year off before college to explore other options and maybe even travel abroad. I didn’t understand why these thoughts kept entering my head. It seemed that everyone else I talked to had his or her plan set: going straight to college. I didn’t want to feel like the odd man out, choosing a path that could be seen as foolish or easy. I was scared that departing from the common course could leave me behind in the rat race to success. Yet, the idea of traveling or volunteering abroad kept drifting into my head. When I thought about it, I felt both excited and afraid of the unknown. I pushed those thoughts away. I thought that my mind was just conjuring up unrealistic ideas about a path in life that didn’t exist—or at least only existed for a special few.

The struggles I had at college led me to see the world in a new light. I began to question the why in everything. Why am I even in school right now? I don’t have the faintest idea of what I want to do the rest of my life, and here I am spending thousands of dollars to copy and paste what my professor tells me to in order to attain a number (grade point average) that helps distinguish my worthiness as compared with another student’s number so we can all be employed by people who value and compare these numbers. Perfect logic. Why are we making graphs every day in economics class? The professor has not once explained to us the significance of the graphs or any economic terms. I want to learn about things that relate to my everyday life and the world around me. Why just graphs?!? And even if my skin problems were to magically disappear, what then?

It seemed pointless to slave away at uninspiring classwork five days a week, cramming information into my mind only for it to be dumped out and forgotten after the test. After an unfulfilling five days, the weekend arrived—the happy ending to an unsatisfying week. I joined the masses and partied until I couldn’t remember what happened, killing brain cells that I had worked so hard to develop during the week before. I had been living for the weekend since my sophomore year in high school. I was done. I wanted a life where I could wake up every day excited to add value to the world. I wanted a life where I looked forward to Mondays, eager to follow my passions. I wanted a life where I wanted to work on the weekends because it fulfilled me and made a difference in the lives of others.

Beyond just questioning aspects of my everyday life, I began to explore deeper philosophical matters that had no answer. What is the purpose of life? Why is it that not one person can give me a legitimate answer as to why we are all here? At eighteen years old, I felt alone. It seemed as if no one else my age had even the slightest interest in the deep philosophical concepts I pondered daily. I thought that everyone else was concerned with their exams, the party coming up on Friday, football, or what they were going to eat for lunch. I didn’t blame them because I am sure if it had not been for my unhappiness, I wouldn’t have been so deeply concerned with these questions. I knew that my past experiences and present circumstances influenced my thoughts. Here I was trying to contemplate how the human race was created and for what purpose. Why are we here?

Because I was unsure of what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, I began to question my friends and peers about what they were studying.

Hey, Ryan, what are you studying?

Mechanical engineering.

Oh, wow, that sounds interesting. Why?

Because a mechanical engineering degree can lead to a job that pays a ton of money. And I like math, so I figured, why not?

Hey, Cole, what are you studying?

Accounting.

Nice, man. Why accounting?

A job in accounting is stable and makes solid money. My sister is an accountant and got a great job right out of school with high pay.

I asked so many people these questions and got the same response almost every time. Of course, every now and then the person I asked was deeply interested and passionate about what he or she was actually studying. But more often than not, the responses were all directed at one thing: money. Is everyone actually in it for all the same reason? Money? I understand that money is important and necessary. But how is that the main driving factor for so many people here? Will making lots of money actually ensure happiness? Will pursuing a 9-5 job every day for the next forty years bring fulfillment even when no passion exists for the job? Maybe I’m the one who is looking at this wrong and should be focusing more on the money?

People get a job so they can afford to have a life—the ability to buy food, shelter, clothing, and so on. The type of job they seek appears to be determined by the amount of money they hope to earn and little to do with what they really care about. They spend all their time at a job they hate and end up having no time to live the life they’re working so hard for. The logic didn’t add up in my mind.

I grew up in a well-to-do suburb in southern California where material things are an integral part of life. Everyone is concerned about getting a college degree straight after high school. There is no time to mess around. You start working immediately after college graduation and then retire when you have enough money saved up. This is the dogma I grew up with that seemed to ensure success: a big house, a nice car, and a job title that looks and sounds like you’re raking in tons of cash. These were the things that were supposed to ensure happiness. At least, this is what my community raised me to believe.

But I also knew that I had a different perspective about money. My dad had had what many wanted: an Ivy League degree, a high-paying job, a nice car, and a fine house. He majored in literature, which he felt passionate about. However, because of others’ expectations, he ended up going to medical school after graduating from college. It was a much safer choice than pursuing a career as a writer. My dad had no real interest in medicine but felt inclined to follow the course that had been prescribed for him. A stable, high-paying job with a big, well-known company was the goal that everyone wanted, or so it seemed. But after years of receiving a high-paying salary at a job he hated, my dad ran out of fuel.

When I was eleven, I came home from school and learned that my dad had quit his job. He ran out of fuel because the fuel he was running on was not his own. My dad has what is called a major depressive disorder, a condition involving changes in the brain’s chemistry that adversely affected him in many aspects of his life. I remember when he didn’t get out of bed for a month, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. I didn’t know my dad was depressed, and I didn’t know that his condition could literally disable him. The years passed, and my dad still did not work. I hated to see my father unhappy. He had lost his zest for life in many ways. I know he is an insightful person with a real spark for learning new things. He is a caring, responsible, and outstanding father. He is also extremely creative and an amazing writer. I couldn’t believe how this incredible man had become so submerged in this condition. And I couldn’t help but fear that I might fall into a similar trap.

Part of the reason I went to Ohio State was to experience something different. When I told people I was from San Diego, I got the same response every time: Ew, why Ohio? They would ask this with their heads slightly tilted and eyes sinking back, totally confused.

I would talk about my love for sports, the school’s pride, its renowned business school, prestigious alumni network, the scholarships and financial packages I had been awarded, and my yearning to experience a new place with people who came from a different area than where I had grown up. I was usually met with a response something along the lines of, Oh, that makes sense—I guess. I wasn’t sure if the person really understood my words or was still confused by my decision but nodded in agreement anyway.

Although Ohio was definitely different from San Diego, I realized that what I was searching for, what I desired, was something drastically different. I wanted to experience a world completely different from what I knew.

I began toying with the idea of taking a semester off and traveling abroad. The thought stirred within my belly, creating a warm feeling that this was right, and at the same time, causing a release of adrenaline that produced a sense of exhilaration and anticipation. I felt as if I were about to sky dive or bungee jump, to take that indescribable leap of faith. But I was just sitting at my desk imagining myself trekking through unknown lands in places so far away and tremendously different from anything I had ever experienced. I got lost in this vision until I had to shake myself awake to the unfulfilling reality of my life.

I mean, after all, college was hyped-up to be the best four years of your life, filled with crazy parties and outrageous fun. At least, that’s what I had pictured going in because that’s what everyone portrayed it to be. I had it all planned out. I would thrive in my classes, join various clubs to help boost my resume, and get ripped at the gym every day. The stars would align for me in college as they had in high school. But I didn’t realize that things don’t always play out as you think they will.

Despite my dreams and the significant doubts I had about what I was doing, at the end of the holiday break, I decided to return to school for my second semester.

And oh boy, was that a mistake.

"Open your eyes, look within. Are you satisfied

with the life you’re living?"

—Bob Marley

CHAPTER 2

Hiding from the Truth

January 12, 2015

"If you fuel your journey on the opinions of others,

you are going to run out of gas."

—Dr. Steve Maraboli

My first day back for my second semester at Ohio State happened to be the day of the College Football National Championship. And Ohio State was in it. This was the first college football playoff in history, and the hype for this game was astounding. College football in Ohio is a big deal. Everywhere, people were covered in scarlet and gray from head to toe, beaming with pride. There was an electric buzz in the air as everyone at school had an attachment, a love, for Ohio State. Everyone, it seemed, except me.

It’s not that I had anything against the football team. I had enjoyed watching all of the games that year. But because my hives and resulting unhappiness and anxiety started when I came to Ohio, I didn’t have the most positive association with the school. I knew academics were not the cause for my anxiety. I did well my first semester, even making the Dean’s List. In addition, I liked my roommate and had made several friends. So I knew something else was going on.

But beyond just coming back to Ohio, I wondered if there were other, more significant reasons why I didn’t want to return. What if going to college in general is not right for me? What if my anxiety and depression are due to a mismatch between my current and desired reality? What if the life I’m living is not for me at all?

I remember asking so many people how their holiday break was and if they were excited to be back. The typical response was usually something along the lines of, Yeah, break was nice. But I am so ready to be back! I felt my spirit wither briefly each time I heard this. Why am I the only one absolutely dreading coming back here? Is there something wrong with me?

I went through the motions robotically that first day of the semester. As the day wore on, I began to feel short of breath with a knot tightening in my throat. Tears threatened, and I suppressed the urge to cry, frustrated as to why I couldn’t identify the source of this awful anxiety. Oddly, my new professors and classes seemed much more interesting than the ones from the previous semester. Finally done with my classes for the day, I slumped into the chair in my dorm room, feeling trapped. The cold, contoured surface of the chair sent a chill up my spine. I didn’t want to be here. It was actually a beautiful and comfortable dorm room. Yet I hated being back in this room, which felt more like a prison to me. It brought up all the memories of my aggravating skin issues and also the feelings that went with them: anxiety, stress, insecurity, and unhappiness. Those four words haunted me daily as I now had a deeper appreciation for what they actually meant.

As the day rolled on, darkness slowly settled in over campus. My roommate, Max, and I headed over to a fraternity house that was hosting a watch party for The Game. Bright, scarlet Ohio State football uniforms flooded my vision as we approached High Street, the main drag off campus that was lined with bars and restaurants. Horns were blasting from cars. Chants and loud shouts were howled from bars. People walking by called out, "O-H…I-O!" a renowned slogan known by everyone at Ohio State. There was an invigorating energy in the air that seemed to be fueling everyone around me. But I felt uneasy and filled with apprehension. As we approached the fraternity house, I tried to relax. You’ve got this Jake, I tried to reassure myself.

It’s difficult to explain why I was so nervous. I liked watching the football team play and got along well with many members of the fraternity. But mentally I felt like a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off. I felt so insecure just being myself. I lacked the confidence I once had, and this empty replacement, this hollowness, was immensely disconcerting. My skin condition definitely exacerbated my anxiety, but something told me that the root of my feelings lay elsewhere. Digging deeper, I began to realize that my stress and anxiety stemmed from a misalignment within myself—a disconnect between my dreams and passions and what I was actually doing. Being back at school was not what I truly desired, studying business had no appeal for me, and college in general was not where I wanted to be. I felt like a fish out of water.

After greeting all of the guys at the fraternity, I took refuge in a metal fold-up chair in front of the large flat screen TV where the game was going to be shown. I actually felt slightly relieved after talking with the guys. I reminded myself that, just like me, they were people and had their own issues. We could just shoot the shit and watch football. I actually might enjoy this, I assured myself. This is not going to be so bad after all.

Hey, Jake, you want a beer? one of the guys kindly offered.

Thanks, but I have to pass. I can’t have gluten anymore. It gives me skin problems, I said, attempting to sound relaxed.

Oh, that sucks. Well, no worries, man. Just let me know if I can get you anything, he replied.

Just like that, my state of comfort vanished. Looking around, everyone else was drinking beer. I didn’t like being the odd man out. Because I was already so uncomfortable being myself, standing out filled me with dread—despite the fact that I was being treated well, just like any of the other guys. I was new to this gluten-free diet, and being gluten intolerant struck me as a sort of weakness. Plus, I was so used to alcohol fueling me with confidence that being exuberant and outgoing while sober seemed an impossible task.

The game finally started and the atmosphere was frenzied. There were about sixty guys crammed into the room hooting and hollering.

I found myself stuck in an internal battle: part of me was enjoying the electric atmosphere, the gripping football game, and being around a group of carefree guys. At times, I found myself cheering loudly, genuinely interested in the championship game. However, part of me wanted to escape. I wanted to escape from this room and escape from Ohio. I felt a tremendous sense of imbalance. Everything having to do with Ohio State was adding to my anxiety. What made it so unnerving was that it was generalized anxiety. I wasn’t anxious over an upcoming test or anything in particular. I had no idea why I was feeling the way I did. A piece of me actually wanted Ohio State to lose the game. I was angry with myself for even thinking this thought. I tried to figure out why on earth I would want this outcome. And then it hit me.

I didn’t want to have to mask my lack of excitement for Ohio State if they won. I didn’t want to fake celebrating with fifty thousand other students at Ohio State. I didn’t want to pretend to have an overwhelming love for a school that I actually wanted nothing to do with. I was afraid of lying to myself again and afraid of the tense knot in my stomach that was becoming ever-present.

A loud roar disrupted my thoughts. Ohio State had just scored again and now had a two-touchdown lead. I joined in the ruckus, screaming my head off along with the others in the room, giving high fives to the guys next to me. I pushed away my previous thoughts as quickly as they’d come, at least for the moment.

The seconds ticked away and the final whistle blew. Ohio State is the undisputed national champion! the commentator proudly declared.

People swarmed the streets and fireworks boomed in the sky. I joined the mass of students flooding the central quad on campus. It was surreal. I watched as people climbed up thirty-foot trees, proclaiming their love for Ohio State. I listened to the roar of thousands of students shouting and chanting.

After participating in this mass celebration, I headed back to the fraternity house with Max where the festivities were expected to continue all night. We arrived to hear music blasting and people still screaming. Big bottles of liquor were being passed around like free candy on Halloween. When a bottle reached my hands, I hesitated for a second. I knew that there was probably gluten in the bottle and that I shouldn’t drink it. I didn’t even want to get drunk. Yet everyone else was so immersed in celebrating, and I wanted to be a part of it. I ignored the voice in my head, leaned back, and tilted the bottle up. The liquor flowed down, burning my throat as I took large swigs. I had done this so many times before, but this time I found the taste putrid. I justified to myself that my actions were reasonable. We just won the first ever National Championship playoff game. This is a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. Screw your skin problems for this one night. Just do it and have fun like everyone else. Stop worrying so much.

I felt a warm rush in my forehead. My desire for control started to fade,