There’s a postcard that sits eye level on the cork board in my room in Buenos Aires. ​

Mountains have always been special to me. But in Peru, there's a reason it feels like you leave part of your soul in the mountains. ​

According to Incan religion, the mountains are the closest one can get to reaching the gods in the hanan pacha, or upper realm, from the kay pacha, the human realm. Each great mountain has a distinct apu, or powerful mountain spirit, that aids in connecting the two universes and used to be honored with sacrifices. So despite the cold and isolation, many of the greatest civilizations in South America were born in the high mountains. ​

After the Spanish invaded, however, andean traditions were threatened. According to my Salkantay trek guide Nico, 60% of Perú is of the Catholic faith while just 10% stick to Incan traditions and 30% are make up different religions, typically other branches of Christianity. The Quechua language was also written for the first time by the Spaniards, so even that native tongue of the Andes was altered by documentation mistakes and mixed with Spanish over time. ​

But the Quechua language and Incan traditions still live on, adding to the mystique of the Andes. ​

The most famous Incan ruin site of course is Machu Picchu. It was likely home only to the most wealthy, intelligent, and important people in the Incan empire, originally created as an estate for the Inca emperor Pachacuti, and was perhaps as well an important pilgrimage site. It is theorized that Incans made pilgrimages along many of the same trails buckets of tourists hike along today like the Inca trail, and Salkantay and Ausangate treks. When the Spaniards invaded, the Inca empire was already in pieces, undergoing a civil war and a war with a neighboring civilization, but some very wise souls destroyed the evidence of these trails to protect Machu Picchu. Today we are lucky enough to have Machu Picchu 75% in its original state. ​

The Salkantay trek to Machu Picchu was my last big adventure in Peru before I headed home. I couldn’t have asked for better hiking crew or a better way to spend my last moments in South America. ​

To encourage all the current seniors in high school to take gap years, I've decided to ask everyone I know who's taking one to write a guest post about what they've been doing. There are endless possibilities as to what one can do with their year, and the variability will be better illustrated through the words of many.

You may have already read about Max's year. Now we have a lovely post from my friend Hannah, the only other person I met during my travels who is from the U.S. and taking a gap year.

The term “gap year,” on a literal level is defined as “the space some choose to take between high school and college.” I’d like to focus on one word from that definition. Space. And not the kind of space filled with rad asteroids and exploding stars. I’m talking about the kind of space that presents itself as a plain wall, with just enough room to hang up a map. Or maybe the kind of space that looks like a blank canvas just waiting for loads of oil paint and mistakes. And maybe it’s just genuine, simple, breathing space. These are the spaces in our lives that we can choose to fill with exploration, mystery, creativity, and peace. The truth is, life moves past us with incredible velocity. Blink and a decade’s gone by. It’s not often that we can truly take a step back from our lives, stand alone, and say,

“Pause.”

It takes a lot of courage to make such an individualistic choice, and deal with the accompanying loneliness. To watch all your friends move on without you, create new lives and celebrate the euphoria that is college, while you’re off doing who-knows-what who-knows-where with who-knows-who. But that’s the beauty of it, owning a calendar with a question mark decorating all 365 regions. College will be waiting to welcome you with open arms when you are ready. Personally, I just couldn’t find any reason to rush.

By senior year, I knew I was exhausted. I spent twelve long years pouring all of my mental resources into making decent grades and test scores, pleasing everyone around me, and living in one of the most notoriously busy cities in America. I couldn’t help but feel like I was vaulting helplessly towards a future and an education that I was simply too jaded to appreciate. I craved transformation. And I guess a part of me just didn’t want to grow up.

I was accepted to Washington University in St. Louis last fall. I sent an email requesting my deferral. And that was that.

So it started with a road trip. A fellow gapper and I drove from Georgia to California, camping in national parks every night, and for the first time in our lives, viewing the stunning country that we’ve called home for years but had never truly known. By September, my bags were packed for Indonesia, a place I knew practically nothing about (no, not even where it could be found on a map). I spent the next three months island hopping and living with wonderful local families, practically floating through extraordinary landscapes, immersed in the most breathtaking ways of life, traditions, religions and languages. I saw the cities, the mountains, the sea and the rainforest, and viewed the world through the eyes of so many diverse individuals. It was a true mystery from start to finish and nothing short of actual magic.

After some shorter visits to family in the states, I set my sails for the Galapagos Islands off the coast of Ecuador. I was fortunate enough to live with a local family and volunteer for the giant tortoise breeding center on island Isabela, managing and caring for practical dinosaurs. There I found an unlikely love of those gentle reptiles, a serenity as clear as the azure water surrounding me, and friendships with the most enchanting people from all over the world.

Upon my return home, I was hired as a receptionist in a local animal hospital, working to make enough money to pay for my plane ticket to Hawaii, where I’ll be volunteering on an organic farm all summer.

And yes, it involved an extraordinary amount of planning and paperwork. (I’m eternally grateful to my parents for not only making this year possible for me, but for supporting all the bizarre issues that came along with it. Seriously, if you’ve ever tried to apply for an overseas Visa without your mom, you probably didn’t end up getting it. I love you.)
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But the unplanned gifts I received in return were even more remarkable. Every passion I never had time for in high school suddenly reignited in my newfound freedom. I read countless novels, wrote poetry on the beach, made enough art to fill a whole museum.

Overall it was a learning experience, the kind of knowledge that can’t and will never come pre-packaged in a textbook or classroom. This last revolution around the sun has helped me put so many things into perspective; my place on this planet and my responsibility to it, the kind of positivity I want to radiate in my lifetime, the importance of global awareness, cultural preservation, and love that bridges cultures and oceans. And smaller things too. I now live my life barefoot eighty-five percent of the time. I know that I definitely don’t like durian fruit and that I definitely do like bike riding. All these large and little truths I will carry with me forever, tucked away in some corner of my soul.

As the most amazing year of my life nears it’s finale, I examine the “space” I created for myself last fall, and it’s just about overflowing. Within it, I now see countless sunsets, flamingos, three separate oceans, strange fruits, Indonesian vocabulary words, a pair of destroyed hiking boots, the brightest of constellations, light filtering through treetops and stained glass and the shallow seas. Most importantly, I see the people I’ve met and fallen in love with along my journey, the people who have shaped my experience and my life. And in the space I’ve created, I can finally see myself.

My point is, if you have the opportunity, take it. If you want to cut the strings you feel are tying you up, get out a pair of scissors. If you want to see things differently, unroll a map and look closely. Because the rest of the world is out there, patiently awaiting your arrival.