Learning the Vernacular: A Syncopated Life

A blog post dedicated to the one and only Sarah Marshall. Just because.

Time, time, time rolls in hiccups. We have been in Jamaica for nearly a month, and I am learning to live in the syncopation that moves the island. Vibrancy dominates, and I feel like my body is silently shaken by the rhythms in the earth, in patwa, in the musical culture, and in the undulating pace of every day life. Everything is ambiguous to us now, and is unveiled to us as we live it. I feel like we are living in a “Sing Your Own Adventure” music book (if such a think were to exist). I dig it.

I wake up every morning without expectation yet full of anticipation. My life here seems to be navigated for me at this point, but at least the compass is beauty (most of the time). Whether I am flicking thumbs while greeting my neighbor, learning the latest dance hall moves from my Jamaican brother, singing along to the music ricocheting out of passing taxis, or simply enjoying a ole-eap (whole heap) of callaloo on my deck overlooking the valley below, beauty taps me on my shoulder and reminds me that I am actually living this. “Pssst,” she says, “This is your life… syncopated.”

A note on the beauty of sitting:
For the first 2 weeks on island, I lived in the hours of quiet sitting my Jamaican family and I did in the early morning and evening. Sitting with people (or alone) is an especially beautiful act. My community shows itself to me as I sit. Observation is my education. Sitting and being is not an indulgence or display of laziness. It is a valuable tool that I had forgotten how to do until I arrived on island. We live a life of “goingness” in the states. My feet burn at the thought of the constant racing around I did in my sleepy New England town. Perhaps I will crave that pace again once I am out of training, but until then, I am going to cherish my hours spent sitting.

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