Pathfinding

by Tate Sheppard (Brazil)

Making a local connection Brazil

“But you have to teach!” I shout over the gin tonic and homemade sound system. Trying to follow his lead, I fail to learn even the basic rhythm of samba. We skip the lesson and instead chat hiking. Later that night, with awkwardly direct Portuguese, I express my attraction. The Tim Maia song soaking the living room had far more charm. Lucky me, the attraction is mutual and after a breathy night I fall into an infatuated stupor with Renan. I hadn’t even faced São Paulo reality when I met Renan during a party not long after Carnaval. The city was still fixing its tie and coffee before beginning the year. In Brazil, people say the year doesn’t begin until after Carnaval. Everything was fresh, chaotic. Including this sparkling interest I had for Renan. He is tall and thoughtful. His eyes are sweet and ex-military focused. With a laugh, his quizzical brow shatters into a full smile underneath his exploding hair. At the beginning of my time in São Paulo, I needed a guide and I felt an immediate comfort with this Brazilian who seemed more North-American-serious than others. We both enjoyed hiking. And this is how it went. During the casual climb in Parque Estadual da Cantareira I tried to keep it casual but found myself fascinated with his fascination with the lanky cartoon Brazilian “pine tree”, araucária. He bounced through the woods to see where the next one was while I, transfixed, followed behind with the vines begging to be held. Just friends, I followed him up Pico do Jaraguá where I sunk my hand into the mess of his hair as we laid in the sun among coconut husks and Sunday gatherings. Just friends, I admitted to him after a dinner party that I couldn’t get past my attraction to him. Trembling with honesty and full of churrasco and vinagrete, I quivered under his kind and honest rejection. However, he was committed to a more platonic trail ahead. Facing the sharpest incline yet, we sweat up the dense careening forest in Paraty Mirim to take in a view of the only fjord in Brazil. That night he dug his hands into my back but the intensity of the massage was nothing compared to the intimacy of spending two days along the coast with my family. By the end of the week we found ourselves tangled up between eroded boundaries; two bodies sharing a bed too many times in one week to just be friends. Like sliding down the muddy trail on my ass and, yes, actually swinging on a vine, I was terrified and elated. I was not over my infatuation. I tumbled down the hill of another rejection. Time went by. I became more independent in my silver paint streak city. In therapy, I drilled away at my intimate anxieties and intercultural expectations. Throughout it all, Renan remained steadfast in our collective stride to find a friendship that worked for us. Amidst chaos in the concrete city, I patiently built my own garden trail of better communication and self love. We both still enjoyed hiking. And this is how it went. Breaking away from droning helicopters, Renan and I hiked Serra Fina along the state border. I let him sprint off in the dark trees at five am, calm on my path in the waking woods. We chatted occasionally but more often than not were silent or separated. The hike became, shared as it was, my own. In midday sweat we broke through the cloud cover atop Pico do Capim Amarelo. Looming over small towns in two states, we ate out of plastic packs and dehydrated on sunset wine. Between the tall grass, I wasn’t buzzing with anxiety and desire; I was rock solid with a friend who I loved. This sambista pathfinder who couldn’t teach me two steps of a dance had instead taught me patience, commitment and care by letting me grow on my own. Moving forward wasn’t easy, but a diligent friend at my side while I fixed up my own path is what brought me to our new shared space.