-having frizzy hair for the next 6 months straight
-hating living in a tropical climate
-hating my job
-being bad at my job
-finding myself over or under dressed
-getting raped/kidnapped/held for ransom/murdered by a Mexican druglord
-being bored after work at night
-not being able to exercise
-knowing what my job is but not knowing how to do it
-not using my Spanish enough
-not having enough kitchen utensils to cook
-having a medical emergency in a foreign country
Hopefully in a few months we can all look back at this and laugh.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Resolutions.
I’m having trouble making my new year’s resolutions this year. I love the new year, love getting to start over and contemplate what I’d like to accomplish in the year to come. It feels brave and virtuous to take time to reflect on the year behind, and to resolve to better myself in the year ahead. Tons of people tell me they hate resolutions—that they feel cheap and ingenuine and are never fulfilled anyway. While I can understand that perspective, that isn’t how it feels to me. A new year feels fresh and clean, like new school notebooks in August, not yet marred or bent. And, I keep my new years resolutions. I do. Except for last year’s resolution to only check Facebook once a day. Oops.
Some of my past resolutions have been fun or trivial, like watching all of the movies on the American Film Institution’s 100 Best American Movies List or resolving to floss my teeth daily. Last year’s was more serious: stop worrying. I loved watching people laugh when I told them I intended not to worry in 2010, and explaining that yes I was serious. I knew that in 2010 I would graduate from college, and my parents had informed me they would no longer support me financially—PANIC! So while looking into a year full of doubt and facing fear of unemployment, I resolved to be vigilant about not freaking out. That resolution centered me through the year, and when the jungle drums would start to beat I really did make a conscious effort to be still. I pulled out my best Lamaze-like breathing techniques, my most potent chill pills, and tried to feel the reverence and peace of God humming in me.
So anyway, I’m having trouble making a good resolution this year. Actually I have an idea, but it’s fuzzy. I want to be like Michelle. Michelle is a woman in my mom’s aerobics class, and six weeks ago she brought her third son, Joseph, into the world.* Yesterday was Michelle’s first day back at aerobics since she had her baby, and so our class started with everyone gathered around his car seat cooing. As our workout got underway, I watched amazed as she soothed his cries without missing a step. She held him tight as we went up and down on our steps and kicked our legs into the air. When we stretched to cool down, she stretched her left arm over the same leg while balancing Joseph in front of her face with her right arm, speaking to him and making faces. As I looked at her, I couldn’t help but think: this is motherhood. Michelle had sweat pouring out of every pore of her body, yet she kept up with our step choreography as she clutched Joseph, essentially a little 10-pound heater, close to her breast. The steps she took created together a song of empowerment: I am a woman. I am a mother. I am caring for my body and for my baby. And I am so so strong.
In ten days I leave for Mexico, to take my first steps as a working woman. I hope that in my work I will be caring and gentle and strong. I hope that the work I do in microfinance might give women the tools they need to be the best versions of themselves. I want to resolve to be what I love about women. I love that women are strong, and that so much of their strength is not for themselves but for others. Strength born of love. So many times I lament that the soft and spiritual part of me is buried under an impatient and critical cover. That really, I am like Michelle but that I don’t know how to exhibit that part of myself publically. I think what I want to resolve is to deal with people delicately and with kindness. I want to be a woman who is not only strong but who is also approachable, genuine, warm and soft. I suppose I feel that I already do love others. What I’d like to do is stop being embarrassed to show love, and to learn how to be loving without sacrificing feminine strength. This I resolve.
*A note about aerobics: Yes, I go to my mom’s aerobics class when I’m home. Yes, I am embarrassed about this. Although it sounds pretty lame, these women do work. I am always ashamed that I have so much trouble keeping up, especially considering I am at least fifteen years younger than the youngest woman there, and about thirty years younger than most of them.
Some of my past resolutions have been fun or trivial, like watching all of the movies on the American Film Institution’s 100 Best American Movies List or resolving to floss my teeth daily. Last year’s was more serious: stop worrying. I loved watching people laugh when I told them I intended not to worry in 2010, and explaining that yes I was serious. I knew that in 2010 I would graduate from college, and my parents had informed me they would no longer support me financially—PANIC! So while looking into a year full of doubt and facing fear of unemployment, I resolved to be vigilant about not freaking out. That resolution centered me through the year, and when the jungle drums would start to beat I really did make a conscious effort to be still. I pulled out my best Lamaze-like breathing techniques, my most potent chill pills, and tried to feel the reverence and peace of God humming in me.
So anyway, I’m having trouble making a good resolution this year. Actually I have an idea, but it’s fuzzy. I want to be like Michelle. Michelle is a woman in my mom’s aerobics class, and six weeks ago she brought her third son, Joseph, into the world.* Yesterday was Michelle’s first day back at aerobics since she had her baby, and so our class started with everyone gathered around his car seat cooing. As our workout got underway, I watched amazed as she soothed his cries without missing a step. She held him tight as we went up and down on our steps and kicked our legs into the air. When we stretched to cool down, she stretched her left arm over the same leg while balancing Joseph in front of her face with her right arm, speaking to him and making faces. As I looked at her, I couldn’t help but think: this is motherhood. Michelle had sweat pouring out of every pore of her body, yet she kept up with our step choreography as she clutched Joseph, essentially a little 10-pound heater, close to her breast. The steps she took created together a song of empowerment: I am a woman. I am a mother. I am caring for my body and for my baby. And I am so so strong.
In ten days I leave for Mexico, to take my first steps as a working woman. I hope that in my work I will be caring and gentle and strong. I hope that the work I do in microfinance might give women the tools they need to be the best versions of themselves. I want to resolve to be what I love about women. I love that women are strong, and that so much of their strength is not for themselves but for others. Strength born of love. So many times I lament that the soft and spiritual part of me is buried under an impatient and critical cover. That really, I am like Michelle but that I don’t know how to exhibit that part of myself publically. I think what I want to resolve is to deal with people delicately and with kindness. I want to be a woman who is not only strong but who is also approachable, genuine, warm and soft. I suppose I feel that I already do love others. What I’d like to do is stop being embarrassed to show love, and to learn how to be loving without sacrificing feminine strength. This I resolve.
*A note about aerobics: Yes, I go to my mom’s aerobics class when I’m home. Yes, I am embarrassed about this. Although it sounds pretty lame, these women do work. I am always ashamed that I have so much trouble keeping up, especially considering I am at least fifteen years younger than the youngest woman there, and about thirty years younger than most of them.
Monday, December 27, 2010
My Very First Blogging Book Review: I Remember Nothing
Possibly the best thing about break is getting to read things you want to read. What has made this break even better is that I am not going back to school in January, and I find myself sitting here delightedly considering that I may just get to spend the rest of my life reading whatever I want. I imagine myself becoming the most informed and interesting person on the planet, simply by getting to read two books a week for the next sixty years.
Those of you who see me on a day to day basis may remember my brief but passionate affair with Nora Ephron's "I Feel Bad About My Neck" a few years ago. For a week I read excerpts to my friends and ran all over town begging people to read it. Thus you can imagine my delight when the wonderful Ruth Ross (who hears about nearly all of my literary encounters) informed me that there was a second book of humorous essays to be published by Miss Ephron. Merry Christmas to me.
Unfortunately, "I Remember Nothing" was a complete disappointment. I'm not kidding you, I started this book at 11:00 last night and finished it this morning at 11:30. Also, about nine and a half of those hours were spent sleeping. Of course this book was never meant to be deeply substantive. It is, after all, a collection of humorous essays. However, the Nora I met in "I Feel Bad About My Neck" was funny, snappy, and relatable. Her latest work seems to be, above else, a list of all of the fabulous people she knows and has known, and of her numerous career conquests. I did not laugh or even smile to myself. I also did not highlight a single thing, which to me is a harbinger of the work's general worthlessness.
What a mean first book review I am writing. I'm sorry. All I'm saying is, don't read "I Remember Nothing." Most of all, don't pay $22.95 for it.
You should, however, read Malcom Gladwell's "Outliers." If you (like me) aspire to become the most interesting and informed person on the planet by simply reading books, this is a good place to start.
Next on my list? Sloane Crosley's "How Did You Get This Number"
Fingers crossed it turns out better than "I Remember Nothing."
Those of you who see me on a day to day basis may remember my brief but passionate affair with Nora Ephron's "I Feel Bad About My Neck" a few years ago. For a week I read excerpts to my friends and ran all over town begging people to read it. Thus you can imagine my delight when the wonderful Ruth Ross (who hears about nearly all of my literary encounters) informed me that there was a second book of humorous essays to be published by Miss Ephron. Merry Christmas to me.
Unfortunately, "I Remember Nothing" was a complete disappointment. I'm not kidding you, I started this book at 11:00 last night and finished it this morning at 11:30. Also, about nine and a half of those hours were spent sleeping. Of course this book was never meant to be deeply substantive. It is, after all, a collection of humorous essays. However, the Nora I met in "I Feel Bad About My Neck" was funny, snappy, and relatable. Her latest work seems to be, above else, a list of all of the fabulous people she knows and has known, and of her numerous career conquests. I did not laugh or even smile to myself. I also did not highlight a single thing, which to me is a harbinger of the work's general worthlessness.
What a mean first book review I am writing. I'm sorry. All I'm saying is, don't read "I Remember Nothing." Most of all, don't pay $22.95 for it.
You should, however, read Malcom Gladwell's "Outliers." If you (like me) aspire to become the most interesting and informed person on the planet by simply reading books, this is a good place to start.
Next on my list? Sloane Crosley's "How Did You Get This Number"
Fingers crossed it turns out better than "I Remember Nothing."
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Christmasy Comfort
Last weekend Ruth and I drove out to Boston to pick up our newly married friends Katharine and Matt. We got back yesterday night from our 18 hour road trip, so (as usual) I’ve got travel on the brain.
Of course Ruth and I went out to Boston to see other friends and as a sort of vacation for ourselves, but to me the trip felt based in Christmas—in the idea of getting our friends home to their families. Meanwhile, Sarah has been stuck in London trying to get out of Heathrow for the last five days. Day after day we got word of yet another one of her flights being cancelled, and I felt so far from her as she weathered disappointment after disappointment. Christmas drew nearer and it seemed she wouldn’t get a flight in time to be home.
It’s a CHRISTMAS MIRACLE! Sarah is winging over the Atlantic as I write this, headed for North America. In the car yesterday Katharine kept saying that she was so impressed by her parents—they did everything short of chartering their own plane to get Sarah home for Christmas. I can’t help but think of all the people who will not be able to get out of the UK for Christmas. I’m impacted by something I’ve taken for granted in past years: the importance of just making it home.
Right now my dad is driving, Sadie is on Austin’s lap (he has his headphones in as usual), and my mom is passed out in the front seat. We are flying down I-39 rocking out to the Amy Grant Christmas CD like we do every year, and like every year we are all kind of dreading a week at my grandparents house in the middle of nowhere with no internet.
As usual at least half of us forgot our cell phone chargers, and getting out of the house was a chaotic mess. Our hopeful departure time was 8 a.m., and as we tried to leave people kept yelling, “It’s 8:15!”….“It’s 8:25! Has everyone gone to the bathroom?” and then, with more tension, “It’s nine o’clock!! We finally got going around 9:30, and it’s stressful and a car is the last place I want to be after spending 18 hours on the road yesterday. Maybe it’s a cheesy message at Christmas, but in this moment it doesn’t matter that we’re off schedule or that nobody actually likes the Amy Grant Christmas CD. Our chaos is comfortable, and I’m thankful we’re all here sharing it together.
Of course Ruth and I went out to Boston to see other friends and as a sort of vacation for ourselves, but to me the trip felt based in Christmas—in the idea of getting our friends home to their families. Meanwhile, Sarah has been stuck in London trying to get out of Heathrow for the last five days. Day after day we got word of yet another one of her flights being cancelled, and I felt so far from her as she weathered disappointment after disappointment. Christmas drew nearer and it seemed she wouldn’t get a flight in time to be home.
It’s a CHRISTMAS MIRACLE! Sarah is winging over the Atlantic as I write this, headed for North America. In the car yesterday Katharine kept saying that she was so impressed by her parents—they did everything short of chartering their own plane to get Sarah home for Christmas. I can’t help but think of all the people who will not be able to get out of the UK for Christmas. I’m impacted by something I’ve taken for granted in past years: the importance of just making it home.
Right now my dad is driving, Sadie is on Austin’s lap (he has his headphones in as usual), and my mom is passed out in the front seat. We are flying down I-39 rocking out to the Amy Grant Christmas CD like we do every year, and like every year we are all kind of dreading a week at my grandparents house in the middle of nowhere with no internet.
As usual at least half of us forgot our cell phone chargers, and getting out of the house was a chaotic mess. Our hopeful departure time was 8 a.m., and as we tried to leave people kept yelling, “It’s 8:15!”….“It’s 8:25! Has everyone gone to the bathroom?” and then, with more tension, “It’s nine o’clock!! We finally got going around 9:30, and it’s stressful and a car is the last place I want to be after spending 18 hours on the road yesterday. Maybe it’s a cheesy message at Christmas, but in this moment it doesn’t matter that we’re off schedule or that nobody actually likes the Amy Grant Christmas CD. Our chaos is comfortable, and I’m thankful we’re all here sharing it together.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
The Paper to End All Papers
All Hope students have to turn in a "lifeview paper" before graduating. This paper should outline how your lifeview has been shaped by your education. It is to serve as a sort of "watermark" of where you stood at graduation. I have three days left to finish mine, and writing it has been an englightening experience.
It is quite possibly the most intimidating prompt I've ever had to respond to.
Here is the assighment:
Your lifeview paper should address the following questions: Who am I? Why am I here? How do I fit? What is the problem here? What is the solution? What is my faith stance? Why is it this stance? How does it fit with other faith stances and how do they fit with mine?
woah.
So anyway, in writing this I'm learning a lot about myself and being forced to dig into what I believe and explain it. I thought it might be cool to share a few excerpts with you here.
The climax of my education unfolded on a busy street corner in Mumbai standing outside the Dhobi Ghats. A little girl of about eight or nine years approached me holding a baby of less than six months, putting the tips of her fingers together and tapping them against her mouth. The baby’s eyes had been gouged out. Her keeper’s clothes were torn, her hair was nappy, and dirt was smeared across her face. Both she and the child she held were emaciated and clearly malnourished. While I had been in the country less than a week, I had already been approached hundreds of times by children making this motion, and the sight of poor children begging had already become commonplace. But this girl was not commonplace. She was dying. Not the sort of dying we are all doing with every moment that passes, but active, painful, organs-shutting-down dying. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I stood dumbfounded as this realization knocked the wind out of me. A knot rose in my stomach and my world stopped.
It really did, simple as that. A worldview is a created thing, and the walls of my carefully created worldview came crashing to the ground as if crumbled by a sudden earthquake. The damage was devastating and complete. And there on the street, I cried. I cried at the unfairness of it all, at the lack of hope that reflected off of her eyes into mine. I cried because she was powerless to change her situation, yes, but also because for the first time in my memory so was I. I cried because if I gave her money or food they would be taken by her owner, a person who most likely had control of thirty or forty other orphans like herself.
I cried because what I actually gave her was a purple crayon, and because when I did she looked at me with confused eyes. Eyes that said, “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”
As I cried on the street in Mumbai the words pounding through my head were: I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.” I am not directly guilty. I am, however, sorry. I am filled with sadness, compassion, and empathy over the misfortune of another. This is the human heart. This is what makes poverty personal. How can I come to terms with the penetrating unfairness of the world? And how can I sleep at night knowing that in many ways my comfort comes at the price of someone else’s detriment?
The God that I had known (the one that protected myself and others from the tragedy of the world) vanished before my eyes, and in its place I was left with a God that did not make sense to me. I began to realize that the God to which I had unquestionably awarded my allegiance at a young age was a much more complex creature than I had previously created God to be. With the promise of Jeremiah 29:13 tucked securely in my pocket, (“You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart”) I set out to discover just who this mysterious creature was and what God was about.
Belief in God is sometimes looked down upon by intellectuals because it is illogical and God’s existence is, ultimately, improvable. But for me, belief in God is not the easy or comforting choice. I am a person of logic, who finds safety and comfort in explainable answers—concrete answers that make sense from every angle. But faith is messy and speculative and doubtful. These “big questions,” the questions of faith, bring me to my deepest vulnerabilities. I believe, as many do, that my faith today affects not only this life on earth but also my eternal fate. More than anything, this “faith vulnerability” makes me want to scream disrespectfully to my maker, “Look, if eternity is on the line, then we’re going to need some (f*#$ing) concrete answers down here!” With so much at stake, God’s mysterious and coy elusiveness is anything but charming.
So how did I find myself in the nonsensical religious camp? I don’t think it matters. Faith is a curious thing, and one way or another some of us wind up believing in God and some don’t. Despite all of my logical twistiness and confusing attempts to understand what God might be like, I feel deeply that my faith is not constructed by me. It is as if my faith already is, that it hums within me almost without my command or permission—a top that spins without having been set in motion. And here is the thought that is equally comforting and terrifying to me: perhaps my faith has been set in motion, but not by me. Perhaps it has been set in motion by God. It is mine, and it is both inside me and above me, but I did not create it.
That, my friends, that is a cool thought to think.
It is quite possibly the most intimidating prompt I've ever had to respond to.
Here is the assighment:
Your lifeview paper should address the following questions: Who am I? Why am I here? How do I fit? What is the problem here? What is the solution? What is my faith stance? Why is it this stance? How does it fit with other faith stances and how do they fit with mine?
woah.
So anyway, in writing this I'm learning a lot about myself and being forced to dig into what I believe and explain it. I thought it might be cool to share a few excerpts with you here.
The climax of my education unfolded on a busy street corner in Mumbai standing outside the Dhobi Ghats. A little girl of about eight or nine years approached me holding a baby of less than six months, putting the tips of her fingers together and tapping them against her mouth. The baby’s eyes had been gouged out. Her keeper’s clothes were torn, her hair was nappy, and dirt was smeared across her face. Both she and the child she held were emaciated and clearly malnourished. While I had been in the country less than a week, I had already been approached hundreds of times by children making this motion, and the sight of poor children begging had already become commonplace. But this girl was not commonplace. She was dying. Not the sort of dying we are all doing with every moment that passes, but active, painful, organs-shutting-down dying. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I stood dumbfounded as this realization knocked the wind out of me. A knot rose in my stomach and my world stopped.
It really did, simple as that. A worldview is a created thing, and the walls of my carefully created worldview came crashing to the ground as if crumbled by a sudden earthquake. The damage was devastating and complete. And there on the street, I cried. I cried at the unfairness of it all, at the lack of hope that reflected off of her eyes into mine. I cried because she was powerless to change her situation, yes, but also because for the first time in my memory so was I. I cried because if I gave her money or food they would be taken by her owner, a person who most likely had control of thirty or forty other orphans like herself.
I cried because what I actually gave her was a purple crayon, and because when I did she looked at me with confused eyes. Eyes that said, “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”
As I cried on the street in Mumbai the words pounding through my head were: I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.” I am not directly guilty. I am, however, sorry. I am filled with sadness, compassion, and empathy over the misfortune of another. This is the human heart. This is what makes poverty personal. How can I come to terms with the penetrating unfairness of the world? And how can I sleep at night knowing that in many ways my comfort comes at the price of someone else’s detriment?
The God that I had known (the one that protected myself and others from the tragedy of the world) vanished before my eyes, and in its place I was left with a God that did not make sense to me. I began to realize that the God to which I had unquestionably awarded my allegiance at a young age was a much more complex creature than I had previously created God to be. With the promise of Jeremiah 29:13 tucked securely in my pocket, (“You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart”) I set out to discover just who this mysterious creature was and what God was about.
Belief in God is sometimes looked down upon by intellectuals because it is illogical and God’s existence is, ultimately, improvable. But for me, belief in God is not the easy or comforting choice. I am a person of logic, who finds safety and comfort in explainable answers—concrete answers that make sense from every angle. But faith is messy and speculative and doubtful. These “big questions,” the questions of faith, bring me to my deepest vulnerabilities. I believe, as many do, that my faith today affects not only this life on earth but also my eternal fate. More than anything, this “faith vulnerability” makes me want to scream disrespectfully to my maker, “Look, if eternity is on the line, then we’re going to need some (f*#$ing) concrete answers down here!” With so much at stake, God’s mysterious and coy elusiveness is anything but charming.
So how did I find myself in the nonsensical religious camp? I don’t think it matters. Faith is a curious thing, and one way or another some of us wind up believing in God and some don’t. Despite all of my logical twistiness and confusing attempts to understand what God might be like, I feel deeply that my faith is not constructed by me. It is as if my faith already is, that it hums within me almost without my command or permission—a top that spins without having been set in motion. And here is the thought that is equally comforting and terrifying to me: perhaps my faith has been set in motion, but not by me. Perhaps it has been set in motion by God. It is mine, and it is both inside me and above me, but I did not create it.
That, my friends, that is a cool thought to think.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Real Life: Take 1
Some of you may have noticed that my blog has a new title (ok, let's face it, only my Mom notices these things). With this new title comes a new chapter in my life--the first I can remember not being a student. One of my previous posts while in Chile was titled "All This, Every Day," a phrase stolen from a poem in an Anne Lamott book. This title, like most things in my life, was given to me, and the title itself reflects recognition of abundance.
My entire adult life (albeit short) has thus far centered on abundance, on realization of how deeply blessed I am. I hope it doesn't sound trite; I genuinely seem to be stuck on this thought. I have two weeks left until my graduation from college. COLLEGE. I thought I would be so much more mature by the time I got to this point, but that is neither here nor there. While my school-hating peers count down the days, I count with them. But my counting is heavy, sometimes full of dread and fear.
I am with Meg Ryan's character in "You've Got Mail" on this one: I love the smell of a freshly sharpened bouquet of pencils. I love new folders and notebooks; I love the promise of a clean slate and a new semester. I love that in school my job is to investigate, to sit and listen and soak up this intriguing and complex world of ours.
So although I am mourning the end of my formal education and of the comfort and security of school, I embark (like many of my peers) scared but hopeful. Scared because for the past 16 years I have been doing a job I was good at, and I am starting one that I might not do as well or enjoy as much as I did school. Hopeful because I am now totally adrift, free to do pretty much whatever I want! (As long as it's free.)
My blog is titled "All This, Every Day," as a reminder that we have been truly gifted. Is thankfulness a spiritual gift? I don't think so, but if it were I would want to have that one. Gratitude is praising God for what we have been given, but tonight what I'm grateful for is gratitude itself. The gift of gratitude fills my routine with breath and peace, as if God's hand is resting open on my chest, slowing my caffinated heartbeat and saying to me, "Be still. Look around you."
I travel a lot, which despite its perks often means I meet a lot of people, love a lot of people, and leave a lot of people. It is so hard to miss a place, and to miss the people of that place. I miss Chile deeply and desperately, sometimes my breath gets fast and I feel like I'm suffocating with longing to go back. In many ways, this "missing" was the theme of my semester. I miss the view of the Andes out my front door and the familiar route to class. But when my heart starts racing and the "jungle drums start beating" (Anne Lamott again), I come back to gratitude, and rest in the image of a very large God making his hand small enough to fit right over my heart. I imagine him slowing my pace to his pace, making my hearbeats calm and steady, hopeful and expectant.
...This blog got mushier than I expected.
So here is the next chapter: on January 19, I am moving to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico for 6 months. By the grace of God, I somehow have a post-grad plan (SERIOUSLY: GRACE). I have an internship with a company by the name of PEACE. PEACE is a NGO founded by an American about 10 years ago, and they have recently started a microfinance branch of their organization. For those of you who might not be familiar with microfinance, it is a poverty-alleviation strategy that provides small loans for clients looking to expand a business they've started. Usually these loans help make businesses profitable, and can be instrumental in the economic development both of families and of cities. (Most of the clients are women who did not finish high school.) I am SO excited to be a part of this!
Again I ask for your prayers, especially for safety, since Mexico's government has been a little...shall we say...unstable as of late. I'm hoping to keep updating the blog with my experiences, both exciting and frustrating. But for now, I've got two last research papers to write and my last two final exams to study for. Maybe I'm not so into school after all...
My entire adult life (albeit short) has thus far centered on abundance, on realization of how deeply blessed I am. I hope it doesn't sound trite; I genuinely seem to be stuck on this thought. I have two weeks left until my graduation from college. COLLEGE. I thought I would be so much more mature by the time I got to this point, but that is neither here nor there. While my school-hating peers count down the days, I count with them. But my counting is heavy, sometimes full of dread and fear.
I am with Meg Ryan's character in "You've Got Mail" on this one: I love the smell of a freshly sharpened bouquet of pencils. I love new folders and notebooks; I love the promise of a clean slate and a new semester. I love that in school my job is to investigate, to sit and listen and soak up this intriguing and complex world of ours.
So although I am mourning the end of my formal education and of the comfort and security of school, I embark (like many of my peers) scared but hopeful. Scared because for the past 16 years I have been doing a job I was good at, and I am starting one that I might not do as well or enjoy as much as I did school. Hopeful because I am now totally adrift, free to do pretty much whatever I want! (As long as it's free.)
My blog is titled "All This, Every Day," as a reminder that we have been truly gifted. Is thankfulness a spiritual gift? I don't think so, but if it were I would want to have that one. Gratitude is praising God for what we have been given, but tonight what I'm grateful for is gratitude itself. The gift of gratitude fills my routine with breath and peace, as if God's hand is resting open on my chest, slowing my caffinated heartbeat and saying to me, "Be still. Look around you."
I travel a lot, which despite its perks often means I meet a lot of people, love a lot of people, and leave a lot of people. It is so hard to miss a place, and to miss the people of that place. I miss Chile deeply and desperately, sometimes my breath gets fast and I feel like I'm suffocating with longing to go back. In many ways, this "missing" was the theme of my semester. I miss the view of the Andes out my front door and the familiar route to class. But when my heart starts racing and the "jungle drums start beating" (Anne Lamott again), I come back to gratitude, and rest in the image of a very large God making his hand small enough to fit right over my heart. I imagine him slowing my pace to his pace, making my hearbeats calm and steady, hopeful and expectant.
...This blog got mushier than I expected.
So here is the next chapter: on January 19, I am moving to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico for 6 months. By the grace of God, I somehow have a post-grad plan (SERIOUSLY: GRACE). I have an internship with a company by the name of PEACE. PEACE is a NGO founded by an American about 10 years ago, and they have recently started a microfinance branch of their organization. For those of you who might not be familiar with microfinance, it is a poverty-alleviation strategy that provides small loans for clients looking to expand a business they've started. Usually these loans help make businesses profitable, and can be instrumental in the economic development both of families and of cities. (Most of the clients are women who did not finish high school.) I am SO excited to be a part of this!
Again I ask for your prayers, especially for safety, since Mexico's government has been a little...shall we say...unstable as of late. I'm hoping to keep updating the blog with my experiences, both exciting and frustrating. But for now, I've got two last research papers to write and my last two final exams to study for. Maybe I'm not so into school after all...
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Que AprendÃ
Everybody leaves Chile tomorrow. I leave Wednesday. While the 12th is official "program ending" day, I thought I would give myself a few more days to tie up loose ends, see friends, and buy gifts for people (don't get your hopes up, I'm broke). I am kind of regretting the decision to stay two extra days. While I wish I could stay forever, Chile isn't Chile without everyone here that I know and love. Everyone leaves Monday night and then I will just be here hanging out alone for two days :( Anyway, enough whining. I am truly excited to get back to the US--friends, family, summer, and all the yummy food I've been missing since February. If you will be in Sycamore between this coming Thursday the 15th and the end of August, give me a call, I want to see you!
We had a re-entry workshop a week or so ago with CIEE and it actually really helped me. I guess they are experts in sending sad little gringos back to the states after a life-changing semester. We had to make lists, and you know how I love lists. They were 1. What we will miss about Chile (friends, the city life, speaking spanish) 2. What we are looking forward to about home (family and friends, food, summer, life being easy and comfortable) 3. What has changed at home since we left (my parents are moving out of my house, old friends made new friends or moved on while we were gone) and 4. How we have changed while we were here. While is was interesting to compare lists with everyone and englightening to see what ended up on my own lists, list number 4 was by far the most telling.
I have learned SO SO much! In this final blog I am going to close out the semester by reviewing the most important thigns that I learned.
1. I learned how to fail. Ohhh I failed so much. I failed many times at understanding people's Spanish, at speaking Spanish myself, at getting the good grades I am accustomed to getting, and at knowing what was going on in general. Because I was put in a completely new environment with limited "survival knowledge" and cultural experience, I made a lot of mistakes and learned a lot of things the embarrassing way. I am the type of person that works hard until I succeed at everything I do. I'm not used to failure. Thus it was humbling that at times I really did try my hardest and still didn't add up or accomplish all I wanted. I learned that it is okay sometimes not to be the best at everything, and whether you succeed at something or fail miserably each experience can teach you something and help you grow in some way.
2. I learned how to speak Spanish! This was the most challenging but most rewarding thing I did this semester. Finally all those years of grammar and language classes paid off. I found that while the task of learning a language in the classroom was about my least favorite thing ever, speaking and applying the language was a great joy. Not only did I stop referring to myself in the masculine tense, but I went from being a nervous, formal speaker to one that is comfortable and relaxed. At the beginning the other Americans and I spoke to each other in English, but towards the end we have switched to Spanish as we know we have little time left to be speaking and hearing this language. It has become a part of the way I see myself and interpret the world, and I think speaking Spanish will be the thing I miss most once I am gone.
3. I learned how to operate in ambiguous situations. In a new country and a new language, there are just so many moments where something happens and you look up and go "Wait, what!?!" Also there are moments when you think you know what's going on and end up learning you are very confused. I'm not really sure this idea is clear and I can't think of any examples, but I think now I am much better at going with the flow and figuring things out as they happen. Also, I am a much more relaxed person. I started off the semester sitting on the bus in traffic freaking out that I would be late, and now I leave my house 15 minutes after I should thinking, "Ehh, I'll get there when I get there!" :D
Well, my heart is a bundle of crazy conflicting emotions right now. In half an hour I am going to see Cristian for the last time, and tomorrow I have to say goodbye to my best friends of the past 5 months. What an amazing 5 months it has been. I am a more mature and capable person than I was when I left Sycamore, and am excited for the adventure that God has for me in the future. I wonder where I will end up? In August I will start my final semester at Hope, graduate in December, and in January be totally adrift, with the possibilities wide open! I am filled to overflowing with thankfulness for the blessing of this semester, and looking forward to the challenges ahead.
Thank you for reading and keeping up with my life this semester. I know a blog is a one-way interaction, and at times I have been really bad at communicating with everyone. I can't wait to catch up with each and every one of you and hear what has been happening the past 5 months in YOUR lives! I am truly blessed to be surrounded by the friends and family that I am. Hopefully I will be blogging to you all again soon--on yet another global adventure!
With all the love in Chile,
Amy
We had a re-entry workshop a week or so ago with CIEE and it actually really helped me. I guess they are experts in sending sad little gringos back to the states after a life-changing semester. We had to make lists, and you know how I love lists. They were 1. What we will miss about Chile (friends, the city life, speaking spanish) 2. What we are looking forward to about home (family and friends, food, summer, life being easy and comfortable) 3. What has changed at home since we left (my parents are moving out of my house, old friends made new friends or moved on while we were gone) and 4. How we have changed while we were here. While is was interesting to compare lists with everyone and englightening to see what ended up on my own lists, list number 4 was by far the most telling.
I have learned SO SO much! In this final blog I am going to close out the semester by reviewing the most important thigns that I learned.
1. I learned how to fail. Ohhh I failed so much. I failed many times at understanding people's Spanish, at speaking Spanish myself, at getting the good grades I am accustomed to getting, and at knowing what was going on in general. Because I was put in a completely new environment with limited "survival knowledge" and cultural experience, I made a lot of mistakes and learned a lot of things the embarrassing way. I am the type of person that works hard until I succeed at everything I do. I'm not used to failure. Thus it was humbling that at times I really did try my hardest and still didn't add up or accomplish all I wanted. I learned that it is okay sometimes not to be the best at everything, and whether you succeed at something or fail miserably each experience can teach you something and help you grow in some way.
2. I learned how to speak Spanish! This was the most challenging but most rewarding thing I did this semester. Finally all those years of grammar and language classes paid off. I found that while the task of learning a language in the classroom was about my least favorite thing ever, speaking and applying the language was a great joy. Not only did I stop referring to myself in the masculine tense, but I went from being a nervous, formal speaker to one that is comfortable and relaxed. At the beginning the other Americans and I spoke to each other in English, but towards the end we have switched to Spanish as we know we have little time left to be speaking and hearing this language. It has become a part of the way I see myself and interpret the world, and I think speaking Spanish will be the thing I miss most once I am gone.
3. I learned how to operate in ambiguous situations. In a new country and a new language, there are just so many moments where something happens and you look up and go "Wait, what!?!" Also there are moments when you think you know what's going on and end up learning you are very confused. I'm not really sure this idea is clear and I can't think of any examples, but I think now I am much better at going with the flow and figuring things out as they happen. Also, I am a much more relaxed person. I started off the semester sitting on the bus in traffic freaking out that I would be late, and now I leave my house 15 minutes after I should thinking, "Ehh, I'll get there when I get there!" :D
Well, my heart is a bundle of crazy conflicting emotions right now. In half an hour I am going to see Cristian for the last time, and tomorrow I have to say goodbye to my best friends of the past 5 months. What an amazing 5 months it has been. I am a more mature and capable person than I was when I left Sycamore, and am excited for the adventure that God has for me in the future. I wonder where I will end up? In August I will start my final semester at Hope, graduate in December, and in January be totally adrift, with the possibilities wide open! I am filled to overflowing with thankfulness for the blessing of this semester, and looking forward to the challenges ahead.
Thank you for reading and keeping up with my life this semester. I know a blog is a one-way interaction, and at times I have been really bad at communicating with everyone. I can't wait to catch up with each and every one of you and hear what has been happening the past 5 months in YOUR lives! I am truly blessed to be surrounded by the friends and family that I am. Hopefully I will be blogging to you all again soon--on yet another global adventure!
With all the love in Chile,
Amy
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