Yesterday I was on the verge of spontaneous combustion.
I’m known for being slightly dramatic at times. My friends call it exaggeration. I call it hyperbolic speech. But this isn’t one of those times.
I’m an introvert. “A high I” in the alternate universe known to many as the World Race. I love alone time. More accurately, I need alone time—in a crazy, desperate way.
I’d rather read a book in the corner booth of a café than play beach volleyball with my squad. As for overnight bus rides, I’ll only sit beside people who want nothing more than to coexist in the seat next to mine. I don’t suffer from this thing called fomo—fear of missing out. And I’m somewhat perplexed by the concept of external processing.
I came out of month one in Quito feeling great. My head and heart were rested and filled up. I was full of energy and ready for Peru.
Then month two happened: Life with 60 People in the Desert.
Life with 60 People in the Desert was preceded by Life with 20 People on the Mountaintop, which was preceded by Life Alone in my Office at a Luxury Spa. This has likely been my hugest challenge to date on the World Race. People… everywhere. Everywhere… people.
Going into month three, I’m relationally and spiritually exhausted. My feet look like I’ve been walking around without shoes for the majority of my life. And I can’t focus. I don’t want to read. I seem completely incapable of moving my thoughts from my mind to my computer screen. And the words “intentional” and “depth” and “conversation,” especially when combined, make me what to hide under my bunk bed until April rolls around. Even then, I may only come out of hiding if lured with birthday cake.
So yeah—that’s where I am. And I’m ok with that. I’m ok with the fact that I’m too tired to write. Too tired to focus on a sermon. Too drained to hang out with anyone.
I’m shutting my mind down for the day. And now I’m going to find some ice cream.
Deep breaths,
Julie
