Last month was The Q’s first anniversary of coming home. It would have been appropriate to blog memories then, on July 30th, but sitting down to do so sparked over a month of thinking. I think I said here once before that I often don’t know how to tell stories until long after they happened. It is hard to know the significance of an event in the moment. I said something to that effect at Final Debrief, hoping that we wouldn’t be tempted by home to take the Race at face value, hoping that we wouldn’t just move on.
This is what moving on looked like for me:
I was welcomed home with tears, hugs, and a few small surprises.
I visited friends and talked for hours.
I rested.
I won a shrimp-eating contest.
I had to sever ties with my best friend.
I felt stuck.
I cried and prayed and pleaded with God to show me where to go next.
I kept forgetting to eat, and lost almost 20 pounds.
I applied to grad school.
I watched my new niece learn to crawl, then talk, then walk and climb.
I moved back to Manhattan, KS and got a job in a bookstore.
I reconciled with my best friend.
I got into grad school.
I got engaged to my best friend.
That series of events, major and minor, was marked by significant conversations with the people who supported me from home throughout the Race. Each talk brought out a different story about my teammates. “Sarah would tell me _____.” or “Amber said this once when I was discouraged.” or “One hard night in Cambodia, Samara made us ____.” and so on. By now, my closest friends could almost name everyone in a squad picture.
It’s no secret that the Race was, by far and so far, the hardest year of my life. But everything that made it hard has been a part of the events I listed above. Every conversation, decision, response, and effort has been colored by who I became that year. And even the squadmates I didn’t know very well, the ones who didn’t like me much (or vice versa)… they were part of that. I feel a deep affection for the Q that applies to no one else in my life. The effort we made in those relationship was above and beyond what I’d ever seen in “normal” or “real-life” friendships.
The biggest thing I learned from them is that, “I love you” has little to do with chemistry, compatibility, or even common interest, and everything to do with “I choose to be what you need, I choose to tell you the truth, I choose to have this hard conversation, I choose to push you toward God, to be more of who He made you to be.” In the day-to-day of the Race, that played out in minor ways (“Please don’t clip your toenails near me.”), and major (“Where does that insecurity come from?”). That’s where the affection comes from: effort. These people, despite our differences, disagreements, and deep incompatibility, listened to one another, changed for one another, and we all grew enormously. I will always love them for that.
Having learned how to make that effort, I came back to people at home with whom I’m deeply compatible. Sometimes the comparison makes loving home as easy as breathing. But for the times when it isn’t, The Q is always on my mind, in my heart, taking me back to the patterns that got us through 25,000 miles of the craziest experiences possible. Everyone I know for the rest of my life (especially my soon-to-be husband) will be able to thank The Q and the Good Lord for who I am.
I love you guys.
Katie
