Mothers are able to see us in a light that we are simply unable to see. Like most, I hold my mom’s compliments in high regard. Perhaps the most meaningful trait that my mom has always attributed to me is my “ability to adapt and love where I am.” For years, I’ve prided myself on my adaptability and my ability to live in the moment. I’d feel bad for friends stuck in the past or looking too far to the future because they were missing the beauty of the present! When my self-esteem was low or I was questioning my worth, I was always able to say “Well at least I’m happy!”
My happiness became my identity. So this summer, when I was truly unhappy for the first time, I began to question who I was if not “the happy one.” I had been placed by YouthWorks in a city in Vermont with 3 other beautiful, loving, intelligent people. We fought battles together and for each other and we were raw and honest with each other in a way like I’d never experienced. I faced a lot of challenges over those three months. There were teens who bluntly told me they didn’t respect me and community members who laughed at my beliefs. I was questioning my self-worth and the purpose of serving in Rutland. I was unhappy in a way that I’d never been. I was wishing I was back at school with my friends, making plans with my roommates and mentally decorating my future bedroom, and daydreaming about leaving on the World Race. I was living in the future; for the first time in my life I couldn’t see the beauty of the present.
I made a hasty decision to come home early, leaving behind my team and community. But that night, talking with teammates and friends, I had a realization. I had been focusing on why I was chosen to serve in Rutland when it seemed I was unable to make a difference. As my good friend pointed out though, maybe I’m not supposed to know why just yet. Maybe this summer is filled with difficulties and unmet expectations to prepare me for what’s coming on the World Race. Because when I’m halfway around the world and having a crappy day, I’m not going to be able to just hop on an airplane and fly home eight months early. I have to learn to embrace the suck.
Now, five months after returning home from Vermont, I’m starting to see God’s plan unfolding. I stayed this summer and stuck it out. Looking back, I don’t remember what was so bad. I remember kayaking in a private reservoir surrounded by mountains. I remember tubing down the Hudson River on janky Walmart tubes that nearly killed us and almost losing our car. I remember sitting on the living room floor and worshipping at night. I remember late night drives and deep talks through the windy mountain roads. I remember early morning devotionals under the old pine trees and the hailstorm that forced us to meet our neighbors. I remember standing atop a bridge and praying over the city, eating the best Chinese food of my life and having LOTR marathons. I remember bookstores hidden in old barns, early morning drives to New York and New Hampshire, and the best coffee in the world at church on Sundays. I remember the day I split my pants playing volleyball with the pastor’s kids. I remember interpretive dancing to Twenty One Pilots in an empty auditorium at midnight, endless laughter, and eating homemade truffles from the kitchen staff. I remember the day we met Joanne and the night we spent playing games and eating BBQ at her home with neighbors and the moment she offered to be our den mother.
These are the things I remember. I remember the tears, but not the reasons. The lessons, but not the pain. I wish—more than anything—that I could reverse time and start this summer over. (struggles and all) Because I’ll never get it back. One of the hardest things for me this summer were the people who laughed at us for believing in God. The people who didn’t know Him and didn’t want to try. But I’m going to 11 vastly different countries. 11 countries where I, as a Christian, will be in the minority. And that’s okay. God placed me in Rutland to prepare me for this mission. And while I’m sad that I didn’t choose to love it in the moment, I’m so thankful for this realization because I refuse to miss a single beautiful (or ugly) moment on the race.
There were times I thought I’d never look back on my time in Vermont and smile. Trust me, I never thought I’d write this blog. But now, to this day, the people on my team in Rutland are my best friends in the world and the lessons I learned are only beginning to unfold. Over the past few months, I’ve found myself in a similar mindset to the one I had in Rutland. I’ve been looking forward to the race so much that I’ve forgotten about life here and now. This past semester was a difficult one, and I made it even more difficult by secluding myself. There was part of me living in the past, wondering why I wasn’t as fun or as happy as I’d been the last few years of college, and then part of me that was only biding my time until the race. And I look back on this semester and I realize: life is too precious to waste away thinking of a better time. Now is the only time, and while it’s okay to be nostalgic for the past and excited for the future, one must always live in the moment they’re in.
“The happy one.” As a beautiful, self-aware, wise-beyond-her-years best friend once told me, “you can still be you even if you’re sad.” I’m so thankful for the last 8 months of difficult learning. With 6 months until launch, I know that these truths and lessons will continue to make themselves known to me. The difference is that now I’m looking for them and I’m ready for them. I used to think that struggling meant weakness; that my identity lied in my ability to brush off disappointments. This World Race is sure to have its share of disappointments and unmet expectations—but that doesn’t mean that I can’t love those imperfect moments and love who I am in them.
