Looking forward, lots of changes are coming full steam ahead. I’m moving across the US in just a few weeks, with only 5 weeks until I move into my new apartment. I got a full-time job with the American Red Cross as a Disaster Program Specialist in Hickory, North Carolina, and get to start that virtually in just 2 weeks. I’m coordinating getting my personal life in order, finding all of my belongings I’ve scattered throughout my mom’s house over the last 4 years since I graduated with my Bachelor’s degree, and making long lists of the things I still need to get. Thankfully, I will be able to see some of my friends in person before I pack up my (new to me) minivan and drive to my next step and life stage.

Excitement is the word I’d use to best describe the majority of my emotions, but as always when making big, bold decisions and moves, there’s still that small voice that questions “am I doing the right thing?”. Thankfully this small voice is much smaller than usual, but I know down deep that this is the right next step.

As this chapter of my life, getting my master’s degree and strategizing for my future career, begins to close, I’m excited for what is next. My major life goals are shifting and still being straightened out. I’m so thankful for making it through so many challenges of my past and feel like I’m finally going to be able to blossom into the person I’ve always been meant to become with this next step and stage. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, beyond moving across the country and into a new job, and I’m excited to see where the journey takes me.

One thing I realized however while I was sick is how my personality has changed over the past few years. I was talking to my brother on the phone via Facebook Messenger calls (international living’s best friend). I was explaining to him what was happening with me while I was laying down in a bed in the hallway of an empty emergency room with an IV drip of paracetamol to break my fever. I was calm and talking about how me being sick was no big deal as I was getting it taken care of. (Apparently, the healthcare in northern Spain, where I live, is some of the best in the world.) He promptly reminded me that having pneumonia was a big deal and that I should be a little bit more concerned about my health. I did concede that point to him. I told him to make sure that our mom knew what was happening and that I should be fine. He agreed and told me to keep him updated on what was happening to me. Which I did in fact do.

This instance of me being sick enough to warrant going to the ER was a true reminder of how much I have grown as a person. When I was younger, I was a lot more prone to having large reactions to everything. I may be attempting to be calm on the outside, but internally I would be freaking out. International living forces you to deal with situations in the most rational way possible. You learn the process of what needs to happen and you just have to act like a buoy in the ocean. If you try to be to firm and rigid as to what must get done and the exact order in doing so, you might just be ripped in half if the trials and complexities get too strong. However on the opposite side, if you are too relaxed, you’ll just drift out to sea and never get what needs to be accomplished finished. By acting as a buoy, you are attached to the base of the water to know your position. You realize what needs to get done and where you need to be, but you also are able to take the hits of when things don’t go as planned. I hope I act like a buoy in situations. I know the line of what needs to be done and where I have been attached, but the means of getting there and dealing with things when they get complicated and out of my control I hope don’t break me in half.

As I grow and develop, I want to stay rooted. I know what grounds me and makes me strong. I’ve sure enough faced enough trials in my 25 years to know that much. But I don’t want to be the kind of person who misses out on the full scheme of what is occurring because I’m so focused on looking down at my feet and keeps me to the ground. I want to be a willow tree. I don’t snap and break, I bend and learn from things. I grow upwards and outwards as I take in the sunlight and the surroundings around me. I allow the wind to flow through my branches and make life interesting, but it won’t make me break when things get hard. I hope I become wise and listen more than I speak, which goes against most of my natural inclinations. I stand up for the injustices I see in the world, but I don’t let it lose my wonder. Who knows what will happen, but I don’t want to keep my head in the clouds and ignore what happens down below.

Whenever you move, particularly internationally, there is an adjustment period where you wonder if you should just stay in your place, wherever that may be, or go out and attempt to socialize. Honestly, I think a lot of the people I went to college with at Olivet would be surprised to know how often I choose to do the first. Thankfully with my education at Olivet, I learned a lot about how cultural stress happens and how to understand where you are at in the process and to just let it happen. This enables me to be a lot more forgiving with myself in these times of flux.

Right now, for example, I’m in a new culture with a new language and (mostly) new classmates. I’m also in a new living space with new flatmates and having to develop a new normal of daily routines. Since I’m also in a new environment with new germs, my immune system is automatically lowered as my body adjusts to the local atmosphere (and I’m definitely feeling that as I write this between coughing fits). Don’t get me wrong, I love a lot of the aspects of this life that I’ve chosen. But there is an adjustment period that must be acknowledged. To just ignore it and power through everything may not be the best option. If you don’t understand what’s happening with your mind and body, that could have consequences down the line.

Bilbao seems to be amazing so far, for the past two and a half weeks I have been present here at least. I love the walkability and architecture of the city. Everyone seems so nice. I’m making friends. My classes are great. Things are good.

But that doesn’t mean that sometimes in the middle of the night, I realize what choosing an international life has changed for me. No one will ever understand my cultural identity as I have now lived in the US, China, Malta, and Spain. And I’ve been lucky enough to visit 21 countries now. A lot of my friends live in different time zones from me on opposite sides of the world which makes communication difficult. Many of my friends back home are settling down and having families, which is something I can’t see in my future for quite a while yet. I love this life and know its exactly where I need to be and am so thankful that I have been blessed enough for the privileges and opportunities that have been afforded to me. However, this life can be a lonely one. Every time I walk by a dog on the street, I wish I was in a position to have a furry four-legged friend to come home to at night. I wish I knew where I would be six months from now. Sometimes I want that stability, but I also recognize that that might suffocate the free spirit within me that craves exploration and adventure.

For the past 6 years or so, I have decided on a word sometime in January to be my word of the year. In 2019, I chose the word (I believe) “audacity”. This meaning in the sense- a willingness to take bold risks. And I would say that it is safe to say I did so in 2019. When the year started, I was living at home and honestly slightly miserable and feeling like a total failure in many aspects. I was relentlessly trying to come up with a plan and an angle that would allow me to just do something outside of 1) teaching, 2) Chrisman, and 3) seeming like my life had been a flash in the pan of excitement and that living in China for a year was the only real adventure I would ever have. Honestly, I felt lost. I’d done all the things that I thought would get me where I wanted to go and where I thought God wanted me to go. And then I went back home. But I needed the healing that came from sitting still, rather uncomfortably, and just living with my emotions and pain and processing them in a healthy manner. And I did that.

Then, I applied for my dream masters program and somehow got accepted. My panicked frenzy of figuring out all the details came into play as I was scared of moving to a new continent where I only knew one person in all of Europe. I felt that they must have gotten it wrong, maybe I really wasn’t smart enough or cultured enough or linguistically capable. I hid this doubt as much as I could because if I couldn’t fake it to everyone else around me, then I felt I would be questioned, or somehow convinced that this step I was praying was right, truly was beyond what I am able to accomplish in my life. Time ticked down lower and lower until it was time to actually make that leap. I remember video calling my dad at the airport in Chicago about 20 minutes before my flight left saying that this isn’t “official official” until I get on the plane to take me to Warsaw. But I got on that plane and I don’t regret it for a minute.

I arrived into a whirlwind of chaos. Meeting so many people that were interested in the same types of things I was, promptly forgetting their names, then faking the next few days acting like I remembered their names, even though I could remember most of the other details they told me. I don’t think I’ve ever friended so many people on Facebook in such a short time period before. I had found a community that was much different than any I had been in before. And I’m thankful for that.

After staying with my friend and her family for a week, I got to Malta. We had a few weeks of freedom where I got to enjoy the good weather and the beautiful beaches before school began. That was nice. Classes started and I found a church that I loved. And the people I began to meet and get to know opened my eyes to things and perspectives I’d never seen before. One of my favorite things in the dynamics between my classmates here and me is that we are all from different countries. So many multicultural conversations and discussions over really intense topics. I found a passion for understanding the nuances of humanitarian action and what it all means as the complex pieces of the quilt are slowly pieced together, then suddenly being ripped apart as I experienced and learned more. I found an NGO I enjoyed working with and it was great to begin to understand the intricacies of how they work since I really had no previous experience with NGOs.

My favorite thing as a whole for my time in Malta has been the people I have met and the friends I have made. I’m not a fan of the bureaucracy or public transit system here, but in many ways the people I have surrounded myself with cancel that out. I’ve been forced to expand my understandings of the world through the stories that have been shared and the relationships that have been built. And I’m so thankful for that.

I’m so thankful as well that I was able to go home for Christmas and surprise some of my family. That little taste of home for the 9 days I was there was much needed. To ground myself and reconnect with those who I have known for years and to share the stories and misadventures of my travels and journeys. I’m so thankful.

When I started off the previous decade in 2010, I was 15. I was shy and meek in many ways. Dealing with a broken neck and finally being able to break free from my neckbrace were the things I knew. But there was so much uncertainty. Maybe more so than most because I had no roadmap on how my life should look. I didn’t know what challenged I would face with my neck or if I would ever feel like a whole person. Ten years later, and it’s 2020. I’ve grown a lot. I’ve sought discomfort in ways I would have never imagined. The things I thought would be the biggest hurdles actually weren’t. It was the unexpected things that were the hardest. But they were also the most rewarding. I had to fight battles I never knew would exist. But I wouldn’t change them. Somehow I’m a whole person most of the time, even with the little pieces inside of me that have been broken throughout the years. I breakdown sometimes and cry because occasionally the traumas of my life and my inner critic try to shred me apart. But I get back up. I wipe my tears. I know I can get through the hard things because I’ve done it before. Because I’m a survivor. And I plan to continue to be.

My word for 2020 is “hustle”. For this, I define it as- a state of great activity. I’ve got goals I want to accomplish, but I’ve grown enough to know not to post everything in my personal life on the internet. Maybe in 2021, I’ll share them, but maybe not. And that’s okay.

Last week, a couple of my classmates and I went to Identity Malta to check on the status of our residence permits and they wouldn’t give us any information that would help us know when we would receive them. Feeling rather dejected, we continued onto the Spanish Embassy in Malta to confirm some information regarding our mobilities to Spain for our second semester in our grad programs. While we were there, the embassy was telling us we have to apply for student visas and the process was about 5,000 times more complicated than we were expecting. Any sort of positive energy we had before that visit had evaporated into wisps of steam floating off of our infuriated and exhausted brains. After this, we sent an email to the people in charge of our program both here in Malta and in Spain. Things ended up getting cleared up, and I picked up my Maltese Residence Permit earlier today and will just have to transfer it to Spain once I arrive there. I honestly think it’s a God thing that it got taken care of so quickly after having battled what feels like everyone for the previous 2 months.

I think it was a lot easier to just mentally manage the residence permit thing, even though it was totally overwhelming, because there is a set deadline and scheduling aspect to it. The existence of it having both a start and end date makes it simpler to grasp.

One of the most frustrating parts of traveling and international life for me is managing my bipolar. I’ve been diagnosed for almost 6 years and stable on the same medications for close to 4 years. Every single country I’ve visited has included me packing my bipolar medications in my carry-on. I’ve learned tips and tricks on how to manage it and live the crazy lifestyle I have, but sometimes it just gets to be a bit too much. Today was one of those days. Since I’m a foreigner, I have to have private health insurance that covers basically everything. I went to the doctor back last month to get more of my regular medications, he gave me a pretty long shelf-life prescription so I can use it for the rest of the time I’m in Malta and hopefully while I’m in Spain too. The problem with this though was that the pharmacy didn’t count the right number of pills I would need for a month of medication and I didn’t catch it at the time. So that one month of medication only lasted about 18 days for one type of pills and about 30 days for the other type. I need both of these to do life normally, but this created a problem for me.

Since life was so busy figuring out legal immigration stuff and with school, I forgot to take care of it until the end of last week. I emailed my health insurance about how I could get more medication but didn’t get a response. I waited until yesterday to try to get more so that I could see if my insurance would prepay the cost of the medication as it is supposed to. Also, pharmacies in Malta are nothing like pharmacies in the US. These pharmacies are small mom and pop shops with a limited supply of everything. So I went to the pharmacy yesterday and they didn’t have the medication I needed in stock. “Can you wait until tomorrow to receive your medication?” Once that question was asked at 5 pm, I knew I couldn’t get my medication anywhere else before the end of the day. After all, I did have 4 of the 5 pills I needed to take between the two types of medication. I falsely grinned and replied, “That should be fine.” Then I began to mentally prepare myself for how in the world I was going to do life without a full dose of medication.

Luckily, actually unluckily, while I was in China, I was unable to get to a doctor and get more medicine for 5 days after I ran out of pills so I had some idea of how to prepare myself for not having my medication. The thing too about having bipolar is that taking your medication regularly and keeping in control of yourself is how you manage to not have any mania or depression. I struggled with this while I was in my undergrad. I didn’t take my medication regularly or properly categorize my emotions and it ended quite badly. So there was quite some stress and fear involved with the thought of not taking a full dose of medication both in China and last night. I honestly feel like the reason I was able to get through those several days in China without my medication with no side effects was through the power of prayer. But mentally, when I don’t have a full dose of medication, I don’t feel right.

My body has become accustomed to receiving a full dosage of medication every single night before I fall asleep. It is the key to my routine as I travel to keep my bipolar under control. When this happened in China, I felt really mentally out of it for the entire time and couldn’t sleep properly. However, since I was only missing part of my medication last night, it wasn’t too terrible. I definitely didn’t sleep properly and my head has only felt slightly out of wack and like it is floating above me. Nothing like that time in China.

The real thing with this is that my reaction to when something gets messed up with either my neck or bipolar, it is automatically so much more of a visceral response. I get instantly angry. My temper gets so short. I get so mad at myself for having to deal with such problems. If my neck starts hurting really bad for days or my medication is messed up, I tend to blame myself and get mad at myself for not being like everyone else who doesn’t have these problems. I know that everyone has their own set of challenges that they are dealing with so I shouldn’t compare myself to them. But sometimes I can’t help myself. I wish I was a whole person who could remember what it was like to turn her head. I wish I could never have to take medication again in order to trust myself and my brain. I grieve these losses to my body because just a bit over 12 years ago I didn’t have any of those problems. I was a 12-year-old little girl who was a ridiculously skinny, horse-crazy, whole person without any sort of physical or mental limitations beyond the glasses I had to wear. I wouldn’t change the person who I am today, because without those struggles I wouldn’t be the Victoria I am today. But sometimes it’s hard.

Today I’m frustrated and it’s okay. It has to be. This is my new normal and I have to just deal with it. This new normal may have bipolar and neck problems, but it also includes traveling around the world and I love that. I guess you win some and you lose some. That’s just how life has to be.

This is a variation of what I use to describe myself in introduction as I meet people from all over the world from even more backgrounds. Sometimes I add more details in some areas and less in others. But it’s still difficult for me to condense my life down to just a (long) paragraph as a synopsis that is packaged pretty for others to start to understand me. In this, I usually leave out my struggles. I just leave things as positive and motivational as I can. When I get a little bit deeper, which I am not scared of by any means, I begin to explain some of my struggles (you can look back on my past blogs if you want more details about that). So much so that one of my friends here has decided that I’m cursed. Which I think is hilarious. I frame it as I’m blessed to have made it this far because there have been ample opportunities for me not to be around.

The real question is with this is who are you? How do you describe yourself? Do you take ownership of your past, both good and bad? Do you only focus on the veneer of your life while ignoring the structural issues beneath the craftsmanship of your life? Do you try to become the best version of yourself by stretching your limits in a healthy manner? Why?

If you can answer any of these questions, props to you. These are the kinds of questions that I live for. I can enjoy small talk for a while, but usually, I prefer to take things deeper. How do you define yourself as a success or a failure? What are the parameters within this internal viewpoint?

Imagine introducing yourself to a group of people you know nothing about and may have nothing in common with. What are the key features about yourself you’d want to highlight? Would you want to only highlight your successes? Or would you want to talk about your struggles and explain how you’ve begun the process of overcoming them?

These questions remind me of the prompts I would give to my students while teaching, but that doesn’t mean that they are any less valid. I may have even given some of these as writing prompts to my students. If you are able to answer these questions and understand the nuances of your responses, I believe that is the healthiest thing you could do. How could you expect others to understand you if you have never begun the process of understanding yourself? This process, which I encourage you to begin, could start right now.

Believe in and love yourself. Become your own advocate, so you can advocate for others. You’re not alone in this. I believe in you and your abilities.

I’ve always been a dreamer. While I was in high school, I remember grabbing a pencil and sketching out designs for the walls of my shared bedroom with my sister, all over the walls. I can recall my mom’s less than enthusiastic response to my excitement about the beautiful things I had sketched on my walls. She became even less pleased after I found shades of neon pink, orange, yellow, and green to fill in the designs while I had a few friends over. Here are a few of the old pictures I found on Facebook that show some of it. There’s also an OLD selfie thrown in from my room before I decided to paint my walls.

Oh wow. Gotta love those old blurry pictures from 2011-2012. Anyways, If you look closely at one of the walls pictured, I drew a giant “Dream BIG” in bubble letters filled in with the florescent colors. This is just one of the subliminal messages I can recognized looking back that reminded me to not limit myself based off of the surroundings I currently found myself in. If only I would have realized how much that would have helped me progress and push myself.

Nowadays, I don’t have any permanent living space enough to drastically paint my room neon (nor do I have any desire to bring back such bright tones into my bedroom). But I do have 4 pieces of permanent artwork. I have 4 tattoos. Each one grounds me and reminds me of things that I need to remember. I have a semicolon on my wrist that reminds me that no matter what God’s not finished writing my story. I have “Day by Day” written on my left foot to remind me that I don’t need to plan my life 50 years into the future, but instead to live each day in the present. I have a map of the world with “All Nations” written beneath it on my left shoulder. This one reminds me of my calling to go out into the world and show them the love that Jesus has shown me. My final tattoo is “Grace upon Grace” written on my right foot. This one reminds me to give myself as much grace as I give others because I am my own worst critic that can go beyond healthy levels. I honestly believe that these tattoos are one reason why my bipolar has stayed so stable over the past three and a half years.

These things are all reminders of dreams. My dreams are constantly evolving and changing as I meet new people, experience new things, and grow as a human being. But the other side of dreaming goes beyond just imagining what could be. I don’t think you can consider yourself a dreamer if you don’t ever take any action towards achieving them. If you just imagine things without taking action, you are just living in a fantasy land. That’s great in novels, but not so much in real life.

Before finding that job opening on Facebook, my masters program had a get together where the professors and students got to meet up and get to know each other a little bit. One of the professors there had actually been to Chicago which is about 4 hours north of where I grew up. I think that is the closest someone has been to where I grew up who wasn’t American that I’ve met so far in my program. He was honestly confused to some degree as to how I ended up in Malta of all places studying for a Masters degree. So many worlds apart from one another, but somehow dreaming (and spontaneous Google searching) have led me to where I am today. I’m making the steps I need to make to get where I want to go. The qualifications I need to get for the position are having a masters degree in the field, 5-7 years of experience, and fluency of another language. And I’m making progress on that. The process has begun, now just to start the hard work to get to where I want to go.

My personal definition of a major life goal is what you would normally think of as a goal you would want to achieve in life. For me, it might be that I want to change the world in a macro-systematic way. Oh, and that I want to help people. That’s super important too. These are the main things that you want to accomplish in your life. Maybe you want to be a parent. Maybe you want to make a million dollars in a year. Those big things that may be super difficult to accomplish and might require a lot of sacrifices. 

A minor life goal is something that if it were to happen, it would be a thing that would make you smile and have a little realization of how far you’ve come. For me, one of those things was getting a window seat somewhere where I would live. When I moved to China, my bedroom had a little window seat. In my ideal world, I would have curled up in that every evening and read a novel. But it was really uncomfortable, so I only did that a few times before deciding that I’d be better off sitting on the couch directly in front of the ac. Another minor life goal of mine is to visit every continent. It’s not at the absolute top of my list of must-do’s but if it happens, I would count it as a win. 

These things may seem stupid or ridiculous to some, but for me, they are a way to stay grounded and humbled in a sense. These little wins (and big ones) make me realize that my life is heading in the direction I’ve dreamed of. They allow me to have a moment of realization that I’m not actually failing at life, even if it feels like it sometimes. I’ve learned that most of the time the things that seem to matter the most are the things that seem insignificant or silly in the moment. Maybe getting pie at a cafe with my friend during our senior year of college was a moment that I’ll cherish because we both took that little bit of time out of our days to go to the cafe and get some coffee and pie. I don’t remember the conversation that we had that day, but I remember that feeling. I don’t remember what happened the day I saw I had a window seat, but I remember that little moment of satisfaction because of that minor life goal being achieved. 

Maybe you’re finishing reading this wondering what was the point of all these words strung together. I don’t really have a good answer for that. But if you can take just a few moments of your day to dream about the possibilities, the ‘what if’s, and ideas you’ve had brewing in the back of your mind. Allow your mind to wander. Maybe write some things down. Give yourself the creative space to imagine your ideal world and life and future. I’d love to hear what you’re dreaming of and if you can dream it maybe look into how you can make it a reality. It’s always amazing when dreams come true.

As I normally seem to do during writing a blog post, let me fill you in on the environment I am currently experiencing. My fingers are chilly and I’m wishing I would have worn a long-sleeve shirt under this leather jacket. I can see several random buildings from my seat outside of a cafe in Rotterdam. I’ve been exploring the city for the morning and wandering around, somewhat aimlessly. For the last few days I’ve been staying at my friend Jessica’s house with her and her family. So thankful for their generosity in letting me stay and getting to know them better. 

I’m in a predominantly English-free environment, although most people can speak English after I speak to them first in English. I keep wanting to say different phrases in Chinese, since that is the lingua franca of my previous international home. XieXie, BuKuQi, NiHao are some of the phrases I’ve had to just stop myself from uttering. (Also this pinyin might be terrible, but at least I recognize it.) The Dutch version of warm weather and my own are extremely different, I’ve quickly come to recognize. Literally the temperature of the inside of the church I went to on Sunday was the same as the winter temperature of Guangzhou. Wearing a dress was a bad idea.

It is rather surprising to recognize the ways I’ve been growing and changing over the past two weeks from when I left home. As what always happens when I travel, I feel more like myself than I did back home. I’m more engaged with the environment around me. My curiosity is constantly piqued. I feel absolutely no shame in being who I am, even though I didn’t actually listen to that back at home. By knowing that I’ve once again opted out of the stereotypical narrative of a 24 year-old back at home, I feel freedom. 

There really isn’t anyone to compare myself to because I’ve never known someone to follow the path I am beginning right now. While I really enjoy that most of the time, there is that subtle sense of groundbreaking the path for others. While scrolling through my various feeds of social media, I see engagement announcements, wedding photos, and signs announcing that a child is either on its way or just took their first breath. I wonder if I’m missing out on something by choosing a different path. But the comparison game is a dangerous one. You never know what’s happening behind the scenes of the smiling photos. I also know that some people compare their lives to mine, with my crazy risk-taking and traveling. But there is a price that comes from that. There is always going to be parts of myself that no matter where I am no one is ever going to understand. I can’t just easily fall back into my home culture because my travels and experiences have changed me.

Last week marked a new start for me. I’m in the process right now of becoming an international humanitarian aid worker. This job and career I’m seeking and feel called to will definitely not be an easy one. It will be emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausting. With this choice, the subtle cultural differences I’ve noticed over the past couple of years will become more pronounced as I’m confronted by the harsh realities of what existence looks like for the least of these. 

I will fail and that is a fact I am forced to recognize. I will have hard days where all I want to do is cry and go home and get a hug from my mom. But I can’t just give up. Who else would go if I’m not willing to? Courage, bravery, or stupidity, choose one if you wish. When confronted by the things that scare you and should, what is your initial response? Is it to hide your face and try to ignore it because it terrifies you? Is it to brashly walk forward without the qualifications? Or is it to slowly confront the difficulties and try to conquer them? 

To say I’m not scared about the uncertainty that my path is leading towards would be a total lie. But I’ve been gifted with privilege, and I’m learning how much more I have every day. Maybe somehow in the future my brash bravery (or stupidity) will open doors for someone else to do even greater things. Maybe I really can change the world, only time will tell. 

Then China happened. It was hard. It was noisy. It was crowded. It was the complete opposite of everything I had ever known. So I began to crave the quiet. I wished so frequently that I could be alone where there wouldn’t be any people around speaking languages I did not understand in the slightest. As a coping mechanism, I would only walk around and do my everyday life wearing headphones so my brain wouldn’t be so overwhelmed by every detail surrounding me. It was difficult, but I grew more in that one year than I ever imagined I would. 

Then I came home. I only had about 12 days to adjust my plans before I left China for not just the summer, but for the foreseeable future. That was not enough time. I arrived feeling broken in many ways and also feeling like I had failed. I went out into the world to do awesome, great, and crazy things, but I didn’t feel like I had finished them. I mean, I quit my job. And if there’s one thing I never wanted to be, that is a quitter. 

I came home to my small, farm town where I had lived and grown up for in someways my entire life, but in others only for the last half of my schooling. Wow. That felt like I had really lost. My brokenness just sat there and I tried to ignore all of the everything I was feeling for a while. But when you live in a town of 1,200 people there isn’t much to distract you with. So I was forced to sit with and deal with all of my emotions.

In a lot of ways, I have had a traumatic life. Not as much as many other people, but still a lot. My childhood was complicated. Between my parents’ divorce and breaking my neck, there were a lot of things I had to handle that I really wasn’t prepared for. But I guess no one ever is. I always felt like I needed to conquer these challenges. I couldn’t just get through them, I had to be the best in someway to get over them. Not really a healthy way of dealing with things. Then came college. I grew so much while I was there and loved my studies at Olivet. But there was a dark shadow overhanging me during those years and it’s name is bipolar disorder. Those four years were spent studying and battling my emotions and at sometimes sanity. At many points, I thought I might just lose that battle. Thankfully, though I was able to get access eventually to a great doctor who figured out the correct medication combination to manage my bipolar and a great counselor who allowed me to discover how to deal with my emotions in a healthy manor. I also had amazing friends and professors and others around me who became a great safety net to help me become the person I was meant to be becoming.

Then China. Oh China. The amount of complicated emotions that just naming that country brings up is indescribable. I both loved and hated it. I hated that I couldn’t communicate with others easily and was allergic to much of the food. But I loved so many of the people I was able to meet and become close to during that year. I loved how I was able to break away from the narrative of what my life should look like to others. It gave me such emotional freedom.

This past year has been difficult in many ways I never imagined. I would have never guessed in my wildest imaginations that I would ever live in Chrisman again after graduating high school. I forced myself to be still. To be still and process my entire life and take that break I ever so much needed, even though I felt that I was in many ways a failure. So I structured it in my brain as a strategic retreat. Which it did become. I was forced to do the things I never thought I would ever want to do, but discovered I actually enjoyed them. I can now enjoy sitting in a room by myself in silence with minimal distraction. Being still allowed me to find a graduate program which from my current understanding, seems absolutely perfect for me and what I want to do. I’ve learned to be so thankful for the people who have helped shape me into the person I am today and am still in the process of becoming. I’m thankful now for the events which have shaped me, even though many of them, I would never wish had happen.

I got that hit to my pride that I discovered I needed and has allowed me to become more humble and gracious. 

So thank you. Thank you to the people who have supported me over the years. Thank you for helping me and being there for me. I’m thankful for the small town that seemed too small for most of my life, because it allowed me to dream. And to dream beyond what I ever imagined. As I take this next step with graduate school, I finally feel at peace with both my past and the person I am. Flaws and all. I am accepting both of them, and will continue to strive to become the best I can. Even when I fail and need to take a strategic retreat. 

We hunted out some chocolate chip cookies, the food that Sophia was craving most from her lack of “western” food in China. We stopped at a couple of stores to pick up basics before heading home, while accidentally finishing off the box of chocolate chip cookies that tasted almost like my mom’s. Oops. Jumping back on the interstate, we continued our journey. I attempted to explain the differences between the labels of roadways in America, while we turned off onto a smaller highway to bring us to Chrisman. “How long til we get there?” was a frequent question, but when there aren’t very many towns it’s difficult to have exact timing down to the minute. Especially if you run into some farming equipment. Once Chrisman gets into our sights, I ask Sophia if she wants to take a picture at the “Welcome to Chrisman” sign. Enthusiastic is the only word to describe her reaction. I’ve never seen anyone take a picture there, unless it was perhaps after working on it.

Over the next few days, I got to introduce Sophia to where I come from. She got to see a covered bridge and some of the family farmland. She got to go to church with me and meet my family. While we were leaving church, right before she left, she said that she wished she could just take my church, building and people, with her back to China. Literally, the best thing you could ever say about a church. We went shopping and got clothes that weren’t ridiculously small. During the process of trying on clothes at one of the stores we visited, we lamented that if you are larger than the average Chinese person, or even at a size larger than an American medium, the best way to feel absolutely terrible was to try on clothes in China. I think I’ve cried a little bit in most dressing rooms I’ve been to while living in China.

One of my favorite memories (and I think one of Sophia’s) was when I took her to my Grandpa Dale’s farm to show her around. I noticed he was out back at the farm, so we got out of the car and I was attempting to tour guide. Grandpa drove his truck over and I introduced Sophia to him as my best friend from when I was living in China. I’ve never seen such a confused look on his face as in that moment. I’m sure he was wondering how in the world was this black person Chinese. I quickly further explained that she was from the Caribbean and it finally connected. So hilarious. Well, he ended up getting out of his truck and giving Sophia the grand tour of the farm. He showed the horse buggy, he drove us around on as children and I learned (a little bit) how to drive. He explained about the combine and how the giant piece of machinery worked. Grandpa even took Sophia over to a random box of last year’s corn, and introduced her to what corn looked like. I think he was unaware that most people know what kernels of corn look like. We both were internally dying of laughter at that explanation. Grandpa was so proud of this farm that he had built and that he had the opportunity to show off this to a total stranger to the scale and mechanics of farming in Illinois. So happy that he got the opportunity to show it off. He even took Sophia up into his giant Versatile tractor and gave her a ride in it. They both seemed beyond excited during that. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so proud of where I come from as in that moment.

Beyond all of the must-see locations of my hometown, with highlights of the nursing home, Casey’s, my old high school, and all four churches in town, I got to introduce her to some of my favorite foods of home. I made some biscuits and gravy (for non-Americans the gravy isn’t brown, and biscuits aren’t cookies here), and took her to Chick-Fil-A. After taking her that first time, whenever on our trip out west it was time to eat, she asked if there was a Chick-Fil-A nearby.

This chapter is getting long, so it’s almost time to end this part. The next part of our adventure was our trip out west. This is where the crazy really happened. We didn’t have any plans and figured everything out as we went along. Literally the most spontaneous adventure you can imagine. And one of the best. Stay tuned for this next part. Coming soon to a theater near you…. wait. That’s not right…. Coming soon to a screen near you…. wait. Just read it when it’s live. #worthit

After stuffing our stomaches with bread, cheese, and tomato sauce, we began the drive back down to my friend’s house. Traffic was crazy, so we were cutting through the city streets to attempt to save time. As we were driving through the city, I start to point out that we are in a less nice part of the city. Sophia says how happy she is that we are in the car because Chicago is made out to be so dangerous. A few moments later, the gas pedal won’t allow me to go anymore. Thankfully, we weren’t on the highway or anything so it was safer. I pull off on a side street, park, and begin to slightly panic. Since I’ve been home, I’ve been driving my dad’s 2004 Suburban, the vehicle I learned to drive in. It’s gone well over 200,000 miles so it can be persnickety after 15 years of use. I google where the nearest auto store is and thankfully there is one about 4 blocks away from where we were. I turn off the car and let it sit for a second then restart it and slowly drive to the store. Once we arrive, I turn off the car and call my dad in hopes that he can somehow magically fix the problem from several hours away. It’s had a few issues in the past so we both think it might be one of those. After letting the car sit for a bit, I open the hood optimistic that my dad’s mechanical knowledge has been somehow transmitted through a sort of cell phone osmosis. It hadn’t, as my brother later pointed out that I know about nothing about looking at an engine. I checked everything I had some sort of general knowledge about, the level of the antifreeze coolant that was shown through clear plastic container and didn’t see any fires or smoke or anything that was actively leaking.

We went inside the auto store and were both overwhelmed with our collective knowledge of mechanical skills being proven to be severely lacking (aka almost nonexistent). We got a rag to check the oil like my dad said to do, and some antifreeze because that was what had had previous problems. We go back out to the car with Sophia locking the doors the second we get into the car. I go back outside and check the oil level since that is about the only thing I know how to do. It looks perfectly fine. So I get back into the car and call my dad back. He tells me that he is not back at the farm, but further north visiting a friend so he can help me if I absolutely need it. He also tells me that I should turn it on and let it run for a minute and get the RPM up while I’m parked for a minute or two. We end the call and I do what he told me. It seems to work, so I leave the parking lot and go fill up the gas tank in case that my fuel was either stolen or there was some sort of gunk in the fuel line. I paid way too much for the gas, but it seems to work. I call my dad back again and let him know that it seems to be working fine now. I carefully drive the two hours back to my friend’s house and we didn’t have any more problems. Once we got there, Mariah and Sophia ended up being able to meet, then Sophia promptly crashed on the couch and slept because jet lag and traveling is exhausting.

This story (which is much longer than I realized it would be) was just the start of the craziness of the adventures that Sophia and I would get up to during the two weeks she was here. I’ll turn this into a couple of posts so I can share a few more details of the insane adventures we went on while we were traveling and spending time together.

One of the biggest things I’ve begun though is apply for and get accepted into graduate school. The details are overwhelming because they are all important. Visa paperwork. Housing. Course requirements. Plane tickets. Etc.

The masters program I have been accepted into is ran by the European Union/Commission. It’s called the NOHA+ program. I will be earning a Masters in International Humanitarian Action. Exciting stuff. This should enable me to get a paying position in the field of helping people internationally. It also should let me pursue my passion of helping people achieve what they are capable of. Also I should learn how to help people sustainably. Big things. However, one of the most exciting things about this program is also its most complicated. I’ll be in a different country and at a different university each semester. My first semester and last semester will be in Malta. I just found out last week that my second semester will be in Spain. I won’t know where my third semester will be until closer to the end of my first semester. Ideally this semester will be a work placement, but I have no idea what it will be yet.

This degree will be one of the biggest risks and one of my craziest ideas to date. I’m beyond excited and terrified. The overwhelming optimism that I had when I was getting ready to move to China two years ago isn’t there. It might be because of now knowing what it can be like living internationally. It might also be because I’m almost 25 and am recognizing the risk that I will be taking for what it is. Also the fact that I haven’t really traveled in months is slightly overwhelming when I’m looking at how much traveling I will be doing for the next 2 years as apart of my degree. Emotions and stuff.

However, one thing I’ve discovered is that this is the perfect time to take risks in my life. I’m still young. The payoff has the potential to be worth it, and if I fail, I still have a lot of time ahead of me to learn from everything. Taking risks isn’t always about being brash and reckless, but it is about stepping forward boldly after looking into all the details you can. How can you become something great or chase your dreams if you never take a risk? Hint. It will never happen. One of my life goals has been to not regret anything. And honestly I’m doing pretty good at that right now. All of the big decisions I’ve made I feel good about. I’ve done my share of things that I believe are stupid, but I can’t really regret them because they’ve led me to where I am today. And I’m okay with that. I have to be. I can’t change that.

Today I realized that I hold myself to high expectations. I always expect perfection out of anything that I complete, even if it doesn’t seem like so to outsiders. I get so overwhelmed with sketching out exactly how things should work in my head about potential outcomes and ideas that I have never told anyone. For instance, I’m trying to figure out what to keep and what to get rid of before I move to Europe in less than 60 days. So I drag every item of clothing and each shoe that I own out of their hiding spaces that I may or may not have forgotten about. (This part drives my family insane. Warning. Read ahead at your own risk.) I just leave it there. I know some of what I’m going to for sure get rid of. Maybe that maxi-skirt I bought specifically to wear for a missions trip to Thailand that I haven’t seen in 2 years or worn in 3. Definitely getting rid of that. Oh that sweater that I still like but am not sure about the practicality of still owning? It gets into the purgatory pile. This is the pile that keeps increasing as I continue the process. Eventually I get to the “bottom” of the previous 5 foot pile of clothes and I have 1 foot of definitely keeping, 3 feet of purgatory, and 2 feet of to get rid of. This purgatory pile just sits there. But I can’t move it or I can’t continue the process of sorting through it all. Oh and if someone else goes through it “attempting” to help, they’ll just mess it up. So it stays. But one of the biggest problems I’ve had with the 3 feet of confusion is what should I do with the perfectly good clothing that I just don’t have a real usage for. I can’t throw it away because that would be ridiculously wasteful. But some of the clothes just aren’t in season or not worth the effort to attempt to sell. And for me to donate it, I need to drive like 45 minutes and it’s a lot of effort and requires a specific trip to town. So it sits. I’ve gone through this pile now, but this is just an example of how I just don’t want to screw up such a small detail as getting rid of clothes I probably will never wear again and shouldn’t store at my mom’s house for the indeterminate future.

I feel that there deserves a distinction between just giving up on something because the inability to address its complexities and the active thinking process that goes into starting a project and letting it sit for a bit before making a final decision. Some may just say that I’m just procrastinating on the inevitable and should just get it done immediately. Or maybe their suggestion would be to just put it away so you don’t have to look at the unsightly purgatory pile, whatever it may be. I’m not saying that procrastination doesn’t play a major role in my life, but I believe that we should lean into the uncomfortable piles of purgatory in our lives. The act of living with the hard decisions and experiencing the fullness of the reality of them is something that allows us to develop as human beings. We are not creatures just driven by nature. We have minds that can embrace the complexities of the human existence. Our nature drives us to just give up on something immediately because it’s hard. Well, I’m going to burst that pity party. Difficulty and hardships are where we learn what defines us. We should expect and push ourselves towards becoming who we are meant to become.

Perfection exists for a reason. It is the idealization that enables action. And it absolutely sucks when you fall short of it. No one likes disappointing themselves or others. However, if you want to be the best version of yourself, learn when to forgive and give grace to yourself and others. Sometimes life gets in the way and you will absolutely fail. Fall flat on your face and give yourself a nosebleed that won’t quit. The thing that determines your character is how you fail. Do you take those failures and troubleshoot the problems? Do you just take that as a sign that one failure means that you are the failure and should just give up on yourself? My goal in life has always been that I want to help people in the best way I can with my particular gifts. I’ve had so many failures along the journey. Many, many more will happen. And I’m sort of, kinda okay with that. My failures have had the opportunity to teach me because of the attitude I’ve taken with them. From thinking I was going to become a Pediatric Neurologist when I graduated high school 6 years ago to my current direction of getting my masters degree in International Humanitarian Action which should lead me towards the path of creating systems that will help people sustainably in crises around the world, I never thought I would be here in my wildest dreams.

We all have our own purgatory piles. Maybe it is pursuing a passion you gave up on because there was an obstacle originally about 2 months into getting into it. Maybe it’s actually listening to those emotions and feelings and thoughts that made you uncomfortable so you’ve been ignoring them for too long. Dwell with them. Understand the intricacies and motivations involved in all of the moving parts. And I’m only saying this from a place of weakness where my own purgatory piles have started amassing and attacking my mind. I’ve been working on a project I’m super excited about for the past few months and I’m only about one-third finished. My original deadline was to finish it by June 15th, but now its weeks past that and I’m nowhere near finished. But I believe that since I’ve had time to dwell with this and figure more of it out just in my mind, it will be of much better quality. But no one will really know until it’s finished with all the details. My new deadline is to finish it by September 1st and finalize all the details before September 15th. Much later than my original plan, but that’s okay. Maybe. Or maybe that drowning feeling is actually going to happen and I’m really under the fishes craving the oxygen from the sky too far away from me. Glub. Glub. Glub.

Well just as this mind-freezing stress hit my brain, I remembered that I kept a copy of my diploma and other important documents on my computer because of figuring out visa stuff while I was in China. One of the biggest deep breaths I took was after I found it on my computer. So I used that for my application. After I got my letter of acceptance to my dream program, I saw that I need to have the physical copy of my diploma to be able to function or do anything for it. So the overhanging stress of the fact that I needed to find my freaking diploma in order to pursue my dreams and idealized future began. I started to rip through all of my belongings attempting to find it. It wasn’t in the box I keep all of my college mementos in. Or in the box where I keep all of my post-grad travel memories in. It wasn’t behind the bookcase or under it or even on the shelves. It wasn’t under my bed. Or in my basket of yarn and half attempted knitting projects. It wasn’t anywhere that I could find.

Tonight I redid my search. But this time I double checked the top of my bookcase. I took off the three paintings I bought in Cambodia and forgot to get framed. I saw my giant sketchpad and it wasn’t on it. Since this piece of furniture is about 7 feet tall, I couldn’t see the top of it. I can barely reach the top when standing on my tippy toes. So I ended up sliding the sketchpad to the side and I saw something black fall off of my bookcase. My diploma. This piece of paper in a black case that somehow proves my qualifications of education that has been eluding me for the past 2 and a half months.

Now I can kinda breathe. Maybe. I still am moving to another continent in 63 days where I only know one person living there. I still have to figure out what exactly to pack and how to smartly pack for a graduate program in which I will be moving countries every 5 months or so. I still don’t know all of the details yet about how to even pay for the program or what is going to be happening when the program kicks off in Warsaw, Poland in 66 days.

Don’t get me wrong here. I am beyond excited for being able to get my Masters in International Humanitarian Action. I cannot wait to travel the world while getting my education in how to help people and set up systems that enable those affected by disasters to be helped and learn how to help themselves. I’m ready for this. I’ve had a year to prepare myself and reflect on what I truly want. And this is it. Right now the details and lack of knowing them is driving me insane. But now I can deal with all of this with one less detail hanging over me. My freaking college diploma.

Let me tell you this. Going back to school after being out of it for a year and a half is hard. I was a teacher and stuff so I am able to better understand now how to be a good student, and that helps. But I just feel so out of the loop. I forgot how to read academic articles for papers. I just forgot so many of the essential things you need to just know for being a student.

I’m taking 2 classes so the class load isn’t too bad, but one is a freshman level undergraduate class and the other is a graduate level class. These classes are worlds apart. The freshman class is a Macroeconomics class and the graduate class is on the European Union. Macroeconomics isn’t that bad, but since it’s an undergrad class they like to nickel and dime you for everything. Like you need to spend $300 on all the different supplies you need for just this one class, 2 textbooks, a special clicker to answer class questions, and other random stuff. It’s ridiculous. For the grad class though, I didn’t have to buy anything. The book, when we need to read it, is on reserve at the library and all of the other things you need are journal articles which are free to access. It’s amazing how different the two classes are.

Another big difference is that I’m at a huge public university. It’s a different world from Olivet. I’m definitely still adjusting to that, but it should get easier as it goes on. Anyways, it’s good practice for the future.

One of the hardest parts of taking these classes is that I don’t really fit into any of the prescribed student identities. As a non-degree seeking student, I don’t have any other classes than the 2 I’m taking and I’m not apart of any specific department. I’m also so much older than most of the students in my Macroeconomics class. I literally could be in this class with one of my students I taught last year and that’s definitely strange. In class earlier this week, the dude teaching had to explain why people would buy an iPod over an iPhone, because most of these kids in my class are too young to really remember a time before smartphones. I didn’t get a smartphone until I went to college! That was 6 years ago now, but I digress.

I’m a similar age to the students in my grad class, but I feel like a total slacker compared to them. I feel like the dumbest person in the room most of the time during our discussions. I’m normally a pretty confident person in my abilities and capabilities (some would say too confident), but I feel like everyone else is on a whole other level compared to me. It might have to do with the fact that I’m kinda taking a political science class and have never taken anything in that field before, but it’s still rough. I’ve forgotten so much of the student culture because I’ve not been a student for so long. I can’t imagine how much more difficult this would be if I had taken more time off of schooling.

One of the good things about getting back into it is that I’m realizing how much I actually need to get a masters degree. After my year of English teaching, I realized that being a teacher really isn’t for me. The parts of teaching and living abroad I enjoyed had absolutely nothing to do with being an actual teacher. I know I’m capable of being a good teacher and doing that for my career, but I have no desire to further pursue that anymore. Over the past 7 months of being back in America, I’ve had a lot of time to contemplate what I really want to do with my life and what I’m passionate about. My main focus that has driven me for the last 15 years or so while I’ve tried to figure out what I want to do with my life and the kind of person I want to become is that I want to help people. I’ve always been trying to figure out what way I would be best at doing that, but I might have more of direction now than I have previously. I think I want to get into helping refugees and advocating for others who don’t have a platform for their voices to be heard on the global stage. I know I have a lot of inherent privilege as a white, educated American and I want to use that to help people. I’m still figuring out exactly what I will study (depending on what programs I get into and such) and where I’ll go, but I’m finally truly excited (and absolutely terrified out of my mind) for what’s next in my life.

I really enjoy this time of year because it calls for introspection into one’s life and figuring out what you liked and didn’t like about the past year. This season also evokes those warm and cozy feelings while you gather with your family/friends to celebrate the holidays. You also have to answer lots of questions (you may not want to answer) from said family/friends that you may have not seen in a while. Here’s a possible list:

• “So are you dating anyone these days?”

• “You’ve been married for ________. When are you going to finally have kids?”

• “So what is it that you’ve been up to these days?”

• “What’s your opinion on Trump (or any other sort of politics)?”

• “So when are you going to get a “real” job?”

There are so many more things that could be added to this list that I frankly couldn’t think of. However, based out of my understanding, these questions seem to be some easy hot topic items and no matter how well-meaning they may be asked, sometimes there aren’t any good answers. There are so many hard life things that could be filled within these that others just wouldn’t understand.

But back to the question, what inspires you? For me, I’ve been very thankful to have the last 5 months as a time of reflection and break from the natural chaos of life. Having had this opportunity I am now able to see things more clearly than I was previously able to. I’m inspired by sunsets. I’m inspired by watching YouTube videos. I’m inspired by reading books. I’m inspired by conversations with people. I’m inspired by so many things.

While I was a freshman in college, I can remember a conversation in a class talking about our viewpoints. (We also watched movies like Star Wars and Shawshank Redemption as a part of our grades for this class.) We were talking about leaves and how we knew what they were and how they look. If you look very closely at a leaf, you are able to see all the different structures that make up a leaf, the cells, mitochondria, cell walls, chloroplasts and such. But if you look at a leaf in the scheme of nature, the picture looks much different. You see the leaf as apart of a branch, tree, forest, and so on.

If you look at yourself as a leaf, this makes it so much more complicated. Besides the fact that humans don’t have cell walls and chloroplasts, we are each individually made up of many things. We are, at our essence, what inspires us. If you are inspired by bravery, you work on becoming brave. If you are inspired by the ability to make the perfect cup of coffee, you work on making the perfect cup of coffee. The greatest loss would come from someone wasting their essence by never discovering what inspires them.

The thing I’m most inspired by is the “Sunday School” answer. Jesus. The reason I know this is because Jesus is the driving force behind whatever I do. Jesus is at the core of my being and my essence. If you do the necessary deep reflection, sometimes it’s okay to have the easy answer.