Wander Into –

A Collection of Journeys

A letter to those afraid of getting stuck January 9, 2017

Filed under: Volunteering — Wanderhere @ 9:45 am
Tags: ,

I never thought I would end up here. I’m sure I never expected to end up anywhere, but in the rare moments that I would try to plan my future, here was never part of the package.

Let me explain.

For the past 3 and a half years, I have been living in the small town I grew up in. Even admitting that now brings me a wave of shame and guilt as I have been taught to feel by almost every peer that I grew up with. I am marrying a man who has never lived outside of Northeast Ohio, and loves his family more than anything else in his life. I assure you, many people never would have guessed that I would have ended up here.

They’re wrong.

The words ‘ended up’ are fundamentally wrong for any statement about my life, and it is partially the fault of social media that had made me feel this is the end. But that is an argument for another life.

I’m not ending up anywhere. I’m not ending. This, all of this, is the beginning. I wouldn’t be marrying this wonderful man if I didn’t truly believe so. And that says a lot. Because it’s taken a whole hell of a lot to get me to stay.

 I’ve never known much about my life. I mean planning-wise. I’ve never been a planner. I always just thought things would work themselves out if I found things I enjoyed doing and people I enjoyed being around. That’s not to say that I haven’t worked hard. Many of my closest friends know the, “I’m too tired and stressed to function,” face which rears its ugly head far too often. I remember panicking in the fourth grade because we had to do a career project. I had no idea what I wanted to do. Even then, the decision for a career felt so concrete.

In college, I remember wandering around outside, talking to my dad, crying that I wouldn’t know what to do with a creative writing degree, that I didn’t want to teach, that I didn’t have any clear path.

The world likes clear paths. It likes logic and step by step analysis. It likes rushing who you are into a box so everyone else can compartmentalize you into a theory, an allegory. You’re easier to swallow that way. When I looked around at 21, I saw no one like me. The path to graduate school didn’t suit me. I had no clear understanding of what I could do with all of these new critical thinking skills.  

I traveled. I had 2 years of gritty, real experiences. I found faces that longed for the sun, and hearts that wandered. But during that time, I missed things. I wasn’t there for family, for illness, for near death. I was too far to hold them. Part of me felt that it was ok. They told me to live. They told me to go.

But I am missing the point.

This letter is for those souls who feel stuck. For those who feel like they ended up, instead of chose, and are bitter and shame-driven and guilty about it.

There is a whole world out there, and yes, I know that to you it is already painfully obvious because you feel like you are missing it. I know, I feel it too still. But to those who are still in their hometown or not where they want to be, please know –  this place that you are in is a place. It is somewhere. Maybe you are the change that it needs for now. I know you do not need these things to rest only on your shoulders when you already feel so heavy, but understand that when you shed the weight of guilt and shame, you can now carry this responsibility.

You’ve heard it before – you are not here forever unless you actively chose to be. The things that happen in your life take time. Think of what has really shaped you. The things that are worth it take time, and you’ve got plenty of it. No matter how young or old you are.

These reasons seem frivolous. Ultimately it’s your decision to make amends with this life. 

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I am a Wilderness First Responder, can I help you? January 7, 2014

My favorite parts of life are when I can do something that makes me nervous. It helps remind me to absorb the experience fully – to be an active part of this life. Since August, I have been finding 1 new thing to experience each month, all stemming from the fact that I didn’t want to lose myself during unemployment.

August: Road trip by myselfIMG950168

September: Live in Cleveland for a week

October: Volunteer for a trail crew with Ohio DNR

November: Learn the Ukulele

December: Get my Wilderness First Responder Certification

The day after Christmas, I traveled to Seattle, Washington to take a Wilderness First Responder certification course. I paid for it with some of my AmeriCorps Education Award money, and signed up for the course back in October when I was jobless and entirely frustrated with being at home – my entire body aching for adventure and that nervous feeling you get when you do something completely new.

The only problem with my plan was that in mid-December something happened. I had 4 interviews in the same week. I got a full time job offer to work for a well-respected non-profit that was going to start in my home town. I was given the title of ‘Director’ and told to run with it. I have constantly reminded myself that I could do and live anywhere for a year – I never imagined that would mean the place I grew up. I wrestled with what the job would mean for my life goals – would I ever make it west again? Was I giving up on my personal development for professional goals?

In time, I came to accept the position and where I was. I knew the good work I would be doing with children would make a difference. I felt busy and useful. My first two weeks helped me feel more comfortable, maybe even vaguely content. I was lucky enough that the organization even allowed me to miss work and travel to Washington for my WFR certification.

Can you see Mt. Rainier?

Can you see Mt. Rainier?

The day after Christmas I flew west for the course, and it felt like a homecoming. In the edited words of John Muir, “The mountains (were) calling, and I (did) go.” Flying over the crinkled brow of the earth, seeing the Cascades out my plane window, I remembered what bliss felt like.20131226_124633

Something happened in those 2 weeks I was away. I fell in love again with the Pacific Northwest, with every raindrop that created the coast’s beautiful vibrancy of being. Things there are textured with life and the reminder of the motions of it. The stunning mountain views, and chill of the wind off the sound awoke that part of my brain that was slipping into fallacy. I could finally let go of the portion of me that was worried I would forget the lesson that, yes, this beauty does exist, and it beckons with every part of mother earth. It was no dream I lived last April when I lived in this place.

Our class was 10 days on Bainbridge Island filled with wilderness emergency scenarios, growing friendships and an underlying respect for the outdoors. The 30 of us grew to know names and palpate spines. We looked for signs of life in the airways we spoke from, the precious breaths we took, the reminder that each pulse was such a sure fire sign that our hearts could still feel and decide, and lastly, that we were trained to expose something deeper. Our communal living was a force with which we built resiliency. I love the potential of the human body, hence my degree in an anatomy/physiology field, but to combine it with the awe of nature, and complexities of the human condition, well, I was in my element.

My entire WFR class. I palpated everyone's spine at least once.

My entire WFR class. I’m sure I palpated everyone’s spine at least once.

Another of my favorite things in life is to meet new people and become a part of their lives, if only for a short time. It is because we make ourselves vulnerable to others that we can feel this acceptance and acknowledgement of the humanity that surrounds us. When with good people, it’s never a choice. There is an irresistible flow to life that draws us to one another – our friendships and stories that carry us sometimes far beyond whatever was intended – beyond comfort or anticipation of the reaches of even our greatest foresight.

After we were all officially WFRs!

After we were all officially WFRs!

My trip to Seattle was a perfect storm of bliss and nature and people and learning.  Upon the touchdown of my plane wheels in Ohio, it seemed as though my molten and dynamic self was thrown into water to harden. It was like reliving the utter halt of adventure I felt when I arrived home from California. There was such a drastic shift in my attitude toward the place where I am – my head still filled with mountains and playful hearts.

There are two conflicting thoughts that make my stomach drop, that make me nervous – the first being that I am stuck here for another few years as I build myself professionally. The second being that I am scared of what I now know to be true – I feel most at home when I am wandering and seeking new journeys. Though I never want to lose that spark that keeps me moving, that way of life seems so out of my comfort zone that I’m not sure I can handle it as gracefully as the people I surrounded myself with these past few weeks. I can only hope to hold on to the one absolute I am entirely sure of – that I will never love anything more than helping, loving, and learning from people.

For now, it seems I am a broken record proclaiming that home is still not home, and the meaning of my life is based on the culmination of something I’m not quite grasping yet. I hope my journey isn’t inhibited by a distracted existence – only thriving on moments when I am away instead of here, head in the clouds and dreaming of mountains.

 

I Will Hold on Hope – Local Journeys and the Job Search September 10, 2013

Coming into these past few weeks, I felt a gray cloud of apathy starting to creep in. I am so anxious for my next step that I have been afraid to take any while I am still at home. I keep willing the phone to ring, praying for my email inbox to show a sign that I would be moving on soon. It hasn’t yet, and I am left sitting, alone, waiting, stagnant and holding my breath. The minutes pass with so much effort that by 8pm each night, I am ready to let the rest of my waking hours escape me as hope for new things fade with the sunlight.

Last week would have been the first day of school for my graduate program in Boston. I know it wasn’t a mistake that I didn’t go, but even so, the sting of what could have been a new adventure is still fresh. Even though I could see my mind slipping into feeling sorry for myself, I didn’t quite know what to do. Luckily, I had several trips scheduled for Labor Day weekend that made me feel like my world was still moving. They made me acknowledge something past this computer screen and my constant refreshing of Idealist. 2013-08-31_11-35-47_364

My first stop was to Troy, Ohio, a small town on the Southwest side of the state, famous for corn fields and aviation. The town was part of the Gentlemen of the Road Stopover Tour – a weekend music festival that included bands like Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, Old Crow Medicine Show, and the headliner, Mumford & Sons.

Camp city at the Gentlemen of the Road festival in Troy, Ohio.

Camp city at the Gentlemen of the Road festival in Troy, Ohio.

To say songs like Home, The Cave, and Wagon Wheel got me through marathons, long nights of studying, and roads that stretched the California coast, would be an understatement. Countless hours were spent with friends humming the lyrics, or on runs pushing myself to the rhythm of folksy banjo playing. Not only was I excited to see some of my favorite bands perform, but I was also able to meet up with friends I had not seen since last December. Celebrating the music with them, and finally forgetting my shortcomings of not finding a job was all I could have asked for.

As Mumford closed, I couldn’t help but believe in what the band was crooning to me – I will hold on hope. Thousands of people were raising their hands in belief, knowing something they must hold on for or to or with. We were all holding on for something, and knowing that our humanity held us so close cradled my thoughts as I traveled away from Troy the next day.

2013-08-31_19-27-08_893After an exhausting 2 days filled with music, humidity and plenty of hippies, I drove to the other corner of Ohio to Cleveland where I met up with former AmeriCorps NCCC teammate and irreplaceable friend, Rachel. She and her mother had driven in from Baltimore for the long weekend to see the Orioles take on the Indians.

The last time I had seen Rachel, we were embracing after graduation from NCCC in Sacramento, California. It was one of those formidable moments of friendship, knowing that past that moment, nothing would be the same. She had been with me for 10 months as my roommate, confidant, and super hug giver, and I had missed her dearly over the past month we had been away.

Like the cliché, it was as if no time or distance had passed at all. We talked about our team boys, reminisced about the best and worst AmeriCorps had brought out of us, and what life had been giving us lately.

Our team carried lumber to build a bridge along a Washington trail. 12 miles in the rain!

Our team carried lumber to build a bridge along a Washington trail. 12 miles in the rain!

For the first time in a month, I felt normal again. I felt at home. Here was someone who knew what I meant when I spoke about carrying lumber 12 miles in the rain, who knew what it felt like to live with 7 other people and love it and hate at the same time, who could describe the bitter cold of a New Jersey winter and the extreme heat of a Sacramento summer in the same breath, and who had gone through something that others simply wouldn’t understand. It shaped us. Applying for jobs had felt so hopeless because it was impossible to convey what I had learned through volunteer work and travel in 3 lines of my resume, but being around Rachel, words could finally form about the experience. For the first time since coming back from California, standing still felt ok because I finally was no longer alone.

Maybe my experiences over Labor Day are to say, I need my people, or new people, or more people. I need others there to make this feel worth it, to make it feel like I can hold on hope because they’re holding on just as hard and as long. I suppose it’s something I can take with me on my job search as well – I need people. Whether it’s making them feel loved, or strong, or they’re reminding me over the distance of cornfields and storm clouds that I’m home just hearing them –  I need them.

Rachel and I at the Indian's game.

Rachel and I at the Indian’s game.

Throughout the time I spent with Rachel in Cleveland, Edward Sharpe was echoing through my head, “Home is whenever I’m with you.” I have written before of the homes I have built in people, remodeling my homes when I start something new, but always keeping treasured pieces of my past displayed on the mantle of my heart.

Home is whenever I’m with you.

And even when I can’t see these people, when they’re not in close proximity, I know they are part of the foundation of who I am and who I once was. Even though they’re miles from me, and even now when I feel our lives diverging, their love surrounds me. Even in the people I have never met, I share a common humanity with that allows us to love one another, and feel empathy for their hard days too.

We will hold on hope because we can build homes in each other. My heart sometimes breaks for the unemployed of my generation because this job search feels like broken promises. I honestly hope young people don’t give up on pursuing what they love or feel they are called to do. It’d be a shame to stop believing we can reach our potential simply because no one is there to tell us that we still CAN, after every rejection letter.

So let’s join hands like those hippies I saw in Troy (maybe minus the tambourine and washboard). Let’s feel like it does to hug a friend you simply can’t live without. Let’s believe in what we’re doing and who we’re becoming, even if it feels improbable that we’ll ever make it out of here sometimes. Let’s know there is a world out there waiting to embrace us, even when all we want to do is scream at the skies we’re under.

My last words to you come from Rachel, and I hope you believe them too. “Don’t you know? You’re going to be ok.”

Hold on hope!

Billy Joel speaking truth at the Roack and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland.

Billy Joel speaking truth at the Roack and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland.

 

Welcome Back – the Worst Words for a Traveler? August 23, 2013

Filed under: Travel — Wanderhere @ 9:12 am
Tags: , , , , ,

My mom says it’s a break. A good break. A well-deserved break. I call it unemployment. I call it having no plan.

Welcome back. Those two words have been haunting my steps ever since I moved back after AmeriCorps. This seemingly inviting phrase has carried more weight than anything else I’ve heard from my friends, family, and relations while I’ve been back in Ohio. Each time I hear it, I cringe.

There was always a plan in the works. In November of last year, I submitted my application for graduate school programs in exercise science and public health. With a personal statement ripe with passion to change the world through healthy living and community based programming, I sent my hopes to further my education to schools that matched my unique desire.

My team was just arriving back to Sacramento in March from our project in Southern California when I got the news about graduate school. I hesitantly opened the sealed envelope and immediately broke down as I read, “Congratulations!” as the first line. I embraced my team, ignoring the Manzanita brush cuts and rampant poison oak on my arms, tears streaming down my face knowing that somewhere wanted me. I had a plan.

2013-08-17_13-13-59_497A lot can happen in 10 months. Passions shift, and you can figure out what’s more important through unexpected experiences. Maybe life just comes into focus a little better as you get further and further into your twenties, or maybe you just turn towards something that used to be your peripheral. Whatever happened, graduate school became this fading desire – a back-up plan to something else in life. When one of my friend’s asked me in May how I was feeling about going back to school after AmeriCorps, I responded honestly. I wasn’t thrilled, and openly conveyed the sentiment that school had just become something to do. It was not until receiving the final financial aid package, and realizing that I could be in debt almost $35,000 after getting my Masters that I decided it was time to change plans.

The problem was that it took me a long time to admit to myself that grad school wasn’t right for me. I didn’t end up unofficially deferring until one week before the end of my AmeriCorps term, leaving me with no plan, and the all too common sinking reality of unemployment.

I know there is no malicious intent when people tell me, “welcome back”, but all I seem to hear is, “I guess you didn’t get much farther than your front door these past 2 years after college graduation. How’s your mom’s couch?”

So what did I do to alleviate these welcome back feelings? I left. Fast-forward to last week and my solo roadtrip to Alabama.

Having some fun when I could drag myself off the couch.

Having some fun when I could drag myself off the couch. We’re trees!

Besides giving me a great chance to practice my singing (more like shouting) voice, the trip away, only 2 weeks after I had arrived home, felt more like home. When I look back on the past 6 years of my life, I have not lived in the same place for more than 12 months. Packing up and going has become a lifestyle, and maybe the welcome backs and the antsy-ness that comes with it has become part of it too.

I blew into Alabama on a whim and the hope that a road trip would help me better focus on what life had in store for me rather than what I was still missing. I was positive the 10 hour drive and seeing one of my closest friends from college would settle me down, and help me cope with having no job and no plan.

I was embracing being in the moment. I was living without a plan and going wherever the southern winds would take me. I was…sick on my friend’s couch for the entirety of the week. My biggest adventure was choosing which tissue box I wanted to grab from, with the excitement of racing to see if I would make it there before the next sneeze. I was pretty well confined to bed rest and Netflix episodes of Say Yes to the Dress.

I think this was my body’s was of telling me, yes, take a break. A well-deserved break. I have been in ‘go’ mode for the past 2 years of volunteering, with the last 10 months being one of the most stressful in recent years. I suppose my mom was right.

But I am scared of this break. What if I become complacent? What if I settle? Even though I know what I’ve done has fulfilled me and hopefully helped others along the way, I don’t know how to convey that to the welcome backers. I find myself thinking in circles, about my graduate school what-ifs – that I could have had it all figured out for another 2 years with a Masters degree in hand. Why didn’t I suck it up and go for it? Instead of moving to Boston next week, I’ll still be staying in my childhood bedroom.

But…

My brother and I at an Indian's game in Cleveland.

My brother and I at an Indian’s game in Cleveland.

After going to Alabama, I remembered how good it was to bask in the warmth of friendship. This opportunity for a break will give me time to reach out to all of those wonderful people I’ve met in the past few years, whereas On-the-Go-Christine didn’t really have the time.

So, instead of starting something new right away, I’ll be surrounded by the love of my family, and embraced, not by change, but by years of friendship, knowing that I have more than a just a short second of hello and good-byes. This is a well-deserved break, and an opportunity to be a part of the lives and community I so treasured years ago.

I know it’s going to be a long and frustrating road to employment. I need to catch myself when I start thinking little of my worth and experiences. I can only hope I’ll keep my heart open enough during this time at home to not become bitter about not being able to improve communities hundreds or thousands of miles away, and maybe find the worth in improving the community around me instead.

 

She was not where she was going, but she was not where she had been August 9, 2013

As my friend and fellow AmeriCorps Alum put it, “What a wonderful chance we have to be knee deep in our emotions.”

Sunset in Oakland

Sunset in Oakland

There is so much to still say about everything I went through for the past 10 months. So many deep feelings about departures and starting overs and homecomings. So many things about good-byes and lost loves and never-did-I-get-to-do or will-do-agains. I am feeling such a loss of culture and who I was defined through it.

I have done this before, but it always seems hard to reconcile when it actually happens. I come back this changed and passionate person, completely defined by the experience I just went through, a trumpeter for all things AmeriCorps or camp or college. As new experiences and life phases happen, the passion of this moment fades. Pictures or memories that once made me cry are now tucked into a place that a simple, “that’s nice,” contains all of the emotion I can muster. The mind acts as a grate, and much of what I am feeling now will be washed over in one month? Two?

My Mom and Dad picked me up from Sacramento after my graduation, and we spent a week driving to Yosemite and Phoenix. I was able to see more amazing and breathtaking things in that week, and was given the opportunity to re-connect with my parents after not seeing them for the better part of a year. While in Arizona, peering out over the red rock in Sedona, my dad gave me the chance to decompress from what was going on in my head. As I fought back tears describing my experiences and sense of loss, he sat and listened, and watching the clouds roll over the desert said, “How many lives we get to lead in this one lifetime. How many things we get to experience and feel and be and do.” I know he is right – this is just the next life I get to lead.P1020447P1020456

There are always little chapters we must put away after finishing. There will always be transition and yearning for how things were, lest we forget that how things were were not perfect in the least…but I guess that’s what made them so special. Our experience is defined by those imperfections and moments of absolute beauty because of them – triumphing over the trials that we faced everyday. It’s just that, in NCCC, those trials faced everyday, were never faced alone. Not one moment of those 10 months was at a loss for people. And when those people are no longer there to help hold you up during those trials or sometimes cause them in the first place, there is an overwhelming sense of loneliness. It feels like this point in time hurts deeper than most pauses between endings and beginnings. Where are my people? And who have I become because of them?

Casey, me, Rachel

Casey, me, Rachel

I find the worst part to be the waiting game with friends, and the worry that the only thing in common in the first place were the gray uniforms. This transition of friendship takes the longest. It’s figuring out what role these people will play in my future, only knowing their constant presence as such an integral part of my past.

Not everything fades though. The important stuff, the stuff that really did change your life, made you more empathetic or hard or vegetarian, remains. It does not get swept away. I take heart in this.

I suppose stay power or not, it is important to remember that – they, it, was everything I had for that period in my life. It did happen, just like camp happened, just like college happened, and just like life will keep happening. I have these stunning moments I am able to latch on to – those memories that just won’t leave me. Or maybe it’s the memories that do, and all I am left with is a warm afterglow to sustain this powerful thing that just happened, knowing that not actually recalling the very words or actions is not as important as knowing that it made me feel deep inside my being.

Yes, I am hurting. I am reconciling with being home and lost and not where everyone else used to be. I am yearning for things to be how they were and knowing they can’t be. I only take faith in the fact that I’ve done this before, and those friends who were meant to stick with me, did.

I watched part of Eat. Pray. Love. yesterday, and stumbled across the part where Julia Robert’s character exclaims, “But I miss him!” The other character she is talking to responds, “Then miss him! Send him light and love over the universe and move on.”

Today, I am sending light and love to my fellow Corps Members, our beautiful memories, our trying times, and every single breath in between. I am especially sending love to my team, who became my family. I hope you feel my love surrounding you today and every time you think well over our experiences. I miss you all dearly. P1020397

 

Follow-up, Follow through, Fall forward August 7, 2013

Understanding that my last post was 6 months ago, I am due for an update.

AmeriCorps NCCC just ended two weeks ago, today, and I am still at a loss for words to describe the last 10 months. This post, however, will serve as a summary of the things I have done over this time. It is in no way the whole story, but hopefully that will be drawn out in the months to come.

Green 6 on graduation from AmeriCorps NCCC, Pacific Region

Green 6 on graduation from AmeriCorps NCCC, Pacific Region

Where I’ve been:

Round 1: Sly Park Outdoor Education Center, Pollock Pines, CA (acting as cabin leaders)

Round 2: Hurricane Sandy Relief with VOAD of Bergen County and Rebuilding Together, Moonachie & Little Ferry, NJ (insulating the underside of mobile homes); Camp Stevens, Julian, CA (fire mitigation)

Round 3: Mountains to Sound Greenway, Greater Seattle area, WA (trailwork)

Round 4: Reading Partners, Oakland, CA (curriculum building)

Below you will find the celebration videos my team made after each project round. They serve a little better as an explanation until I get around to it.

Green 6 traveled thousands of mile together, lost 4 members, and served many incredible people, organizations, and communities. We will never be the same people, and hopefully, in the coming days, I’ll let you know a little more why. As I continue on in my journey, I can only hope to keep acknowledging the lessons I learned throughout this experience.

My goals are to follow-up with what we have done, and the organizations we worked for; follow through with posting more regularly; and fall forward into whatever life has in store for me next. I’ll give you a hint, I have no idea.

My next post will serve as a good-bye to my 2 years of volunteer experiences, the people I’ve known through it, and the acknowledgement of all the space between. Grab your tissues, it’s going to be my, “I hope you had the time of your life,” post.

 

Who we are and Who we were (Finding Home) January 6, 2013

Filed under: Volunteering — Wanderhere @ 4:54 pm
Tags: , , , , ,

AmeriCorps NCCC gave us a two week break over the holidays. It is the only long break we have, so many of us took advantage of the time to go home. In that time, it was a race to see how many memories we could relive. It reminded us of who we were before we put on the A. For some of us, it was a wonderful relief to be embraced by familiar arms, for others, it was a reminder of what they were trying to grow out of. Among my comings and goings, I have learned that the transition between who you are and who you were is one of the hardest things.

I love these wonderful ladies!

I love these wonderful ladies!

I came home to the open arms of family, and the loving embraces of friends. It has come to the point in my life where I am only seeing these dear people once or twice a year. I have come to terms with this, seeing them grow and become beautiful people makes it seem worth the wait. Upon seeing them I have found that over the years, we hold on to what is most true in ourselves, and often work toward what is most good.

Over break, I had the chance to visit my college town to meet up with some very good friends to ring in 2013. It was so nice to be back in Oxford. It was the first time since graduation that I had visited, and more than the great memories of school, it reminded me of something I didn’t realize upon being a fresh graduate– that I successfully committed to something. I put 4 years in the same place and I didn’t get stuck, but rather, the exact opposite. I had flown away from there.

Friends from Miami.

Friends from Miami.

One of my biggest fears for my own future is that I’ll end up complacent. This is part of the reason why I haven’t actively been looking for a career, instead choosing to travel and work in spurts of year long commitments. If I travel in work in somewhere new each year, I feel like I’ll eventually satisfy that need to seek and explore.

But, the realization I had while walking around Miami University’s campus, helped me actually believe I’ll end up somewhere – settled and comfortable. I’m not saying that wandering is all of a sudden not a priority in my life at 23, but the prospect of being somewhere for longer than a year isn’t so unrealistic or scary. I have renewed faith in myself to commit to a place, a person, or a job, as long as I am finding worth in it. I know that someday I’ll find that place I can call home again, and build my life around. For now, this feeling has also given me a renewed excitement for this current opportunity to find home in myself, and a contentment in what I am doing. I wrote this last year when I was wrapping up my VISTA year around others in the VISTA program:

As I sat thinking about the people surrounding me this weekend, it struck me that at the core of this journey, AmeriCorps becomes about being content in service to others. It becomes about finding the common ground between you and this big, big world. Sometimes it takes standing still for a bit to realize it.  

Between all of us, the definition of the word ‘home’ as we have now come to understand it is, indeed, a fluid one. We have become our own homes, holding our hearth inside our chests, giving warmth to those around us as we travel into and out of these tunnels and throughways. The entirety of the coastline our bedroom and comforter, the highway our lullaby, as the miles pass and woo us into sleep. Even those who serve their own state or city become wrapped in another shell, now dressing themselves in a role where home is different somehow – both new and old as perspectives shift with the passing of days. These programs ask us to be content in this, our service here, wherever ‘here’ is, to sustain all other things.

Miami University

Miami University

As our home is created around us through our own values and lessons learned, it’s the relationships we’re forming that will be the most important when we look back; they are part of the sustaining life-force to drive this contentment. Though we have come for our own reasons, with so many stories already written on our faces and hands, we look forward to being written on by others, intrigued by their wrinkles and scars. It’s people that make the difference, and therefore it’s people that we invest in. We gladly hand them a pen and tell them to record what they have seen on our awaiting pages – our hearts. Some of these relationships we bury. We try to whiteout the paragraphs of the parts we find unimportant, only to realize, with the passing of time, an important note written in the margins. In this journey, we come to see that we need to keep our eyes wider, our hands ready, and our hearts open to all of these people and experiences.

Home.

Home.

As for now, these people are my home. These young people willing, yearning for a change in themselves, in their country, in mankind. I know sometimes we don’t realize the impact when day after day small steps seem to add to nothing. We check our math, reassuring ourselves that the footprints are leading somewhere, that the addition of our work will eventually give way to a collaborative effort much greater than ourselves. These hard days come, but that is precisely when we need to look back and firmly resolve that the decision and want for improvement is in itself a positive impact on our society.

We are content in our service to others as the mainstay of our lives for now, and I hope this purpose finds a way to stay within us. Filling, pouring into, creating, restoring. But what it comes down to, what it really comes down to, is that contentment in service, that common bond among us carrying with it, the potential to change our world.

I hope for this new year I can appreciate and learn from who I was in all the places I’ve been, and take it with me for the remainder of this fantastic journey. But, for now, I’ll find my home in the people I am surrounded by, and I am content in that.

Tomorrow I will be flying in to Baltimore, MD to start this next project. A big THANK YOU to Southwest Airlines for donating tickets to AmeriCorps NCCC so we can help with the disaster relief in New York and New Jersey.