I move back to Kalamazoo today.  Into my house, for spring quarter, “for good.”  It’s funny, the thing we miss most when we leave is that security, that knowledge that there is so much love and life and friendship in this place for me and I am gone from it.  But the longer we are gone from it, the less secure it feels.  And I don’t think it’s because there’s any less vibrancy in the place, but it’s because we have to learn to find that fulfillment in other places.  In Chile.  In Europe.  In my parent’s house.

Yesterday I said goodbye to the most “home” place that I’ve had during my time in Minnesota, and it’s kind of crazy how sad I was to leave because it was a place I thought I was done with a really long time ago, my high school.  Now, I’ve been back there over every break I’ve had from college since I graduated, and I even make a trip back most Novembers just for their debate tournament. Apple Valley’s speech and debate program was my life in high school, and those ties aren’t easily severed.  (I held my old coach’s 5 week old baby last weekend and it was the first baby I’ve ever not hated.)  But I always return in a half-ashamed, “oh yeah, Coach So-and-so (name changed to protect the innocent) still has me in her clutches, ha ha ha” kind of way.  But being here for so long, and getting to do the things I got to do this time around, namely, actually having a more active role in coaching students, was hands down the thing that kept me sane during my time at home these three months.  And I was really sad to have to leave that yesterday.  It was a role I felt comfortable in, a role that felt important.  I never would have believed you if you’d told me 6 months ago that I’d have been so happy just going back to Apple Valley for my time off.  No flashy internship (but a few fantastic travels), just going back home, and making it feel like home in a new way.

So, it’s time for another transition.  My flight is booked one-way.  I can’t believe these months, the ones I just had to “get through” to get back to K are finally at a close.  Something’s coming full-circle.  I wish I had some thought or mantra to prepare myself for going back, but if I’ve learned anything it’s that you’re usually not ready for changes until they’re already happening.

Wait, Guys

I”m not in Chile anymore.  When did that happen?

Home is where?

It is absolutely inconceivable to me in this moment that a week ago I was 5000 miles away in Chile hanging out with my host sister and her friends.  The transition was pretty much like walking through a door and shutting it behind me.  A threshold, in the form of 20ish hours of travel, was crossed, and then the two worlds were shut off from one another.  That sudden transition is nice in that I’ve been busy and I’ve sort of jumped back into old Minnesota routines without missing a beat (read: debate).  That transition is difficult in that I’m pretty sure I’m just not processing Chile and being gone from Chile whatsoever, it’s just sort of a mental block, so I know the most difficult part of cultural readjustment and generally “getting over” an incredible experience that’s now gone is probably ahead of me.

My life for the next two years is going to involve a lot of moving.  I’ll chill here til March, move into a house in Kalamazoo for 11 short weeks, move out and do god knows what for the summer, and move into a different house for senior year before having to pack up, move on, and find a new home/community/source of income.  When I was stressed and sleep-deprived during finals week this semester, that thought was so exhausting.  I felt rootless.  It didn’t matter to me in that moment where I settled down, I just wanted to be somewhere for longer than a few months, to have some sort of continuity.

So it’s a pretty important time in my life to be figuring out how to make a home somewhere.  I realize how precious it is to be so free at this point in my life, not being tied to one geographic location or career, because that will change pretty rapidly after the glorious college years are over.  But at the same time, that means learning how to make these constant adjustments more effectively.  Chile changed my perspective on what it means to do that.  

I’m the type of person who generally, when going into new situations, is very focused on how I need to behaving, what I need to be learning, what I should be feeling.  I left spring term at Kalamazoo, after having to say long goodbyes to several really important people in my life, ready for a bit of time to refocus on myself and my personal goals.  But I noticed that during the low points of my w, probably about early September, I dreamt about all the great communities I’m a part of in Kalamazoo that were so distant.  LandSea (wilderness orientation program), DeLux (slam poetry team), Queen Bees (ultimate frisbee), and service-learning were all waiting for me at K, groups that I have a deep passion for and hope to help lead when I go back.  All of this besides the fact that I have the most incredible group of best friends on the planet, and we were scattered to far corners of the globe on 6 continents.  And there I was stuck in a place where I didn’t feel integral or connected to any group of people, much less one containing Chileans, the ones I’d come to get to know.

Somewhere along the way, that changed.  One walk home, beach trip, night out at a time, I got to know some really freaking incredible individuals and found another family in Chile.  I clicked with my host family in a big way, and made an amazing group of new friends.  I had people to check in with about daily life, emotional ups and downs, and stories from yesterday’s carrete.  We traveled together, ate and drank together, explored together.  Now we’re scattered all over the place once again and I find myself missing those feelings of connectedness.

I learned a billion things in Chile, small and large.  But the one I’m going to take with me for the next few years, in the midst of all the upcoming changes, is this: Rather than asking “What do I need to be doing in this new environment?” it’s WAY more important to ask “What can I do to build community?”.  More important, to me, than “commit to learning Spanish!” or “be present!” or “take advantage of every opportunity!” is remembering to create ways to connect with people, because really, that’s what makes every great life experience.  La Serena wouldn’t have been nearly as memorable without deep life chats under the stars, Patagonia’s nothing without shared oatmeal in front of the Torres, and empanadas are always better after a run with some friends.  And it’s hard.  It’s scary.  It takes effort and it doesn’t always work how you want it to.  But it’s so so necessary.  You’ve got to call people up and ask them to hang out even if you’re afraid they secretly hate you for some reason.  You’ve got to invite people over or plan events  for groups.  You’ve got to be willing to strike up conversation even if you feel like an idiot (and regardless of your comfort with the language).  I’ve been known to be a fiercely independent “I don’t need anyone, I take care of myself” type.  I’m also generally pretty shy.  But Chile helped me realize the importance of having people to trust and lean on and laugh with, and it taught me that those relationships have to be built.  When I look back on the amazing communities I’ve been a part of in my life, I think I idealize how they “took me in” or how magically we connected.  But first encounters are almost always awkward and full of second-guessing.  You just have to get past it and not let it deter you from trying to get to something real.  I remember an early conversation with Orin, one of my Chile besties.  ”I’ve noticed that you’re pretty awkward too.  How do you get past small talk?”  I gave him a look.  ”What? I said ‘too.’”

Chilean hospitality was also hugely important to the development of this view.  Day one my host mom had me pick out the mug that would always be mine and told me which was my place at the table.  Hanging out with my host sister (or any Chileans really) was always a “bring anyone and everyone you know” type of affair.  It wasn’t uncommon to find friends or family in the house for tea, and it didn’t have to be some big fancy production, just a chance to share some bread and talk for awhile.  I can’t wait to have my own house just so that I have somewhere to welcome everyone and anyone to sleep on the couch or drink tea or talk about their day. 

So I haven’t wrapped my head around what it means to be home in the most traditional sense of the word, meaning living with my parents in the house I grew up in.  It honestly doesn’t feel that different than it always has, because I’m used to having a few whirlwind weeks around here before jetting off new places.  But I do know that to keep from going crazy, I’m going to need to tap into the communities I’m a part of here and find ways to be involved and connected.  Because if I had to use a cliche and cheesy phrase to answer this blog’s question it would be this: home is wherever you make it.

How was your trip?

Now that I’m home, I have to start thinking about how I’m going to go about talking about/ sharing this experience with other people.  I got a handy-dandy handout from my seminar suggesting I think about 3 different types of responses: the three-second response, the three-minute response, and the three-hour response.  On the three-seconder, it has this to say:

For the people whom you know are just asking to be polite…. you can always just say “it was great!” But consider coming up with a sentence or two that might surprise people, or pique their interest.

I did a little brainstorming on the plane, and here’s some of the stuff I came up with:

• It was amazing, incredible, life-changing.  It’s an incredible country. I’m in love with it.
• Well, I’m basically a communist now…
• Pasó la raja poweon, todo era suuuuperbakan, cachai?
• I didn’t find all the answers, but I got a lot of great new questions.
• I changed SO much.  No seriously.  I’m not the same person at all.  Look at my jewelry made from recycled flatware and how big these earrings are and the 1-square-inch tattoo I haven’t gotten yet.  I’m SO DIFFERENT.
• You’ll never understand.
• In the DFW airport, they brought me my bill with my food. That would never happen in Chile.
• It was everything they told us it would be and nothing they could have prepared us for. (straight-up jacked from vonnythuts)
• I learned that the world is both bigger and smaller than I ever thought before.
• Impossible to summarize.
• I can’t wait to go back.

Take what you will from that about how I’m feeling about being home, because I haven’t really figured it out yet.  Loving whole-wheat bread, hummus, fudge and family. What home means post is still coming.

This is over, but it lasts

Freshman winter, my Intro to Creative Writing class clicked in a big way.  I don’t know how to explain it, but the dynamic was amazing, the community was powerful, and we were all sad for it to end.  And we’d see each other of course, but it would never be the same dynamic again.  Our time together had to end.  So whenever I find myself facing sad endings, I remember what our incredible professor told us on the last day of class. “This is over, but it lasts.”

So I’m an emotional mess right now and promise more thorough reflections shortly, but to get me through the confusion of trying to wrap my head around the fact that this— this, study abroad, my current habits and routines, being surrounded by all of the people I’ve shared this awesome experience with, study abroad, the thing that brings us to K College— is ending, I’m trying to think about the way some crazy emotional essence of Chile is something I can keep with me forever.  Lindos recuerdos siempre.  I’ve had the time of my life.

Let’s go ahead and bring this back to my favorite Disney movie of the moment, Tangled.  Rapunzel’s all nervous that going to see the lanterns isn’t going to be what she expected and that it’ll leave her feeling all empty and weird when the thing she’s been dreaming about for so long is over.  And her handsome animated male counterpart shares some words I legitimately appreciate.

“That’s the good part I guess.  You get to find a new dream.”