moving

this season of overwhelming transition
of applying for full-time jobs
of trying to figure out where my things will go
of trying to figure out where i'll move
of the parents selling their house
of cousin moving to spain
of moving

i feel most at home when things are in motion, but not when everything is in the air
i feel most confident when i'm the one doing the moving, when i'm still in control, when there's still some kind of pattern
i feel calm when i have an idea of where i'll go and what i'll do

and this is the opposite of that
this time of upheaval
this time of disorder
this time of uprooting, yet again
this time of unknown

this time of learning to trust
this time of learning to lean again
this time of learning to fully rely


this time of leaving on a really, really long road trip through the woods and mountains
because i don't know what else to do -- but keep moving

understanding and building bridges

the difficulties of
understanding,
sharing,
trying to explain something that means so much to you,
but to others - doesn't often enter their realm of thought.
the difficulties of
trying
to take something you're learning and apply it.

the difficulties of getting people to understand.
the difficulties of trying to cross boundaries.
the difficulties of getting conveying importance and priorities.

something i realized this weekend: sharing new, important, ground-breaking things with people is really, really hard. and getting them to understand and appreciate these new things even a fraction as much as i do is even harder.

you can't force people to understand. you can't make people to listen. you can't manufacture feelings. but you can try to break it down, try to ease the transition, spend time sharing, and learn to understand yourself.

it's different, when you're constantly surrounded by people who love the same things you love. fighting for the things you love. tackling the things you love. understanding the things you love. it's different, when, for a weekend, you're temporarily surrounded by people you used to know, who you used to spend hours with, who you used to learn with, who are now in a different place with different priorities.

how do you attempt to cross that space? to have the people you love understand the things you love? how do you build the connection? how do we build bridges?

cement

a friend shared this post with me the other day -

"i got this tattoo back during a time where life was storybook reality, a seemingly silver screen type of tale. it was the calm before the storm. and suddenly, the ground shook. but it turns out, in the uprooting of a life, you can learn that all along you weren't planted in any soil. instead, you were planted in concrete - you were sturdy, but you couldn't grow. these days, it sits clever on my arm - a loud statement, but a quiet promise - to be always clinging to bigger ways of being who & how i am. always ready for God to pluck me out of fake soil i plant myself in and bring me back to ground that will grow me." (thanks @kathhhgrifff for the wise words and @amanduhbrowning for sharing them with me)

and this concept of being planted in fake soil rocked and rattled me. this whole life experience - of moving to a foreign country, moving to a new state, moving to a new career, moving to a new place, always moving. i had always described this feeling, this urge to be uprooted, to move, to plant fledgling roots, to never stay too still as change. as development. as advancement. as improvement. as evolution. as healthy.

but this is the first time i've considered that some, a few, of the places i've planted myself and tried to grow - were not conducive to growing. they were cement. they were a desert.

they were not for living things.

recently

recently: big changes have been happening in the lives of my friends. one moved to new zealand, a few got engaged, others are thinking about phd's. i'm trying to make it through this semester. but it makes me feel a little stuck. a little stagnant. like i need to move again, break free, get going. it makes me feel like i've been here too long and that i, too, need a big change.

and donald miller said some really cool things in his book "through painted deserts":

"and so my prayer is that your story will have involved some leaving and some coming home, some summer and some winter, some roses blooming out like children in a play. my hope is your story will be about changing, about getting something beautiful born inside of you, about learning to love a woman or a man, about learning to love a child, about moving yourself around water, around mountains, around friends, about learning to love others more than we love ourselves, about learning oneness as a way of understanding God."

and a lot of his words are about changing, moving on, shining out. a lot of his words are about the courage to leave. but i think it's equally strong and beautiful and forceful to learn to stay and to let others leave. which is so, so hard for me to do. to stay and watch others go. to stay and watch others experience. to stay and watch others.

here's to a season of staying.

blur

the end of summer has been a blur

i spent the last week of july in traverse city spending time with family and celebrating leah's wedding
i was in minneapolis for a few days
i flew to chicago for chelsea's birthday and morgan's wedding shower and spent time in the city
i was in minneapolis for a few days
i drove to meet the parents in mitchell, south dakota and we saw the corn palace, endless fields of sunflowers, mt. rushmore, a meteor shower in wyoming and ended in billings before continuing on to missoula to see marshall. we drove everything backwards, through yellowstone, the beartooths, and i drove the farthest by myself
i was in minneapolis for a few days
i drove to chicago, to grand rapids, to traverse city and back for morgan's bachelorette party this past rainy weekend of food trucks, ice cream, wineries, gossip girl, dinner, and celebrating

i'm in minneapolis for an entire week and a half until i'm back to traverse city
this season is a blur of good things, and road trips, and airport layovers, and seeing friends everywhere

it's a good blur

learning

summer has been a blur of lunches outside, days by the lake, happy hour on patios, working sometimes, classes sometimes, being inside as little as possible.

i finished three summer institute classes - intro to gis (geographic information systems), how to make cool maps of data; ethics of vaccines, when can we make choices for the public and when is it appropriate to trust the public to make the right decisions; and planning for urgent threats, having a plan for when basically everything could go wrong in a disaster situation.

i love this. this time of learning and exploring. this time when i soak it all in and gobble it all up. this time when everyone around me is invested in their education and all we want to do is know everything and see everything and experience everything. i'd forgotten how much i love learning and being surrounded by people who also love learning - especially when they want to learn the same things and we all learn together in the same direction.

but i also love being around people who are learning in different ways. i love being around people who aren't sure and their exploring is different. like people who have just moved home or have just started something new or are trying to figure out how to spend the rest of their days here. i love getting coffee and catching up with these people, wishing there was more time to wander and explore with these people, wishing i could learn alongside these people. realizing how much of the same ground you've covered with these people. and seeing the beautiful, tangible, glowing things they bring to the friendship - especially when what they're learning is in a different direction.

there's something brilliant and lovely when there are many methods of learning and many ways of sharing it with others. like time, or notes, or stories, or pictures, or over coffee.

half an epidemiologist

this seems to be a trend - losing track of time, filling every second, forgetting to blog. in korea, blogging was a release for me, putting things and feelings and emotions and experiences into words, taking the time to reflect on everything. and now i'm already done with my first year of grad school and i'm half an epidemiologist and time. just. flew. 

since february: i flew to chicago for a girls weekend, i turned twenty-five, we road-tripped through michigan to the lake for spring break, i found oberon release day parties in mpls, we danced to judah & the lion, morg came for a visit, my master's project development started, we celebrated birthdays, we went to the conservatory for some green, we spent earth day at the zoo, we went to a twins game, and i got a new job - and all of this was squeezed between my 15 credit hours, 10 hours of internship, and 20 hours of work at the coffee shop. i am most successful when i fit things in, when everything joins together, when it doesn't seem like there's enough time. 

and now, heading into summer - we celebrated being almost master's by camping and hiking and exploring duluth. we spent time on the edge of cliffs, along lake superior, and wandering rooms of a spooky mansion. we made s'mores around campfires on cold nights. and we slept soundly and contentedly like sardines. 

looking forward - to working at the food protection and defense institute writing case studies about heat waves, droughts, and floods. discovering the cascading impacts of the disasters and the effect they have on the global economy or food supply. taking classes on GIS, emergency management, and vaccines. already spending every free moment outside by the lakes being in the sun. 

i've begun to realize how much i miss korea. the freedom, the mountains, the food. i miss traveling hours by myself on trains, rendezvousing in seoul on busy side streets eating grilled cheese and drinking green juices. i miss the bustle of the big, big city. i miss the quiet of the countryside and the rice paddies. i miss having a roof to nap on. i miss the kids, and my co-teachers, and my friends. i do miss it. i didn't love it, not while i was there, and not as i look back on it - but i loved what it gave me: freedom, courage, strength. i loved that i was brave. i loved that i was bold. i loved that i was different. 

i'm making an effort to be bold again, to go to the lakes, to go to traverse city, to see the people i haven't seen, to be wild. i'm trying to be uncomfortable, independent, and adventurous. to be open and free and willing. to work on cultivating peace and being content and exploring the corners of where i am now. i'm trying to be amazed again. like i was in korea. by grocery stores, and trains, and mountains, and green, and asia, and kimchi. 

and i realize i am amazed, here. by the people - how they think, how they experience, how the see things differently. how they feel. how they are. the people here are what amaze me, the people i study alongside are really, really cool. they're adventurous, and they've traveled the world, and they love infectious diseases, and they want to do really public health-y things. they've come from all over, but they all meet me here and share with me here. and i am impressed by them. and i look forward to another year with them.

to a summer of weekends in the woods, in yurts, in tents, around fires. to days in classrooms, in cubicles, in the field. to pushing ourselves and stretching ourselves and growing ourselves and learning ourselves. to everyone doing really amazing things this summer.