On Being a Freshman

Freshman year of college. Big adjustment to say the least. It's been both a good year, and a difficult one. It definitely has been full of some unexpected challenges and is leading to even more unexpected roads.
By the end of senior year, everything seemed perfect. I had been accepted to my dream school, got my first choice dorm, and was going to be living with a very good friend. I was getting out of the small town and even smaller school that I had grown up in and was off to a big city filled with new people and also a new sense of independence. I was so ready to get out. I was so ready for something new. I was so ready for my freshman year of college.
I had it all planned out- I knew exactly what I wanted to major in, what career path I wanted to take, I was going to make all these new friends, stay out late, and do what I pleased. My sister is also a senior here, so I've visited many times over the years. I knew so much about the school that most people learn freshman year. I had it all figured out.

Then first semester hit my like a brick wall.

My dream school that I've always loved so much began to change- leaving its past and beloved traditions behind and pushing more towards a generic face. My first living situation was rather.. incompatible- though things did end on good terms and I do still talk to some of my first roommates. This big, new city got small very quickly. And making friends didn't come as easily as I thought it would.
I also didn't realize how big of an adjustment it would be.
Here's my year in a very small shell:
August- Move in day. New city, new place to live, surrounded by all new people, basically LOTS of new.
October- New room with a new roommate and new suite mates.
January- Roommate transfers to another school, so I now have ANOTHER new roommate.
(Side note: this is in non way meant to be an insult to my roommates. Love them to death. Just talking all the adjusting I've had to do this year.)

I realized my major and career plans weren't actually where I wanted to be.

Next, the big difference between my hometown and here:
Hometown- Conservative die-hard GOP Republicans to the bone
Here- Deep blue in the deep south. And very vocal about it.

That's not to say anything against either political party, just to show what a culture shock this year has been.

Like I said before, my sister is a senior at the school. I knew so much about the school before coming here. I knew which dorms to request, I knew which dining halls were better, I knew which restaurants downtown were the best(on a student's budget at least), I knew which upperclassmen dorms to try to get. I didn't know it all, but I certainly came in knowing ALOT. And I thought that would be a good thing. I realized quickly though, that it took away a lot of the adventure for me. This year I learned that I'm the kind of person who thrives on adventure, so knowing so much coming in came with some disappointment. Suddenly, this place didn't seem so new anymore.

Lastly, I didn't realize just how much I was going to miss my mom. Being away from her as been incredibly, incredibly difficult.

I'm going to stop there about all of that so I can get to what it is I really want to say-


Yeah, I got my dream school. And, despite all of the craziness this year has brought, I still love this school. I still love this city. What I've realized though, is that things don't always work out. I achieved a dream of mine, and I realized it wasn't what I thought it would be. It hasn't been all bad. But we make our decisions the best we can and sometimes we realize that God's plans for our lives are different than our own. Sometimes we realize, just maybe the place we belong is the last place we expected.
You can make these decisions for all the right reasons, and sometimes it still won't work out.
What I've realized though is that it's okay. It's okay for things to not work out. It's okay to get there and realize it's not what you want anymore. Maybe the place wasn't what you thought. Or maybe it's exactly what you thought, but you're the one that has changed.
I never would have thought in a million years that I would ever even consider transferring.
But here I am, hoping and praying that it my transfer for the fall works out.
Anyone that tells your freshman year is easy- either they got REALLY REALLY lucky, or they're just plain lying.
Freshman year is tough. But, freshman year is also unlike anything else. Like anything in life, it will have its ups and its downs. You'll meet some great people, and you'll meet some people you try to avoid whenever you see them. You'll love your roommate, and you'll fight with your roommate. You'll love where you are, and then sometimes you might wish it was different. You'll probably learn a new thing or two in class; but, more importantly, you will learn so much about yourself.
For me, that's been the best part.

Travel Is Rebellion In Its Truest Form

"Travel is rebellion in its truest form... 

We follow our hearts. We free ourselves of labels.

We lose control willingly. We trade a role for reality. 

We love the unfamiliar. We trust strangers.

We only own what we can carry.

We search for better questions, not answers.

We truly graduate.

We, sometimes, never choose to come back."

-Anonymous

From as young of an age as I can remember, I've had a good, hard bite by the travel bug. I remember being five years old and talking to my dad about walking on the Great Wall of China one day. I remember listening to my grandma tell me stories and show me things she had bought on her trips abroad. I remember spinning globes and wondering what each country I touched looked like in person. 

Unfortunately, my family was not able to do any traveling growing up. My first time out of the country was on a mission trip to Jamaica with my church my freshman year of high school. That trip is one of my fondest memories. I remember getting off the plane and being hit with the smell of spices. I also remember getting to the campsite and being hit with the smell of decaying animals and trash. I remember the incredible sunsets from the top of the mountains, and the incredible mid-summer Caribbean heat. I remember the painfully cold showers, and the lack of laundry for ten days. I remember the Coastal Carolina blue ocean in Ocho Rios and the soft, tan sand. I remember climbing Dunn's River Falls, and also climbing the steep hill from the supplies to the worksite everyday. I remember the people. I remember their happiness- yes, the people that we were on a mission trip to help were without a doubt the happiest, kindest people I have ever met. I remember their love for Jamaica. I remember the kids at the orphanage, running up and hugging us as we got off the bus. I remember how they just wanted to sit in our laps and to hug us and lay their head our shoulder. There so much about the trip that I could continue to write about, but to avoid writing a novel I'll wrap up his part of the blog. 

What I remember most of all, was despite the fact that we were sleeping on hard, uncomfortable beds; in Jamaica in June with no AC, no electronics/cellphones/social media/etc. for ten days; no laundry, no hot water (the water was bone-shilling, painfully cold btw), and no contact with home- it was the most amazing ten days of my life. I didn't miss home for a second. I had a new love and appreciation for how simple life could be- how simple it was there. I came home, but I left a piece of my heart there. 

I did get an opportunity to return to Jamaica the summer after my junior year in high school. Though the circumstances were the same, this trip was anything but the same. I remember-easily one of my fondest memories period- was our first day on the campsite. One of the workers/family members we were working with was walking down the hillside where the team stood in a line passing cinderblocks down to the worksite and one-by-one introducing himself. As he introduced himself, he also asked if it was our first time to Jamaica. The people before all said it was their first time, and he said, "Welcome to Jamaica!" When he got to me, I told him that I had been once before, he hugged me and said "Welcome home."

My junior year, my school combined the junior and senior class for the senior trip because the classes were so small. I was lucky enough to go to a school where are senior trip was a nine day trip to England and France with an incredible historian. I honestly don't have words to describe what this trip was for me. I can say, though I've always wanted to travel, I never actually considered studying abroad. This trip completely changed that for me. I fell in love with everything Europe. I kept a nightly journal while I was there, and I continue to look through it to remember the trip. I remember feeling like I was literally walking through a fairytale with the breathtaking, awe-striking architecture. I remember being amazed by the size and ornateness of the architecture that was built in a day with so much less technology. I remember getting lost at Harrod's. I remember my night in Piccadilly Circus. I remember seeing genuine knight's armor and crowned jewels in the Tour of London. I remember getting lost in my love of Paris. I remember meeting a WWII civilian survivor and hearing his story about spending his life searching for the name of the American paramedic who delivered his baby brother and kept them safe as a battle raged outside of their home and was then killed before he could return. I remember visiting C.S. Lewis's house and sitting in "Narnia. I remember being enamored with the French desserts. I remember visiting the American D-Day beaches and being hit with the reality of what happened there. I remember being absolutely terrified as I went to the top of the Eiffel Tower. I remember never wanting to leave and everyday wishing I could be back there. 

Currently, I am lucky enough to be preparing for a two week trip to Germany and Poland this summer. It's a trip based on the Holocaust so we will be visiting two-three concentration camps, and abandoned ghetto, working in a Jewish cemetery where we will be illuminating names on the headstones and memorials with gold paint, visiting many museums and synagogues, attending a Shavout service, and going to the Carnival of Cultures in Berlin. I'm sure I'll be writing one lengthy blog on that if not many smaller ones so be on the look out in about 6 weeks :)

So basically, I am about as wanderlust as it gets. If I could, you better believe I would spend months backpacking through Europe. And who knows? Maybe one day I will be able to do just that :)

My thoughts are in places I've never been to. My dreams are in pictures I've seen. 

My heart is abroad, and I'm not quite sure just where it is. Maybe that is what it is I'm in search of.

2014 Walk for Water

I know, it has been MONTHS since my last blog.
This semester has been crazy to say the least.
But here I am, and I'm definitely going to try to do better this time :)

So this morning I had the privilege of participating in the Water Missions International annual Walk for Water. I definitely recommend participating if you ever have the chance.

(For anyone who may not know about the Walk for Water or Water Missions International, just take a quick look at this link-
http://www.watermissions.org/event-faqs)

When I first heard about it I was super excited for a chance to be a part of a community service event. It was a super easy thing to do to- go online and register, show up and pick up your t-shirt, carry on empty bucket for a mile and half, fill the bucket, and carry it a mile and a half back where it is poured into a filtration system(3 miles is the average distance women and children have to walk daily to collect water-dirty, unsanitary water- for themselves and their families). It was nothing that required a lot of time or fitness or anything. It was such a great and easy way to raise awareness and funds for a great cause.

It didn't hit me though until later today when I scrolling through twitter and I saw this picture-

Even looking at it now, it affects me in a way I can't really explain.
It made me think of  a mission trip I went on to Jamaica. While we were there, my team and I helping a 19 year old named Devon build a house for him and his mother. While we were working one day, Devon cut his hand on a shovel. It was a deep cut. We had a doctor in our group who was able to properly clean it and to bandage it, but said if we were in the US he'd have had to go to the hospital for stitches. Before she made it over to Devon with the first aid kit, he had gone over to the faucet to clean the blood and dirt out of his cut. The water that I watched pour out of the faucet and into his wound was very noticeably tinted brown. I realized then that this was his family's only source of water. This was their drinking water, the water they cooked with, and the water they cleaned their wounds with.
After my mom picked me up from the airport, she took me to Outback to celebrate my homecoming. I sat there and ordered a nice cold glass of water-fresh, filtered water. As soon as it would start to get low, it would get refilled with more cold, fresh, clear, clean water. Later, I went home and walked to my faucet and I turned it on to wash my hands in clean, clear water. For months, each time I drank a glass of water or went to wash my hands I thought about Devon and about his deep, bleeding cut being washed with brown, dirty water.
I don't say all of this or think of that story to make myself, or anyone, feel guilty for the things we have been blessed with. That is far from what I am saying. I hold that story near to my heart because it reminds me of how truly blessed I am.

So no, you should never feel guilty because of the blessings you've received. You should never think that your pain or discomfort means nothing because someone else out there has it worse. You should, however, be aware and thankful for the many blessings you do have. And whenever you get the chance, it honestly feels so great to be a part of giving back to the people like these little boys in the picture. They truly are some of the most amazing- and thankful- people you will ever meet.