Wednesday, March 7, 2012

A String of Joys

I read in a book recently that a character spoke with a priest during reconciliation about hopelessness and anger. The priest recommended that he simply think of one thing that made him happy; before he knew it, a chain, a flood of happy things would come forth, as our joys are often interconnected.

I decided to try this exercise and hopefully integrate it into my life. Where better to begin than with my spring break? I’ve been incredibly happy this week with my feeling of being connected to and surrounded by people who love and support me: I had a wonderful time visiting some of my best friends in Connecticut; I miss my beloved roommates; and I have been catching up with my family, miles and miles from home.

As I’ve talked with my friends and family, I’ve been overwhelmed by their recent joys and achievements, including several acceptances to amazing schools and programs, weddings, and similar feelings of belonging to supportive communities.

I feel so blessed by the way in which God has enabled me to travel during college. This week, I visited Connecticut and New York City, ate amazing food, experienced awesome cultural sights, and had my return home to anticipate. It was so refreshing to look forward to my return to DC; the drive from Union Station to my apartment allowed me to soak up the calming energy of DC, which has become home to me. There’s something so powerful about claiming one’s city as one’s own, even without realizing it.

I was shopping today and indulging in some treats. The weather has been beautiful, and I felt strong, young, and capable as I walked around town, blessed with a disposable income to treat myself.

Even as I jumped back into my thesis work today, I looked down at my computer and remembered how wonderful it is to own technology that connects me to the people I love, to be able to afford an education that allows me to explore topics that interest me.

Graduation looms in the near future, and my days have been disappearing before I even recognize and appreciate them. Yet, this year has been so wonderful and beautiful; that is why it has gone by in a flash, a dizzying blend of events and friends and experiences and joys. I still have a few precious months left, and I hope to enjoy them to the fullest.

Spring is around the corner and how much quicker time will pass when it arrives. I love Georgetown in the spring: picnics outside, naps on the lawn, frozen yogurt and iced tea, sunglasses and sundresses and sandals.

I’m even grateful for my future, uncertain and far away as it seems. My solace and comfort in the face of overwhelming change is that God holds me in His hand, constantly, unfailingly. Today I feel so young and like there are a million experiences ahead of me.

Okay, so clearly, the priest was right. And perhaps this is a more difficult (though even more fulfilling) exercise when one is distraught. But help me nonetheless, Lord, to realize the beauty of my life whether I be happy or upset. You bless me, time and time and time again.

Friday, March 2, 2012

To a Younger Me

Dear younger self,

A friend of mine told me that there is a trend lately to write a letter to one's younger self. It's supposed to help people love themselves and embrace the ways in which they have matured. I decided to sit down and write to you, younger self. Who knows if I will actually experience any revelations or if I even have wisdom to offer you. I feel like I am almost writing to a stranger; it’s so difficult to return to who I was, even just four years ago, as a senior in high school. Yet, I also so vividly remember what it felt like to wait for college acceptances and rejections, to prioritize getting into Georgetown in my daily prayers, to feel like I was about to leave a school that was everything I had ever known but perhaps somewhere I had never fully belonged.

Recently I re-read some of my old journals, and it is was oddly disconcerting. As I read, I felt a powerful sense of déjà vu, as though I was writing and reading my own words simultaneously. It felt as though I had just experienced those things, had felt the emotions only moments ago. The words felt like my own, and yet, they belonged to a stranger; my voice has grown and matured, but I feel an affinity with my younger voice too.

It made me wistful to read my insecurities, fears, and excitement for the future. If I could tell my younger self a few things I’ve finally learned, I would emphasize the joy of loving oneself, accepting oneself, and enjoying oneself in the moment. I needed the experiences I have had in college to finally become more self-confident, self-assured, knowledgeable, and experienced.

I remember that sense of being vulnerable and trying to overcome the numbness of my nervous shock before leaving for Georgetown for the first time. Other people seemed more emotional, more cognizant of the importance of the occasion; I felt as though I were going to some unknown land, worried that getting into Georgetown had been a fluke, and felt utterly in limbo. There’s something about a senior year that makes one feel simultaneously the most invested in a place one has ever been and abruptly nudged out of the nest. “You are an integral part of our community. See ya!”

A challenge I have faced in both my high school and college career is becoming comfortable with starting anew. So looking back at my senior high school self, I can clearly advise you to just jump in, think positively, anticipate places you want to visit, things you want to do, activities you want to join, imagine the people you will meet and grow to love. Even as I give this advice, it’s impossible to separate the then from the now, as this is a challenge I am on the verge of facing once more.

I have never loved Georgetown more than I do now. Of course, I experienced a variety of phases of love, each intense in its unique way: I faced newly-wed love as a freshman, in awe of the beautiful campus and the diverse people and new experiences; I underwent the “7 year itch” with my sophomore slump, when I was overloaded on stress; and I endured the heartache of a year’s separation from my beloved Georgetown when I went abroad. Now it’s all coalescing, and I’m overdosing on poignant moments and delightfully comfortable friendships, fixating on how wonderful it feels to belong, to be home.

So I’m trying, younger self, to give you wisdom and to learn from your wisdom, too. Perhaps it is time to think about how I’ve done it before, leaving to begin my college career at a campus I had never even stepped foot on. Twice. My pre-Georgetown self and my pre-Oxford self, and in a sense, even my pre-returning-to-Georgetown self each overcame fears and reservations and insecurities to fall in love with my new homes.

I want to tell you, don’t feel scared to tell people you’ll miss them terribly and express how much they mean to you. Don’t think that leaving home for the first real time means you will never return. Confront the worst-case scenario: if you can’t succeed at Georgetown, you’ll find somewhere you will. Start researching DC while simultaneously savoring your lasts at home. Revel in the lack of Kansas jokes. Enjoy being 18-on-the-verge-of-something-huge; you’ll never be that person again.

You didn’t appreciate yourself enough. You put yourself down, you wondered if you would ever be good enough, you questioned if you were shooting too high, you questioned if you could start over in a completely new place. I know now how wonderful you are. I know that you should have given yourself more credit. I know that you will achieve a great deal.

Please help me, younger self, to close the gap between the kind of insecurity you experienced and affirmation of self I can now provide you with. I want to feel that way about me, now, in this moment. And to a large extent, I do, certainly more than I ever have before. I’ll never be a 21-year-old-senior-at-Georgetown ever again. While I am too aware of this at times, the transience of this year, I truly am living up this year as much as I can.

I love it here. I love myself here. And I’m gradually confronting my nerves about what’s to come, my next new home. You have helped me to do so, younger self. Thank you.

Love,

Me