Ascent

This is a part of something that's become very important to me. I'm going to Wiamoase, Ghana in about 80 days, and I'm doing everything I can to prepare for the field work, volunteering, and learning I will be doing there. This post pretty much sums up how I'm feeling right about now. If you like what you read, check out ghanaspeakss.blogspot.com

You won't regret it. Also, feedback is especially welcome.

The inadequacy is setting in again, which reminds me of something that Ashley ended class with on Wednesday. Critical Unhappiness. A really fantastic term for something that I otherwise would not have recognized as a definitive dilemma in my life. Well, I'll describe it first, then I'll decide if it's really so terrifying.

It's the point someone needs to reach during extreme distress, discomfort, or trauma, before experiencing growth, gaining knowledge, or losing his or her pride. It's the mountain top of turmoil, the rock-bottom of hardship. And it sucks getting there. But once you're there, either you've got great perspective, or you understand that the only way to make your journey worth it is to dig a well, and let others benefit from your struggles. And hopefully, if I've done this right, I'll have accomplished both.

There are a million ways that I could relate this to my life. God does it to me continually. And no, I still haven't learned my lesson. One prime example of this in my life, however, is one of the highest cliffs I've ever had to scale. That's right: a straight vertical, no gradual slope, no warning, and a ravenous pack of wolves close behind. I had two choices. I could start climbing or resist the challenge and resign to eventual defeat via White Fang. I know, I'm on a roll with analogies today, but bear with me.

August of 2009. I was preparing to move to Provo for school. I was excited, I was dating the love of my life (so I thought), and everything was headed in the right direction. I had never been so happy, and I was ready to get out on my own and experience "the world." One week after relocating, things headed downhill. College wasn't easy, I didn't have friends, my roommates hated me, and God wasn't giving me the things that I thought I deserved. I missed home, I missed family, and I missed AJ.

All I wanted was to crawl back into my shell and roll home. But I was better than that. There was no way that I could face my parents with such defeat. I scrambled up the face of the cliff, hanging on for dear life, abandoning my spiritual and physical needs--the carabiners, lines, and anchors that were there to keep me safe--free-climbing until I couldn't lift another limb. I was so close to deliverance, just a foot or two more and I could survive. But I didn't have the footholds, or the energy and endurance I needed. I refused to look down; I was afraid of what my parents would say, what people would think, what I would think if I could see where was, what I was doing, and where I was headed, should I fail and fall. On a side-note, I'm conveniently terrified of heights, which really emphasizes my predicament here.

And so I hung there, barely keeping my finger-holds as the weight of coursework, homesickness, the loss of a best friend, and depression did everything it could to fight against my grip. If only I had used my clips, if only I had secured my anchors, if only I had been just a little stronger. Why was I even here? Why haven't I let go? Endless hypotheticals entertained my daily thoughts, until one day something said to me, word for word.

Stop. Listen. Your eyes are only as good as your ears.

And I, being the cynic I was, came to the conclusion that it made no sense, and that even if it did, I didn't have time for riddles, because I was busy preparing to give up.

I've decided that you never really know that you've hit critical unhappiness until you're past it. Because as I sat there contemplating my epic failure, I started to listen. And at first all I could hear was the noisy howling of my predators below--everything that I was running from. But then I heard something different. Footsteps. The rough, gravelly scrape of rubber against the sandy ledge above me shook me out of my stupor. And, for the first time since beginning my climb, I did something I had not thought to do. I was so busy focusing on not looking down that I never bothered to look up. And as I did, my eyes beheld the extended arm of a long-forgotten friend. How long had He been there? I knew the answer, but I was too ashamed to admit it.

And only then, as I was pulled from the precipice of misery, was I able to fully comprehend my plight. I looked out over that view, side-by-side with my constant Companion, with new perspective. I was stronger than before, and I was stronger than I thought I was. I had learned lessons: never climb without your lead, always rely on your anchors, and listen with your ears, ifyour eyes can't see.

So here I am, almost two years later, approaching a comparable ascent. I won't bother lying to myself--I can't avoid culture shock, which has surprisingly familiar symptoms. So the question is, now that I know what's coming, how does that change my approach?

I don't know if any of you know anything about rock-climbing, but the approach to a technical climb is the journey required to get there. It lacks the physical demand, but is often almost as dangerous as the climb itself. It requires complex forethought and preparation, as well as consideration of where along the base of the wall one will need to commence his or her climb in order to ensure the best, and safest, path to the crown of the rock.

In order to do that, I need to know my rock. I need to know it up and down, side to side, and then I need to break it down. The best approach is one that's done with confidence, but without recklessness. One that's observant, but keeps a focused gaze on the obstacle ahead. There's a lot that I can learn from my past, and I've only just realized how much that is in writing this. I want to quote my good friend Heather, and my future commrade in Ghana. She inspires me.

"I just had to document that I'm feeling overwhelmed right now. That way...when I've sorted things out, I can remember that [insert challenge] is hard, and that I can do hard things. The end."

I've done hard things. And I've had the time to sort it out. I can do more hard things, even the things that I think are too hard. The end.

Pieces

From that First glance that we both broke 

To the first time we spoke.
In broken sentences, tinged with Hope.
The little pieces—those mattered most.

Careful words and Cautious touch,
To keep from breaking each other’s trust.
Then walls caved, their defenses aflame.
Whose fire soon broke through both of us.

You told me that you'd never break.
And you were right, to my dismay.
Did you speak for lying's sake,
Just promise for my heart’s content?

I could have weathered winter's frost,
Left my haven, Put down my guard
But all you gave were broken starts
And broken keys to padlock hearts.

Tantrum

Have you ever been so thoroughly and astronomically close to exploding that you can't even understand your own thoughts?  I'm so done.  Done with school, done with people, done with everything that has anything to do with solving the ever-constant issues that evolve with life.  Yes.  This is a tantrum.  I realize that childish vehemence won't really help in this situation, but can someone please tell me why things can't just work out ONE time?  Does everything in life take this much stubborn persistence and fortitude?  I'm determined that the people that have things just "fall into place" are lying or seriously deluded.

I'm so close.  I have to keep reminding myself.  Just a little more, and you'll be done.  But lying to myself doesn't always help, and it never solves the problem.  I have a research proposal due today at 4pm, and I have an impossible amount of work to do on it.  It's in terrible shape, and I'm pretty sure I have no clue what I'm doing.  I have a research paper due next Wednesday at 5pm.  I happen to be slightly more prepared for this deadline, but I need to get at least a 290 out of 300 in order to get the grade that I want in the class because the grading scale is so significantly unbalanced. Following that, I have a final project to create, a reflection to write, and a job to quit.  I have a book read, a job to find in California, a contract to sell, belongings to pack and store, an apartment to clean, and a final to take, all before the end of next week.  I have rent to pay, and an eventual eight hour drive home to make.  Depending on how successful I am at job-finding, I will continue my job search once that drive is completed, deal with the familial issues that await me there, and finally try to consolidate the thoughts in my head. 

That's as far ahead as I can think.  But my problem is that I can only think about everything that is coming my way, and I'm struggling to reel myself in enough to focus on what I need to do now.  I just want to be done.

Please?

People

The thing I love about people is that one's perception and expectations of them are always flawed, and always will be. The capability for change and the potential for growth of mankind is an astounding process that never ceases. No judgement is ever justified, for the enormity of factors that affect a single word or action constitute a complexity that transcends the mortal mind. Context is a concept that we, as imperfect beings, will never fully grasp.

I've been thinking a lot about this, in light of recent events. The first impressions of nearly everyone in my life have been, without fail, horribly off-base, and often affect the way I treat (or avoid) that person for some time afterwards. But recently I've reconnected with some very special people in my life. They are people who have taught me a lot about myself, both directly and indirectly. Through no fault of their own, I shut them out. And now, upon letting them back in, I have found so much happiness and peace. I will never learn enough the importance of forgiveness and love towards my fellow man. Every single time I think I have reason to be offended, hurt, or angry, I find that true healing comes in forgiving.

I love hearing people's stories. The ones that really dig deep. The ones that make it impossible to ever feel anything but love for them from that moment on. If I knew everyone that way, what a blessed woman I would be. But then, that's Christ's job, isn't it? He loves us all because He knows us all. Individually, and intimately. Our weaknesses, our strengths, our fears, our talents. ALL of our stories. And He loves us still. Sometimes I think I love people more for their flaws. Is that strange? There's something about weakness that brings us all together. It helps me realize that I'm not the only one who hates themselves sometimes. That there's someone else here who understands what it's like to be inadequate, fragile, and imperfect.


Yeah, I think I'd like to be more like Christ.

Stories

It's been a rough couple of days.  I could have sworn that I posted an entry with my research proposal outline, but that definitely didn't show up.  Cool. But class on Wednesday helped me to get a better idea of where I'm going and what it is that's expected of me.  Which, in turn, helps me to figure out what I expect of myself.  I'm nowhere close to where I need to be on this proposal, but I've included it anyway, in the tab thing above.

Wednesday also got me thinking about charity.  Weird, I know.  It wasn't even related in any way, but I once heard that when you hear someone's story, you can't help but love them. I think I wrote about that once.  It's happened to all of us.  You see someone, it doesn't matter who it is, but they rub you wrong the first time.  Then, through a number of coincidental (although I'm determined that they're divinely directed) happenings, you actually see them.  You truly see them, the person that struggles just like you, who's grown up with trials and challenges that you would never be able to endure, and who is the product of their experiences, just like you.  And most of the time, they teach you something about humility.  It's things like this that convince me that God has a great sense of humor.  Literally every time I've judged someone before knowing them, He's found a way to prove just how wrong I am.  But I love Him for it.  Because it's teaching me to love in so many different ways, and that's when we humans truly find happiness.  With love.

What does this have to do with Ghana?  Well, a lot, actually.  In learning more about their history, where the people come from, what makes them who they are today, I can't help but love them.  No, this isn't some cheesy testimony-meeting "I love everyone" speech.  Really, I've been going through article after article since then, fascinated by everything I learn.  I've probably spent an unreasonable amount of time doing so, but I figure that the time is well spent.  And... whatever assignment slip through the cracks, I hope to be able to deal with this weekend.  (On a side-note, I went blues dancing last night.  It rocked my world.  And therefore, it's okay to be anti-social for the next two days)

Anyways, I'm just thoroughly caught up in the Ashanti culture.  Their customs, beliefs, traditions, foods, and way of life.  I know that I'll probably only get a glimpse while in Ghana, and that I can only learn so much while I'm here in the states, but I hope that I can at least see enough of it to have the kind of love for them that will allow me to truly see them.  The kind of love that will show in my smile, in my service, and in my words.

Identity

There's something inexplicable about the wonder of the human body. I dissected my first knee last tuesday in my Cadaver Dissection class, and I can't put into words what it felt like to be the first human being to look into that man's knee. To see the ligaments that supported his lifelong travels. Although they are no longer with us, I love to consider just how real these people are. They gave love with their arms, kind words and advice with their lips, walked endless miles with their legs. It makes me stop and think about what I'm doing with the time that I have. Am I doing the things that would make me proud, ten years, twenty years from now? Will those who follow me be able to look up to the legacy I am currently fulfilling? Questions like these make me want to beg for more time. More wisdom. More opportunities.
And yet, I look back on the things that I have accomplished, the personal milestones over which I have tread, and I find someone who is completely foreign to me, who has changed and grown so quickly that I have hardly had the time to get to know her. Of course, I have always known the basics. My likes, my dislikes. They've changed as I've grown. But who I am is much more than that. And it is something that even I cannot describe just yet. Some days I think I've figured it out, but I can only distinguish vague pieces in the puzzle of all that is me. I imagine that much of my time in the eternities will be spent getting to know myself.

Update

I haven't written much in the past while, mostly because I've been so busy with life.  That's a good thing, right?  I've needed that.  Sometimes I feel like the only people who have successful blogs are the only ones who lack enough life to spend that much time on the computer.  Maybe I'm wrong.

But to be honest, I've been spending more time working on my other, most recent blog, ghanaspeaks.  It's pretty cool, I'm headed to Ghana this fall for a field studies project that I've been wanting to do for... oh... about eight months now.  So I'm really still adjusting to the fact that it's actually happening.  My life has been changing in some pretty phenomenal ways, and mostly because of the way I've come to view the world, myself, and others.  It's crazy what a short month can do for the psyche.

I'm still in school, taking spring (and, unfortunately, summer) classes until I leave in the fall, so that I can prepare myself as much as possible for what lies ahead.  I'm currently in a field studies prep class, which has become one of the greatest things I've done in a while, as well the a freshman writing class. Again.  Lame, I know, but I have to pay the price for sleeping in through the final the first time around.  For summer, I'm planning on taking an anthropology course as well as Psych 210, human development of psychology.  Anthropology for the exposure to studies of culture and such, the psychology to help in my research.

I'll be researching, as you may read on my field studies blog, cross-cultural differences in the conception of pain.  I'm not sure if I want to do that from psychological, emotional, or physiological, but either way, it'll help to know more what I'm talking about, and get more exposure to data analysis and research methods.

For how rushed this whole process has been, and how fast my plans have changed, I'm surprisingly calm.  I'd like to thing that I'm getting better at adjusting, and maybe at being away from home, too.  Don't get me wrong, I miss it like crazy, but I think I'm getting better at ignoring that most of the time.  Nevermind that I may or may not call my mother almost every day.  I like her, okay?

Well, this was genuinely pleasant.  But it's way too nice outside to keep at it.

Aspiring

I'm getting to a point in my life where I'm looking for something more.  I don't care that I'm only nineteen, I'm getting really tired of games.  What ever happened to good old-fashioned honesty?  I'm having a hard time being satisfied with the people I've surrounded myself with, and only because I always find myself disinterested or disconnected.  Like I have so much more planned.  I just want someone to be straightforward with me.  I think I do a pretty good job of that, myself.  Is it too much to ask for?

English

Does blogging suck, or do I just suck AT it?  I'm thoroughly convinced that we're never meant to understand anything in this life unless it's our utter inferiority in the universe.  Really though, when have you ever been able to comprehend the uselessness of wasps?  And don't you dare try to feed me that whole "ecological niche" balogna. No typo there. It's just that the English language never grasped the concept of vowel pronunciation uniformity. And we're arrogant enough to believe that we're sophisticated.  I can only imagine how ridiculous it must be for anyone learning the language.  Latin, German, French, Spanish...all mixed up into one huge dirty cesspool of "silent" consonants and vowels with infinite possibilities. I think I've made my point.  But anyway, I really shouldn't expect more from people that will call Jersey Shore "entertainment."