Sometimes getting your thoughts down on paper is hard. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because we’re too worried about
making it sound pretty. We want it to
flow well, we want it to be impactful, and, if we attended Northville High School, we don’t want to use more than two “to be” verbs per paragraph.
For me, writing is something therapeutic. A bit ironic, right? A math major who likes writing. It’s weird though, cause it’s a relatively
new thing that I’ve gotten into. I never
really liked it before. And by before, I
mean during high school. Cause I’m only
20. And I don’t have that many cool life
experiences. Except for the fact that I lived in Honduras for 18 months, I guess. But
other than that, I’m a pretty average person: I mean, I’m only like super athletic
and go running for 1,938,573,920,485 miles every day and then I come
home and make vegan homemade granola bars (so
easy and so delicious! Here’s the recipe!) while editing and
uploading "how to be exactly like me" tutorial videos for all of my amazing followers on YouTube.
Okay, so like, no, my life isn’t perfect: I fall down during middle school hurdle races, I
scrape the sides of cars on garages and gates and stuff, my hair is currently frizzy and basically
orange, and my average dessert serving size is 3.5 portions but it's okay because Hannah Montana taught me that nobody's perfect.
So that was a huge tangent off of what I actually wanted to get into, but life's always changing so we just go with it!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But my original plan was to talk about what it's been like to end my mission and come back home. I’ve been procrastinating this for a while now (I got home almost a
month ago), but I think I’ve put if off because I know it’s going to be hard and it's going to hurt. But I'm going to talk about my feelings because maybe it will help me feel better afterwards, kind of like ripping off a bandaid.
But just a heads up, I have a lot of feelings.
*inhales*
Okay. Here we go.
Readjusting has been pretty hard for me. It’s like I can’t move on, I don’t know. It’s been a rough month: physically,
emotionally, spiritually…basically everything-ly, to be honest. I guess I didn’t think I would have to
readjust to being a normal person again. I thought it would all come naturally, like I'd just slide perfectly back into my life just where I’d
left off. That after 18 months, nothing
would be different…
And I guess I was kind of right but also kind of wrong. I mean, there are still lots of things that are the
same: my family still eats brownies multiple times a week, Obama’s still
president, milkshakes are still delicious, and Taylor Swift still rules the
world.
But there’s something that's changed, and I've been trying to figure it out for a while now. It's not Snapchat, it's not the fact that Paige is suddenly super tall, it's not that basically all of my [2] friends are engaged/married...it's something bigger. Something that makes everything different from what it used to be...
And I guess it’s me.
I just spent 18 months discovering who I really am. I was pushed to my limits, did things I’d
never thought I’d do, became who I never thought I
could become. My mission made me a
better person. It made me step out of my
own little world and look at the lives of those around me. It taught me the importance of
friendship. It taught me optimism. It taught me to count my blessings. It taught me so, so much.
It literally changed me.
And maybe that’s why coming home has been so hard. Because I had to come back to a world that teaches me to do the opposite of everything that I learned during the past 18 months: a world that teaches selfishness instead of service, worldliness
instead of spirituality, pride instead of humility.
I came from knowing exactly who I was to trying to fit back into a life that’s now a size or two too small. I can’t be who I was before, I can’t do what
I did before, I can’t think the way I did before, because I’m just not that
person anymore. And I’m not saying that
I’m all high and mighty now, because I know better than anyone that I’m
not. I just can’t find my place.
Sometimes I'll randomly burst into tears and I don't know why. I'll reach up to touch my name tag and it's not there. I look at the clock and think, "What would I being doing right now if I was still in Honduras?" I think about all of the amazing people that I met and loved and realize that I'm not a part of their lives anymore. I came and went while they stay the same. And I guess that's what hurts. Knowing that they're still there with everything that I know and love. With the baleadas and the blazing sun and the Spanish and the hammocks and the amazing, amazing people. They're comfortable, they have their day-to-day routines, they know who they are. And I'm still trying to figure all that out. And it's been a painful, lonely process.
I know things will get better once I'm back at school. I'll have something to focus on, and I'll have a concrete identity again (i.e. poor college student). Right now I'm just sitting in Brazil doing lots of thinking and lots of sitting and it sucks. Going from doing something wonderful to doing absolutely nothing from one day to the next isn't as desirable as we all make it out to be. It leaves you with a hole, with a wound that doesn't heal very quickly. So be grateful that you're busy. Be grateful that you have something to do. Be grateful for the crazy days and hectic weeks where you think you can't fit everything in. I would give anything to have those feelings. I would give anything to be where you are.
So I guess I started this post thinking that I would vent about everything to get it off my chest. There's so much more that I've been feeling, but I'm stopping here. It's too private, too special, too raw, too hard to explain simply because there aren't the words. It's all a part of what has been the best experience of my life. And it's something that will never end. If there's one thing that I've learned this past month, it's that missions don't only change you once, but they continue to change you for the rest of your life.
Good things don't have to end. We can keep them locked and stored away in our memories. And if we but only remember, we can smile, we can move forward, and we can be happy.
So I will remember, and I will never forget. I will smile. I will laugh. I will tell my stories. I will move forward. And I will be happy.
My mission president told me once that my mission was just for me: "No matter how hard you try, Hermana Holdaway, you won't ever be able to fully describe your mission experience. No one else is going to comprehend what we've gone through during our time here. But years from now, when we run into one another again, we'll look into each other's eyes, and, without saying anything, we'll understand."
I've tried to describe my 18 months in words, but it isn't possible. And maybe that's my problem. Maybe wanting to describe my enigmatic, unforgettable, once-in-a-lifetime experience so that you will all perfectly understand me is what's kept me from moving on. I have something that's so precious to me, and I want to share it with you. If I could I would take you all with me and relive those 18 months over and over again. But I can't. And it's okay, because just like me, you will all have your own special memories. Memories that are yours and only yours. And that's what makes us unique.
Giving can be hard, but sometimes keeping is even harder. But I'm not afraid to be alone anymore. I know that it's okay to live my life. And even though I want you to, you can't always walk my road with me. Because you too have your own road to be on. Our paths may cross from time to time, but at the end of the day, we're responsible for our lives and for what we've made of ourselves.
So make memories. Let them make of you who you have the potential to become. And share them. But also keep them.
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