ten years ago
Ten years ago, I was a junior in college.
I was lost. I was enjoying my studies in that I was taking a variety of different courses and learning a lot - but I was feeling directionless. I still had no idea what I wanted all this knowledge to work toward.
About a month earlier, I had embarked on an adventure with the local service group I was a part of on campus. For Spring Break, I, and ten other service-minded students from all over the country, boarded a 100-foot Tall Ship that would sail off the coast of California and we would teach at-risk teens to sail a few days later, after we acclimated, ourselves.
We never got the opportunity to provide that service to those teens; our ship ran aground two days after we set sail.
We literally clung to the boat for dear-life as waves crashed over our heads repeatedly and we got thrown about the boat. We had to be rescued by the Coast Guard, and, miraculously, we escaped with nothing more than severe bumps and bruises and a shared trauma no one else would ever understand.
I was interviewed by news crews as I arrived home, my arm bundled in a sling. The event was over and I was fine, life would go on.
Life did go on but I wasn't fine.
People tried to sympathize but they didn't know how. It wasn't their fault, they didn't know. Trying to explain never seemed to help.
Each time, I would retreat farther and farther, preferring to not talk about it at all; hoping it would all just go away, hoping I would return to normal. In the meantime, my injury from the wreck wasn't healing; a doctor's visit revealed that I had cracked my rib.
I was back at school, back to the routine of life but I was only going through the motions.
Thankfully for me, my roommate recognized my depression. I had never experienced anything like that and hadn't allowed myself to believe it, being a perpetually-sunny person my whole life; it didn't feel like depression could ever happen to me.
The service organization provided insurance coverage for all our lost and damaged goods, our medical expenses, and I began to see a therapist through this coverage.
I hated therapy. I hated being forced to talk about myself and I hated being asked how things made me feel.
I don't remember what I said or what I talked about, or even how many times I went (it wasn't very many), but it helped. In a really weird way, it helped. I can't even tell you how; I don't remember having any kind of revelation or magically feeling better, but I was able to come out of the fog I had been in.
Even so, I needed a break from school. I think I had needed it before all this but could never see it or accept it. I couldn't continue treading water this way; I needed a break from trying to "figure it all out."
I found an opportunity working at a National Park in Wyoming for the summer. I had accepted a job and was looking for housing, starting to make the arrangements to move there in a few months.
But one day, my mom told me about another position she found posted in the Oregonian to work at a resort in Germany. They were holding interviews in Portland the following weekend.
I was a little skeptical about the whole process but I knew I had to go, just in case.
The interviews were held at the Embassy Suites by the airport and I was hired on the spot. They asked me, can you start in three weeks? I had finals in two weeks - so, yes!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ten years ago today, on June 19, 2005, I arrived in Germany for a 13-month assignment, swearing then and there that I would not want to extend my stay, as they explained my Edelweiss workers do, swearing that 13 months would be enough.
I didn't return permanently to the U.S. for 24 months.
Never in a million years could I ever have imagined what a life-changing decision that ended up being.
I left as a 20-year-old kid, aimless and naive; I came back as a much more self-aware 22-year-old, full of hope and excitement (though with still plenty of growth left to be done).
Even each year I was there brought significant change; each year was drastically different from the other. The people I spent my time with, the work I did, the evolution of myself.
I found a notebook just the other day, chronicling the first few days of this journey and it was like reading someone else's journal; I hardly recognized this person's narratives. I'm thankful that I wrote it, and that I found it.
It's amazing to think it's been 10 years already. And as 10-year anniversary drew nearer and nearer, I had begun to reminisce more and more. The more I reminisced, the more I became anxious to know the exact anniversary date; I could only remember the time-frame, not the actual date that began it all, and it started to feel important for me to know. I thought about reaching out to the hotel to see if they could pull my records to give me the date, but instead I let it go.
In true, everything-works-out-how-it-should fashion, I went through a box full of a bunch of loose papers I moved from my old house to my new one. As I sat down to sift through all the random pieces of history over the years, there was a small spiral that I recognized immediately, with a "title page" that read: Beginning of time in Germany (2005)
There wasn't much to read, I've never been a dedicated journaler. But the first few days of the journey is documented in great detail, and I think that is the part that is most crucial to be documented, the awe and the innocence and the raw discovery of it all. Everything else - the important parts, anyway - are all etched into my memory and I have a feeling they will never fade.
I had never had the kinds of friends I made in Germany. The kinds of friends that shared my sense of adventure and wonder at the world, who wanted to change the world and leave it a better place. The kinds of friends I discovered my true self through, the kinds of friends that allowed me to become my true self, and appreciated me for that self I was discovering. The kinds of friends that teach you how to be loved, through thick and thin, at your worst and at your best; the kinds of friends that teach you how to become a better friend in return.
Nothing really happened, but everything happened.
Many of the people I met there have become some of my best friends in the world - even ten years later. Others will always be very dear friends, no matter how much time passes in between communication. Even with those I never got to know on a deeper level, I will always have a strong connection to; it affected us all that way.
I came back after 24 months because I knew, if I didn't return then, I might never.
I've done a lot since I returned eight years ago, and I've become a lot of different versions of myself, each the best yet, but everything has stemmed from those two years. Each step of my journey since I've returned has been enriched by that experience and I think it will be a long time until that is no longer true. It wasn't magical or without it's trials and tribulations but they really were two extremely pivotal years in my life and probably two of the best years of my life.
I was lost. I was enjoying my studies in that I was taking a variety of different courses and learning a lot - but I was feeling directionless. I still had no idea what I wanted all this knowledge to work toward.
About a month earlier, I had embarked on an adventure with the local service group I was a part of on campus. For Spring Break, I, and ten other service-minded students from all over the country, boarded a 100-foot Tall Ship that would sail off the coast of California and we would teach at-risk teens to sail a few days later, after we acclimated, ourselves.
We never got the opportunity to provide that service to those teens; our ship ran aground two days after we set sail.
We literally clung to the boat for dear-life as waves crashed over our heads repeatedly and we got thrown about the boat. We had to be rescued by the Coast Guard, and, miraculously, we escaped with nothing more than severe bumps and bruises and a shared trauma no one else would ever understand.
I was interviewed by news crews as I arrived home, my arm bundled in a sling. The event was over and I was fine, life would go on.
Life did go on but I wasn't fine.
People tried to sympathize but they didn't know how. It wasn't their fault, they didn't know. Trying to explain never seemed to help.
Each time, I would retreat farther and farther, preferring to not talk about it at all; hoping it would all just go away, hoping I would return to normal. In the meantime, my injury from the wreck wasn't healing; a doctor's visit revealed that I had cracked my rib.
I was back at school, back to the routine of life but I was only going through the motions.
Thankfully for me, my roommate recognized my depression. I had never experienced anything like that and hadn't allowed myself to believe it, being a perpetually-sunny person my whole life; it didn't feel like depression could ever happen to me.
The service organization provided insurance coverage for all our lost and damaged goods, our medical expenses, and I began to see a therapist through this coverage.
I hated therapy. I hated being forced to talk about myself and I hated being asked how things made me feel.
I don't remember what I said or what I talked about, or even how many times I went (it wasn't very many), but it helped. In a really weird way, it helped. I can't even tell you how; I don't remember having any kind of revelation or magically feeling better, but I was able to come out of the fog I had been in.
Even so, I needed a break from school. I think I had needed it before all this but could never see it or accept it. I couldn't continue treading water this way; I needed a break from trying to "figure it all out."
I found an opportunity working at a National Park in Wyoming for the summer. I had accepted a job and was looking for housing, starting to make the arrangements to move there in a few months.
But one day, my mom told me about another position she found posted in the Oregonian to work at a resort in Germany. They were holding interviews in Portland the following weekend.
I was a little skeptical about the whole process but I knew I had to go, just in case.
The interviews were held at the Embassy Suites by the airport and I was hired on the spot. They asked me, can you start in three weeks? I had finals in two weeks - so, yes!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ten years ago today, on June 19, 2005, I arrived in Germany for a 13-month assignment, swearing then and there that I would not want to extend my stay, as they explained my Edelweiss workers do, swearing that 13 months would be enough.
I didn't return permanently to the U.S. for 24 months.
Never in a million years could I ever have imagined what a life-changing decision that ended up being.
I left as a 20-year-old kid, aimless and naive; I came back as a much more self-aware 22-year-old, full of hope and excitement (though with still plenty of growth left to be done).
Even each year I was there brought significant change; each year was drastically different from the other. The people I spent my time with, the work I did, the evolution of myself.
I found a notebook just the other day, chronicling the first few days of this journey and it was like reading someone else's journal; I hardly recognized this person's narratives. I'm thankful that I wrote it, and that I found it.
It's amazing to think it's been 10 years already. And as 10-year anniversary drew nearer and nearer, I had begun to reminisce more and more. The more I reminisced, the more I became anxious to know the exact anniversary date; I could only remember the time-frame, not the actual date that began it all, and it started to feel important for me to know. I thought about reaching out to the hotel to see if they could pull my records to give me the date, but instead I let it go.
In true, everything-works-out-how-it-should fashion, I went through a box full of a bunch of loose papers I moved from my old house to my new one. As I sat down to sift through all the random pieces of history over the years, there was a small spiral that I recognized immediately, with a "title page" that read: Beginning of time in Germany (2005)
There wasn't much to read, I've never been a dedicated journaler. But the first few days of the journey is documented in great detail, and I think that is the part that is most crucial to be documented, the awe and the innocence and the raw discovery of it all. Everything else - the important parts, anyway - are all etched into my memory and I have a feeling they will never fade.
I had never had the kinds of friends I made in Germany. The kinds of friends that shared my sense of adventure and wonder at the world, who wanted to change the world and leave it a better place. The kinds of friends I discovered my true self through, the kinds of friends that allowed me to become my true self, and appreciated me for that self I was discovering. The kinds of friends that teach you how to be loved, through thick and thin, at your worst and at your best; the kinds of friends that teach you how to become a better friend in return.
Nothing really happened, but everything happened.
Many of the people I met there have become some of my best friends in the world - even ten years later. Others will always be very dear friends, no matter how much time passes in between communication. Even with those I never got to know on a deeper level, I will always have a strong connection to; it affected us all that way.
I came back after 24 months because I knew, if I didn't return then, I might never.
I've done a lot since I returned eight years ago, and I've become a lot of different versions of myself, each the best yet, but everything has stemmed from those two years. Each step of my journey since I've returned has been enriched by that experience and I think it will be a long time until that is no longer true. It wasn't magical or without it's trials and tribulations but they really were two extremely pivotal years in my life and probably two of the best years of my life.
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