Real Talk
If I've learned one thing in the last decade of my life, it's to treasure the quiet moments. The "normal days." Days when everything goes as planned, you get (almost) everything you need to done, and everyone can join in for dinner at the end of the day.
I love those days. Especially when those days develop into weeks and months. They establish a sort of rhythm. To me, that rhythm is the essence of a peaceful life.
And I guess I'm writing this because life here in Holland is that way for me. And sometimes I don't treasure it like I should. I love that I can begin my days with card games and chocolate sprinkles and a dog that likes to painfully scratch my leg to show affection. I love that, no matter how grumpy I feel, I always feel better after cycling to the grocery store and back-- despite whatever weather the Netherlands dares to throw at me. I love the memories I've made with my fellow au pairs and sisters-in-arms. The four cups of coffee I drink, just because I can and I want to.
My rhythm of peace was thrown off today. Mid-session, my art teacher got a call about her one-year-old nephew. The doctors had finally figured out why he hadn't been eating the last few months; it was stomach cancer. One of my new friends, who has been battling breast cancer and just lost her dad last week, informed me that she had a brain tumor. Less important but equally soul-squeezing- I also just watched "The Fault in Our Stars" for the first time.
What do you say in those moments? How do you respond? What words strung together or weak, floppy-armed hugs can do any good?
I've discovered something else that many of you have probably already come across. Bear with me, I'm a late bloomer. This is what I've found: everyone carries heavy things with them. They're like ghosts, hanging around like million-pound backpacks slung on people's backs. Lost love ones, battles with sickness or mortality, bills and responsibilities. Some people are strong and carry the weight gracefully. Some people aren't as strong and have heavier loads. Either way, we all have our moments where we can lean either direction.
We all find our rhythms of peace.
Anyway, my own weight feels a little heavier today. It makes it hard to do things. Things like my usual morning run, which turned into a pathetic, rain-soaked walk. Even more basic, those heavy ghost backpacks make it hard to get out of bed sometimes. Or eat. Or smile.
Some people say it's depression. I think it's mostly just real life. Everyone shoulders their own weight, and everyone feels the strain of it now and then.
And maybe it's because I'm young and my backpack isn't very full and my hopes are very high, but I just can't stop. I can't stop hoping, and getting out of bed in the morning, and eating, and smiling. Two thirds of my nights I lie awake, shivering with excitement for the next day.
With my job this year I have a lot of time to myself. And maybe it's because of that that I've been thinking: thinking of all the opportunity each day holds. How I have the intimidating choice of choosing exactly what I do and who I would like to become for a majority of the day. I don't have assignments demanding I spend hours at the library instead of drinking with friends. I don't have a job that required I clock-in exactly five minutes ahead of my scheduled shift. I have an uncomfortably large amount of time in which I do exactly what I want, when I want to, how I want.
So where do I go from there?
Before I get too pumped up and start my rally speech, let me just say this: there are a lot of days that look like naps and netflix. I have no excuses. I just call them my "soul resting days." They happen.
But I also have this itch that I didn't have before. Or, at least, that I didn't notice before.
It's an itch to learn and see and do. A gap in my mind that I want to flood with books and knowledge and experience. A feeling that I should run and leap and tumble and play soccer while I can move so freely. A deep desire to know more, to listen more, and to hear more. Time is suddenly so valuable, so precious. My itch, my gap, my feeling, my desire. . . it's unquenchable.
And so I soldier on. In the face of ghosts and heavy backpacks, I go on. Everyone does. And usually I manage pretty darn well-- especially these last months. I've learned happiness is a discipline. And exercise of the mind, body and soul. I've learned that waking up is good and also very hard when there is no deadline. Also, I've learned to not be hard on yourself. To enjoy, to think, and most importantly, to take active steps towards becoming the person you want to be. But every once in a while, life seems a little heavier than usual.
That said, I hate that sad things happen. I've been especially frustrated that some of my au pair friends are leaving me or have left me as they return to their home countries. I also concur with the Dutch small talk of the week which goes along the lines of, "where the heck is our sunny weather?!". Along those lines, I still haven't inspired my host children to mix their chocolate sprinkles with peanut butter and create an unholy combination of deliciousness. Their loss, though.
On one last note, I love how the Dutch people talk. It might be because English is usually their second, third, or forth language, but I love how honest they are. I can ask my art teach how her week was and she'll tell me, really. Not the telling, really, like, "Wow, that's too much information and now I'm stuck in a conversation I didn't want to have." More the, "I'm so glad you explained why your eyes seem a little darker or about why you feel the need to point out the sunset every five minutes."
I love that they're honest. Not because they want pity or for you to feel sorry or somehow responsible for fixing their problems, but because they know not everything is always okay. And that's okay.
I love those days. Especially when those days develop into weeks and months. They establish a sort of rhythm. To me, that rhythm is the essence of a peaceful life.
And I guess I'm writing this because life here in Holland is that way for me. And sometimes I don't treasure it like I should. I love that I can begin my days with card games and chocolate sprinkles and a dog that likes to painfully scratch my leg to show affection. I love that, no matter how grumpy I feel, I always feel better after cycling to the grocery store and back-- despite whatever weather the Netherlands dares to throw at me. I love the memories I've made with my fellow au pairs and sisters-in-arms. The four cups of coffee I drink, just because I can and I want to.
My rhythm of peace was thrown off today. Mid-session, my art teacher got a call about her one-year-old nephew. The doctors had finally figured out why he hadn't been eating the last few months; it was stomach cancer. One of my new friends, who has been battling breast cancer and just lost her dad last week, informed me that she had a brain tumor. Less important but equally soul-squeezing- I also just watched "The Fault in Our Stars" for the first time.
What do you say in those moments? How do you respond? What words strung together or weak, floppy-armed hugs can do any good?
I've discovered something else that many of you have probably already come across. Bear with me, I'm a late bloomer. This is what I've found: everyone carries heavy things with them. They're like ghosts, hanging around like million-pound backpacks slung on people's backs. Lost love ones, battles with sickness or mortality, bills and responsibilities. Some people are strong and carry the weight gracefully. Some people aren't as strong and have heavier loads. Either way, we all have our moments where we can lean either direction.
We all find our rhythms of peace.
Anyway, my own weight feels a little heavier today. It makes it hard to do things. Things like my usual morning run, which turned into a pathetic, rain-soaked walk. Even more basic, those heavy ghost backpacks make it hard to get out of bed sometimes. Or eat. Or smile.
Some people say it's depression. I think it's mostly just real life. Everyone shoulders their own weight, and everyone feels the strain of it now and then.
And maybe it's because I'm young and my backpack isn't very full and my hopes are very high, but I just can't stop. I can't stop hoping, and getting out of bed in the morning, and eating, and smiling. Two thirds of my nights I lie awake, shivering with excitement for the next day.
With my job this year I have a lot of time to myself. And maybe it's because of that that I've been thinking: thinking of all the opportunity each day holds. How I have the intimidating choice of choosing exactly what I do and who I would like to become for a majority of the day. I don't have assignments demanding I spend hours at the library instead of drinking with friends. I don't have a job that required I clock-in exactly five minutes ahead of my scheduled shift. I have an uncomfortably large amount of time in which I do exactly what I want, when I want to, how I want.
So where do I go from there?
Before I get too pumped up and start my rally speech, let me just say this: there are a lot of days that look like naps and netflix. I have no excuses. I just call them my "soul resting days." They happen.
But I also have this itch that I didn't have before. Or, at least, that I didn't notice before.
It's an itch to learn and see and do. A gap in my mind that I want to flood with books and knowledge and experience. A feeling that I should run and leap and tumble and play soccer while I can move so freely. A deep desire to know more, to listen more, and to hear more. Time is suddenly so valuable, so precious. My itch, my gap, my feeling, my desire. . . it's unquenchable.
And so I soldier on. In the face of ghosts and heavy backpacks, I go on. Everyone does. And usually I manage pretty darn well-- especially these last months. I've learned happiness is a discipline. And exercise of the mind, body and soul. I've learned that waking up is good and also very hard when there is no deadline. Also, I've learned to not be hard on yourself. To enjoy, to think, and most importantly, to take active steps towards becoming the person you want to be. But every once in a while, life seems a little heavier than usual.
That said, I hate that sad things happen. I've been especially frustrated that some of my au pair friends are leaving me or have left me as they return to their home countries. I also concur with the Dutch small talk of the week which goes along the lines of, "where the heck is our sunny weather?!". Along those lines, I still haven't inspired my host children to mix their chocolate sprinkles with peanut butter and create an unholy combination of deliciousness. Their loss, though.
On one last note, I love how the Dutch people talk. It might be because English is usually their second, third, or forth language, but I love how honest they are. I can ask my art teach how her week was and she'll tell me, really. Not the telling, really, like, "Wow, that's too much information and now I'm stuck in a conversation I didn't want to have." More the, "I'm so glad you explained why your eyes seem a little darker or about why you feel the need to point out the sunset every five minutes."
I love that they're honest. Not because they want pity or for you to feel sorry or somehow responsible for fixing their problems, but because they know not everything is always okay. And that's okay.
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