On Christmas

A few days after the big celebration and even longer since I've last written here, I've settled back home in Sydney after Christmas in Cootamundra. This Christmas was unlike any I've had previously, and not just because it was beer in the pool rather than hot cider by the fire.

Lots of things were the same. Too much food, lots of laughter, excitement for presents and impatience from excitement. Family was celebrated and conversation was, mostly, light. But instead of being with my own family, I was with a new one. One that has taken me in and made me feel perfectly at home and perfectly welcome, but with the traditions abounding, I was reminded that they are not, in fact, mine. Christmas was disconnected.

I spent the morning opening gifts from both my families, host and biological. I slipped away quietly during tea and spent an hour Skyping with my family back in Georgia, for whom it was still Christmas Eve, before rejoining the Australia Christmas. I went to bed exhausted and content, but also sad in a profoundly new way. Celebrating Christmas this year was a stunning reminder that for me, this season is not nearly as much about the traditions or the locations or even the people with whom it's spent as it is about the One I am celebrating. But even with this knowledge in hand, the insignificant things still matter. And the holiday season half a world away from one's family can be a discombobulating thing.

Moving to Australia is a marvelous thing. It carries opportunities and adventures unmatched by any other I've had in my soon-to-be 24 years. But it also carries a heaviness, a bittersweet acknowledgement that new hello's do not exist without gravitational goodbye's. As the 12 days of Christmas count down and a monumental year approaches, I am joyful beyond compare, but I miss my family. And I am learning that the two things are strange puzzles pieces. They might not fit together easily, but they are both essential corners. Unless I have both, I won't see my big picture clearly. And it's a picture I desperately want to see.

A very Merry Christmas, from Australia to wherever you are. May your 2014 ring in with a resounding yes for whatever path you are choosing. The things that matter, the people that matter, the places that matter, you will carry with you.

 

On family and the holiday season

Today, I dropped my mom off at the airport and we said a tearful till next time. She arrived in Sydney last weekend and we spent this week exploring and catching up. I was glad to have some good, old-fashioned Mama advice (not that it's been lacking, but there's just something about face-to-face that's better, you know?). She came loaded with Christmas presents and some of my favorite treats from home; I sent her home with gifts for my family and for her. To name a few adventures, we strolled on the beaches, fed and petted kangaroos and koalas, and wandered through gardens designed to imitate other countries. We drank over-priced lattes while she listened to my heart about work, relationships, and where I want to go from here. She helped me draw up a new budget for my finances, and I was so grateful to have a mother who is still willing to help me and build me up. My host family cooked us a beautiful dinner for her birthday, which is in two days, and also let us cook them an American Thanksgiving. I had the whole week off, thanks to a wonderful host family and grandparents, and really, it couldn't have come at a better time.

The holidays are right around the corner. So getting to spend some time with my mom was fantastic. There's a space in my life, no matter how dreamy Oz is, that's family shaped, and there are so often moments or experiences that I wish I could share with my parents and brother. Having Mom here was amazing, and I know that as great as the holidays will be, it'll be a little tough being apart this year. But I think what's hardest is coming to terms with all the things I've left behind for the time being. I've been putting a lot of thought and effort into what a temporary or permanent relocation to Australia would look like, and it's sort of daunting to look back home and see, truly, what it means to leave.

Moving on means everyone else moves on as well. And as you grow up, so does everyone else. And as much as you want that hometown to always be the same as when you left, it won't be. So this holiday season, as much as it is exploration and new opportunities, is bittersweet. Bittersweet because it's summer, not winter. Because it's a new family and new friends and new traditions, which are all lovely, but are not mine. Because it's the start of a new year and a new country, and I have close to no idea where I'll be living in the next 12 months. But I also know who I am and where I want to be headed, and I'm blessed enough to have family that will support me and love me through it, no matter the cost or the distance.

So to my mom, happy almost birthday and thank you so very much for coming to see me. It was a joy showing you my life here, and now more than ever, I am certain that being your daughter is an honor, to say the least. You are the most incredible woman and have given me everything I need to find joy wherever I am, and I cannot thank you enough for being my mama. And to my dad, thanks for sharing her with me. I'm not sure what this next year will hold for me, but I know I will carry you both with me, and that is a comfort like no other.

Here's to seasons that bring comfort and joy, in the new and the old, alike. To family, biological and otherwise. To life, whatever season you're in.

In other news, Olivia just turned 8 and Lachlan has a new set of words to learn, so things are quite exciting in the nanny world.

Seasons

Our lives, generally, are ruled by cycles. What's trendy, what's next, what's new. Recently, though, I've realized more than ever how much of our lives are ruled by the cycles that come with seasons. We associate certain times of the year with certain feelings and expectations, from fashion to tradition. It's a tender familiarity that makes even the most hectic of days a little more survivable. We always know what's coming, even if it's months down the road.

Moving to the other side of the world changes that. As November comes to a close, I find myself ready for chilly nights and hot cider. I long for weather reports that promise snow even though I know it's not likely. I want long socks and warm soups and miserably cold Christmas tree shopping. Instead, I'm getting a tan (Except the past two weeks which have been cool enough to convince me the hemispheres are merging). And it's made me wonder how much of my favorite things became my favorite things because of what I've grown to associate them with? Is Christmas only Christmas when your breath freezes in front of you?

The past few months have been a whirlwind, and I have enjoyed every second of this not-looking-back season. I'm learning to move forward by pushing forward. I've learned that a daily grind can be a beautiful thing, if you have the right perspective. And now, the desire to look back creeps up again. As the end of the year looms and brings a multitude of changes with it, I have to remember to look forward. To enjoy this hot Christmas and learn from it. Where I was one Christmas ago was different in a million ways, and it's a season I do not want to have again. So maybe the change in the weather is exactly what I need.

Beaches and ice cream and outdoor movies sound like the perfect way to send out this year, don't you think?

On taking ownership

There's a lot to be learned. We spend years in school, being trained not only in specific disciplines but also in the discipline of learning. We grow up being taught to know. And while there are seasons where we'd rather not do homework or get up early for school, I would venture that for most of us, there comes a time when we see the benefits of gleaning. Learning becomes a treasure, whether it's in the classroom, from our parents or peers or employers, or a by-product of being a person. And while there are countless lessons that I consider invaluable (use cash instead of your card, give without expectation, see your own worth, etc) one of the best lessons I've learned is how to take ownership.

There are plenty of things of which I enjoy taking ownership. Plenty of things of which I excel at taking ownership. But the more I do life with people, the more I begin to see shortcomings in this areas as well. I can take ownership of my job and its responsibilities and my attitude and my growing friendships and my time here and the effort it takes to make my time here more permanent. But I realize more and more that I rarely take ownership of my feelings. I don't talk about them. I shy away from them at all costs. I avoid them.

But what's the fun in that? I'm learning this week, by the grace of God and His hand on my life, to take ownership of the way I feel about certain things and certain people, and to believe that this ownership will do nothing but cultivate more health for my heart. And this means finding a balance between not caring what anyone else thinks while still being considerate. Not always an easy task, but if I can move to Oz, I think I can do pretty much anything.

When the seasons change, things happen. For most of my friends and family, that change is bringing autumn; a coolness that's felt not just in the air but also the soul. Comfort, found in warm food and cozy sweaters. Everything starts to smell a little different. But here, it's spring. So instead, everything is waking up. Everything is blooming and discovering and the warmth stays in your cheeks a little too long. It's a season for something new.

The myth of fresh-starts

At the beginning of this year, it became clear that I needed a fresh start. It brought me into a season of singleness, into a new job, into a new country. It brought me countless new friendships and adventures and the sort of self-discoveries and awareness about which people dream. This fresh start for which I fought so valiantly and steadfastly brought me more than I ever imagined, but beyond those things, it brought me a nugget of truth that I wasn't sure I wanted. There's no such thing as a fresh start.

Sure, we can move to a new country and take a new job and completely rebuild our community, but the fact remains that all those things we want a fresh start from will still be with us. Those things shape us, they change us radically, and we can't escape them. Our pasts are part of us, even as we move beyond them, and in carrying the weight of all the places we've been and people we've met, it's almost laughable to believe we'll somehow be able to throw them off and have a fresh start.

I came here needing a change, needing something more. But I also came trying to outrun something that had become part of me. Not just something that had happened, but something that had built a new part of me. Something that had become part of my story and my journey and any destination I find. So why did I think I'd be able to get rid of it?

This weekend, I went to see Romeo and Juliet at the Sydney Opera House with a friend of mine. The show was spellbinding and the company quite nice, and we spent the afternoon talking about life - where we've been and where we're going. Somewhere in the middle of all of it, he said something to me, and the gist of it was that this past part of me that I try to avoid has had an impact on how some people see me. And it wrecked my heart in the best kind of way. The I-really-need-to-deal-with-this kind of way, mixed with who-cares-what-anyone-else-says kind of way and I saw in myself a strength I didn't know I had. A strength to say my fresh start isn't just around the corner. It just isn't, and the sooner I stop chasing it, the sooner I'll be able to revel in the glory of where I am and how I got here. The sooner I stop chasing it, the sooner I'll be able to claim every nitty gritty part of my baggage and stop wondering if it will change things. Of course it will change things. But that's absolutely okay.

So here's to admitting that fresh starts are usually nowhere to be found, and maybe it's better that way. Maybe instead of trying to release the hurts and struggles of our who-we-weres, we should cling to them a little more tightly, allowing them to create in us glorious, tender hearts that are strong enough to come out of the storm better than we were before.

Who we were doesn't have to define who we are or who we will be. But that doesn't mean it's a bad thing for who we were to have a little say in the matter.

Here lately

 

Sometimes, I don't know what to write. I had lunch today with another au pair who lives nearby. We went to the same university in the States, have the same name, the same circle of friends, and we happened to meet here. Over lunch, she mentioned my blog and all I could think was that I don't have enough to write about. But truth be told, I just don't write enough. 

I used to journal every day. Not just for devotionals or quiet times, although those are now the most prevalent sources of my writing. I used to write for the sheer pleasure of having created something, for the sole reason that I could not contain myself unless I was writing. Ironic, maybe, that the only way I've ever known to contain myself is to release myself on paper.

Now, though, I want a reason to write. I want exciting stories and breathtaking photos and all the things that "professional" bloggers seem to have in abundance and I feel like I am lacking. And then I wonder why my blog isn't more successful, why my writing isn't more purposeful, why my journals aren't more weathered. 

For the past month, I thought I'd moved to Australia to start fresh, but maybe the reality is I came here because I need to get back to my roots. So here's what's happened lately.

I went to Bondi Beach on Tuesday with my lovely new friend Melissa. We enjoyed a leisurely walk around the beach, snapping pictures as we felt so inclined and taking in the beautiful scenery and weather. After a while, we made our way back to a coffee shop where we had sub-par coffee (I've had two decent cups in the last five weeks, and I'm seriously missing Blackbird of Milledgeville) and delicious banana bread and carrot cake. I made it back to Baulkham Hills in time for Hillsong's chapel service and a quick lunch on the front lawn of Hillsong before sitting in on a Christian Doctrine class that several of my friends are taking. I spent the afternoon with my friend Gina and her lovely housemates and finished off the evening with an overwhelmingly delightful small group. The things I am learning about myself, the things the Father is revealing to me about myself and His plans for me, they manage to comfort and excite me all at the same time. This week has clarified for me the difference between seizing opportunities and obeying calls, and I am so glad to know my time here is about more than just what I can do for myself; it's about the plan that has already been set in motion for me. Delightful.

This weekend will be spent adventuring with new friends and enjoying the community the Lord has blessed me with.

Here lately doesn't seem so exciting when it's on paper. But in person, it's breathtaking.

At Bondi Beach, enjoying the immensity.

This girl has been such a good presence in my life. So thankful.

Tourist.

Pounding the rock.

Childlike.

The life in this place seriously amazes me.

Community.

A little background

 

Sometimes when I'm getting ready for bed and the house is so quiet you can almost imagine there aren't four children upstairs, I stop and wonder for a moment what it would be like if things had gone the way they were supposed to.

If in January, my heart hadn't been broken by a man who wasn't ready for the ring that was already on my finger. If the month that followed hadn't spilled over with texts I shouldn't have been faced with. If he'd been faithful. If he'd been honest about the depth of his sin, with anyone. If the most private details of my life hadn't been considered public knowledge in a town so small that I had virtually no secrets. If the next man I met hadn't disregarded me because my life, as a consequence of things out of my control, was too dramatic. If people hadn't been passing judgements. If we'd been right for each other. If I hadn't been passing judgements. If I hadn't been hating myself for not being enough. If I hadn't decided to move away, to clean my slate, to have people know about my life at my own pace instead of all at once.

But all those things did happen, and it's August, and here I am in Australia. Confident that I made the right choice in ending things, in not taking him back when he decided he'd made a mistake, in telling the truth even when it hurt even more.

If things had gone the way they were supposed to, I wouldn't be here. I'd be married, I'd be in Georgia, I'd be working a job that I hated. Instead, I'm completely at peace with the woman the Lord has created me to be, joyful in the knowledge that the man He has for me will be beyond my wildest dreams, content with myself and my worth and my identity. Instead, I'm in Australia, working a job that teaches me so much and that makes me so incredibly happy. Instead, I'm serving at Hillsong Church and building up one of the best communities I've ever known. I've learned that it's okay that this happened; we weren't what was best for each other, we didn't bring out the best in each other. I've learned that it's okay for me to say I'm happier without him, as he is without me, and that just as I will meet someone better suited for me, so will he.

Who cares that my life got a little off track? This thing, that I have fought against, kicking and screaming and agonizing over, is a part of my story. An important part. It has helped me seek the Lord more fervently, wholeheartedly understanding His goodness and mercy and desires for me. It has created in me a strong and gentle heart. It has shown me all the things about me that I loathe, and it has shown me how to change those things as I can and learn to accept them when I can't. Maybe most importantly, it has reminded me that my story isn't just about me. It is also about the people who will hear it, who can grow from it, be comforted by it, avoid mistakes because of it.

It got me here. And that is truly the way it's supposed to be.

[to that guy: thank you for allowing me to share part of our story here. thank you for not being my future. thank you for setting me free of being yours.]

What I've decided about homesickness

People keep asking me if I'm experiencing it. Homesickness, that is. And I keep saying no, not really, I don't feel homesick. I'm happier than I've been in months. I'm busier, but more peaceful. I feel a stronger sense of purpose than I've known for a long time. I'm making friends, I'm getting settled, I'm beginning to make plans for the future, outside of being an au pair. I'm growing in love for my host family while maintaining healthy relationships with people in Georgia. I feel utterly confirmed. I feel at home.

Then it turns to evening and then dusk and I realize the people I want to share my day with are miles and miles away and hours and hours different and I think, maybe I am a little homesick. Not in the traditional sense, not in the sense that I desperately want to be in Milledgeville or am depressed without my family and friends, but in the sense that I yearn for the things that make a place a home. Because in learning to make Australia home, I miss the things that had built it for me back in the States.

I miss having people to text and meet up with in five minutes. I miss having the opportunity to see my family. I miss living in close enough proximity to others that time spent together could as easily be spontaneous as planned. I miss having a cat, having an apartment of my own, being known. And I've come to realize that these things I miss are not things that are particular to Milledgeville but things that I will cultivate here as well, in time.

So yes, I guess I'm a little homesick. But I know it will pass, as do all seasons. And in its passing, a new home will be built up and strengthened and fortified with the same courage it took me to come here.

In other news, being an au pair is an incredible thing. Apparently, I'm bad at blogging about it. More on that later, maybe.

The road ahead is a good one.
[from Lane Cove National Park]

Overwhelming.

I met these women at Hillsong recently. They're both from Georgia.
They help make this place more home-y, and I'm grateful.

Adventure is out there

I stood at the kitchen counter this morning drinking coffee and thinking, "Am I happy here? Is this what it feels like to be happy? To be moving forward?" I was struck by the notion that there was no conflict in me. I'd forgotten what it felt like to truly be still, to have contentment. To find it in such a place - where I know very few people and am unfamiliar with the area and culture and I'm not sure where this year is leading - is a wonder. One of those moments that makes you marvel. There's something to be said for packing your life in two suitcases and a backpack and moving to the other side of the world. When I figure out what it is, I'll let you know.

Things I've learned in the past week:

1. There's always an opportunity for pictures, so don't be afraid to be the person lugging around a camera.
2. Small touches make a room feel home-y, and having a room that feels home-y keeps the homesickness at bay.
3. The toilets don't really flush the other way (Sorry, Dr. Burt...)
4. Driving on the other side of the road is terrifying.
5. Kids are some of the most accepting people on the planet, so surrounding yourself with them is wise.
6. Community matters; when you build one, build one with purpose, one that will carry you and let you reciprocate.
7. Most importantly, the accents here? They really are that cool.

On Saying Goodbye

As I move through this week, organizing and packing and preparing, I find myself noticing things that won't be part of my day-to-day life for quite some time. I have dinner with a precious friend and realize that I truly don't know when I will see her again. I choose how I spend my time carefully, knowing that soon, the things in this town that I take for granted will be on the other side of the world for a year. It's not as if I've never moved before, but there's something about being on a different continent, disconnected from literally everyone I know and everything I am accustomed to that is striking. It's like that feeling you get when you're really nervous and are suddenly too aware of where in your mouth your tongue sits naturally...but I'm feeling that way with my whole self. Not just my body, my self.

Someone asked me once what it is that makes me experience God the most, and I told him that it was feeling small. There are kaolin mines near here, and one in particular that my close friends and I enjoy frequenting. The best part, for me, is climbing to the top and standing at the edge, overlooking the clear blue pools that have formed and the surrounding trees that have yet to be chopped down for developments. It isn't just the spectacular view that I love so much, though; it's the feeling I get when I stand there - that the world is a vast place and I possess the unbearable lightness of being. I'm a speck and that just sort of takes my breath away.

This week is hard in a joyful way. I'm saying goodbye to familiarity and all its comforts and stepping forward into the empty space that the world usually occupies for me to watch, complacently, from a distance. But saying goodbye is important, because it allows us to greet something (someone) else. It allows us an endless supply of new hello's, and oh, what a wonderful flavor that is.

Here's to all the goodbye's I'm saying this week, and to all the hello's I'll use in the weeks to come.

An introduction.

Women over-think. It's what we do. It comes as naturally as eating copious amounts of chocolate or crying for no explicit reason or finding it impossible to respond to the dreaded "are you okay's" with anything other than "I'm fine." And much like those innate qualities, over-thinking never really helps. So why do we do it?

I think it comes easily for me because I've studied words my whole life - from books to soulful music to writing to rhetoric, truly, all I do is consider. Lately, I've been considering this next big step. Moving from a small town in Georgia to Sydney, Australia, by myself, to work for a year. No, to succeed for a year. To thrive.

I consider why I made this choice. Was it because I was heartbroken and running? Or because I hated my job? Or because I felt the need to prove I could strike out on my own and be okay? Maybe all of the above, a little. But moreso, I think it was because I didn't know what I wanted or where I would find it, but I knew if I did something wholly terrifying, I would come alive.

But now, I consider the next nine days, a number so small it demands to be spelled out. I consider what it will be like to be away from my family, my friends, my favorite coffee shop, the boy I like (naturally, some kind of romantic entanglement is required). I consider how it will feel to be literally on the other side of the world, starting fresh, as they say. I consider all the things I could do to stay here, to stay still, to stay safe. At the end of all my considerations, though, I feel an excitement that is so rare I know I have to hold on to it.

So I will move to Australia. And it will be good, in a multitude of ways. And maybe things will turn out exactly as I want them to, but it won't be because I am brave or fearless or have contracted wanderlust to the nth degree. It will be because this is just life.

Here's to living it, and sharing it with all the right people.

My current vantage point, downtown Milledgeville.