Defy A Little Gravity

Aaron asked me last night if I felt like I'd learned anything during our time in India. I responded with a "yes?", but couldn't really explain what I'd learned. I went to bed that night thinking about the question. My past experiences were marked by a lot of learning; but I couldn't say what exactly except that I felt like a better version of me.

I've pushed through some pretty intense scenarios, from Iraq to Afghanistan, and now to India. It's a far cry from my quiet college girl days in sleepy Chattanooga or my high school years in my hometown of Memphis. I think back to the "me" then and I'm not so surprised by the struggles I've had. I was a restless, wide-eyed, sensitive, and often unhappy person. My imagination was pretty wild too--always dreaming up stories in my head, wondering what it would be like to be somewhere else or to be someone else. But I was afraid to take risks and often paralyzed by what others might think of me.

Aaron opened the door to adventures I'd longed for, but never had the courage to pursue. They were definitely not the pretty version I'd dreamt up in my head, but they were adventures nonetheless. I walked through the door and entered a world of unknowns and what ifs.

My experiences abroad picked and pulled at the parts of myself that I didn't want to deal with--my fears, my temper, my sensitivities. I thought maybe I'd turned out worse than I was before. I'd been chewed up and spit out. I became a lone wolf, keeping my distance from people and lashing out when others thought they understood but just didn't. I went through a mourning period last year where I thought I'd lost myself entirely: my imagination, my aspirations, and my kindness. But this was all a part of the growing process. A sort of metamorphosis. Maybe I'm just a late bloomer, but it all came together this year in the most unlikely of places.

So, what have I learned from living in India?

I'm learning to be less worried about what others think of me. I'm free to obsess over the things I enjoy like--writing, illustrating, teaching, reading Jane Austin and fantasy fiction novels, cooking, and taking pictures. Maybe these things aren't the most incredible things I could do with my time, but I love them and I love when they mean something to others. I think that's kind of the point. Seeing others do what they love most is so life-giving. I'm free to dream, educate, and create even if the end result is a mistake (or it looks ugly, or it upsets people). I've had quite a few of those moments, but instead of running away, I let it toughen me up. The cool thing about it all is that I get to wake up tomorrow with the chance to be better than I was today.

This is the best thing a perfectionist like me can learn. Flogging myself for my failures won't do anything except set up a life-long, self-esteem issue. I could never win against the perfect version of me that I'd imagined up for so long. I always fell short and so did everyone else. The real character began to surface when I welcomed failure as a necessary part of growth, and started to cherish that in others too.

I'm glad for all of the challenges I've faced in these past few years. It sounds weird, but the struggles kind of saved me. They brought everything that I love about life to the surface and showed me how to jump in, not with a perfect swan dive but more of a cannon ball. It gets a little messy when you stop worrying about it all being so neat and tidy and it's really way more fun. It's not that I don't struggle with my perfectionism anymore--it's actually a daily battle--but I am able to let more things go more easily and enjoy what's in front of me. I'm able to jump a little higher, defy gravity for a little bit longer,  and who knows, maybe one day I'll fly.