Wonderings – Page 4 – Darkk Horse Travel

12 Signs You Were Definitely Homeschooled – Written By An Actual Homeschooler

Published on October 1, 2015December 17, 2015 by Emilee5 Comments

In light of the recent Relevant Magazine online article “12 Signs You Were Definitely Homeschooled,” which did nothing to relay what it’s like (AT ALL) to be actually homeschooled (seriously, guys – did a homeschooler even write that!?), I decided to write a list about ways to actually tell that someone was homeschooled (since, apparently it’s important). Oh, and this one (RELEVANT) is written BY someone who was actually homeschooled. So here they are, 12 REAL signs that you were homeschooled.

You have some really crazy stories to tell: You had more experiences in your short little elementary life than a lot of people can say for their whole existence. Roadtrips, museums, concerts you name it – you’ve done it. You can connect with people from all kinds of walks of life because your experiences aren’t limited to the cookie cutter lifestyle the rest of the world was experiencing.

You’re really gifted: Maybe you’re really smart, maybe you’re really artistic, maybe you’re really good at science or math or a musical instrument – whatever it is, you’re GOOD at it. You know why? Because you were allowed time to hone your skills and invest in becoming your best.

You research a lot: Whether it’s reading up on things, experimenting with things or pushing life to the limit, you’ve really upped the notch when it comes to the way you view the world. You ask questions, you find answers – basically you’re your own Mythbusters show.

You take more risks and chances: You naturally think outside the box. In fact, what even IS the box? You don’t know – you never learned that in school. Whether it’s traveling more, starting adult clubs and groups, starting your own business or writing and publishing a book – you know how to risk big and get things done.
You are more tolerant of people: You learned to be friends with people because they were human beings, not because they fit into a certain socioeconomic, racial or religious clique groups. Homeschooling was kinda lonely sometimes, and you learned to adapt by becoming friends with anyone who looked like they might be cool. Because let’s be real, if someone shared your interest, they were your new best friend. Done.

You ask questions: There were no sniveling idiots to pound your questions into the ground growing up, and you’re not afraid to question why things are the way they are, now. Maybe they aren’t questions you scream from the mountaintops (although, maybe you do!) maybe they’re just questions that allow you to move push past what’s expected of you and ask one of the most powerful questions in the world: Why?

You’re super tech savvy: And let’s be real, your friends know it. You’re the one who people call on the phone when they’re having computer problems and you might even have a tech related job, now. The reality of technology was a power that appeared to you a lot earlier than everyone else because technology meant bringing you closer to people and things that you were passionate about! Oh, and we’ll just keep all the hacking on the DL.

You’re super close with your family: Or maybe you aren’t. Spending a lot of time with one’s family can have lasting effects on both sides of the spectrum. Maybe your family became your best friends, or maybe the exact opposite happened. Let’s face it. It’s okay (after 15 YEARS) to take some steps back and keep it casual. These people know a LOT about you, after having spent every day with you – they may just know too much.

You’re self-motivated: There were no late assignments to be excused, waved or curves to be graded on. You either passed or you failed. And it really was all about YOU. You know how to make things happen, and it’s not so hard to push yourself toward goals, since you’ve been running this race, as its solo champion, for years.

You crashed your friend’s proms and loved every minute: We all crashed our “normal” friends events. Whether it was prom, going to sports events or just hanging out in general. We weren’t stuck to barriers about who our dates were or who would be there. WE WERE THE PARTY. And it didn’t matter what we did – ‘cause it’s not like we were gonna ever see those people, again.

Your fashion game is off the charts: Because amidst that (actually not as abundant as outsiders thought) free time, you had time to check up on what people in the fashion capitals were wearing. You were able to experiment with the latest trends from Milan and Paris, and you loved every minute. You spent hours pouring over fashion magazines, vintage movies and style blogs and you knew just how to start a trend, no matter where you were.

You’re uniquely you: You are a homeschooler. That doesn’t mean you are a clone. Some of you wore denim skirts, some of you didn’t. Some of you lived at church, some of you worshiped in nature. Some of you had parents who made your clothes, others of you MADE YOUR OWN CLOTHES. You were allowed to form and become your very best self because there was no one to tell you that you couldn’t. Congratulations on being the very best version of Y-O-U. Take a bow.

It Takes A Village

Published on August 3, 2015 by EmileeLeave a comment

Wow, it has been a WHILE since I’ve caught everyone up on the crazy that is my current life! Throughout the past weeks I’ve been moving, working, applying for jobs, moving AGAIN and trying to keep my head from spinning so hard it falls off.

Luckily, I am #blessed (sorry, I couldn’t resist!) with the best community a girl could ask for. Sanity saved.

So, what HAVE I been up to? Well, I’ve moved into my permanent housing situation in a beautiful Seattle neighborhood that is close to nature, parks, Puget Sound and a short bus hop to downtown. Sometimes I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. I’m so happy to be back home, it seems surreal.

The whole moving escapade has been quite the adventure because I started off staying with a friend on her bedroom floor, my first week back (thanks Claire!), graduated to a temporary living situation with some rad Seattle chicks. And a month later, I was lucky enough to land (kind of bumpy, but I’m still in one piece!) in my current abode. I’m living with a couple of fantastical chicks, now, and I’m sloooowly pulling together my heavily Pintrest inspired living space.

I would just like to reiterate that none of these things would have been possible without the amazing community I’m a part of. I have the best friends a girl could wish for, I’ve had more support and love than I could have ever imagined, and my mother has been a darling bringing down/moving boxes. Oh! And this time I’m in the same country as these people so I can actually hug them and say “Thank you!” You all have made the miracle of this transition happen. Thank you thank you thank you!

What’s up with the rest of my life? Well my job has been keeping me on my toes, and is filled with fun every day, my housemates are awesome, I GET TO HANG OUT WITH MY FRIENDS, and I get to see my family whenever I want to. Sheesh. It’s all just too much. When they say “cup overflows, “ I think I finally understand what it means.

I am so incredibly happy to be back in my city. But I also recognize that my joy in being back is amplified because of the adventures I’ve been on abroad. While it might seem like regret for leaving Seattle might be a feeling that hits right about now, that’s not the case AT ALL! I’m just so happy to be where I am right now.

Will this be my forever stopping point? Who knows. But in these moments I am happy. I love being surrounded by people I love, and I love having the adventures that pop up and meet me every day.

Enough with the frilly stuff??

Okay. Fine.

Just know that moving back to one’s own country, after having adventures in another one, CAN be done successfully. It takes a lot of hard work (A LOT), and a lot of patience with yourself, but it can be done.

One of the biggest things I’ve been learning, lately, is just to let go of my trying to control my circumstances, and to really dig deep. I have so many things I could stress out about, but taking a step back and approaching them each individually has proved to be so much better than curling up in a ball and trying to hope the problems go away.

Not only does glorifying stress not help solve the situations at hand, but it prevents me from enjoying the beautiful little things around me in my day to day moments. Yes, I am so thankful to finally be back, but that doesn’t mean things have been easy every step of the way. AND THAT’S OKAY.

I’m fine admitting that I don’t know what’s going to be the next step, moving forward. I mean, I didn’t even know where I was going to live until weeks before I would have been homeless.
BUT.
Something always comes up. And I have faith that it always will; because in the end, my fate and my future are not in my own hands. While the hard work is mine to dedicate myself to, the direction I’m heading is from an always-faithful Father.

This life is crazy, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m back! I have no idea what the next step is in half of the areas of my life, but I know I’m on the right track, and FINALLY that’s enough.

Keep Moving Forward

Published on May 31, 2015 by Emilee1 Comment

Wouldn’t it be nice if we received an award every time we achieved something? Or at least a certificate of achievement? Something to mark that “You did it!” complete with balloons and a long-winded speech about how “promising” the rest of your life is going to be, and how “the best is yet to come.” Wouldn’t that be great!?

Unfortunately, reality check: That’s not life in the real world. That’s not how things work when you’re an adult. There aren’t balloons for every occasion, or huge groups of people to always celebrate with you. Sometimes, when you achieve something, the celebration is just for and with yourself.

This week is a week of “lasts” for me, in Paris. It is the last week I’ll be in France, and tomorrow starts off by being my last ever Monday as an au pair. And, as much as the decision to leave weighed heavy on me initially, I can now say that I am very much ready to go.

To quote a phrase born out of Parisian storytelling, this year has been, “the best of times, and the worst of times.” I feel as though I’ve been away from home for a hundred years. When I look back over this year I really don’t know how I’ve managed to hold on this long, but although I’m leaving a couple of months early, I know that it is the right timing and the right decision for me.

It’s kind of funny, you often hear about the nervousness of starting a life in a new place, but you seldom hear about the nervousness of setting out on the path to start a new life in a place you’ve known all your life. But it is a real thing.
For some reason, the thought of returning to the U.S. absolutely terrifies me. What has changed? Who has changed? What differences, no matter how seemingly minute, will be present?

And while all of these questions keep swimming around in my head, I have this little voice in the back of my head reminding me that it’s gonna be okay, and that I’ll figure it out. And maybe that’s the biggest lesson that I’ll take away from this year: The ability to have an inner peace when nothing externally seems to possibly be headed on a track to success.

Because, in all honesty, this year went NOTHING like I thought it would. In fact, I would say it went the exact opposite, in every possible way, direction that I thought it would go. Every plan, every goal, every idea that I had for this year seemed to somehow have been lost along the way of me forging forward along this path.

But that’s okay. Somehow it feels like those directions weren’t realistic, or (perhaps, more importantly) in any way mature. Life does not follow the rule sheet that we write before setting out on whatever road it brings us. It doesn’t take into consideration our wishes, or our safety or our hopes.

Those things are up to us. And throughout this year I’ve had to continually strive toward the ideals, rather than the finite details of what I thought this year would/should entail.

So, let me take a moment to share those with you:

This year I learned to press on, even after being broken.

This year I learned to listen to my instincts and to follow through with them.

This year I learned what true spontaneity means, and how to use it to my advantage.

This year I learned to stand up for myself, and to fight for what I value.

This year I learned what makes me happy (Hint: it has nothing to do with money)

This year I learned how to use social media wisely, and how to disconnect.

This year I learned how to open my heart.

This year I learned to be authentic and vulnerable in the things I pursue.

This year I learned to let go of my plans and ideas of how things “should go.”

This year I learned the importance, value and absolute necessity of friendship.

In 1 week a new chapter will be starting for me. There won’t be any speeches or ceremonies or any crazy rave parties…but that’s okay. I survived 10 months living in another country, with random strangers, speaking a language I was hardly fluent at and living in a culture that seemed completely opposite to what I was used to.

I DID IT. And recognizing that for myself is enough.

This time of year a lot of students are forging forward past the signposts of a new chapter in their lives. They did it! They’re graduating! And yes, there will be the balloons and parties and cards and speeches.

But, if there was one thing I wish that I could go back to tell my graduating self, it would have been that the world post graduation is a whole lot darker, and a whole lot more beautiful than I ever could have imagined in that moment. I would have told myself not to be distracted by the balloons, or to feel like the last four years had somehow made me superior to anyone or anything. I would have told myself not to listen to the speeches – because those were written to make me laugh and to “inspire” me to succeed in a fairy tale world that would be waiting for me with arms wide open post graduation. Life is so much smaller! Life is so much bigger!

I would tell myself that I would never be able to subsist solely off the inspiration of others, and that I sure as hell can’t depend upon it when choosing my path in life. I would say, “Learn to inspire yourself. To light a candle within that no one else can ever blow out.” Because that is what is going to make you ‘successful’ – that is what is going to make you happy. The world around you will always be a roller coaster of missed opportunities and sunny day chances. You will always have goals that are father than you think you’ll ever be able to reach. There will always be seemingly “lost” causes and impossible hurdles to jump – but learn to inspire yourself and you will always have the strength to clear them.

Homeward Bound: June 8th, 2015

Published on May 20, 2015 by Emilee3 Comments

This year has been so confusing.

So much has happened, and yet it feels like nothing has happened at all. I know I am different, but at the same time I feel like I’m going back home exactly the same.

I have learned the value of friendship. They are my family, these bunch of strong minded beautiful women who kept me going when I was on my knees ready to give up. They lifted me up, they encouraged me – they called out lies I said and gave me the strength to stand up for myself.

This year I’ve had to defend what I value and believe in so many times. I’ve had to take a stand. I’ve had to make hard decisions I never wanted to make. I’ve had to cut loose things from my past that were inconspicuously dragging me under. I’ve had to move forward.

I learned this year just how strong I am. Not because I’m unbreakable, but because when I am broken I recreate myself into something new. Something wholly different and just as beautiful.

This year I learned what I valued. In a world that ignored me, I learned to make myself heard. I found my voice, and I used it to make myself heard.

I travelled around the world, I met some amazing people – friends who, while I may never see them again, will be tattooed on my heart for the rest of my life. I was uplifted by strong women of all ages who travel solo, tattoo themselves and cut their hair “too short” – together we make up a kind of tribe, wandering the world searching for a place to call home.

Strangers have become friends, I’ve learned to dance and cook and laugh and drink, to throw darts and sneak into skyscraper buildings. I’ve stayed out until 4am and curled up to sleep 9pm. I learned to be alright by myself, I learned not to fear what others thought of me and to be comfortable letting my hair down…literally. I’ve seen works of art people dream about, I ate Spaghetti in Rome and watched sunsets in German mountains. Part of me wants to say that I gained so much strength, but I think it was always there – I just had to discover it.

This year has been one of the hardest, most troubling, most stressful, most tear filled years of my life – and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. It has given me so much and has taken me from the girl who got on a plane out of her city to the woman who will return to it.

I am infinite. I love deeply, cry with anger and walk for miles while praying out to a God I know is listening. I sing songs that no one will hear and paint pictures that no one will see. I build dreams that only I know will come true. Before me there is a path that only I know the direction of, and that’s okay. I no longer need the approval of others in order to walk it. I am fear, I have faced terror and it has been tattooed onto my heart, a talisman of things overcome and conquered.

I am not to be trampled, looked over or pigeonholed into the plan and ideals of someone else. Life challenged me to a test of courage and fortitude – and I conquered it. I am strength, broken and bleeding, tear filled eyes and a grin on my face. Because I know the end of this story: none of us come out alive. But, at the end, some of us will have some pretty amazing stories to tell.

‘Livin On A Prayer

Published on March 31, 2015 by EmileeLeave a comment

Before I left for France my aunt told me “Come back happy, or don’t come back at all.” To be honest, I wasn’t really sure what that meant. But whether or not she wanted it to stick with me, it has for the past 7 months of me living in France.

Thinking back over the past months, there are so many reasons I could have left. So many experiences that would have validated buying the next plane ticket to the U.S. and not looking back.
But to grasp at those opportunities would have been to do so out of fear.

And whether or not she meant this, I think I understand:

Come back stronger than when you left.

Come back wiser. Come back with stories to fill volumes in the family history books. Come back renewed. Come back knowing yourself better. Whether it’s in one week, or one year, come back because it’s time for you to come back, not because someone or something tells you to come back (or to stay there). Come back satisfied. Come back more fully you. Come back happy, or don’t come back at all.

It’s kind of incredible to think about the transformation that can happen to a person over a period of a year. I’m just approaching 8 months and I’m still in awe of how different I feel, compared with when I moved here.

The biggest change, I think, is that I feel like I know my own mind so much better, than I did before. Whereas I used to be constantly worried about the backlash of actually making a decision, I think I’ve reached the point where I know – but more importantly trust myself.

Although I’m a pretty stubborn person, truth be told I hate conflict more than anything. I want things to be relaxed, smoothed over and easy for everyone involved. But the reality is that if you’re always trying to make other people happy, you end up getting trampled underfoot.

There’s a quote I heard once (although I can’t remember who said it – shame on me) that said something along the lines of “If you’re not writing your own story, someone else will write it for you.”

And while this might seem kind of morbid, I think of it as a reminder that we know ourselves better than anyone else in the world. It’s having the strength to assert that knowledge, which is where life gets a little tricky.

This year I’ve noticed that, in the abundance of spare time I’ve been given, I’ve really reverted to a lot of things I had forgotten I loved. My top 3: Art, reading and travel. (And geeking, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.)

Art and reading are pretty self explanatory, but today I was thinking about the actual “why” of my traveling.
Like if I was sitting in a job interview, and they asked me why I love to travel, what would I answer?

I mean, there are easier ways to get an adrenaline rush. There are closer places to run to if I wanted to escape my life.

Why do I think it’s important to hop on 5, 10 or even 20-hour plane ride to see the world beyond my own city or country?

Well, I think it comes down to a pretty simple answer.

Because I can.

Now I don’t mean that to sound cocky, although some of you might read it that way. And I don’t mean it to sound condescending (duh – I’m not a bitc-…mom, cover your ears).

But when I step back and categorize the priorities in my life, I see travel hitting the top because, simply put: I have the opportunity to do it. And I know and acknowledge that isn’t an opportunity afforded to everyone.
Secondarily, although not unconnected, I travel because for a good portion of my life people looked at me as someone who not only wouldn’t but couldn’t.
When I was growing up a lot of people said some pretty dismal things about my future. After all, what could become of a mixed girl born into a non-traditional household? My gender, family status and race were all a “problem.” Or, at least that’s what my mom was told.

Luckily, I have a badass (sorry for the swearing, mom) mother. And I’ve had one of the most stubborn upbringings known to humankind.

So, when I say I travel because I can, I don’t mean because I am somehow superior to others in my ability to do so. If anything it’s the reverse.
I mean that when I travel, it isn’t really about me.

It’s about the lives of people back home who sacrificed so much so that I would have the opportunities to lead me to this place. They didn’t get to go backpacking, or Couchsurfing or jump on planes at the drop of a hat (and some of them never will), so when I do – it’s for them.

It’s a way of me honoring the sacrifices made, and the people who made them. Because I’m not naïve enough to think my own freedom to travel wasn’t paid for before I was old enough to understand the currency. I know that when I’m buying plane tickets, or booking trains, it’s because of decisions made out of loyalty and love.

Traveling is a way of me saying, “Thank you.”

So, whether I’m standing in India, or Ireland or Italy know that I’m bringing all you amazing souls with me along the way. I’m sending my love and a heartfelt thank you via postcards, silly souvenirs, phone calls, Snapchats, video messages, emails, letters photos or while collecting stories to send back. Because I freakin’ love you all!

Why do I think it’s important to travel? Because I don’t have a lot to offer in the form of tangibly making dreams realities. But I can be the feet that imprint a little piece of home, and all those dreams I carry with me, wherever I go.

Luck Of The Irish

Published on March 17, 2015March 17, 2015 by Emilee3 Comments

I absolutely love Saint Patrick’s Day because it’s a day when I get to celebrate my family’s heritage and one of my favorite places on earth – Ireland! My family traditions are no joke when it comes to Saint Paddy’s Day, right down to the green breakfast and the corned beef dinner. So, it’s been pretty interesting to be in a country where there is the exact opposite of celebration happening in most places.

It has been an absolute impossible task to explain to my au pair family the significance of this day. In fact, my nine year old informed me that since it’s not a French holiday, it isn’t a real holiday at all.

But, after 7 months, I’m used to the realization that the general French population doesn’t accept things that seem normal or even second nature to me. I still celebrate, anyway. And yes that means giving my kids green baths, baking green cookies and listening to Celtic music. The celebration must go on!

And being in an expat state of mind, today, also reminded me of something else I love celebrating: identity. What makes us who we are? As someone who comes from a biracial background my own identity has been quite the journey to come to terms with, mostly because, growing up, I never felt like I was entitled to it.

But through the years, I’ve slowly begun to unravel the tangled ball of self-identity that we all have to face, in one way or another, at some point. We all are faced with the questions of who we are, and who we want to be.

When I first moved to France I had a really hard time adjusting to the craziness of suddenly having absolutely nothing to define me. I no longer had my friends, my job, my apartment, my family…in short I had nothing. I didn’t even have a phone.

Actually, I still don’t have a phone.

I stood in this foreign country knowing 50% of the language, having no idea what was surrounding me, and wondering what I was thinking when I stepped on the plane that brought me there. I was so scared. I cried so much. I wanted to go back home more than anything in the world, not because I was homesick, but because I was felt so hopelessly lost.

Who was I?

Right about this time, I had a friend who sent me a message that just meant so much to me, and I don’t think they probably even know. It reminded me that I had people back home who loved me, people who supported me and who cared about me. And as simple as that seemed at the moment; those words have circulated in my mind for the past 7 months, again and again.

I have people who love me.

If there has been one theme from this year it has been the love and support of the people back home. I’ve said it before, but I just have no idea how I got so lucky. Maybe it was my Irish blood (Just kidding. Every Morehouse knows our Irish blood is cursed with bad luck).

When I moved to France it was because I didn’t feel like I belonged anywhere. I felt like I needed to “do something with my life” in order for me to figure out if it was worth anything. In short, I felt like I needed to prove myself.

And I intended to – prove myself, that is. I fully intended on this year being the best year of my life. Of everything going beautifully and me then having triumphant tales to spread far and wide for all to hear.

Then the first blow came. And the second. And the third, and fourth and fifth and sixteenth.

And all I could think was “Wait!! This isn’t how this was supposed to be!”

And maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t.

I don’t have a crystal ball showing me what direction my life is going in or why things happen. But I do know that when these things happened to me, they pushed me closer to myself than I’ve ever been before. Why? Because when everything else is stripped away, when you have nothing left and you’re just sitting there, you realize what actually matters in the grander scheme of things. And here’s a hint: It’s not a smartphone.

Over the past months I’ve realized just how much my identity is reflected through the hearts of the people who love me, and love well. The people who have laughed, and cried and sent me words of encouragement, even though it was in no way convenient for them to do so. They gain nothing by being the best friends a girl could ask for. But I guess that’s the truest test of love when it comes down to it – selflessness.

Who am I? I have no idea. But I know that each day I feel like I’m getting to know myself a little better. And maybe I’ll never reach that point of really knowing. Maybe I’ll forever be searching out this person who can be defined by a label or a category.

But, for now, I am just me: a writer, artist, geek, class clown, adventurer, leader, fashionista, sporadic, camera obsessed, storyteller traveler who thinks of impossible things and jumps at the chance to take on new experiences. It’s not a perfect identity, and it sometimes feels like I’m being pulled in fifteen different directions, but I am me. I am both a dreamer and a doer, an academic and an artist. I sketch pictures of superheroes and modern fashion trends. I live in the present, but I’m in love with the past. I’m a reader and a writer. I am of Africa and I am of Ireland.

But most of all, I am loved.
More than I ever knew before. More than I ever could have imagined.
And that, is the greatest part of my identity that I ever could have discovered.

(Also, I’m going back to Ireland in a month!! I’m so excited!)

Screen Shot 2015-03-18 at 1.13.27 AM — A giant thank you to my darling friend, Liz for mailing me my favorite Girl Scout cookies. I am one happy expat.

Solitude & Surrender

Published on March 10, 2015 by EmileeLeave a comment

I was Facebook messaging a friend this past week when the topic of the two of us having millennial long conversations, when I get back to Seattle, came up. See, this particular friend is quite special in that she and I have (more than once) spent most of the night talking about nothing, and after a year – there will be a lot more than a little something to talk about upon my arrival back in Seattle.

But, as we were messaging, I had a thought that I really hadn’t considered before: When was the last time I had talked to someone?
You know, like not a “hello” or talking about work, or being afraid you’re keeping someone up due to the time difference, or being told that one of the kids might be sick so watch out for vomit when you pick him up from school – but actually TALKED to someone.

You know, like sit down and talk about how you’re actually doing, opening up and fully “talking.”

I realized it had been a while.

Don’t get me wrong, I have awesome friends in France (and duh, we talk), but the reality is that I’ve spent more time alone over the past 7 months than I ever have before. I know, I know, all of you extroverts are yelling at the top of your cyber lungs that I need to go out and party more, MEET PEOPLE! And all of you introverts are thinking, “Wow, I could use some of that. Alone time sounds blissful.”

But I don’t think it’s as easy (or fair) to chalk this occupational hazard/perk to strictly being a “bad” or a “good” thing. There are both benefits and detriments to having so much time with myself. For one thing, me and myself know each other quite well, now (please read that in as sane a context as possible).

The reason being that when you have a lot of time to yourself, you have to face your good and your bad, your greatest accomplishments and your biggest fears. In those times of silence you have to find balance with yourself because there is no one else to help you. And you have to make real actual decisions, rather than burying holes to “deal with them later.” In short, you have to get to know yourself.

And let me tell you, it’s not always comfortable.

But facing your fears, anxieties and inhibitions never is – and, of course, it’s something we all must (or, at least, should do at one point or another. So whilst I’ve away in France, I figure, now is as good a time as any to get some of these insecurities out of the way.

Exhibit A:

I remember writing a post a while back about how I “couldn’t draw” (the reason being that I never felt that I could be good enough to even try, since my older brother is the superior artist in the family).

Well I’m facing that demon, and I’ve been forcing myself to draw every day for the past (almost) month. And you know what? I’ve discovered something that I never never never never thought I would: I really like drawing.

I’ve also discovered that being committed to doing something every day doesn’t mean you won’t feel so nervous you’re shaking, when you start a project, or that you won’t feel like throwing up when you show people the finished product – convinced they’ll spot every flaw your own eye is magnifying x1000.

But I’ve always liked to think that an artist isn’t someone who is somehow superior in the arts to the rest of humanity, but just someone who has learned to push past those specific demons and create despite their taunting inner voices.

Because, when it comes down to it, I think some of the biggest battles we face in the journey to creating ourselves, are the seemingly invisible and silent ones trapped within our own minds. And over these past months, I’ve begun to learn what it means to challenge the things that I‘ve had holding me back.

In the silence I’ve found strength.

These past 7 months have proved to be a time of more battles than I ever thought I could face. Now, looking back to the person who stepped on the plane to France, I feel like I was a hundred years younger; again, a good and bad thing.

But, if I had to assign one word to the past months, it wouldn’t be a negative one (compared to a couple months ago, since my life literally felt like it was going up in flames). But, instead, one that I’ve felt like God has been whispering over my life the past few weeks, specifically: Surrender.

Now don’t get this wrong – surrendering, in this case, does not mean giving up on a mission. It doesn’t mean stepping away from the cause, or breaking down.

If anything, it means the exact opposite.

It means realizing that I have something to fight for that is bigger than myself; and that I have people around me to help me along the way. It’s completely out of my nature (and SO hard) to admit that I ever need help. Help has always equated to weakness in my past.

But it has been such a journey the past months to see how weakness is not what has been shown through the actions of others, but how incredibly strong I am because of the people who have held me up in my times of need. And beyond that, a heavenly Father who hasn’t left me at any point along the way.

Life has not turned out as I expected. Things have not gone the way that I wanted them to, or that I planned them to. But that’s okay. And realizing that has been a journey of its own. But I know there’s a greater purpose for the fire that refines us.

And even though it’s not always the easiest or the most convenient, sometimes the thing we need to hear the most, in the silence, is the whisper of our Creator to take courage, and to keep moving forward.

Seeking A Friend For The End Of The World

Published on February 24, 2015February 24, 2015 by Emilee1 Comment

Tonight, when I first sat down to write a blog post, I thought I would be writing about the adventures I’m having right now while on holiday. I thought I would tell you guys all about the wonders of being in snow-covered mountains, or about how beautiful today was. But when I sat down at my computer, staring at the blank white document page, all I could think about was home.

You’ve all heard of homesickness before, and I know it’s not the first time I’ve written about it on my blog, but it wasn’t really on that level that I was thinking. Being in a ski resort there is beauty all around me: beautiful mountains, beautiful snow, beautiful shops and buildings. But what I find the most beautiful are the people. See, normally people come to resorts with their closest friends, family etc. so the relationships that you get to see around you are ones built on familiarity – something I can barely remember the taste of.

Today I was walking around some of the streets and I couldn’t help but think about the people I would bring here, were it up to me. Who would be among my crew of miscreants? Who would I be walking these streets with?

Moving away from your country can leave a pretty colossal hole in your heart. While I know there are some people who move and never want to return, that hasn’t been the case for me. In fact, I think it has been the exact opposite experience. Note: This does not mean I hate my life, I’m not having fun or that I want to run away.

Having lived these past six months in France has really taught me a lot about the people in my life, though. I’ve ranted and raved about my friends, before. But I think I’m starting to understand just how lucky I truly am. When I think back over the past six months I can say with certainty that, without these beautiful people, I wouldn’t have made it.

True and honest friendship is not something you encounter every day, although there are many impersonations of it. But, you see, friendship isn’t about the people who smile and ask you how your day was every time you see them. Anyone can ask you questions. It’s about the people who are actually listening when you answer – the people who aren’t looking over your shoulder for the next person to talk to. Friendship is about people caring because actually do, not because they feel like they’re under obligation to. And it took me most of my life to stop settling for the latter version.

But somehow, though the past few years, I seem to have won the lottery when it comes to friends. I have the absolute best support system a girl could ask for, but I’m okay admitting I took it for granted when I was living a phone call away from them.

And now, living a galaxy away, we can’t phone call. Now we have to strategically adjust and stretch our schedules just to talk for a precious hour between time zones. Now we have to sit down and take the time to write letters and then mail them. We have to work for our friendship, and the reality is that it isn’t always convenient.

Which is why I know how lucky I am.

When I first moved to France the biggest fear I had was of being forgotten. I know that sounds kind of weird, but it has been a really real fear throughout his whole process. Would people remember who I was? Would they see me again after a year and see a friend or a stranger? The reality is that either is possible. Some friendships are tested and don’t make it.

But some do.

And to those of you who have sacrificed time, effort, postage and kind words to help me through this wild adventure I’m on, I want to say a sincere “thank you.” I love you guys, and you will probably never know how much these “little” things mean to me.

This crazy thing called my current life would never have been able to be possible without you all! And throughout the shifting, stretching, crazy, awkward, ridiculously miraculous adventure, I finally understand how rich my life truly is. The beauty that is you people is just so much bigger than I ever could have imagined.

And while homesick is a feeling I’m more than a little familiar with, that’s not how I feel right now. I feel blessed. I feel overwhelmed by the people who have worked so hard to support and love me, even from 5000 miles away.

I’m the luckiest girl alive and I don’t think I ever fully realized it before.

Thank you all so much, and enormous hugs! We’re gonna do this thing together: Walk, run or crawl.

Thank you for being there to support me, all the way to the finish line.

An Hour Of Wolves, And Shattered Shields

Published on February 20, 2015February 20, 2015 by Emilee3 Comments

Happy Lent, everyone! For all of you who are observing it, stick in there – it WILL be worth it! For those of you who aren’t, have fun watching us for the next 40 days.

For those of you who aren’t of the Christian persuasion, I guess I should probably tell you about Lent.

“Ok, Google – cheat for me:”

Lent is a 40-day period of preparation for Easter Sunday and one of the major liturgical seasons of the Church. A penitential season marked by prayer, fasting and abstinence, and almsgiving, Lent begins on either Ash Wednesday (for Latin Rite Catholics and those Protestants who observe Lent) or Clean Monday (for Eastern Rite Catholics and Eastern Orthodox) and ends on either Holy Thursday or Holy Saturday.

Lent comes in many different forms. Some people give up food as a community, some people fast (or give up) things they feel like they’re placing before their spiritual lives (maybe you’ve seen some people bowing off social media) and others do none of the above. Like me.

To clarify – yes, I am fasting. But this year I felt like I needed to do something a little different.

Enter dramatic pause

So, I’ve decided to do a 40 day negativity fast (#notreallyworthadramaticpause).

Rather than Googling what this “means” I’ll tell you what it means to me.

The Bible has a lot to say about how Christians interact with the world around them. There are verses about loving, about caring, about serving – and then the ones we’re not quite as eager to discuss: The ones about turning the other cheek.

This is not a green light for people to come and punch me in the face, because for the next 40 days I won’t punch you back. I will punch you back.

What I’m talking about is on a spiritual level.

See, I’m a fighter by nature.
When I was little, more than anything, I wanted to be an Amazon woman (thanks for the documentary, PBS). I wanted to fight in battles, and conquer kingdoms and learn epic archery skills (the last of which I did start). I wanted to fight. I’ve always wanted to fight.

And it took me a really long time, as Christian, to realize that’s okay.

I think a common misconception about Christianity is that women are supposed to be these meek and gentle creatures sitting in the corner knitting.

And while I do knit, and I love its cathartic values, that’s not my idea of the life of faith for a woman.

NOTE: Being meek, gentle and sweet are NOT bad things, for those who are naturally that way.

But I’m not.

I’ve always preferred to think of myself as someone who follows more the example of the biblical Deborah. For those of you who don’t know the story, think badass awesome chick who leads armies and generally dominates at life, because men aren’t stepping up to the plate. (Judges 4)

But something to remember, even for us fighters, is that there are times when you need to find peace in the uncomfortable places or times God calls you to. Sometimes, we reach a season of needing to learn trust.

“The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still.” Exodus 14:14

A great, totally hypothetical, example of this is when you’re, I don’t know – living in a foreign place, and being COMPLETELY out of your comfort zone. Exhibit A: My life.

For me, natural instinct says to kick and scream and punch people (metaphorically) – but God tells me to rest.

So I sit.

I “rest”.

I pout.

I complain.

*For the record, sitting in a corner complaining isn’t finding rest in a situation.

France has been hard, harder than I ever could have imagined. But it’s in this place that God has told me, for now, to rest. And over the past few months I have been doing the very minimal value of that.

More than anything I’ve been complaining, I’ve been self-pitying and I’ve been finding every excuse to sit on my bible, rather than read it. Because, hey – I’ve been through a lot (factual). I deserve to be able to curl up in a ball and listen to angsty music!

But if God wanted me to listen to angsty music for a year, I think he would have given me a time machine back to my high school self, not told me to move 5000 miles away from home.

So, with this in mind, I’ve decided to dedicate my Lent period of time to fixing the deep seeded problem that has become my perspective on my life.

Where there is self-pity, I will look to serve others.

Where there is anger, I’m seeking peace and self-reconciliation.

When I want to outwardly project my fears and insecurities, I will take them instead, and leave them at the feet of my Saviour.

Where there is doubt, I’m remembering the promises that brought me to this place.

And where there is winey-ass (sorry mom) me, I will remember that there is purpose to every breath I am given.

Lent started on Wednesday, so I’m only a few days in, but I can already tell you one thing – it IS NOT easy. Human nature wants to complain. Why? Because, to be honest, it feels good. And it’s societally acceptable. Just look at how many social media outlets we’re given to FML our lives.

But my challenge, over the next month is to remember where I came from, and who fought on my behalf to bring me here.

It wasn’t by accident that I landed in Paris for a year – no one accidently lands in Paris for a year. This year was a pretty hefty detour from what I had “planned”, but that doesn’t mean I’m not on the path I’m supposed to be on.

So, join me, will you? Let’s strive to look at our lives and the world around us with a different lens. Let’s begin to uncover and unmask the places in our hearts that have brought us into areas of complaint, instead of action. And most of all – let’s fight a good fight.

Oceans

Published on February 12, 2015February 12, 2015 by EmileeLeave a comment

On the way back from school today, I was walking with my two youngest boys, and we came to a crosswalk. We stopped, looked both ways, and I stepped out first with them following. While they happily scampered across the street a car came speeding down the road, slamming on its brakes last minute when it saw me there, standing in the center of the crosswalk waiting for my kids to get across. I eyed the driver defiantly; because do or die, I was not moving until my kids were safe.

This isn’t the first, or the last, time that something like this has/will happened. As an au pair it’s my job to protect and take care of my kids and that’s what I do, even if it means risking my own safety in the effort. First and foremost it’s my job to make sure they come home safe and sound at the end of the day.

But, you know what? They don’t know that. In fact, I would go as far to say they don’t have a clue.
Sure they know I feed them, and pick them up from school, and that I take them to the park. But while they’re happily crossing streets, they have no idea there are cars narrowly missing them. And that’s okay. They’re kids and being oblivious to adult responsibilities is part of the package deal.

Today, though, I started thinking about how I cross my own streets in life, all the time, with God standing guard. I am the kid walking across with little to no idea of the protective measures going on around me.

The only difference is that my crosswalks are life choices – things that might seem scary or unknown, or downright insane. The other side of the road doesn’t always look like a nice and visible place to be. I get distracted by the fact that I can’t see what’s on the other side, or that I’m crossing alone and no one else seems to be walking in the same direction; I get nervous because I don’t have a plan after I cross, I don’t know who or what I will become when I reach that point – and that is terrifying. All I can think about is the other side of the street, but if only I would take the time to see the protecting guidance of my Father I would know better than to fear.

Lately I’ve had a lot of people ask me what it’s like to be an au pair. People have sent me messages saying they’ve thought about doing it, and they want to know if I think they should. I’ve been really careful replying to these messages, because I know giving “advice” on life altering decisions is very serious. And being an au pair IS a life altering decision. You will not come back the same.

And I don’t mean that solely in a, “you’ll have such a larger perspective of the world” way. Yes, you will gain amazing skills such as viewing people different from yourself, new friends and experiences and most likely have a more open mind. BUT you will also have battle scars and wounds from your time abroad. You will have situations that you wish you could have avoided, and problems you never thought you would overcome.

You’ll probably spend time crying – a LOT of time crying. You’ll wonder what the hell you’re doing there. You’ll feel like you’re wasting valuable time in your life, and that you could be doing something more significant. You’ll feel like you’re suffocating, like if you missed places and people any more your heart would implode.

That. That is what it means to be an au pair. And I don’t want to mislead anyone into thinking that you won’t feel like giving up on a regular basis. Because the reality is, it’s an extremely “unnatural” feeling to be living in a stranger’s house in a strange land with strange surroundings and nothing and no one familiar in immediate reach during your rough moments.
You don’t get to go home and vent after work – your home is your work. You don’t get sick days to stay home and marathon Netflix, you go to work every day, regardless of your state of health. Your schedule is not your own, you get woken up by screaming children and have to be quiet at night so you don’t wake them. Sometimes you’ll wonder if it’s worth it – or whether you should crank your music so loud the walls shake just so you’ll remember that you are there. And you are. Even though sometimes it feels like you’ve melted into an emotional pot the family has forgotten to stir – some kind of strange substance floating on the surface.

Let’s face it, sometimes a lot of the time you will want to give up. A lot of time I want to give up.

But I was raised to keep running a race until I reached the finish line. Whether I have to run, walk, limp or crawl there – I will cross it, and hold my head high.

Being an au pair is hard; it has stretched me in ways that I never knew I could be stretched. It has emboldened me in ways I never thought possible, and it has cut into my heart, replacing pieces I never wanted to admit were rotting. I’ve overcome things that I never would wish for anyone else to experience, stories I’ll never tell to anyone but those who are closest to me.

It has been painful and difficult and crazy and confusing.

But every now and then I’ll catch a glimmer. A faint light shining amidst the chaos that this life brings, and I’ll remember; the life I was called to, to run a good race, to push forward even when absolutely everything is pushing me back. I’ll remember that even the darkest rainstorms result in beautiful color pallets painting the skies.

And maybe that’s what this season is about. It’s a season of stretching. A season of building the muscles that will carry me across steeper roads, higher mountains and deeper canyons.

It’s not easy. Not one day since I’ve been here has been easy. But there have been times when I’ve smiled more genuinely than I think I ever have before. And I guess that is what truly marks a great adventure. Not that it’s a leisurely stroll. But that it’s a trek that leaves you scratched up, worn out and ready to drop at the end – but with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment.

We did it.

None of us leave this life unscathed or unaltered. The real question is whether the wounds we acquire have stories that are worth telling for generations.