23 minutes

I'm sitting on the couch at my mom's house with 23 minutes left of my birthday. I'm sleepy, but I feel like I can't go to sleep before the day's really over. I had planned to come home after dinner and start going through my clothes, packing things into suitcases to see what will fit (on my body and into the suitcase) to bring to Korea. Instead I just want to go to bed.

This birthday -25- has been weird for me. It's the first time I've been in Sulphur that I really remember, since I've had all the friends who are close to me now and since I've been on my own. I'm still trying to process why I feel this way, kind of empty, lonely. Probably because my friends aren't all around me like they have been for the past six years.

Change.

Late

I've been waiting to go to Korea for years. Just two weeks ago, I cried myself to sleep because it didn't look like there was a position for me for a long time and I want to go so badly. My friend Amy, who is teaching there right now and also did a few years ago for the first time, told me about two different programs last week and I've contacted them and talked to both recruiters since.

Last night, I talked to the ECC recruiter and he said there are four positions available at the end of November in or near Seoul. He said, once I rank the positions in order of most to least favorable, he will talk to the schools and is sure he can get one to offer a contract. But I need to do it in the next few days.

Tonight, I Skype interviewed with Poly Schools and they have one position in Seoul that needs to be filled ASAP. Paul, the guy I talked to, is going to talk to the director today (it's 3pm there) and he will probably want to interview me Sunday. I'm clearing my schedule.

If this goes through, I would leave as soon as my visa confirmation number comes in. That takes 8-10 days and it would get started as soon as I accept the contract. Pretty sure we'd be looking at leaving in two weeks.

Needless to say, I'm not going to sleep for a while. It's amazing what happens when you say, "Fine, God, this doesn't make any sense to me, but you said you'd direct my steps, so I believe you."

In flight

I'm in the middle of a very long flight.

(It's a metaphor, people... work with me.)

This is usually exhilarating for me because I know what the destination is and I know exactly how long it's going to take to get there. I know where the bathroom is and I know the flight attendants will bring me meals, drinks when I ask for them, and a travel toothbrush and warm towel when we get close to landing. And I made the decision to get on the particular plane I did, so it's all OK with me. But right now, I'm mid-flight over the dark, freezing Pacific and I don't know where I'm headed. And I don't know where the bathroom is or when I'll get to brush my teeth or even eat again. I want to think of this transition time as the exciting flight to somewhere I've never been, but it doesn't always feel that way.

I'm back in Sulphur - waiting to land.

I'm working at Chili's here, which is very different from the Chili's in Ruston where I had started making friends and actually having fun.

I'm waiting for the FBI to return my background check so I can apply to schools in Korea.

And then I'll be waiting to see if anyone accepts me.

Then I'll be on a real plane, headed to a real place, and I'll know where the bathroom is.

New step

I just submitted two poems to an online poetry magazine. We'll see how it goes! Both poems I sent really impressed one of the guys in our poetry group, and he's a "real" poet, haha. I feel good about them, anyway.

Balancing act

Transition in general is a good thing. Switching jobs, moving to a new house, even just rearranging your room... New things are good. I have always said I like change. So I didn't think the huge transition about to happen in my life would affect me horribly. I'm (still hopefully) moving to Korea in September. That fact alone doesn't really scare me much. I'm very excited about being somewhere new, meeting all new people, finding a different community, all of those "good new" things. What I'm not loving is the work-up to saying goodbye to the people I'm closest to in the world. I hadn't pictured this moment yet in my mental idea of what this would all be like. The looming dread of saying goodbye to people who I really have no idea when I'll see again is scaring the heck out of me.

I got to see Leigh this weekend, which is wonderful. We don't see each other often, but we've always been within an hour and a half of each other and that's comforting. I like to imagine that being across the world and pretending we could visit if we wanted will still be somewhat similar to being in the same state.

One of the things I love most about my friends is that they are all just as adventurous as me. We understand each other in that way. Because that's just who we are, I knew we wouldn't all live near each other forever. I wanted the best of both worlds though, somehow, and I always just imagined it would be OK when the day came. I guess I had it all planned out in the back of my mind... I would get to go be adventurous (married to the love of my life, of course) and at least some of my friends would be somewhere nearby, maybe in a neighboring country or even in the same one. At one point, I had imagined Leigh and Eric and me and my husband working in Honduras together as a real possibility. But that's just not how life is today. I've said this before, but I know what I'm passionate about, and I'm glad I'm sure. I just kind of wish I wasn't the only one because this is getting harder than I expected.

-----

I'm back. I just went with Bri and laid in the pool for a while and now I'm in my swimsuit on the couch with half-wet hair eating a peach and cheesecake snow cone. It's a little harder to feel sad about my life at the moment.

-----

Some thoughts after talking to friends:

Caleb and I hung out last night for the first time in a week or so. He's always making me realize I need to read more Eliot. He explains the deeper sentiments in it so well and recites the best lines, and it actually makes me interested. Reading Eliot on my own has never really excited me until I read "Burnt Norton" a few months ago. I think it's appropriate now too. Here's the line that first caught me:

What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.

We are here no matter where we thought we would be or where we have been. That's sometimes SUCH a hard thing to accept. Accepting what's happening in life can be such a struggle for me. Really accepting it. I don't even think I know what it means to accept something rough or painful.

Which brings me to the thought I had after talking to Jenni a few minutes ago. I knew I'd been feeling like I'm standing, balancing on the top of a tall pole, trying not to fall but unsure how to stay on it or how to get down safely. But now, it makes sense why I feel that way. I don't know how to move on from the "deferred hope" that I have right now. Usually when I feel this way, I've already got another plan in front of me - another guy, to be honest. But I don't have that now. And I don't want it. I'm glad I've grown and am making good decisions in this regard, but now I don't know what steps to take to move on. So I'm out on a ledge I've never been on before. This is so new I can't even keep my metaphors straight. A friend of mine says, "Time and God are the only things we can be sure of" -- that just came to mind. It's true, and that's what I'm going to lean on.

Always more to learn

The past year of my life (almost to the day) has been tumultuous, to say the least. I've felt the most pure joy I have ever felt and probably the hardest times I can remember. And I've learned so much. It's been a crazy process of me trying to figure out who I am and who I want to be. Once I feel like I've nailed one aspect, something new arises and, for a while, makes me feel like I've learned nothing. Now, I know that's not true - anyone know knows me knows that it's pretty easy for me to lose perspective when things change. One thing I know I'm learning, though, is how to gain that perspective back more quickly than before and not let my emotions and destructive, untrue thoughts run wild.

The past week or so, I've realized how important it is to me for people to think I'm good at what I do. Great at what I do, actually. All my life, I've been the best at everything in my family. I'm the oldest, the first one to go to college, the one to get the best grades, the one everyone in my family calls when they have a question even about random things that I really don't know much about. I am usually a fast learner, pick up on things quickly and am good at most things I try my hand at. At least that's how I like to see myself.

I started working at Chili's a little over a week ago, and I've worked a lot since I've started so I've had a lot of time to realize that I'm not OK if everyone there doesn't see me as the amazing new server who doesn't mess up. The first thing that came to mind when I realized that need is that I need to learn humility. Whether or not I am great at what I'm doing, I shouldn't need people to acknowledge it. It's definitely an attention thing too - if I'm just average, people don't have any reason to pay attention to me. I want to be honest with myself about these things so I can change my heart and attitude and not fall apart when I'm just average at something. I don't want my identity to be found in the attention I get from people.

Also I've realized lately that it freaks me out that I'm going to go to Korea alone. I am proud of myself that I am finally following this dream that I've had for so long. I know this is who I am and I'm glad that I am being true to myself and to the desires God's given me. But considering most of the people I'm surrounded by right now, I seem to be one of the few who hasn't chosen to go to Africa - which threw me off when I thought about it. I love South Africa and I know I could be happy there and it wouldn't be as scary because I would know so many people there. It's just not where my passion is. Again, I'm really happy that I am sure about what I want, but once I get past the concept of just "being in Korea" for a year and think about practical, every day life, I get scared. Will I have any friends like I have here who I can talk to about important things? Will I be able to talk to my friends anywhere close to the amount I do now? What will I do every day after work? I've never lived alone, will I even be able to handle that? What if I can't find a good community to be involved in? That makes a year seem like a really long time.

Side note: For the first time, my fear is not "Oh no, when will I get married?" I feel very grown up because of this, too. I also know (given my new rational mindset) that once I leave Louisiana, 24 will seem VERY young to me. In Korea, it's rare for women to marry before they are 26 or so.

I've seen such a pattern in my life of me freaking out about what will happen, things falling into place (while I don't realize it and think God's nowhere to be found), then realizing that everything worked out the best way it could and He was taking care of me all along. So, I know that this pattern will continue - He WILL be in Korea taking care of me. I do have peace about deciding to go; it's just a lack of confidence in my own ability to be OK without the people and security I have here. But He's given me this passion and He's already there preparing a community for me. I just need to actively trust Him with it.

In a very, very special woman's words, here I go.

When I can't write

A few things:

I am learning about loss. This past week, I've done a lot of thinking about LJ, regretting my actions, being angry at him, angry at myself, and overall just being sad. I am learning, though, that loss doesn't only come in the forms of breaking up or people dying. Lots of things in life qualify as life. Relationships are life. So even loss of a relationship is akin to a death. A friendship ending, even if sometimes it's for a good reason, is a hard thing. I think loss is hard because it's usually filled with so much regret. "If I had only been there that night," "If I had only not caused that fight," and other self-destructive thoughts make loss so much harder than it would be if we would just accept it. But we're human. Sometimes, though, the loss really had nothing to do with your actions in any way, but still, then it's hard because you wish you would have been in a place of influence to stop it from happening - but you couldn't be.

Leaving Ruston will be a loss, though sometimes a very welcome one. I realized yesterday how many remnants of loss are left here for me to see. Places where I've spent a lot of time but can't anymore, precious people I can't talk to anymore... They do nothing but sadden me. Almost everyone I know is leaving soon. I'm holding on to memories of what Ruston has meant to me, and those are priceless memories and I couldn't be more grateful for my experiences here. But it's time.

I've started sending in my paperwork to teach in Korea. In my mind, I'm ready to be there now. But there are a few things keeping me for a little while. Treasure's having her baby at the beginning of August, and I really want to be here for that. But as for Ruston specifically, I want a little more time because of the creative community that had recently grown around me. I don't want to stay here forever, and I know it's close to time for me to leave, but at this moment, for the next few months, I want the creative side of me that's been awakened to continue to be fostered. I don't know that I could flourish in that way in Sulphur, where I will likely be for the last part of the summer. It scares me to be taken away from this community right now. I imagine that once I live in Korea I will find such a community of writers, artists - people whose souls are alive in those ways. I really hope I find that.

I decided a few weeks ago that I want to be a poet. At least I want to shoot for that. My mom has always believed I'd write a book one day, and I always disagreed. But maybe I'll write a collection of poetry. I would love that. I do know that I'm a better poet than prose writer. I don't know what that means - it could just be that my prose isn't very good. But it could mean that I have some potential for being a "real" poet one day. I know that's an aspiration that a ton of people have and never achieve. But if you don't have the goal, there's no chance. Here's a poem I like that the guys in my poetry workshop told me was the best I'd written so far. Again, "best" is relative, but here it is. It motivates me when I'm frustrated.

Revelation

Morning breaks brilliantly,

surprising the sleeping sparrows

on narrow branches, nearly

toppling them. Tiny creations

awaken with soft, new light

to an unmatched warmth.

Under delicate talons, ice

cracks slowly, steadily betraying

sparkling boughs as damp mahogany

and drab.