the hard parts

sunset over lake michigan

I’m sitting here with my sister trying to write this blog post about endings and beginnings and the fear in the transition in between. I’m drawing a blank. I’ve started this post numerous times the last week as my time at Interlochen faded to a close, and everything I come up with right now sounds trite and tired. It feels slightly unnecessary, but I know that there is something to be said about this ending.

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When I got out of the Peace Corps I was lost a little. I felt defeated. I had battled Mali for ten months—I had given it everything I had and I wasn’t sure what I had gotten in return and constantly feared that I still hadn’t done enough. Stuck in my head, I slowly started the job search. I didn’t feel pressured by my parents, but I knew that I couldn’t stay with my head in the sand.

Deciding to move to Michigan, to live in the woods, it was a jump, and it was an effort to reset myself after living in Mali. People would ask me what prompted that move and I would always say that coming back to the States and living in the woods seemed like the best idea. I was told I needed confidence and purpose and I needed to do it on my own. So last August I packed up the car and off my mom and I drove. And there in a dorm room my life started again.

To say that my work this past year has been easy would be the understatement of the decade. It was hard. The thing about being the quasi-parent of teenagers is that the worrying and the emotions start immediately. There is no separation, there is no way not to care. I went from being a single 24 year old to a parent of 36 teenagers. They became my whole world.

But I wasn’t alone. I had the rest of the residence life team—a solid group of twenty-somethings who seemed to know without a doubt that the year was going to be a wild ride. There we were, thrown together by chance and resume, everyone around us crossing their fingers, hoping for the best.

What we got was more than we could have imagined. What started out as forced friendships and coworker relationships merged into best friends and family. We were all we had and we knew it. We became the Dream Team, always together, the force behind the daily life at school.

And my kids, my students, my residents—in helping them I did re-establish myself. I found my solid footing and I attempted to merge my Malian self with my American self. I grew up—again. They pushed me and molded me into the type of person that looks ahead, without hesitation (but maybe with a little fear) and here I am finding myself planning another move, abroad again, this time to Scotland.

It’s funny though. This wasn’t the plan. Leaving Michigan was supposed to happen after two years, not just one. Scotland was never really in the cards. But, I’m trying to go with it all, to adapt, to groove, to plunge forward with all the hope and faith a twenty-five year old can muster.

For some reason, all of this just made the good-byes that much harder. And sure, I’m a military brat, saying good-bye is part of the job, leaving is something I do really well (we can delve into that later), and I am old enough to know that if you are meant to be friends with people, you will keep in touch. I have the friends to prove that one. So, it’s not really leaving the people. The thing is leaving the time. I’ve closed another chapter. It’s hard to let go of a place the means so much. (Six months of winter, granted; February and March: horrible times; infractions and dean meetings: no fun—but still…) To know that no matter what happens next, the people I grew to love so dearly and admire so much, will never convene at this place again. What we had was magic. It was partial circumstance and probably fate.

After I left the Goodfellas in Mali I thought my luck of having a group of people to work and play with was gone. I figured that kind of good karma doesn’t strike twice.

I guess if you work hard enough and chose carefully, you realize that good people are everywhere and maybe, just maybe, magic is everywhere.

So, here’s to the Dream Team, the residence life department 2012-13, the group of people that through their kindness, sass, generosity, sarcasm, humor, dedication, sleep depravation, hugs, texts, late night conversations, youtube videos, vines, Bud’s trips, and everything else that took up every moment of the year, helped bring me back. You all helped me believe it myself again. We may be crazy, but at least we are crazy together.

Cheers.

me dancing a jig while the sunsets. obviously.
(sometimes you gotta end these semi-thoughtful posts with some humor...)