Finally posting about California

My husband and I just had the opportunity to visit Southern California for a week -- for the first time in far too long. It was wonderful! Even though I took some academic work with me, I was more relaxed than I have been in quite some time. So relaxed, in fact, that I couldn't be bothered to take any pictures worth posting here...sorry about that! (I'm usually preoccupied with capturing good shots of everything, so this was unusual!)

This won't be a narrative of our whole trip, but here are a few things we did, as well as some quick impressions about California in general...

• I'm still in awe of how beautiful it often is. The rugged canyons and mountains between Simi and Malibu practically overpowered me after two years in Missouri. The Pacific is wonderful; my mother-in-law took us for a memorable birthday lunch right on the beach! Of the natural wonders we saw that day, however, I think the memory of the mountains has lingered with me the most.
• Speaking of the natural world and its quirks, I like palm trees. Until I spent two years in the Bay Area, I was half convinced that they only existed in Disney cartoons, typically swaying to ukulele music. And to this day, I find the concept of palm trees, not to mention their prevalence, somehow surprising.
• Spending time with Kevin's college friends is fun. Earlier in our marriage, I let myself feel intimidated by the Torrey crowd, but that is less the case nowadays; I just enjoy them, and Biola people in general. I love spending time on the campus because it holds so many memories for my husband. (He did a great job of lecturing there the night before we flew out of town.) Will & Amanda's wedding was also lovely. It's so helpful to hear a truly good wedding sermon from time to time! It renews my desire to see that my marriage tells the truth about Christ and His Church.
• It's fun going to In-N-Out Burger every so often.
• Mostly, I am amazed that California can feel like home to me in any measure. It's something I never had any reason to expect. In the summer of 2006, my mom and I followed a dusty loop through Needles, California, between northern Arizona and Las Vegas, just so that I could say I had set foot in California. I didn't think it likely I would be back there again. Two years later, I moved there. (Admittedly to Berkeley, not Needles. One could argue that Northern California really counts as a different state...!) 
• In all seriousness, I have been thinking how gracious God is in giving us places to love that we never expected to lay claim on our affections. More especially by forging bonds of love among people. My family is bigger than it was merely four years ago, which is truly a joy for me, something God has been pleased to bring about for His own glory.

Speaking of beloved places, for all that I've almost felt like an honorary Torrey alumna in recent years, I'm reminded that my own college years were spent not in Southern California, but in southwest Virginia; in a pocket of Appalachia I haven't seen in six years and that Kevin has never seen. It would be good to reconnect, I think. I wonder how we might work that into our next travel adventure?

A January Story, Part I

I don't handle Januaries terrifically well. The transition from weeks of exclusive home and family time to full-time school, with all its attendant stresses, fills me with anxiety and dread more often than not. I start wondering why I ever thought an academic career was a good idea. Even though I've weathered January transitions many times before, I feel convinced that this time, it will prove to have been a terrible mistake.

~ ~

Last night as I struggled to fall asleep, I remembered a particularly awful January transition in the past. It was January 2, 2004. I was 20, and I had just arrived in Edinburgh, Scotland, for a five-month study abroad program.

Through most of the long British Airways flight, I was fairly calm, even cautiously excited. Studying in Scotland was the fulfillment of a lifelong dream, and I was finally going! Even the terrible inner-ear pressure during the descent into Edinburgh didn't ruin my pleasure at seeing the gray, snow-covered hills and realizing I was probably the first of my family to lay eyes on this land in many generations.

By the time I'd gathered my luggage and joined the rest of my study abroad cohort, however, I started to feel self-conscious and worried. I realized something: they all knew each other. Well, not everyone. (As I was later to discover, there was one other solo traveler, a fellow reticent Sarah, who would be responsible for some of my happiest adventures in Scotland.) But the vast majority of kids had traveled in contingents from their home universities, so they had friends with them. They chatted buoyantly on the coach that took us from the airport to the hotel where our orientation would be held. Meanwhile, I was the only Hollins woman, the only theology nerd as far as I knew, and the only one hailing from a tiny Southern college with fewer than 1,000 students.

Suddenly, it really began to hit me that I was at least 3,500 miles from home. I didn't know a soul on this island.* And I was going to be stuck here for almost half a year.

 I started crying. It seemed to be the only way I could grapple with the crushing isolation and uncertainty I felt. Silently, and as inconspicuously as I knew how, I cried through the better part of the next 24 hours: I cried while the group of New England coeds sitting near me in the hotel lobby talked about Edinburgh pubs and how awesome it was that we could legally drink here. I cried while the study abroad staff gave us all the basic settling-in details, such as how to matriculate, where to get photo IDs taken (what suddenly sounded like insurmountable tasks), and how we must never call Scottish people "Brits." (Did people really not know this?!) I cried when I noticed that my hotel roommate looked vaguely like my best friend, from a certain angle. I even teared up when a friendly Scottish man spilled part of his cereal onto my tray at breakfast the next morning and fell all over himself apologizing.

I probably couldn't have put into words why I felt so overwhelmingly emotional. It's not as if I had never traveled independently before, or even that it was the first time I had traveled overseas. But I had never been both overseas and totally alone. Unlike my father, who at my age had circled the globe a couple of times and survived war zones, I'd never gone for more than a couple of months without seeing my family. I felt terribly out of my element, I was far too shy to engage in more than a few phrases with anyone around me, and there was an entire ocean between me and everything I loved.

Do you know how exhausting it is to cry like a leaky faucet for hours upon hours -- all the while laboring to conceal your disgrace from everyone around you? It's demoralizing in a big way. And, I suspect, probably nowhere near as successful as I hoped. By that time, though, I was too sad to care.

I found respite that night when we were finally dismissed to our hotel rooms; at least now I had a pillow to soak up my seemingly endless supply. And I had a little silence in which to think. I realized there was no way I could stay in Scotland. It was simply too much, too hard. Apparently I wasn't cut out for a trip of this magnitude by myself. While it would be embarrassing to admit defeat and re-enroll at Hollins for the semester, I could think of nothing that sounded more appealing. At the earliest non-awkward opportunity, I would talk to the study abroad staff and explain that I needed to book a flight home as soon as possible.

~ ~

No, the story doesn't end here. And yes, it ends on a MUCH more hopeful note, as you probably already know! But you'll have to wait for Part II to read the rest. :-)

*Had I known that my future husband would be landing at Heathrow less than a week later, to spend the next three months 300 miles away from me at Oxford, would it have comforted me at all? I wasn't to know that for another few years. :-)

“There are two ways of getting home; and one of them is to stay there.” –G.K. Chesterton

I admit, I've been feeling a little envious lately of friends who've had the opportunity to live and travel abroad in recent years. It's been seven years since my sojourn in Scotland. I am a bit restless.

That's when it's good for me to remember how blessed I've been to spend more than a few weeks overseas at all. And that the past ten years have afforded me opportunities to live and travel all over the United States -- much of that in just the last three years, beside my husband.

The map above traces our shared travels since 2007 (so, yes, there's a little bit from dating days). As you can see (at least somewhat -- the purple markings don't show up so well), we've traveled up and down pretty much the entire coast of California (and most of Oregon). Last year's move took us across the Southwest and Texas, up through respectable swathes of the Midwest, connecting us back to Pennsylvania and bits of the upper South.

We definitely have our work cut out for us. In particular, I am longing to spend some time in the Mountain West. I also wouldn't mind seeing more of the upper Midwest, and the deeper South -- certainly more of Appalachia. Perhaps someday we'll be able to add a colorfully marked world map to the California and United States ones currently decorating our apartment. Or at least a map of North America. I hear Canada's pretty big as well. :)

However, looking at this map brings me happiness and perspective. We've gotten to see and share so much during our few years together. And we've been led to St. Louis, where we are able to set down some roots, for now. I am happy to remain anchored here and learn contentment in our little spot in the Midwest -- though, you can be sure, my daydreams will venture further afield.