Ch-ch-chh-changesssss

Hey guys I've moved! Check out my new blog here: lindsey-lu.tumblr.com

Changes are a comin' and I figured a change of blog was in order. So I took a page out of Mr. Maas' book and have decided to revive my blog there.

Back on Track

I've always found comfort in good friends. Good new friends, good old friends, or just good people makes no difference, because when you put the right amazing people together you get something spectacular. Jim Collins talked about the importance of putting the right people in the right seats on a bus for business purposes, and David Pollay talked about having the right people be on your EB for your life. I feel like I'm reconnecting with the people who are already on that bus and adding a few new people to party on my own personal bus, that happens to be more of a chiva.

A little bit sentimental

Living at home for the first time in almost 3 years has lead to the inevitable and much needed sorting process. Sorting through clothes, books, old keepsakes, etc. And perhaps because tomorrow is Father's Day, or because I've recently relived my Cornell acceptance through a distant cousin, when I came across my college essay I reread it and was moved.

Sometimes I get the feeling I've regressed in my writing and ability to express myself while sounding intelligent. But maybe its actually the fact that it was easier to sound smart by plugging in words without the real thought behind them. Whatever the case, I think that there are certain moments when you actually have something important to convey that the words and expressions flow freely, allowing you to create something really great. November 2004, Senior year of high school, 3rd block in the yearbook office was my moment and here is my something:

It’s 6:30 on a brisk September evening. A hustle and bustle of little girls, all rushing inside to see their friends at their weekly Girl Scout meeting and the mothers lagging behind them, can be seen at the local elementary school. Once in the cafetorium, the girls scatter and the women congregate to share stories. One lone father observes from a distance. He patiently watches as the group begins to settle down. The squirming pack of girls gather in a horseshoe. The leader quiets them, and business is addressed. One mother tells her daughter to stop fidgeting; another shushes two conversing scouts. The sole father listens intently, quietly confident all the while.

The group disperses and girls dart in every direction, eventually finding their way over to the new meeting grounds. The remaining mothers assemble and seat themselves in the folding chairs. The leader takes a count. Sixteen girls, fifteen mothers. Ah, yes, and one father. Thus, the Cookie Kickoff begins. A box of Thin Mints and Shortbread Cookies are passed around for all to taste and sets the mood. Sixteen eight-year-olds giggle endlessly and brag about their anticipated sales for the year. Fifteen mothers discuss their favorite cookies. One father watches and waits. The group is brought to order and a question raised: Who will be the Cookie Mom of the year? Fifteen women glance at one another. No one raises her hand to volunteer. The lone father steps forward and the whole room stops. “I will,” he states with no hesitation in his voice.

Flabbergasted, everyone stares wide-eyed. Shortly, the murmur of comments flood in. The girls turn and stare at the man’s child. “But it’s called ‘Cookie Mom’…” “How can he do this and raise two kids?” “He can’t be serious!” But it has been decided. The troop will have its first ever Cookie Dad.

Not sure whether to be excited or upset, she sits silent and embarrassed through the details and arrangements being made. It is not the first time she has wished to be like all the other girls. A normal life, with two parents is her greatest desire. She is far too naive and far too young to realize how lucky she really is.

Now, a stepmother, three more siblings, and just shy of a decade later, I look back and wonder how I could have taken such a father for granted. How ashamed I am to think that I was embarrassed by him! He instead should have been—and now is—admired for what he has done to create a loving environment for his family.

Time and time again, family friends have told me that “It takes a certain type of man to raise two kids single-handedly” and that “he’s done a great job” as well. Only now, years later, can I begin to understand how greatly his example has moved me. His kind, caring, and sacrificing love have shattered the stereotypical image of “masculine.” Instead, his example has created one in which the man is not afraid to go above and beyond his duty as a father. In turn, the ideal father can morph from bread winner, to chauffer, soccer coach, or cook in the blink of an eye. At least the world can rest at ease, knowing that one man has accomplished all this. And that one man, I’m proud to proclaim, is my father.

Stuck between two worlds

So I've only been in Newark Airport now for about 40 minutes and already its been enough to make me feel uncomfortable. I just can't get over how, what's the word I'm looking for - efficient - things are. I mean my goodness, I was off the plane, through the passport check, received my luggage, through customs, rechecked my luggage, through the safety check, and had a Starbucks white mocha in my hand before my flight had even been scheduled to land. What's with that? I spent more time yesterday waiting in a line moving slower than molasses to change money at Western Union than I spent waiting in those 6 lines all combined.

And aside from things being fast and expensive, they're big. I mean I ordered the medium sized mocha and its almost twice the size of the large coffee at Juan Valdez or Oma. Its like everything here is supersized without even having to ask for it to be. I didn't realize how little things like that would stand out so much, even after only 4 months.

To top it all off, my first sighting of the US was cold rain and gray skies in Newark and I couldn't resist thinking "eww" and how nice and sunny it must be in Cartagena right now.

It's really happening. I'm wishing my final farewells (for this time anyways) and trying to take in as much of this relaxed atmosphere as I can while warding off the the evil stresses that are fighting to take hold.

I feel as if I'm being pulled by opposing forces - the desire to stay and the want for more. As with all goodbyes, this one is bittersweet and it was always going to be hard. It just feels as if having my time cut 6 weeks short leaves me with a lot more questions and hasty goodbyes.

Oddly enough, I'm almost packed. And even stranger, it all fits in my suitcases. Due, no doubt, to the fact that I'm leaving bits and pieces behind, replaced by the new things I've picked up along the way. I guess that could be symbolic of life though.

Packing and repacking

After 4 months stocked full of valuable experiences, both good and bad, the journey is coming to an early end. Visa problems, broken expectations, and the great weighing process has brought me to a decision I never would have seen coming - the decision to leave.

I'm struggling with what this all means on so many different levels, but I know in my heart that I am doing the best I can and making difficult decisions in hopes of growing.

And so, here I go packing up 4 months - a whole semester's worth- of my life here and I can't help but being reminded of the fact that I have done this so many times in the past 3 years. I feel like my life is constantly being packed and unpacked. And strangely enough, I'm kind of getting sick of it and I find myself craving some sense of permanence in my seemingly temporal life.

As a kid I lived out of suitcases and duffle bags. Mom's house this weekend, Dad's house next. Most of the time now I don't even bother to unpack. Pulling neatly folded clothes out of drawers is stranger than shaking out the wrinkles while trying to piece outfits together from an incomplete wardrobe. But none of this has ever really bothered me before. Afterall, 13 years is far longer than it takes to become accustomed to most things in life.

But for whatever reason, I feel like I kind of want to move onto the next phase of my life. Where I can actually establish my own life and feel like I have a chance to settle rather than temporarily occupy a certain space. Unfortunately, I have 2.5 months of bouncing between homes in Rochester, and at least one more year of school left to look forward to where I will continue to be packing and unpacking the bits and pieces of my life.

Downhill from here?

I've been here for 3 months now and I'm undergoing many changes. I can feel it. Changes that are both good and bad. Its painful and its ugly but I hope that as a result of this metamorphosis I will become a stronger and better person.

There are days that I hate myself for not being stronger. And days that I praise myself for having exceeded my own expectations. Its a constant struggle, with its ups and downs. Achievements and setbacks. Successes and failures. Each day brings with it a new set of challenges with the occasional reward.

Things that once felt impossible have been accomplished. And things I thought would be easy are now starting to weigh on me. And as the hardships pile up, I'm constantly forced to reevaluate why I'm here and what I'm doing. With each "oh-shit-what-have-gotten-myself-into" situation, I have a momentary weighing process where I wonder if this is worth it. Or should I just give in and go home?

And each time I decide that YES, this IS what I want. I CAN do this. And I WILL make it through as a stronger, more confident person who knows that she is capable of anything.