Thoughts from Thursday: On Mediocrity

Failure used to be my worst fear.

Now I realize it's mediocrity I fear the most, not failure. Failure can be good. It teaches lessons that success cannot. It's good fuel for a fight.

We went to Rhode Island. It was beautiful.

But mediocrity, I hate the thought of that thing. I hate the thought of living in a dull and shallow place, doing what's easy and comfortable, stalled and scared with a loose and lazy grip on the lowest rung of the ladder of my potential.

If you don't fight it, mediocrity will slip silently beneath your shoes and pin your soul to the ground. It's sneaky that way. It lulls you into a familiar rhythm and slowly dims the fire in your heart.

Also Boston. I LOVE BOSTON!

"Well what does it look like, this monster of mediocrity?" you ask?

It takes many forms.

It's taking a well-paying job that you don't like and you're not interested in.
It's pushing paper and pandering to "superiors."
It's treating people like livestock in a herd, numbers on a chart, sales in a database.
It's sticking to a mindless, heartless rhythm, day after day.
It's forgetting about other people to meet, other places to go.
It's living in a bubble.
Dreaming but never doing.
Giving in to that fear of failure.

I don't know why everyone is so afraid of failure.

If you try and you fail, you still beat mediocrity, you know. Because mediocrity doesn't want you to even try.

Mediocrity will erode your humanity. And if there's anything I really care about in this world, it's humanity.

I know not everyone can take a job where they get to change the world. But who ever said that you need to get paid to change the world? You can be a high school janitor and change the world, for crying out loud!

Listen, I work at a book store. It is not a glamorous job. I don't even need a degree to do it. Sometimes it's boring. Sometimes I sit on the floor and thumb price stickers onto DVDs. It could become mediocre, if I let it. But I don't.

I keep a notebook in my back pocket and I write down every title that looks interesting, every recommendation that a customer passes my way. And when I forget my notebook, I write on the backs of receipts and pieces of scrap paper that I find in the drawer.

I realize that when some people come in to consult the literature on a certain subject or problem or event in their lives, what they really want to consult is a human. I listen when they tell me about their recent divorce or their husband's addiction to porn or their upcoming trip to Belgium. Because a person to be loved is always more important than a problem to be solved...or a book to be sold.

I tell my co-workers that I love them. I apologize when I do something wrong. I laugh when I make a mistake. I ask about family and friends and weekend plans, and I end up with a smattering of stories, all with the common thread of loneliness. And mediocrity. So much mediocrity.

I want to live, and I want the people around me to live too. Because if we're all living--really living-- and we're all loving and we're all aware of humanity, then there's no more mediocrity. And a world without mediocrity sounds like a pretty stellar place to live.

I'm not sorry

Sometimes I visit my own blog, stare at the screen, and think, "I should get back into this."

I have a lot to say, but I'm not sure a web log is my platform of choice. I don't know. We can keep trying though, if you want. Even though no one reads this anymore. Did anyone ever read this?

I've come into myself, here in this land called The East. In the depths of the black metro tunnels, beneath the orange-leafed trees, on late-night drives down roads I've never seen. You've heard about "finding yourself," but I think it's less about finding yourself and more about understanding yourself. We're not grasping at shadows, trying to catch hold of the person we think we're meant to be. It's more introspective than that. To understand yourself you must look outward and inward. Examine your interactions with other people. Take note of your own perceptions and reactions. Ask yourself why you believe what you believe. What has shaped you? Why are you the way you are? It's easier to do--understand yourself, I mean--when you're away from home, without the security of the mountains and the smiles of strangers. When your beliefs and paradigms are constantly being challenged and brought into question. It's made me stronger, more aware of myself.

I could go on, but I don't feel like getting all philosophical right now. Let's talk about something lighter. Like Thoreau.

Okay, Thoreau's not necessarily lighter (does Thoreau count as a philosopher??) but I've been reading Walden and I love it. I love that Thoreau just up and built a cabin in the woods and lived there for two years. I've always said I wanted to do that. I didn't know people actually did. Henry David Thoreau to boot! He's the one who told us to live deeply. But do you realize he penned those words in the solitude of the forest just outside his home town? Not on the stage of a rock concert, not on the streets of Bangladesh, not at the podium of an important convention. There's something to be taken from the observation, wouldn't you agree?

We're headed north this week, to Rhode Island and Massachusetts. We'll see Walden Pond in real life. In November. I love November. I love the dead trees. I love the quiet hauntedness of it.

This post might be boring. I'm not sorry. Congratulations for making it to the end. You just wasted one minute of your life, maybe two, depending on how fast you can read. Just kidding. You did not waste your life reading what I have to write! If anything, you enriched your life. I'm getting back into the groove. A blog may not be my platform, but writing is my medium. Be patient.

But here's a compensatory blessing anyway:

This lovely photo, taken by my dear friend Alyse. In the heat of August, before her mission, after my summer in Thailand, and right in the middle of my period of emotional instability. Look at that hand-stitched blouse--all the way from Chiang Mai! I don't know what happened to it.

On my bed

Yesterday I came home from work, dropped my bag on the floor, took a deep breath, and just stood there and stared at my bed for a good long minute. 

As I've mentioned before, I sleep on a futon. And because I have no furniture, half of that futon is scattered with random belongings with no place else to go. Normally they're just a necessary nuisance born of the reality of poverty, but yesterday I realized that the items on my bed really tell the tale of my life these days.

Book of Mormon, the one with my name engraved in golden letters on the cover. Scrawled on the first blank page are the words, "In the strength of the Lord I can do all things." That's the theme of this particular book, the theme of my life, really. I highlight in red anything that hearkens back to that idea. I read every day, but I'm still not as far as I should be.

Day book. Between its striped cloth covers I've recorded everything I've done every day for the past 20 months. I love this book. I'm more accountable for my time because of it. I can flip back through time and read about the little things. Things I would have otherwise forgotten. On this day last year I went to the BYU forum with Ashley and Chase, but Ash and I left early because we thought it was boring. I ran into my old friend Keara in the halls of the JFSB, then I did research in the library's "No Shh" zone. I chatted with Sean and Joe because they were inevitably in there doing homework too. In the afternoon I went to my refugee class. In the evening I did homework outside on the grass with Olga. Later Sean came by to talk.

Old BYU planner. Sometimes I like to flip through it to remind myself of a past life.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013--
9:30 Research & Evaluation class. 
11:00 Devotional. 
12:00 Lunch with Jamie.
1:00-4:00 Research for work. 
4:00 Refugee panel & dinner (make cashew chicken)
7:00 Evaluation review. 
Write up 410 extra credit. Design flyers. Meet with Lindsay.

Journal. I write my thoughts and feelings in this one. I love going back and reading my own words. There's something cathartic about it.

Work notebook. Everything from Ashoka. Everyone a Changemaker. You know? You don't. But I do.

Church notebook. Everything from BYU devotionals to stake conference notes to quotes from Relief Society lessons. It's all here in this book of spiritual gems.

Scripture notebook. Whenever I come across a good one, one that stirs my soul, I use my nicest handwriting to write it down in here. I've had this book for ten years. I pull it out when I crave comfort.

(Lots of notebooks and journals, I know. It's how I process!)

Pamphlet on Sikhism from the DC "Unity Walk" this past Sunday. Every church down Massachusetts Avenue opened their doors and their hearts to us. We stepped inside church after church after church. We wrapped our heads for the Sikh service, we chanted with the Buddhists, we chatted with the young nuns at the Vatican Embassy. It was a beautiful, enlightening afternoon.

Back brace. I wear it on the nights I remember, but it's not very comfortable. My spine is getting worse, I think. It hurts a lot.

Tickets from the Parachute concert a couple weekends ago. Oh it was so great.

Tithing receipt.

Tampon.

Postage stamps.

Folder from the NIH, the one they gave me when I signed up for the study allowing them to take my blood and bone marrow in exchange for a pretty penny.

Consent forms for another research study. I really am that poor.

Running shorts. I walk with Alyson almost every morning, along the trail through the backwoods of this beautiful place we get to call home.

Frisbee. Some guy gave it to me at the H Street Festival on Saturday. I used it to shepherd people into the candy booth I was working in.

Scattered bobby pins and hair clips.

Folded program from the fireside at the Washington DC Temple Visitor's Center a couple weeks ago.

Glasses.

Camera charger.

Alarm clock, set to 6:15 a.m. so I could get to work by 7 this morning.

Check book. Three checks left.

Theodore. I am not even ashamed to admit that I hug him to my chest on nights when my heart and head are heavy with worry and fear. 


Things are good here. Good with the gospel, good with good people. It could be easy to sink into despair, but there's this spark of hope that keeps me going. This little light that says "Things are going to get better." It's almost comical, my life these days. Comical and beautiful, but difficult and desperate, too. Different than I thought it would be, but good. Good all the same.

Sunset salutation

It's not often I get to see an unobstructed view of the sunset around here. But when I do, I take full advantage, and I make sure everyone with me does too.

This one was so gorgeous. We just happened to be atop the roof of the Kennedy Center for one of the best sunsets of the summer. Little blessings. 

Silence, suburbia, storms & sky

It's growing on me, this sub-urban silence. Yesterday I was sitting on the couch, watching a storm swell outside between our flowing white living-room curtains. There is something about a dark gray sky and the sound of nothing. It's comforting. It reminds me of what was and what will be.

When Melanie got home from work we decided to go for a walk, despite the impending storm. We got to the top of the hill and across the busy street before the first drops started to fall. Drizzle turned into downpour and soaked shoes turned into soaked selves. The worst of it came from passing cars who sped through puddles and sent up arcs of rain water that slammed us from the side. But I loved every second of it. My best experiences here seem to happen in rain storms.

The rain is magical because it can turn even these dirty city streets into something hauntingly ethereal. Last night, the effect of that bulging jaundiced sky helped, too.

As we neared our destination the sky melted from a stormy gray and yellow to a mellow blue and pink. As I walked with my gaze fixed westward, Melanie asked, "Why do you think you're so passionate about the sky?"

I laughed and told her the story of my junior year of college. The year I lived in a shadowed basement apartment with a bedroom window that faced an indomitable slab of gray concrete. The year I grappled with darkness, within and without. The year I found comfort only when I was standing beneath a wide sky that promised something more.

That affinity for the sky has become part of my identity, as strange as it may sound. I find so much peace in billowing clouds, in glowing sunsets, in silhouettes against the horizon. I always imagine myself atop mountains or skyscrapers, wondering what the view is like up there.

In Thailand they called me Jenna-pa. It means heaven.
In English they call me Jenna. It means little bird.

I like to think there's a connection there.

If you feel like happiness is the truth

I'm not happy all the time, but I'm happy most of the time. .

I've had a couple nanny gigs lined up this week that have both fallen through, my bank account is on the brink of extinction, and the landlord has taken forever to send over the lease, so I can't do laundry and my clothing options are becoming questionable. But honestly that's really all I have to complain about.

My new roommates are wonderful--we make a splendid little trio, going to church and FHE and other various ward activities together like we've been best friends forever. It's nice to have that unity. This past week we've totally revamped the apartment, and even though our window curtains are (literally) hanging off a cardboard tube and we have to sit on a rug on the floor to eat, the apartment is coming together quite nicely. We've got fresh flowers on the piano and a vanilla-scented candle on our coffee table. Sitting in the front room all day "applying for jobs" is much less depressing than it was last week.

On Saturday Becky and I volunteered at a local elementary school to help clean and garden and whatnot to get ready for the new school year. As I stood at the booth signing people in, I was smacked with the realization that I love volunteering. I love it. I don't know why I didn't do more of it in high school and college.

On Sunday we happily kept up the volunteering streak and helped serve food at a women's shelter in Anacostia. If you don't know DC, Anacostia is the ghetto where all the crime happens and everybody dies. It was the middle of the day, but even walking one block I was afraid we were going to get shot. I'd love to keep volunteering at that shelter, but unfortunately the experience didn't generate quite enough love for me to risk my life every day trying to get there. After saying goodbye we drove into the city and peered at the White House through an iron railing, sat atop some stone monument and once again, reveled in the fact that we actually live here.

And yesterday. Yesterday I was so productive. I woke up, made my bed for once, applied for two jobs at USAID, did some yoga, went for a 3-mile run, and then did some more yoga. There is no such thing as too much yoga. Then I spent fifteen minutes trying to coax our printer into functioning so I could print out my resume, but our printer is sneaky and stubborn. It makes all sorts of printery noises, tricking you into believing that something is actually happening in there, then it spits out a blank piece of paper! But I wasn't going to let the printer get the best of me, so I hopped on a bus and hoped it would take me to somewhere with a printer.

The bus took me to Barnes and Noble, which unfortunately is not equipped with a public printer but is equipped with an abundance of public printed material. After browsing around for awhile, I found a quiet spot upstairs next to a big bright window, pulled "The Opposite of Loneliness" off the shelf, and read the beautiful words of the late Marina Keegan in quiet contentment for a few hours.

 What I'm really trying to say is, unemployment isn't all that bad.

I was going to take the bus back home, but decided to walk since it's really only a few miles and it was a nice 75 degrees outside. So walk I did. I chatted with my mama and admired the green beauty of this place I live in called Maryland. At home I rendezvoused with my roomies and we walked over to FHE, which consisted of a Mormon message, a confusing game of Munchkin with the missionaries, and a beautiful view of the sunset from a 14th-floor apartment. The blinds were closed, but I shamelessly walked over and opened them because there's no way social propriety is going to stop me from seeing a sunset, especially one as good as this!

After FHE we went to the grocery store and I bought baked beans because I was craving them and Not-Your-Mother's Beach Babe Texturizing Hair Cream (that's a thing) because I'm not that poor yet and my hair is finally getting long enough to wear down (I know I've been saying that for months, but I actually mean it this time!).

After we unloaded our groceries, some girls who live up the road stopped by and we chatted in our cozy, candle-lit living room and then Melanie asked me to dump a bucket of ice water on her head.

I stayed up late and went to bed happy. Woke up happy, too. 

A Few More Friends

There was a short period of time in which I thought I was ready and able to forge ahead alone. I would (and admittedly still do) pump independence into my veins by listening to Paramore's "Ain't It Fun" more times than is probably advisable. That song makes me want to buck up and be an adult, because if the real world really is about being all alone, I should pretty darn well get used to it.

Then I realized that I need people. I really really need people and I am not ashamed to admit it, Paramore.

"Don't leave me alone," I plead in a silent prayer offered up (to God, not to Paramore) atop a humble brown futon. "Please send me friends who will understand me. Please send me more good people."

Oh, I have been so blessed. Last Friday, a few lingering Barlow friends and I had a final hoorah of sorts--we explored Arlington Cemetery, peered out the tiny windows at the tippy top of the Washington Monument, and then we walked to Ollie's Trolley and finally to China Town to see a movie. But by the time the movie got out it was midnight and I (being me) was worried about taking the metro home alone at that hour.

Lucky for me, one of the guys with us, Michael, whom I had somehow neglected to notice all night, popped onto my radar when I learned that he lived where I live and would therefore be taking the same metro line to the same metro stop. My fears were assuaged in a matter of seconds and I quite literally shouted for joy. The two of us had a good little chat as the train screamed northward and then he walked me right to my front door, that darling boy.

The next day I joined a river adventure with a bunch of people from the ward. Michael was there too, and once again he indulged me in my paranoia and lashed his tube to mine as we (and by we, I mean he) navigated the rocky waters of the Potomac on our unreliable rafts of inflated plastic. By some miracle, the only scars  we ended up with from that aqua battle were sunburnt backs and scraped shins--absolutely worth the trade for a new good friend and the opportunity to bask in the beauty of West Virginia whilst paddling/floating/crashing down a river.

On the drive home, Michael invited me to his farewell event, since this was to be his last weekend in DC and all. I showered and changed and packed into another car that whizzed back up the way we'd just come, to a small clearing in the middle of the forest. I shared a blanket with a lovely lady named Alyson, and Michael's astrophysicist roommate used a green laser to point out the constellations (no wonder I haven't seen Orion around for awhile--he only comes out in the winter!). Alyson and I swung swiftly from strangers to friends as we gazed up at the stars and, in sharing our hopes for and fears of the future, realized that we're pretty much in the same boat. "Sorry," I said,  "but I'm going to force you to be my friend." She laughed and replied, "I'm okay with that."

On Monday we spent the day at the beach. On Tuesday we spent the afternoon watching Harry Potter 4, eating mac n cheese, and perusing Target and Trader Joe's. On Wednesday we spent a few hours at Starbucks, laughing and chatting and pretending to apply for jobs. We made a list of all the things to do in this current state of living called unemployment; we planned a trip to Vermont in the fall.

A few days ago, I didn't even know she existed.

"Don't leave me alone," I plead in a silent prayer offered up atop a humble brown futon. "Please send me friends who will understand me. Please send me more good people."

I can see the Lord's hand in my life so clearly. Making friends has never been so easy.

Tuesday Reflections on Wednesday's Watch

Yesterday I rode the bus from work to FedEx in Georgetown so that I could print, bind, and mail my internship portfolio back to BYU. Hello graduation! For real this time!

I had time to kill (because, you know, I have no friends anymore and stuff), so I wandered through Rose Park, a place I'd never really explored before, even though the Barlow is basically across the street.

It was 6 p.m. Old park bench, tall elm trees, brick sidewalks. The sun was slanting through the trees, making everything look ethereal as it tends to do in those whimsical evening hours. I was reminded of the movie "Tree of Life." A lot of things around here remind me of that movie, for some reason.

I stopped by Trader Joe's on the way to the metro. I've come to realize that I cannot live without Trader Joe's. We went to a regular grocery store the other day and I hated it. I've been forever converted.

I told Aaron, the friendly man at the cash register, that I'd moved up to Bethesda and he said, "So you're going to carry this all the way to Dupont?"

I balked at the thought. "Dupont with all these groceries?! No, I'll go to Foggy Bottom and switch lines."

So I walked to Foggy Bottom, intending to switch lines.

Except there was a major train delay, so my plan failed. I can only stand in a dark tunnel with a giant bag of groceries, a heavy lap-top bag, and a rumbling stomach, waiting for a train to come, for so long before I start to crave the fresh air of the outside world.

So I slipped out of a broken fare gate and walked the mile to Dupont to catch the red line.

As I walked, hugging my bag of groceries to my stomach, I thought about how I could/should be having a meltdown right now, but for some reason I wasn't. I thought about how I should be frustrated, impatient, and irritated, but for some reason I wasn't.

I thought about how the soft, scared parts of me are turning to stone. I know the city well enough now that I can improvise when things go wrong, but not so well that I don't get a measure of satisfaction out of solving my own simple problems. Yay! I can carry my big bag of groceries and my heavy lap-top bag a mile across the city to the next metro station without getting lost or having a meltdown!

I'm grateful to have hardened enough to overcome my fears of the city, but I hope the hardening doesn't hit my heart. I hope I always appreciate the sunsets through the city scape, the friendly people at FedEx and in the metro tunnel, and the opportunity for impromptu walks. I hope I never get annoyed when people ask me for directions. I hope I never think I'm too good for a dinner of granola bars and pita chips. I hope I always smile and wave to the babies on the metro. I hope I will always be positive and friendly even after a long day and a sore back. I hope the city doesn't run me down, like it seems to have done to so many others here.

It'll break your heart

Right now I'm sitting in my new apartment. All alone. In the real world.

In the past couple days I've said goodbye to all my friends and then this afternoon I packed up and headed out myself--hauling my luggage over the red brick sidewalks, down the station escalator, and onto the metro.

I can't even begin to describe the tear in my heart, saying goodbye to this experience. Leaving my room for the last time, turning in my key, pushing open the front door, and walking away knowing that next time I come back, a new crew of kids will be living in the Barlow and they'll know nothing of us Summer 2014 Barlows.

The final few walking the circle.

The last supper. Except it was breakfast.

I feel like it should have lasted forever. I would have loved for it to last forever.

It's strange, staying here. I've never been left behind before--I've always been the one leaving. It really is heartbreaking to watch everyone go. There's a literal pain in my chest and I don't know what to do to fix it. I just can't believe it's over. I think I'm in shock.

I live in the suburbs now. The city sights and sounds and smells are gone and I realize now how much I have come to love the hustle and bustle of the city. In the beginning I was not so keen on living right downtown--I told people, "If I stay here, I think I'll move to the suburbs where it's a little quieter." But over the course of the summer, the city shaped me and I've come to love it. I'm sitting here in this empty apartment thinking, "Maybe I'm a city girl after all."

Agh, my heart can hardly handle this change. There is so much to miss. And it's not like I have a clear next step. I have absolutely NO NEXT STEP, which is terrifying because I'm a planner. I need a plan.

I have no plan.

But I'm holding onto that happiness I felt before when I decided to move here. I will stay and give it a shot. If it doesn't work, I don't know what will come next, but I guess I should probably start getting used to the ambiguity of life.

It just really sucks saying goodbye and starting over. It really really sucks.

Like warm air from my lungs

*That's "To Be Young" by Tall Heights, btw. One of my favorite songs these days.

Empty metro cars mean you can be loud and take pictures.

I can't hold on to my time here--the days slip through my fingers like dry sand.

So indulge me in my nostalgia for a second and let me tell you what I'll miss about this experience:

-Soccer in the muggy evenings at Jake Berlin Memorial Park--with the fireflies blitzing on the sidelines and the dark figures wondering around on the other side of the fence
-Automatic friends. Want to do something? Text five people and you'll be on your way in ten minutes
-Pillow-talk with Robbie
-Vanilla almond oat cereal, Greek yogurt, nectarines, and pomegranate limeade from Trader Joe's
-Trader Joe's. Right across the street
-Our awesome handicap-size shower
-The little clicking sound of the Barlow Center front door unlocking
-Walking from an air-conditioned building out into the hug of humidity
-Running up and around Georgetown University. And to Arlington. And around the Lincoln.
-Georgetown Scoops' cinnamon-chocolate-chip-oatmeal-cookie-dough ice cream! Yes! That is a thing!
-Also lavender icecream. Also a thing.
-Endless games of Harry Potter werewolf
-The smell of cement in the metro tunnel. Possibly the only thing I like about the metro.
-Running through rainstorms
-Wearing nice (ish) clothes 6/7 days of the week
-Coming home from work, kicking off my shoes, throwing my stuff on the ground, and just sitting on my bed 
-Robert's smile, Reed's winks, Robbie's quirkiness, Trent's leadership lessons, Brody's fist bumps, Anna's sass, Rebecca's listening ear, Sam's enthusiasm, Becca's friendship, Shunta's excitement, Margarette's chillness, Jace's wit...the list goes on. I love everyone.
-Kathleen's Bostonian attitude at work
-3:48 High-Low-Jack at work
-Ashoka's happy atmosphere
-Catching the circulator bus to and from work every day--saying "good morning" and "thank you" whenever I get on or off
-Following the red-brick sidewalks all around the city
-The monuments. Duh. Especially at night
-Little pockets of park
-Jay's 99-cent day-old cookies!

Granted, I'll still be able to experience some of these things since I'll be staying in the area, but it won't be the same. The whole Barlow-Ashoka-BYU combination is not replicable. I can't even explain how much I love it here. This experience has slid right inside my soul and settled in like it was always meant to be. I needed this place and these people to help me recalibrate--I think I'm ready to face the real world now, but that doesn't mean my heart won't ache when everything changes.

Stay with me

I've learned not to trust the thoughts that come to me when the sun is gone.

In the evenings, the fear creeps in, just like it did in the weeks and days before I came out here.

"I can't do it. I'm going to fail."

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night in panic. And in the pitch blackness of my bedroom I second-guess my decision to stay here. I use old tactics to help me fall back asleep--it's not real it's not real it's not real, I say. These feelings are not valid. But there's always a residue of fear in the morning. I roll out of bed anyway and chant to myself, "Don't take counsel from your fears."

During the day I'm fine--I settle back into the rhythm of this city life and remind myself that I'm comfortable here. But as I draw closer to the move-out date, my fears stack up in slick little layers and every night I have to carefully peel them away to get back to the truth.

I can do this. Everything has been fine and it will continue to be fine. I have nothing to be afraid of--really, it's just the anticipation. It's always the anticipation.

I'm frantically grasping at people, trying to gather everyone I can in around me--buffers for this next transition. Although 90 percent of the Barlows are leaving, I'll still have Robert and Lydia and Kate. Rebecca and Sam will be around for a whole extra week! Robbie and Stephanie might be coming back in January! See? Everything will be fine!

There is no cap on the number of good people or the number of good experiences that I can have in my life. There is no quota, no "limit 5 per customer." I have to keep reminding myself that there are millions of good people out there that I haven't even met yet, thousands of good experiences I haven't had yet. And that's something to be excited about, right? Everything will be fine.

Another day, another dream

I say that to Robbie almost every morning. Life here is good. So good.

But we only have a week and a half left. Like, what? Time has gone by so quickly. It's strange to think that this experience is coming to an end. I could live in this place with these people forever. We're family. This is home.

As much as I wish I could stop it, next weekend everyone will jet back to Utah (or other places, then Utah), and I will stay here and plod on and see what I can make of myself here in the capital of the country.

There is so much to update on! Our stellar weekend trip to New York, the fun and banter at work, this new thing I do called "Happy Hour," conversations with interesting people about interesting things... Unfortunately, we have a stupid 8-page paper due this weekend and then I have two portfolios to put together and send off, so blogging is the last thing on my mind. All my time is consumed in trying to wrap things up at the internship, do my schoolwork, secure housing, research jobs, AND spend time with all my friends who will soon be leaving. It should be overwhelming--for some reason, I'm not overwhelmed.

Look at me, just breezing through change!

We'll follow up in a couple weeks to see if I'm still this optimistic about it.

Anyway, just wanted to check in so I can snapshot life as it still is.

Enjoy these pictures of our trip to New York. I'll try to write about it later. But no promises.

 

 

I loved New York. So much energy! We had a great time. I will definitely be going back. 

I think I'll stay

It's hard to keep track of all my thoughts. I carry around a notebook for the purpose of recording them, but even then, most of my thoughts and ideas end up lost in the nebulousness (that's a word!) of the universe. It's a sad reality.

I really enjoy talking to people--I like hearing stories. As of late I've been talking to a few older, more established people to get a glimpse into their life histories.

Pam, a woman I met in Thailand a couple years ago, was in town earlier this week. I met her "for coffee" on the morning of my birthday and I listened as she ever-so-gently shared her young-adult years and gave me some advice that I really appreciate:

Follow your heart.

Simple advice--advice you and I have heard a million times over. Advice that I semi-jokingly offer people when they ask me for input. You know, just do what your heart tells you.

But Pam--a woman with an impressive passport and even more impressive resume, a graduate of Georgetown University, a doctorate student at Duke, a mother of twins, a speaker of 6 languages, an accomplished world traveler--told me that in all of her life experience, she may have regretted following her head sometimes, but she never regretted following her heart.

She said nothing about being strategic or creating a plan; she gave no networking or interviewing tips. No phone numbers or emails of important people I should connect with.

She told me to honor what was inside of me, to follow my heart. And she wasn't just repeating a tired platitude. Her eyes welled up and her hand fluttered to her neck. She had put stock in this conviction, I could tell; she had tried and tested it--and it had held true. She believed it wholeheartedly, and she made me believe it, too.

I walked out of that coffee shop and I thought, "I will. I will follow my heart."

My heart tells me to stay here. It tells me that it needs time to catch up with my head. It tells me to give myself space and to explore my options and to sit and think for awhile. It tells me to be still and to be patient. It tells me to catch up on the books I've been meaning to read, the letters I've been meaning to write, the phone calls I've been meaning to make. It tells me to stop for a second and take a breath.

Today at work I sat outside and chatted with another woman in my office--Eleanor. She spent her twenties galavanting around war zones in Africa. She worked for Doctors Without Borders, USAID, Human Rights Watch. She's got a pretty impressive history, just like Pam.

But with a wry smile on her face she told me, "I could have never planned any of that. I just let it  happen. I rode the ebb and flow, and things just worked out."

After we talked she sent me an article exploring the problem with the way we've been taught to make decisions--from the Harvard Business Review, ironically enough. It was so good--almost poetic. I was pulling out quotes left and right, but I think the best summation of it can be found in these lines: 

"We are many selves. And while these selves are defined partly by our histories, they are defined just as powerfully by our present circumstances and our hopes and fears for the future.

We like to think that we can leap directly from a desire for change to a single decision that will complete our
reinvention – the conventional wisdom would say you shouldn’t fool yourself with small, superficial adjustments. But trying to tackle the big changes too quickly can be counterproductive...trying to make one big move once and for all can prevent real change.

We redefine [our identities], in practice, by crafting experiments, shifting connections, and making sense
of the changes we are going through."

A nice cherry of validation, wouldn't you say? I can wait. I can make small moves. I can stay here and see.

Battered Bodies

Today I could hardly get out of bed I was just so tired.

This weekend chewed us up and spit us out, in a good way--if that idiom can be used in a good way...

Thursday night I went for 4-mile run, up and around Georgetown again. Then a few of us opted to walk to the National Mall to see the 4th of July concert dress rehearsal, but when we got to the Capitol Building we were turned away because of "inclement weather." There was no inclement weather. The weather was fine. They were lying to us. I say it was a government conspiracy.

So we kept walking, all the way to China Town for froyo, and then back to the metro. Probably 6 miles of walking altogether. But to be honest one of my favorite things to do around here is just walk aimlessly through the city with people that I like, so it was a night well spent.

Us and the Tea Party man on the parade route (in front of the archives).

Friday morning we woke up rearing and ready for our big Washington DC Independence Day celebratory plans. So we got all decked out in red, white, and blue, took the bus to China Town and then walked to the National Archives to see the parade. Not the greatest parade I've ever seen, strangely enough. I expected more out of the nation's capital on the nation's birthday. But whatevs.

What's more American than fireworks next to the Washington Monument?

We ate all-American burgers at Fudruckers, walked around, and then took the metro up to Friendship Heights for the ward BBQ. Then we metroed back down and walked the 2 miles to the Jefferson Memorial and staked out space to watch the fireworks.

I'm telling you, there's no better way to watch fireworks than sitting on the ledge of the Tidal Basin, watching the sun set while chatting with friends and eating peanut butter M&Ms.

 After the firework show we walked the 2 miles back home (to avoid the crazy metro crowds).

Are you keeping count? That's 14 miles of running/walking in 24 hours. It gets better.

For some reason we were still spry and full of energy on Saturday morning, so we played soccer for a couple hours at the park. I got knocked down and incurred a nice bruise and some cuts, but still had a great time. I love that I've kind of been able to fulfill my bucket list item of playing on an intramural soccer team. I don't know why I ever gave up on that sport.

Anyway, after soccer I changed and went to the pool with Margarette and Jake. We spent a few hours swimming and soaking up the sun.  Somehow I got sunburned. Apparently I am not invincible.

After the pool Margarette, Jake, Jordan, Trent, Robbie, Rebecca and I rode the metro to Alexandria and spent the evening in Old Town. The Alexandria waterfront is beautiful--reminds me of the wharf in San Francisco. We explored the main street, had some R&R time by the fountain, ate ice cream for dinner and pizza for dessert. Alexandria is a charming little place.

Old Town Alexandria. Let's pretend this picture isn't blurry.

Oh, and then we walked a mile to the metro and rode home.

It was a good, solid, American weekend. And today we had church and then I went to see a girl's apartment up north. Took the metro back and then walked a mile home.

Had taco salad, changed into jeans, and went for a little jaunt up to Book Hill Park, which turned into a 4-mile trek around the Georgetown area.

So now I'm sitting here feeling like a brick. Everything hurts. Total weekend mile count: 20. At least. But it was such a fun-filled weekend! Our time here as Barlow interns is limited, so we're really trying to pack our days now. By the end of the summer I'll either have really impressive muscular legs or I'll have no legs at all.

The prospect of homelessness

Lately I've been seeking advice from a lot of people, because I don't know what I'm doing with my life and other such minor conundrums.

I have five short weeks to find a job and a place to live. Should I be stressed out about this little factoid? Probably. Am I? Not really, surprisingly.

I'm on the lookout for housing, both of the indoor and outdoor variety. Every time we walk somewhere I can't help but scope out park benches and alleyways and weigh the risks of spending a night there. Is it secluded enough to fall asleep but public enough to run for help if I get attacked? Would the security guys kick me out? Are there other homeless people around?

I'm hoping these efforts of mine are futile because I actually really don't want to be sleeping on the street.

Indoor housing is more promising, but also more expensive. A cheap apartment around here is at least $200 more than I would have ever considered paying in Provo. Doable though, if you have a job. Unfortunately a job I have not.

"You'll figure it out," everyone says. "I doubt you'll be sleeping on the street."

Paha. Comforting.

On Thursday I had a meeting with a man at work. He was older and wise-looking. The second I sat down in his office he went into mentor mode.

"Career paths only exist in retrospect," he said. "Don't make pro-con lists. Those never got me anywhere. Just do what feels right. Make a list of things you want to do and make a list of things you don't want to do, and if you choose one of the things you do want, then it will be the right thing."

In the beginning of his little speech I was thinking, "Yeah. This is good stuff. What a wise old man." And then I realized, everyone has some little nugget of advice they want to drop into my life. Everyone thinks that their way of thinking is the right way.

Historically, I've been very apt to believe people when they tell me how or when things should be done. People are convincing, you know? Especially when they're old and they've had successful career. But I'm learning to take things for what they're worth and nothing more. I'd say every piece of advice is probably worth one minute of consideration. You take that minute to weigh and measure it, and then you tuck it in your back pocket for further consideration later or you throw it out. Some pieces of advice are valuable, to be sure, but everyone's situation is different and nobody has all the answers. In the end you have to find your own way.

The Pursuit of Peacefulness

This weekend we traded in our business clothes for sweats and tennis shoes, shed our city-skin, and headed west for more graceful ground.

Robbie and I had randomly hopped aboard this crew of campers on my whim. Sometimes my whims are not so reliable. This was not one of those times. We spent the weekend in lovely company, settled into the folds of God's great creation: Shenandoah National Park.

Oh how nature soothes my soul.

Shenandoah is gorgeous. The water sits in the air here, misting the mountains and creating this ethereal haze. You could so easily forget the world in this place. You could so easily sit and ponder the expanse of hills and trees for eternity.

I try really hard to find glimmers of peace in the city. I walk along the waterfront, I visit the 300-year-old buildings at Georgetown University, I slip between the gravestones at Arlington Cemetery. But in Shenandoah, the peace is complete. I didn't have to look for it, it was just there.

In the morning we scrambled up the mountain—over boulders and through crevices and under tree branches. We hefted climbing gear onto our backs and when we needed a break, we rested on slabs of stone that overlooked the valley. We lent helping hands and took pictures and rationed trail mix. We sang Sound of Music and swatted away gnats and pointed out mushrooms. And finally, we perched at the very top of Old Rag and every which way we turned, we beheld miles and miles of pure land.

And as we walked back down the other side of the mountain, my friend Kate turned to me and said, "You have such a calm personality. You just exude . . . peace."

I laughed, hearing that. It validated me. Mother Nature had done her job. I had been filled.

This is why I am the middle child—the peace-maker. This is why my personality color is white—the peace-seeker. This is why I have such a strange obsession with sunsets, with silence, with serenity. This is why I listen to piano music on the bus, why I take walks by myself, why I do yoga.

For peace. For these mountain moments of quiet and calm—hard to catch but easy to embrace.

A night for the books

Confession: I just cannot get over the DC temple. Every time I see it a little light flashes in my soul. It's like if God had a house on earth, this is what it would look like. Go figure. Whoever designed it was a genius.

 

We stopped by the visitor's center first, to meet up with a friend. We didn't find our friend, but we did find quite a few sister missionaries and a free Lindsay Sterling concert! 

One of the sisters, Sister Owens, is new to the area so I hadn't seen her before. She is a striking human being--she seriously looks like the girl from Tangled. Big green eyes and long blonde hair. But more than that she just exudes spirituality. But not in a pretentious way. In a completely humble, beautiful way. I walked away thinking, "I need to get to know that girl. I want to learn to be like her."

We left the temple at twilight. We headed back over to the visitor's center to catch the end of the concert, but honestly I didn't really want to go inside because the sky. Holy cow.

Lucky for me, I had time to stare heavenward for a little while and listen to Lindsay Sterling's final song. Beautiful temple, beautiful sky, beautiful weather, beautiful music, beautiful people. Beautiful experience all around.

On the metro home Robbie and I decided not to switch lines, which meant we'd have to walk five blocks home instead of two. No big deal. It was nice out, after all.

Welp, when we got out of the station it was POURING. But we're adventure folk, so we just looked at each other and laughed and started running down the dark city streets in the pounding rain, clutching our purses to our chests and trying not to slip out of our shoes. It was nothing short of awesome.

But after running five blocks we noticed that the street numbers were getting smaller, not bigger like they were supposed to. 

"That's strange. I swear we were going in the right direction."

Turns out that in all our excitement, we had accidentally run five blocks in the pouring rain in the wrong direction. 

So we turned around and dejectedly walked the five blocks back, and then another five to actually get home. 

And even though we walked in the door soaking wet, hungry, tired, and sore, I'm still putting this night down as one of the best nights I've had here. 

Because when am I going to get to do that again?

 

Happy things today

-My colleague stopping by to tell me, "Great job on the article! Very well done."
-Free tacos on the 20th floor!
-Fresh, warm cookies for Joey's birthday
-Proving my skills of deceit by luring Joey into the lobby to sing him Happy Birthday under the premise of needing help with the database
-The old black man on the street holding a sign that said "Today is my birthday. Let's take a selfie!"
-Discussing the finer points of Tindering
-Learning about all the cool apps I've been missing out on. I'm such a bad millennial.
 -Realizing that I don't have to go back to school in the fall and the possibilities for my life are ENDLESS
-Running 4 miles and not getting lost and/or kidnapped
-Playing a game of pick-up soccer at the park in the dark

Miriam's Kitchen

If you ever want a boost of self-esteem and a healthy dose of humility, volunteer at a food kitchen.

I showed up at 6 a.m. this morning. Rolando, the guy in charge, gave me a crash course of the drink station operation and then as he walked off he said, "We're short-staffed today. So it's gonna be trial by fire for you."

Challenge accepted.

A few years ago this kind of thing would have made me uncomfortable, but somewhere along the line I've figured out that people are just people--even if they're homeless. And living in DC has definitely helped quell my fear of strangers. For the most part, people are good. There's really nothing to be afraid of.

At 6:30, hundreds of people flooded through the doors. Men, for the most part. Middle-aged, disheveled, hungry and thirsty men. But so friendly!

"Can you get me a cup of ice please, sweetheart?"
"You're pretty. You married? Why aren't you married?!"
"How do you say your name? Jen-na? How you doin' today Jenna?"
"Jenna. You have beautiful eyes."
"Are you doing okay? You sure you're doing okay?"

I had a great time with it. I did a lot of coffee- and juice-pouring, ice-scooping, and laughing. It was nice to be busy and it was certainly humbling to see the underside of this city. Towards the end, after the initial mad rush was over, I looked out over everyone sitting at the tables and thought, "Wow. These are God's children."

It was a sweet moment for me. These are the people who the world judges and ignores, who are labeled "misfits" and "castoffs," who have bleak pasts and probably bleak futures--but God loves them all the same.

Annie Dillard

 

If you want to read me, read Annie Dillard.

She has this knack for scripting my thoughts into words. She always says exactly what I wanted to say, but better.

For work I'm supposed to write an article on refugees. I haven't written in awhile; I'm a little out of practice. But I've found that Annie Dillard cracks my mind open a little bit, helps me see inside myself. Last summer I read The Maytrees and I was thinking in poetry for weeks.

So when I'm stumped in my writing, I read Annie. Because if you're thinking in poetry, then anything you write is bound to be beautiful, right?

Here, let me share some of her charm with you:

“She read books as one would breathe air, to fill up and live. She read books as one would breathe ether, to sink in and die.”
― Annie Dillard, The Living

“The secret is not to write about what you love best, but about what you, alone, love at all.”
― Annie Dillard 

“After the one extravagant gesture of creation in the first place, the universe has continued to deal exclusively in extravagances, flinging intricacies and colossi down aeons of emptiness, heaping profusions on profligacies with ever-fresh vigor. The whole show has been on fire from the word go. I come down to the water to cool my eyes. But everywhere I look I see fire; that which isn't flint is tinder, and the whole world sparks and flames.”
― Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek  

“You do not have to sit outside in the dark. If, however, you want to look at the stars, you will find that darkness is necessary. But the stars neither require nor demand it.”
― Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk

“You can't test courage cautiously, so I ran hard and waved my arms hard, happy.”
― Annie Dillard, An American Childhood 

"There is always an enormous temptation in all of life to diddle around making itsy-bitsy friends and meals and journeys for itsy-bitsy years on end. It is so self-conscious, so apparently moral, simply to step aside from the gaps where the creeks and winds pour down, saying, I never merited this grace, quite rightly, and then to sulk along the rest of your days on the edge of rage.

I won’t have it. The world is wilder than that in all directions, more dangerous and bitter, more extravagant and bright. We are making hay when we should be making whoopee; we are raising tomatoes when we should be raising Cain, or Lazarus.

Go up into the gaps. If you can find them; they shift and vanish too. Stalk the gaps. Squeak into a gap in the soil, turn, and unlock--more than a maple--a universe. This is how you spend this afternoon, and tomorrow morning, and tomorrow afternoon. Spend the afternoon. You can’t take it with you.”
― Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek  

The one-time peanut butter shake

Yesterday evening, after four hours of paper writing, I asked my friend Rebecca if she wanted to take a little shake break and run over to Potbelly's. Last time we were there, the guy behind the counter revealed to us that there was a secret menu, a secret menu that involved peanut butter shakes.

So I walk up to the counter and order a peanut butter oreo shake.

Note: There's one guy who works at Potbelly's who is notorious for his strangeness. He's definitely got the Bob Marley vibe going on, and he always has this look on his face that says, "Does it look like I care?"

He says, "We don't have peanut butter."

I say, "Yes you do. It's right there." [pointing to the shelf with a row of peanut butter jars]

"Well we don't do peanut butter shakes."


"Yes you do! It's on your secret menu!"

"Who told you that?"

"That guy over there. Last time we were here he said you have a secret menu with peanut butter shakes." [pointing to the other guy behind the counter]

[turning to the other guy] "Ben, you told her about the peanut butter??"

"No I didn't."

"Yes, you did!"

At this point it was getting a little ridiculous so I said, "It's fine. I'll just have an oreo shake."

Ben: "No, no. I will make you a peanut butter shake." 

Me: "Well if it's going to complicate your life, then don't worry about it."

Ben: "No, I will make you a peanut butter shake. We  just don't like to cuz then we have to get out the peanut butter, we have to sanitize everything..."

Me: "If you don't want to make it then don't make it!"

But Ben insists on making the shake. It takes forever. And when I finally get it I can't even drink it because it's too thick.

Ben: "Is that too thick? Here, give it back to me and I'll remix it for you."

So I hand it back, Ben sets it on the counter, he rings up another customer, the register drawer pops out, the shake ends up on the floor, Ben looks like he's about to cry.

"It's fine, I'll still eat it!" I yell over the counter to Ben, who's kneeling on the floor with his hand over his face.

But ever-faithful Ben makes another "pain-in-the-ass" peanut butter shake, hands it to me, and says, "It better be good."

It was so good. But I'm never getting one again.

Thoughts from Thursday: On Being a Kid

I just got back from a conference about the conflict in Syria. I was sitting in a room with several rows of suited middle-aged men and women whose resumes utterly and embarrassingly dwarfed mine.

Director of the International Security Program at CSIS
Senior official in the Department of Defense
Member of the Board of Directors for the U.S. Institute of Peace
USAID Assistant Administrator for the Bureau of Democracy
President of Mercy Corps
Chair of the Health and Peacebuilding Working Group
President of Physicians for Human Rights
Vice President of the International Medical Corps
UNHCR's Regional Representative to the Gulf Cooperation Council Countries
Columnist for the Washington Post
Leader of IMC's Emergency Response Team in Iraq
UNHCR's Senior Emergency Coordinator in Southern Afghanistan

And there I sat, arms and legs crossed, trying to hide the fact that I would simply never measure up with only the humble promise of a bachelor's degree, three months in Thailand, and a less-than-prestigious internship with a non-profit organization that nobody has heard of.

I felt like a kid. I couldn't come up with any ideas that other people hadn't already submitted and I only understood like 70% of what was being said. What does de facto mean? What's a level-3 humanitarian crisis? I thought polio was eradicated!

This stuff is way above my level of experience and register of understanding.

What resources do I have at my disposal? None.

What do I have to offer? Nothing.

How am I supposed to start conversations with these people? How am I supposed to be able to relate? What questions do you ask the woman who spends most of her time in the Middle East conducting interviews with locals and advising the U.S. government on how to proceed with the greatest humanitarian crisis of our time?

I think these people have it under control. The world would be just fine without me.

Someday My Pain

The title has nothing to do with this post. Bon Iver lyrics are just the best.

So much has been going on lately.

BBQing, airplane-watching, jazz-concerting, innovation-expositioning, jeep-riding, pool-side-conversing, hip-hop-observing, zoo-going, kiss-tagging, balloon-popping. The list goes on.

Here's some photo evidence for your viewing pleasure:

This is the backyard of one of the members of the bishopric. He has that south-facing house at the end of a cul-de-sac with a big yard and a grove of trees that I've always wanted.

We found a pool. A free one.

Cruising in a jeep down the green Maryland roads.

Listening to jazz in the park. And by that I mean straining our ears to hear any hint of music over the chatter of the MASSIVE crowd of people.

Thoughts from Thursday: On Alcohol

Today I got my first-ever legitimate "Why don't you drink?" question.

I'm realizing how much of a bubble I grew up in because I hardly knew how to answer.

My initial thought was "I don't know."

Can you believe me? I'm embarrassed. But don't worry, I did come up with a better response.

"I'm allergic."

Just kidding.

My new intern friends and I were at a baseball game this afternoon--Nationals vs. Phillies. We all know I'm not a sports fan, but I must admit I enjoyed the atmosphere.The alcohol aspect was especially intriguing.

Most of the interns I work with are in the 20-22 range, but for some reason I feel older than them. I kind of feel like their mom because I've been here for four whole weeks longer than they have. So when one of the kids, Lance, reached out to the hawker to exchange a wad of cash for a can of beer, all I could think was, "That guy better card him."

And then when the hawker did card him and gave Lance the beer anyway, I thought, "What is he doing selling beer to a kid!? Can't he see that he's just a kid! He's not old enough to be drinking!"

But the thing is, Lance is old enough to be drinking. He's 21. It's legal.

And then everyone else starting downing ice cold Coors and Summer Shandy and I just couldn't wrap my head around it. I wanted to take it away from them and dump it out and tell their moms. I mean, I've been around young people drinking before, but it has always been clouded in the context of wrong-doing. These intern friends of mine were just having a good time with their beer and their sports gear at an afternoon baseball game--LEGALLY (well, most of them)--and nobody but me was giving it a second thought.

Even more interestingly, I realized that I could have bought a beer too and no one would have batted an eyelash. I was almost tempted. Almost. I've never really had to prove my testimony of the Word of Wisdom before because I grew up in Mormonville, but I'm realizing this is one area of the gospel that I need a more solid understanding of.

Anyway, before I sign off, let me share three things that made me smile today:

1. The man on the way to the metro station. He's probably about 50. He has dreadlocks and wears a police cap, a flowy white tunic, camo shorts, red socks, and tennis shoes. He's got two carts full of all sorts of strange junk. Normally he sits on the corner and tries to sell his stuff, but today I was late to work and I passed him as he was pushing and pulling his carts across the crosswalk. Not in a sad, homeless way, but in a very purposeful, business-like sort of way. It was hilarious. I couldn't help but chuckle at him and his ridiculous police hat and tennis shoes. Is that mean?

2. Today at the baseball game, one of the staffers at work, Dan, let me read his newspaper (I was obviously enthralled with what was happening on the field). I kept asking him if I could rip out certain pages, so eventually he just said, "Here, you keep the paper and I'll just grab another one on the way home." I held it up and responded, "But if I take this I don't want you to secretly resent me for it." To which he pragmatically replied, "I wouldn't secretly resent you. I would resent you out loud."

3. As I was riding the metro home from the game, my train was stopped and another train rolled in from the opposite direction. Through the window I glimpsed a gangster black man sitting at the edge of his seat holding a naked life-size female mannequin. It was the strangest thing. That's DC for you.

Life lessons from Calvin

 

This is how I feel about everything in my life right now. 

For some reason I think I'm going to get to a point where everything is on track and I have it all figured out. I'm just beginning to understand that that will never happen, and it's freaking me out. There is always more to learn, and not even just secularly. Spiritually, emotionally, mentally, socially. The adverbs never end.

The City of Brotherly Love

This weekend we packed our bags and headed to Philadelphia! On the way we stopped in Delaware, which didn't really have anything to offer except license to cross it off my state bingo card. We'll have to get better acquainted another time.

Our little cohort of interns spent the night in Pennsylvania at a place called the Freedom Foundation--a summer camp-esque institution where we had (a questionable) lunch and then took a tour of the surrounding Valley Forge area.

The Eastern countryside is just gorgeous. Freeways lined and hooded with trees, miles and miles of rolling green hills, yellow buttercups and purple fringed orchids. The years have stacked up here, heavy with history, sunken into the soil. I think I could live the rest of my life in this place and be perfectly content.

Our passionate tour guide took us to the place where General George Washington forged his Continental Army and the place where thousands of soldiers died during the harsh winter of 1777. It was fascinating. There is so much US history that I don't know.

Unfortunately, the experience was hampered by the fake philly cheesesteaks we'd had for lunch. Everyone was feeling sick.

After a night of upset stomachs and creaky beds, we gracelessly rolled out of bed the next morning and headed out to spend the better part of the day in Philadelphia,

Philadelphia is beautiful. I was traipsing down those old brick sidewalks in euphoric awe. The streets are so much quieter than the streets in DC--there's almost a ubiquitous reverence to the whole city. We stood inside Independence Hall, in the very room where the Constitution was signed; we stopped at a few cemeteries, ate the obligatory philly cheesesteak (legit ones this time), visited the Tomb of the Unknown (Revolutionary War) Soldier, and dropped by the United States Mint.

I watched squirrels chase each other up and down trees and thought, "I could live here."

Outside the Mint, I balanced on a stone pillar as clouds gathered. It was starting to drizzle but we had an hour before we had to be back at the bus. We decided to visit the Reading Market, which meant we'd have to walk through a sketchier part of town. Unfortunately my high opinions of Philadelphia were a little sullied on our little journey to the market, but I think the other parts of the city make up for it.Opposition in all things, or something like that.

After a dinner of Italian pizza we piled onto the bus and drove home toward the sunset--the first sunset I've seen in awhile. I stared out the window hoping that this wouldn't be the last Philadelphia and I saw of each other.

 I don't think it will be.



P.S. I learned one less historical, albeit still important lesson on this trip: Restaurants at rest stops don't need to worry about maintaining a good reputation because they don't have a solid returning customer base. So they can get away with charging you $5 for a "shake" that is really just blended soft serve ice cream with two packages of reeses pieces dumped inside.

"I can't finish this milkshake. Like, it won't go away!"