Turbulence

The road of life can only reveal itself as it is traveled, each turn in the road reveals a surprise. (Unknown)

In case you haven’t picked up on it from my disgruntled emails, texts, WhatsApp messages, and social media posts, my journey to Cape Town has been nothing short of turbulent (literally and metaphorically, indeed). Figuring out how to turn a foreign city into your home is full of challenges, and that’s even if your suitcases arrived.

Yep, that’s right. All three of my strategically packed, oversized suitcases have yet to find their way to me. I’m still not sure of their whereabouts, but I can guarantee you that if they make it to my possession, it’ll be one of the best reunions I’ve ever experienced. Until then, I’ve survived on what I’d packed in my carry-on backpack and my roommate Lindsey’s closet.

And if you think that’s the biggest happening of our transition into Cape Town, you’re severely underestimating this adventure. Last night, Lindsey woke up to an armed man banging ferociously on her window. In a city with a reputation for crime, one can imagine this to be a rather alarming wake up call. As it turned out, the man was simply an ADT security guard responding to a false alert from our alarm system. Good to know it works, you could say.

Think we’re done? Not quite. Another roommate’s efforts to make this place her home came around to hurt her – quite literally. While she was putting together a drying rack for clothes, a simple slip turned into a severed tendon and surgery in a nearby South African hospital. The event didn’t lack a loud shriek, an abundance of blood, a frantic request for her to be taken to the hospital, nor a handful (no pun intended) of worry.

We’re all doing our best to cope with our bumps in the road with laughs and good storytelling… along with therapeutic visits to a café just down the street that serves iced coffee with a side of free Internet. Rest assured, this year won’t be one short of memories to recall for years to come.

One side of a pillow I found at a home store here in Cape Town.

The other side of the same pillow, which I found quite charming.

Wait, Where Are You Going This Time?

If only I had a rand for every time I got that question.

Yes, I said rand. That's the currency in my future home away from home: South Africa. I'll say farewell to the US dollar in just over a week, so it's about time I introduce my destination...

Meet Cape Town, South Africa. 

Aerial view of Cape Town

Cape Town at night 

The City Bowl, a natural amphitheater home to many neighborhoods

My initial interest in South Africa was rooted in the education reform conversations taking place in the country. As I learned more and more about the dynamic country, I realized this was the perfect place for my year as a Rotary Ambassadorial Scholar. 

I'll live and study in Cape Town, which has the second highest population of all cities in the country with about 825,000 people in the city and about 3.7 million people in the metropolitan region. It is characterized by landmarks such as Table Mountain, Devil's Peak and Lion's Head (mountain, too), as well as Cape Point and the city's harbor. While in Cape Town, I'll live in what's known as the City Bowl, the central area of the city which is home to a handful of neighborhoods, including ours: Tamboerskloof. The climate is rather moderate with mild, wet winters (from June to August with temperature ranges from 47-64 degrees Fahrenheit) and warm, dry summers (from December to March with temperature ranges from 61-79 degrees Fahrenheit).

When people ask why I'll spend a year here, I tend to think, Why wouldn't I?

From Beginning to... Beginning.

I've been seeking this adventure since Fall 2010. 

During my last semester on campus at WKU, I sent a simple text message to my friend Aric: "I need to find a way to go abroad again." I had completed a short-term study abroad program in London, and I was already anxious for another experience. He had a few adventures under his belt, and I knew he'd understand the wanderlust that was setting in just as the pressure of graduation was setting in. A Rotary Ambassadorial Scholar himself, he suggested that I meet him for lunch. By the end of that lunch, I was inspired by his imminent adventure to Scotland and hopeful that I might have a similar story to tell in the future. 

Aric referred me to WKU's Office of Scholar Development which, among other incredible things, supports students as they apply for nationally competitive scholarships. With the help of the team at OSD, I spent several weeks drafting (redrafting, scratching, drafting and redrafting again) strong application essays that would lead me to a panel interview by Rotarians from across Kentucky. Prior to my interview, I went through a handful of mock interviews hosted by OSD, which helped me understand my strengths and weaknesses in interviews and helped me know what to expect when the time came for the actual interview.

After about two questions had settled my nerves and I was reassured by the smiles increasingly revealing themselves on the faces of the panelists, I got the feeling that the interview was going well. I knew I was prepared for almost anything that could be thrown at me because of my preparation with OSD and Aric's veteran advice, and I was confident that I was doing the very best I could have. I was sharing my passion for education and articulating why studying education in South Africa would supplement my own education and experiences to make me an effective educator.

I was pleased with the interview, and I was humbled by a comment the last panelist made: "Lindsey, I'd love for you to have the opportunity to study education in South Africa, but I can't help but wish you'd be in Kentucky to teach students like my grandchildren." I still remember calling my mom on my drive home from the interview. I told her that even if I didn't receive the scholarship, I was more sure than ever that I was passionate about my career in education, which might have been the real reason I was led through the sometimes exhausting experience of the scholarship application. The sun was shining and I was full of optimism, and my mom said, "Linds, what if you actually get the scholarship? What if you actually move to South Africa?" 

What if has since transformed to a more definitive when, and I sometimes still can't believe it. Last Friday, the OSD team gave me a sendoff gift: a travel size Big Red, a red towel, a WKU notepad, and a card full of warm wishes from the team that has supported me from beginning to end. Without Aric's prompt and without OSD's wisdom, expertise, and experience, I certainly wouldn't have so much to write about today and in the coming year. And, though this journey began over two years ago, it's only just begun. So thankful.

Kind gifts from WKU's Office Scholar Development

Four Weeks

Just one year ago, I was attending a Rotary Ambassadorial Scholarship orientation in Nashville with mere daydreams of my faraway year in South Africa. I was seated by another scholar who would head to South Africa, also named Lindsey, who quickly become a very good friend of mine. We were both excited about our looming adventure, but we knew there was over a year between us and the experience of a lifetime. We spent the night talking worldwide adventures with another scholar, Waylon, who would take his first airplane flight to begin his year in Denmark much sooner. In fact, he's halfway through his Rotary year already!

Fast forward one year and here we are: four short weeks away from a travel itinerary that takes me from Bowling Green, KY to Nashville, TN to Chicago, IL to Philadelphia, PA to New York, NY to Johannesburg, South Africa to Cape Town, South Africa. 

Cape Town, South Africa

I'm dedicated to keeping this blog a bit more active, if not for my friends and family, then for myself. I know that my year in Cape Town will be filled with things worth writing about, and there's no better way to stretch an experience than to preserve it in words. 

Words for "to start a journey" include depart, embark on, sail, sally, set forth, set off, set out, start, start off, start out, strike off, hit the road, set sail. My personal favorite? Sally, which means "to leave a place to go on a journey or for a definite purpose, showing confidence and energy." Onward!

For Momma

On September 20, 2012, my mother passed away after a long night of battling heart attacks and related complications. On September 25, 2012, I delivered the following reflections as part of her Celebration of Life. If anything or anyone could have prepared me for such a thing, it was her. 

I don’t know my mom’s favorite color. 

It was always the color of the dress one of her girls was wearing for a big occasion or the color of the flowers we had picked out for her to plant on Mother’s Day. It was the color of the crayon one of her grandchildren had in hand when they offered to draw her a picture and the color of the first tulips to break through the ground and bloom in the spring. It was the color of the sunset reflected on the lake, the color of red velvet cake prepared for her family, and the color of the words I’d splattered on a page for one task or another.

I don’t know my mom’s favorite color because she was, without a doubt, the most selfless and giving person I knew. The spotlight was never a comfortable place for her, simply because she’d rather be the spotlight shining on another person. Her best work was in bringing out the best in others – students, colleagues, family and friends. She was everyone’s biggest fan and could fill a room with confidence in a matter of minutes.

My mom had a way of making you feel capable and strong no matter the task before you: childbirth and parenting, making a complicated meal from scratch, and overcoming the unthinkable – in whatever form it revealed itself in. Even today, I stand here in awe of her efforts to prepare me for the unthinkable. In her last months, to no one’s surprise, she was planting the seeds of strength I’d need to be able to stand before you.

For years, she’d gifted (and gifted again) a copy of Lee Ann Womack’s “I Hope You Dance” to everyone in our family, just to make sure we got the message. For Christmas, she gave me a plaque that read, “I can’t promise that I’ll be here for the rest of your life, but I can promise that I’ll love you for the rest of mine.” She taught my friends how to support me, encourage me, and love me. She had designated several people to step up when she knew I would need it the most. And just over a week ago she highlighted my ability to stay strong and stand tall when faced with a challenge, and the ability to speak in high stress situations as a strength I’d call upon for the rest of my life.

My mother’s heartbeat created my own and likely fueled yours at one time or another, and I am fully convinced that the only reason hers stopped was because it had reached its capacity to love. She devoted her life to those she loved most, and I’d like to think each of the heartbeats she sacrificed has found a new home in each of us. She left no love to spare, and for that I will be forever thankful. 

No, I don’t know my mom’s favorite color, but I do know she had delegated each of her roles in our family to one of us: relentless optimism and a talent for decorating Christmas trees to Staci, the ability to speak up when no one else will and a well-trained talent for taste-testing the Thanksgiving turkey stuffing to Sarah, an appreciation for the little, random, and often overlooked simplicities – along with the gift of clutter - to me. And to my dad, inconquerable strength and the strangely admirable ability to exude love, even in bickering. And in all of us is a bit of the Hilltopper pride that sparkled in her, a passion for life and all the people around us, and – let us not forget – a taste for margaritas.

We share compassion, loyalty, and a passion for life. And I can only hope that one day someone will be able to say I was half the woman my mother was and had touched half the people’s lives her sun-spotted hands had, because her legacy is - and always will be - unparalleled.

The sorority I joined in college taught me to “strive for that which is honorable, beautiful, and highest.” Today, standing before you, I realize that was the challenge I’d been gathering the strength to chase since I was born. Today, I am most certain that the sorority command I’d recited for so many recent years might be appropriately restated: “Let me strive for that which my mother was.” 

I will control myself.

Business halts at 12:30 PM on Fridays in the summer. While I have every intention of using some of my afternoon for productivity, I decided long before I locked up the office that my life deserved an inspiration break. 

I sat down at a perched seat in a local coffee shop with no plans, a scenario that is markedly more uncomfortable than it used to be. Rather than being overwhelmed by things worth writing about, moments worth documenting, words worth preserving, my mind's reach was arrested. As is somewhat typical in my wandering thoughts, I immediately blamed this curse called "growing up" with which I've become quite familiar. 

So, I stretched my vision beyond what was right in front of me and toward a favorite website of mine: Found Magazine. They shine a spotlight on "strange, hilarious, and heartbreaking things people have picked up and passed [their] way." Each time I type its web address into my browser, I relate it to buying a box of random stuff (that someone I'll never know deemed important enough to keep around) at an estate sale, upon which you cannot help but impose imagined answers to that relentless question of "Why?" (More about Found Magazine)

At the very bottom of the page:

Almost reflexively, I imagined a child painstakingly copying sentences an old-school schoolmarm demanded. Naturally, this made me wonder what action or behavior inspired such a sentence.*

Did he shout excitedly, but out of line, about the material he was being taught? Did he shake another student alive who had fallen asleep during a riveting lesson?

Probably not.
But we'll never know.  

Which left me thinking: Is this the moment, the one in which the child's behavior were deemed disorderly and out of control, that the kid was hexed with the "growing up" curse? It's as if you can see his subconscious resistance to the effort to keep his sentences aligned - controlled - by forcing his l's into a straight line. I will control myself. I will control myself. I will control...

The educator in me took the reigns of my thoughts at this point. Characteristically, I started dreaming. What if this child had written and re-written a different sentence? Etching a lesson into his mind to become part of his future, disciplined self? 

I will not stop dreaming.

I will do what I love. 

I will chase what I am passionate about.
I will create a better world. 

I will serve others.

I will portray goodwill and understanding.

Idealistic, sure. There is something pragmatic disguised in this thought, though.
What lesson did you learn as a child that still holds you back today? 

*sen-tence (noun) \ˈsen-t^ən(t)s, -t^ənz\

1. one formally pronounced by a court or judge in a criminal proceeding and specifying the punishment to be inflicted upon the conviction
2. a word, clause, or phrase or a group of clauses or phrases forming a syntactic unit which expresses an assertion, a question, a command, a wish, an exclamation, or the performance of an action, that in writing usually begins with a capital letter and concludes with appropriate end punctuation, and that in speaking is distinguished by characteristic patterns of stress, pitch, and pause
3. all all of the above

And know the place for the first time...

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

(T.S. Eliot)

Among the many other reasons I could ramble on and on about, I love words for their ability to preserve moments beautifully, nostalgically. Such is usually my inspiration for writing; I'm typically trying to capture something with a carefully woven net of words that otherwise threatens, with every passing minute, to slip irretrievably through my fingers. T.S. Eliot, though, in the quote above, does something I admire: he epitomizes an otherwise indescribable experience. To me, this is the most incredible feat a writer can accomplish, much like charting undiscovered territory.

I'm an adventurer. That's common knowledge. When people marvel at my always-surprising life from their own perspectives, I fumble over words to describe where my motivation comes from. How does one explain the feeling of possibility at the tipping point of a new beginning? How does one put into words the spectacularly swirling emotions of coming home after a long journey?

T.S. Eliot captures a facet of adventure and homecoming that I've struggled to hammer down. He touches on the notion that exploring beyond one's starting point grants one more wisdom and capacity to understand the place in which one started. Beyond that, I think, is a more novel idea; "to arrive where we started / and know the place for the first time" suggests that one only fully understands the value of leaving and the role leaving plays in the grand narrative of one's life upon the return to the starting point. An awakening, if you will. This, my friends, is where I am today.

After returning from 8 months of life in a suitcase and constant uprooting, I better understand my starting place and, therefore, myself. I'm writing from my favorite corner of the world just as I have for years, but today I have a new perspective than ever before. Because I have pushed my own limits and explored beyond imagined boundaries that I had subconsciously constructed over time, I better understand my beginning. Sometimes it is even as if I am seeing and feeling and understanding things for the first time. I appreciate simplicities of home more than ever, almost as novelties, but I also better understand myself and my values. More than anything, I understand where I come from and I am more thankful than ever for the experiences and opportunities my "home" of places and people granted me, readying me for adventure after adventure.

Now... what adventure is next?