...Through Good Ol' York

I'm not entirely sure how how to articulate my feelings, or thoughts, or experiences here this week.  I'm sitting outside on Mom's patio, with Lucy at my feet, desperate for her bunny babies to make an appearance and give chase.  We are surrounded by fireflies and bats, and God bless her, now that she's an oh-so-mature 5 years old, she's no longer trying to collect all of them as new best friends.  It smells like the fresh hay that's stacked across the street, and the berry patches up the road, and when I was 15 and running around the east side with girls I believed were the best besties a girl could have, sober of substance but so very high on each other.

This week has been simple.  95% family, supplemented by a very few old friends.  Lots and lots and lots of consecutive dives and cannon balls by our babies who are equal parts fish and cherub.  Remembering how much I love to blast the radio when I drive alone, especially if I know the words or need to work. it. out.  Scrambling to get everything together, making very consistent bubblehead mistakes that include leaving both my wallet and my hiking shoes in Chicago.  Rescued only by the fact that Geoff knows me well enough to check my work, and loves me well enough to save the day (thank you!!).  Ordering my remaining supplies without enough time for actual arrival before I fly out (sigh).  Trying to explain to different companies why I can't provide a new address that I don't have.  Testing my mom's patience as I completely took over her house in all of my flustered glory. Reminded of so many memories, and adventures, and misadventures.

Camping Out, Maria, age 5

I wouldn't trade York being my home, the base from which I first jumped.  I learned my first lessons, and gifts, and frailties here.  Made my first adult decisions, chose my faith, and developed a deep desire to work with populations of people that are often under-represented, ignored, and misunderstood.  Where my brothers and sister and I puzzled together what it meant to grow up as a collective unit instead of only singular individuals.  Our bunkbed wrestling and cornfield kickball  evolved into a fiercely loyal little team of 4 who would see each other through some dark days.  A quad who laugh inappropriately in public at the same things, read one other from across the room without words, and who honestly believe that together, we can do anything.  I know, for damn sure, that I can set out on this crazy adventure because they are my people.  I will continue to draw on Erin's strength and faithfulness, and Christopher's heart and humility, and Timmy's depth and compassion when I can't muster my own.  Because I have done so for over 34 years, and they haven't failed me yet.

York has been kind to me, and very gratefully, remains so to the people I love most.  I'm entrusting my most beloved to you, you "first capital", you.  Take good care of them.  Keep growing your apples, and hardy little babies, and Harleys.  Keep teaching us to drive stick on your windy hills, and that bats and skunks are actually kind of cool (except when you accidentally smoosh one in your driveway).  And please oh please, remain a safe place to land after an arduous day at work, or a
lifetime away.  I'll be seeing you.

...Out of Chicago

I have always referred to her as a she.  She is quite a lady, my Chicago.  A concrete contradiction.  Of beauty and violence, of blizzards and beaches, of stunning diversity, and persistent segregation.  And I love her, despite how she makes me crazy, and fuels my tirades about the ills of, well, everything.

If this is my love letter to my chosen city, I want to tell her that I'm grateful.  For how much she's taught me, and for keeping me humble to the fact that I actually know very little about anything at all.  For teaching me to persevere through some gnarly, painful experiences.  For both strengthening me, and softening me.  

For exposing me more personally to the reality of systemic racism.  For further cultivating my deep desire to DO something about it, both here and abroad.  For allowing me the opportunity to learn from men and women who align their lives under the assertion that in fact we haven't yet arrived as a nation or a culture, but we're up to the task to get ourselves there.

For the privilege of relationships with people from all over the city, and all over the world.  Patients who persevere despite staggering obstacles, limited resources, and inconsistent access to broken systems.  Coworkers who choose to actively engage in the healing of others, and who are well aware of the fact that we receive far more than we give.  Neighbors who've taught me the value of community, and learning to ask for help.  Friends who are family, who have personified vulnerability, and honesty, and faithfulness these past 7 years.  Friends I am fiercely loyal to, and proud of, and dreadfully going to miss.

I won't miss the aggressive driving, or the 4 am SpyBar nonsense outside our condo.  But I will miss my walking commute each day, and the exposure to all sorts of shenanigans on CTA.  I won't miss the cost of food, any food, at Whole Foods.  But I will miss the the dazzling smile of the fish monger, who tries to charm me into buying salmon for only $20/lb.  I won't miss the hook-up culture at the bar, or what seems like the ever-devolving maturity of so many otherwise lovable men.  I will however, miss my freedom as a single woman to go out with whomever I want, whenever I want.  With neither a male chaperone nor a faux wedding band.  Which incidentally, I now own, and kind of love.

A few nights ago I had a few hours at home alone.  In my dizzied state of trying to figure out which of the million little things I should accomplish first, my body decided for me that I should actually dance my ass off.  To nobody's surprise I'm sure, "All Along The Watchtower".  Live of course (is there any other way?!).  And our windows were wide open, and my heart was wide open, and a part of me knew as I faced my city that it was our last dance together, at least for now.  

So thank you, you crazy lady, for being the most worthy dance partner, and occasional opponent these last 7 years.  Be sure to save some groove thang for me, as we're sure to meet again someday.

...To Making the Decision to Actually DO This Thing!

This was not a decision come to impulsively or quickly, as anyone who knows me will believe.  I think this trip has been in me since I was a little girl.  (I hesitate to even call it my "trip", as I've really started to think of it as more of an overhaul of my entire lifestyle).  I pursued career counseling as a freshman at JMU, because I didn't know how to quantify this crazy longing into an actual major.  Thankfully, I was directed into the field of Speech Pathology, which has certainly been a tremendous avenue for learning about people, and relationships, and life.

Fast forward to 10+ years into my career, or the end of 2013.  I had just turned 33, and paid my last student loan, hopefully ever.  Phew.  Enter divine intervention, in the form of a few beloved friends who loved me enough to speak truth to me.  Truth that said that I could actually, as a single, white, not-19-anymore woman, make this dream a reality.  Ballsy, audacious courage that they believed enough for me until I started to really believe it myself.

Game on.  I spent the first 6 months of 2014 liquidating everything I owned, Subaru and all.  If I couldn't sell it, I gave it away.  Drove my Lucy Langley home to Pa to take care of my mama (thanks, Mom!).  Asked my sister-friend Cindy to live on her sofa bed, no small sacrifice on her part, and what a ball we've had together.  Left the Laflin gang in June, to begin the process of socking away as much money as possible.

Spent the past year learning tremendously more than I bargained on, including how to live more presently and how to say yes more willingly.  Worked to fight the lie of the culture of scarcity, or never having enough, often with nothing more than my thick Langley legs and a backpack full of books.  Enjoyed the mess out of my dear friends, and coworkers, (holler at ya', NP & co!!), and church.  Made mistakes, took surprising risks, and relearned my natural hair color.

It's hard to believe that I'm now less than 2 weeks from actual departure date of July 20th.  First stop, Ireland.  To meet my distant family, to claim some random gingers as cousins, or even more likely, to enmesh myself even deeper into the Lynch/Walsh clans.  I feel incredibly humbled, and excited, and ready, and WHOA.

I don't presume to know what to expect.  I've counted the cost, though I believe there's a cost to all the decisions we make.  My truth, that I fully own, is that the cost to my soul would be far greater to stay than to go.  It could be a big bust.  I could be back in a few months.  But Lord willing, and if this past 18 months of preparation is any indication, I'm only just getting started.