.vaille que vaille. : First Breath

My plane landed on Spanish soil around 7:25 pm Monday night. This was a European flight, so of course, the entire plane got up out of their seats and crowded the aisles before the Fasten Seat-belt light was turned off. Well, “When in Rome. . .” I thought. Then I pushed past a pregnant lady and punched a baby to get my carry-on from the overhead compartment.

No, I didn’t do that. That would be horrible. I’ve still got a ways to go before I fully adopt European customs.

So here I am. Mijas, Malaga, España. Imagine me saying that with an intense lispy Spanish accent, tapping my left toe, and clapping my hands together. I don’t have to tell you that the town is beautiful because you may have assumed that, but I don’t think you could ever successfully assume this brand of beauty. The pueblo rests atop green hills, overlooking the Mediterranean coast. The red-roofed buildings have been washed in white paint, reflecting the luminous Sun that shines faithfully each morning. The cobblestone streets are narrow, lined with black gaslight lamps, and homes with terraces that overlook townspeople walking their terriers. (That wasn’t an intentional alliteration. Terraces. Townspeople. Terriers)

Pinch me. No, pinch me again. And again. And again.

After my first day of class, I didn’t quite know what to think or say about being here. The one question that I kept hearing from people at home was, “Are you excited?” Of course I responded, “yes,” but inwardly I was ashamed to admit that I probably really wasn’t. Ungrateful wretch. I sat in my chair on the first day of class feeling undeserving, empty, and remorseful. All this talk about initiative, leadership, and character only served to make me feel inadequate and fraudulent. So I sunk into my seat and dreamed of disappearing. I thought that I could defer responsibility and growing up for as long as possible, but God had a different plan.

I’ll be honest with you. I haven’t really allowed myself to feel anything for a long time now. Not even excitement. I used to be that bright-eyed girl that believed what her Father told her. I used to wear my heart on my sleeve and live life as though it had beautiful purpose – like a marvelous and unpredictable story. Sometime during these last couple of months, I became instead, this doubtful wreck, full of fear and holding onto what used to be. I was still wandering in that morgue, blinded by this nightmarish wait. I kept looking back and believing that I needed to cling onto who I was: the bright-eyed girl that traveled the world and saw the true heart of God. Not this. This mess that came home and destroyed herself with her own idealism by being met by the conniving voice of death. I left that girl alone, and suspended time, happiness, and moving on with my life. I realize that now. But I’m willing to let time go on now. I’m willing to breathe in fresh, not dusty air.

“Do not let your present be dictated by your past. Let your present be dictated by your future.”

Okay, God, I’m awake and I’m breathing. I’m alive, and I’m ready.