The Night I Decided to Leave Charlottesville

“How beautiful to dream. But dreams,” I tell Gil, in one of our quiet moments, “are so damned tiring.”
He laughed.
“I can't promise you that you won't be tired,” he says. “But please know this. There's a lot of good waiting for you on the other side of tired. Get yourself tired, Andre. That's where you're going to know yourself. On the other side of tired.”
- Open, the autobiography of Andre Agassi. Read it.

At the age of ten, I went to camp. I desperately wanted to leave on day four. I finished the week but was relieved to return to the comforts of my mom’s cooking and my dad’s hugs. Don’t be fooled by my boisterous laugh and big mouth. I am happiest at home, and I find it very hard to be away. When I moved to Charlottesville, I wasn’t sure what would become of our relationship, but I did know this – I was going to make it my home.

It was October 25th, 2011. I had lived in Charlottesville 14 months, and not a week passed that I didn’t break down. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard. I wasn’t supposed to be this tired. Sure, the first months may have been lonely, but then I would have met kindred spirits, found a church, figured out my job, maybe dated a guy. Built a life.

Instead, I found myself swimming through tar. I tried a couple churches and Bible studies, but none seemed to fit. Maybe I didn’t fit them. I tried serving others but found I had very little energy to do so. I had been turned down for a promotion, which was not as crushing as the fact that I felt wasted in my current position. No one understood my quirks like my family and close friends had. I struggled with brokenness, shame, and rejection.

That night, two friends and I went to a cozy bar for the Tuesday drink special. I chose water, knowing alcohol was no good for my current state.

I told them how often I cried. “I cry, too,” one consoled me. “Just the other night I put on some mellow music and had a good cry. It was cathartic.”

“No,” I said. “I cry too much.“

I told them I had registered for a marathon that day. I was going to train for it, I was going to run it, and then, I was going to leave Charlottesville. I was going home, where I knew the love of family.

It felt good to get this off my chest, and I was ready for bed. Plus, the bar was full, people were clearly eying our seats, and we were drinking water. As we stood up to leave, I ran into a guy. I apologized: “We’re leaving; you can have our seats.”

“My friend and I came to talk to you,” he smiled. We stayed and chatted, covering the usual small talk topics: jobs, education, favorite music. He asked for my number and gave me his, which was instantly etched in my memory - it was a combination of two important jersey numbers. We said goodbye.

I left that night with a gut feeling – there was something in Charlottesville I had yet to find. Over the next few months, and even the next few years, that gut reminded me to never run from anything, but to always run toward something. It encouraged me to keep grinding. It demanded me to get myself tired.

I realize not everyone relates to my tennis metaphors, so I will break from routine and use my second favorite metaphor – food.

My sister, Lydia, loved my grandma’s cinnamon rolls*, and sometimes, she made her own. It was a huge undertaking. She had to first make the dough, then knead it and let it rise. After it rose, she folded it, punched it down and let it rise again. Then, a third time, she folded it, punched it down and let it rise. Finally, after a day’s work, the dough was ready to be rolled, sliced, baked, and frosted into a heavenly treat.

Yes, I am a cinnamon roll* in this metaphor, and like its dough, I was knocked down by the same challenges repeatedly: trusting in transition and confronting loneliness. Each time I rose, I learned something new, even though many times, those challenges began with me asking, “Why do I have to do this again?”

Charlottesville has taught me so much. It taught me to be vulnerable and to fight fear. It taught me to let go, look forward, and trust. It taught me that though circumstances may seem otherwise, I am never alone. It taught me my desperate need for grace.

Charlottesville has given me so much: a very full resume, a host of friendships that I carry with me always, a church that pushed me, and a more seasoned palette. I am happy to call it home.

More than that, on the other side of tired - of that folding, punching, and rising - I know myself. I am ready to be rolled up, sliced, and put in the oven*. I am thankful to Charlottesville for so many things, but for this one thing, I am indebted.

*They were one of her many favorite desserts. Lydia doesn’t understand the superlative indication of the word favorite.

*Anytime I can compare myself to a baked good, I feel a certain level of success.

*One day, I will be ready to be frosted into a heavenly treat.

First St Patty's Day in Cville

RKG No Shoes Day! I forget why we weren't wearing shoes, but I don't like shoes anyways, so I joined.

Best. Costume. Ever. Cool Runnings!

RKG Christmas Party 2012

The people I laughed with the most.

Saying goodbye to Wayne, our favorite Citizen Burger bartender

Wineries are always so lovely.

Celebrating the birthday of Erin, one of the first people I met, and one of my closest friends.

Glad I joined Crossfit four years ago and met these fine people.

Dome. Out.

Why I Can't Seem to Write About My Travels

I've started to recap my travel adventures dozens of times. I was on such a roll chronicling Vietnam. You were probably wondering if I had taken a Vietnamese lover, if I had gotten malaria, if I had indeed been kidnapped at the airport.

I had another post in the offing. It was going to be on weightroom stalking in Vietnam. The over/under on me being asked out by a fellow lifter was 28 days. I hope you picked the under, folks, because less than four weeks in, a young lad did indeed ask me to join him for dessert. I said I would think about it then changed my workout time. I was going to analyze why I seem to be asked out at gyms, but Crossfit has only prompted that on one occasion. My conclusion is: in a gym, I have an aura of mystique, but at Crossfit, I open my mouth, and everyone knows exactly what I'm thinking - all the time. No mystique = No dates. Perhaps I'll work on my mystique entering the next phase of life.

The thing is, every time I begin writing about travel, I think about family. I begin writing about the wonderful people I met in Vietnam, the cheap and delicious food, the sites, and then I remember that the moment I heard my sister had lost her baby, none of that mattered. I begin writing about the amazing sites of Southeast Asia and how to choose the perfect travel buddy - which I definitely did - and then I think about how special it was to show the pictures to my niece and nephews. And how blessed I am that the people I hold dearest and admire the most are my family.

As I was visiting each city, I asked myself, could I see myself living here, or more broadly, could I live abroad after school? And there were moments, mostly when drinking a good wine or eating a donut, that I thought it possible. Then I came home.

Maybe it's because I've spent the last month in Chardon, listening to country anthems and high school football strategy, not having a job and too much time on my hands, but I've been thinking a lot about ten year old Anna. She was definitely independent, creative, a hard worker. But she loved hugging her dad and Sunday dinners with her cousins. She wanted to get married, have kids, and give them the same thing, in the same town.

Seventeen years later, she is getting ready to embark on another adventure, once again on her own. I'm so grateful for the doors that have opened, but helping my sister move into her new house or sitting on my other sister's porch, watching boys jump off the swing set onto the trampoline - a move I suggested, probably to the dismay of their parents - it's hard not to feel a bit of longing for the same and fear of what lies ahead. Not fear about academics - I know I'll rock that - but about the other aspects. About starting over, building new relationships, navigating the job market, continuing to compete even when I'm tired. And what about after? What if God calls me to do something alone again? What if He calls me out of my comfort zone again? Dang it, will I ever know what the next year holds?

I was reminded this week of a few things. 1) God does not call us to convenience. He calls us to His purpose, and He equips us to do it. 2) Miracles do not occur within the comfortable. They occur when we need Him. 3) God is faithful. Always. Last year, I was applying to grad schools and wrote about the obsession over choice. All of the questions I asked about my future were answered so clearly, I didn't have to think twice about one decision. My future is not in my hands, but in the hands of one who plans to give me hope and a future. And finally, God hasn't forgotten about ten year old Anna. There is still time for those dreams to come true, too, even if it is not yet.