troubles and treasures
I’m feeling distinctly indecisive today. I’ve switched tables at this coffee shop four times, for a number of reasons including a lack of a regular chair, a lack of table, and having to look at either a TV or a wall. So, now I’m comfortably settled at a table that is next to the window, facing into the rest of the coffee shop, with a sticky note of blog ideas, the Bach cello suites on Spotify, and half of a peanut butter and honey sandwich- go to lunch of choice, always,- ready to write.
Indecisive, too, on which way to take the blog this week, because after one week of being with students, and after my first full month in San Jose, I’m writing to you feeling just plain old sad in my spirit, to be honest with you. I do not usually like to admit these things, because as most of you know, I tend to be unerringly positive, even if the positive feelings I’m broadcasting are not completely truthful. So convincing is my own argument that often I do not even realize the extent or depth of what I’m actually feeling.
For this reason, I thank God I have the mom I have. A major highlight of the week, my mom stopped through San Jose on Wednesday, on her way to drop my sister Abigail off at college (!!!!)
(I’d like to pause real quick and give a major shout-out to Abigail, my best friend, starting her freshmen year at Westmont College! I am so proud of her and her bravery to start fresh even though moving to a new state alone is just about the scariest thing ever.)
I called Mom and Abigail immediately after work on Wednesday, to check their ETA. We talked for a few minutes, and then approximately three minutes after we hung up, my phone rang again.
“Hello again,” I said.
“What’s wrong?” came the immediate reply from Abigail. “Mom is wondering if you’re mad at us or something.”
“No?” I said. “Why would I be mad?”
“Well, you sound like something is wrong,” Abigail said, followed with something to the effect of “we’ll see you soon and we can talk about whatever it is that is going on wrong with you.”
A little miffed, I hung up again, pretty sure that the only problem was that I was exhausted from my second day of waking up at 5:30 am for work, and wasn’t that just so typical of them to assume I was mad just because I was not feeling super talkative. However, and yet again typical, sitting at the restaurant, Mom asked how my job was going, and I actually thought about the way my heart was feeling, finally being asked the question in-person by someone I felt safe talking to. “Honestly,” I said, “not so good.” She just smiled sadly and said, “yeah. I thought so.”
See, my mom has this magic, unfailing ability to always know exactly how I’m feeling at all times. Once, in high school after making one of the worst mistake of my life, I came home, attempting to lie straight to my mom’s face, assuring her that I had a great evening. She looked me in the eye, standing in the dimly lit kitchen in her pajamas, and said, “Alyssa. What happened? I know there’s something you aren’t telling me. You have the same look in your eyes that you did when you were a little girl and there was something you weren’t telling me.” Naturally, I burst into tears and spilled everything. Although majorly painful, that moment remains one of my favorite memories of my mom because I realize now that she knew me so well that she only had to look at me to know something was wrong.
So many similar instances have happened since then, both in person and- most impressively- over the phone. She can read me like no one else, and not only read me, but help me, as a fellow verbal processor, to name specifically the aches inside myself. She has helped me to realize and work through numerous broken hearts, recitals, competitions, and just the ebb and flow of daily anxieties, and I genuinely consider her one of the main components in my journey towards heightened self-care and self-awareness, not to mention graduating college in one piece.
(I’m watching this girl eat a muffin and it looks so delicious. Should I, too, buy a muffin?)
Praise the good Lord, for this reason, that she stopped again on her way back up through California towards home. We verbal processed together, a very necessary and missing part of my life here, making dinner (see the recipe of the week!), near tears in my bedroom, strolling through the Municipal Rose Garden (highly recommended, see above!), and taking bites of each other’s ice cream. I’ve come to several realizations re:my heart-feelings in the past nineteen hours, and I am not sure how else to write about them except make a list. I’ve probably told you at some point in our friendship: “When in doubt, make a list.” So now, I am in doubt, and I am going to heed my own advice, dang it.
MY HEART-FEELINGS Re: FIRST WEEK OF SCHOOL/ONE MONTH IN SAN JOSE
I struggle with being patient. There has been some internal resistance towards the admittance of this fact, and yet, here I am. I am not very patient!!! I prefer things to happen quickly, efficiently, in order, and in time, all the while producing the best result possible. I do not waste time (in fact, wasting time gives me a rousing bout of anxiety), and I will not even start on the way I feel when trying to “relax” before little check marks fill every box on my to do list. This is a trait that really comes in handy in college, but (especially) in City Year, it is trying to pull me down by my ankles. However. This is a job where progress will be slow, and will happen in very small, and sometimes invisible, increments. I have to, as we say in Workout, trust the process and not expect the students to trust me after only literally four days.
I struggle with being content. I’ve always had issues with being jealous, ever since the fifth grade where I spent the entire year wishing I was the girl who was as smart and pretty and popular as you can be at age ten. I know this about myself, but it has reared its ugly head this week, let me tell you. My thoughts have been peppered with “if only I had that partner teacher…” or, “if only I had those students…” or “why is this so much harder for me…” or, “if only I had stayed in Chicago…” Kinda impossible to be present while you’re wishing you were somewhere or someone else.
I am a little culture-shocked. Coming from Boise, Idaho, and Wheaton College, and into a school where the student population is 90% Hispanic- I’m learning, learning, learning and being humbled each day. As my conducting professor always says, you must “fail faster” in order to learn quicker. And I am failing at record pace, I assure you. There is so much I don’t know and so much I can’t prepare for except to be present and open-hearted and to keep loving as best I can, despite it all.
I am just lonely! Although I have come to really love alone time since being in college, I miss my friends. I miss having a community that knows me, and I miss having a church that I love. I have not hung out with anyone my age the last two weekends and, though blogging has its charms, my extroverted heart is shriveling up by the minute. THUS! I hereby declare that I am going to reach out to people and make plans on weekends! No more being alone!
Moving forward will require looking for the one good thing. In Workout, my director used to always say that, after a creative exercise, we should look back and think of one thing that we felt proud of. One moment, no matter how small: the movement of our hand, the way it felt to move our foot along the carpet, anything. And that thing was enough, even if the rest of exercise was less than compelling. So each day, I’ve been trying, and will continue to try, to look for that one good thing and trust that it is enough.
A quick caveat: I am not writing these things to complain or try to get sympathy, but just to be honest in the process of settling into this new life. I am certain, certain, that this is where God wants me to be. And truly, good things abound! Good things like realizing this week that I actually love classical music (I’ve been listening to it non-stop because my heart misses it like crazy! I was shocked!). Good things like getting a quick, side hug from a student on her way out of class. Good things like eye contact and a bright smile from a student who keeps her eyes down and voice nearly inaudible at all costs as we connected about her pineapple backpack. Good things like the 2nd Harry Potter audiobook narrating my commute, like a genuine text from a work friend, like a phone call from my dear friend Anastasia, like going to church in a beautiful place.
Therefore. Do not be anxious about tomorrow, because tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has troubles and treasures of its own. Present your requests. Look for abundance. One thing a day. More than enough. Trust the process. Repeat.
-Alyssa
P.S. Due to the fact that my chai was $5, I did not get the muffin.