Swing, Swing

   I've never really considered myself to be an adult. I feel that maturity is generally a waste of time, and I fully plan to maintain a child-like, spontaneous, goofy, free-spirited approach to life for as long as I possibly can. Perhaps it was that sense of juvenile excitement that drove me to the swing set at River Grove Park.

   I went to the park for admirable reasons: go running in the nice weather, hang out with my family, take the dogs out for some exercise and play time. Sounds like a safe and wholesome good time, right? Wrong.

   Within 2 minutes of arriving one of the people in our party (I won't say which one), tripped in a cleverly camouflaged hole in the ground, twisting her ankle. Then, about 10 minutes later, one of the dogs started mysteriously bleeding. We never did find out how or why, but let me tell you, it's terrifying seeing a border collie whose mouth and nose are drenched in fresh blood.

   However, we made the best of it. I pushed forward and had a lovely run through the woods, (Which invariably makes me feel like I'm fulfilling my childhood dream of being Max from Where the Wild Things Are.)

"Let the wild rumpus begin!!!"

  After my run, I met up with my family at the kids' area of the park which has a jungle gym, parallel bars, and a swing set. Well, no better way to cool down after a workout than by playing on the playground, right? So, like any logical grown-up, I got onto the swings. Now, to be honest, I've had issues with swings in the past. I have a tendency to over-commit and I generally end up losing my balance, jumping off too early, and landing so hard that it makes my shins feel like they've shattered into 1,000 pieces.

  Today was no different. I had pretty much reached terminal velocity and an altitude of 35,000 feet when I realized that, perhaps, I hadn't thought this idea through. I tried to slow myself down by dragging my feet along the ground, but in the process, I displaced my weight and felt myself sliding forward. I leaned back, attempting to correct my weight distribution, but apparently I over-corrected, causing me to fall out of the swing. I fell out of a swing. That happened. You win again, gravity.

   I wish I could say that I was alone when this happened. But I definitely wasn't. There were people around. A lot of people. For a brief second I thought that maybe nobody had seen me until I heard a five year old kid yell, "SHE FELL OFF THE SWING!!!" Thank you, dear child. Sadly, I'm sure your swinging skills are far more advanced than mine.

  I took stock of my situation, still laying on the ground. There was sand in some uncomfortable and inconvenient places. My hand hurt like hell, and...yep...I definitely broke a finger. (When I got home I realized that I also strained my shoulder) So, I got up, dusted myself off, and faced the awaiting judgment from my family and onlookers, at which point, my beautiful mother said, "I think it's time to go." Uhhh. Yeah.

  Unfortunately, this is fairly typical of my life. Self-inflicted injuries are a normal fixture in my daily routine.

Some may recall "The Car Door Debacle of 2010":

Or the "I Was In a Hurry and Opened My Closet Door Into My Face Catastrophe of 2011"

Or the "I Flipped Headfirst Over My Handlebars Disaster of 2011"

Or the, "I Bruised a Bone in My Knee Coming Out of The Stairs At School Fiasco of 2012"

   So, sadly, this is nothing new for me. At this point my life is pretty much a series of awkward moments and humiliating demonstrations of my lack of coordination. But, you know what? I kind of like my penchant for falling, tripping, dropping things, and generally making an ass out of myself. Why? Because it has taught me how to laugh at myself, how to get back up even when my bones (or heart) are broken, and how to brush off people's judgment. But most importantly, I've learned not to be afraid of looking stupid, not to be afraid of making mistakes, and not to let past embarrassments and failures keep me from having a good time and trying again.

So, even though today was a disaster, I'm never going to stop swinging.

Packing My Bags and Giving the Academy a Raincheck

  Just over three months ago I was standing on a beach in Thailand. It was the last night of the most incredible journey of my life. After a little bit of wandering and more than a little bit of trespassing, my travel companions and I found ourselves standing at the foot of the Indian Ocean. It was nighttime and yet the full moon's reflection off the incoming tide lit up the beach, like the pillar of fire ready to guide us home. We all stood in silence, hyper-aware of the ephemeral nature of the moment. There was no need to talk. We all just stood there lost in our own thoughts and reflections.
  As I stood with my toes in the sand feeling the tide creep closer to my feet, I was struck with a sense of life, purpose, and clarity unlike anything I'd ever felt in my life. The ocean in all of its constant, powerful, ever-changing beauty seemed to wash away an old part of myself. And while I stood in wonder of the most vast and deep force on the planet, I was terrified. I wondered to myself, "Is this the best it's going to get?" I knew that when I got home I would be returning to classes, comps prep, dissertations, and a love life that could most accurately be described as a disastrous and painful clusterf**k.
  Then a voice came through my headphones telling me, "This is not the end, this is not the end of this. We will open our eyes wide, wider." Just in case you're interested, here's my full Thailand playlist.

 Later that night my beautiful, wonderful, brilliant travel companion slash best friend told me she had a similar experience. But, I mean, how could you not be moved when looking at this:

  The girl who stepped onto the plane in Phuket, Thailand was not the same girl who got onto the 777 to head to Europe and Southeast Asia. I had seen things like this:

...and this...

...and this...

  I had witnessed firsthand the fallen nature of humanity and all I wanted to do was to change things. To make them better. To help. To advocate. To cry for the tragedies that had gripped the world in both the past and present. And I didn't know what to do about it. Until I went on another trip.

  Go to Springfield for a conference, they said. It will be fun, they said. And, hey, why don't you take a car that's leaking transmission fluid? This is an awesome idea. NOT! Spoiler Alert: This is how the trip ended:

Pretty much a metaphor for my life: Stalled in an intersection not knowing which direction the rest of the journey was going to go.

  During what I would later deem "Murphy's Roadtrip" I got an email that said, and I'm paraphrasing here, "You need to go to your adviser and tell her the following things: When are you going to graduate? What are you writing your dissertation on? What do you want to do as a career? How many books are you going to publish? What are you going to do with your life?"

*insert panic attack here*

  And then I felt it. This wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want to spend the remainder of my twenties in graduate school. I didn't want the publications, the articles, the conferences. I wanted life. I wanted adventure. I wanted to help people.
  A terrible image flashed through my mind. I'm standing at the foot of the throne of God being called to account for my life. I look upon the glory of the Lord and I pull out a folded piece of paper that contains every tangible achievement in my life, and I say, "Here's my CV, God. Look at my books! Look at the conferences I went to! Look at my PhD, God!" I don't know if Heaven has crickets, but if it does, I'm pretty sure their chirping would be the only response to my life's work.  So I was faced with a choice: Continue on the path that I'm on or veer into the wilderness of The Great Unknown. One route offers security. The other offers...something else. The title of this blog should give you a hint as to which path I'm choosing.
  So I got home and immediately told my professors that I think I'm being called to switch to the master's program, to graduate in May, and then to serve people. Terrifying.
  I don't know where I'm headed. I have no idea what the next year is going to bring. But for the first time I feel at peace knowing that I have the chance to escape the rat race and to do something bigger. So it looks like, in the words of my future husband Andy McMahon, "I'm dropping out into the So Unknown" and I am excited as hell.