[Note: I wrote this segmented essay for my creative non-fiction writing class a few weeks ago, and thought here would be a good place to share it. Enjoy!]
Age 3:
The sun rises
through a dingy plane window. All I know is that we are headed to a new home.
The bright oranges and pinks over the horizon capture my attention more than
anything though: I’ve never been up early enough to watch the sun rise. I have no sorrow for leaving Germany, no
fears about coming to Iowa. Home is a meaningless word. As long as Mommy is
next to me, I am safe.
Age 4:
Uncle Bill’s
little traditional New Mexico home reminds me of a house from the Voyage of the Dawn Treader book, but I
don’t need a portal to open and whisk me away to a strange new world, for this
one is fascinating enough. We have to get up early for the Balloon Fiesta, and
my breakfast burrito is so spicy it makes me cry. Mesmerized, I watch hot air
balloons go up, one after another until the sky if full, and wonder what it
would be like to ride in one, the sky stretched before me with nothing to hold
me down.
Age 10:
Amelia and I stick
our feet in the ocean even though it’s December and the sun is setting.
California is warmer than we are used to this time of year, but the water is
still freezing cold. City lights blink as the sun disappears and I wonder what
it’s like to live here, tall buildings instead of corn fields, planes that can
take you anywhere at any time. The tug of the waves against my ankles pulls at
something in my heart, a yearning for travel that will never quite go away. My
sister and I run barefoot in the sand, and I begin to realize I only need the
love of my family to make me happy.
Age 11:
The Star Wars run
is our favorite, simply for its name, even though it’s a Black Diamond. Kaa is
a close second because of its windy path, the tracks through the trees, and the
little jumps. Brian crashes going over one on his birthday, but it doesn’t keep
him down long. The rocky mountains of Colorado re-awaken a thirst for adventure
in my veins; I feel invincible as I ski the slopes. At night, we play
Pictionary and eat Mama K.’s curry and rice. It doesn’t matter that one half of
our group is not related to the other: this journey in the mountains has turned
friends to family.
Age 12:
Jazzy saxophone
wafts up through the window of our hotel room and lulls me to sleep. I never
knew that the city could be filled with such wonderful things. Before, it was
all tall buildings and museums, now it is street musicians and cherry blossoms
in front of Jefferson’s Memorial, delicious fish’n’chips at the Elephant and
Castle, and new friends at a hotel swimming pool. Before, when I thought of
travel, I thought of mountains and nature, now I think of people and culture
and new friends. My world is expanding, my family is growing, and the seed of
wanderlust swells in my veins. Daddy still holds my hand as we see all the
sights, but I find I don’t need to let go to experience life.
Age 16:
Hot is the first
thing that comes to mind when we land. The Jamaican airport is small and busy. The
roads are windy and the people are oh so kind. I have a purpose, and helping
the doctors and med students give medical treatment to the locals makes me feel
important. I don’t mind that I’m away from our annual 4th of July
picnic back home when the little Jamaican kids get excited about new toothbrushes.
I realize that a life of service is the best kind. My new friend’s name is
Jalehl, and he watches as I clean tools for the dentist. This is his home, and
now that he has a piece of my heart, it somehow is mine too.
Age 17:
Big Creek is
almost 800 miles from home; farther than I’ve ever been from my parents before.
Eight students and five adults from my youth group travel to the mission center
in Kentucky for an entire week. We are the only group there made of High Schoolers
only; everyone else is younger. I learn how to lead as well as how to serve,
and build better friendships with those that have come from home. Alex and I play
Frisbee with the guys in the afternoon and share music before bed, and our
small group grows closer throughout the week. We share stories in the evenings
of where we’ve had to mature and what we’ve learned through our service to the
people of Appalachia. We grow together, and this creates a bond that lasts even
after we return to Iowa. This trip gives me new brothers and sisters, and in
them I find solace when home is not enough for my wandering bones.
Age 18: (part 1)
Landing feels like
coming home, even though I’ve never been to Spain before. We’re met at the gate
with hugs and smiles. It’s been a year since I’ve seen Sara, but now everything
feels right again. Daniel begs for a piggyback ride as we walk the streets of
Madrid, Spanish chatter filling the warm June air. The light atmosphere warms a
part of my soul that constantly longs for adventure. In Barcelona we eat food
from street vendors and admire the ridiculous architecture. I get used to
riding public transportation and walking everywhere, gelato and the sweet smell
of the ocean wafting in with the breeze. This is more than vacation: it is
taking a journey with the people I love, and it’s all I’ve ever wanted.
Age 18: (part 2)
It’s summer in
winter when we land in Australia. Peace surrounds me the moment we step off the
plane, and I’m suddenly not bitter that it took us an extra day to get there
because of weather delays in Minneapolis. For 12 whole days we get to experience
paradise. I thought Spain felt like home; this is something even better. Warmth
from the air and from our friendship fills the house as we lay on the couch
watching Australian TV, later as we swim in a backyard pool, and only
strengthens as we eat leftover wedding food. Kendrea and I sing Frozen songs nonstop
and she teaches me Australian slang. This bond in our hearts keeps us cozy even
in the chilly mountains later that week. I have tasted true life in these hills,
I have found a belonging on the cement of city sidewalks. I leave a piece of
myself there when we go, and can only pray one day I’ll return to find it
again.
Age 19:
I feel so much
older on the return flight from Australia, and it has nothing to do with the
birthday I had there. I don’t sleep the entire flight home, which means I’m up
for over 36 hours straight. Iowa is cold and snowy and bland, none of the light
from down under remains. In two weeks, I make my way back to Chicago. Emily and
Rachel throw me a late surprise birthday party, and I know I’ve found the right
friends. Slowly, we figure out how to fit into each other’s lives. Kirstin and
I find the best ice cream in Andersonville, Hannah and I study in a cozy
bookstore together. We aren’t a family yet, but we could be soon. With no one
else to turn to, we find solace in each other, and the group that forms makes
this city another place to call home. My desire for adventure can easily be
quenched, and my thirst for family fulfilled, as long as I open my heart, step
into the hot air balloon, and learn to let go.
