50 weeks.
It's as if I never left. Texas, that is. From the moment I stepped off the plane until this moment, the night before I head back to North Carolina, it feels as natural to be here as it did the day I was born.
Just as the BBQ place down the street from my mom's house says, "Texas isn't a state. It's a state of mind." As I drove around with my mom this past week, I realized (for the first time, I suppose) that Texas really isn't much different than any other state I've been to, especially not North Carolina. The land and trees are similar, even the people look the same. I had to second-guess all of my claims that Texas is just down right better than any other place you could go. It's just the God-blessed truth: Texas is just down right better. Why? Because we say so, because we put on a show bigger than anyone else, and we make sure we are seen, heard, tasted, felt and in some cases (out in West Texas in particular) smelled.
Texas pride aside though (and trust me, that's hard to do), it's so great because it's home. After months and months of being Texas-less, I needed some affirmation from home. I am being faced with some major life decisions that I never expected to face, and I need Texas to tell me it's okay, that Texas will still be here when all the dust settles and the clouds roll away. Texas maybe didn't come out with it, but the affirmation came through the love from my family.
I'm carrying that love with me back to North Carolina because it's by love that I can continue to do this work that I gave up everything for a year ago, and I am so glad I did it. However, in the coming months, it is for love that I will take my next step into this next year of my life.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
on the road to beaufort.
48 weeks.
Today marks my 11th month at Camp E-Tik-Etu. It seems like a decade ago that I packed up Blanca with everything I owned and headed east toward the craziest adventure of my life to date.
I think I've become disillusioned with the program I am expected to implement each day with my kids. Over the last 11 months, I've seen more campers leave the program unsuccessfully than successfully, and I've seen more counselors leave unexpectedly than with proper notice. I have over 5,760 hours of memories that make me laugh, cringe, cry, steam, and ache. Every three months or so, I have looked for an escape route only to be pulled back into camp by the very thing that brought me here 11 months ago: campers who say (in their own way, of course) that they recognize the sacrifice I'm making and are grateful for my time and energy.
I've done the exact thing my mom told me not to do when I moved to the woods--I've fallen in love with a beach bum, and every week, I make the 3 hour trek to spend time with him in what I've come to consider paradise. Beaufort, North Carolina. Beaufort, a quaint waterfront town, is the third oldest in North Carolina. Complete with a fudge factory, historic homes, and various boats as small as a paddle-only dingy and as big as Michael Jordan's crewed yacht, Beaufort has stolen my heart.
As I approach my year mark in the woods, it's nice to know there's a place to go to escape from the madness in the woods. And as I grow fonder of Beaufort each time I visit, doors are opening that let me know that Beaufort is growing fonder of me, too.
Today marks my 11th month at Camp E-Tik-Etu. It seems like a decade ago that I packed up Blanca with everything I owned and headed east toward the craziest adventure of my life to date.
I think I've become disillusioned with the program I am expected to implement each day with my kids. Over the last 11 months, I've seen more campers leave the program unsuccessfully than successfully, and I've seen more counselors leave unexpectedly than with proper notice. I have over 5,760 hours of memories that make me laugh, cringe, cry, steam, and ache. Every three months or so, I have looked for an escape route only to be pulled back into camp by the very thing that brought me here 11 months ago: campers who say (in their own way, of course) that they recognize the sacrifice I'm making and are grateful for my time and energy.
I've done the exact thing my mom told me not to do when I moved to the woods--I've fallen in love with a beach bum, and every week, I make the 3 hour trek to spend time with him in what I've come to consider paradise. Beaufort, North Carolina. Beaufort, a quaint waterfront town, is the third oldest in North Carolina. Complete with a fudge factory, historic homes, and various boats as small as a paddle-only dingy and as big as Michael Jordan's crewed yacht, Beaufort has stolen my heart.
As I approach my year mark in the woods, it's nice to know there's a place to go to escape from the madness in the woods. And as I grow fonder of Beaufort each time I visit, doors are opening that let me know that Beaufort is growing fonder of me, too.
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