I began writing in journals at the tender age of seven. I had just moved from upper-middle-class-suburbia, Oregon to very-small-long-drawl-town, Mississippi a year earlier. And as a result I had the opportunity to explore, feel and internalize the sights and sounds of an entirely different atmosphere. My new home-town exposed me to discrimination and prejudice unlike anything I'd known on the West Coast. My classmates were slightly perplexed when it came to dealing with a new student who wasn't "all-black" or "all-white". I was a melting pot of confusion and curiosity.
Yet despite all of the possible social-justice-charged experiences I could have written about in my multicolored heart journal (that came especially with both key and lock)--I chose to record moments of joy and wonder. I wrote about the day when my two brothers and I used dish soap, water and old wire hangers to blow a bubble paradise into existence. I wrote about the time when my friend Hayley led me through what seemed like a new world dominated by Beanie Babies--our own kind of Narnia in a land only accessible through her secret attic door. I wrote about trying catfish for the first time. And, I wrote about the rush of glee surging through my veins when I won the recess jump-roping contest. This journal, the first of an endless collection to this day, is a symbol of hope and joy in my life, in the midst of adverse situations, and a long-lasting reminder that such beauty can be found in the dim and dark-hearted.
So now, let's fast forward about 10 years.
About a month ago today, I finished my most-precious journal to date. It's a classic Moleskine (black, leather-bound, similar to those used by Hemingway and others) filled with lecture notes, dreams, photographs, flowers and stories. Not unlike the countless journals since that first one in Mississippi.
Perhaps my favorite part of that journal is found near the middle seam: the Yay! (I'm thankful for) List.
This list is revealing, honest and just, me.
And now, I'm sharing it. With you.
Now, I share because I believe strongly that the appeal of journals is two-fold.
Because while journals are perfect for self-discovery, self-documentation and self-improvement, they are also fitting for communal life. Sharing thoughts. Sound-boarding. Building community. Deepening relationships.
And so, with my one-item store I would spread my growing passion for journals. The one guarantee for any one person to write himself into existence ;)
(What? I'm $0.30 short? Not to worry, the extra is a part of my spontaneous-road-trip-fund!)
The day:
8:00am - Wake up. Put some hot water on the stove. Get out white chai tea.
8:05am - Enjoy freshly brewed white chai tea, with just a bit of french vanilla creamer.
8:10am - Get settled on the back porch, in an outdoor recliner. With a copy of Tales of a Female Nomadby Rita Golden Gelman.
8:10-10:40am - Travel through the glorious ruins of Peru, witness a traditional Balinese funeral ceremony. Cook a meal with a group of Thai women in a village --- all done by turning page after page.
11:00am - Venture inside to the fridge for some pita and Mediterranean hummus. Replace white chai mug with glass of water. Blast Snow Patrol's Crack the Shutters and dance around in the kitchen.
11:15am - Send out a mass-text-message to friends inviting everyone out to Pinkerton Park for a potluck paint-and-picnic. Reinforce the fact that NO ONE is allowed to purchase anything. Food and art supplies must be already laying around in the house. (We're on a $10 budget, remember, and I've already spent most of it on canvases?)
11:20am-12:00pm - Scour the house for all acrylic paint, oil paint, chalk pastel, oil pastel, 64-pack of Crayola crayons, marker, pen, bottle of Elmer's, jar of rubber cement, magazine, pair of scissors or anything else that could be placed on a canvas.
12:05pm - Pack up art things, camera, canvases, left over pita and hummus into my Volvo.
12:05pm-12:20pm - Drive to the park with the windows down and "Drive down memory lane" play-list blasting. 12:25pm - Meet up with Kennie, Liana, Olivia, Amberly and Dace. Unload the cars and pick out a clear area of the field by a tree, but in the sunlight.
12:30pm - Distribute blank mini-canvases, but keep the big one for myself.
12:30-3:00pm - Take turns choosing music on the portable iPod dock, paint, laugh, toss a frisbee, eat. 3:00pm - Pack up art, say goodbye to friends and head home - just before a...
3:10-3:25pm - ....SPRING RAIN STORM.
3:30pm - Pull into the drive-way and park. Kick off flip-flops and run over to the pink dogwood that stands, regal, in the side yard-- camera in-hand. 3:32-4:00pm - Take pictures. Capture the dew drops and sun flares. Feel the wet ground under my bare feet. 4:03-5:00pm - Edit, edit, edit those pictures.
5:00-5:30pm - Catch up with a dear friend on the phone.
5:40-6:30pm - Swing home, grab a granola bar from the pantry, watch beginning of a documentary on jazz via Instant Netflix. 6:40-7:00pm - Catch sunset with my friend Maddie from the top parking lot at school, and finish painting started with friends earlier in the day. 7:05-8:40pm - Go back home, finish documentary.
9:00pm-12:00am - Watch dear friends play Celtic music at local Irish Pub & Eatery, McCreary's. 12:10am-8:00am - Drift into the land of dreams, and then wake to find myself practically living one.
I'm a girl with a fair appetite for adventure, culture and people. But even so, a trip half-way around the world, previously knowing only one person, easily frightened me a bit last summer.
---
I went to the Balkans to coach and teach a group of Albanian high school students about leadership and community service. The students had all made it through a rigorous interview process and, from my understanding, were very eager to come to the camp our team created.
I spent hours upon hours in the States preparing my two, 1.5 hour lectures on Integrity in Leadership, trying desperately to break up PowerPoint presentations with team activities, discussion questions and games. I did my best to pull together a presentation that would engage my friends and I--assuming (correctly) that teenage students in one country are very similar to teenage students in any other country. And, I knew going in that most of my speaking would have to be done through a translator--although the language barrier really turned out to be an almost unnoticeable issue
--- Because, in the Balkans, an appetite for beauty rose up in me.
---
Beauty in the people.
The people I encountered on my trip are people of resilience. They work for everything they have and take nothing for granted. They are brilliant, lovely and full of a joy and love--particularly for dancing. One evening as they began to teach me how to dance in the traditional style, I could not stop myself from smiling due to their enthusiasm and perseverance to teach me until I understood each upcoming step. They are proud of their heritage, their values and their families; and their pride works like a contagious smile, causing all around to become enamored with their culture in a different, personal way. Beauty in their attitude.
The students I taught and grew to know had a deep-seated desire to learn. They came to other leaders and myself to ask questions in order to truly grasp what the teaching had to offer. Every meal, different groups would take turns in serving one another--and not once do I remember seeing anyone do so half-heartedly. Beauty in their food.
I remember trying a specific dish while in the Balkans that I was informed is a comfort dish/specialty. The dish is what I can best describe as a multi-layered-crepe-tortilla-chewy-and-thin-pancake-stack. It takes hours to make, layer by layer, over a fire--and it has a special, easily placed by the locals, smell. Here at home, it seems like people have decided it's okay to sacrifice food quality for time's sake. But in the Balkans, that isn't so-- because quality food=quality time spent (making and eating).
Beauty in the land.
The majesty of the mountains and the stunning quality of the flowers speak for themselves. Beauty for the future.
In a region that can still be considered developing, the students I taught truly yearned to make a positive difference in their town, city and country. They were not stifled by cynicism. And in that way, they helped me discover a hope that we all share for the future on a global level.
