Approximately 12 months into this new location, I've realized I've written zip while in this city.
My jungle looks less like rain forest and more like concrete.
Instead of howler monkeys outside my window, I hear Boeings howl their descent into O'Hare.
The commute to work isn't a walk across a couple suspension bridges with an eye out for snakes, scorpions, spiders, and rogue bridge monkeys; it's a lot of stop signs and stop lights with serpentine drivers, tail riders, sudden stops, and jay-walkers.
A slower pace of day has been traded for 70mph on the freeway.
Plumbing is still an adventure, but not because I live in a jungle and our water source is from up the mountain, but because I live in a 100 year old building.
Come dusk, the symphony that fills the outside air isn't crickets or cicadas anymore. It's traffic a block away.
Green mountains are no longer the towering entities around me--sky scrapers replace them.
The drive to the Ultimate Frisbee field doesn't look like dodging pot holes on the dirt road. It looks more like a tollway with planes flying so close to the highway, I'm pretty sure some of the guys I play with could hit them with a Frisbee.
My place of employment no longer has 17 beds, it has more than 17 floors in 4 different buildings.
My patients are no longer victims of pit vipers, machete wounds, or hitting cows while going way too fast on a motorcycle without a helmet. They have now IV pumps that work and machines that can breathe 10 different ways or some that pump their blood for them.
I no longer live in front of the 2nd largest barrier reef in the world. I live in front of the 2nd largest Great Lake (by volume, for those of you who will fact-check me).
I can still find desperation and heart-warming hope. I can still find poverty and mind-boggling wealth.
I'm still on the look out for the neighborhood skunk that seems to follow me no matter which country or state in which I live.
My jungle looks less like rain forest and more like concrete.
My greatest adventure yet has gone full throttle while in this concrete jungle. Something I've never really understood, but tried to empathize with has become my daily struggle for months now. Some adventures are fun and exciting. However for this one, I'll quote Reepicheep from C. S. Lewis' The Voyage of the Dawn Treader and say, "Adventures are never fun while you're having them." It's one of those adventures. I'm sure I'll look back on this season (one I hope will eventually end....very soon), and marvel of how God carried me through this and how He orchestrated this season of my little life into His big plan. I started counseling because of it. I just couldn't take it anymore. I said nothing. I prayed. I questioned. Mostly, I just cried. After not too long, I met a great group of girls that felt like the family I had in Honduras. I still said nothing. We had a Bible study every week and things were looking up. However, my issues ran pretty deep and when the Bible study ran its course, my daily struggle came back in full swing. I thought about moving back to Minnesota, as if Chicago were somehow the source of problems. I knew I would only be taking the same problems with me. So to counseling I went. My counselor had me take a bunch of questionnaires and tells me I scored pretty high for depression and mild to moderate for trauma. Counseling was one of those things I didn't want to do because that meant there was something wrong with me. I felt it was my personal white flag, screaming, "I can't handle my own life decisions." This is ridiculous and I should never feel that way, but I felt that way.
Kim, my counselor, has helped me learn a lot about myself. Things like how I will give everyone grace and the benefit of the doubt, except myself. Or how I'm not super great at processing negative emotions. Or how in friendships and relationships I will almost always put more focus on the other person. It's not because I'm a great listener and sooooooo self-less, but because I'm scared that if I share myself or Heaven-forbid become vulnerable in the friendship, that friend will leave (because of another lie: everyone leaves). And I will have given them a special part of me. That hurts. I'm not an anomaly in this. Some react by just not making friends at all. Not me, I want ALL the friends because extrovert and people are great and I want them to feel loved and heard, and known. I'll listen to your struggles until we're both blue in the face. However, I will not voluntarily offer much of myself because I don't think you care or don't care enough. You might care a little, but not enough to stay or to hang on. Again, it's ridiculous and I should never feel that way, but I felt that way.
What's the point of all this? I'm not really sure. Maybe it's to practice being vulnerable on an extreme level. Maybe it's just to process. Maybe it's to let you know I'm not perfect and I struggle. Maybe it's to let you know if you're in an adventure like me, if you struggle too, you're not alone. It's okay to talk to people you trust. It's okay to trust. It's okay to go to counseling. It's okay to heal. We can struggle together. Whatever kind of jungle you're in, wherever your adventures take you, I hope you know you're not alone and that God loves you and He loves me. However distant God or people feel, God hasn't checked out on us yet, and He won't do it now. Maybe one day we'll meet up and laugh again and talk about our crazy adventures that we had and remind each other how God carried us through them. Until then, I hope you hang on too.
Kim, my counselor, has helped me learn a lot about myself. Things like how I will give everyone grace and the benefit of the doubt, except myself. Or how I'm not super great at processing negative emotions. Or how in friendships and relationships I will almost always put more focus on the other person. It's not because I'm a great listener and sooooooo self-less, but because I'm scared that if I share myself or Heaven-forbid become vulnerable in the friendship, that friend will leave (because of another lie: everyone leaves). And I will have given them a special part of me. That hurts. I'm not an anomaly in this. Some react by just not making friends at all. Not me, I want ALL the friends because extrovert and people are great and I want them to feel loved and heard, and known. I'll listen to your struggles until we're both blue in the face. However, I will not voluntarily offer much of myself because I don't think you care or don't care enough. You might care a little, but not enough to stay or to hang on. Again, it's ridiculous and I should never feel that way, but I felt that way.
What's the point of all this? I'm not really sure. Maybe it's to practice being vulnerable on an extreme level. Maybe it's just to process. Maybe it's to let you know I'm not perfect and I struggle. Maybe it's to let you know if you're in an adventure like me, if you struggle too, you're not alone. It's okay to talk to people you trust. It's okay to trust. It's okay to go to counseling. It's okay to heal. We can struggle together. Whatever kind of jungle you're in, wherever your adventures take you, I hope you know you're not alone and that God loves you and He loves me. However distant God or people feel, God hasn't checked out on us yet, and He won't do it now. Maybe one day we'll meet up and laugh again and talk about our crazy adventures that we had and remind each other how God carried us through them. Until then, I hope you hang on too.
