Captivated Me

I’m here! Miles away from home. Living in the land of perpetual sunshine. Attending USC. Registered for the course load of my dreams. And in the midst of it all, the only coherent thoughts I seem to have are: How can this be real? How can this be possible? Is it even happening?

Until two months ago, I would have never considered moving out-of-state this fall, least of all to the west coast. (I should note that I have no frank malice against the west coast except the fact that my family isn’t here, and thus I had simply planned to stay where they are, which is in the Midwest.) True, I had learned about and applied for Keck’s Global Medicine program at the end of May, but surely I had submitted my application too late and would not be accepted. Surely it was a silly pipe dream, a fantasy. Surely something would go wrong and my hopes were raised for naught. Not.

Here I am two months later, diving heart-first into a new home, a different lifestyle, and a fresh semester of school all at once. On the one hand, I’m thoroughly overwhelmed. I feel very much like the proverbial fish out of water – like all I want to do is run home to Minnesota where family and friends await, just as a fish exposed to our air desperately attempts to flop back into the sea. My nerves are frayed, I know very few people here, I miss every aspect of home, I haven’t been a full-time student in two years, I’m way outside my comfort zone, and let’s be honest, the contrast in climate between MN and CA at the moment is essentially zero. So why did I come? How can I possibly succeed? And an even more disturbing question comes to mind…Is it too late to turn back?

On the other hand, I have an inexplicable, indefinable sense of normalcy here – like there is nowhere else on earth for me to be. Something about this whole series of unfathomable events just fits. Three phenomenal friends in the area helped me get settled (each showing up with impeccable timing), I’ve moved into my new place without trouble and have the nicest roommate imaginable, I know a bit now about where things are on campus and in this sprawling city (at least geographically, not yet from experience), and after orientation I find that the GM program is, in as few words as possible, ideal beyond my wildest speculations. What’s more, going home would be far too easy. To the loud, doubting protests mentioned above, a small whisper rebuts: Maybe, just maybe, this could be something beautiful.

As I continue to process this move, I question how often we deem things as “impossible” and then refrain entirely from pursuing them. Or maybe we get our toes wet to see how the water feels, launch our boat into shallow port, then ultimately decide to jump ship before the vessel even has a chance to set sail for higher, more promising seas. How ready we are to cower at the obstacles before us instead of imagining what may be in store beyond them. (Sometimes, we even construct the obstacles ourselves just to justify bailing.) We’d rather altogether avoid the risk of failure or rejection than be inspired and propelled forward by the underlying potential in our circumstances.

In my case, I admit that the risks seem enormous in scope relative to the faint glimmers of possibility that shine through my doubt. But despite the discrepancy in perceived size between the two, I’m inclined to believe that the latter – the potential – actually weighs much more and is very much worth its weight. Let us remember that anything is possible with God on our side, that any decision or trial or situation can be understood from multiple angles, and that a simple rearrangement of the term impossible allows us to read the same word as: I’m possible. And friends, today is full of possible.

Smiles and sunshine.

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“In a world of possibilities, imagine yourself as one.”

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For the past month, I have been struggling mightily with fear.  You see, around four weeks ago I was blessedly – and very unexpectedly! – accepted into a Master’s program five states away.  Dozens of phone calls, e-mails, and logistical considerations later, everything appears to be in order.  Great, right?  This is a wonderful, unique opportunity to build on my undergrad.  It’s a brilliant mechanism of exposure to the graduate-level coursework that I hope to one day encounter in medical school.  It means a year of studying global health issues in a pervasively warm, sunny climate.  The very prospect of this experience is brimming with the promise of new-ness: new places, new faces, new knowledge, new insight, new (and very welcome) challenges.  The Tiana that I was two years ago would not have hesitated to jump sky-high at this chance; she wouldn’t have thought twice.  And yet, today’s Tiana came within an inch of declining.  How could this be?

The simple answer, to reiterate, is fear: fear of failure, fear of change, fear of making the wrong choice, fear of missing precious moments in the lives of my loved ones, fear of the cost, fear of being forgotten.  From a logical standpoint, most of these concerns are completely unsubstantiated, absurd.  Emotionally, though, it has all felt so severe that it borders on sheer terror (and thereby threatens to induce complete paralysis).  Such fear, when entertained even in the slightest, is all-consuming.  It necessitates and perpetuates its own existence by forcing the fearer to ruminate day and night on the pessimism so intrinsic to its nature.  We continually ask: “What if this?  What if that?  What is going to go wrong?  When will the other shoe drop?”

The old adage – “If you feed your fears, your faith will starve” – rings clear and true in times like these.  For doubt and fear so often eclipse hope and trust, preventing any glimpse of a silver lining and extinguishing a dream like the wind does a candle.  As much as our spirits want to rise up in hope and say, “This is possible!”, we often allow experience or concrete pragmatism or this or that to discourage us, to overpower and ultimately stifle the anticipation of possibility.  But we must remember that our old saying has an addendum, a flip side.  We must remember that the reverse is also true, and in some cases we must re-train ourselves to think and dream accordingly.  For fueling our faith will surely starve our fears.

For me, this equates to reminding myself that it’s possible to have both roots and wings.  That leaving home doesn’t mean uprooting or demolishing the foundation that I have here.  That even with poor decisions in the past, God hasn’t let me fall on my face; He’s caught me.  That life is change and we never quite know what’s going to happen next, which is an exciting and beautiful reality!  By bearing these things in mind, the old Tiana is slowly resurfacing, or maybe she’s just waking up from a long nap.

So two weeks from today, I go!  I’m diving wholeheartedly into school again, and despite the countless variables and questions and fears (which, thank the Lord, are waning on a daily basis), I refuse to hesitate any longer.  This is not the time to play it safe or choose the comforts of home over the vulnerabilities of the great unknown.  It’s the time to trust the doors that God’s opened and take the first step, even when I can’t see the entire staircase.

You can have roots and wings.

The gorgeous Melissa is my cousin, so I have known her since her diaper days. Can I just say what an absolute privilege it has been to be a part of her life through grade school and now through high school. She has an effortless, easy personality and a knack for telling hysterical stories, but she is also very intelligent and driven. In the future, she has her sights set on a career in sports law! I am beyond confident that there are unbelievable things in store for her!

We were able to do Liss’s entire session at our family vacation destination in Millerville, MN.  Millerville is a small town just outside of Alexandria where clear lakes abound, the water sports are unparalleled, and the perfection of the stars and sunshine cannot be described with words. The best feature, though, is that the entire family is there spending time together. There were so many photogenic locations around the town, and with an even more photogenic model, we had a blast with this shoot!  Shout out to Melanie, Liss’s younger sister, who assisted throughout.

I think too much.  I took the MCAT more than one week ago, and I still catch myself trying to count the questions I may have answered wrong and use that value to obtain some kind of idea about what my score will be.  My sister is fixing to go into labor, and I am trying to strategize an almost minute-by-minute outline for how I’ll get to the hospital if I’m at work, or out with a friend, or in Amery visiting my other sister when I get the call that my new niece/nephew is coming into the world.

Anyone with me?  I know I’m not alone here.  We think and plan, we strategize, analyze, criticize (mostly ourselves), deduce, and otherwise imbue our minds with stressful matters over which we have very little control.  If we do have a say in the matter, that’s another question.  But if it is out of our hands entirely, I submit that we need review our process of analysis (i.e. icksnay the process through and through, or at least tone it down significantly).  For me, this takes prayer.  Prayer with a concerted effort to pause and redirect my thinking towards more important, pleasant, and encouraging things in my life – faith, family, friends, hope, you get the idea.  The simplest of blessings are often those that save me from myself.

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Be still my soul, my mind, my heart,

From morning light to moonshine start.

In rain or sun, through drought and storm,

In winter’s chill and summer’s warm.

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As waters rage and clouds roll in,

Let deepest hope be found in Him.

Have peace when thunder boldly roars;

Strong winds destroy, but love restores.

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In life’s confusion, lift your eyes

To Him whose hands crafted the skies.

For He has conquered every fear;

He calms the seas and dries each tear.

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Written 02/2013

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“Best of all is it to preserve everything in a pure, still heart, and let there be for every pulse a thanksgiving, and for every breath a song.”  -Conrad Gessner

Anyone who knows me well knows how much I love the holidays!  This Thanksgiving, I was so blessed to be able to spend the day relaxing at home with my mom and dad, sisters, brother-in-law, and nephew.  It’s exceptionally rare for us all to be in the same place at the same time these days, which makes the holiday all the more special!  What’s more, early in the day the weather was gorgeous enough to have the windows open and a soft, cool breeze circulating through the house.  Then later on, it started snowing!  Pure perfection.

On the menu, we had a main course including the traditional turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, etc.  And I had the privilege of preparing a snack and dessert!  I found a wonderful little formula for cinnamon-roasted almonds on Pinterest, and then used a solid old-fashioned sweet potato pie recipe to round out my food preparation duties.

As always, here is the endeavor as documented pictorially:

For those who have been e-mailing “what’s new?”, here’s the scoop (in a nutshell)!

Fall breezes in Minnesota are ever-so-slowly transitioning into winter chills, but what a beautiful fall it’s been!  Having spent this season in California last year, the imagery of bright, autumn colors set against a radiant blue sky had dulled slightly in my mind.  Thus, this year I had the pleasure of looking at the gorgeous leaves and trees through a new lens (so to speak).  The colors seemed more vivid than ever, the tickling wind more pleasant.  Each sight and sound seemed new.  And then, a thought.  Isn’t this how we should experience the world with each new day?

Personally, far too much has taken place since my last post, so I must limit my updates to the recent past.  My nephew is now 16 months old.  16 MONTHS!  And cuter every day, if I do say so.  With his increasing cuteness, he is also increasingly conniving, though, and he constantly finds new ways to avoid getting in trouble.  Method one, the pouty lip.  If that doesn’t work, he goes for either the scrunchy nose face or the big hug.  Last resort is signing “sorry” in ASL, which usually gets him off the hook.  Adorable.  I had the pleasure of doing a photo session for him and my sister (unfortunately my brother-in-law, aka B.I.L, had to work that day and couldn’t be there), and a couple of the images can be found below.

In other news, I’ve been working as both a scribe and a photographer recently secondary to my duties as auntie (which supersedes all), and what a blessing it is to be doing two things that I love and getting paid for it!  I didn’t know what to expect with moving home from California.  I had no job lined up, no huge savings to live from, essentially no plan whatsoever, and God has completely provided for every need I have.  I completed a great Microbiology course at the U of M, recovered from my talus fracture and am able to run again (though I still can’t re-start kickboxing yet), I’m taking up guitar and re-taking up painting, and I get to see my family a ton!  Joys and trials abound in life these days, but I’m so thankful for every moment, and I can’t wait to see what the future holds!

Smiles, sunshine, and blessings to you, wherever and whoever you are!

The fishy scent of salty sea tickled my nostrils as I strolled down the weathered (but sturdy) Fisherman’s Wharf in Monterey, CA last weekend.  For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe deeply and peacefully.  Only two hours earlier had I decided on a last-minute road trip to the coastal hotspot for a day of rejuvenation (with some time spent studying sprinkled between moments of excitement).  I was last in Monterey in the fall of 2011 when my parents visited from Minnesota, but we had little opportunity to tour the city, deciding instead to drive further south to Carmel and Big Sur.  Since that autumn visit, Monterey itself has been at the top of my to-tour list.

There’s something about the ocean that blows my mind every time I see it.  To be standing in the midst of a force so powerful invigorates, but to see the waters so calm (as was the case last weekend) soothes the soul in a “be still my heart” kind of way.  It was just what I needed to recharge that Saturday, and I spent the day walking.  Walking and observing.  Okay, okay: walking, observing, and taking pictures.  I started at the Wharf, passing slowly and deliberately by each restaurant, each boutique.  I contemplated a clam chowder bread-bowl and a slice of homemade fudge, but elected instead to continue my window shopping.  Other Monterey-goers bustling to and fro did not distract from the stunning, weathered ambiance of the dock.  It was surprisingly comforting to be one anonymous face in a crowd of strangers – obligated to nothing and no one, no e-mails to send, no phone calls to make.  Oftentimes it’s nice to fly under the radar.  From the Wharf, I made the three-quarter-mile walk to the famous Cannery Row, snapping photos and pausing to take in the panoramic bay views along the way.

After a jaunt through the pedestrian-rich Row, I proceeded to try to find a restaurant that my boss had recommended to me that morning – Compagno’s.  Apparently, this place has a phenomenal assortment of larger-than-life sandwiches, sides, and desserts (of which my boss recommended the Meatball Sandwich, Broccoli Salad, and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cake).  I found myself trudging a half-mile up what I swear was a hill on the outskirts of Monterey set on a 45-degree incline.  From the stares directed my way from cars passing by, I’d say that I looked either like I was about to faint (given how tired my legs were!) or like a hilariously lost tourist.  Probably both.  I even tried to play off my situation by calling my sister to look a little less adrift, but I’m not sure how that worked.  Either way, after about a 20 minute walk, I called of the search for Compagno’s and headed back downhill, giggling at myself the whole way.  Since I didn’t find the restaurant that day, I consider it incentive to go back to the bay soon!

It was about 4-o’clock and, not having eaten since breakfast, I stopped desperately by a Peet’s coffee shop that I had passed at one point during my journey.  Pasta salad and a nonfat espresso macchiato hit the spot, and I enjoyed each from a patio perched directly above the bay.  A chill began to accompany the previously warm breeze, so I started on the path along the shore back to my car.  More pictures were taken, and a welcome exhaustion set in from the long walk.  I wish I could have lingered at the Wharf a little longer with sunshine on my face, wind toying with my hair, and the soft bell-toll sound of ropes striking their sailboat’s mast filling my ears.  But alas, my blissful, restful day in Monterey had to end.  The long drive home gave me ample opportunity to ponder and reflect on all-things-life.

I’ve come to relish these moments of solitude, these fleeting occasions when life stands still.  They are few and far between, to be sure, but they are invaluable to the maintenance of sanity.

Times of rest have been lacking to me this past year.  I feel so constantly on the move that I dread to think about what I’ve missed in pursuit of the next adventure.  The “wheels keep on turning” in my head, so to speak, and I have yet to master the art of silencing my mind in order to truly live in the moment.  What’s curious is that, while my mind can be going a mile a minute, it doesn’t feel like I’m getting anywhere fast (unless you consider “Mental Exhaustion” a destination).  Further, in trying to think about everything – every person I want to get in touch with, every task on my to-do list, every errand I need to run – I often forget the very thing that I’m trying to figure out.  I chalk it up to a quest for perfection that I began as a little girl and have yet to accept as an illusion.  That’s right, I’m in denial.  Blissfully so, in some cases, but then it hits me.  I am imperfect.  I have weaknesses.  I am a work in progress.

Secondary to this desire for perfection is a pervasive fear that I will fail either myself or others around me.  So I often play it safe by trying to do too much and depriving myself of balance.  I over-work.  I over-think (hence the mental exhaustion referenced above).  I want to prove that I’m of value to someone, that I’m capable of something, anything.  What a terrible weight to bear.  Some of you, maybe a lot of you, know what I mean.

From these acknowledgements of my silent fears and vain attempts sprung forth a revelation.  That God doesn’t want me to be perfect.  Perfect is boring.  He wants me to be me.  Free.  Not bound by expectations.  Not stifled by fear.  Not chained by the all-go, no-quit, full-steam-ahead pace that society steps to.  I am free to set my own pace.  I am even free to stand still and rest.  To enjoy each breath He gives me instead of feeling like I hold my breath all the time.  This, my friends, is good news.  Now, I just need to have patience with myself as the Lord teaches me to live and walk in this truth.

And just in case you were wondering, I spent a grand total of zero minutes studying.  Zippo!  Well, at least my intentions were good…