Yesterday, I remembered where I've been.
I looked over pictures of myself at nineteen. At twenty. So young. Living alone in Cambodia trying to navigate anorexia and bulimia and God and culture and myself. She looks weary. And tired. And scared. Yet, present. And bold. And alive. And I'm proud of her.
That was the most difficult, most trying time of my life thus far. And five years later, my life seems pretty calm. Which I'm happy for. Excited about. Glad to be healing. Glad to be on this side of that mountain. So grateful.
And yet, I long.
I don't long for the mountain.
I don't long for those trials.
I don't long for separation and loneliness and desperation.
But I do long for that passion that keeps life interesting.
I miss being challenged.
I miss being in college.
I miss bumping into someone in an unlikely circumstance and having a meaningful discussion.
I miss thoughtful classroom lessons.
I miss teachers who were mentors who were friends.
I miss writing for the school newspaper.
I miss being part of larger community where I felt invigorated.
Today, my life involves being newly married.
And so happy.
Going to work.
Savoring weekends with dear friends.
Having down time.
My life is a bit more predictable.
And I'm all about peace.
But I'm also all about a challenge.
I fear playing small.
What will my next great challenge be?
Will I push harder at learning guitar?
And become a rockstar diva?
Write another book?
Start something new?
Join a different discussion?
Move to a brand new place?
Try on a new profession? (he hem...a.k.a."find" a profession)
Will I build something?
Who can I help?
Where can I be used?
I'm seeking a challenge.