I was sorting through some boxes the other day when I came across a letter my dad wrote to me in 1992. He had written it from his hotel room outside Washington D.C. on one of his many trips. It was dated August 1. I didn’t receive it until 2000, on the day I left for Argentina to be an exchange student for a year. The date happened to be August 1. He had been waiting for the right moment to give it to me, and exactly eight years later the moment came.
When I read the letter on the plane, I understood why that moment was so appropriate. I was feeling nervous and apprehensive about the year ahead of me. I had no idea then that I would experience possibly the most difficult year of my life. I didn’t know that I would live with four different families instead of one; I didn’t know that I would experience psychological oppression, verbal abuse and manipulation at the hands of my various host parents; I didn’t know that I would feel betrayed more than once by people I considered to be my friends; and I didn’t know that I would fall in love for the first time. The letter was, to say the least, timely.
”I wish we could have had a video of what we went through with you and your newly acquired skill of swimming! You have to learn how to face new situations and learning new things. Sometimes you put up such a fight and you give way to fear.”
That summer in 1992, my mom, who is as meticulous as she is patient, taught me how to swim. I had a perfect breaststroke but I refused to swim in the deep end of the pool because I didn’t trust myself to be able to float. I had this unreasonable fear of sinking and it caused me to dig my heels in and refuse to jump. All of the other kids were having a blast around me, diving and somersaulting from the board as if it was the easiest thing, and here I was, crippled and in a foul mood. I stood there on the edge of the pool screaming at my exasperated mother who was in the water trying to get me to jump when suddenly my dad picked me up and threw me in without warning. I didn’t have time to protest or react, I just relied on my instinct and started swimming.
”Once you were in the water we couldn’t even get you out - you were so excited about swimming in the deep end and jumping off the board!!! Something I will never forget is what you said to me after this. You said this to me from the bottom of your heart - ‘Thanks for throwing me in the pool.’ ”
This incident has since become a metaphor for my life. That pool was the first of many, and even though it wasn’t my dad who threw me in each time, there was always Someone nudging me in. I grew up in a loving and stable home and I consider myself to have been a well-adjusted child who later transitioned into a relatively peaceful adolescent. I don’t think I was insecure in the way most people interpret the word, but I was often shy and scared, especially when confronted with new things. There are lots of things I didn’t do or try out for because I was scared of being bad at them. I played it safe all through high school and college, relying on my ability to get good grades to provide me with whatever affirmation I needed.
”You know Annika, there will be many new and scary things you will be thrown into in this life and you need to know God will never let you go under - you will always rise above as you trust in Him and don’t give in to fear.....I wanted to share this with you because I think you will benefit from this in the future.”
My dad had no idea then how prophetic his words were. Or maybe he did. I was seven when he wrote the letter, 15 when I received it, and now at 27 I find myself crying as I read it again. The past six, seven years have pushed me out of my comfort zone time and time again and as I look back, I can’t believe all the situations I’ve thrown myself into, head-first.
I’ve interned at an NGO in Ghana; moved to Spain; put up with all manners of ill behaved adults and dysfunctional work environments; bought a business; gone bankrupt; moved to Sweden; stepped in mid-term as a high school teacher without any experience; traveled with students by bus, train and airplane; been invited to speak at various seminars on topics I am not wholly familiar with, and the list goes on.
So the question struck me: When did the transition from shy, scared girl to extroverted go-getter happen? There is no exact moment in time; it’s been a process. But somewhere along the line I stopped being cautious and started being impulsive. I started raising my hand and saying yes to things without thinking through, because if I did give myself time to ponder, I would yield to fear and self-doubt and back away. So far, this modus operandi has worked well for me. Once I say yes and commit to something, I’m forced to rise to the occasion, and I have yet to fall flat on my face. Instead, I’ve grown and matured, experienced tremendous things, met fantastic people, and received inspiration and vision for the future.
The friends I have now sometimes wonder at my impulsiveness and my propensity to grow restless and pack up and move someplace new. Most of them don’t understand my reasons, but they have also never known the shy and scared version of me. They just see who I am now and are puzzled. Truthfully though, I still struggle with fear. There are still things that I am absurdly reticent about doing, and for no good reason. Things that would be no-brainers for most people. The self-confident go-getter is still very much the shy and scared girl at times, but thankfully I serve a God who is faithful to complete the good work He started. So there is hope for me yet.
