An unbeatable summer

Here are some things I’ve learned/realized/acknowledged/concluded this summer:

I do indeed have roots. I’ve lived in several different places and I’ve loved (almost) all of them but not felt especially at home in any particular one. Depending on my frame of mind, it could take me 20 minutes to answer the question “Where are you from?”. But spending time with the CFC* team from Potsdam who came to help out at English Camp** this summer filled a hole in my heart I didn’t know I had. You could say that Potsdam is where everything started. It’s where my dad got saved and discipled, it’s where my parents attended university, it’s where they met and got married. It’s where I was born. And now, nearly 30 years later, I’m meeting the children of my parents’ best friends from that time and finding that we connect really well on a personal level, that we flow really well on a ministry level, and that we have a common understand of local church and Kingdom culture. In short, we have the same DNA. And I think it’s because we come from the same place. Very few times in my life have I experienced such an immediate and genuine knitting of hearts. That kind of stuff is meaningful to me. I guess you can take the girl out of Potsdam, but you can’t take Potsdam out of the girl. 

The CFC team (photo cred: Jeannine Pringle)

My grandmother meant more to my grandfather than I ever knew. During the few days I spent with him, most of the conversation revolved around her. He’s a simple man and he’s never been expressive about his feelings, but now, almost two years after her passing, he’s telling me how much he misses her, how beautiful she was to him, and I realize that the pain of losing her is much greater than what I gave him credit for. The house is still full of her. The closets are still full of her clothes, the bathroom is still full of her perfumes and toiletries; she is everywhere. Yet he’s so lonely, and it breaks my heart. I’m thankful to have seen another side of my grandfather. He’s a really good man, and I love him dearly. 

I'm still his favorite granddaughter

I love my Italian family. This is not a new development, it’s just that I don’t get to spend that much face time with them, and each time I do, I’m reminded of how crazy, dysfunctional and lovable we all are. Between us there’s no b.s., we don’t pretend we’re something we’re not, and when we’re together, it’s a Thanksgiving dinner. Or, as it was this time, a wedding.

Wedding rehearsal

In Boston with Gian and Matt

Traveling by myself is no fun. Bags get heavy, layovers get long, and not having anyone to share the boredom with is…well….boring. Normally this would be an excellent time to do so some legit reading, but when my jet lagged brain is in an airport fog, it’s only good for taking in photo spreads. So instead of reading the books I’ve packed with me, I buy fashion magazines, walk around aimlessly, and wish I had wifi for my phone so I could at least “connect” with somebody on the other side of wherever. 

I need to move to New York City. It’s an idea I’ve been entertaining since last summer, but I’ve doubted whether, after several years of living in a small town and having everything so accessible and easy, I could make it in a city like New York. But after spending five days with my brother who lives there, I am determined to settle down there for a time. I’ve got to say, the city has definitely cleaned up its act since I was a kid. It was not at all as overwhelming as I’d imagined; walking the streets felt completely familiar, and jogging in Central Park felt totally routine. Curiously, out of all the awesome things my brother and I did, one of the greatest highlights for me was jogging - once in Central Park and once along the Hudson River. I have never been on such glorious runs in my life. That kind of thing makes a place livable to me, and I’m not even a disciplined runner. It pretty much sealed the deal. Now all I need is to land a job that pays well enough to finance a loft apartment in Chelsea… 

Washington Square Park as viewed from NYU where my brother attends.

Coney Island. Hard to believe these two pictures are of the same city.

I feel out of place at rooftop bars. Granted, I’ve only been to one, but it was loud, it was crowded, and it was pointless. My brother and I and our friend Josh decided to go all in with the NYC experience, so we booked a room at the Empire Hotel across from Lincoln Center that reportedly had a hopping rooftop bar. I was all excited about it - you know, living the high life for a day and all that. So I put on my little black dress and my little black heels and took the elevator up to the top floor. But as soon as we walked in, I felt out of place. The space was packed with the young, beautiful and upwardly mobile, but since I wasn’t there to schmooze, flirt or hook up with anyone, I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. So we ordered Long Island Ice Teas and took selfies. 

The view from the rooftop bar of the Empire Hotel. 

This one doesn't even need a caption.

My brother is my best friend. We read each other’s thoughts, know each other’s tastes, have each other’s backs. He lifts up the people around him. His humor is quick and sharp, and he makes me laugh. His talent makes me want to showcase him yet protect him from the world that will inevitably try to take advantage of him. He brings out the performer in me, and he makes me look good (or is it the Instagram filters?). I could easily envy his charisma and feel the need to compete with his charm (and maybe I do, just a teency weency bit), but mostly I’m content to sit back and enjoy the show that is Daniel. With a guy like him on the stage, I don’t mind never being more than an audience member. I know he sees me. 

*Christian Fellowship Center in Madrid, NY (http://www.cfconline.org/)

**English Camp in Alhaurin de la Torre, Spain put on by Centro Cristiano de Alhaurin