Summer Growing Pains

This morning, I decided I wasn’t going to work until I had done all the things I wanted to do. I went for a run, I had an extended quiet time with Jesus, I read chapters of To Kill a Mockingbird and A Reason for God. And now, in an eerily empty, calmingly still house, I am writing. Finally. Ideally, I would do all of this every morning before my day really began rolling. Alas, it’s already far past noontime, and I am learning that it just isn’t realistic for a day-to-day regimen.

I’m always excited to return to Charleston, and more importantly, to return to the people I love the most - the Compton Clan. While most people find authentic friendships and discover their identity in college, I struggled to replicate at Roanoke something I already knew intimately in high school. When Roanoke was hard, I used to crave time back at home. I needed it to replenish me and to assure me that I had real roots and community. But when I packed my belongings in D.C. over a month ago, it was the least eager I’ve been to come home.

What?! Jessica, the girl who obnoxiously talks about “the best city in the world” didn’t want to go back? I know, I know. It wasn’t because my love for home had lessened. It’s just that I have had so many enriching experiences – traveling, working in a professional environment, not living in a dorm room or depending on a meal plan. Somewhere in this past year, I grew up. I think like an adult, I work (kind of) like an adult, I interact with other adults…I am an adult, and that’s a good thing. But I am currently living in the house of my childhood, and after a year of independence and freedom, not responsible for anyone else’s schedule or needs other than my own, living with my family has been a rockier adjustment than I anticipated.

It’s still a cheery, bustling mad house here at 964 Tall Pine Road, but I, in the egotism and amnesia produced by years away at college, had forgotten what that was like. My tactic to make a daily list and knock it out bullet by bullet has proved frustratingly unproductive. Focus is unattainable and distractions are incessant; despite the numerous rooms in this house, there is no quiet abode. My stuff is never where I put it, hurricanes destroy anything I clean, and I feel like I can’t get a lick of personal undertakings accomplished.

What happened to the regular blogger? The disciplined student? The task oriented worker?

She gave herself up for her family. It took a few weeks, but I have re-learned family life. I needed to return to Barney’s preschool lessons of sharing and sibling kindness. I was no longer living amongst the polite formalities of platonic, respectful roommates. I am with my family - not just any relatively normal American family, but the Comptons, whose sharing policies are borderline socialist.  My clothes, my hair brush, my face wash and purse and even underwear are no longer mine at all! I go shopping in Georgia and Rosa Marie’s closet, and they check out mine.  Cain drives the Jeep, and I am without a car. Hoffa will mow the lawn at Sugah Cain for hours, leaving Mama with...pretty much everything else. So much for personal schedules; I must let go and move with the natural ebb and flow of Compton life. I am stretching, rediscovering the flexibility I must practice in a large family.

Last semester I learned what life as a young, single professional is like. The day is full, but it's not too complicated, and you're aware of all that must be done. Now I am experiencing a different kind of "internship" altogether. Ultimately, I am my mother’s apprentice. I am learning how to juggle a full work week, my own interests and to-do’s, and the needs of five other autonomous individuals. Some days I work at Old South, other days I help Mama with house projects. No day is ever the same, and you can't prepare for the left field curve balls. Motherhood, even when all of the chickadees are pretty much grown up, is damn hard. Mama is the most giving, sacrificial person I know, and I am trying to emulate her. In some ways, I am doing alright.

But I’m 21, and I can’t break my self-centeredness. Aside from things that must be done - the Fulbright and Rotary scholarship applications linger, English Seminar summer reading is rather lengthy, and I haven’t even begun the TEFL online class I plan on taking– there are still things I really want to do this summer for my personal development and enjoyment. Train for a half marathon, pleasure read, swing dance, rock climb, serve, hang out with friends…

What has perturbed me the most is my inability to sit down and write. At the end of the IJM internship, we did a values seminar and took a ten question speed quiz in efforts to reveal our most immediate values. Two of my answers stood out to me:

1. You are covered on the front of a magazine. What does the title say?

Travel Writing Teacher Covers 6 Continents

2. If you had two extra hours every day, what would you do with those 14 hours a week?

Write.

How is it that this summer, with oodles more margin in my schedule, I have only written two blog posts? I like writing, it's evidently a value I esteem and want to do, and I’ll only become better with practice. I have so many stories to share; writing about backpacking consumed my thoughts on the trail, yet have you heard about my trip? I so often want to apologize for my inconsistency to you, readers, but really I should apologize to myself. I think the reason I haven't written more is that writing, real writing - descriptive, riveting, polished – is hard. It is a craft that requires discipline and concentration and rather significant chunks of time. I have prioritized my family, work, and friends over it, which are significantly easier to allocate time to.

Today has been so rejuvenating, and it has reminded me of the importance of taking time for oneself. Myers-Briggs once reported that I am half extrovert, half introvert, and I have been doing myself a disservice lately by neglecting the time I need by myself. Boundaries must be established. I’m still not certain how or where to redraw them, but time rations will be changing. Despite my "family first" mentality, these interests of mine deserve a high priority, too. Somewhere in the stretching, between the demands of home life and the discoveries and adventures of young adulthood, I will find what fits.

Charleston - okay, America - the Beautiful

There’s an old conceited saying that I’m rather fond of.

Charleston is a peninsula where the Ashley and Cooper Rivers come together to form the Atlantic Ocean.

Charleston really is the most beautiful city in the world. All semester, my new friends in Perugia had to put up with me boasting, both in English and Italian, about my hometown. When we met someone new and began talking about travel or where we were from, I would inevitably pipe in, “You should visit Charleston, South Carolina. È la città migliore nel mondo. It’s the best city in the world.” It kind of became a running joke, but I’m serious. Home is not the best just because it is a comfortable security blanket, surrounding me with dear friends and family. It is the best because every natural backdrop is stunning and the people are friendly and the weather is perfect…and my heart is never quite as content or quiet as when I am sitting on a bench looking out over the marsh.

Before I left for Italy, my advisor gave me this bell curve to demonstrate the emotional roller coaster of a study abroad student.

It looked way too scientific to be accurate, with the honeymoon stage, culture shock, and adjustment; life isn’t that predictable, I thought, but it surprised me. I remember week by week passing in Italy and comparing my experiences to that graph. It’s like I was following the predictions of a growth chart right on target. I saw everything in Perugia through rose-colored glasses, until I did not. When life is different from the norm, no matter how easy or exciting it may be, it becomes challenging. I missed the luxuries of home, I missed Mama’s encouragement, I missed normality. Every day, I was blindsided by another ignorant American faux pas I made in Italy. On good days you laugh. On other days, you just get sick of it. Like the way Italians complain – no, that’s not right. They whine. Often. Nothing is ever as it should be, and these fully grown, supposed adults, yell at each other all the time. It got old. Eventually I adjusted to life in Perugia and the Italian way, though, and I learned to appreciate, adopt even, certain parts of their culture.

This time two weeks ago, I was on a plane returning to America. In the first forty-eight hours of being home, I embraced all of the things I had missed so much about Charleston. First, the weather. When I stepped off the plane, it was 70 degrees outside, and then remained perfectly humid, creeping into the 80s, for the next week. Plus the weatherman told me the temperature in Fahrenheit. Only in Charleston is it necessary to rock shorts in December.

Then, there are these views.

Which, by the way, I went to by driving directly in a car. Public transportation is great, but it does not – nor will it ever – beat a car. Back to the marsh. I do not tire of this view, and, given my jet lag, I was not tired in the morning, so I awoke early to watch the sunrise from the Pitt Street Bridge in the Old Village. The fog didn’t cooperate, but it’s still beautiful. It remins me of a naturally gorgeous woman still groggy from a deep night’s rest. She would be stunning with a little makeup, but she is already lovely. My heart melts for the radiance of the Lowcountry.

 The first person I saw that morning waved to and greeted me. He was some middle-aged man walking his dog, but he still said, “Good morning,” like any gentile southerner. Strangers have been saying hello every day since then. There’s a reason Charleston is the friendliest city in the country. The only time people wave in Italy is to get someone’s attention.

I’ve got a lot more luxuries to write about, but when I think about it, they’re not really limited to Charleston. So I concede. My hometown is still the best, but I just have a greater love for all of America now. Even the bad, commercialized, materialistic focus it has. I don’t care. I’m glad to be back. A month ago, I dreamt of the day when I could use a dryer again. It was as good as I imagined. Same goes for the dishwasher. Wow; what an invention. Other little indulgences include deliciously fruity, unseasonal food, like the first thing I ate when I landed in the Philadelphia airport.

That's right. That's a chain brand Chik-fil-a salad with all kinds of frutis that should not be available right now. It is also dark green. Not this insalata mista iceberg lettuce with one tomato nonsense.

That night, I unpacked my stuff, and there were drawers for my clothes and shelves for my books. Why? Because America has space! Lots and lots of uncramped room for all of our personal bubbles. Alright, I’m getting a little dramatic. But we do like things big. Like coffee.

Oh yeah. That is the smallest available cup of chain brand Starbucks Skinny Peppermint Mocha, accommodating the season and my American Splenda health whimsies.

The wireless on my laptop automatically connected and hasn’t dropped since. All I have to do to print something is press the button, and boom. There it is in the office. I slept in my own bed, on an amazingly comfortable, springless mattress. I ran for miles on paths because running is condoned in America. Then I ate fattening Christmas food, because that’s what you do in America in December, and I am American. You run, and then you eat; ‘tis the season. Those first few days, if there was a way to literally hug America, I would have. Italy is not even a third world country, but life is still so different.

Now that I’m back, I’m sorting cultures out. Some things are external, like not saying “Ciao” to people when I greet them. Mainly, though, the issues are inside. I have a greater appreciation for the American luxuries I have returned to, but I also miss the simplicity of Perugia. I have been shocked by the materialism of America. Yes, I admit it. I like to shop and buy practically anything I want. But I also realized how little one really needs, and I want to maintain the simpler lifestyle I adopted there.

I’m learning to take longer breaks and spend time with friends, something my roommate Abby really taught me to do as we lived together for a quarter of a year. I’m trying not to beat myself up for not being very productive, for not keeping a quiet time with God every day and not blogging in over two weeks. I’m trying to enjoy time with family and not freak out about my future. Surrounded by longtime friends with a deep and evident love for God, I’m figuring out how and when to (or not to) verbalize the Gospel. Italy didn’t wreck me into the faith crisis I experienced in Cambodia. I am Christ’s daughter forever, of this I am sure, and I never intentionally hid my relationship with Jesus. In fact, I relied on Him almost every day in Italy, and there were times when I saw Him do some really beautiful things. Maybe, though, I unconsciously tempered it.

The truth is, my whole semester in Perugia feels like a time vat right now, totally disconnected from any other experience I have ever had. I left Charleston in August with few responsibilities and no stress, and I returned to the same scenario, the same people, even the same weather, three and a half months later. It all feels comfortable and familiar, yet strangely odd. I am perplexed in ways I struggle to articulate. Being abroad definitely changed me and forced me to grow up a little more. Whatever happened, I do think it was for the better, but I’m still searching for some very important clarity keys.

I have a lot of questions and a lot of thoughts I’m obviously still working out, but I’ll keep you posted. Italian stories are definitely not over. I finally had the opportunity to experience day-to-day life in a foreign city, to live in another country. I made friends there I know I’ll keep, and together we set out on many adventurous weekends.

Could not have asked for a better semester with greater people.

Where did you go in the fall?

I will treasure these memories for the rest of my life. For now, though, I am struggling through “readjustment,” the last part of this strangely accurate bell curve. I am grateful to be back in this city and this country, for the happy familiarity of Charleston and the easiness of life in America. I am grateful to recuperate in the midst of hugs from longtime friends and the relaxing pace of winter-break nothingness. 

Summer 2013

Two years ago was the best summer of my life. 2011 will always be the summer. I graduated from high school and had the world by its tail. I was looking forward to the new circumstances of college. All of June I interned at Camp St. Christopher. Sure, I mopped kitchen floors and filled up water coolers, but I was also a part of an incredible camp staff and grew a lot in my relationship with God. Weekends consisted of swing dancing, grillouts at Oakland, and City Church.  Native Charlestonians a year older than me, those who had previously been mere acquaintances, returned from their first year of college, and deep friendships were kindled between us. That summer I gained an appreciation for who I am and where I am from.

But this summer. Dang. What a summer. It was totally different, but it, too, was very sweet. Forever sealed in my memory as the Family Summer. I am bound to a  special clan – the Compton Clan – and I never feel quite as whole as when I am back with them. You probably don’t even know exactly what this past summer looked like for me because I blogged about 20% as often as I wanted to. (Sorry). But I was living, and sometimes it’s hard to slow down enough to devote the necessary time to truly share all that has happened. So, just as I did at the end of April, let me give you a small recap of the highlights.

Love

I chose to come home this summer because I knew it very well could be the last summer at home with all of my siblings. Gosh I love them. I didn’t end up doing anything too intentional, but just being, living together. Eating dinner, going to church, exercising, watching movies. It was just really special. Most college students are itching to leave after a few weeks, but that never happened. I have loved snuggling with RoRie and being available to go to breakfast with Hoffa or run errands with Mama.

Travel

Cambodia – I wrote. A lot. My faith was challenged. A lot. I experienced the culturaeof Southeast Asia, and I loved it. Sitting on an ancient temple watching thousands of Buddhist monks parade by. Listening to Vuttah’s laugh. Meeting the most polite, genuine people. Playing with the cutest kids on earth. Witnessing dirt poverty and passing by real brothels.  Long, bouncy bus rides. Red clay roads. Unreal tropical beaches. Dry rice patties. Five extra pounds of steamed white rice and Blue Pumpkin Icecream. That is what I remember.

Costa Rica – Walking. Lots and lots and lots of walking. Adventurous excursions. Chill time. Unreal sunsets. Green on green foliage. Early sunsets and earlier sunrises. Ten hours of alarm clockless sleep. Getting creative in the kitchen. Casados. Mojitos. Expensive grocery stores. Real conversations with my siblings. Strangers becoming friends. Family Bible studies. Finding God on a mountain. The kindest people on earth. That is what I remember.

Cove Creek Camping – Every summer we move half of our possessions to a valley in the Pisgah Forest for four days and partake in some serious upscale camping. This summer, we outdid ourselves with a new Taj Mahal of tent canopies.

As I walked about ten feet behind, a passerthru’s kid pointed to our site and proclaimed, “Mom, that’s not real camping!”

“No,” I piped up, “but it sure is comfortable!”

Hiking. Skinny Dip Falls was my favorite this year. Always hiking. But also feeling like an actual grownup. And realizing all of the other kids are teenagers. Investing in relationships more than hiking. Hanging out in the lower meadow. Laughing at (and also being kind of concerned about) at my navigationally challenged sisters who turned a 45 minute trip from Ashville into a seven hour tour of the state. Frigidly floating down an icey river on an overcast day. (That was my awesome idea.) Fellowshipping in the truest sense of the word. That is what I remember.

Work

Waitressing – “Hey y’all! Welcome to Taco Mamacita. My name is Jessica, and I’ll be serving you this evening. Can I get you started with something to drink?

“Would you like an appetizer? Guacamole, Queso, Chips and Salsa?”

“ We have three types of salsa – red, verde, and mango.”

“Escabeche is pickled onion.”

“Chorizo is Mexican sausage. They’re kind of like bacon bits.”

“No, we don’t have normal beef tacos. Or quesadillas. Unless you want to spend $12.99.”

“I recommend the Mexican Street Corn. It is an ear of corn with chipotle cream sauce and parmesan cheese.”

“Yes, it’s spicy.”

“Y’all enjoy.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll have the manager fix that right away.”

“Can I get that out of your way?”

“How about some dessert? We have King of Pops!”

“Thanks for coming y’all! It was a pleasure serving you.”

These lines are an engrained part of my memory taking up a little too much space. I learned a lot and worked hard in a way I have not before. Shifts turned into weeks of work on work, all blending together. I messed up a whole lot, and then I just messed up occasionally. I improved, and I didn’t get fired. I have a new appreciation for the people that serve me when I go out to eat. I know how to tip 20% in my head now. I made and saved some money. I learned a new management style. I hung out with people I wouldn’t have otherwise, and I think I got to bless some of them, too. I wanted one summer to waitress, I got it, and now it’s out of my system. I’ll remember my waitress schpeel forever.

House – I also got to help Mama a lot with different odd jobs at home. We cleaned out the garage and the office at Old South. Filing and counting, a lil’ bit of Point of Sale stuff at the barn. I went grocery shopping for her at Trader Joe’s sometimes. Occasionally, I made dinner. It was so fun to spend time with her and help this saint out in whatever ways I could. I love her a lot, and I like to make her life easier.

IJM Application – I blame this application on my absence from the blogging world. But yes, it is done. I have applied to be an intern at International Justice Mission in the Spring, and you know what? It might just happen. I don’t want to get my hopes too high, but I’ve made it through the initial application, the survey questionnaire (it rolled onto the 9th page people), and a phone interview. I had pretty low expectations to begin with, but the more I invested in each step of the process, the more I really want to work here. So we shall see.

So here I am, sitting at gate A26 in the Philadelphia airport listening to old potbellied Italian men speaking their native tongue.  It’s impossible to smear the smile of excitement off my giddy, squinty-eyed face. The day has finally arrived; I am going to study in Italy. Hopefully, I’ll do a lot more than study. I am going to drink Italian wine and walk Italian roads and speak Italian. I’ll meet new friends and find a Nonna and dance. I will go on some of the best adventures of my life yet. I hope you’ll follow them.

Arrivaderci! 

Ride with RoRie

Rosa Marie asked me if we could go on a bike ride today.

"I want to exercise and go kind of fast, though. I need to cross train for running."

You got it sister. She anticipated going to the old village. She did not anticipate crossing the IOP connector and biking 18.5 miles. In fact, I didn't really, either, but once we got to Sullivan's, I had my mind set on making it over the Connector. So, with semi-flat tires and suspiciously perilous noises every time we switched gears, we peddled and kept on pushing. She said her legs haven't felt like this, like jello, since she first started running with Wando two years ago. Turns out there are a few physical activities that I can still do better -- including sweating. See below. Not pretty. 

Life in the Compton Clan

For the past three weeks, I have spent more consecutive time at home since senior year of high school. I think a lot of people – as they probably should – go to college and don’t ever return home for summer breaks. They discover independence and begin their adulthood, and that is a good thing. While I hope you’ve discovered by now that I am all for a good adventure, I also love Charleston. First there are the people - my family, lifelong best friends, and community at St. Andrews. I learned a while ago that people make any experience, and no one makes it quite like my fellow Charlestonians. We share a unique connection. We understand the true meaning of slow, lowcountry summer days, of jet skiing and kayaking and loving the water. Of salted watermelon, late nights on back porches, and guitars and worship nights. On Friday nights, we dance at Shaggin’ on the Pier. We know what thick humidity feels like, and we just embrace it. We’d rather suntan on the beach or a private dock than at a pool. We know hard work, and we know fun.

I’ve loved falling into a relaxing, yet fairly disciplined summer routine. I pick berries, go for a long run, and have a quiet time most mornings. I head to work at Taco Mamacita for five or six hours. The job is both challenging and rewarding. I mess up less every day, but I still mess up, and it sucks every time. I’m a people pleasing perfectionist, so there’s always a tough part of the shift when I will get really down on myself. I like serving, being busy with a task always ahead of me, and making good tips. I’m trying to focus on praying for people during their meal, but I get distracted a lot. I hate not knowing what alcohol a customer is ordering (“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?), getting orders wrong, not eating a full meal at a normal hour, and when my manager gives me the cold shoulder. At home, I’ve also been helping Mama around the house, running some errands, even writing a few letters or finishing that book I began in March. It turns out home really is where the heart is, and I don’t think my heart ever fully came with me to Roanoke.

So, choosing to come home this summer has been a very good thing. I am not fed up with my family (yet), and I like being able to help around the house where I can. Though I loved being a resident advisor this past year, I think one of the hardest parts was living alone and primarily focusing on myself. It’s not how I work. I’d rather be giving myself away to others, serving their needs. When I first came home, Mama was more overwhelmed and stressed than I had ever seen her. A week before she turned fifty (!), she was working two people’s jobs at Old South, hosting five parties at Sugah Cain in seven days, and trying to maintain her graceful, sweet composure. It wasn’t working. I was glad to be available and helpful. Apparently, she says no one in the Compton Clan identifies things that need to be done and just does them quite like me. It’s in my nature to lend whatever assistance I can, and Mama has been appreciative.

The massive wealth springing from most homes, mine included, in Charleston has been pretty hard for me to reconcile since I returned from Cambodia. Obviously, world wealth distribution is not equal, and while becoming poor does not put Cambodia in a better position, I cannot shake the guilt that the Comptons live quite the life. I went shopping with Mama yesterday and tried on a very cute dress at Almost Pink on Sullivan’s Island.

“How did it work?”

“Oh, it’s flattering, and I like it a lot, but it’s forty dollars.”

“Well, that’s what we’ve been spending on a lot of dresses for Georgia and RoRie. If you really like it, we can get it.”

What?! I can’t swallow that price tag quite as easily. I guess it’s not horrendous, but I still didn’t buy the dress.

We’re pretty down to earth people, but we still have our stuff, and it’s easy to become desensitized to the abundance. But then again, it’s also kind of nice. My phone was being a little persnickety, but basically working just fine. My two year upgrade had arrived, though, and now that both of my sisters have an iPhone 5, I wanted one too. I got it, and I must say, it is a pretty cool gadget; Instagram is my new favorite (my username is jcomp15…follow me!). I maintain the caveat that I still have an aversion to constant technology and social media. Georgia is addicted. Drives me crazy.

There’s also this family vacation we’re going on. To Costa Rica. For two whole weeks. Say what?! My mom has been talking about being ready to go since April. “Mama, I haven’t even gone to Cambodia yet. I can’t begin to think about that trip, but I’m glad we’re going. You need it.” She does, badly. We took off from the Atlanta airport an hour ago, and I don’t feel guilty about this trip…just plain lucky. As a kid, I always wanted to go to Costa Rica, and though I don’t know how to really take advantage of the surfing, I am going to do most everything else. Paddleboard, snorkel, horseback ride, zipline, hike, run, yoga. Most importantly, as long as Georgia puts down the phone, I’m looking forward to exclusive time with the Compton Clan. When we on vacations while I was in high school, I wasn’t old enough to go explore on my own. I felt contained, and I became stir crazy. The sibs knew how to rub me the wrong way. And they would do it intentionally! Do not continue to agitate an already aggravated animal. The results will not be good. The same concept applies when I travel with my family. The idiots. They were fully entertained.

Last summer when we went to Vancouver, the experience was different. I had just gotten through my first year of college and headed straight out to Camp St. Christopher. I was starving for family time, and for the first time, I felt a little like an outsider. In high school I shared a room with Georgia; we were best friends. When I left, the roles shifted. She and Rosa Marie began running cross country and sharing a room together. They became best friends. It was wonderful to be with my family, but I almost felt like I didn’t fit into the puzzle anymore. They had learned to live without me. The puzzle still had a hole, but all of the pieces had shifted and changed connections.

Another year has passed. I have been home, living with and being a true part of the chaos that comes with my crazy family. I fit again, and I just want to spend time with them. The whole reason I chose to come home this summer was because I knew it could very well be the last time we are all living under the same roof; I wanted to mentor my sisters and grow in Christ together. Rosa Marie and I have been able to do so already, but I think these next two weeks are going to be really special. As for our annual summer vacation, we’re older, and I now have the autonomy to go do what I want when we travel together (Ha! Suckas! No more boxing in and annoying your older sister!)

Life is good, and I am one grateful gal to be a part of the Costa Rica bound Compton Clan.