At the intersection of Florida, Massachusetts, and Q street northwest, it seems every building I pass is a testament to all things precious and lovely. I cross this grand avenue in acceptance of my disorientation. Yes, I am lost on this clear, luminous summer morning, as I wander the boulevards in solitude. I search, in all practicality, for my volunteer post, an old, historical mansion at the crossroads of Dupont and Georgetown, but given my systemic punctuality, have over thirty minutes before reporting. I am leisurous, undefined, perhaps a bit thoughtless. The point in fact, is that I hardly care.
My life, if measured in unextraordinary happenings and experiences, hardly amounts to much on paper. I participate in those normal things that people of my age enjoy: drinks on the town, concerts, language classes, yoga, 9-5 jobs, shopping, and galas. But because I have been denied these and other happinesses for so long, the depth of my contentment is utterly boundless. I am slowly but surely making my mark here. Most mornings, my first thought upon waking is, "I am among the happiest people alive." I say this with the most sincerity I can. I've never felt so at peace.
Again, I'm sure it sounds ridiculous to many, as I have no career prospects, no furniture, little food, and an unfortunate amount of student loan debt. But I am surrounded by amazing friends and family and my life is full of adventure and opportunity. In this moment I am nothing but bliss. I have made my social and professional faux pas, like flirting when I shouldn't, destroying my favorite dress from coffee at the office as the CEO walks by, trusting people who don't deserve it, and generally being a fool. On days when I'm embarrassed by these and other mistakes, I'm now confident enough in myself to laugh. I don't think I've ever had more courage than in the past month, and I was already known for my boldness. Liberation is far too weak a word to describe the way I feel. I am unafraid to be who I am, for the first time in three long years. Perhaps it is the first time at all.
I confess I do not have much free time, so these quiet mornings with coffee in hand, wandering about aimlessly, are all I have. I attempt to soak all of it in with attention. I love mornings. They are naught but tranquil moments between myself and the breeze. Specific seconds where nothing matters but the sound of my breath.
I think it would be more than safe to admit that I've learned more about being alive in the past month than I have in the twenty-two years of months that preceded this one. Or perhaps I understand more about myself. I am passionate, dramatic, intelligent, kind. I am the one who defines my worth. No person or group of people decide my identity. Rather, those here who I name my greatest friends accept, without question, support, without judgement, and bring out those qualities that are the best. It is a rare gift to be surrounded by such wonderful human beings.
Passionate people are limited in a way, for we have so many interests and opportunities that we are forced to choose one at the expense of the other. The extraordinary thing about this town is that the majority of its citizens describe themselves as passionate, so finding something you love to do is easy and it leads you to connect with similarly passionate people. We all want to change the world somehow. We just have no idea how to go about it. And while this city lives and breathes by the practice of networking the magnificent part of it is that everyone is willing to help. We Melchior girls are a little notorious for being damsels in distress at the worst possible time. Yet not once have I felt alone, unloved, or without prospect. The magic of this place lies somewhere between its historical mortar and warm residents. Unexpected and special, it all runs like a well-oiled machine.
I would wager to say I am lucky, but I know this is not at all true. I have never been one of those individuals with exceptional timing. No indeed, this happiness has been earned from years of struggle. And so, as I meander through these brick boulevards in moments soft and crisp, I reflect on all that has happened to have brought me here. I can hardly remember the suffering, but I know it was long. I was unhappy for a very extensive period of time. Regardless, the desert has given way to a little paradise. My glowing mantra is that of unending gratefulness.
I've no idea, of course, where the next year of my life will go. But my intuition tells me I am at the right place at the right time. This knowledge is half the battle. With this in mind, I feel delivered, empowered. I discuss the philosophy of education with some of the smartest people I know on summer nights warm and silvery. I explore dark paths under stars with gentlemen and soldiers. I forge ahead, fearless as I look to the future, in tango orange gowns on military bases. This is the purest form of Katie there is: enthusiastic, fearless, thoughtful. Every moment, planned or unplanned, is cherished.
The point of all this rambling is to say that I not only see myself in this way, but that I feel I am listening to other people for the first time, too. I invent their stories and listen to their conversations, and by their interactions alone I am able to improve and learn. This sort of understanding cannot exist on a college campus, where practical knowledge is often deemed subversive. So this year away from higher education has taught me more than I expected and through it all, I have nothing but gratefulness.
Next weekend, I will return to Appleton, Wisconsin with a kind of bittersweet reminiscence. As I stated nearly a year ago, that place, while dear to my most contrite heart, no longer belongs to me. I wonder if my mind will race as it once did in desperation for acceptance. Now it has no reason to do so. I have now found more fulfillment than I ever thought I would here, on a tiny spot of earth neither state nor city. The district. With all its faults and criticisms, it is home.
A fellow Lawrence alum shocked me one evening when he said he was overwhelmed by my sense of intuition. "Most 22-year-olds believe intuition to be something of myth. They don't have it. So they wander in life without goals or plans. And then there is you."
Until this move, I always had a plan. Taught well by my paramilitary upbringing, I am good with minutia and details. It made me an excellent worker but a poor human being. I had to learn how to trust things that are beyond my control. A hard lesson.
They say no one likes change. Yet here I am, reveling in the knowledge that the greatest changes are yet to come. To the universe that arranges them, I say this and this alone: bring it on. I am who I am, diligent and excited to face that which comes.
And that, dear readers, is the truest definition of the word "liberation".
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