What do you want to be when you grow up?

A meditation on change, beginning at age five.

a monkey
a teacher
a beekeeper
an art teacher
an actress (on the Disney channel)
a singer
a professional soccer player
a dolphin trainer
Jane Goodall
an actress (on anything but the Disney channel)
an author
a National Geographic photographer
a teacher, high school math and social studies
a mountain climber
an ambassador
a politician
an international tour director
a secret agent
a documentary filmmaker
anything but a teacher (Dear Lord, teaching is going to kill me)
future president Hillary Clinton's secret service detail
an engineer
.
.
.
uncomfortable


That's what I want to be when I grow up: uncomfortable.

I don't mean physical discomfort - although no running water or electricity may, at times, be necessary byproducts of the life I want to lead. Nor am I aiming for elective suffering which is a privilege that only people who don't have to suffer can choose.

What I want is to embrace the discomfort of the inequality and injustices alive in our world, juxtaposed with the privileges afforded me by the color of my skin, my place of birth, and the income of my parents. I want this uncomfortable truth to drive me constantly to action and reflection. I want to surround myself with unapologetic activists, restless dreamers, and people who deserve to have opinions about hot button issues: people who can teach and inspire me. I need to accept the uncomfortable reality that, no matter how much I actively engage in downward mobility and accompany the poor, I can never fully stand in the margins.

I want to be idealistic, but realistic. I want to tackle more than I can handle, and fail, but not become disillusioned. I want my career path to meander through unexpected places. I want to seek ways to challenge myself and grow each time I get too comfortable.

And considering my life is planned out only for the next three months, I'm already doing a pretty good job at being what I want to be when I grow up.

Rediscovery: Collegiate Mad Libs

Most people, within twenty minutes or so of meeting me, learn that I´m a huge fan of games: Fish Bowl, Gin Rummy, Amish Telephone, Cards Against Humanity, Apples to Apples, Clue, Boggle... and the list goes on and on. However, the unfortunate ones who participate in game nights with me quickly discover that I can be a tad bit competitive (and cue a worldwide round of apologies to friends, family, and strangers). But I love Mad Libs because it´s not (supposed to be) competitive and it´s creative, mind-sometimes-in-the-gutter fun!

(Plus, I had wonderful, energetic teammates and long car rides to weekend frisbee and rugby tournaments in college, during which we pushed the boundaries of appropriateness with our Mad Libs fun!)

I spent way too long rereading the Mad Libs we wrote on those car rides. Here are some of my favorite lines:

"He should have a left buttock that´s not bigger than yours, hands as big as fists, and wenises that go on forever."

"You don´t know if it´s the turpentine or the soap scum, but you are beginning to feel sexy. You make your apologies and try to hump."

"He likes to tantalize computer games on it and has recently programmed it to devour to him in a voice that sounds like George W. Bush."

"(A pickup line) Your wenis must be real tired, because you´ve been jerking through my Bosnia all night long."

"(A deal breaker) Says ´Weeeeee´ when the two of you snuggle."

"He looks fit, but he´s a hypochondriac who makes ´Oh sock it to me´ noises just walking into the pub."

"All he does is blather on about how much he gyrates his job and how he has 7 friends and how his moist girlfriends are as nutty as mango and how his family kisses him."

"If his bush was on fire, these are the things your guy would grab as he´s screaming ´Oh hot damn!´ at the top of his lungs."

Rediscovery: Middle School

I was happy: living an idyllic childhood amidst the bucolic cornfields of central Illinois, with little homework, and free from raging hormones.

Then I turned 11, moved to Florida, and gained an unhealthy dose of self awareness. I was suddenly keenly observant of the bodies, emotions, words, and grades of everyone around me. I existed in a dichotomy where it was okay to play with Barbie dolls, break out the dress up box when my friends came over, and wear Harry Potter costumes to book releases, but only if I deliberately did so as to not conform to the standards that dictated pre-teen life. Had I engaged in any of these nerdy, childish activities without demonstrated my understanding that they were, in fact, nerdy and childish, I would have been banished to an even less cool lunch table.


This was the era when a birthday party consisted of my four best friends and I eating as much cake as we wanted and not talking about how fat we thought we were. This was when my (slightly age-inappropriate) birthday gift of Truth or Dare Jenga made me laugh uncomfortably because I didn´t know what all the words meant, and I never wanted to admit that to my friends.

This was a time when girls still wore Halloween costumes that covered over 40% of their skin but friendships could be formed and broken in the span of a three-hour party.

This was an age when labels - of popular, unpopular, jock, nerd, teacher´s pet, bad boy, class clown, and so many more - were somehow magically distributed and, even more shockingly, magically left unquestioned. When who I stood next to in a group picture might determine, and did, my best friends for the next year. When a Limited Too shirt was essential to be considered cute but then, overnight and without fanfare, American Eagle and Abercrombie suddenly swooped in and upped the ante by demanding we all now be hott and thin. 

When people formed friendships that endure to this day, even though some friendships barely survived the 7th grade. When I met people I would never have guessed I´d still talk to. When we were all trying to figure out our place in the world.

When it was impossible for boys and girls to be friends without rumors floating around of a possible crush and, yet, my tight-knit group of Team C classmates (the school´s label, not ours) somehow managed to churn out amazing, creative group projects that were romance- and drama-free. 

When we passed notes filled with goofy doodles and compliments like, "I luvvvvvv ur shirt!" but were also preemptively mean and hurtful to friends, lest we be the ones ostracized from the group. When friends were finally observant enough to tell us what they liked and didn´t like about us. When I heard the critique, the first of many times I´ve heard it, that I´m intimidating and cold.

When I didn´t realize how much it would sadden me one day to realize I don´t remember all of their names and I don´t know where they are now.

When I once farted in class and blamed it on one of the girls below. (I´m really sorry. I´ve been waiting a long time to confess to that one.)

Middle School was a chance to let obsessions run wild. Like my obsession with TLC´s Trading Spaces. (Fun Fact: My one and only celebrity encounter, to this day, was the Trading Spaces designer Frank Bielec. He signed the newspaper article about him and told me I had beautiful eyes. I was literally rendered speechless.)

Or my obsession with World Vision that would lead me to raise money to build a school in Mozambique, influence me to study International Affairs at Georgetown, and inspire me to live abroad after college. And here I am, at 25, fulfilling my dream to work for them. It´s been a love affair with development work that, at age 11, made me want to grow up to "save the world" and, at age 25, leaves me wondering everyday if we can figure out a way to all save each other.


Or my obsession with the cutest boy in middle school who once wrote me a note telling me, "I like you a 6 out of 10," that made my heart beat wildly for days. This was a time when brushing shoulders and passing notes pushed the limits of my flirting abilities and when the thought of holding hands made my palms sweat.

Middle school was the time of our sexual awakening. Oops! Scratch that.

Middle school was the time when we were giggly over the fact  that Fabergé sounded more like a line of lingerie than a master jeweler of the Imperial House of Russia. And whispering the word "lingerie" was the closest any of us came to a sexual awakening in middle school. And I got this awesome, homemade birthday present: a faux instructional pamphlet on how to make my own "Fabraje´ Lingerie." (Fun Fact: the supremely creative friend who made this for me now works in the fashion industry in New York!) 

Middle school was awful and wonderful, as so many dichotomous things are. We were in a hurry to get out of there but scared of what was to come. We couldn´t wait to be in high school, but as soon as we stepped through those doors we, once again, had to figure out how to grow up right. And we did, eventually.  

Rediscovery: Childhood

I´m basically an adult now and it´s inevitable that I will soon move into my own apartment (which will probably be the size of a shoe box or shared with six other people or be in another country), but my impending independence means I no longer get an entire closet at my parents´ house to store 25 years´ worth of boxes. I spent the last three days carefully pouring through the notebooks, pictures, journals, letters, costumes, and random objects stored in that closet. I spent hours reminiscing about the memories, love, and weirdness that surround each object, remembering people who have passed through my life, and reflecting on the moments, both poignant and goofy, that have shaped me. 

I spent most of the last three days smiling and laughing as I uncovered unexpected memories. Here are just a few of them.

(Also, I have zero mirror selfie game and I can´t figure out how to take pictures without the camera covering my face. I´m pretty sure I need to study more physics to understand reflection better.) 

I was quite the story teller at five years old, but I had no idea how to write complete words.

My Daisy Troop - my mom was one of the leaders.
Check out the creative sweatshirts they helped us make!

Daisy arts and crafts at my house. Half of these girls are now married and
they´ve been bridesmaids  in each other´s weddings. Awwww!

My 4th grade teachers signed my autograph book.
Further proof of my lifelong role as a teacher´s pet.

Jenny, Hannah, Kelly, and Keelin at Fr. Sweeney School in 5th grade.
We spent a week learning about the Wild West and watching a seriously censored version of Blazing Saddles. 

It´s scientifically proven that the best way to learn
about the geography of Italy is to create an edible map.

It makes me sad that I don´t remember all their names. I wish I knew where they are now.

The 4th of July Parade was a big deal in my neighborhood in Peoria.
Like all of my costumes, my mom made this using instructions from her trusty Family Fun magazines. 

The revelation of my not-so-secret 4th grade crush, written obsessively in each notebook.

My favorite, tiny duffle bag that used to hold my View Master and binoculars. My brother and I would go on adventures  in the backyard and neighborhood ravines with our Chip´n Dale bags!

Photos from a collage my best friend, Corinne, made me.

My composition about Corinne that was displayed in the hallway at school. I described all the things that were important to us, including this: "We also have Happy Hour with other families."

Proof of my short-lived dream to be an art teacher, a dream that died when
my mom starting cutting off my mediums of choice: string and hot glue.

The second page of my Thanksgiving thankfulness list at seven years old. I was a little ambitious,
thinking I could get to 40 items.  Also, number 30 makes me think that I must not have discovered camping yet. 

The first CD I ever bought myself: Shania Twain. And my nerdiest CD: the Harry Potter soundtrack!

Taking it back even more to cassette tapes... a Canadian childhood staple: Charlotte Diamond!

A viking woman hat that has been worn for numerous Halloweens.

This amazing pig...

that turns into a hat!

Items from our dress up box - feather-covered hats, gypsy skirts, my Grandma´s blouse, and a Lamb Chop puppet!  

These gems. Bought exclusively for the dress up box. They´ve been worn by dozens of people and never washed
(mostly because we didn´t want to damage the fabulousness!) 

These childhood memories are silly and fun; I was a free spirit who loved myself and my friends and my parents were super cool and smart. Little did I know that seven straight years of awkwardness were in store for me in middle school and high school. Those photos, and teenage angst, coming next.

Top 10 Things I Miss About South America Right This Second

1. My family proving to me each and every day that it doesn´t 

matter where or when we were born - love is love. 

2. Goofing off with my volunteer friends. Knowing that, for the rest of their lives, 

they´re stuck with me because they uniquely understand how I´ve grown in these two years.

3. Making time to appreciate sunsets. (Also, I do miss Allie, but she´s not in South America.)

4. The amazingly crafted artisanal goods and the great pride the artists and locals have in them.

5. The colors. 

6. The intricate, traditional clothes that so many people still proudly wear. 

7. My school (and all that´s inside its barbed wire-covered walls!)

8. Never really knowing what´s about to happen.

(i.e. "We're going to shine lights on the river to see caimans." Two second later, they 

had caught a caiman with their bare hands and were showing it off inside our boat.)

9. Llamas and Alpacas and Vicuñas, Oh My!

10. Talent for dancing. 

El Gran Viaje

If it looks like we must have spent a lot of time in buses, we did. 

Tacna - We started in our hometown of Tacna, in the far south of the country. From there it was an easy six hour bus ride to...

Arequipa - The beautiful White City (so named for the white stones the Spanish used to construct the original Cathedral, churches, and buildings in the city center). We spent only an afternoon here with some friends before the 12 hour bus ride to...

Andahuaylillas - This is a small Andean village of only a few thousand people. It lies about an hour west of Cusco. There is a community of Jesuit Volunteers here who welcomed us for a few days (which we spent hiking and enjoying the mountain scenery and the thin air - Anda lies at over 10,200 feet). We popped into Cusco to catch a ten hour bus to...

Puerto Maldonado - After a grueling bus ride (they never turned off the heat inside the bus even though it was sweltering outside with nearly 100% humidity) we arrived to this bustling jungle city and took an hour long boat ride to a beautiful and simple jungle lodge. We spent three days in the jungle hiking in deep mud, kayaking (and swimming!) in Amazon River tributaries, spotting monkeys and tarantulas, and zip lining. We took a boat back into the city to enjoy a true jungle downpour (unrelenting rain for hours and hours) before catching the ten hour bus back to...

Cusco - Being the snooty semi-locals that we were, we nearly couldn´t stand how touristy Cusco is. It is beautiful and has a wealth of amazing churches, ruins, and museums, but it is also overrun with people hawking cheap goods and trying to sell tours and foot massages. After a long afternoon of being spoken to in broken English, we took a traumatic (there was no bathroom on the bus, there were live animals brought on the bus, and there was a four hour stop for a landslide) 20 hour bus ride to...

Ayacucho - Some awesome nuns and priests, who are part of the Jesuit network in Peru, were our guides in this mountain city, which is unfortunately best known as being the ground zero of the Shining Path terrorism movement of the late 80´s and early 90´s. We saw Huari ruins, visited the battlefield where Peruvian independence was declared, and went to an amazing little museum run by the mothers of people who were kidnapped and killed by Shining Path and the military. With our local guides, we learned more about the work the Jesuits do in Ayacucho. From there it was a winding bus ride to...

Lima - In Lima we hung out with friends, did laundry, enjoyed the outdoors, rented bikes, and ate delicious food. It was hard to drag ourselves away from a city that is home to so many people we love, but it was time to take an eight hour bus to...

Trujillo - We stayed with some members of Allie´s host family, raced around the city for a day in order to see what we could, and headed on an overnight bus to...

Chachapoyas - This little city is an absolute gem. It is surrounded by so much natural beauty - waterfalls, rivers, and canyons - and mysterious pre-Incan ruins. The people were wonderful and welcoming and we all wanted to stay longer. Sadly, on the bus ride to Chachapoyas, I slammed my chin into the armrest while sleeping and severely injured my jaw and knocked my four bottom teeth loose. After a few days of excruciating pain and no conclusive diagnosis, we decided to seek better medical help and borded a bus for...

Chiclayo - We spent a day racing around the city to visit doctors and get x-rays of my jaw. Although the final verdict was that I needed serious professional help (i.e. it was probably better to fly back home so that I could use insurance for my medical care), we did have a great reunion that day with one of our favorite Tacna Jesuits who was visiting his parents in Chiclayo and we had a delicious ceviche lunch. I bid goodbye to my travel companions (and thanked them profusely for taking such good care of me) and flew back to Houston. Meanwhile, they went on to visit Cajamarca, the site of the fall of the Incan Empire, and the beaches of northern Peru.

It pains me to know that I still missed visiting so much of the country. 

I got back to Houston and immediately went to a specialist who informed me that my jaw was not broken (so I, thankfully, wouldn´t need to get it wired shut) but that it was badly traumatized (he likened to a sprained ankle that actually takes longer to heal than a broken ankle). I rested for the week, on a liquid diet and trying not to talk, (and my parents wonderfully doted on me) and then had a root canal (the impact of hitting my chin gave me a hematoma in my jaw that killed my front bottom tooth). Twenty-four hours later I was on a plane to Ecuador. After arriving in Quito, my first stop was a four hour bus ride to....

Latacunga - An ugly, bustling town that mostly serves as a portal to the surrounding areas, I wandered around for hours, and passed the same cross-dressing prostitute about seven times, until I took a very bumpy bus ride to...

Quilotoa - Quilotoa and the surrounding small towns are charming and serene. The stunning crater lake that lies just meters from the wind-battered homes of Quilotoa provided some of the best hiking I had done in South America. I spent two days battling the wind and altitude to hike along steep paths, passing little kids taking their sheep and llama out to graze. I headed back into Latacunga to get a bus to...

Cuenca - I finally got to reunite with Allie and Pedro in the beautiful city of Cuenca. It was spotlessly clean, covered in amazing graffiti, packed with interesting restaurants and museums, and really close to great national parks. We visited El Cajas for the day, but many trails were closed due to heavy fog - which just means that I need to go back soon! I said a final goodbye to Allie and Pedro (they left for Guayaquil, Nicaragua, and El Salvador) and I took a long bus ride to...

Quito - This city is awesome - it´s everything that Lima wants to be and isn´t (sorry, Lima). There´s a beautifully renovated center of town full of unique churches and colorful houses hung with planter boxes. There are giant parks and the whole center is so walkable. It might not have the coast, but the air is crisp and the sky is bright. I spent two long days here visiting museums, churches, and the monument at the equator. The sister and brother-in-law of my parents´ neighbor in Houston welcomed me into their home and drove me around town to see the mountains and volcanoes that ring Quito. It was way too short of a visit and I really want to go back! But, alas, it was time to board a plane and fly to...

Distances are deceptive - that short little arrow to the west of Bogotá was a ten hour bus ride!

Bogotá - This was, not secretly, the part of the trip I most wanted to do, because I got to travel with my brother, Chris, and my soon-to-be-sister-in-law, Holly. We met in Bogotá and spent just a day here - which was more than enough! Perhaps on a sunny day the city would be nice, but we were quickly bored with the few museums and the unimpressive historic center. In order to escape the rain in the evening before our bus left, we went to a movie theater and saw The Imitation Game. To be fair, no Colombian I know actually claims to like Bogotá. We took an overnight bus to...

Salento - A vividly colorful village in the middle of coffee country. We hiked to a coffee plantation for a thorough and interesting tour and, the next day, hiked for hours in the Cocora Valley. When we weren´t dodging rain drops we were eating delicious lake trout and fried bananas. All too soon we had to take a bus back to Bogotá to get on our flight to...

Cartagena - Cartagena is the kind of place that you´d like to imagine has no crime because everyone is just so darn happy all the time - the sky is bright blue, the sunsets look like Impressionist paintings, the buildings look like Lisa Frank decorated them, the people are outgoing, and life is simply vibrant. It seems too good to be true! We spent hours enjoying the city, the street performances, the popsicles, the old Spanish fort, the preserved walled city, and the creative street art. But the beach was calling, so we took a shuttle but to...

Parque Tayrona - Once we arrived at the national park, we had to hike over two hours to our campsite. Although there were a number of tourists there, we still found nearly deserted white sand beaches to enjoy. There was no electricity, no cell service, and no internet - it was wonderful! We spent one night in a tent and the following night in hammocks. Paradise can´t last forever, sadly, so we took a bus back to...

Cartagena - One more Caribbean dinner with live music and too many mojitos, before flying back to...

Bogotá - For a trip up to Cerro de Monserrate and a surprise engagement!

Overlooking the lights of Bogotá.

What did it all mean?

As mentioned before, I'll spend the rest of my life making sense of all that I experienced and learned in Peru. I'm in no rush to define or conclude just what it is that I got out of this all - in fact it seems rather naive and disrespectful (to myself and to this period of my life) to assume that I can sum it all up in a concise or understandable way.

But this much I know - when the lessons of community, spirituality, social justice, and simple living come crashing through my brain and I try desperately to find just one phrase that can, for the time being, prove that I learned something in Peru, I settle on this:

I am not important.

I don't mean that in a "listen to My Chemical Romance and paint my nails black with Sharpie" way. Rather, it's about the St. Ignatius way of detachment. To be truly free from disordered attachments, I need to be detached from the ego-driven desires that dictate my life. I have to tell myself, "you are not important" not to strip away any value I have, but to realistically value things in this world that are more important than me.

In community, I need to value peace, equality, and unconditional love over my own desire to have my voice heard and my needs met. Ultimately, it can't be about what just Kelly needs, it has to be about collectively creating a nurturing, safe place for each community member. If I can remember and try to put others' needs before my own, in the great karma of the universe, I usually find that what I really need (but not always what I thought I needed) somehow happens.

In spirituality, I need to offer it all up to God and admit that if I try to take on the world alone, I'll fail. If I remember that there is something else - a greater force or power or being ordering this seemingly random universe - I feel both small and inconsequential and, at the same time, completely protected. It is recalling that "I am not important" that reminds me to not make a false idol out of myself.

For social justice, I need only look at the privileges in my life with gratitude to remember the many ways in which others suffer and face oppression. In no way should I compare and rank adversity, but in remembering that I am inordinately blessed, I can put into perspective the challenges. Looking outside of my own, narrow-minded needs, I see the structural injustice that warrants a fight.

Finally, in simple living, if I remember that "I am not important", I realize that I don't deserve more of something or better of something than anyone else. There are so many who live upon this earth: we must tread upon it gently, use its resources wisely, and leave it better than we found it. I cannot take more than my share or pollute more than my share. It is here that I recognize my smallness with horror and not with awe - if I drive my car unnecessarily or am wasteful and I think, "Well, I'm just one person or it's just one trip", I then scale up that attitude in my head on a global scale.

I don't impart any sanctimonious tone in these lessons because I certainly haven't figured out how to live permanently or even consistently into these lessons and ideals I've set for myself. Just as figuring out what my time in Peru means, learning how to apply those lessons to my life will be a lifelong journey. It's just a phrase right now, a loose beginning, but it's a start.