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Saturday, August 4, 2012

Answers


“So you are at the end of the journey?”
“Yeah. This part anyway.”
”You have seen a whole lot of places now huh?”
“Yeah. I sure have.”
“Do you have a favorite?”
“I do.”
“So...which is it?”
“It’s the same as yours.”
“I’ve never told you mine.”
“I know.”
“So...where is it?”
“You wouldn’t know it,” I said with a smile and a subtle shake of my head.
So here I am, at the end of the journey. I am finishing this post as I sit here on an airplane destined for America, destined for home. Now with the perspective gained from being at the end, I have sat down to assess the value of this chapter of my life--a chapter that saw great sacrifice for the intriguing promise of the unknown. It was the greatest risk I have ever made in my life. I gave up a sure-thing for the risk and reward of possibility. Since the definition of success is so relative and subjective, I have given a lot of thought to what in fact makes a successful journey. I am now confident that the worth of your journey is measured by the amount of growth we experience along the way and how much better we know ourself, for if at the end we didn’t undergo a growth, why did we do it? 
On these journeys we see a lot of places and sights, we are put into unfamiliar circumstances and positions, and we are altered and inspired by them, but it’s the people there with us along the way that help us grow. Sometimes they are people we know, sometimes they aren’t, and sometimes that person is just a part of us we are forced to meet and learn to understand...but it’s the people that invoke this growth. 
I have made a very difficult decision this year to return to the Pacific Northwest. To return home. It was a decision that at the very least I can say was agonizing. I logged countless hours walking in green hills and down granite street moderating a constant dialogue in my head, and now I am coming home. I understand why I am doing it, even if I find myself unable to perfectly articulate it when pressed to answer why. 
I have encountered a great number of people who have understood this decisions, but I have come across a nearly equal number of people who do not understand why I would choose to leave an outstanding school and the majesty of Scotland with still so much unseen and undone. In many cases I could hear in their voice a tone that suggested that I couldn’t hack it. And on more than one occasion people even suggested this verbally. Again, on more than one occasion, I wasn’t even asked a question. “I hear you're leaving. You don’t like it here huh?” But this was not said as a question, much more as a statement. Or, “International teaching is not for you huh?” I fielded all of these questions while the whole time I believed just the opposite of their assumptions. I love Scotland. I still find the hills and buildings enchanting. Their mystique never faded. Even up to the end, a simple walk to the bakery around the corner caused me to grin at my fortune. Right up to the final day, I found myself stopping mid-stride just to take in the beauty and inspiration of my surroundings. I also love international teaching. The make-up of my classes is a Social Studies and English teacher’s idea setting. On any given day I had 10 nationalities represented in my classroom. For a teacher who craves originality and unique perspective, this is a dream come true. However, I took these questions in stride. I was asked “Why?” by so many people that I developed canned responses to this question. The frequency of these challenges forced me to have them ready at all times. Some people are satisfied with the answer of the professional and educational opportunities awaiting me in Seattle. Some are satisfied with the simple answer of “unfinished business” to see through back at home. Often I would go into length detailing either or both of these until I felt the person understood or at least appreciated my stance. Rarely did I convince anyone though. In the final days I just began giving the concise and most accurate answer and left it at that--without justification. It was this answer that I realized one day was at the heart of my decision. It was just the truth. That answer was simply that I missed my friends and family. I have been away from them for 2 years and I am not ready, and never was ready to say goodbye for any longer than that. 
They are simply too important to me.
I have been blessed with the greatest friends and family that anyone could ask for. As cliche as that is to say, it is the truth. Even though I fell off the face of the Earth at times during my travels, they refused to let us fall out of touch. I will be forever grateful to them for this. I was told when I first moved abroad that these communications would fade, and people would grow disinterested with my adventures, but this never happened. I wouldn’t have blamed anyone for letting this happen. But it never did. As I said, I am a lucky one. I look forward to seeing them all to say thank you, and tell them how much their support has meant to me. 
This brings me to another question I have been asked countless times over the past couple years:
What do I miss? 
I miss being among my friends watching a band that are relatively unknown to the world outside of Seattle. I miss the excitement of hearing that song and that band. I miss that moment--the one where you are torn--torn between wanting the world to witness what you are seeing, wanting everyone to hear this, but at the same time selfishly wanting to keep it for yourself. And I miss the greatest moment of all. The moment where you look at your friends, and say to yourself, “Can it get any better than this?” 
I set out to get an answer for that question. I always suspected that I had one, but I set out to test it. I have travelled a great deal of the world. I have lived abroad. I learned what it meant to be an “expat”. I walked aimlessly hoping to cross paths with inspiration, and at times purposefully to attain the same goal. I taught students from countries that my ignorance kept me from knowing anything about until I had the privilege of sharing a room with them. Over the past 2 years, I have met some of the most amazing, interesting, and genuine people of my life--people that I will call friends years from now. As I said, it’s the people along the way to whom we owe for our growth. I was blessed to cross paths with these people. From the chance encounter with Barbara at a sandwich shop two years ago, to my inspiring students who taught me far more than I ever taught them, to my traveling partners, to those who offered their time, their care, their trust, and their friendship. I thank you. I am a better man for having you by my side through it all. 
Thank you.
I also have had the unique opportunity to start over from scratch. I could have reinvented myself to be anyone I wanted. At times I think we all crave this opportunity, or at least become intrigued by it. A chance at a blank slate. I knew not a single person when I boarded a plane to come here. My past could be fiction and the present my own unimpeded creation. But the truth is I just want to be me. I always have. The kid from Spokane that wants to be close to his family, who wants to have roots. To strengthen the old ones and grow new ones. To be able to say, “I remember when that street looked like...or I remember...and to grow up with people who have known me long enough to call me on my transgressions, appreciate the long road of life with, and be able to reminisce--to not have to provide background and context for every story because the people you are talking with know. They were there. You experienced it together, you felt it together...you lived it together. 
On my final day of school back in June, the last I would spend teaching in Scotland, we had a goodbye ceremony for all the departing staff. I gave a short speech of gratitude and attempted to explain how difficult this decision was for me as it was easily the most difficult decision of my life. Afterward people said their goodbyes. I remember one in particular, and I doubt that I will ever forget it. She told me something that helped me come to terms with the justification that I was still seeking. It was one of those lines that you add to the small bank of profound sayings that you carry with you wherever life takes you. You know the ones. They are the pieces of advice that put to shame any that you see on those cheap motivational posters lining the walls of office buildings. In two sentences she helped me confront any lingering doubt that I still had. I suspect she could sense my uneasiness. 
She said, “I have made many difficult decisions in my life too.” She was talking about the ones that don’t make sense to everyone, but you feel in your gut are right.
“Someone once told me something that helped me make sense of them all.” 
She said,
“This is not a rehearsal. This is your life.”
No...it’s not. And, yes...it is.  
I am taking this life back to the Pacific Northwest. One that will certainly look and feel different than it did 2 years ago, as it has been a bit different each time I have returned to visit. It’s a good different though. I will once again walk familiar streets, and I will crack peanuts in the seats of Safeco again, I will spend holidays with family, but I will be looking at everything through clearer perspective and with greater appreciation. The kind that can only come after a committed journey...
the kind that can only come with growth.
I have made every major decision in my life by one principle: you must always be running to something and not away from anything. The time has come to move toward the next journey. 
This experience has been so rich with confusion and clarity. I am a stronger person who sees the world more accurately now. I made it past the stage of living somewhere but not really ‘living’ there. The stage where your heart is still back home. I closed that door and truly lived here. I just wouldn’t feel confident in this decision if I hadn’t. I proved a great deal to myself. I had goals that I saw through. I answered questions I needed answered. 
And I got the answer to the question I sought the most.
You see, no matter where we go and no matter how beautiful the scenery may be, your favorite place is the same as mine. It’s where you belong. 
I set out on this adventure with many questions. Questions about myself, about people, culture, and about life. And after it all, I was right. The truth is, a Friday night at The Tractor Tavern listening to music with my friends is as good as it gets. But it’s better than that. 
It’s where I belong.