Movement and Life

Remember freshman orientation in college? You walked around meeting people, asking all of the most riveting questions: Where are you from? What are you doing? Where are you living? Sometimes you got into a good conversation over common interests or similar past experiences. Every once in a while, you'd stumble upon a face you knew before arriving and would remember you weren't alone. At times you felt overwhelmed, lost, and anxious for the year to come, but there were people there for the sole purpose of supporting you and helping you find courage. You would never talk to some of the people at orientation again, but it was worth it, nevertheless, because you felt connected and that you belonged, at least to some degree. You were all in transition. 

Four years later, I find myself in this position again. Dozens of new faces around me and the newness of the program, the community, and the location overwhelming me, and likely everyone else. At the first meeting with my community, I expressed being at peace and ready to take on a new year. Was I? Of course. But, wow. My life was moving, and I was being moved.

Movement is good. Sitting in the grass on a warm sunny day, you notice bugs crawling in the grass, blowing about in the wind. The earth is always moving, from those single blades of grass to the sand and people on beaches to the tidal waves of the vast oceans to the shooting stars in the Portland sky. Everywhere you are, there is motion, there is life. Movement can be subtle or extraordinary, but in a human life there is always movement of the heart.

On the final day of orientation at the missioning ceremony, my heart moved immensely. We stood in small circles in our communities in front of FJVs, current JVs, Jesuits, support people, area directors, and staff and were told to go and love. The emotions I'd been holding all week let loose, and I returned to my seat with a red face, wet eyes, runny nose, new family, and a heart yearning to love more. I was moved, in that moment, by the dedication of that room of people to love and share life with other human beings. I knew I was ready to move into my new home in Portland and the lives of the people around me.

We arrived at our house--a flat, an 8-bedroom apartment on top of the main office, or as Justin said so elegantly, "a penthouse-condo-suite"--and, after some careful decision-making, unpacked our two bags of luggage--our only belongings--in our new rooms. Reality was setting in: a new time zone, a new home, new friends, a new city, and a new life, just like that. I was actually beginning to feel established, and the amazing support people now regularly appearing at our door, enhanced it. By Tuesday (we moved in Saturday), I could /almost/ get around the city with a bike and a street map. I biked 21 miles that day, and my bum is still displeased. It's a big, hearty hug saying, "Welcome to bike commuting, Steph. Get used to it."

I'm planning to hit the ground rolling tomorrow--the first day of my 6.1 mile (each way) bike commute to the school. There are far beyond your usual number of bike commuters, and I fully expect myself to immerse in the culture of Portland the right way: pushing pedals. 

The first two days of serving with my agency were filled with training and meeting new people, whose names I need to practice. Today, Day 2, I went to a meeting for the program's overnight trip to the zoo next week, and connected with a few of the elementary students. In the afternoon, I met about 20 more students who are partaking in the Portland After School Tennis & Education (PAST&E) program. They approached me, one-by-one, with hands extended to firmly shake my hand, look me in the eye, and greet me with their names. I returned the greeting, and horribly mis-pronounced most of their names. Someone needs to work on her Spanish accent. 

Either way, I'm moving. I'm excited to continue training and learning the city and school. Transition isn't simple, for sure, but I feel welcomed and alive in this new community. It still seems a little surreal, but life is happening, and continuing to embrace movement and vulnerability is essential for me to love fully while on the move.