Lights will guide you home, asdlfkjsk

How to begin? That is the question. Maybe a few words on feelings of confusion, maybe an analogy of a bird without wings, or maybe some tender words on dreams and living. It's hard to explain the place that I find myself in. It can best be described by a mumblejumble of letters: lasdkfjslkajfskd. Tonight in a little coffee shop, with only two more weeks until a three-week Spring Break, I'm feeling the tension between my forever love of home and my new infatuation with Scotland. I'm feeling my left arm being pulled by the beautiful North Sea, the budding flowers, and the new and adventurous life I lead. And my right arm? I might as well have left the thing in Michigan.

Now I don't want it to sound as though I'm discounting my time here. (And that's the risk for writing about this.) That is not the case. I adore Scotland and my time here is precious and a blessing unlike any I have ever had. But my love for home? Always in the back of my mind, and on harder days, the very front. I don't think it's the comfy couch in my living room that I miss, or Orion's belt out my window in my bedroom, or Mom's homemade mac and cheese. Nope. I miss my people. And I think that's okay. Well, more than okay. I think that's a very special thing. And in the end, (here comes the cheesy line): lights will guide me home. Literally. Plane lights and men waving funny wands on the runway. But for now, there's a lot of light still to discover in Scotland, England, and Ireland too. And beautiful clouds too. There's just a whole lot of light everywhere and I have about three more months to bask in it all I can. How will I spend these three months, you ask?

For a bit of humour:
-two weeks until break (Freud presentation, philosophy paper)
-three-week Spring Break (Travelling Scotland for a week, then London and Salisbury!)
-four more weeks of classes (pretending to really 'kick it in'/writing essays that count for 50% or so of my grade.. whaa!?)
-one week with no class to prepare for exams (Ireland!?)
-three weeks with no class... and two exams. (Saying holy moly in the sunshine.)

AKA: 6 more weeks of class, 7 weeks of break.
My feelings about that equation: asdlkfjalskdfjlaksdfja. Brilliant.

You and Me, we're alike

People-watching: the art of taking on the characteristics of a wallflower; watching, listening, noticing, seeing; quietly rejoicing in other peoples' beautiful moments; ultimately acting like a creeper (but could ultimately care less).

I've picked my three favorite people-watching moments captured in some lucky photographs and, thanks to storypeople.com (my new favorite procrastination station), I've found other peoples' beautiful words to go with them.

"We listened as he played the guitar & sang old love songs & then there was a moment we looked at each other & discovered we were much younger than other people might suspect & it was good to know we had that much more time together."




"I'm not that good at being a tourist because I'm always looking at the way the light shines in your hair or the way your dress opens to the wind & my favorite places in the world are places filled with you."

"The first time his laughter unfurled its wings in the wind, we knew that the world would never be the same."


And if there's anything I've learned here thus far, it's that in this beating, ticking, breathing, moving body, I have my very own soundtrack, my very own voice. And nobody's is better, nobody's is worse. When I walk through Seaton Park, I hear French, Italian, Spanish, English. I see Moms with little white carriages and old men with walking sticks. We are all different, but more than that, we are all the same. "We're all just people," Mary says. In Scotland. In the U.S. Wherever you are. Wherever I am. And that truly brings me a great deal of comfort so far from home.

One for the books

This week has been one for the books. Sadly for my lecturers, I'm not referring to the real books I'm reading for classes. I'm talking about "the books." I wonder if whoever coined that phrase had an actual book in mind, but since I do not know him or her, I will interpret it as my own. Let me begin again: This week has been one for the books. What's the title? "How to Exercise While Smiling Your Face Off." No title judgments, it's my book and the obnoxiously long title is only fitting. There are only four chapters, but let me elaborate.

Chapter 1: Training for a 10K. Mary and I and a few other girls here are running a 10K in Edinburgh in May. We're at 3 miles now and working our way up! Our favorite place to run is to the North Sea and home, and somehow, the beauty of it all never ceases to amaze me. We normally run after my philosophy class around 5:15PM, which is ideal for the timing of the oranges, reds, pinks, and golds. Just when I look behind me and think the sunset is the most beautiful it could ever get... NOPE! It gets prettier. There is usually about a fifteen minute span of time where the colors are at their most vibrant. I could care less that the biting cold is freezing my arms and legs; the view is breathtaking. (Literally, have to catch my breath. I choose to attribute that to the sunset rather than my body whipping itself into shape.)

Chapter 2: Joining the sports village. Mary and I recently joined Aberdeen's sports village. Once you sign up for a membership you can take any classes that you'd like. They have everything from step to cycling to weight-lifting to abs... to combat aerobics.

Chapter 3: Combat Aerobics. First, a little history. I took dance classes for about three years. Why didn't they work out? Well, besides not being able to leap without sticking my butt out and my awkwardly tall and lanky middle-school bod, I cannot walk into a class without getting punchy. Ask anyone who has ever been in a dance class with me (a.k.a. my sister), and she will be the first to tell you that 1) I laugh too hard, and 2) for that reason, I cannot remember any of the choreography. So back to combat aerobics. We walk in and everyone is in the back. Who moves forward? Mary and I. (I knew this was a bad idea.) Our teacher starts teaching us routines with KICK, JAB, HOOK, UNDERCUT, DUCK, JUMP... I'm done for. I managed to bite my cheek and stop laughing for parts. Until she told us at the end of the routine to strike a pose. Who has two thumbs and struck it too early? This guy.


Chapter 4: Salsa. Friday night, a few of my flatmates invited Mary and I to go Salsa dancing. Oh dang. At first I was a bit skeptical (because I have no idea how to salsa dance), but needless to say, it was a blast. The Ricky Martin and Shakira were perfect to get our grooves on and standing with my ears one inch away from the speakers (no lie) left me with ringing ears for the rest of the night. Scared out of my wits at first? Oh yes. Final thoughts? No regrets. Salsa dancing is the best thing since sliced bread.

False. Best thing since sliced bread? Seeing the faces of people I love (even if it is over the computer!) Shout out to my family... Mom, Dad, Betsy: I love you! You already know.

Happily ever now

Dear Scotland,

Yesterday was our one month anniversary. It's getting pretty serious, too. Might as well be facebook official! Let's be honest: you've given me flowers (already blooming!), blue skies and sunshine, and you've opened my heart to a world full of kilts, accents, and food! I mean, it got "complicated" when you didn't sell macaroni and cheese, but I forgave you when I saw your sunset over the North Sea. See, Scotland, it's only been a month, but I think I like you a lot. You continue to surprise me. And well, I like that in a ... la(n)d. Your classes are decent, but your dancing seagulls are much better. And the homework you give me? I can totally deal with it when it forces me to walk a beautiful 15 minutes to campus! That hill you put at the end of the walk sure makes my legs burn, but at least it gives us both a laugh when I slip all over the ice on the way up. Yesterday, I found out another thing I love about you: YOU have little pinecones just like the ones at Hope College! You sure do help me appreciate the simple beauties... you put them all over the place! And I'm so glad you and Mary are friends! It makes it even better that you know my best friend too. Not only that, but you've introduced me to three other beautiful women from Hope. Man, I'm lucky to call them my friends. Man, Scot (can I call you that?), life sure is an adventure with you. I couldn't ask for more than that. I look at all we've been through already (many highs and many lows) and how far we've come. And get this! We have more than three more months together... cool, I know.

Sincerely,
Kelsey

The little destroyer

All the classrooms here begin with G, F, S, and T and are followed by a number. The letters correspond to the floor (ground, first, second, and third) and the number is... yeah, you figured it out, the number of the classroom. I was looking at my schedule and I couldn't help but notice that I feel like I'm playing a new version of Battleship, the University of Aberdeen limited edition. For instance, today I went to King's College F7: the Psychology class I added last Friday. Let's just say, it was a big fat "miss." I dropped it not even a half-hour after walking out of the lecture. Sadly, none of my battleship-esque classroom coordinates have been real "hits." I mean, my classes aren't too much of a bummer. I'm just not a heaping bowl of passion for them... yet, at least. If this was battleship, my classes would be like finding the big five-person aircraft carriers. The ones that are like, "Woopdie doo, can't miss 'em!" Like, of course you are there you big piece of grey plastic. BUT: If this is indeed a case of Battleship, Aberdeen edition, I'm in for a treat. You see, the little sneaky two person boat is still out there somewhere.

You know which one I'm talking about. The one that, if you find it, you really can't help but say, "SUCKA! I FOUND THE DESTROYER!" That little destroyer can be so tricky, but I have a feeling it's hiding in one of my classes somewhere, and I'm going to find it if I have to call out every number and letter in all of Aberdeen. Maybe it's the bottom corner, or maybe on this bright green game board full of trees, birds, and puddles, it's smack dab in the middle and I've been dawdling around it this whole time. My classes may not be all that great, but that little boat full of passion for knowledge is hiding and waiting for me to find it. And I know I will. I'm equipped with a noggin, an inside-out prone umbrella in case it rains along the way, some sturdy shoes to climb and run, and open eyes. Well, I probably only need the open eyes, but the crappy umbrella sure makes the journey a little humorous for everyone around me.

Little destroyer of wonder, here I come. Coordinates: UNKNOWN. Opponent: NEAR-SIGHTEDNESS (lost my glasses last week. Sorry Mosmo y Faja). Remedy: Follow heart not bad eyes. Goal: FIND LITTLE VICTORIES IN MY CLASSES. Final Words: HIT AND SUNK.

For a look at me con mi trusty umbrella, watch this:

This is not The Greatest Song in the World, no. This is just a tribute.

A tribute to my Ness
Yo, Ness. Where are you? I've been keeping my eye out all day, it's true. I went on a boat and climbed Urquhart Castle, swimming to me wasn't worth the hassle!? ShortAEY, never thought I'd be on a boat, you say? Well I WAS and you didn't come out to play! You didn't hear my call de monster, which is lucky because you would've hated it. (And nothing rhymes with monster.) I am so bummed you didn't want to be friends, yet in my heart, I'm offering amends. Secret little spunky dinosaur fish, I made a super-duper awesome wish that maybe next time you'll give me a chance and across the Loch we shall swim and dance. Come out, come out! But whatever you do...please don't eat me. (I realize the last line doesn't rhyme, but it was fairly essential.)

Loch Ness rocked my socks right off. (Lie. Socks stayed on.) Loch Ness rocked my world. (Truth. Total truth.)

Somewhere in between the rolling obsidian-colored waves, the snow-capped mountains, the intense castle ruins, the perfectly painted landscape, and the sun lighting up a blue, blue sky, I found myself smiling. Can you believe it? It's true. It felt like I fell into a 3D postcard, and again, Scotland puts my speck of a life into perspective--not in a depressing sense, but a refreshing way. Small speck, big heart. I'm ready to roll.

In other news...
Scotland went from Spring with little budding flowers back to a snowy Narnia. The snowflakes here are the size of gargantuan beasts and they pelt straight into your eyeballs. Is it weird that I love that? (Even when the icy hill from class sends me straight into the mud, complete with many giggling onlookers.) Also, I've been missing my home/homies a lot lately, but I think that is okay. Up and leaving somewhere for five months isn't always going to be rainbows and butterflies, but missing home doesn't mean I'm not loving Scotland. A little both is healthy for me, or a lot of both I guess. Oh, well! Every day is a turning point. And today? Today was yet another reminder that the world is great, that God's love is even greater, and that running through castles is exactly how I pictured. But better.

The little victories

A quirk in the life of Kelsey Freya: when I find a song that I love, it plays on repeat. You may be thinking, "Well, so what... a couple times a day maybe?" No. When I'm in my room, it's playing. My sister and Mary can both attest to this as they have been a victim of my habit for a very long time. Lately, these lyrics have been spinning through my ear buds: This time, I'll be sailing. No more bailing boats for me, I'll be out here on the sea, just my confidence and me. And I'll be awful sometimes-weakened to my knees, but I'll learn to get by on the little victories.

My lifestyle in Scotland, without a doubt, can come off as quite glamorous. I have my best friend next door, endless possibilities for hill-climbing and sheep-chasing shenanigans, and the North Sea only a few miles away. It wasn't until coming to Scotland that I've been able to take a removed glance at my life back home and have realized: shoot. There is life outside and after Hope College. At this point, I have changed my major on paper at least four times and at least 100 in my head. I have read Hope College's course catalog in its entirety, and have read way too many 'find your calling' books from Border's. I have soul-searched and prayed that I may feel drawn to a major, a concrete dream, a calling. I am currently an Elementary Science Education major and Psychology minor, and I'm only now realizing (the 2nd semester of my Junior year) that I have no intentions of working in a classroom. It makes me laugh that both my sister (a freshman) and I are having the same big questions, only she is encouraged to work with them and I am discretely discouraged from having them. But it is now, halfway across the globe, that I realize that God's plan for my life, for anyone's life, is so much more than a major declaration form.

If I make it to 100 years old maybe I'll finally have plan. Chances are though, I'll still have more questions than answers. Throughout these few weeks at Aberdeen, I've realized that I'm not called to answer to a sheet of paper, an advisor, or a cookie-cutter dream. I'm called to pour my heart into every morning, to listen and to love the people that walk across my path at the perfect times. And even when the fear of living my story weakens me to my knees, I'm called to focus my eyes on the simple beauty in life. The way I get lost only to find a perfect thinking place. The way inopportune class changes seem to work themselves out perfectly. The hopeful little origami bird I found sitting next to me on the bus. The little victories. The overlooked gifts. (They are everywhere.)

On a lighter note, there is a seagull outside my window that does the happy feet dance almost every morning. He looks around to see if anyone is watching (which I always am), and then boom shakalaka: he breaks it down. I highly doubt it will ever get old.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pvg7tf5xHrs