It's The Most Wonderful Time of the Year? Really??

Everywhere we look, the halls are decked.  We walk through department stores and are serenaded with festive music.  Salvation Army bell ringers (refraining from political commentary about why I do not put money in their kettles) are on every corner.  Our mailboxes are full of photos and cards; pictures of other people's families that remind us, perhaps, that we don't have the type of family that our cultural norms and personal expectations would lead us to believe we should.

And we're expected to be in a state of constant cheer, because, 'tis the season, right?  Isn't that what Christmas is all about?  Love and family and having a joyful, grateful heart?

The reality is that Christmas is full of a lot of unrealistic expectations.  The reality is that these expectations can exacerbate feelings of loneliness.  If you have lost family (and I'm using both "lost" and "family" in the loosest sense, as loss and family can both come in a variety of forms) this year or in years past, you can probably resonate with my feelings of ambivalence toward this season.  My 7-year tradition of dancing in the living room on Christmas Eve will not come to pass this year, or ever again.  Sending out an annual update (via holiday letter) seemed so pathetic and ridiculous that I skipped it entirely for 2013.  And the honest truth is that I'm scared of both my small and large family gatherings.  In short: Christmas is something that I'm more looking forward to being done with than looking forward to doing.

If this lack of holiday cheer describes you as well, know that you're not alone, and that it's okay.  And know that you have people to lean on for support.  And know that, despite the hard parts of the season, there are beautiful, wonderful parts as well.  And cookies.  Lots and lots of cookies.

And above all: know that the bars will be open for business the night of December 25th, so join me for a drink if you need one.  :) 

You're Going to Know You're Alive

I recently was on a roller coaster at Valley Fair.  It was night time, and there was a mixture of cold wind/rain slapping our faces as we slowly creeped to the top.   I securely fastened my rainbow monkey hat, and turned to my seatmate and best buddy, Seth, and said, "I'm scared!!" His response was, "You're going to know you're alive!!"  And with that, we dropped 200 feet, screaming dizzily.

And in that moment, I knew I was alive.

Usually we associate the emotion of "alive" with feeling amazing, doing things that are life-giving.  But the human experience of aliveness is multidimensional.  Like a roller coaster, a full, authentic life has ups and downs.  And that includes the exciting, happy, fun, amazing parts.  It also includes challenging parts, and scary parts, and sad parts.  One of my favorite quotes is: "This is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen.  Do not be afraid."   The human condition is to be afraid of the terrible things. But they shouldn't be feared.  They should be embraced, because without the low points, there could be no high points. What fun is a roller coaster that stays at the same altitude for the duration of the ride?

Sometimes the roller coasters we find ourselves on are not by our own choosing.  This year has been the most terrifying and exhilarating roller coaster of my life, and one I did not expect to go on.  But I'm grateful that even on the low parts, I know that I am alive.  Feeling the full spectrum of emotion IS the definition of being alive.  And knowing that sadness is a healthy part of that is what I'm most thankful for.

Today I'm not just thankful to be living, but I'm also thankful to be truly alive.

What are YOU thankful for?

The Burden of "Busy"

In the past 24 hours, I have done the following: 

-Hosted a few friends for drinks while we got ready for the evening
-Donned the Dorothy and Toto costumes one final time
-Rocked out at Soul Friday and the Saloon
-Post-bar, sat around a full dining room table, gobbling chips and chatting until 3:45 am
-Woke up six hours later, bright-eyed and bushy tailed
-Debriefed about the night with my roommate
-Met three lovely ladies for a run around Lake Calhoun
-Spent time with my parents at Minnehaha Falls
-Headed to Uptown to gather up some stuff I'd left at Chateau Fremont
-Walked a dog that a friend is baby-sitting for the weekend
-Skipped over to another friend's house to chat for a couple of hours

And that doesn't even touch on the seven days prior to that.  It's truly been non-stop.

Now, it's 8 pm on Saturday night, and I'm sitting alone in my apartment eating Vietnamese take-out and taking it back about 12 notches.  Normally, being by myself at home on a Saturday night would be tortuous and I'd feel lonely and bored.  But tonight I'm deliberately choosing it.  Not just because I'm tired (which I am) but because I'm consciously recognizing that it's okay to do this. 

Our culture might beg to differ.  Our culture validates busy.  Our culture equates busy with success and popularity.  Our culture (or is it just my internal compass, that I'm projecting on "culture?") tells us that if we're not busy, we should feel lonely.

I get a lot of validity from my lifestyle.  People often remark about the breadth, depth, and girth of my social calendar in a way that vacillates between envy and judgement.  I'm proud of my social stamina.

But that pride and validity needs to be intrinsic.  It can't be dependent on people, parties, and pumpkintinis (Quit rolling your eyes.  I needed the third "P", and I was at a party with people and pumpkintinis recently) to find value in who I am.

So tonight I am valuing myself and my own company.  And I know that being by myself, even on a Saturday night, doesn't mean that I am alone in a larger sense.  Busy can be a burden when it interferes with our own self-worth.  So, tonight - at least for a few hours - I'm telling myself, "Don't let it."

Whatever it is that you're getting your validity and pride from: your job, your children, your sport, your body, or your social calendar.... those are all good, worthwhile things.  But none of them are really where self-worth should come from. Tonight, for me, is about recognizing that. 

Hello, My Name Is: Kate Kilian

I've always had some misgivings about the concept of a woman, by default, changing her name upon marriage.  I do like the idea of married people having a joint name, as it creates a sense of cohesiveness and family. But it seems archaic, in 2013, for a woman to default to a man's name just because it's traditional.  But that's exactly what I did when I got married.  I didn't think about it, and I didn't attribute much meaning to it.  I was in a hurry to git 'er done.  In retrospect, I wish I had done it differently.  I have so much admiration for my friends and acquaintances who took a more non-traditional route to establishing a family name, whether by hyphenating, creating a new name using a permutation of both, etc.

So, when it became clear that my marriage was ending, it was a natural choice to eliminate my husband's last name from my legal name.  It would have been logistically easier to keep the name, avoiding lines at the DMV and the Social Security Office, the frustration of e-mail address changes, and all of the rigamarole at work.  But to continue to affiliate myself with someone who no longer will be affiliated with me just didn't sit right.  The negative of short-term inconvenience was trumped by the positive of long-term dissociation.

Most people who change their name when they get divorced choose to return to their pre-married name, but that's not a rule; the new name can actually be anything.  I could have changed my name to Princess Consuela Bananahammock (Friends style!) if desired.  I thought a lot about how I wanted to be identified post-marriage, and processed through the different possibilities with a number of people whose opinions I value.  In the end, I settled on Katherine Jane Mandt Kilian as my full legal name, with Kate Kilian for common usage.

Changing my name back to Kate Mandt didn't feel quite right, because that would erroneously imply that I'm returning to the person I was before I was married.  In actuality, my married years were formative in so many ways.  They changed me and grew me and molded me into the person I have become.  Kate Mandt was "husband hunting" from the time she was 16 until the time she acquired a husband.  Kate Mandt conformed to her surroundings and was overly focused on how she was perceived by others.  Kate Mandt was self-conscious and walked with her head down more often than not.  That isn't the person I want to be now, and I hope it's not the person that others see in me.

Kilian is my mother's last name.  Neither she nor her sister (my aunt) changed their name when they got married, and now I have the opportunity to join them as an empowered woman, honoring my matriarchal heritage.  But beyond that, I have the opportunity to let the world know, by virtue of my name, that I'm transformed.  I'm not who I was when I was a child, and I'm certainly not my ex-husband.  I'm creating my own identity and my own destiny. 

So, as I begin a new life phase, I'm doing so with this philosophy: I have an amazing opportunity, and responsibility, to re-create myself and to generate something positive and wonderful out of an unfortunate circumstance.  I don't know exactly what that will look like yet, but Kate Kilian will figure it out.... with a lot of help from an amazing and growing network of support, and the knowledge that there is life on the other side of all of this.

Memories of You

On our second date, we went to Figlio in Uptown.  It was early, and the bar was nearly empty.  We talked for a couple of hours.  At one point, we both looked up and around, and realized the bar was packed with people.  We had been so engaged in conversation that we hadn't realized anyone else was there.

Three weeks after we met, we played Taboo together.  We SQUASHED the other team, because we were just so in synch, guessing one another's clues as if we shared a brain.  I think that's when I knew that I'd marry you.

The night before our wedding, I didn't sleep a wink.  I called you every two hours on the dot to let you know that I still wasn't sleeping yet. You answered every time.  My dad walked me down the aisle.  When we got to the front of the church, where you were standing, he shook your hand.  I heard him say to you, "take care of my baby."  And with a tear in your eye, you said "I will."

On our honeymoon, we wrote letters to one another to be opened on our 50th anniversary.   I begged you to let me read yours before you sealed the envelope, insisting that I would never remember what it said when I opened it again, at age 75.  You didn't let me.

Shortly after the wedding, you came down with a mysterious illness.  It was the scariest time in both of our lives.  I headed straight to the hospital after work each day you were there, and stayed with you until it was time for bed.  The day you were misdiagnosed as having a terminal virus was the worst day of my life (until April 1st, 2013).  I crawled into the tiny hospital bed with you and we cried.  We got through it together because we were a team. In sickness and in health.

We had a mouse in our apartment one day.  I stood on the couch and told you to trap it under a coffee mug.  Turns out that's not actually how to capture a mouse.

You only ate sugar on holidays, and every holiday I snuck a pound of Twizzlers, your favorite, into your bag.  I knew you'd finish them before noon.

Once, on a whim, you bought me an 8-inch stuffed bear and put it in my car before work.  You had no idea that he would become our pseudo-child.  We named him Bear, and slept with him every night.  We talked to him about life. We taught him tricks, like back-flips and turning off light-switches. You told me bedtime stories about Bear on nights that I was feeling restless.

There were moments when you almost gave up on finishing your PhD.  But the day I watched you walk down the aisle in your regalia, I couldn't have been prouder.  I threw a big party for you, but overestimated the amount of cake we needed.  We ate leftover cake for days.

We played 300 games of Yahtzee together one summer, and did a statistical analysis about whether we could predict who would win based on the first two turns.  Result: the null hypothesis was true.  Yahtzee really is just a game of luck.  And we were super big nerds.

When I decided to run a marathon, you were skeptical at first.  But you warmed up to the idea, and eventually fully supported it.  You mapped out a spectating route and managed to see me seven times along the 26.2 mile course, cheering wildly each time.  You made six different fan signs.  I don't think I would have finished without you there.

I hope that some day, I will be able to say thank you for these memories.  Today is not that day yet.  Today I'm just grieving for the loss of a future that will never be created.  And maybe for today, that's okay.

Things I've Learned Lately

I have experienced more growth in the past 4 months than I could ever have anticipated. Although change was forced upon me by someone else's decision, I have chosen not to be a passive recipient of the change, but to actively learn and challenge myself during the transition.  Here are the top 10 things I have learned.  I certainly don't have all of the answers (way more questions, in fact), but it's a work in progress.

In no particular order:

1. Don't take yourself too seriously.
I know that I don't always look poised or act "on point".  I also know that I'm not good at everything I do, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't do it.  It's okay if my hair isn't perfect or I still haven't "lost those 10 pounds" I've been working on since circa 1996.  It's okay to twerk on a box at a bar full of strangers, even though my hips don't move the right way, and it's okay to belt out songs at the top of my lungs, even though I can't carry a tune.  It's okay.

2.  Don't allow yourself to live in Groundhog's Day.
It's easy to fall into a routine that involves doing the same things, at the same times, with the same people, day in and day out.  Part of living a vibrant life is mixing it up.  I don't ever want to be someone who goes to the same restaurant every week and orders the same food, or someone who runs the same path four times per week, or someone who does the same thing every Sunday afternoon.  The world is a dynamic place, and living statically is hardly living at all.

3.  Surround yourself with people who bring out the best in you.
I'm lucky to have a significant number of people in my life who challenge me in a positive way, and make me a better person.  They are the ones to whom I will continue to devote the most time, energy, and love.  I'm intentionally bringing more people into my circles, in an effort to have a variety of perspectives and personalities. 

4. You can sleep when you're dead.
I spent far too many years confined to my 11:00 pm bedtime.  Some of the best things happen after that time.  Plus, God invented caffeine for a reason.

5. Don't dwell on what you're "supposed to" be doing/thinking/feeling.
I don't have to live based on societal norms or even my own personal views of what I should or should not be.  I can transcend the concept of "should", and replace it with "could".   There are always options, and there is not just one correct path.

6. Know that you're whole.
This is my favorite line from the most influential song I have ever heard, Midnight Radio from Hedwig and the Angry Inch.  I can't depend on another person to feel complete; that comes from within. 

7. Be authentic.
I'm certainly FAR from perfect, but I'm never, ever fake.  I'm true to myself and I don't tiptoe around who I am.  Everyone who encounters me is going to encounter the real Kate, not some formulaic, fabricated version.

8. Don't limit yourself by setting expectations.
In the past four months, I've found that I am capable of so much more than I ever thought, or expected myself to be.  I can't even imagine what I might be capable of in four years, or 40 years, so I'm not going to try.  I'm just going to enjoy the process of becoming.

9. You are never alone.
No matter if I'm single or partnered, or anything in between, I am not alone and never will be.  A good friend wrote those words to me a week after my relationship status changed, and I will never forget it.

10.  Labels are for food and clothes; not people.
I won't allow anyone to slap a label on me, and I'm not going to slap one on myself.  I'm fluid, and multi-faceted, and to define myself by a word or phrase is a disservice. 

This is What Family Looks Like

Minnesotans United for All Families ran a campaign against the marriage discrimination amendment last fall called "This is what family looks like".  People submitted pictures of their non-traditional families (often a same-sex couple, with or without children).  It's great that same-sex couples can now be legally recognized as family, but there are a lot of other equally valid ideas of what family includes, which I think are important to recognize.

I recently experienced some criticism around the idea that my family values are lacking, or that I don't prioritize family in the way that I "should".   My response to that: I DO value family intensely.  But my definition of family may be different than yours.  I recently lost my primary family member, my husband, along with the entire family I married into.  My parents lost a son-in-law who they cherish(ed), and my sister lost the only brother she has ever had.  People say that friends come and go, but family is permanent.  Clearly, that is not true.  My recent experience has been a salient reminder that family takes many different forms, and that it is constantly fluctuating. 

Blood relatives are certainly very important to me, and I'm lucky enough to have a strong relationship with the family I was born into.  But family can also be CREATED.  My family includes the people who I can text to meet me at the beach at a moments' notice.  Those whose refrigerators I can open and take anything out without asking permission.  Those with whom I can stay out until the sun rises, doing whatever spontaneously comes up.  My family are the people who know the parts of me that I haven't told everyone, and who I know will accept me 100% no matter what paths I choose.  My family includes my lifelong best friend, who lives halfway across the country but who called me every day for the first two or three weeks after my marriage ended, sometimes for updates, sometimes to tell me that she loves me, sometimes to let me cry.  My family are the people with whom I can share a look and instantly "mind read" one another's thoughts.  My family are the people whose doors I don't have to knock on, because I can enter freely.  They're my ever-expanding community of people who I value and relate to and resonate with.  You will not be able to convince me that these aren't the definitions of family.

We don't share blood lines, and we aren't bound legally, but this IS what family looks like.

Unlearn It!

Is my face too round? Does this dress bring out curves in all the wrong places?  Am I too extroverted?  What is he thinking about me?  Is she just pretending to like me?  Am I good enough? Am I smart enough?  Am I thin enough?  What if I get rejected? 

Do these questions sound familiar?  Maybe the questions you ask yourself aren't identical to these, but if you are honest with yourself, you've probably experienced a similar internal monologue.  If you're like me, you have no filter and forget to think before you speak sometimes.... and therefore these questions, which would be better off remaining as internal, spill into the external. 

I've posed all of these questions, and so many more, to my friends recently.  It's not that I have a severe lack of confidence, really.  But I think we've all been faced with messages that chip away at our self-worth.  This feeling of inadequacy is not intrinsic, and it is not an actual reflection of our shortcomings.  It is learned.   We've learned it from people who don't appreciate us or deserve us.  We've learned it from magazine ads.  We've learned it from society.  We've learned it.

It's time to Unlearn It.

A good friend of mine coined the term "Unlearn it!".  This is his answer to all of my "Am I good enough?" questions.  Translation: Maybe you've been told/taught/made to believe that the answer is negative.  But that doesn't mean that it's the correct answer. 

Unlearning it is easier said than done, especially for someone like me, who is going through the greatest betrayal and rejection of my life.  The easy way out is to say "He left me. He doesn't like me. I'm not good enough for him.  I'm not worthy of love."  The first statement is true.  The second is somewhat true.  The third is untrue.  The forth is absolutely ridiculous.  It's EASY to take a circumstantial fact and spin it into so much more than what it really is.  It's DIFFICULT to derive a sense of confidence and self-worth from a situation of being rejected.  But I believe that in this case, the difficult choice is the correct one.  And it really is a choice. 

Whatever the self-depreciating questions are that you are asking yourself, it's time to unlearn it.  Know that you are valuable, beautiful, and worthy of love.

In the mean time, I'll keep working on this, too.  Sometimes it's easier than others, but it's always important.

Are They Really Bigots? An Alternative Response

Two weeks ago, I had the exciting, incredible, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to witness the dream of same-sex marriage become a reality in Minnesota.  There is no adequate way to describe the feelings of joyful victory.  I got to watch my best friend shed tears of joy as he hugged his boyfriend moments after the final vote.  I got to join thousands of supporters at the Capitol rotunda, singing hymns of praise, and our National Anthem.  I was inspired by the dozens of clergy members standing in support of equality.  Never in my life have I been so proud of my state, so proud of my community, so proud of my friends, and so happy to be living in this moment of history.  It was one of the most significant experiences of my life.

But, I also witnessed a state senator say these words: “Some people have said that they are concerned about being on the right side of history. I am more concerned about being on the right side of eternity.” The implication of that statement is not only that LGBTQ-identified people are destined for hell, but that anyone who supports marriage equality is as well.  That attitude is personally and sociologically harmful in ways that he probably will never fully understand.

Unfortunately, this senator is not alone in this thinking.  The Minnesota for Marriage campaign fought hard and long to keep "traditional marriage" in our state.  Their press release indicated that, with the passage of the bill, all those who don't support marriage equality will now be labeled as "bigots".  I have heard many people on the pro-equality side of the debate respond to that assertion by saying, "yes, that's right.  You WILL be labeled as bigots, because you ARE bigots." 

I'm not sure this response is helpful, and I'd like to propose an alternative approach.  But, before going any further, I want to acknowledge this: I have never walked down the street afraid to hold my partner's hand.  I have never been told that I can't marry the person I love.  I've never been bullied for my sexuality or been called a fag or a dyke. I don't know what it feels like to be trapped in a body with a biological sex that doesn't match my gender identity.  I have never been abandoned by my family after bravely expressing who I am.   And I want to be sensitive to the fact that some people who are reading this HAVE had these experiences and have been hurt by them in ways that I may not ever personally understand.

But: I also know people who oppose marriage equality.  I know them to be good, true, authentic people who absolutely have the best intentions.  To name-call and to point fingers shaming them for their beliefs renders US as the intolerant ones.  They are not bigots; they are not stupid; they do not lack logic; they are not immoral.  We are ALL products of our culture and upbringing, and many of our peers who are on the other side of this fight are very good and (I'm daring to say) well-intentioned people.  Maybe they grew up in a religion or a family that taught them that being gay is a sin.  Maybe they really are worried that the "traditional" family structure is threatened.

Can we respond with love instead of anger?  Although we're coming from different perspectives, can we be open to dialogue and a mutual respect for our differences?  The only way that anyone can get from one side to the other is by bridging the gap.  And to respond to people who disagree with us by calling them bigots or homophobes is not building a bridge; it is tearing it down. 

Over 70% of adults under the age of 35 are in favor of marriage equality.  In another generation, that number will assuredly grow.  But let's not let anger and hurt get in the way of our ability to increase that number. 

But more importantly, let's celebrate the fact that we're in the middle of history in the making, and that beginning in August, all Minnesotans will have equal access to civil marriage.  It's not the end of the fight for legal equality, but it's a huge step in the right direction.  Love is Louder.

You are Not Alone and Never Will Be

In early April, I received an e-mail from a good friend.  The final line was this simple message: "You are not alone and never will be."  He had no idea how powerful those words would be to me, but I have repeated them as a mantra nearly every day since. 

I am at a point in my life where I feel like I don't have a lot to give; I feel like all I can do is stretch out my arms and receive love.  So I have. And it has been incredible. I have experienced daily, living, dynamic reminders of my friend's message: I am not alone and never will be.  I have received texts, e-mails, cards, hugs, flowers, chocolate, care packages, stuffed animals, books, cookies, phone calls, lunches, dinners, jokes, memes, shopping trips, prayers, visits, referrals, help with my house, encouragement, and even rocks with (potential) metaphysical healing properties.  Each of these acts of love has touched me and has made me understand the meaning of the phrase "my cup overflows". It is honoring, and humbling, and moving, and unbelievable.

And I don't deserve it.  I am not owed any of this.  Mark did not have to let me come over in a state of shocked panic. Alicia and Rebecca were not obligated to send me stuffed animals in the mail.  Kara, Craig, Tom, Nick, and Erin were not required to treat me to lunches and dinners.  Anne didn't have to make homemade cookies, and hand-deliver them to my house.  Stace and Dave did not need to supply me with a gift card to Let's Dish to make sure that I have easy, healthy food available.  Seth didn't have to teach me how to moisturize and properly apply make-up so that I could feel pretty.  Erin didn't have to hand-deliver a May Day package to my office, on her OWN birthday.  And the list goes on, and on, and on.  I could call out by name several dozen people who have made my life not only bearable, but legitimately incredible.  Every person in my life has responded in unique and beautiful and personally appropriate ways. 

I know a multitude of people who are going through really tough situations.  Maybe there is something in the water here; I don't know.  I have a friend adjusting to life after a break-up.  One dealing with financial concerns.  Another with a serious illness. Another with some legal troubles.  Another with a sudden death in the family.  None of them, none of us, deserve the pain we are facing. 

But none of us are alone, and we never will be.  We were not created to experience life on our own, and we don't have to.  We were created for community.  The past five weeks have been some of the hardest I have ever experienced.  They have also been some of the most beautiful, because I have been constantly reminded of  these simple truths.

I fully intend, when I'm able, to pay back and/or forward all of the kindnesses that I have been shown recently.  Who in your life has provided you with an act love that you didn't deserve - a reminder that you, also, are not alone?  What simple acts of love can you participate in to remind someone in your life of the same thing?  

No matter what season of life you are finding yourself in, remember: You are not alone, and never will be.

Perfect is the Enemy of Good

I have a great dad, who has a tendency to over-use certain phrases and one-liners.  Growing up, I heard "Close, but no cigar", "You can't always get what you waa-aaant" (in the style of Rolling Stones), and "The floor is not a storage space for your clothes" more times than I can count.

My dad also always told me that "perfect is the enemy of good".  This one has really stuck with me. 

Life ebbs and flows, and recently I was in a phase in which it truly felt like I had a PERFECT life.  Everything was falling into place and I was at the top of my game.  My biggest concerns this past fall ranged from where to find the best stuffed chihuahua for my Elle Woods Halloween costume (One-click shopping on Amazon, obviously!), to whether I'd be able to dance all night in my red heels without my feet hurting (Definitely not, so I threw some spare flip-flops in my purse).  I was the girl who everyone could count on for a crazy story from the preceding weekend.  There was a running joke that I should be on "depressant" pills to tone down my incessant happiness.

Currently, I am not in that phase.  There are some things that I need to change, and some things that are not in my control to change.  Things are not perfect. 

But they're still good.  All of my basic needs are in the bag.  I live with my husband in the best city on earth, and we have a house in a great part of town.  We are debt-free and have stable jobs.  I get to see friends almost every day in some capacity.  I'm constantly meeting new people, and becoming involved with various communities.  I am continually impressed with the goodness of the people in my life, and I still maintain that I have the most amazing friends in the world.  And, yes, there are still parties to look forward to.

Perfect is the enemy of good.  To be satisfied only when things are perfect is to set ourselves up for perpetual unhappiness.  Even when things aren't perfect, if we focus on the good, we can find joy. 

My challenge to myself today, and to you: Don't aim for perfection.  Recognize and seek out the good, and use the challenges as opportunities for growth.  And always, always, always keep looking forward.

Camp WAPO Memories

I recently came across a box of memories from 2002-2003.  These were the two summers I worked at camp WAPO.  The notes, journal entries, pictures, and art projects I found made me feel reflective about my time as a camp counselor.

I spent a week at WAPO every summer growing up. Located on a peninsula between two gorgeous lakes near Amery, Wisconsin, this camp was my favorite place in the world.   I looked up to and admired my college-aged counselors, and anticipated a time when I would be old enough to be in that role.  That time finally came in the summer of 2002.

Driving up to WAPO to begin my first summer as a counselor was one of the most exciting times of my life.  I fretted about what I should wear (I'll be running around a lot, but I also want to make a good impression, so do I curl my hair??  Do I wear a cute top? My favorite doc marten sandals?), how I should present myself (should I be the shy one? The out-going one? The boy-crazy one?  The Jesus freak?), and how the social aspect would pan out (I was freshly out of a relationship and looking for fresh meat, but I also wanted to make friends and be social).  Upon arriving, I was thrown into a "Family" (a small group of counselors who planned activities together) of about 8 counselors, three of whom would end up having a significant impact on my life.  We decided on JIMBF as our family name, which stands for Jesus is My Boyfriend.  We had two weeks of staff training, during which I lived in a cabin with a dozen other girls my age (at 19-22, we could hardly call ourselves women).  Although this seems completely uncharacteristic for anyone who knows me now, during those weeks I was the first one up and in the shower, and usually the only one to blow dry my hair, put on mascara and lip gloss, and carefully choose my outfit for the day. 

My first summer as a counselor was intense.  I turned 21 that August, and although I looked and felt like a grown-up, the reality is that I was still a child.  Although the young girls I counseled saw me as a role model and a good Christian example, this really couldn't have been further from the truth.  I often didn't feel like I was being honest with my campers, or with myself, by leading Bible studies and answering their questions about faith.  My time as a camp counselor was just one part in a long process of examining my religious faith, which is something that's still on-going and a work in progress. 

Relationally, camp counseling was the most unique experience of my life.  My co-workers were also my best friends.  There was no boundary between work and play, 23 hours a day (we had a one-hour break afternoon, during which we'd pile the maximum number of people possible into a car and head to the town coffee shop for a Frescata... a highly caloric frozen caffeinated chocolate beverage).  We had weekends off, and I spent as many as possible sticking around camp.  We'd hang out on the lake during the day, and stay up until dawn in the staff lounge on "big blue", this disgusting old couch that everyone loved, reasons unknown.  I really felt like I fit in with my peers at camp, and got along well with ALMOST everyone.  I formed close friendships with two other girls, and the three of us stayed in touch for many years.  Recently, I've mostly lost touch with one of them, but the other remains one of my closest friends.  If there is one single thing for which I'm most grateful to WAPO, it is that friendship.

In addition to fun and friends, I was also looking for love that summer, and I found it almost immediately.  Although it was definitely not a right fit long-term, I have nothing but positive things to say about my camp relationship.  It lasted through that first summer, long-distance during the school year following, through a second summer at camp, and half-way through another school year.  I invested much more of my life to that relationship than any 21-22 year old should.  Although I felt completely blind-sided by what seemed to me to be an abrupt ending, looking back, I can see now that saying good-bye was the best thing he could have done both for himself AND for me.  We parted ways at a mid-winter camp reunion, just a few yards from the spot we had met a year and half prior.... and we haven't seen each other since.  At the time, the 19 months we'd been together felt like forever, and starting over "at ground zero", as I referred to it, felt impossible.  Nine years later, that time in my life almost feels like a blip on the radar.  A blip that taught me a lot, and that I remember with fondness.  I think, and hope, that he would agree.  Although broken hearts are one of the hardest things many people go through in life, they also help us remember our strength as individuals, and the importance of balance and having multiple "significant others" in our lives, beyond our romantic partners.  During the time that I felt weaker than I've ever felt before or since, I also felt infinitely supported and loved by my family and friends.

If you were ever a camp counselor, you probably have similar experiences and stories.  Ultimately, I think my summers as camp counselor hold all of my most influential "coming of age" stories.  I worked a little, played a lot, made mistakes, made friends, made enemies, fell in love.  As a young camper looking forward, being a counselor seemed glamorous and grown-up and exciting.  As an adult looking back, being a counselor was formative; a learning experience and a stepping stone.  If you are reading this and were a part of my WAPO experience, thank you for that.