On Top of the World

I’ve been planning out my senior year since before I was a freshman at Notre Dame. I was going to be an RA. I was going to do a senior year internship for ACE. I was going to be president of my choir. If you know me, or even if you’re just a regular follower of this blog, you’ll know that I am a planner. I love to plan - trips, dream schools, unwritten novels- but especially, I love to plan my future. And senior year was going to be the culmination of my planning. It was going to be the time when all my years of work were finally going to pay off. My freshman and sophomore years, I looked up to my RAs, the interns I knew at ACE, and the presidents of my choir. I wanted to be them. I wanted to be someone who people looked up to.

The fall of my junior year came around with deep anticipation. I wrote application essays. I nitpicked my resume. I spent two hours one evening recording a campaign speech for my choir presidency. I spent afternoons with my notebook, writing out notes about each opportunity. I nervously sat through interviews. And I prayed. I prayed so much, probably more than I had in a very long time. I wanted this to be the perfect senior year. I wanted to be a role model. And I wanted God to want it for me, too. When the final submit button was pressed and the last Hail Mary said, I began to wait.

Two months ago, at 6AM, using Megabus Wifi in Edinburgh, on a trip I was taking all by myself, I opened the e-mail from my AR. With that dreaded lurch, the feeling like your stomach is dropping out from beneath you, I learned that I would not be an RA my senior year. I wasn’t terribly surprised, my dorm had over 30 girls applying for 7 spots, but as much as I tried not to be, I was disappointed. So, as I drowsily staggered off the bus and into the rainy streets of Edinburgh, I decided the best thing to do would be to climb a mountain. It wasn’t a terribly huge hill, but I still felt successful when I made my way to the very top. It was early and deserted and I expected  to cry, but instead, I was in awe. From the mountain top, I watched the sunrise over the harbor of Edinburgh, and all of a sudden, my rejection seemed smaller. Who was I to feel sad over this little thing, when I was on top of a mountain? I was in a city I had never seen before, all by myself (in the freezing rain) and I felt far away from the world I used to know. My problems seemed miniscule. I took deep breaths and told myself that when I came down from the mountain, I wasn’t allowed to be upset anymore. I had one day in Edinburgh and I was going to make the most of it. I came back down and had perspective.

A month later came my second disappointing e-mail. I found out that despite my campaign efforts, I would be choir secretary instead of president. This news came somewhere in between traveling to Amsterdam, Rome, and Barcelona while I was trying to balance schoolwork and 10 hour days of shooting a student film. In the rush of travel and filming, I found that I simply didn’t have time to be sad. I had to treasure each of these moments and not let the bad news bring me down. After all, I told myself, the ACE internship is the one I wanted the most, and that was still out there. Who knew what still could happen? I resigned to keep hoping for that.

This past Friday, I received my e-mail from ACE. The third “no.” And to be honest, a lot of me wanted to fall apart. I quietly left my hotel room in Greece,  went on to the terrace, and promptly called my mom and cried to her.

When you get rejected, it doesn’t feel like one rejection, but everything you’ve ever been rejected from all at once. Not getting this internship felt like not getting the RA position. It felt like opening the waitlisted letter for Notre Dame. It felt like my first real heartbreak. It felt like not getting the role I wanted in my high school’s play. It felt like not getting the summer jobs that I wanted. It felt like the e-mail saying that I had been waitlisted for the Paris Study Abroad program. It was fell like all of it, all at once. It felt like being broken.[KM1] 

“There is something wrong with me, Mom,” I whispered, “I am never picked first. I am always the second choice. I am always the one who doesn’t get it.”

But here I was in Santorini, Greece, one of the most beautiful islands of the world, actual real life paradise. And as terrible and horrible as I felt, I didn’t want to miss a moment. So, I did what I did in Edinburgh when I was disappointed- I climbed a mountain.

In three hours, I hiked from the ancient city of Fira to the equally historic city of Oia. It involved hiking up two mountains, past caves and fields of flowers, and even in some places where the trail totally disappeared. From the top, I saw the caldera, a space which had once occupied a single island, but through volcanic eruptions had changed into several islands and is now home to some of the most beautiful sunsets in the world. It was standing here, taking in how God had taken this act of destruction and made it even more beautiful than it had been before, that I felt myself once again feel the serenity of perspective. God made this huge, thriving, breathing world full of more people and places than we can see in a lifetime. But God also made me. And in making me, he made plans for me, plans that I can’t even begin to understand. Here I am, on top of this mountain in Greece, some place I’d never thought I’d be, but God led me here. And he will continue to lead me where I am supposed to be. My semester abroad has taken me to new heights (literally) and to unexpected places and people. If God can know me so well to lead me there, who knows where God will lead me next. And this means that God is going to lead me to a senior year that is exactly where I am supposed to be. So what if I am not living the life of the people I once looked up to? I am ready to become someone I look up to, by happily embracing each simple moment of every day. My new course for life is simply being present in the moment I am in. And in that presence, to find perspective. I decided it was high time that I leave the planning to God and I settle back to enjoy the view.

So yes, in some tiny ways, my life is uncertain. I don’t know what I am doing next year. Or after I graduate. But it’s okay, because I’m watching the sunrise on the mountains in Scotland. I’m watching my favorite ballet company perform in London. I’m walking across canals in Amsterdam. I’m going to Easter Sunday Mass at the Vatican. I’m starring in movies in Paris. I’m watching my favorite musician perform in Barcelona. I’m climbing up to castles in Germany. And here in Greece, I am sailing in the Mediterranean. I’m scaling volcanoes. I’m on top of mountains. And, right here, in this very moment, I’m on top of the world.

Visages of Jesus

My mom recently traveled from the US to spend a week with me abroad. It was an amazing week showing her some of my favorite sights in the city- the elegant art museum where I like to get tea, my favorite little restaurant that serves an American style brunch, and the best ice cream shop in Paris. We even went to Barcelona for a few days to soak up the sunshine, enjoy Gaudi’s fascinating architecture, and see our favorite musician perform. I loved seeing my mom and spending time with her in my new European world. And nothing showed me how many new Parisian sensibilities I’ve adopted than seeing how “American” my mom was. I giggled and rolled my eyes as she smiled at strangers and talked loudly on the metro. . But, in her short time here, she noticed something in Paris that my aloof eyes hadn’t until now.

My mom was constantly pointing out not just the beauty of Paris, but the poverty of Paris too. She would say things like, “Do you see that area over there? Some homeless people are camped out over there” or “Gosh Megan, I wish I had brought more money with me. Next time I come to Europe I am just going to bring money to help people.” As we were taking a bus past another homeless person, my mom said, “Why don’t you write your blog this week about what it is like to see poor people on the streets?” And I replied in a super charitable Christian way by saying, “Oh yeah I don’t actually pay attention to that.”

To be very honest, in a city where pickpockets and con-artists are an ever present threat, the beggars and homeless of Paris have become a facet I try to ignore and avoid as much as possible. Especially as a young woman often navigating the city by myself, I constantly worry about the threat of being scammed. But it is also convenient to be ambivalent, and a lot easier to pretend these people don’t exist than it is to think about how difficult life in Paris must be for people who sleep in streets, don’t have a reliable source of food, face a disability, or have the responsibility of raising a child..

In this past Sunday’s gospel, Jesus’s followers fail to recognize him once he had risen from the dead. They fail to believe that the man in front of them could actually be Jesus. When we hear this gospel it is shocking to us, because we can’t imagine having Jesus in front of us and not being able to see him for who he is. And yet this is something we do all the time. How often do we encounter people and fail to see the Jesus that lives in them?

It is easy to turn away. At the beginning of this school year, I wrote about how my experience working at camp helped me to see what it means to love as God loves. After a summer of  giving and serving, I had worked hard to see and love everyone as endlessly as God does. But somewhere along the way that awareness seemed to have faded away. What I wasn’t realizing was that loving as God does and looking for that light in others isn’t something you can do for a few weeks or a few months. And it isn’t just the poor people on the street that we need to challenge ourselves to see Jesus in. Rather, it’s the kid in class who is driving you crazy, the person who lives next door who plays his music too loud, and the lady at the train ticket office who can’t seem to understand your muddled French Everyone you encounter deserves for you to see the bit of Jesus that exists inside them. Everyone you encounter deserves your patient and selfless love. Whether it’s through monetary donations, bringing a person food or giving your time and attention, each of us needs to make it a point to see Jesus in others and give of ourselves selflessly just as he would.

Reflections from The Anne Frank Huis

Yesterday at 7AM, I found myself standing outside the Anne Frank Huis.. I was there early in anticipation of a long line and because, for me, her home was the most important thing for me to see on my trip.

When I was in middle school, I read The Diary of Anne Frank twice. I had been so fascinated that a girl my own age had spent two years of her life in hiding, struggling with constant fear of discovery, all the while dealing with the same adolescent struggles I faced. As I myself was a young girl who loved writing, I related to the way Anne used the written word to tell her own story. I even remember auditioning for a theater competition by reading monologues from the stage adaptation of her diary. Her story stuck with meas I got older. When I was a senior in high school, I read The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. In the novel, two terminally ill teenagers kiss for the first time while visiting the Anne Frank Huis. I felt called to see this place for myself and to understand how one tiny building could stand so firmly on both fear and hope.

At 9AM, the doors finally opened (we were the first people there) and we entered the museum (my toes were frozen). The museum’s first floor set the scene  and provided an introduction to Anne’s life, death, and legacy through videos and pictures. I then began to make my way through the house itself. I had always imagined that it would be like stepping into Anne’s house as it was before her death, but instead, the rooms were empty. Just after her family was found, their furniture was cleared out. When they turned the house into a museum, Otto Frank (Anne’s father) decided that the furniture shouldn’t be returned. My guidebook explained that this was to represent all that the family lost during the Holocaust. It was jarring and haunting, but it helped touch upon the emptiness and desperation the family and countless others must have felt losing everything.

The attic space had been turned into a museum. There were videos from survivors who knew Anne Frank and talked about what she was like. It was interesting to hear first-hand accounts, and especially testimony from her father who remarked that her diary revealed thoughts  they never knew she had. It made me think about people I know, and I wondered if we all have secret stories inside of us that we keep from the world. The last room in the museum was a collection of Anne Frank’s actual diaries. This was one of the most fascinating parts, to see up close her actual writing- her girly cursive letters about everything from her crushes at school to horror toward the current situation and her hopes and ambitions for the future.

The final part of the Anne Frank Huis was a movie of people discussing the legacy of her life. This was perhaps the most poignant part of the experience. The movie contained so many different perspectives. Nelson Mandela discussed how he read Anne’s diary while in jail to give himself strength. Natalie Portman discussed what it was like to play Anne in the stage adaptation. John Green read passages from The Fault in Our Stars that were set there (just like me the people in charge of the Anne Frank Huis are huge fans of this book). But there were also quotes from random visitors to house, including Anne’s middle school boyfriend  and literature professors and countless others to show the way her story has touched so many. It was here that I began to cry, in awe of the way a young girl’s writing had inspired people all around the world.

It made me think of my own story. I have such privilege to be able to write to you, my loyal and wonderful blog readers, each week. I get to tell my stories and share my thoughts, fears, and hopes. Furthermore, I have the even richer privilege of getting feedback in the emails, comments, and conversations that stem from my blog each week. Tragically, on Earth, Anne never got to see the way her writing would challenge and change the world. The way her own house would go on to be the setting for a new generation of readers to remember to love deeper and treasure each moment. But I believe, that somewhere, Anne is watching. And I hope that she is seeing the way her words have rippled across the world and transformed the lives of others.

Postcards from Rome

This past weekend I had the wonderful opportunity of visiting Rome as a part of the Campus Ministry Holy Week Pilgrimage. Between my semester in Paris and my upcoming summer internship in Dublin, I’ll have been  in Europe for close to seven months by the time I come home, which means I’ve just about reached the half way point of my travels in Europe. This made it a wonderful opportunity to take a pause from my life in Paris to explore a new country and reflect on two very important journeys: Jesus’s and my own.

Jesus’s Journey

Holy Week is one of those opportunities we have to enter deeply into Jesus’s journey, and specifically into his journey to the cross and back again to life. It is a chance to try to understand Jesus’s pain, sorrow, and suffering. But suffering is painful, so it is often  much easier to ignore it than it is to feel it.. This is something I have been all too guilty of in the past. Entering into this pilgrimage, it was important for me to try to deeply experience Holy Week, particularly the painful parts. Luckily, this pilgrimage did not hold back when it came to entering into the agony of the passion. This came in different forms- in the real physical pain of praying the 28 Scala Sancta (Holy Stairs) on my knees, walking an average of 10 miles a day, and waiting for 6 hours in the rain and cold for Easter Mass at the Vatican. Through these moments, despite my discomfort, I was continuously reminded of the  suffering Jesus had to endure. There were also many opportunities to emotionally enter into the suffering, including a heartbreaking Good Friday service at Trinita dei Monti. These experiences weren’t easy, but that is the point of Holy Week, it isn’t supposed to be easy. It is supposed to be painful, frightening, and unsettling. It is only from this place of darkness that we can fully embrace the light that is Jesus’s resurrection. We attended the Easter Vigil at the Venerable English Council and as  Easter Vigils go, it began in darkness. When we at last reached the resurrection, the church was illuminated, revealing a beautiful chapel, my jaw literally dropping. The miracle of the resurrection seemed more powerful and awe-inspiring than it ever had before. This pilgrimage was amazing in that it really allowed each pilgrim to immerse themselves in Jesus’s journey understanding and feeling the sorrow and joy that comes with it.

My Own Journey

As I near the end of my junior year, the imminence of my upcoming senior year is beginning to weigh upon me. With so many decisions about next semester just arriving or still up in the air, I was deeply in need of some time to reflect, pray, and listen to what God has planned for me in the upcoming year. The first night we took a walking pilgrimage from church to church throughout Rome, stopping for adoration in each one. This was an amazing experience to continuously reencounter Jesus in different and beautiful spaces. It was here that I was really able to step back and ask God what I was looking for and where to find  the places I needed strength in my life. The following day, we visited more churches throughout Rome including St. John Lateran, Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, Sant’ Alfonso, and St. Mary Major. It was through my silent prayer in these churches that I had even more time to really pray and ask God to lead me to find the strength and fulfillment I was looking for in my final year. I still don’t know what my future holds, but through prayer I have found peace in the idea of uncertainty, and I am realizing that when I allow my own story to be written by God, it can only end where I am supposed to be. Finding peace in my own journey was such an important part of this pilgrimage.

These past few days in Rome have been amazing. It was also a chance to reconnect with friends from Notre Dame who I haven’t seen in months, a chance to see the beautiful city that is Rome, and a chance to eat some of the most amazing food in the world. The weekend finished with Mass at the Vatican, in which I got to be less than 10 feet from Pope Francis. It was truly a time in my life I will never forget. Now, I am just about to head back to Paris and continue my adventure there. I am so grateful for this chance that Holy Week offered me, to explore the sorrow and joy, in both my journey, and in Jesus’s.