Dear Freshman Megan,

Dear Freshman Megan,

You’re sitting in the family van, stuffed full of everything you’ve imagined putting in your college dorm- the one at Notre Dame you’ve spent four years of high school daring yourself to envision. You are wearing the outfit you’ve had picked out for weeks. This crazy dream you never thought was going to come true is about to unfold right before you. And I can promise you right now, darling little almost-Freshman Megan,  it not going to be easy. College is going to be really hard.

You will start college with a list of things you are planning to accomplish. This is what it looks like: Join Folk Choir, work as a mentor for ND Vision, study abroad in Angers, become an RA, intern for ACE, and graduate to become the ideal teacher. All while maintaining a perfect relationship with your high school boyfriend. This plan is so ingrained in your head that you can’t even imagine college being anything but this plan. I hate to tell you this (and of course the last four years would have been a lot easier if I could) but none of this will happen.

A lot of your freshman year will be spent hiding your tears of homesickness, heartbreak, and the realization that the future is made up of uncertainties. Some days, you’ll look up at the dome and wonder if all this pain is worth it for the dream. But, you’ll finish freshman year feeling a lot less homesick, a little less heartbroken, and confident that it’s all going to work out. That’s not to say it gets any easier. You’ll take classes so difficult it will make you question ever thinking you were smart enough to go to Notre Dame. You’ll have nights of terrifying loneliness where you’ll wonder if anyone really knows you, if anyone really cares. You’ll feel as if you are drowning in stress. You’ll have disappointments and frustrations and you’ll stay up late writing angsty entries into your journal.

But in the end, you will grow into yourself. You’ll learn to accept the uncertainties of your life. They are still frustrating, but you will learn to live in acceptance of them instead of in conflict. You’ll learn how to succeed in your classes, but also how get help when things aren’t okay. You’ll learn how to live on your own and embrace independence in a way you’ve never had the freedom to do before. You’ll learn how to take care of yourself when you feel stressed. You’ll learn how to tell your stories, even the painful ones, so that you can help others. You’ll begin to learn how to love yourself in the way God loves you and that is so, so important.

And you will have so much fun because you are going to do incredible things you don’t even know about yet. You will travel to places of your dreams. You’ll do research in France as a sophomore, feeling so joyful and awe-filled as you begin to explore on your own. And then you’ll come back to spend seven months in Europe- studying in Paris, interning in Ireland, travelling everywhere you can afford. It will change your life and all you will do is dream about going back. So much so that you put off your teaching dreams to spend another year in Europe after graduation. It’s not what you expected, but it’s exactly right.

What else? You will make amazing friends. It will take a while to make them, but finding people you can be 100% yourself around is always worth the wait. These friends are the kind of people that agree to making up Hamilton-themed (oh right, you haven’t heard of this yet- it’s a musical and it’s good, I promise) Bookstore Basketball teams. They have creative writing reading nights. They do yoga with you every Friday morning. They are down for brunches out or game-and-wine nights in. They care about you a lot and you care about them too.

Is there anything I’m missing? You get a pet bunny, like you’ve always wanted. You write a senior thesis, even though the prospect of it terrifies you. You write this blog, which is one of the most important ways you contribute to Notre Dame. There are plenty more things I could tell you, but I think you need some surprises, so I’ll stop here. There are things you swear you will never do, but you do them anyway- and that’s okay- that’s growing up. There are things you regret, but we all have those, and in the end, you know every wrong turn is part of God’s plan. Because that is the truth of it, the most important thought I give you- God has a plan for you. Yes, the road is hard. Yes, all your plans will get scrapped. But God’s plan for you is leading you to happiness that you can’t even imagine yet. And in the end, you’ll see that God’s plan might be better than your own.

The night before you go to Notre Dame, you’ll write in your journal, “I go to seek a great adventure.” And that you do. Notre Dame isn’t always easy. But it is always, always an adventure. And it is always worth it.

Now go live it!

-Megan

Easter Unexpected

All week I told everyone how excited I was to go home for Easter. I had been abroad for Easter last year and I will be abroad for Easter next year, so I wanted to absorb as much “Home Easter” as possible because I didn’t know when I’d celebrate it with my family again. I was excited for all our favorite traditions- going up north for Good Friday, going to the Easter Vigil at St. Philomena’s, my beloved home parish, brunch on Easter Sunday morning, and then a huge dinner with our extended family on Sunday night. So it made it all the worse when I got home and found out that Easter was going to be a little different this year.

Due to the snow up north, my mom explained to me, we would be staying home on Good Friday. She added that we wouldn’t be celebrating the Easter Vigil at our home parish either. She was the sponsor for a man who would soon receive the sacraments of Baptism and Confirmation, which meant we would attend the Easter Vigil at St. Charles, a different church in Detroit. “Ugh,” I mock complained (though I’m not going to lie there was definitely a note of truth there), “Why did I even come home?”

While missing Friday was disappointing, it provided me with a chance to catch up with friends and spend time with my family, which were all good things. But missing the Easter Vigil at St. Philomena’s was killing me. I’m obsessed with my home parish. It is full of the nicest people you’ve ever met. It is a very laid back place that accepts everyone and makes each member feel like family. It’s led by Father Pete, a 97 year old priest with the biggest heart in the world. I wanted to celebrate mass in the parish that feels as close to “home” to me as my own house.

So naturally, being the amazing model Catholic I am, I grumbled about missing St. Philomena’s Easter Vigil the entire way to St. Charles. My mom tried to explain the extraordinary story of conversion that had taken place for the man she was sponsoring. He had attended the Capuchin Soup Kitchen for years, becoming friends with the religious that served there, but only now had experience the love of Christ and felt called to fully enter the church. But I wasn’t letting myself be moved. I wasn’t allowing myself to open up to enjoying this mass. I was determined to have a terrible time.

That was until the choir began to sing. There was a gospel choir that made me weak in the knees at the very first note. They made me want to both sing along, but also sit and savor the experience. It was honestly so incredible. There was also a group of dancers that performed with the readings. Obviously, I was so excited about this and I loved the way they made the readings richer.

The most beautiful part of the mass was the sacrament of Baptism. It was done outside, in the streets of Detroit, in 35 degree weather. The baptisms were done full immersion style in what my family lovingly dubbed “the holy hot tub.” As each candidate immerged from the water, the congregation erupted in“Alleluia!” It was as if the whole church was rejoicing for them. I felt a swell of victory and joy as each new member joined our church.

I would eventually learn more about St. Charles. About how my grandmother lived across the street, how my great grandparents were wed there, and how my grandmother’s graduation picture hung in the basement. It was a place that had felt like home for my family long before I arrived there. But it was through the joyous hearts of the congregation that I began to feel like it was a home as well.

The next morning we went to brunch as usual, searched for our Easter baskets, and went to our family Easter party. The rest of our traditions fell into place as if nothing had been different at all. I’m still missing St. Philomena’s, but I know it will be there each week when I visit. But the beauty of conversion and community I saw at St. Charles was unique and lively in it’s own vibrant way and I feel lucky to have witnessed it.

Irish Blessings

It is ironic, but perhaps fitting that after my last blog I would find myself waitlisted for nearly every program in which I applied. I could tell you more about that. About letter after letter that said things like, “You are a strong applicant, but we haven’t found a placement for you.” About sitting on the bench overlooking the lake crying to my mom on the phone, wondering out loud, “Does anyone believe I will be a good educator?” I could tell you about restless nights crying, wondering where and what God was calling me to do. I could write an honest and painful blog about the heartbreaking frustration of discerning my future.

But writing that blog would shortchange the opportunity to tell you how joyful I am to discover  exactly what God is calling me to do. How jubilant I am to be moving to Ireland next year to teach religion and help with music ministry at a parish in Wexford in a Notre Dame program called House of Brigid. So instead of writing about my heartbreak, I am going to write about how and why I feel so overwhelmingly called to say yes to this next chapter in my life

I remember the night I first began thinking about applying for the House of Brigid program. I had been interning in Dublin over the summer. I was standing in the apartments that were typically used for House of Brigid and I started thinking about it. Teaching catechism and singing in choir were two of my favorite things to do. And I obviously loved being in Ireland. All of a sudden I could see myself here. “What if I applied to House of Brigid?” I thought out loud to a friend standing beside me. “That’d be perfect for you! You should do it,”  she replied.

Looking back there were even more whispers that the House of Brigid was something I was called to do. During Fall semester, I found myself becoming a stress-monster. Every bit of schoolwork overwhelmed me. While I was applying to mostly graduate teaching programs and I couldn’t wait to start teaching, a lot of me worried whether I had the stamina for the demands of graduate work. In the meantime, I couldn’t stop thinking about going back to Europe. My semester and summer abroad had been the best time of my life and I just wanted to slip back into it. I hated trying not to be “that study abroad returnee,” when I felt so transformed, so enthusiastic about the experiences I had while in Europe. I can see now that these thoughts were prayers. They were me asking God to help me find a place where I could find peace from stress, from my restlessness to travel. And it was the beginning of God shaping the perfect solution for me.

I remember sitting outside the interview room for House of Brigid, praying once more. “This program is all about ministry, so I hope you lead people to it who are truly supposed to be there. I’m not sure if this is for me, but if it is, I’m open to it,” I prayed. And then, a half hour later, I left my interview without the same dazzling confidence I felt in the others. I pushed the program from my mind, deciding that I hadn’t done well enough. I wouldn’t get it. So then, weeks later, when I got an e-mail telling me  I was an alternate for the program, I pushed the thought even farther away- contenting myself to enter graduate school and teach.

But God works in mysterious and profound ways. During Spring Break I found out that a spot had opened up for me in the program. I had four days to make a decision. You’d think it would be easy. After all, it was everything I wanted: a chance to return to Europe, an opportunity to share my faith, more experience teaching, and a chance to find peace from my stressful academic schedule. But that weekend I was travelling to Baltimore for another interview for a graduate teaching program. I was struggling to be open to both positions. My heart was calling me to Ireland. But my head was begging me to be practical and start teaching, get a master’s degree right away.

“Give me a sign,” I asked God before Mass while in Baltimore, nearly crying from the stress of discerning. Moments later, I opened my hymnal to a page at random. Irish Blessing it read.

“Okay, God,” I thought, “that’s actually pretty good. But give me more.”  I then began to receive calls and e-mails from people involved with House of Brigid, all with more and more information that helped me see myself there, helped me see that I could be a valuable addition to the program.

I was nearly ready to give in, but a tiny bit of my head clung to the practical. After all, doing a graduate teaching program after graduating had been my plan for so long. I wondered if maybe I should ignore my heart, ignore this strong call and do what was practical. Then I didn’t get the job in Baltimore and I knew more than ever that I was being called to say yes to House of Brigid. I could reapply to teaching programs in a year, but I could follow this call right now.

So I said yes. Since that moment I have only found myself getting more and more excited to go to Ireland, more joyful to have figured out where God was calling me. This isn’t the path I planned for myself, but it is the path God has planned for me. And I cannot wait to see where this path leads.

Waiting

By the time I write my next blog, I will have the answer to the question that has been haunting me since I first put down my deposit at Notre Dame: what comes next? But for now, I am waiting. I am so, so sick of waiting. Sometimes I feel like I have been waiting forever, carrying this burden of not knowing for so long that I might burst. It often feels like my life is a never-ending routine of waiting.

I remember being thirteen and going downtown to audition for the Nutcracker. I remember sitting in the green room crying. I remember thinking, “Maybe they’ve made a mistake.” I was certain they would run into the green room or call my mom’s cell phone and say, “Yes, her, we made a mistake but we really want her.” There was no call. I wasn’t wanted.

Two years later, I sat in my mom’s car, heartbroken once again for not making the advanced dance chorus in the school’s musical. She convinced me to go back in and ask if there had been a mistake. The director sat down with me and we talked about it. He too was concerned that there had been a mistake and told me he’d contact the choreographer. For two days I waited until he gave me that call that I wanted. There had been a mistake. My waiting had been worth it.

Years flashed by and I was a senior in high school waitlisted at Notre Dame. Months were spent in limbo, not knowing where I was going to college, not knowing if my dreams were going to come true. I spent my time hoping and praying for a chance at my dream college. When my acceptance finally arrived, I had nothing but joy at the new adventure awaiting me.

Then, another two years later, I was on another waiting list, waiting to hear once again if I was good enough to study abroad in Paris. I was frustrated and heartbroken that I felt like I was constantly forced to prove myself, prove to the world that I cared enough about my dreams to make them happen. Couldn’t I possibly be enough? And of course, eventually someone believed I must be and took me off the list.

I am exhausted from the emotional weight of not knowing my future. I am anxious about the possibilities that await- the heartbreak of rejection, the profound joy of acceptance, but mostly the stomach churning uncertainty of another waitlist. Because that is the truth- I am absolutely terrified of being waitlisted again. I am terrified of being a constant second choice, of never being good enough. It is this thought that keeps me up late at night. Haven’t I been waiting long enough?

If I’ve learned anything in college, and in particular through these experiences, it is to learn to accept uncertainty. There is only so much we can do to control our future. It’s easy to make goals and chase dreams, but they all take place on God’s timeline, written in God’s pen. But knowing and believing it is one thing, living it is another. Despite all the thinking I’ve done on the subject, I still resent this period of waiting, dreading the e-mails that will decide my fate. “Sometimes I feel like I am doing all this waiting just to be rejected,” I admitted to my mom on the phone recently. I am still struggling with how to reconcile my strong desire to dream big with the heartache of being rejected. Because I don’t know if I am ready (will I ever be?) to go through the pain of rejection, but I am miserable waiting for it.

One thing I know for sure is that I don’t have all the answers. (The rest has been lost due to the blog deleting itself and me being terrible at saving things)

Ode to Galentines

Last semester from Thanksgiving to Christmas break, I marathoned through  Parks and Recreation. Obviously I had studying and extracurriculars and social obligations, but I somehow managed to watch all 7 seasons. The show is like watching sunshine. It’s full of beautiful friendships that aren’t always perfect, but are somehow as supportive and loving as possible. From Ann and Leslie’s best friendship, to Tom and Donna’s[KM1]  Treat Yo Self days, to each nuanced and splendidly real friendship each character found with another, I was obsessed with the way the show promoted and celebrated friendship.

With one final semester at Notre Dame, my friends and I have decided to embrace our inner Leslie Knopes. From hosting parties solely dedicated to validating each other, to learning how to Salsa downtown, to trying out new restaurants in South Bend, we’re making the most of these last few months. My own Leslie Knope zeal has come out in the form of weekly yoga and meditation classes I lead on Fridays. This past Friday, I decided to kick it true Parks and Rec style and insist we go out to Galentines Day brunch after my class. It was wonderful to be surrounded by my close friends, sharing and rejoicing in our friendships. My weekend only got better when my mom, sister, and one of my best friends from home and her mom came to visit on Sunday. We had a celebration of friendship with yet another brunch. (I swear Uptown Kitchen made a ton of money off me this weekend).

I continue to revel in the amazing way friendship and the communities we build alongside them work. At Notre Dame, we all are immensely talented academically and usually artistically or athletically as well. These talents are important and are going to be the tools we use to make the world a better place. But our smaller gifts, the subtle ones that sometimes go un-noticed are the ones that build our small groups of friends into communities where we flourish. I see it so clearly in my own friends. I have a few friends who are gifted in listening, and my late night chats with them are nothing but therapeutic. I have a few others who are gifted in planning events or hosting parties, giving us occasion after occasion to see each other. I have a friend who teaches us different Latin dances so we don’t make a fool of ourselves at Salsa night. I have another friend who reaches out and finds service opportunities for us to be part of. I am constantly filled with gratitude to be so privileged to have so many delightful friends in my life.

Each friend of mine makes my life and our community richer. God gives us huge talents we can use to change the world, but also smaller, equally important talents we can use to transform the lives of those around us. Each member of my group of friends contributes to making our lives more joyful than they would be without them there.

Valentine’s Day weekend makes it easy to focus on what one does and doesn’t have. The internet is full of people lamenting on not having a date, or squealing over the romantic relationships that set them apart. But this weekend I was so happy and surprised to see my Instagram covered in pictures of Galentine’s Day brunches. Instead of dwelling on what we did or didn’t have in our love lives, we celebrated the friendships that hold us together through it all. The friendships that God has called us to and strengthened with our unique gifts and talents. The friendships that leave me brimming with happiness at the smiling faces that make my life better. I think this weekend we would have made Leslie Knope proud.

Written With Love

I’ve been writing since I was very little. I’d come home from kindergarten and play my favorite game, bookshop. I’d write book after book and use the stairs in my house to show them off as if they were on display in a bookstore. My childhood love of books only grew and grew. I wrote plays in elementary school and forced my friends to be the stars. I wrote novels as a middle schooler and posted them online for people to read. I once, rather embarrassingly, self published a piece of writing in 8^th grade (and I promise you none of my friends will ever let me live in down). In high school, I wrote a play and then produced and directed and choreographed it as part of our school’s One-Act festival. I participated in National Novel Writing Month. I took creative writing classes. I’ve kept journals. I started writing blogs. I’ve always had an insatiable desire to write.

This last year or so, my desire to write has become more intense than ever. The combination of travelling abroad and working at a creative writing center turned me into more of a writing addict than I’ve ever been before. I wrote a 237 page  novel. And then 70 pages of another. And then 40 pages of another. I hope this doesn’t sound as if I bragging (I can’t promise any of the writing is good), but to simply express how strangely obsessed I am with the craft itself.

But why? What do I love about it? I love writing as a medium to express myself. It is an ideal way to work through ideas. On this blog, I’ve written about many difficult and personal things. The experience of writing these pieces has been cathartic and therapeutic for me. I’m constantly grateful for the opportunity. My even more personal thoughts are shared only in my journal where I can put down on paper the thoughts and worries that keep me up late at night.

As for fiction, I think my motive behind it differs. It’s all about control. When I write, I get to create worlds. I get to make characters and dictate their lives. Their triumphs, their catastrophes, their relationships- all of it is at my fingertips. With a few taps on my keyboard, I can assure their dreams come true. In my capable hands, my characters always get a happy ending.

In my life, I don’t always feel the same way. With all of next year’s applications for turned in, everything in my life is up in the air. I don’t know where I’ll be living. I don’t know who I’ll be living with. I’m not sure what grade or subject I’ll be teaching. I don’t know what my life will look like and that drives me crazy. I crave control. I want to be able to type it all out: Get into my top program, live in a city that excites, with roommates who inspire, teach a classroom of kids who flourish with me as their teacher. I want to write myself my own happy ending.

But I don’t have that control, none of us do. In reality, I’m applying for a lot of competitive programs and competing against a lot of qualified applicants. In reality, it is all out of my hands. It’s in God’s.

As I’ve sent in each application, I’ve reminded myself that there is a classroom out there that is perfect for me. It might be in Indiana or France or Hawaii or Ireland, or maybe in a place that isn’t even on my radar yet, but somewhere out there a classroom of students who I don’t know yet, are just waiting for me to be their teacher. God has handpicked this class just for me. God has picked out my roommates, my grade, my subject. God is the writer of my story and God has done all the planning.

The one thing that makes me different from the characters I write is that I have a way of communicating with my author. Whereas my characters can’t complain when I throw a trial at them, or thank me when I let them succeed, I have a personal relationship with a God who cares for me. I have prayer. It is through prayer I can tell God the dreams written on my heart while also accepting that God may be leading me in a different direction. It is in prayer where I give gratitude for each chapter already written, where I ask for strength for the character development segments that may come my way, and for unfailing trust that God’s pen will craft me my perfect happy ending.