365 Days: Beauty in Broken Expectations

365 Days. One year. What can change in a year? Can things really change in a year? In one revolution around the bright burning thing that we refer to as the sun; can this unit of measurement signify something much more about the internal changes and growth that war within us? This seemingly trivial humanistic ideal; a framework of how we give weight to our existence in time and space—yet does it quantify the transformation of our souls?

If the Covid era has taught us anything; it’s about the frailty of the future. The unpredictability of the reality which we dwell in; the inconsistency and infirmity which we often place so much hope and solace in. Things that we maybe place security in, and depend upon can be stripped away in a moment’s notice before you even have time to process the depth of your loss.

As I write this, I look back one year to the hour which (in the moment) seemed to wreck my world. The moment when everything changed.

In January of 2020, I moved to Northern Michigan for a year position working on a summer camp property. This was the same facility which I had spent the previous summer doing challenge course programming for. This job was my first immediate full time position after completing my undergrad a month earlier. Proudly, I had a position lined up before finishing my last semester of classes. Although it wasn’t directly related to my degree, I was excited for the personal, professional and spiritual development it would surely offer.

While living on camp, I was getting the opportunity to experience the year round operations of a camping ministry that serves thousands of guests each year. I was learning the elements of guest services, and the practical side of facility upkeep in the maintenance department. Discovering a new passion and skills set along the way.

There were many fiscal, emotional and legitimate barriers, in which I doubted whether applying for this position was even the best next step in life for me, but as these thoughts plagued my brain, I reflected back on previous porch front conversations I had had several months earlier with a man named Drew, a gentleman who encouraged me to take the next step at a potential career in recreation, non-profit work, or facility management—and pushed me to apply for this yearlong position.

For months I adored living in a close community with four other people my age in a similar life transition, being surrounded by what I would refer to as ‘real adults’ who invested themselves in developing my skill sets, and my personal identity. It was a time of being offered unique knowledge, and being supported practically along the way.

Yet as the rise of Covid cases in the United States elevated, traveling from the west coast month by month, like so many people, my typical daily life had begun to shift dramatically. Groups who would rent out the camping facility slowly dwindled out of healthy fear of contagion, and eventually I found myself sheltered in place for a couple weeks. A pause: which was so unfamiliar to me—a person who typically thrives under busyness and time constraints, of what I would call a “full life.”

This went on for a while, and we eventually find ourselves back to May 1st, the day that everything derailed. We had been notified by our camp manager the night before to take the next morning off for time in solitude, before we would have a meeting by video call. Not sure what the following meeting would bring, I did the thing I often find myself doing in times of anxiousness and uncertainties. I ran. (Not hypothetically—but quite literally) In the words of Forrest Gump “I just started running.”

After a series of two Zoom calls, I found myself crushed by the weight of the news I had just been given. Due to the rise in Coronavirus cases and the financial state of the organization, in two short weeks I’d be unemployed, and would have to move off of the camp property.

Devastation, confusion, frustration—I’d found myself in a crisis of self not knowing what I was going to do, where I was going to go. My checking account was almost as low as my spirit, and I soon would be unwillfully forced to make a major transition whether I was ready for it or not. My plans, and what I believe was a step towards a recreation career had been disrupted, and I was a locomotive running out of steam.

After hearing the news, I laid face first in the lush green grass by the lake avoiding any human contact trying to begin to rationalize the heavy news I had been told. It may have been thirty minutes, but it seemed like eons as time seemed to stand still, and the earth seemed to cease rotation.

Eventually I brought myself to rise from my childish stupor, and connect with the four other people who had been given the same news as me.

Hours later, having been presented with the same news, we were visited by a familiar face that came to check on all of us—and a major source of wisdom in my own life. Drew. After a tender and much needed bear hug, and minutes of shared silence, a while later, we began to talk about the gravity of what this meant.

I honestly don’t remember much of our conversation, besides him comforting and validating the things I was experiencing and feeling—until the very end of our talk. He briefly mentioned something that shook me to the core of my being.

He asked a simple but convicting question. ‘What if you stayed?”

Initially his idea seemed asinine. Why would I stay in this place that I have zero family at, zero real emotional connection to, and zero real practical reason to be here without my position at camp? Seriously—what was he thinking?

Then as we spoke, for the first point all day, I felt strangely comforted, and a burden was lifted from my shoulders, as if this notion was a potential possibility. Like a tidal wave, it hit me. This moment was the first point in my 23 years of life where I was not tied to anywhere. Of course my family and most of my friends were still back in Colorado, but I was now finished with college, wasn’t tied to a significant relationship and I didn’t have a certain job anywhere. I was in a sense—more free than most people ever get to experience.

Yet the reality of soon being in a sense without a home was setting in—and I had to make some pretty lofty and heavy decisions with regards to the future. The possibility of me living out of my truck for a while was a fairly serious consideration—and no job offer was really off the table.

Desperation will do some powerful work in your soul.

If you want to be humbled in a matter of moments—being placed in this type of situation will certainly do it.

Through the kindness of one of the camp staff member’s heart, a man named Doug offered me a space in his home to stay until I had found another place to live. It was such a special few weeks, and the hospitality they showed me in that time is something I now work to emulate for others. It was a pure kindness that was unlike anything I’d ever been shown.

For about four months I found myself working a job I hated as a merchandiser for the vendors of Home Depot. The hours were pretty miserable, (4:30 in the morning comes early) and the job was pretty mindless—and brought me no real fulfillment. It was a difficult and refining few months. After my early morning home improvement retail shift, I’d then spend my nights and weekends working at a specialty Food Truck making burgers and fries. Food service was something I hadn’t ever really done, but I found a special joy serving customers in this capacity. Due to the nature of indoor dining restrictions with Covid, this first season food truck became a hot commodity in town and was ‘The place to be.’ Being a part of the 131 Burger team, and being aptly named “Burger Nick” in the truck’s inaugural summer was such a pivotal part of the journey I’d found myself on.

Even though I was making decent money working nearly two full time jobs, and I had found an affordable place to live, something deep within me knew that this meager life I was living couldn’t go on forever. If I was going to stay here, it had to be for something more—I was meant for something bigger and more meaningful. Life is about so much more than earning money to pay bills and to simply exist—and my insides were crying out for something else.

Knowing my love for working in recreation and camping came from a desire to work with and create meaningful experiences for students—the potential for working in public education had always been a lingering thought in the back on my mind.

So after taking steps to obtain a Michigan Substitute teaching license I searched for any possible positions working in schools in the region as a para-pro or frankly anything that would put me in a school. Although I graduated with a minor in Outdoor Physical Education, I had no ‘formal’ professional experience working in a school. There were a couple opening positions as K-12 Physical Educators at a couple schools, and I even interviewed and was a finalist for one, but in the end was left empty handed without a job, and the heaviness knowing that I may have to wait another year before schools would potentially be hiring. I was again crushed, questioning if I had made a major mistake.

Through a turn of events and some relationships, I was offered an informal long-term subbing position with Lake City Area Schools. (A district literally just a few miles from where I had previously been employed at camp.) This subbing position eventually evolved into a contracted position for the year working as a middle school virtual school specialist. The irony of losing a job because of Covid, but then having a position created because of the nature and need for education at home amidst a pandemic is a comical paradox.

While working at the school I’ve had the privilege and joy of helping coach the High School Cross Country team in the fall, and the Middle School Track team this spring. It has been filled with sweet moments, laughter, and special connections with kids—all the things that I longed for and found working in camping for so many years.

In this weird year of transformation, there have been some tremendously difficult moments; some really hard goodbyes, some losses and discouraging things seeded throughout the last 365 days—yet I don’t know if the dark moments compare when stacked up against some of the best things that have come out of this year.

I can celebrate that in the last calendar year despite losing my job, as of this past December I have fully paid off my undergraduate degree. In January I was so fortunate to be one of the earliest people to have received a Covid Vaccination because of working in a school; which gave me an incredible peace of mind after months of pent up angst. I saved enough money to purchase a new vehicle, which I plan on building into an adventure truck when it is fully paid off. A couple weeks ago I passed my Michigan Test for Teacher Certification, and am working on a classroom endorsement to teach English for grades 6-12. (With hopes of being in a classroom full time sometime soon.)

For me, each of these achievements have been monumental and uplifting moments which I can celebrate, and are pleasant reminders of a faithful creator, and encouragement to continue on the uncertain road with a willing spirit, and an open heart.

This past year, I have made some incredible personal connections with some phenomenal humans from so many different walks of life, and have been shown an unbelievable amount of kindness and compassion. The love that people who were once just strangers have shown me has revealed to me the generosity of the human spirit. I’ve been supported, challenged and stretched in ways I could have never imagined. In the last twelve months I’ve lived in four places and had more odd jobs than I can count. I’ve explored, taken risks, been put in new and uncharted waters, and in the moments where I felt like I was drowning, my view of the world was really just being cleansed. Breaching the water’s surface with an unsalted perspective, and a desire to breathe deeply all that this life has to offer.

The narrative written in my life is such a transparent example of what can take place in one year. That one revolution around the sun really can shape you so profoundly if you allow it to—and that in a year, your perspective on your identity, your worth and your purpose in this lifetime can all evolve into something complex, and overwhelming, and beautiful.

The next couple months aren’t really certain for me; (If you’re wondering, it is strangely difficult to begin a career during a global health pandemic) yet this time around, I have a renewed sense of comfort that what’s meant to be, will be, and that the journey of this life isn’t linear—But rather embedded with highs and lows and solemn and joyous moments that remind us of the frailty of our existence and the uncertainties of our futures. These outwardly harsh cues give us perspective and enlightenment to reconcile our humanness, and connect with others on a deeper more meaningful level. To focus on the gift of the present, and to not measure years as simply a unit of time; but as a series of temperamental shared moments which shape our view and understanding of the crazy, weird and incredible thing that is this earthly life.

This will be remembered as a significant moment in history where things changed substantially, and the world as we knew it was altered forever. My life was truly flipped upside down, and I’m doing something in a place I never dreamt I would be a mere 365 days later; but I am hopeful that on the back end of this time, we will be able to recognize the ways that even in the messiness, and hurting, we proved to be stronger, and more resilient than we ever believed we could be.

The sun rises, and so can you.