taking a risk.

Have you ever heard the quote by Woody Allen, "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans"? I'm about 99.9% sure he was thinking of me when he said that. At this time last week, I was having a mental breakdown. I had just left a job I loved and was completely fulfilled by, to start a job that was monotonous and insulting to my intelligence. The love of my life had left for a campaign in Michigan and I was trying to figure out how to live by myself again. I wept and wept because I could not figure out why I was still in Wilmington. It seemed as if all the reasons for my being here had dissipated within a matter of days and I was stuck wondering what I was doing with my life.

Poor Chuck heard way too many rants about my desire to be doing something significant. Something I was passionate about. I kept being reminded, just suffer through this job until you save up enough money to live the life you want. This was not at all helpful. Money has never been, nor ever will be, a motivating factor in any decision I make as long as I am responsible for solely myself. Not only that, but I believe life is too short to be doing anything that makes you unhappy. Work constitutes at least 1/3 of your life...if you're not enjoying 1/3 of your life, than what are you doing?

Enter, Big Guns Upstairs. On my lunch break from the aforementioned boring day job, I came home to see a packet from Chatham University sitting in my mailbox. Long story short, I was accepted into the Masters of Food Studies program. I had done something I wasn't sure I ever would- gotten into grad school. I began questioning whether I could afford to attend, and if my finances should play a role in whether I enrolled. A couple days went by speaking to multiple people about my situation, until finally, I said "The hell with it!" I got accepted into the grad program I'd had my eye on for years! Yes, I'm currently in a massive amount of student loan debt from my undergraduate career and it may not be the most rational decision to put myself into further debt, but what is the fun in being rational?!

Putting myself into debt the first time around to go to Eastern probably wasn't rational. But had I not, I would not have met some of my best friends in the world. I would not have gotten a social justice-centered Christian education. And I would not have discovered my calling. Studying in an underdeveloped African country may not have been rational. But I got to have an amazing cross-cultural experience. I was able to bust down the walls of my comfort zone. But most of all, I was able to obtain my motivation for devoting my life to feeding the hungry. These were risks to some people. But as I have discovered, I am a risk-taker.

I believe in living a life sans regrets. 20 years from now, I don't want to wonder what had happened if I had chosen to get a graduate level education. I would much rather think back on my young adult life when I was eating Ramen noodles on the floor of a cheap apartment, literally living on love and sacrificing to obtain the knowledge I wanted and deserved. Choosing to go to grad school might be a risk, but hell, what is life without a few risks?! So as of today, let it be known that come Fall 2011, I will be an incoming graduate student in the College of Graduate Studies at Chatham University. Pittsburgh has no idea what it's in for...

Father's Day

I asked my blogger-extraordinaire friend, Erin, the other day how she kept herself so motivated in regards to her writing. Her advice? Write what you know. Write about anything, and eventually, you'll find your rhythm. I can only hope she's right because as dorky as I feel sometimes for being a "blogger," I've been writing for as long as I can remember. At the risk of sounding cliche, it really is a part of me. So I'm going to truly start writing about everything I know to be true, and hope that for the very few that read this, you can appreciate the inevitably random direction this blog is going to take.

Father's Day is both simultaneously a holiday that is a little awkward for me, and one that I only truly began to appreciate this year. For anyone who knows me, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that I've struggled with "Daddy issues" in the past. This year, however, I became exceedingly aware of just how blessed I am to have the privilege of experiencing life with more than one Dad. Each one has taught me something so different about what it means to be a father and a husband. Insight, that I imagine, most people may not be able to boast of.

When I was 10, my mom and biological father, Emmett, were divorced. However, there was no real grieving to be had by my sister and I for the end of our parent's marriage because about a month or so later, my Dad suffered from a massive stroke. The stroke paralyzed his right side and his speech took a huge hit. To this day, he must use a motorized scooter when traveling a large distance and walks with a serious limp, his right arm is completely useless and the only words he can clearly state are "I love you" and various obscenities. Perhaps, most upsetting for my sister and I were not the physical repercussions the stroke left in its wake, but the fact that it left him a complete shell of the man we grew up with. It was almost as if the day of the stroke, our Daddy died and a crippled, depressed old man took his place.

Enter Dad #2. About a year after the divorce, my mom was remarried to a 6'5" 300-lb biker by the name of Ed. To sum up, the consequent 6 years were the most terrifying and hellish years of all our lives. Ed suffered from a serious alcohol addiction and was one of the most genuinely mean people I've ever known. If a shirt was cut too low by his standards, I was deemed a slut. If Kelly's laundry wasn't put away when he wanted it done, she would be hit. Heaven forbid, an argument were to arise between he and my mother after he'd been drinking, she'd receive a black eye. We endured more verbal, physical and sexual abuse during those years than I think anyone should ever have to experience and I honestly struggle to this day to forgive him for the hurt and hopelessness he inflicted upon the two people I love the most in this world.

When we finally escaped the hell of the House of Pain, we had about a year or two of "just us girls." While we were grateful to have a life again, that time was no less difficult for us. We were incredibly poor, transitioning between homes, and mom was dealing with the inevitable depression that resulted from the dissolution of her abusive marriage. Not long after though, my mom found consolation in a friend she'd known for years. Enter Dad #3, Kenny. Now obviously, after what I'd endured with Ed, I was more than a little skeptical when the new boyfriend started showing up and for lack of a better word, was a lot bitchier than I should have been. But Kenny stuck it out, and eventually proved that there is no way he had it in him to ever hurt my mother or one of us girls. But more so, that he loved my mother with every ounce of his being. This one was here to stay.

My Daddy instilled in me an amazing ear for music. Through his talent as a musician, I've gained such an appreciation for the beauty in every genre of music. I also inherited his goofy, sarcastic sense of humor. There are very few people in the world who actually get my sense of humor, and I absolutely have him to thank for that. I have his eyes, his nose, his big noggin and his intelligence. I am 50% Emmett James Best and proud of it.

Ed helped mold me into an incredibly independent and strong woman. I am fearless, yet appreciative of every blessing I've had bestowed upon me. I am a survivor. He unintentionally taught me about the power of forgiveness and allowed me to have an even closer relationship with my two best friends: my mom and sister. Perhaps most profoundly, however, he led me to Dad #4, Jesus Christ. Because of his involvement with AA, I began attending Church and was saved from my sins, and saved from a violent home by the grace of God alone.

Kenny has illustrated what it means to be a balanced man. Looking at his tattoos, scruffy face and Harley apparrel, it would be easy to assume he was a gruff, stone-cold biker. He is possibly the most sensitive and warm-hearted man I've ever met. He tears up at every birthday card, hugs me the instant he sees me and tells me how beautiful I am when I visit home and seizes every opportunity to let his kids (biological and step) know how much he loves us.

Each one of these men has had such a profound impact on me and I truly am the woman I am today because of them.

To my Daddy, to Ed and to Kenny, I thank you and wish you a Happy Father's Day. I am blessed beyond belief.

changes, changes...

I have a paralyzing phobia. Yes, snakes will make me burst into hysterical tears and run like I'm preparing for the Olympic games, but perhaps my biggest fear of all, is my fear of mediocrity. When I was in 9th grade I decided that I wanted to try out for my high school's cheerleading team. I quickly learned that in order to be a cheerleader you should probably be able to yell, jump and touch your toes. I could do none of those things. The good news was that I had found something that I was passionate about and could commit myself to until I was the best I could be. By the time I graduated high school, I was one of the best girls on my team and boasted the title of captain for four consecutive seasons. I saw what I wanted, did everything in my power to achieve it and I refused to fail.

In everything I've done whether it be cheerleading, academia or even travel, I've set my sights high and refused to fail. In the job market however, I feel that I am failing. I feel that my life is destined to be simply mediocre, and this thought terrifies me to my very core.

I have always felt called to greatness. My Grandma was an inspiration to me- she taught me the value of literature and instilled in me a love of learning. She also instilled in me the idea that I was a woman of exceptional skill, moral standing and intellect. When I became a Christian my world was transformed, I knew that life for me was bigger than what Cato, NY had to offer and that I was being called to change the world. When I began attending Eastern, I was immersed in a justice-centered gospel and I knew that I was meant to serve the underserved and be a voice for the voiceless.

With this framework, coupled with my unstoppable ambition I began seeking internships, learning about new cultures and pursuing jobs that would ensure that I was met with success, but more importantly that I was making a difference. As my AmeriCorps* VISTA term with the Grow Food, Grow Hope Garden Initiative comes to a close and as I prepare to begin working a data entry/customer service representative position, I'm finding myself plagued with feelings of failure and unworthiness.

I do believe in paying your dues and I guess, I should've better prepared myself to enter a troubled economy in which I may not be offered my dream job as soon as I graduated college. I suppose my unrest lies in that with my VISTA position, while I was not making a legitimate income to cover the extent of all my financial obligations, I was working directly with people who needed my assistance. I was teaching people lifelong skills. I was making a difference. I was proud to tell people the job that I was devoting my life to. I can't help but feel that by sitting at a desk from 8:30-5, I am no longer someone of great and noble character. Or someone who is touching lives. I am simply an indispensable robot. I am a failure. And I am insignificant.

Now as much as I'd like to end this post on that lovely, uplifting note, I'm not going to. I am not going to be the person who mopes around feeling sorry for themselves. I've tried that, and it's not nearly as fun as it sounds. Rather, I am going to snap myself out of this destructive thinking by:

1. Counting my blessings. I have the love of the most wonderful family and friends. Not to mention a wonderful, generous, too-good-to-be-true man who I fully intend on spending the rest of my life with.

2. By accepting the fact that there are circumstances outside of my control. The economy sucks for EVERYONE right now. Everyone my age is lacking vast experience to attract potential employers. Neither of these things is a reflection on my work ethic, drive or potential.

3. By making a difference, regardless of where I'm at or what I'm doing from 9-5 every day. This job is not permanent, and someday I will be in a career that is rocking the world. Until then I need to find my way to serve as I'm called to serve and love as I'm called to love.

I hope that to anyone who is similarly frustrated with complacency in their life, or is experiencing that reminiscent sense of defeat automatically associated with job-hunting you can be encouraged that as 20-somethings, our lives are simply beginning and only God knows the amazing journey that is in store for us. Until then, our only responsibility should be to enjoy the ride :)

Love,

Kaity

In honor of my last week with Grow Food, Grow Hope. It's been an amazing year!