Algarrobo

Life is school, and you gotta show up. - Kid President

After 4 weeks of research had been printed, bound, presented, toasted and shared - and before 19 gringos and 4 patient program directors gathered to close the program and celebrate with a delicious meal, I took off my tennis shoes and walked down the beach.

I didn't have anything particular on my mind, just the surreal sensation of watching the waves roll onto the same sand that had welcomed a scared and weary girl to Chile.

It's hard to see the sailboats but doesn't it kind of look like my blog background?

And that's when I saw Ali, a great friend and one of the wisest and most passionate leaders I have ever met, coming toward me at the end of her run. She stopped, and we talked. We talked about the strange feeling of leaving so soon, and the experiences to which we will be returning.

And then Ali said something I will never forget. She said, "I came here to go back."

When Ali goes back to the University of Utah, she will be campaigning for student body president. And she will be taking the work and learning she did here about education and politics and movements of young people and creating change right where she lives. (And that's just one of the stories of the incredibly cool people who came to Santiago with me this semester.)

And me? I too, came here to go back. I came from a world where I had an obvious place. I knew what I was doing there, whether that was singing in choir or teaching ESL or hanging out in the pine grove and Scott Hall. And in those places I was capable of spending most of my time thinking about other people. Welcoming them into that world I knew so well, keeping the conversation away from me, and how anxious I truly felt.

And then I left, the full weight of that anxiety stripped bare and hoping just to get through and come back and figure things out from there. Then, in a circle in the airport, I met 18 people with whom I would be spending one of the most intense and significant experiences of my life. And I was afraid of them. I was afraid of how different they were from me, and how intelligent and politically aware they were and how I could find no comfort in welcoming them to anything because I didn't know where I was.

And guess what I found out? They were scared too. Like me, they missed their families, and got lost on public transportation and frustrated with the language and pretended to know who Paulo Freire was. But we were all welcomed. We were welcomed by the mountains and the campo and our own little home called Casa SIT.

And we welcomed each other. Carolina helped me find my way. Katherine invited me to explore the city with her. Albert made sure I was safe. Kendra found tranquility with me. Roshard encouraged me to think deeply. Andrea touched me with her vulnerability, and wrote an awesome and at first seemingly impossible Spanish paper with me (on Paulo Freire, thank you very much.) Reciprocidad. Solidaridad. 

And eventually I stopped looking at their passions and wisdom and feeling inferior. And I started feeling confident. Confident that when these people take old passions and new learning back to their own places, there will be hope for change, from the New York Islands to Salt Lake City.

And me. I'll be back in Holland, Michigan. It's no secret that I love that place. But the girl who came to Chile with her mind and heart set on going back, she's gone. There won't be any picking up where I left off. Instead, I will be continuing on from here. Letting the experience of three and a half months thinking about learning and hope in a funny thin country spill over into ESL classes and the pine grove. Ready to stop clenching so tight and let in a little more peace.

Ready to be welcomed back.

I warned Ali that our encounter on the beach might show up in my blog. She said, "Then let me take a picture."