About a week ago, I went on my tenth vacation with my grandparents, brother and cousins. Shout out to my grandparents who have taken us all from the time I was six. I’m so thankful for the opportunity they gave me to travel. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t have been very many places. But I’m thankful for something even more important: the opportunity they gave us grandkids to get to know each other. My cousins are like my siblings. And I’m so happy for the relationship I have with them.
We ended the ten year streak with a bang: Mexico. We stayed at a Club Med resort in Ixtapa on the Pacific. Needless to say it was beautiful, and don’t even get me started on the food. Amazing. We met people from all around the US, France, Canada, and Mexico (wasn’t expecting that last one, were ya?). Plus I got to do one of my favorite things: the trapeze!
But a resort really isn’t my scene. I knew this from previous vacations, but it really stood out on this one. The third day there I was actually rather upset. Not angry, but sad and confused. You see, I didn’t fit in with any of the people I met. Their lives, their goals, their way of talking was so far from what I valued. Yeah, some of them were fun, but I felt completely out of place. It wasn’t that their conversation made me feel uncomfortable, but I didn’t know how to contribute. I mean, what was I supposed to add to their stories of getting drunk and the parties or clubs they’ve snuck into? So on that third morning I took my journal and found a nice spot on the beach to think.
I also was pondering a question that one guy had asked me the night before, “So what is your friend group? Like what category do your friends fit in and how do you play into that?” I wasn’t sure how to answer because I had never thought about it before. I think I said something to the effect of, “I think all my friends are clever in one way or another. I respect their opinions, and they make me change.” That is true, but I wasn’t sure how I fit into the picture. I wasn’t sure who I was in my friend group because some of my friends are polar opposites.
So I thought. After about an hour on the beach, I realized why I was feeling so awkward around these people at the resort, and who I was with my friends.
I was used to being the “crazy” one. I’m the most wild. I dance the craziest. I’m not sure how to describe it exactly, and if you were to ask my friends, they could very well disagree, but to me that is the role I play. I didn’t even realize I played a role until then. I guess I like shocking people. I feel comfortable shocking people. I get a sort of high off of it. But I wondered why. I figured, when it comes down to it, I like being different. The reason I felt so uncomfortable at the resort was because I no longer was in the role I was used to playing. I was the conservative one for the first time in my life. I was the one who didn’t do things or wear things. I wrote in my journal that day, “Is it true that if I just wore a bikini people would take me seriously?” Because me and my tankini over here feel like we were being excluded. So in Ixtapa, Mexico, I was faced with a decision. Either I changed the role I played or I played up my role. I could decide not to wear a tank top underneath shirts that I thought needed one. I could say things, ask guys for alcohol, grind, and kiss more than anyone else there. That’s what it would take to stay in the role I was used to. I didn’t want that, though.
Different. That’s what I wanted to be. Drinking and flirting was not different. Okay, I thought to myself. So what do I do? I’m not going to be the shock factor here. Then I realized that being different and shocking people are not the same thing.
Different for something. That’s what I needed to be. Anyone can act differently. Anyone can pretend to be anyone they wanted to be or as interesting as they wanted to be. But that’s a fake identity. I needed to be different for a reason. I couldn’t change who I was depending on who I was with. I couldn’t stay in the state I was in. I was changing. The world was changing. What could I be that would always, no matter when or where, be different and interesting and slightly scandalous?
Then it hit me. A Christian. Duh. Well actually when it happened it was more of an “Aha!” than a “duh” moment for me. No matter who I talked to, an identity in Christ would always be different. What is more interesting than some one who goes against what the crowd is doing and fighting for something more? What is more scandalous than a relationship with God?
A Christian. That was what my identity needed to be. I said “duh” earlier because ever since I was little that’s what I was told by everyone in my circles: Christ should be my identity. But it was then in Mexico that I realized what that meant. First and foremost, I decided to be a Christian that week.
The tank tops stayed on. My swear free language stayed the same. I said no to the shots. And I decide not to participate in the skinny dipping. And I had fun. Not because I was shocking people, though I did probably confuse several, but because I knew why I was acting differently from all these people. I had fun because I actually made friends instead of making out. I had fun because I gained the respect of people and learned new skills. I had fun because I listened to people tell me stories from around the world. (I do have to say that I was totally the best dancer there, though.) The small group of people that I actually had some form of respect for noticed that I wasn’t the same. One guy, Santiago, even told me, “You’re different from all the other girls.” It must have been a good different because he and I along with my cousin Ean hung out most of the week.
Life is easy when you know who you are. And life is amazing when Christ is who you are.
Of course, the next question is “how does one live in Christ” but that’s for another time. I’ll write a post on that when I have some kind of an answer. Or I’ll write one to get some sort of an answer.
Here’s a video of the trip I put together:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2d8z3XPGFDA
Spring break was absolutely amazing for the sole reason that I didn’t have to go to school. I got a break from the drudgery of lectures and a butt ton of work. I never had to set my alarm. It was amazing. Of course, going down to St. Louis to visit my sister and bro-in-law was also a delight. One of the things I was most looking forward to over this particular trip to St. Louie was a visit to the Thaxton, a speakeasy downtown complete with 1920’s decor, a live band, back alley entrance, and a good time. Or so I’m told. Nowhere on the website did it say 21 or older, nor had my sister and her husband ever been carded when they went. But when we all went, there was a different doorkeeper, and he asked for IDs. Thanks Mr. Doorman. I just want to dance. All dressed up and nowhere to go. So we all journeyed back to the much smaller St. Charles where my sister resides and went to a coffee bar for a late open-mic night.
I barely know how to begin or write about my time there. The whole experience was one of those things that creep in slowly without your knowledge until it becomes a part of you. There wasn’t a “BAM” or “lightbulb” moment in the whole trip. Maybe that’s why it was so different from any trip I’ve ever been on: it was merely life. It was living; it was feeling; it was caring; it was needing. It was laughing and crying. It was learning and sharing. But I must start somewhere.