One month ago I was sipping Cuba Libres in Managua with twenty of my closest friends. We were celebrating the end of final presentations and soaking up the remaining hours of our grand adventure. I was deliberately procrastinating packing the big green backpack that would lead me toward a post-Central American life. Elizabeth and I were sneaking out to the park across from the President's house to play on the teeter totters and make fools of ourselves in front of the young ice cream vendors. Chelsea and I were making plans to bike across the country and have book clubs together and prolong the inevitable goodbyes that were to take place soon. Amy and I were probably pouting. One month ago I was living with the Sandovals. I felt alive.
One month from today, I will be meandering down the cobbled and bike filled streets of Amsterdam. I will view history and art and a brand new culture. I will attempt bits and pieces of the Dutch language from a soon to be bought phrase book. I will live in an Amsterdam all together different from the one I visited five long years ago. I have changed, my perspective on life has been drastically altered and the Molly from 2002 is not the same as today. In one month, I will be in Europe. The Spanish language will not be prevalent and I am sure that I will find myself lost in a culture and language and people that are deep and beautiful. My heart will be broken each day as I walk through the Red Light District. I am going to be immersing myself in brokenness and hurt unlike anything I have ever experienced. And yet... I wouldn't have it any other way.
So as I sit here in my dad's adobe house with lush vegetation and a new lavender plant at my side, I wonder how I got this life. I am living what I have dreamed to live. I am traveling the world, country by country, continent by continent. I get to read books about history and politics. I get to live in the homes of women and men who profoundly change my life. I get to eat tasty foods and drink local beers. I get be outside. I get to study. I get to learn languages. I get to talk with prostitutes and politicians and farmers. And as I do this, as I plunge myself into uncomfortable and all together intimidating situations, I am learning more about the richness of life, the beauty of love and the pain of humanness. How did this happen? I feel like I just might be growing up... maybe.