My Experiments in Trust: Part One

A couple of months ago I embarked on a journey to Asia. Some of the plan was cemented (i.e. when I would arrive and when I would leave). Some parts were less so (i.e. mostly everything else), but one thing was certain, I was being propelled into this journey by surrendering to a calling in my heart and I would have to trust to get through.

Gandhi named his autobiography Experiments in Truth and, though I could never claim the same wisdom of Gandhi, I hope to echo the source of it, as I believe the same force is guiding me as is attempting to guide us all: LOVE.

I delighted myself in flipping through his "Experiments" as I sat in hole-in-the-wall (literally) restaurants in the Indian parts of Malaysia; captivated by the lively and beautiful Indian culture, I allowed them to welcome me in any way they liked (which included a situation where two shopkeepers changed my nose-ring in a very sweaty misunderstanding). I enjoyed being a regular visitor to the same places in the Highlands of the North. I enjoyed seeing the same people as I sat by the glorious open windows and drank my locally-grown-tea, honey-milk style.

It was, however, not in my quiet reflections from my regular seat at the restaurant, but rather in a rickety old bucket seat on the most terrifying bus-ride of my life back to Kuala Lumpur that I realized Experiments in Trust would be just the perfect name for the trip I was living.

I would be happy to reveal several of my experiments to you as they are deemed relevant in the coming months, but let me share just one for now:

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This story finds its beginnings nearly 3 years ago.

Imagine getting onto a night train at midnight. Their air is cool, though July in Ljubljana, Slovenia is quite warm, so it's that pleasant coolness where the warmth hangs on too and the cool winds are met with the rising heat from the concrete beneath your sandals. You've just said goodbye to your pseudo-cousin who-you-love-and-admire-very-much and step onto the train, Munich-bound, and eventually bound for your Kansas-home. You're looking forward to an empty compartment and a bit of good rest to energize you for your long flights and instead- well, instead you get to your cabin and find that the only open seat is in the corner by the window. The compartment, upon first glance, seems to have too many legs. Everyone is crammed and you have to jump and hurdle over them to find your place. It's not easy... But your initial disappointment of the jam-packed space is met with delight as you see the space for what it IS filled with: 15 strangers who've conquered the loner-tendencies of the 21st century and have managed to forge friendships even in the fact of eminent parting-ways. I lose no time in making jokes and telling stories and getting to know these folks around me. Naturally, I spend the most time in conversation with the man to my immediate left: A Portuguese guy named Pedro. He's great! Also a graduate student and has a heart for seeing the world. Perfect.

As the train chugs on along, northwest bound, the compartment gradually drifts off to sleep. I am no exception, although my compromised space around the luggage on the floor does not make for the best night's rest. I wake up several times because I've just accidentally assaulted Pedro in his sleep. His reaction is always gracious: Laughing and joking and exchanging a few words with me before returning to the half-sleep we travelers have become accustomed to.

Sometime around 6 am my girl-from-Kansas-not-used-to-public-transportation fears get the best of me and I slip out of my seat to prepare to make a quick jump off the train. Now, you must remember that we strangers are sitting very close and my seat is basically as far away from the door as possible... and if you know me from outside of this blog, then you surely also recall that I am anything but smooth, especially when it comes to things like walking. SO I unintentionally wake up the entire compartment. Oh well- it gives me a chance to bid them farewell.

But the world is graciously not-so-large after-all, and goodbyes are not so determinate in this 21st century.

As I am waiting for the Munich Platform to focus, Pedro taps me on the shoulder. He gives me his email and a proper goodbye... because sometimes people should just keep in touch.

And so we did.
Somewhere, sometime after I'd gotten home, I stumbled across his email address and shot him a line. His response was comprehensive and full and a real friendship was born. We both allowed ourselves to trust a train friend who seemed interesting and thought it was worthwhile to keep in touch.

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How does all of this relate to Asia?
Because on the 16th of December, 2012, approximately 2.5 years after catching that midnight train from Ljubljana to Munich, I arrived in Kuala Lumpur and knocked on the door of my train friend with a back-pack and a week to kill. No hope or agenda, beyond letting a deep-seeded friendship nurture.


There is something incredibly human about trusting semi-strangers (or full strangers...).
About letting someone take you in and care for you.
And I think that there is something incredibly inhuman about having someone trust you that you've just met. I don't know what causes that disconnect- that fear of being trusted even when a part of you is apt to trust.

I suppose that if you throw a million stones,
take a thousand shots,
shoot a hundred arrows...
and everything is just enough off
It's impossible to believe something will catch you.

But if you hit your target. Just once.
If you're one of the lucky few.
If fortune turns toward you at the beginning of it all...
                                                   [...like she did me]

Well then you might just keep trusting. and knock on that door.
                                                          or open it.


I am thankful that I was somehow taught to trust people. I don't think that came from my own wisdom. It didn't even come from my friends. Nor my parents. God gave me that gift - I think. I trust that, at least.

And I trust my friend Pedro. I am thankful for that midnight ride to Munich. I am thankful for the emails. For the help and listening he chose to give willingly. I am thankful to meet a man and speak to each other outside of the TV-sitcom lure of lust. I am thankful that Pedro is, in fact, incredibly wonderful. And I am thankful that, though the world is big, and though pain is real, and though shit really does happen, there is still goodness found threaded throughout it all. You can still trust a train friend to be just a train friend, welcoming in an interesting stranger because it's good.

Hey, I love you.

Dear Abraham,



Hey- welcome to our lives. :-)  I'm guessing you have no idea what you're in for, especially since you're 6 days old and the neurons in your brain have not yet organized and developed to allow you to form memories, let alone make predictions... but let me share some important things with you.

I love you.
Your parents will probably tell you someday that aunt Nicole was not really a baby-enthusiast before she met you. And they wouldn't be wrong. I've got to say- I'm quite surprised with myself... never in my life have I felt so drawn to a child, let alone one that I do not even know, but I've looked at your picture at least 10 times a day since your father texted me last Thursday. You are beautiful. You are real. You are honestly the creation of two people that I love so deeply (Mega-Pumped) and I truly love you already.


I cannot prepare you for the stories I will tell you about your parents, but I can promise you that I will tell you every single embarrassing story about dad that anyone can remember. I hope that I can prepare you to love the Transformers, because you will be getting something that has to do with Megatron from me every year for the rest of your life.
You should prepare yourself for being better at pulling good pranks than anyone else, because your Godmother has got some incredible skills. You actually might not make that many friends through the practical jokes, but- hey, good stories, right? You'll be Rick Rolling your whole pre-school class before they know what hit them.

A few months ago, I stumbled across a book of fortune-cookie fortunes. While I'm not so good at tearing the fortunes out of the book, I'd like to say I'm not bad at choosing the right fortunes for the right situation. I could not decide between these two, which I think are probably equally true:

I'm truly excited to be a part of the magic- and amazed that you have already sucked me in.
I cannot wait to meet you in person. I might even hold you, but let's not get too carried away.
With love,
Nicole
ps. For anyone who is not Matt, Rachel, or Abe, take a look at this adorable gift. Best. Godmother. Ever.

Plymouth Congregational Church of Lawrence

They invited me to post on their blog. Here are some [hopefully-articulated] thoughts on Belonging/Home.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you: PEPELKA!

Otherwise known as
Cinderella and the Glass Copat

My awesome students just finished uploading it. Only the first clip is in Slovene language (rest in English), but you can see my former castle-home and my adorable students.

The camera is a BIT shaky, and clips 2-4 are our last performance, which took place at the priest's home with... a few complications.

ENJOY THE SHOW
ps. the files are pretty big.

*remember, the costumes were all made by my 12-year-old student, Kristjan.

A small flight for mankind, a giant leap for my grandmother

Since the first hot air balloon flight in 1783 (which carried a sheep, a duck, and a rooster*), man has dreamed of soaring to new heights... but some more than others.

Meet Darlene Moehlenbrink:
Mother. Grandmother. Trickster. Care-taker.
Dreamer.Since her first sighting of a hot-air balloon, she has dreamed of taking the journey. But greater forces than her desire we working against her...
Mostly wind and rain.

Attempt #1: Sometime in the past two decades, my grandmother and grandfather went on a trip to Ohio. There my grandmother was going to make the flight. However, she didn't, and I don't really know the rest of that story. Sorry.

Attempt #2: In 2008, my sister and I received the call. Gma was going to the Hot-Air Balloon Festival in Topeka, KS, and we were invited to join her. The flight would be tethered, but we could at least step into the basket and float into the air. However, inclement weather prevented us from going.
Think that stopped my grandmother? Think again.

Attempt #3: 2012. Bus trip. Grandma invites her daughter and her grandchildren. It's part of the reason I came back from Slovenia when I did. To be a part of something HUGE.


Let me set the scene. We leave at 6:30 a.m. on a hot-Kansas morn, headed north to Beatrice, NE where we will continue with a bus full of old people (ladies, mostly), to the National Balloon Rally in Indianola, IA. The morning is beautiful as we chug along to our destination with a very old tour guide who, sad to say, did not keep her skilz with age.

We make a few stops as the whole bus... lunch at the 'Iowa Machine Shed', where we are served iced tea out of jars (dear Slovenes, I told you it happens) along with our fried chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy. We head to the Des Monies botanical gardens, take our afternoon naps at the Holiday Inn (remember. Bus trip.), and head to Indianola- the place where some dreams really do come true.



I don't know how much you know about ballooning, but it's an expensive and difficult sport. Each balloon has a crew, and each balloon also has a sort of awesome name. Here are some examples of the balloons we saw:

(My personal favorite was the balloon shaped like an eagle, but we only saw that one during the night balloon glow.)

Now, on Friday, July 27th, the conditions were not entirely perfect. It was a windy day in Indianola, perhaps too windy- we had no choice but to wait in nervous anticipation. Would my grandmother be thwarted a FOURTH time? Would she have to surrender this dream??

A little wind doesn't stop Grandma Moehlenbrink.

And luckily, a little wind doesn't stop the Balloon Rides either. The winds slowed enough to let us jump into the baskets, but were roaring enough to give us a really fantastic ride.






Sometimes, you're lucky enough to have your dream come true. Keep soarin', grandma.

*And was, consequently the protocol for diversity posters.

Thieves

Well- it's over.
Last day of work on Monday. Goodbye Osnovna Šola Antona Tomaža Linharta...

On Wednesday I finished my final 'meeting' with my project team, and then rode away honestly singing the song 'Freedom' as I hustled toward my next meeting (coffee with the old men that sit in front of my (former) castle). And I really really do feel utterly free.

This has been a really wild experience for me: Living in a place that I love, being surrounded by people that I have come to love, being fed with food that loves me... and yet constantly struggling with a set of interactions that has really taken a toll on me during the last year.

Now, I am going to get back to that, but in typical-Nicole-style, I'd like to relate this to something I love, using a large metaphor that, most-likely, only I will understand.
Shawn Hunter's Graduation Speech. Now this isn't me getting overly-emotional about graduating (that was high school Nicole. Ask my mom about the many days when I would put on my cap and gown as a 17-year-old and just sob in front of the mirror). People graduate and move away and change- and I am now a huge fan of that. I now understand how critical it is to experience new things and people (and that it doesn't necessarily require you to break off old ties and connections, especially if they continue to form who you are)...

This blog post is about the content of what Shawn says as he's reflecting over a period of time in his life.
I could've done better.

I could've done better.

This was a hard year. I continuously struggled with some conflicts that just would not come to an end- even when I thought they had I was floored by the reality that the misunderstandings between us were so huge they just were not going to dissipate. So I gave up. But not in love. But not in grace. Not in anything else I would be proud of.

I'm not really pleased. And though I am still doing a little happy dance about this relationship being over, I am also asking myself where I could have done better, aside from how I was treated. How could I have been more gracious? It's utterly transparent that I could have loved more.

Don't get me wrong- I'm certainly not placing the blame solely on myself... nor am I regretting the experience that I had, but merely acknowledging that I have fallen super short of grace.

I could've done better.

And there is a song that captures what I am trying to say- it's called Thieves by Quiet Corral and it's my listen-to-on-repeat-song of the week:

we were born to be the thieves we are
so nothing’s safe

leave you crying but you should be thankful
we left you with your wife with your life
with your little ones
we might have taken you for all your worth
but it could have been worse 

As a natural optimist, I always see the glass half (more like 3/4) full. But I also hope for the best from everyone so strongly that I get these unfair expectations where I expect near perfection. I don't think that it's bad to hope for perfection, but maybe I do need to hope for perfection while also realizing that by nature we are thieves.

All of the things I shouldn't be doing

Much like many young people in the world, I have a hard time doing exactly that which I should be doing most. I know I'm not alone- I mean, haven't we all spent a finals week obsessively making smoothies or playing sudoku? Haven't we all chosen laser tag over writing a term paper... at least once? Don't tell me you don't remember that week in college when you stayed in your pajamas eating your half-birthday truffles and reading the Half-Blood Prince instead of walking to campus in the snow for super-exciting SOE classes.

Well, I'm struggling here- there are about 354 things I need to do in Slovenia in the next month- many of which are actually due in the next week and a half. And yet, here I am. Watching episodes of How I Met Your Mother (I can't help it, Jason Segal is my favorite actor) and ''packing'' for the seaside. And here in Episode 3, season 2, Marshall is back into the dating circle and the television show is making fun of how bad he is at the game BECAUSE HE'S DOING ALL OF THE THINGS THAT I HAVE ALREADY DONE. Seriously- the last episode showed him shaking a girls hand and then talking about sweat. For too long.
This reminded me of a time that I had a crush on this guy who came too class really sweaty and I consoled him. By talking to him about sweat! For too long!! What is WRONG with me!?!

And writing THIS story reminded me of other hilarious/socially unacceptable dating situations I've been in. Years ago, I had a small (jk, huge) colony of plantar's warts living on my foot. I wasn't so embarrassed about it- I got them in taekwondo, which means I could easily kick the ass of anyone who tried to make fun of me. So anyway, I just dealt with it. For a while I was going to the podiatrist somewhere on Iowa street, and I drove past it on what was maybe-a-date with Nathan from my soc class. Nathan was super cool- like, leather jacket cool, and also happened to be very fun. We went mountain biking (see very old blog post about dates-going-wrong) and on the way back we passed the podiatrist, sparking this conversation:

Oh! I have to remember that I have an appointment tomorrow!
Wait, you have a podiatrist appointment?
Yes, I have a MASSIVE colony of plantar's warts
Oh, man, I actually do too.
Oh, yeah!!! Up-top!!!
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Apparently giving high fives for both having HPV on your foot is not ok. He even told me that- by saying:
Nicole! I will not high-five you for that. Why aren't you embarrassed? You are supposed to be embarrassed!

I wasn't. I'm still not. Viruses happen, people. Especially if you explore places. So what happened to Nathan? Nothing. We didn't go for another date, but he did move to one of the Carolina's. I'm hoping that my lack-of-dating skills were not enough to drive him to another state.

And oh yeah, I would like to say that I have been Plantar's-Warts- free now for 3 years at least. The podiatrist was worthless- I got rid of them on my own. How? I would tell you, but it's too gross for a public blog. But ask me on a date and I might just give you all of the details...