... even the journey is home ...: October 2014

Our time in Plovdiv is over, the whirlwind of excitement and newness has settled. More than halfway into our semester, the energy of the trip has calmed into a dull roar. As I reflect on the multitude of learnings that I gathered throughout our time in Plovdiv, I quickly realize that the significant learning came out of my relationship with my mamo.

I want to convey all of who my mamo is -- but quite frankly, everytime I have attempted to, I find myself frustrated by how incomplete the description seems.

Throughout my two and a half week stay, I was baffled in the best way by my mamo. I was amazed by her crazy, vivacious energy. I was honored by her authenticity and vulnerability. I was cradled by her warmth. And somehow, each day I felt blessed by revelations she shared with me, wisdom that was imparted, and ways of being that she displayed.

Most of our time in Plovdiv was dedicated to intensive language learning. Resultantly, at the end of the day, when I lugged my windbeaten and cold body back home, I felt entirely drained. I would creep in the door and within moments my mamo would pop out from behind he kitchen door, spreading light through the dark hallway, greeting me with genuine warmth. I would then be ushered into the kitchen, handed hot tea and a delicious plate of dinner. Within minutes, I would feel restored and found myself pouring out the events of the day, asking questions, and swapping stories.

What seemed remarkable to me was that I consistently felt so tired in the evenings, but I also consistently caught myself feeling invigorated by our conversations. I would anticipate going to bed early, only to realize that I could not possibly tear myself away from the conversation at hand. I was happily rooted in that central, sacred space.

Our conversations were not always entirely fluid, as neither of I were fluent in the other'a foreign toungue. But truthfully, her character spoke so loudly that it was simply not necessary.

My mamo is profoundly maternal and protective, and I experienced this whenever we crossed a street, as she searched for my hand. I experienced it when she encouraged me to put on another sweater, to put on socks, to eat another helping of food. I experienced it when she adamantly insisted we learn how to make banitsa. I experienced this love, this desire for my own betterment, every evening as we struggled through my homework. As she piled on additional work so that I could "correctly learn" Bulgarian, as she tirelessly repeated lines with me, as she patiently enunciated words, and she looked over my homework assignments, it was clear that she cared, ever so deeply, that I understood fully.

With the same intense love, she has fierce tenderness, which I saw every morning, as she wooed in birds with crumbs of bread.

She told me directly that the most beautiful part of life is to love an be loved in return. I spent the week opening myself up to her love, and only hoped that I too, could give in such beautiful ways.

This relationship of loving and being loved is not restrained to our relationships with others -- but also our relationship with life. I watched my mamo open her arms and heart to the world. I listened to my mamo's stories of continuously bearing her soul, giving herself completely, safe in the knowledge that God would provide. A musician by trade and endlessly theatrical, she demonstrated, time and time again, that pouring energy out into the universe only reaped bountiful returns.

Evenings spent seated at the kitchen table, practicing lines for the Bulgarian rendition of "Little Red Riding Hood" seem to epitomize the values my mamo so vehemently espoused. I was assigned the part of the wolf, and time and time again, she encouraged me to say my lines viciously and with conviction. Whenever I'm feeling small, I will remember my mamo roaring, "BE A WOLF. YOU ARE WOLF WOMAN."

Practicing lines with my mamo reminded her of adventures performing, and stories of craziness and extravagance bubbles out of her. Her experiences as a performer taught her a considerable amount about presentation of self. She encouraged me to be unapologetic in my line delivery. She reminded me that I might feel silly, but the audience would love it. She encouraged me to devote my full self, my entire heart, my whole being into expression -- I would benefit as would everyone involved.

Thankfully, not all of life is a performance, but regardless of context, the same reciprocal relationship of giving and being given to remains. My mamo reflected that some nights she performed, "the entire room would be crowded, and I knew no one was listening. Other nights, one person would be sitting alone, so I would sing with everything I had, I'd give them my heart."

Every action is meaningful. My mamo taught me to love without the expectation of being loved in return. To trust that by leaning into the goodness of creation, the universe will continue to reveal the beautiful and synchronistic elements that are so entrancing. She taught me to love with bold tenderness, to live unapologetically.

Throughout our stay in Plovdiv, I found myself considering the quote, "love life, engage with it, give it everything you've got. Because life gives back, tenfold, what you put into it." Never before had I seen a person live into this quote more fully. In the core of my being, I am thankful to have witnessed the way my mamo is bringing more light into the world.

When she squeezed me a final goodbye, she whispered to me, "Go, conquer the world." Excited by the love she poured into me, I take this challenge on, head first.