Perspective

I thought that when I returned from India, I would complain less, roll my eyes less, and generally realize how lucky I am. The last week was not a good example of that goal. When I received a rejection letter from UVa, I cried and slept for two hours. Though I love to be busy, in the last two days I have had to manage a young and inexperienced tennis team, a difficult brother who can't see his potential, an all-day human rights academy, a miserable loss on the tennis court, an inconvenient slice on my finger, 100 pages of reading, too-expenisve flights to NC to visit a college, a best friend who won't talk to me, and a field training with the local police that i don't really have time for, and therefore should give up, but won't because I want to do it. I told several people today that at the human rights academy, my presentation was awful and I had no impact on anyone. I still cringe over the benefit  fashion show because it wasn't up to my standards. I was feeling awfully sorry for myself before I read Janell's letter to Ella.

And I started thinking...and that can be a dangerous thing...

Janell's letter to her daughter made me think about just what kind of self-talk I need to be engaging with myself. Who am I to decide that I haven't affected someone in my audience today? How dare I insult the hundreds of hours and dollars that went into the fashion show? These questions began to seem oh so much more important to me than how I was going to make it from the training to a one and a half hour calculus exam tomorrow. All I have to do is think of my precious girls at the shelter, and how, at random intervals during the day would turn to me and say, "Auntie, you are so nice." or "Auntie, you are so beOOOOtiful." For the love of God, where is my perspective? Yes, I will still need 50 hours in the day when I only have 24. Yes, I will still be disappointed about college rejections and the lack of money for...well, everything. I doubt my abilities constantly: as a tennis player, a student, a Catholic, a daughter, a best friend, a being. But one thing I NEVER doubt is the part of my identity that bloomed in Kolkata, the part that looks at human trafficking survivors, then looks at my grueling schedule and says: I'll be DAMNED if I'll let this get me down.

xoxoxo