When I was younger I always did exactly what was expected of me, but my laters years show that I’ve traveled a very unorthodox path.

In the beginning, I was Mama’s perfect little girl in ruffled dresses with matching shoes and bags; daddy’s little princess; and teacher’s pet. I colored inside the lines. I did what was expected of me.

Then I turned twelve and had an experience that found me (at not yet 5 feet tall) standing toe to toe with my 6’4″ pastor saying to him, bold as brass, “Pastor Mulvihill, I believe that’s called hypocrisy.”

And with that one sentence my world split in two. I still played the games I needed to to survive, but I began to question everything I knew or thought I knew to be true.

I pushed every boundary, every rule, every belief I had been taught. I’ve taken the unorthodox path. Instead I began to explore forbidden territory.

I began to read philosophy, to study world religions, to listen intently to conversations that prior to this I would have coward from. Coming from a very conservative Christian background, this was absolute heresy.

I began to write about what I was learning, experiencing, questioning, and where I might want to explore next. I did this in secret because no one I knew thought outside of the prescribed Christian norm. I had no allies on my quest, save my small town librarian.

Consequently, in little ways I began to rebel. I began to stand up for my beliefs, as unpopular or unorthodox in my community as they were. And I stood out like a sore thumb.

But I had gained access to my true north. Tenacious as I was and am, nothing was going to dissuade me from traveling the unorthodox path. Crookedy and unsure as it might have been, it was mine and not one deigned for me. It was a path that I was discovering for myself. One that fit the misfit I felt myself to be.

I have always listened to my heart. When I do, I am never led astray.

After I put myself through college, graduating with two degrees, I had my heart set on pursing higher education and Montessori certification.

But I had no visible means of paying for grad school. Daunted? Doubting? Never! I packed up my little blue Volkswagen Rabbit with everything I owned and hopped into the drivers seat to hit the road. I’d figure out a way to make it work.

I kissed my friends I’d been staying with goodbye and started my car’s engine. Then my extra dad, Dennis, said hang on a minute. He promptly returned and handed me a folded piece of paper. I opened it. My mouth dropped.

It was a check for $1000. It would get me in the door. I could, and did, do the rest.

My life has been full of my convictions and passions leading miracles to my doorstep.

Allowing, as Frank Sinatra sang, for me to do it my way. And I have.

I have taught Montessori toddlers, pre-schoolers, kindergarteners, and been a school administrator. I have worked every station at a 4-star restaurant in the San Francisco Bay. I have had the joy of knowing Julia Child and Jaques Pepin, two of my greatest kitchen heroes. I was the solopreneur of Haute Plate, a fine dining and full service event planning company for over 20 years.

I am a jeweler. I have shipped my pastries and jams all over the world and have a loyal following of marmheads (people addicted to my marmalades). I have traveled with and worked for famous people. I have cleaned houses to pay the rent.

I paint the interior of homes. I sew for others. I make up words for fun. I fall in love constantly. I’m never afraid to take a chance, or to give a second chance. I look for the good and beauty in everything. My resume looks like stone soup.

I’ve done everything in life against society’s prescribed path, but I have found my bright star, my heart, my true north.

I have lived with challenges that could have destroyed me, but I have never lost my hold on my passions and my dreams. I have lived my life with the utmost gusto, my way. My unorthodox path has taken me to extraordinary places and I don’t regret anything.

Should I leave this world today, I leave no regrets. I have pursued every dream, every desire, and every passion of my heart to its happy, and in my estimation, successful completion. All this and a heart overflowing with love. What more could I ask for?

(To understand my life’s theme song more fully here are the lyrics to My Way.)

As I sat there, looking at the display of manhood I exhibited; I was quite taken with myself. Even as I look back on that trail of events, I find myself becoming a bit ecstatic. There is an undeniable joy that comes from you simply standing up for you. The lesson I learned that day stuck with me my entire life. If you allow someone to punch you five times they will punch you five times, if you let them punch you once they will punch you once; but it you break off their hands they cannot punch you at all.

Within my childhood, I learned the gift of reading. From that gift, I read spectacular stories of mythology, lore, and fables. Fables, where the hero always rose to overcome the evil set before him through cunning and guile, and this was my inspiration. The stories allowed my imagination to soar; and I found myself wanting to be that chivalrous knight that rode across the battlefield and smelled the dust that my horse kicked up as I rode into battle turning the tide from defeat to victory. Although, I was a really skinny little kid at the time and it seemed I would never fully grow into that role.

As I walked home I dredged forward, and I realized how much I loved the warm spring days. I smelled the freshly cut blades of grass. I remember the  afternoon sun splashing against the back of my head and my legs, then the sweet embrace of the gentle breeze. I was a second grader and the thing I hated most in the world was the walk home from school. The main reason I hated this was because of the Jacksons.

The Jacksons were an extended family, and they had a gang of kids that all lived in the big white house on the corner. With the amount of people that lived in that house, you would swear they were like a nest of cockroaches waiting to pounce on a morsel of food. As I walked home that house always loomed in the back of my mind because as I walked home it was the house on the corner and I passes it everyday. I could see it throughout my entire stroll home.

The thing that made the Jacksons so bad was that their gang of kids always beat up the other kids because it was so many of them. One day, they beat poor Cornbread nearly until he needed stitches. (Cornbread was a white kid named Mike who lived on our block in a predominately black area and we called him Cornbread as he was always at someone’s house eating cornbread.) After that everyone feared the Jacksons. In all honesty I feared them too. Cornbread once said to me “they beat the hell out of me and took my G. I. Joes. And I am bigger than you Dave so you better not take your toys to school!!!!”

This worried me for sometime but I felt that like Perseus, I would use my mind to out-think the evil horde.

So the best way to survive a beating is to not be involved in that beating. I created that I would not walk past the Jackson’s house. I started walking down the alley before I got to the corner so as to slip in unnoticed and unscathed. This worked for a few days until the Jacksons began to see through my ruse. Now I had to become even more cunning so I began to walk an entire block and a half out of my way to come up the opposite end of the block. The aforementioned tactic worked for all of about a week, until one of the older Jackson’s just happenedto tell his little nappy-headed siblings of my craftiness. From there on forward I was a very fleet of feet young man. I ran home everyday to avoid a beating.

One day they almost caught me and as I barely managed to evade the horde of Jacksons covering all my exits. My father was home early from work that day. My Dad asked “Why are you out of breath?” I responded by saying “I was racing one of the other kids.”My dad shook his head said ok and went upstairs. He had left the v.c.r. running and within it lay my salvation. My dad had rented the movie “Rocky”. Now I must admit I was a little overzealous after watching this movie, but from the beginning to the end something within me stirred like never before. I was truly inspired and by all things a movie no less. I had a newfound sense of invincibility. I believed that I was able to defeat the Jacksons, at their own game. I would do something more cunning and more perilous than had ever been attempted; I would attack them in their lair.

Like Rocky I would take the fight to them.

I got off the floor, grabbed my shoes, and sat on the couch as I put them on. “I am not taking this sh– anymore,” I exclaimed. My older sister looked at me and said, “Where are you going?” I told her “I am going to the Jackson’s house and end all this running home.”  As I laced up my shoes my sister started calling for my father. I feared what he would say so I ran down the stairs and out of the house. As I stomped down the street I bee lined straight for the Jackson’s house. The fear that had gripped me was no longer in my realm of existence.

I walked up to the leader kid Rick Rick. I did not speak, I cocked back my hand and hit him as hard as I could in the nose. He immediately fell over in pain. His entire family just gasped. Something inside me told me to stop, and I being of glorious purpose refused to listen to it. I pummeled and whaled on Rick Rick for about 15 minutes relentlessly repeating, “Don’t you ever chase me home again you piece of sh– mother fu—-!!” After I began to tire I rose from the righteous indignation I had visited upon his person.

At this point I was crying as well because this was not what I believed I should be doing beating someone up in front of their family. Being the chivalrous knight that I was with tears streaming down my face, I stood clinched fists over him and apologized to his parents for disrespecting them. I said “Mrs. Jackson I am sorry but I just don’t want to be chased home anymore.”  His mother looked at me, nodded and thunderously roared, “Rick, I told Y ‘all that you better leave that little Gibson boy alone.” Cornbread observed it all and he ran over to me and patted me on the back. Cornbread handed me his G. I. Joes and said “Yo Joe you’re my hero.”

And in that moment all was right with the world.

I had come to understand what it meant to stand up for myself. I walked home invincibly. When I got to the porch my mother was standing in the doorway ready to pounce herself. Alas I was saved, as my father placed his hand on my mother’s shoulder and said, “I will handle this!” My father took me for a walk and I wondered where he was taking me. He began talking to me about being a man and also about being smart enough to know when and when not to fight. I listened intently, and my father’s words washed over me and through me. “David, we must temper ourselves and defend ourselves physically only when there is no other recourse.” He told me that he knew of my problem and was wondering when I was going to ask him for help. Then he said, “I am proud of you. You handled yourself quite well.”

He took me to McDonald’s and got me a hot fudge sundae. As we took the walk home he told me more bits of wisdom; and I soaked them up. The last bit of wisdom he gave me he said was for just tonight, “don’t tell your mother where I took you and what I said!!” We laughed all the way up the stairs until we got in the house. Because of the fabled fight, I learned what it was to stand up for myself as a man.

DJG

I am a person who prescribes to the thought process that all people are fundamentally good, or at least have the ability to be so.

I find that there is a basic level of good that can be found in all persons, and simply finding that is what can sometimes prove to be difficult.

There is a person I have met who has the kindest heart and the most gentle soul of anyone I have had the pleasure of spending an extended period of time with. Knowing when you are around people like this is highly valuable, because they will seemingly effortlessly improve your life without your notice.

I am thankful each day that I have the opportunity to spend ample time with an individual who improves my life in countless ways and reminds me that people are fundamentally good.

Admittedly, I am an inherently stubborn, short-tempered, and cynical person. Staying conscious of these traits each day helps me work against them, attempting to be more open-minded, patient, and relaxed. However, working alone can be difficult, and support systems are almost always necessary for many walks of life.

I have a person who shows me by example, practically every moment of everyday, how to be everything I am currently not. He encourages me when I am skeptical of my ability to do better. A heart as pure as his cannot go unnoticed, nor unappreciated.

Being an independent person is a quality I have always prided myself on having. However, if you are even better with a partner, why operate alone?

I’ve always valued working to grow, develop, and become better at all I do.

Having an individual in my life who pushes me out of my comfort zone and into a place of transparent change is arguably the best thing for me.

The person I am today is vastly different from the person I was a few years ago. That is because I am not just one person attempting to charge to the world as an island. I am a person more consumed by love, happiness, and trust—qualities I could not have attained by myself. I have become more fundamentally good with this amazing person in my life.

When people ask me where I’m from, my answer is usually Philadelphia. This isn’t true; although I was born there, I grew up in Williamstown, N.J. Home of the Braves and a gigantic Wal-Mart, its one of those small South Jersey towns no one outside of it knows too much about.

Moving away for college, it was much easier to say that I was from a bustling city than a sleepier hometown. After all, how could I explain the simple pleasure of a backyard bonfire to a person who grew up in New York City? How could I articulate enjoying a small-town life, yet simultaneously wanting to flee from it?

Williamstown and I have a complicated relationship. I know it, but it doesn’t know me. As I progressed through high school, the town itself became suffocating.

Clearly, I could see a future forming before my eyes. I could go to college there, become an elementary school teacher, and raise a family on the same streets that I was raised on. Many of my high school friends were generational; their parents and grandparents had gone to school together, had families side by side. It would be a safe choice, and to remain in the familiarity of my childhood town was a comforting thought. That route, while secure, made me feel…uncomfortable. There is something stifling about a small-town existence; perhaps it was due to the fact that there was never any new. In the years since I’ve left it, Williamstown has barely changed; it could easily be a snapshot from my senior year of high school. So upon graduation, I thought about that secure path, and ran from it.

Don’t get me wrong, there is a lot I loved about my hometown, and still do. I love my friends and family there, and visiting them is a treat that I always relish. I enjoyed high school, with Friday-night football games and bon-fires on the weekends. I have so many memories connected to Williamstown; from carnivals and dance recitals, to summers spent at Hospitality Creek and winters sledding in the woods. I remember the treat of walking with my elementary school class to McDonalds, the mornings in middle school waiting for the bus, and my first day of high school, where my friends and I got hopelessly lost.

While I appreciate all that Williamstown has given me, it is not my true home anymore.

It exists in a time capsule, encasing all the memories of the years gone by. Strangely enough, I have multiple homes now; honestly for the past 3 years, I have felt that I have lived as a nomad. Part of my heart remains in Baltimore, the city where I’ve made my place at Loyola, and Newcastle, England, where I’m currently spending my life-changing year abroad. Soon, I’ll have a different home, as I emerge from college into the fuzzy and uncertain existence of post-graduate life.

Regardless of my own mixed emotions, Williamstown will always have the distinction of being my first home. Every time I visit now, I am struck by the sense of relief; relief that I left when I did, but at the same time, gratitude to having a place that I can feel innately comfortable in.

Just over a year ago, before I left for study abroad, my twin brother and I got matching tattoos. On his right wrist, in my handwriting, “Stay Free.” On my left wrist, in his handwriting, “Stay Free.” When we first got them, our mother was understandably furious. She said, “what happens when you get married?” “Hopefully when I get married I’ll still feel free.” Immediately slipped out of my mouth. It’s true though, isn’t it? Why shouldn’t we always feel free?

I used to think about freedom a lot. I still do, but now that I believe I’ve found an understanding of what freedom is to me, these thoughts are no longer frightening. I like to think of myself as a free spirit. I believe that anyone you ask would tell you that I am, and yet I often find myself trapped in the confines of my own mind. Still, I often appreciate being alone with nobody and nothing around, just my mind and me.

I would call this a curse if my mind worked differently. But I’m a dreamer.

My thoughts often become so vivid and so real that I can simply relax no matter where I am or what I’m doing because the reality is that I don’t feel like I’m stuck wherever I am. It would be so easy to sulk every time I have to go to class and it would be so easy to be upset about it and let it ruin my day and feel like a wasted hour. Why would I want to go through life like that though? Why would I take the easy way out when the easy way doesn’t lead to any sort of fulfillment or joy? It’s so easy to notice the negative aspects of everyday life and to let them poison your soul. So let positivity in. Don’t worry about how boring class is, focus on the friends you might make because of that class, or even simply appreciate the chance to learn.

For me, freedom isn’t something you can put into words. It’s not material. It’s just a feeling. I’m sure this is a familiar feeling for many, but it’s also a feeling I never want to go away. So how do we find freedom? How do we find that feeling and hold onto it? In my opinion it stems from optimism, open mindedness and love. If you can consistently project these qualities onto others then you are free. Free of negativity. Free of fear. Free of hate. It comes from within, but we need to project it.

I’ve stopped setting alarms and closing the shades at night. One of the most incredible experiences for me is waking up to the sunlight. It’s not a sudden heart attack at the sound of your alarm. It’s not a chaotic rush to get up and ready as fast I can after sleeping as long as I could. It’s a slow and gentle touch of warmth letting you know that morning has come. I can’t express how relaxing my mornings are when I can take my time waking up and enjoy the silence of a new day. I have time to reflect on the previous day and to think about the day ahead of me.

I no longer allow myself to stress about much. Socializing used to stress me out until I realized that most people who want to talk to you are going to be friendly. Some of the best people I’ve ever met are those who I accepted into my life at the most unexpected times. My friends from India who were studying in Australia when I spent a semester there are the most generous and open-minded people I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know. And what’s better is that I know they will be my friends for a lifetime. I returned home holding onto their values of friendship and generosity and continue to spread those values everyday.

Music is also a major factor for me in holding on to this enlightening feeling. Lyrics and sounds have the power to change the way we are feeling in seconds. I find it important for myself to begin everyday with some music. My father has always been a huge Bob Dylan fan, and I’ve found that listening to his music while I prepare for my day has always been inexplicably comforting. Whenever my Dad and I take rides together we always listen to Bob Dylan and Tom Petty, who is my favorite. We often joke that we don’t have to rush home because we simply enjoy taking the time out of our day to slow down and appreciate something we both love.

Tom Petty wrote, “most things I worry about never happen anyway.”

There is also an incredible quote by Tom about college and life where he says, “the work never ends, but college does.” I encourage everyone to look up the entire quote. This worry-free mindset has been engrained in me. If my friends are all going somewhere the night before I have a paper due and I don’t want to miss out, I’m going to go anyway. That’s what I think life is about. We shouldn’t worry about an essay that, when you really think about it, is such a minor part of your life. Time with friends can never be replaced and we should make the most of every chance we get to enjoy their company.

On the other hand, alone time is so important if you want to stay true to yourself and achieve your own goals. I think self-reflection is imperative to an all around positive lifestyle. All it takes is ten minutes each day where you can find a peaceful spot to think about what it is you want, what you want to become, and what you love about yourself. I would like to emphasize that last part. Everyone should love who they are. I often take at least thirty minutes to myself just to reflect and I often end up writing without thinking. In other words, I let the pen touch the page and I’ll think of maybe three words before everything begins to flow smoothly like a waterfall from my mind to the page. I often look back at what I’ve written and don’t know how I managed to get to that point. But let me tell you, more often than not I look back at what I’ve written and I learn something about myself.

To know your own freedom, you must know yourself.

Of course there are days when I lose touch with myself and this feeling, I’m not perfect, but at the end of the day life is too good and too precious and so I believe we all must do whatever we can to be happy and love each other. Part of that includes helping others remain positive. I often don’t know how to help friends who are stressed or worried, but I have come up with a simple solution for any friend who is feeling anxious. I simply look at them and say, “hey, buddy. You can do anything.” Honestly a lot of my friends love to hear that, maybe because we don’t hear it enough nowadays. I believe it’s true though, especially if we work together. Mother Teresa once said, “You can do things I cannot do. I can do things you cannot do. Together we can do great things.” Together we can maintain freedom.

I guess what I am trying to say is, we all go through traumatic times. We all feel stress and anxiety in everyday life. We are all surrounded by negativity. However, simultaneously and beautifully, if you can recognize it, we are surrounded by positivity, love and hope. Stay Free.

I used to think that love was supposed to feel like a boat in a tempest on the ocean. If it didn’t feel like an oasis, what was the point of love? If you didn’t feel like you were on fire, how would you know you were burning with passion? The phrase had to exist for a reason.

Love isn’t like that, not for me. Love is like my favorite pair of jeans – they are the best color for me, and they make my butt look great. They’re well-worn, soft, flattering, and comfortable. I wouldn’t want my love to be any other way.

I think I have simultaneously gotten less and more romantic after being in the relationship that I have been in for the past four years.

The idea I had of love was influenced by television shows, and movies, and books. It was unrealistic, but it was the best example I had. If it wasn’t all-consuming and maybe a bit destructive, how would you know the other person loved you? If your partner wasn’t willing to go to extremes for you, how would you sense the commitment?

I never go looking for grand romantic gestures anymore. My partner and I are far too open for the secrets that necessitate planning gestures like that. The longer we’ve been together, the more I see love in the smallest gestures. I see love in the anti-virus software that was installed onto my computer to make it work faster because I accidentally have downloaded viruses onto my computer too many times. I see love in letting me pick the music during the road trips, and I see love in him listening to five David Bowie songs before requesting something different, because he knows I love David Bowie, even though we disagree about the status of David Bowie as road trip music. I see love in him telling me to text him when I wake up in the morning and love in him texting me goodnight.

Love is comfortable for me. That isn’t to say I don’t still feel the best parts of falling in love anymore. I still get rushes of emotion, of gratitude, of thankfulness, of peace. The fact that I found someone I consider my partner in all things so early on in my life is amazing to me. I have a person who listens to me, who makes me laugh, who completely understands where I am while still challenging me to become better than I was the day before. And I found them at seventeen!

If I went back in time and told sixteen-year-old me that I would find someone and fall in love, I would have laughed in my own face.

But I did. And I still am. Generally, I am not one for wild public displays of affection. Neither is he. But we’ll have been together for four years in March 2017, and that, to me, is an accomplishment.

We’ve weathered being in different high schools, going to different colleges 500 miles apart, and now we are working on a six-hour time difference for four months. We have continuously worked on being together, and I know that the future holds only good things for us. That, to me, is the best feeling that love provides – the knowledge that I have a partner in whatever I undertake in this world. And I am incredibly grateful to him for that.

When I had just turned 16 years old, I had a stunning realization. For the first time, I knew my life purpose. After giving a self-confidence empowerment workshop to a group of 8th grade girls, it felt as though God had spoken to me and let me know that I was here to continue the work I was doing on media, body image, mental health, relationships, and more.

At the time, I had no idea what the actual path of my newfound life purpose looked like, but I knew that I had one and that it involved utilizing my passions, public speaking and organizational abilities, and more.

Four years later, it has resulted in co-founding an organization called MOVE, dedicated to empowering young women through workshops and week long summer programs. It has resulted in me publishing a book, giving speeches at several conferences, developing important connections with girls, and much much more.

For the past few years, I have been wholeheartedly and entirely fulfilled. It is to such an extent that my heart was constantly aching with emotion and the understanding that what I was doing was critically important.

The number of times that I have teared up with gratitude and contentedness that I found my belonging is too many to count.

It truly is an indescribably unbelievable feeling to know you are doing the work you are intended to do.

And then, somewhere around the start of this new school year, I started grew restless. For several months, I refused to fully confront it and instead commented on how unfulfilled I felt, without actually doing anything about it.

I hoped that my restlessness would go away, and told myself that when I gave workshops over my college break in January that I would feel better.

Yet, I didn’t feel better. In fact, it forced me to confront the sad but inevitable fact that I am growing and changing, and so was my purpose.

I am in the process of finding fulfillment again. Here’s what I know to be true, and perhaps some ideas on how you too can discover your purpose as I re-discover mine:

Give whatever you can a shot (even if it’s scary)

Growing up, my parents encouraged me to try everything I could. I learned that I hated sports, was not good at playing instruments, that dancing was not for me, singing was okay, and finally that I LOVED doing theater.

I was originally intimidated to try out theater and audition for the school play—so scared that I didn’t audition whatsoever in 6th grade—but conquered that fear a year later to learn that I really found comfort in creating something beautiful with friends.

Trying different things gave me an opportunity to figure out what I liked, and allowed me to develop my strengths in areas that I cared about. Taking the time to learn about and understand myself really benefitted me later on, as my public speaking and teamwork skills are critical to the work I do for MOVE.

So, try everything you possibly can. Especially if you’re a little intimidated to do it. I’ve found that a little fear (within a safe range) allows the most growth to happen.

Run with your ideas.

If you have an idea, take it and run with it. My friends and I decided at age 15 that we wanted to give a workshop, and so we ran with that idea and made it happen.

When I gave the first workshop, I didn’t realize what would follow. I actually thought that I would give one, it would be cool, but that would be that.

Your ideas are worth a shot. They really are. And I encourage you to go for it. I know that social pressure and a desire to fit in make trying out ideas scary, but sometimes you need to put yourself and your ideas before your ego.

Immerse yourself in learning what you care about.

More than that, devote yourself to doing what you care about. Currently, I don’t know what my next purpose is. But, I do know that the way I discovered my original purpose.

I had the idea to write a book, and made it happen, because I took the time to learn first about the issues I cared about. I’m dead serious. Learning led me to understanding, which gave me ideas, and led me to creating my own ideas.

So, I’m spending my time learning about what does currently interest me: Political Science. I am so interested, that I changed my double major from Communication to PoliSci.

I’ve also made it a New Years Resolution to read 25 books on political issues this year. Two done. 23 to go. Speaking of which, the learning that I’ve done already has actually given me the idea for my third book!

Learning about what you care about works. It gives you ideas because you’re able to see what’s missing and you can fill in what’s needed with your own work.

Combine what you’re passionate about, with what you care about, with what you’re good at.

At workshops, I always ask girls to consider the three things above. Previously, and to an extent still, I am passionate about ideas, bringing people together, and more.

I care about body image, media, self-esteem, mental health and more. And I am good at organizing, leading, and public speaking. So, I combined the three to create MOVE.

Today, my strengths and passions are still the same, but what I care about is shifting and I’m starting to consider how I can use what God gave me in another way. All I’m saying is that the more I learn and think about how I can do my part, that honestly running for office has crossed my mind more than a few times.

What are you passionate about? What do you care about? And what are you good at? What is your life purpose?

Now, how can you combine these? If you love it more than your ego, you’ve found it.

And finally, Elizabeth Gilbert describes her home as, “returning to the work of writing because writing was my home, because I loved writing more than I hated failing at writing, which is to say that I loved writing more than I loved my own ego,which is ultimately to say that I loved writing more than I loved myself.”

In other words, Elizabeth Gilbert loved writing more than she hated failing or her own ego.

For so long, I loved MOVE more than my ego. The things people would say to me or behind my back did not matter to me, and I would brush it off easily. Who cares what you think—I’m doing God’s work and nothing can stop me! And in many ways, MOVE is still my home. But I’m moving—or MOVEing—on.

Either way, think about what you love more than your ego. And that’s when you know you’ve found your purpose. To reach out to me, check out www.ashleyolafsen.com

I would come nowhere near labeling myself as a sentimental. However, the nostalgia I feel for college life comes all too often. I miss the Classic City. I miss being in a college student mindset – invincible, limitless.

What I miss most though are the people.

UGA is huge. With over 36,000 students enrolled, it can be easy to get lost in a crowd of people, especially when you are from a small coastal town in Southeast Georgia. What is special about UGA though is how many opportunities there are to get involved.Once you put get your foot in the door to a sorority or fraternity house, the Center for Student Organizations (now called the Center for Student Activities and Involvement) or any of the college ministry groups, it opens up a smaller world where you can find your own niche, becoming a name not just a number. The involvements I listed are just the ones I was involved in, not mentioning athletics or the plethora of other fun, communal activities on the UGA campus.

Compared to my four years at UGA, post-college life has been lackluster.

A big part of this for me was the transition from personal relationships to professional relationships. Transitioning from deep, 2 AM Little Italy relationships to somewhat surface, work relationships was difficult, and for an extrovert like me, the isolation that I let incur from that was toxic.

Finding purpose was another big part of the transition for me. I am a true millennial in this way. Work to me needs a purpose, a reason; it needs to make a difference. In my first job out of college, I liked it, I liked the people, but I did not feel like I was working towards anything. I was learning, I was making great friends, but I could feel myself feeling stuck, lonely and purposeless. I was not separating my purpose or identity from my work and I could not see beyond that job.

After almost a year in my first job, I decided to venture elsewhere in the hopes that returning to a familiar place would spark something in me that I knew I once had. I found a fellowship with a local youth ministry, applied and was accepted. It was a place I had not imagined myself being again but a place I am eternally grateful for, home.

In every dream I had before this point, home was not where I was and a fellowship was not what I was doing, but here I am. For me, coming back to my roots, my foundation, sparked my dreams again and set me on a different, but incredible journey. Although I am still working on the purpose bit and have just acknowledged at this point that there will probably never be another time like college again, coming home allowed me to regenerate, dream again and set my sights on something new and hopeful.

It allowed me to remember where I came from so I can imagine where I want to be.

I loved college, and I will never have that same experience again, but post-college life can be just as enjoyable and life-giving if you are able to find the balance between purpose, identity, work and life. It is hard work; it may take three moves, two jobs and one journey home to get you there, but it is possible.

Hopefully, I will be in graduate school next year working towards a degree in social work. A field I had never considered until two mentors on separate occasions both mentioned it to me. Had I never come home though, I may not have ever thought about social work and the doors it can open.

The journey has been different than I expected but so worth all of the people I have met, lessons I have learned and new dreams I am working towards.

I have never seen a therapist for my depression, but I do take medicine prescribed by my general practitioner for what she deemed “anxiety with depressive symptoms”.  The further I advance in my college career, the further it seems that my depression advances as well.

Some days I just have an underlying sadness that I can’t quite figure out why it is there. Other days, it is hard for me to get out of bed. I feel like I am worthless, that none of my friends truly love me, and that all the hard work and dedication I put into my passions to make the world a better place does absolutely nothing.

Some days, hanging out with my friends is enough to pull me out of the rut, at least temporarily. But some days, or even weeks, I seclude myself and lay in bed most days feeling depressed and lonely. During these times, it takes a lot more willpower to pull me out of my depressive episodes.

Even though it doesn’t always feel that way, what brings me out of even my worst rut is the incredible support network and love that I have from the people in my life.

I have an extremely close family where I can call them up anytime and just hear their voices, instantly improving my mood. I am lucky to have sisters that go out of their way to make me feel better when they know I am feeling down, like when my mom and sisters delivered a bag of gifts to me after I broke up with my first serious boyfriend. Not only do I have my family (and my pets), but I have an amazing small group of friends that I know I could tell anything to. They understand more so than my family that I can be sad or depressed and have no “reason” for the sadness. They know when I need my space, or when I need a girl’s night or a dinner off campus to lift my spirits.

One thing that really helps me out of my depressive ruts is involving myself with the most incredible group of individuals at my school that I have the privilege of knowing. As the president of Active Minds at Loyola University, I get the opportunity to meet so many stigma fighters and mental health advocates on my campus that work to eliminate the stigma surrounding mental health. Specifically, my leadership team for active minds are the kindness, most thoughtful, loving, and understanding people at my school.

They instantly lift my mood with their positive affect and heartwarming commitment to making the world a better place for those with mental illness. When I am in the deepest of ruts because of my depression, these are the people that remind me of why I was put on this earth, what my passion is, and what I was destined to do.

Giving a voice to those around me who don’t have the strength or courage to find theirs is the greatest coping mechanisms I have found for my depression.

My advice to my fellow stigma fighters who struggle with depression is to talk to others about it. Let them know what you need and when you need it. Tell them how you feel so that when you are feeling that way, they can help you out of your rut.

But most importantly, find your passion. Find what gives you the greatest joy and purpose in the world, and hold on to that in the deepest moments of your depression. Remember why you are here, and all the people you are helping by just living. And remember, fight like hell.

Had they told me

I need wings to fly

I would’ve believed

Can’t see a reason why

Thus I went on

Living for so long

Until one glimpse of dreams

Changed it all

Scared I was

To take the dive

But like bees

I left my beehive

Soon I was measuring the sky

To fly high and high

Now looking back

I smile

Had they told me

I need wings to fly

*Poem by Isha Negi

It is July the 23^rd, 2016. Twenty-two hours have passed since I flew away from my country and landed on American soil. I am waiting for my luggage to show up in the baggage area. Red, blue, green, grey, orange, all the colors are making my head spin as the suitcases spin round and round waiting for their owners to pick them up.

“Oh!”, my body reacts before I can think clearly to check out a luggage which is not mine. “Nope, it’s not mine.” I look around wondering if people saw me making a mistake but no one really cares. I also learnt one another thing: I had always wondered why people selected bright-neon colored suitcases; this was the reason. To find it as quickly as possible and get your tired body out of the airport and into a bed.

There is a 25 year old lady standing beside me and she is panicking. “Oh no! Where’s my luggage! Help me carry it okay?”, she speaks in a shrilled voice. I automatically say “Okay, no problem” before I even stopped to think if I can do that. I wonder if I can carry my own. I had met her in my transit at Qatar. She was a Nepali like me but not a student. She had come with a Diversified Visa.

I recalled the many times I had applied for that and had never had the luck. It was ironic that I got to come to America in a student visa now.

Her constant fidgeting was getting on my nerves and making me panicky. My thoughts swam from “maybe they stole my luggage” to “maybe it got swapped somewhere”. The $6 trolley I was holding got in my way when I finally found my luggage. I was careful not to let it go though, suspicious that people might steal it. The $6 had already converted to 642 Nepali Rupees in my head. I was very cautious. I had forgotten that I had tied the numerous khatas to my luggage to recognize it from afar. It’s a tradition among us Nepalese to give this Tibetan-silk scarf to welcome or bid goodbye to someone.

After I had found one of my luggage, which was the red suitcase, I heavied it off the carousel. Another annoying thing happened then. The trolley kept rolling off when I tried to get it on it so I looked for the panicky woman who was standing looking for her luggage to help me. We heavied it onto the trolley together and I was grateful. Just as I found my second luggage, we found both of hers. And it was another awkward moment of me trying to get mine off and she trying to get hers off. I looked around and saw two big guys who seemed to be airport officials and asked them to help us. One of the guys helped me and the other helped her.

The second luggage, which was a huge green duffel bag which one of my cousins said I would likely be arrested for because it looked like it would carry military weapons, rested snuggly on the trolley looking innocent. I had only smuggled in some Nepali snacks that would be difficult to find in America in that bag.

I was going to walk towards the baggage check area when the woman stops me. “WHERE DO I GO NOW??!!” She had to get into another plane now which was in a completely different area of the airport. I asked around and one of the janitors explained that she had to take a train and get down in another place where her boarding place was supposed to be. I explained to her but she got more panicky thinking she’d get lost and what not. I was already moving away from her and told her just to ask around. I did not want to get in trouble either.

I suppose I should have been more patient with her but at that time, all I could think of was my friend hopefully waiting outside for me.

I meet a kind-faced security personnel at the checking area. She asks if I have any food in my luggage. I say I have food in my backpack but not in my luggage. It was my strategy of distracting her. Food in the backpack was okay she said. And I got out without any hassle. Plus, technically they were just snacks not meant to be of any nutritional value. Just as Cheetos is for Americans, Wai wai is for the Nepalese. I would surely not have faced any legal charges for carrying them but to unlock my bag and let them go through it would be too much of a hassle. I like how she smiled and told me to have a good day. This was new. No person smiled back in my country if you looked at them. Eye-contact would be strictly avoided and even if it did happen, it would end with awkward jerks of the head to look away, or to look down to see the non-existent dirt in one’s shoes.

I also noticed that nobody stared at you. It was easy to feel the heavy stares at your back if you walked anywhere on Nepali soil. From girls, guys, old women, old men, everyone avoided eye contact, but they stared if you stood out even just a little bit. Here, people didn’t give a shit. So I pushed my trolley towards the exit which was the entrance to a new life here in America.

*Story by Anushka KC