Some People Conquer Fears.

I just tire mine out. // I've made a pretty stark observation about myself over the last month of travel. I spend a considerable amount of time expecting. I walk through the next day, or next week, every step, every train, every move. Maybe I think that if I watch the whole movie once that I will be able to predict, and thus overcome, anything that could trick me up. But honestly? Fear lives only in the expectation, but not so often on reality. When you're sprinting to catch the only train to your next destination, you have very little time to be afraid. When your survival instincts kick in like that, no amount of expectation is going to be of aid. In fact, typically said expectation leads to a sleepless night and this far less energy to do that sprinting. // no amount of thinking could have prepared me for the fact that nothing in Europe runs on Sunday. And ALL of my travel dates are Sundays. No amount of thought could magically teach me The French I really need to talk to most of the people in this little town. No matter how many times I put a car into gear into my mind, today I have to drive stick and will almost for sure stall a few times. // expectation is just the perfectionist's anxiety. But it's pretty much a waste of time. Plus, I'm exhausted. If staying up all night with my expectations hasn't actually done anything to change some difficult circumstances, then I choose to sleep instead and take the difficulties as they come. I've never said to myself "Wow, I'm so glad I THOUGHT that one out beforehand. I really saved my own ass there." no. But I have said: "thank god YOU were there to speak French to that bus driver!" "Thank God I found YOU in this situation! What would I have done if I were alone?" // the lesson is - Maybe we just aren't made to help ourselves. We need people and community. We need to trust that God will send someone in a huge coincidence to help. Little European angels. I planned and planned and still couldn't have done a thing on my own. Yet I've caught every train. Miraculous, really.

Be reassured.

I am no longer feeling that icky homesickness. PHEW, THANK THE LORD. These feeling may be fleeting, however, as in two days I will be headed to France - the first country that language barriers may rise far aboove my capacities, the first country where I will be with mostly strangers, the first country where I have obligations and such. No, I will not think about this peace fleeting. // Stay present, Ashley. // For the first time since I've been in Europe, I feel close to being myself again. That is mostly due to my aunt now being here and making me laugh and feel free to be who she's always known me to be. I feel myself, yes, but with a little bit more. I feel encouraged to be more of that artist I talked about in last night's post. Little plans are starting to fill my head about who I should be when I get back to the States. I want to fill my life with music and writing. I want to follow this bravery and run with it a million miles. // I don't know exactly what I'll do. Do we ever? // I don't know what the point of this post was tonight. I suppose just to reassure the ones I love that I am finally feeling just fine. Your prayers and your loving words are so dear to me, and I feel so close to your hearts, though I'm far from you. // PS. A couple book requests. 1. "Sexgod" by Rob Bell. This man (pastor?) talks about the relationship between God and sexuality, often talking about marriage. A good one. Not too intensely Jesus-y. 2. "Blue Like Jazz" by Don... something. (I don't have my books in front of me, since Internet is only good downstairs, and my room is very much upstairs.) You'll find it if you google it. (I just love the Internet-age. So wonderfully lazy and unknowing, expecting someone else to do the work of figuring everything out.) This one is great, too. Like its subtitle suggests, it is simply thoughts on Christianity. It is the memoir of an average sinner and his journey toward falling in love with God. Again, not preachy. It's just a discovery of something most of us are searching for - more Love! 3. "Little Bee" by Chris Cleave. The backcover instructs me not to tell you what happens in the story, as its magic is in its unfolding. I will, however, tell you that any Clark kid will instantly fall in love with the story of this sweet African refugee. I will also tell you that I read it in two days, which is rare for me. It is such an easy, entertaining, deep read. 4. The last book is a devotional that now I can't remember the name of, which is insane because I read it every morning. Maybe that is God telling me either a. It's time to go to bed, or b. Stop suggesting Jesus books, because people are starting to feel you're getting to preachy. Haha. Either way, I have no idea what it's called now. But JR - my lovely friend from Woostah, who gave me this book - if you're reading, can you comment and remind me? Anyway, I'm being politely ushered in German out of the Internet-access part of the Hotel. And politely ushered by my aching bones to please, for the love of God, get some sleep. // Love you all like crazy.

God whispered in my ear today, "Start taking small steps."

Tonight, I watched the two greatest street performance groups I have ever seen in my twenty years of life. The first was a samba drum line that I could hear from my hotel. They had women behind them dressed as mermaids, painted green, walking on stilts. They promoted optimism and green-living, and succeeded through filling the somewhat shady streets with musical smiles. I swayed beside strangers and nearly cried tears of joy, and gratitude. The second group, a classical-meets-jazz string-trio-plus-piano-and-accordian, filled my heart further. Listening to them play Pachobel's Canon above the piano's strange 7th chords, I fell back in love with music. // After three years as a vocal student, I wouldn't say I am completely burnt out necessarily. I am simply more afraid. With every lesson, with every criticism, and especially with every performance of every peer and mentor that is one million times more talented and brilliant than I am, my mind fills with worry, doubt, and "yeah, maybe a 9 to 5 job after college wouldn't be so bad" demons. // But tonight, as I watched the tilted heads and swaying hips of the strangers around me, and saw the blue sky beginning to grow darker beneath the majestic castle-like Munich architecture, I thanked God - for the first time in a while - for making me a musician. Musicians - artists, for that matter - are given the great responsibility of creating these sweet moments. We are given the gift of awakening the soul. I vowed, right then and there, to get out of my head and get into my soul. I vowed to stop being afraid of this responsibility and start reclaiming it as a gift. // The person - the artist - that lives inside of my soul exists quite like the musicians I watched with awe tonight. She is brave, charming, and does not apologize for her art. The person who lives in my mind, however, never feels adequate enough to obey her housemate. There has always been a dissonance between my two halves, thus creating great dissonance between my thoughts and my actions. I write these words as if I am some great speaker, but I am not. I sing songs inside of my head and give grand performances, but it is rare that I sing in front of people except for academic credit and obligation. Who is this soul-dweller, and why can she not come out and live amongst the rest of us? // Tonight, under the brilliant sky, I decided to finally lose my mind. I sang Debussy through the streets. Quietly at first, and then slowly I became braver. I sang Debussy, and then Chausson, and a bit of Copland under a bridge. Most people walked by me, probably writing me off as another crazy person. Some stared as they walked by, a couple smiled. Most thought, or perhaps knew, that I lost my mind. I think they were absolutely right. I abandoned my fearful mind for the soul of the artist. The artist who exists somewhere deep inside, where Love lives, where the Irrational lives, where God lives. God. My soul, my music-maker, my artist. Following Him and this gift He put inside me made me, if just for tonight, a bit less afraid. Or at least I felt brave enough to make the first step toward Him. The first step toward being unafraid. Isn't that why they always tell us? In church and in the Bible? "Abandon your mind," they say, "have a heart for God and He will show you what you have inside and make you brave enough to let you live as that creation." // I always just thought that was evangelical jibber-jabber, not meant for artists like me.

Deutschland Dreamland.

Hello!! I've had really no Internet, and barely any time, thus lack of posting. I'm with my Aunt now - we met a few days ago in Berlin and then flew to Munich together yesterday. Berlin was interesting. It is a very international city with lots of American influence, it seems. There was a ton of interesting art, and we actually hung out one night in a pretty young area. We stayed in Charlottenberg, which seemed to be Fashion Central. Prada and Louis right next to our hotel. Swanky for sure. Saw a lot of Mauer sites - East Side Gallery, where a huge chunk of the wall is there and artists have come and done installments all over it. A lot are peace-related, and it's really actually quite moving. Saw the Nazi-era Olympic Stadium, which was quite fascist and creepy... Carried a lot of my German film knowledge into that situation, remembering Leni Riefenstahl's creepy Nazi films, one of which was shot at the Olympic Stadium. Weird to be standing somewhere that Hitler stood, for sure. And then last night we got to Munich and I entered into my own personal heaven. (Dad, you are going to be extremely jealous.) Diddles (my Aunt) and I were getting on the U-Bahn to find a cafe or bar to eat dinner an watch the soccer game. Germany and Denmark were playing in the final game of the First Round of UEFA Euro Cup. This is a pretty big deal for Europeans. Fairly close to the World Cup, but Euro only. This game determined whether or not Germany makes it to the next round - the quarterfinals. We get on the U-Bahn (subway) and see tons of guys in their Deutschland jerseys, and decide to just follow where they're going. We end up at the Munich Olympic Stadium with a thousand psyched drunk German fans. FOR SIX EURO. We get into the freaking Olympic Stadium to watch this game FOR SIX EURO. Unbelievable. So if you know me well, you know why this is my personal heaven. Watching a soccer game with a thousand Europeans, for six euro. Amazing. And Germany won. The U-Bahn back to the hotel was packed full of fans, and they jumped up and down and banged on the sides of the cars singing soccer cheers about "Super Deutschland". We thought the train was going to come off of the tracks. Simply amazing. Still a tiny bit homesick, but not sick exactly for home. A guy I met in Oslo asked me what it is I miss about home, and I couldn't totally think of anything. Of course I miss my parents and family because I love them, I miss my friends and my church, but I wouldn't go home just for all of that. I told him, "It's the lack of control. I don't know where anything is. I'm lost, confused, and separated from people. I don't know which way to go, I can't just talk to anyone. I don't entirely belong here, and I'm not entirely comfortable here. I miss the feeling of having control and comfort." He said, "I think you just defined homesickness." I think he was right. I also think there is no feeling more healthy, more character-building, or more humbling than this feeling. I have no control. And that's okay.

June Tenth, Feeings.

I feel ill-equipped. Like a child on this huge adveneture. Unprepared, yet overprepared in all the wrong places. I feel incapable and weak. I feel guilty for having these feelings, like an ungrateful brat who can't appreciate the magical adventure she's in the middle of. I feel too quiet, too easy going, too easy to walk all over. I do not feel like the strong woman I thought I was before I left. I do not feel like I am conquering the world. I do, at least, feel honest. I do feel like I will fight this. I do feel like it will pass. I do feel like I will be stronger and more something after all this is over (not quite sure what that is yet, though). From Proverbs: Trust God from the bottom of your heart; don't try to figure everything out on your own. Listen for God's voice in everything you do, everywhere you go; he's the one who will keep you on track. Josh Garrels: And even when I fall, I get back up, for the joy that overflows my cup. Heaven filled me with more than enough. Broke down my levee and my bluff. Let the flood wash me. I will climb this mountain with my hands wide open. And now I feel God's peace, and that's all that's left in my heart. Goodnight. xoxo

The best prank of all time.

I am in Oslo!!!! Flying over Norway was a ridiculous experience, it is so beautiful here. Last night, Kelli (who I'm staying with, a friend from home) took me out with some of her friends. Tobias and Stian met us in the park and we made hotdogs on a little disposable grill. We drank vodka from waterbottles and put the hot dogs on tortillas with dried onions and ketchup. Tobias was trying to teach me some Norwegian, but it is really hard to pronounce a lot of their sounds. I did learn how to say "Melkesjokolade".. guess what that means! Milk chocolate! Then they all decided I needed to learn more practical phrases. I learned 'My name is....' (which right now I forgot, and google translate is wrong).. and then they told me that the most polite thing to say when introducing yourself to someone is "Nice to meet you".. They tell me in Norwegian this is "Fitteslikker".. (if you speak Norwegian, you are now cracking up).. This word is really hard to say and remember, so I'm walking around all of Oslo practicing it. In the park, Fitteslikker. On the subway, Fitteslikker. They are laughing hysterically at me, and I start to get embarrassed by my bad language skills. I'm self-conscious and ask why they're laughing! They just say it's funny to hear someone say a word in a strong accent. So the time comes when I can use my new skills. At the end of the night when we're all a little silly and drunk, Stian grabs me by the shoulders and walks me to a girl we see on the street. I say Hi, my name is Ashley... Fitteslikker! This girl looks me in the eyes, grabs my shoulders and says, "Don't ever say that to anyone again!!!" Apparently I called her a Pussylicker. That's right, a Pussylicker. And that's what I was saying - pretty confidently and loudly - throughout the entire city of Oslo. Good thing I can take a prank. We were all cracking up the rest of the night, and I commended them on their awesome pranking skill. Then, we took the subway home and walked through Kelli's beautiful town, as the sun was both setting and beginning to rise again at about 1:30 AM. Great introduction to Oslo, my Fitteslikker friends.

Singa's in Dublin.

Nothing too cray to update. Been visiting museums and just being touristy around the city. Today I went to the National Gallery and looked at European paintings and listened to Damien Rice. It was pretty heavenly. Figured out FaceTime last night and talked to lots of family and friends. That was nice. Going out to some ancient ruin tomorrow - excited to get out of the city. Then waking up around 4am to leave for Norway Friday! I miss y'all. :) Sorry that was such a boring post.

The Fruit of the Vineyard.

I got on the 9:45 bus feeling pretty optimistic. I was excited to be taking the bus alone for the first time. I paid the driver the right amount, got up the stairs of the double decker as we turned around round-abouts. I felt accomplished and confident. The Dublin Vineyard service wasn't until 11. I thought I'd probably have time to spare once I got into the city. The bus stopped for every single stop on the way to city centre. A ride that seemed to only take 20 minutes was now creeping up to 45. Naturally, I panic that I'm clearly on the wrong route. Familiar landmarks pass and I realize I'm right, just late. I hate nothing more than being late. I get off at 10:25 in an area I'm now somewhat familiar with. It's NOT summer in Dublin, just to be clear. I'm underdressed in a tank-top blouse and a thin cardigan. It's spitting some pretty cold crap from the clouds. I think the night before when my cousin Maddie told me where the church would've been, I did as I normally do at home - half listen, get a faint idea, and decide to just trust my instinct tomorrow. Why would I ever think that would ever help me in any way? My instinct failed me. So did the Formula One race track built throughout the entire city. And a very friendly, funny tour guide who "jokingly" asked why I'm going to a "break-away" (AKA non-Catholic) church, and pointed me toward a Catholic cathedral that he thought I'd enjoy. My eyes misted and a little froggy grew in my throat. I was so set on going to the Vineyard. So set on tasting that tiny little bit of home. So determined to not have to post on Facebook, "Oh yeah guys, that thing I was REALLY looking forward to in Dublin didn't happen because I got frustrated and lost." I wasn't taking no for an answer. He did happen to tell me which way of the city was south-side, so I headed in that direction. One incredibly helpful Tourist Info man, a sprint in the rain through St. Steven's park, a shop clerk, and a full circle around the correct building later - I made it at 11:01. Honestly only by the grace of God. I cannot give any credit to my own grace, which was out the window by this point. The Dublin Vineyard didn't blow my mind. You know why? As the nice girl who walked me back into the city (in the right direction this time) said, "The Body of Christ is different yet pretty much the same everywhere you go. It's Home." The message was wonderful. It was slightly evangelical, which usually turns me off, but the pastor was so enthusiastic that I was actually very encouraged. Dublin seems a lot like Worcester. Perhaps slightly spiritually dead? (Someone correct me if you feel differently, I've barely been here three days.) Lots of Catholics following lots of rules, but the pastor said that out of a few hundred people, probably only .5% have ever had a connection with Jesus. A woman named Mary then was asked to come speak, and she said that she tries not to talk to people "about Jesus" because she knows that really turns people off, but instead she asks God what He is doing in their lives, and she tries to follow that. She answers their questions about church, she listens to their needs, she loves them. Then she throws in that Jesus loves them, too. And usually she gets a good response, she says. The pastor taught about something called the Locard Principle. It says that "every contact leaves a trace." This is a principle from forensic science, but can be applied to Christianity. We don't have to be Bible Thumpers to leave an impression. We don't have to freak people out to love them. Just love them! That, in itself, is God showing up - and He will take care of the bigger picture of ther life. We don't have to drag them into the river and baptize them right then and there. Every contact will leave a trace. Relax. God's got it. I wrote in my journal the following prayer: God, let me bear fruit in Dublin and everywhere I go the next six weeks. Lead me. Let me bear fruit. Let me leave a trace of You everywhere I go. Thank you for this day and for bringing me here. I love you. I won't go on any longer, but I did want to mention that I did make a new friend at the church who is moving to Massachusetts really soon! I told her all about the Woo and she wants to check it out! Yay new friends all aound the world! Love you all. xoxo

Here comes the Homesickness.

I'm totally homesick already. Aren't I too old for this feeling? Too adventurous, too brave, too independent to honestly write the words, "I wish my mom and dad were here" in my journal? Isn't this a completely juvenile thing to be feeling? Shouldn't I be more grateful, more excited about this awesome adventure in my hands right this very moment? Shouldn't this be completely easy and fun? HA. If I wanted things to be easy and fun, I'd just hang out in college the rest of my life. Would be nice, but completely lack of any sort of personal growth whatsoever. After a little bit of journaling, sniffling, and praying, Lucas Glenn's voice rings in my ear. Lucas is my pastor in Worcester and I hear his words often in times of tribulation - I'd say that marks pastoral success, wouldn't you? The many times Lucas has mentioned the value of community repeats itself over and over. Basically, God is a communal God. Jesus died so that we can have a relationship with God - we can be free from sin, free to talk to Him as an intimate friend. And our relationships with other people are the next best thing we experience to God's presence. I'm not giving up on God's presence sustaining me, but I think this little lesson taught me a bit about homesickness and travel. We get homesick because we miss HOME, right? Well, what is HOME? It's a feeling of comfort and closeness. And more often than not, we consider our experience of home as a positive one due to the people we find there. When we feel closely connected to people - our roommates, family, church community - we start to call that place we reside together HOME. Being far away from there is a disconnection from that community. I'm so grateful to my cousins I' staying with for having me and coming to see me from England, and I love them and get along with them great, but I haven't seen them in a few years. I don't know them intimately the way I know the people at HOME. I don't know ANYONE in this city that way. I don't know anyone on this entire continent that way. And that's what's so sickening. No one here knows my heart the way God intended for other people to know my heart. So my prayer for this trip is the following: God, help me to feel your loving, intimate presence at every moment. You are my true center, my one true HOME. Thank you for loving me so much that you forgive me of anything that keeps my heart far from yours. I pray that I don't sadly pine after those I love not being close, but instead that you teach me and help me to become close with those you set in my path. I pray that through this journey, my community grows, and thus my heart grows in You and toward You. Amen.

Arrived!!

I'm here, safe, and thoroughly exhausted. The red eye only takes 6 hours, but you leave at 6pm, and arrive at 6am, since you travel with the time zones. It's a bit like time traveling. And according to The Time Traveler's Wife (the best book EVER), time traveling makes you feel like total crap. Sounds about right. My ears are still blocked (12 hours later), I'm faintly sick to my stomach, and still finding it a little hard to get my bearings. No more complaining though. I slept for about 3 hours when I got home, then woke up to my cousins Maddie and Patrick looking all healthy and well-rested (jerks) excited to start the day. Maddie works in a touristy part of Dublin at the cutest cafe, across the street from the Post Office (where, apparently, there were some violent IRA uprisings). Patrick and I walked around north-side Dublin for hours, stopping into the cafe once in a while for a "family discount" tea or two. Not too much to report. Just some solid family time and fun, low-key touristing. Love y'all.

Packed and Panicked.

Maybe panicked is a bit of an exaggeration. Nonetheless - I thought that it all wouldn't necessarily "hit me" - as they say - until maybe I got on the plane, or even got to Dublin, but I think packing really did the trick. (Disclaimer: My mom did all of the packing. She's a wizard at fitting an incredible amount of stuff into an incredibly small space. She's my hero, and I'm blessed to have her.)

Looking into a bag and realizing these few items of clothes, books, documents, an iPad and a journal - that's all you get to take. That's it. You're exploring the world. Four huge, giant, brand new countries that will completely and utterly blow your mind, exhaust you, amaze you, but stop you dead in your tracks, introducing you to things you never thought possible. It's damn uncomfortable. And this bag. That's all you get. Good luck. No Mom to come home to and say, "That was hard." No roommates, no best friends, no comfort of your own bed. No long days of doing nothing but watching Netflix, riding your bike around your hometown, or simply being completely unconsciously comfortable.

This is all you get. And I've got to say, that scared the shit out of me just a tiny bit. I cried for a second, and then couldn't help it, but I started to smile. My dad said, "You know, these things are rough. You're gonna have these moments. It's uncomfortable, and there's a huge fear of the unknown. But I just think you're more alive when you're going through those times. You just live more." He's so right. I'm going to live so much in the next six weeks. Live and grow. And growth isn't always the most comfortable, easy thing, but it's so very rich.

I have a team of the most amazing people ever behind me, cheering me on. So many friends and family saying, "This is going to be so awesome for you." It, honestly, is keeping me sane right now, because without them, I'm not sure I could believe I could do it.

I love you all like mad, and I'll miss you like crazy.

xoxo

A Quick Word on Language I May Be Using.

I've been back and forth with this, but I've decided I need to allow myself to talk about God on this blog. It probably won't be often, but I do need to feel the freedom to express a central part of my thought-processes. If that bothers you, I really hope you can still read and follow my adventures anyway. I don't think anything I say should offend you. And if it does - let me know and I'll change it.

I've found in the last three years that the times in my life spent regularly praying have been incredibly beneficial. It's not always necessarily easy to be "in a relationship with God," but at the end of the day - I find more joy in life when I do feel that relationship is active. The times in my life (see: the last few weeks) that I'm out of touch with the spiritual, I feel life is dull, boring, maybe depressing, and I feel a little bit deader.

I've traveled before and I've felt this deadness. Far from home, far from joy, far from God, and far from self. This is simply not an option during this trip. I have been waiting to "backpack" Europe for years and years, and this trip ABSOLUTELY NEEDS TO BE FULL OF JOY. That doesn't mean it's going to be easy. I just know that if I make an effort every day to turn my heart away from worry and toward its center, I will be able to find true joy in the midst of what could easily be chaos.

I believe that God is everywhere and He is everything. These places and these people that I'm meeting are going to be brand new. They are going to be God showing Himself to me in all new shapes, forms, and speaking to me in brand new languages. I will not allow myself to not be utterly thankful to the Creator of this awesome world that I'm exploring. I will not allow myself to not be in conversation with Him. Thanking Him, praising Him, and knowing Him through this adventure which He made possible.

I know I'll learn more about Him in the next six weeks than I ever thought possible. I just want you, whoever is reading, to be a part of that journey, since it is a huge part the journey I'm taking. Closer to God, loving Him every step of the way is the journey I'm taking. And I just don't feel this can be rightfully called my travel blog without the story of that journey.

And I will climb this mountain with my hands wide open...

Pre-Departure Blog Explaination.

In two days, I'm leaving for Europe. I can't really believe it, honestly. A few months ago, I was applying to music programs in Germany and being rejected. I knew I wanted to be in Europe, I guess I didn't really know how or why or what exactly I wanted from the continent. Really, this trip was my Plan C and I wouldn't have it any other way. I've wanted to travel around Europe since I can remember, and it's pretty spectacular that it's all happening so soon. It's pretty spectacular that I'll be able to see so much, and pretty spectacular that my 15-year-old self was smart enough to put away all that birthday money and under-the-table paychecks to provide this trip of a lifetime. I'm feeling really blessed. Nervous, unprepared, frightened. And blessed.

I might be one of the most Wanderlustisch people you'll come across. Since I got my license at 16, I haven't really been able to sit still. My favorite pastime as a high school kid was to drive myself (and usually a friend or two, whether they liked it or not) so far into the middle of nowhere that it would take a significant amount of back-tracking and guestimating and "uh-this-looks-kinda-familiar"ing to get myself back on the right track. I'm not sure whether it is the desire to be far away from home, or the desire to independently guide myself back home from the far reaches of the Universe that drives my Wanderlust. Either way, I'm indulging it this summer.

I'll be visiting Ireland, Norway (with a brief layover in Latvia), Germany (with a day in Austria), and France. I'll be gone from May 31 (this Thursday) until July 15.

I look forward to having you with me, my friends and family of the interwebz.