"Believe in your flyness, conquer your shyness."
- Kanye West
Most of you know that my mom came to visit me here in Thailand at the beginning of this month. For those who didn't know, that's a real shame, so here she is.
Eileen Zilch. She's wonderful, wise, and my very best friend.
Having my mom spend five days living in my Race world was exactly what I needed to finish this journey well. And on the second-to-last day of her being here, we sat on her hotel bed, where I proceeded to break down and unload all the weight I was unaware I'd been dragging around.
"I don't mind the way God made me. I don't mind being different. I'm just tired of being misunderstood."
For those who don't know, I struggle with some sensory and social integration issues. Prior to the Race, it was nothing I ever felt the desire to talk about, because...well, honestly, it didn't affect me or others negatively.
But, The World Race, man. It'll getcha.
At my best, I'm perceived as creative, idealistic and caring. At my worst: passive, self-absorbed and detached. The World Race took all of my best and worst qualities and turned up the volume on them until the levels were nearly deafening.
For months, I've been living in a state of insecurity, unsure of how much Kayla was too much. I wanted to be consciousness as to the preferences of others, but in doing so, I was filing myself down to be the least offensive version of Kayla possible.
I was deeply unhappy and deeply uncertain of my value on the team.
Flash forward two weeks. We recently had a double-team meeting centered on one very uncomfortable topic: judgement.
The situation was this: working with people involved in the sex trade is emotionally challenging. And each night this month, we have all been given the choice between going into the bars to build relationships with girls, or staying back to pray and worship on behalf of those going out. Whichever one we chose was completely okay.
Me? I've been choosing to stay back more than I've chosen to go out.
And over the course of several days, resentment started building. The people choosing the bars over prayer were feeling obligated to continue going out and those staying in were feeling misunderstood by the people going out.
The elephant in the room finally got too big to ignore. A conversation needed to be had, and we all came together to be uncomfortably honest with one another: in one way or another, we were all feeling judged.
It was around this time that God and I decided it was time to take another layer off the top of my onion-self and gave me an opportunity to voice all of this to the group.
So with a racing heart and sweaty armpits, I said the following:
The World Race was not created for people like me. I don't always do the right thing. By nature, I play nothing safe, and fundamentally don't understand people who do. I need to know that when I have options, make a choice and self-govern, I'll be given the benefit of the doubt, instead of being automatically thought of as lazy and rebellious.
The way I see it is like this: we're all out in the middle of deep, open water. Ocean = life. And we're all paddling to stay afloat. Most people are leg-swimmers, kicking hard below the surface. For these people, all the action of keeping head above water happens out of sight. Their hair is set, they breathe through their nose, and everyone around them compliments them by saying nice things like, "You're handling this so well! You really make this look effortless."
And then there are the arm-swimmers. (I recently made the switch.) Every struggle, every victory, and every panicked moment is on display for the people around me. Nothing looks effortless. I talk about stuff like porn, alcohol and loneliness. And if you're close enough, you get hit by my splashing.
I'm not so different from the leg-swimmers; after all, the goal of everyone out here is the same: stay above the water. I just go about it without a desire to mask the struggle.
And I'm 100% done with being made to feel that I'm the only one.
Because it isn't me versus the team, teammate versus teammate, paddlers versus splashers. We all bat for the same coach. Judgement and false identity exist to threaten the foundations of the common goal.
And as long as I am honoring others, demonstrating respect, and speaking truth in love, I'm okay.
I'm okay.
That said, true Kayla would like you to know the following.
I trip. A lot. I'm physically awkward. I won't hold your baby but I'll touch a plumeria like its made out of glass. In a world filled with subtleties and overtones, I miss 98% of what isn't reported directly to my face. One time it took me almost 40 minutes of staring out a bus window to realise it had been snowing the entire time. I'm oblivious to anything that doesn't concern me and hyper aware of what does.
True Kayla got legitimately upset last Friday while painting, after a certain dance-y song came on. I laid in the middle of the bedroom floor as I painted and had a moment of mild, sincere despair that no one else was experiencing the blue and green waves I was seeing as the song played. But when I voiced this to the people standing over me, no one told me that I was weird or asked if I was possibly on acid. They just smiled.
Just being me.
Dear everyone: I do not exist to impress you. You have no right to ever make me feel lesser than because I wear my heart on my sleeve. For you, appearing composed may be your glory. Mine is living a life of infinite vulnerability. I'm more concerned with that girl or guy on the verge of making the switch from shame and secrecy than I am keeping my sh** together, and I'd rather make a mess doing it than look pretty doing nothing. Perfection serves no one but itself. I'm never going back to that lifestyle.
And in the words of my squadmate Shrena (who came to tell me this following my conversation):"Keep splashing. Because you never know how close those around you are to making the switch. We need to see you being fully yourself."
I don't know about you...but I'm gonna keep splashing.
