A New Circle

Coming of age has never totally made sense to me. As a kid I always felt older, wanting to sit at the adults table and listen, instead of going to play pretend in the basement with my peers. At my Montessori school I acted like an adult in a “real job”, I felt seen as a young person who maybe knew more about the world intuitively. I had to deal with big topics and troubles, I stayed up late thinking about the end of the world and what dying meant when I was 8. I came to understand my parents divorce on my own, being a comforting person to both my mom and dad.

And then the transition started, as each year passed, my want and need to enjoy my childhood grew stronger and stronger.

It’s funny how our mind craves what is almost gone. The brain needs constant pushback to avoid going down rabbit holes that you know end in self induced suffering.

My teenage years were an ebb and flow between confidence in myself and full blown imposter syndrome. My sense of self was shot. I didn’t even know truly what a sense of self or self love was supposed to feel like.

I remember sitting down to write a letter to my future self at my childhood summer camp. I was 15 or so. I stared at the paper, I could not imagine my future self or comprehend who I was at that moment. I did not feel connected to my purpose or what life truly meant to me.

Some days it was easier, oftentimes when I had an outward focus, confidence stemming from another person or thing. I meant something because - because I am with this person or because I presented myself in a certain way.

I had no grasp of my place in this universe.

In the book Women Who Run With the Wolves, they write about this river beneath the river, or your true wild woman. It is the idea of yourself with no ego, no wants or wishes, no input or output, nothing at all but your raw soul.

I began to recognize all of the traits in myself that were shown without effort, things that just existed and that were present during every second of my existence. I was able to begin connecting with my river.

I then read Braiding Sweatgrass, at a very formative point in my life. This book weaves Potawatomi culture with present day science and knowledge. Robin Wall Kimmerer offers her raw experience up to the readers, explaining how she and generations before her honored the Earth. The traditions and teachings presented in that book made me believe in a whole being outside of myself. It made me connect back to my childhood self that would sit on the sidewalk and watch as the black ants crawled in and out of the cracks in the concrete. The childhood self that was in pure wonder that we were able to walk through the woods and touch the low hanging tree branches. The childhood self that was told the tales of the eyes of the Aspen trees and held tight to the truth that each black mark was the watchful eye of a passed soul.

I was able to slowly rediscover myself as a student and guest on this Earth. Everything is impermanent. I am a visitor on land and water that belongs to this planet.

When I arrived in Mangrove Bight my first year with Fish for Change I was in a pure, vulnerable form. I was recovering from a tough battle with my mental health, unknowingly dealing with a hormonal disorder. I was lost, only holding glimmers of who I knew I could be and who I knew I was somewhere deep beneath my river.

I was met where I was at.

Fish for Change might be presented to you as a week-long international summer camp, but in reality, time does not exist in Mangrove Bight. You are taken through your existence and purpose and self over and over again. You are met with new experiences that force you to choose who you want to show up as. You encounter people with harrowing stories that say “God blessed us with another day”.

When you arrive in an environment where vulnerability is ever present, where health and happiness is not taken for granted, where you are family, where you are wrapped into the arms of the island and held, you do not walk out unchanged.

When you find yourself in a community of young anglers and passionate leaders, where your wins and losses are celebrated, where you are seen fully for who you are, where you are able to express every struggle that is weighing you down, where you are able to let down the barriers that have been built around your heart and soul, you do not walk out unchanged.

I knew that this place and process was what I was meant to do, what I was even destined to do. I put the hard work in and have been fortunate enough to return to Mangrove each summer since. As a trip leader and intern at Fish for Change.

Life has proved to me time after time that everything is a circle. Cycles of unknowing and confusion on your identity and confidence end every time, they are a beginning to a new kind of being, where you are more connected with your power and ability than ever before. I believe it is a bit of a tradition for me at this point. Before going to Mangrove, I reach into my mind and pull out my struggles, I put them on my sleeve and offer them up. Every single time, they are taken from me and transformed into a powerful lesson and new wealth of knowledge.

I was able to see 48 kids go through the same life-changing experience that I did. The backgrounds and hardships and struggles and insecurities that were shared over a bowl of cereal at midnight, or tucked into a cabin while the rain pours outside, or while running from the lodge to a flat on the opposite side of the island, or waiting for shooting stars - the power in each of these experiences is unimaginable. That is why F4C is so powerful and why Guanaja becomes this safe, cozy home that we all crave so deeply. That island has heard the secrets, the deep rooted fears, and the excess worries, it holds them safely for each student, and sends them off as their purest, most vulnerable and ready self.

In those five weeks this summer, I crossed over. From student to leader. It was so natural and tranquil, a new circle.

On my 21st birthday, I took a boat ride to the Key to pick up a new group of kids. It was just me on the bow, with Jose driving. I stared into the huge, blossoming trees on the banks of the island, up into the mountains, down into the clear blue water. I took huge breaths of that beautiful, humid air. I made it. 17 year old me, looking at these same trees and water, would never believe it. It was this moment of immense gratitude and grounding in the place and person I was in that exact time and place. It was peace.

How powerful is it to be able to look at the same spot where I envisioned the person I wanted to be one day, as that person.

The fact that I get to hopefully have that same impact for our students that I experienced with Scott, Mason, and Heather my first year in Guanaja and each year since, is the biggest honor. Fish for Change gave me the power to believe in myself. To know I am not alone. To know that there is more in this life. To know the beauty in being vulnerable. To know the strength in thinking deeply. To know the joy of knowing myself. To know what it is like to be truly supported and loved.

Each day, I get to wake up and do what I know I am made for.