We’ve always used words of capacity to describe something good, something desirable, something perfect. We call television shows “wholesome;” we “overflow” with joy; we are “full” of love. I bought into this idea for most of my life—I wanted with all of my heart to be complete, to reach a state of stasis through constant acquisition of knowledge, goods, and affection. Over the past year of my life—the summer following sophomore year and junior year itself—I’ve learned that fullness is not a virtue nor a desirable goal. Indeed, I’d argue the opposite.
To attempt a summary of these past twelve months is a difficult feat, but I shall try. On May 28th, 2015, I boarded a plane for Tel Aviv, Israel, for an internship beyond my wildest dreams. No, I’m not Jewish, and no, I don’t have relatives in Israel—but I did have the address of a family that were friends of a friend who’d generously offered me room and board, and I possessed a soul yearning for travel. I fell in love with the country, with my host family (who truly became real family), and with my awakened wanderlust. I left Israel on August 28th, crying dejectedly, unable to understand how going home to the United States could be so painful.
Flash forward a bit, through the hair-tearing stress of the LSAT, the shock at realizing that I was half-way through my college career, through my fourth and fifth months away from my family and from California—pause right there, right around the first (and only) Romantic Fiasco of the semester. (Yes, I made it all the way to November without a single Fiasco, please don’t act so surprised.) Though I’d imagined I’d make it all the way through the fall without a single instance of emotional attachment, as I knew I’d be studying abroad and didn’t want even the fantasy of commitment to cloud my judgment, I fell. Hard. And I don’t want to say too much, as I’m saving the full explanation of my Romantic Fiascos for my tell-all in about a decade, but suffice it to say that I truly expected this time around to be different, and I was truly wrong. I flew back to California in December with tears in my eyes, following an inconclusive but breathtakingly agonizing rejection. I tended to my wounds as best I could, in the care of my loving family and the wonderful sunshine of the West Coast, before I hopped on a plane after just a few weeks to begin my worldwide trek.
My study abroad program this semester took me to India, Brazil, and South Africa, and I lived in each country for a month. I’ve stayed with a total of four homestay families, I’ve visited over a dozen cities and towns and villages, I’ve stood in awe of manmade structures and God-made wonders. I’ve been overwhelmed by total immersion in three different continents; I have travelled across oceans and over borders with barely enough time to settle in. I exhausted myself, endeavoring to take full advantage of living in places that I may never visit again, with people whom I may never meet again. It is only now, in the dredges of my month in South Africa, as I demand from myself and my busy schedule the time necessary to really reflect on and absorb the events of this past semester—and this past year as a whole—that I’ve had the time to appreciate how truly and utterly excruciating it has been.
I have realized that in every country I have visited and lived in, with every individual that has changed the course of my future or my limited perspective or even just a moment of my life, I have left a shard of my heart. The belly-aching laughs at witty jokes initiated the fissures; gasps at a force of nature or the depth of my own adoration deepened these faults; the whispered or shouted or mental “goodbye” detached pieces of my heart altogether. I find myself at the end of junior year with a heart that is not even close to full, that will never be whole.
And that is okay.
I have realized that is a privilege to have loved individuals so deeply and so imperfectly that I shall never forget them—even if, in time, they forget me. It is a blessing to have handed pieces of my heart to those that discard them and to those that cherish them. It is a goddamn gift to see Wonders of the World, to sit on the shores of beaches around the globe, to climb mountains older than humanity itself, to look at people and places and know that they have indelibly imprinted upon my soul and that I have left my heart with and in each of them.
I am happy, for I am completely incomplete. I endeavor to be empty; I aim to lose it all. And this is because I think I’ve uncovered the falsity of capacity, the deadly and empty siren’s call of wholeness. For, it is only when we are shattered beyond reason, beyond comfort, and beyond repair, that we realize what a privilege and a beauty it is to be utterly, irreversibly, unregrettably broken.
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Note from the Editor: love Aubrey’s beautiful, heartfelt writing as much as we do? Eager to learn more about her incredible travels? Curious about what a semester abroad can do for your attitude, outlook, and soul? Check out her blog here!