Somehow my family talked me into running for vice president of the fifth grade at Wake Village Elementary School. As the painfully shy child that I was, this idea was not entirely appealing to me. I was the girl who would rather spend 30 minutes reading a book instead of playing on the playground during recess. But I submitted my name to the ballot, made posters with the help of an artistically inclined family friend, passed out campaign buttons, and wrote a campaign speech entirely too serious for the likes of fifth grade politics.

When I lost the election, I was utterly relieved. I was much more comfortable sticking with my books than being forced to preside over a bunch of 10-year olds.

This natural aversion for politics continued as I got older, yet somehow I found myself majoring in political science in college and now interning in the nation’s capital (aka the largest breeding ground for politics)—and I love it.

Don’t get me wrong; by no means do I aspire to be a politician. I still have trouble taking a firm position on issues, and I will probably always hate those never-ending political debates between people who just want to out- argue each other. But there is something about living here and working here and reporting here that I love, politics and all. Maybe it’s the fast paced life of DC metros and rush hour counterbalanced by the quaint and peaceful part of Alexandria I live in. Or strolling down the National Mall at night seeing the Lincoln Memorial. Or working with such credentialed and experienced people and being exposed to wonderful opportunities. Or glancing up and seeing the Capitol and being hit with the realization of where I’m spending the summer.

I have had so many opportunities to talk with fascinating people at work or for work, and to witness some cool things. The past week or two have especially been great. We went to a Congressional hearing on press freedom abroad; got a tour of the Washington Post, where we also got to sit in on a story budget meeting where all of the top editors gathered to discuss important, front page news and began to build the stories the paper would contain for the next day (also after visiting, I had the urge to watch All the President’s Men); met and networked with some great Baylor alumni working in the D.C. area; and my favorite event of the summer by far–visiting the Supreme Court to hear the justices read opinions.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am pretty much obsessed with SCOTUS (in fact am reading a fascinating book about the justices right now), so this was  nothing short of a dream come true! The seats reserved for the public are not glamorous by any means, but I could see all of the justices, and that’s all that matters. I couldn’t believe I was sitting in the same room with “the nine” (actually eight, since Justice Breyer was out of the country).

After we listened to the opinions, we got a bit of an insider’s tour of the Court, courtesy of a friend of Frank (my boss), who is a law clerk for Justice Stevens. She took us to the lawyers’ lounge, the huge library, and the gym, complete with a basketball court.  Although I’m not sure who utilizes the gym–aside from former Justice Sandra Day O’Conner and her ladies’ work out class–it’s pretty cool that they have one!

I thought coming here this summer would help unravel some of the confusion in my brain about what to do with my future. In all actuality, it has only made things fuzzier. But I think it’s in a good way. I am normally the kind of person who has to have a set plan for things… I knew I wanted to go to Baylor before I even made it to high school. I sat down and mapped out my schedule of classes for each semester of college when I was a freshman. Doing things like this just makes me comfortable.

But now, as graduation looms in December (and I do mean LOOMS…very ominously), I find myself with a lot of dreams, and no clue how to get there. My problem has never been dreaming or setting goals. But spending the summer here is showing me that there is not one set path you must take in order to reach these goals. There are endless opportunities to explore your passions, to utilize your knowledge, and end up doing something as a career that you actually care about. I am learning that it’s good not to have such a rigid plan in place for every step of life, because half of what you learn comes from not knowing, and especially from having an open mind.

So, as I enter the last month of my wonderful summer here, I’m going to focus on soaking up as much as I can in this city. I feel ambition here. I feel passion and knowledge and opportunity. And I know those things will get me somewhere, even if I’m not exactly sure where that is.

I’ll close with a few pictures from so far this summer, and a promise to hopefully become more dedicated to blogging

in front of the White House

Lincoln Memorial at night

The Sara(h)s and me

me and the parents

As a writer and eventually the editor of the student newspaper in high school, I dealt with maneuvering the line between what I considered to be my free speech rights (not realizing at the time that in high school, I technically had none) and the administrative approval we needed to keep the paper running.

There was one particular incident where we, as a staff, felt that we had been wronged, and took it upon ourselves to make CENSORED signs and wear them on our shirts while handing out the newspaper one day. Those signs may or may not have ended up somewhere in the vicinity of the principal’s office—but that’s a different story.

The point is my First Amendment senses have been heightened for some time now. I had a wonderful adviser who taught us from day one what power journalism has and what power we had, even just as high school journalists. She helped me find that telling people’s stories, including my own, is a beautiful and rewarding thing. She also loved the SPLC and referenced us to the site regularly, so my days of perusing the site for interesting student speech stories stretch far back.

At Baylor I have the pleasure of working with another amazing adviser, who has stuck faithfully with our staff, has deepened my love for this crazy field, has served as both adviser and friend, and has rejuvenated my passion for what I do time and time again. Again, she had an appreciation for the SPLC and the work they do.

At the SPLC, we deal with journalism on the high school and college level and serve as an advocate for students who face censorship or publications that get into legal trouble. Naturally, we encounter stories about advisers at various schools and universities who get fired or the newspaper program gets cut because of various controversies.

While I was aware of advisers getting into trouble, I don’t think I was ever aware of just how many are fired simply for trying to do what any other teacher would be rewarded for, and that is teaching. It’s a little discouraging to talk to adviser after adviser who is or has been chastised simply for trying to do his or her job—teach students responsible journalism. What these advisers tell me remains constant, at both the high school and college level. They tell me that they want to teach their students that their voices are important, show them the powers and responsibilities of good journalism, as well as what their rights are as a contributor to this field. I personally see nothing wrong with that.

So here’s to all the advisers out there, you who have some of the toughest jobs around. I’ve learned quite a few things in my first two weeks at the SPLC: how to interview a lawyer and then explain what he said in laymen’s terms, that trying to set up an interview with someone on the West Coast when you work on the East Coast is terrible, and that having a great adviser means everything. These advisers are people who put themselves on the line—much more often than we probably realize—for the opportunity to teach us what it means to be a journalist, and even more than that, to help prepare us for survival in this field that is often unappreciated and sometimes despised. I think my work at the SPLC has made me appreciate even more what a privilege it has been to work with such great advisers. Who knows where I’d be without them!

Today on my flight to D.C., I thought of these words. Last year around this time I was leaving for a summer of traveling in Europe. I flew from the Houston airport and landed on a new continent not knowing a soul or having a clue as to what to expect. I spent the summer training around the continent with just the contents of what could fit into my green backpack.

This year I flew from the Dallas airport and landed in our nation’s capital, greeted by a good friend yet still not having a clue as to what to expect. I will spend the summer working as an intern at the Student Press Law Center writing stories about legal and ethical battles student journalists face. I will be covering political affairs in D.C., and hopefully figuring out more of what I want to do with my life; exploring just what this merging of my two passions, law and journalism, could really mean for me in the future. Today I’ve already navigated the D.C. metro system, seen the Capitol, the Library of Congress, and my personal favorite—the Supreme Court.

Nick and I on the steps of the Supreme Court!

In Up In the Air, George Clooney plays a corporate worker living out of a suitcase who spends more days out of the year in the air than on the ground and loves every minute of it. His job leaves him virtually unable to connect with anyone. In fact, he spends much of his down time giving quasi-motivational speeches on the art of eliminating physical and emotional baggage from life.

“Now I want you to fill it [the backpack] with people,” he says in the movie. “Start with casual acquaintances, friends of friends, folks around the office… and then you move into the people you trust with your most intimate secrets. You get them into that backpack; feel the weight of that bag. Make no mistake your relationships are the heaviest components in your life—all those negotiations and arguments and secrets, the compromises. The slower we move the faster we die. Make no mistake, moving is living.”

While it is indisputable that my relationships are the weightiest aspects of my life, they are also the most indispensible. All those negotiations and arguments and secrets are not to be outshadowed by all of the laughter and beauty and life changing moments that come from relationships.

I look forward to visiting all of the monuments and museums. I can’t wait to get to report from the nation’s capital and for all of the opportunities that will come along with my job. I will be a frequent visitor (or stalker) of the Supreme Court. But perhaps what I look forward to most is those connections that will be made, both on the professional and personal level, the bonds that will be formed.

Though I learned countless things like how to communicate when you only speak one and a half languages (English and sort of Spanish) and everyone else speaks five (none of them being the ones you know), how to navigate a metro in nearly every Western European country and how to fit everything I need into a single backpack, the most important things I learned last summer had to do with myself and the people I shared my adventure with. These relationships, weighty though they may be, are not the cumbersome aspects in my life. Their weight carries me, it sustains me. They are the most important things I took from last summer, and I suspect they will be some of the most important things I gain from this summer as well.

Moving is living, no doubt—but that’s not all there is to life. So here’s hoping for a fulfilling summer overflowing with many things too wonderful to even imagine!

It hadn’t come for years–decades, even, some said. We couldn’t let ourselves believe it could ever happen, yet hope still reigned.

All week, anticipation had been building among students, and even professors. Christmas on 5th Street was a chilly night, and as I walked around with a friend, she turned to me and said “I know it’s coming!”

Finally, Friday morning it happened.

Snow.

I was sitting in a journalism class when a girl blurted out that her roommate had just texted her that it was snowing. We all ran out of class to the big window on the second floor of Castellaw. At first glance, it just seemed as though a few dust particles were floating around in the air, but as I looked closer I realized that the particles were getting bigger, and whiter.

Amid squeals of joy, we ran downstairs, speculating about how long it would last and if there would be enough build up to make snow angels and have snowball fights.

As soon as I opened the door, the crisp air hit my face in a refreshing sense of invigoration. I shoved my hands in my pockets as I walked from under the covered area into what looked like a winter wonderland. I laughed in amazement as I felt the cool flakes hit my face–a brush on my eyelashes, soft kisses on my cheeks. Everything was dusted in this beautiful white powder. It stuck on my jacket, on the tips of tree branches, the tops of light poles, the huge Christmas tree in Burleson quad. 

I took a deep breath and my lungs felt clean, bursting with energy. All around me, there were people bursting out of buildings, looking up at the sky in awe. Squealing and laughter could be heard all the way down Fountain Mall as people realized what was happening. Girls were calling their friends, their moms, whoever they could find, to tell them it was snowing in Waco. Even guys could be found with the same glazed look in their eyes as they stared at the sky–some even shared a few hugs with friends!  

My roommate ran up to me outside of Hankamer and hugged me as the snowflakes began falling faster and faster. We stood with our hands open, hoping to catch just one flake as they blew all over the place. Even an older professor ventured out of his office and stood looking out at the view.

“I’ve lived here for years, and only seen it snow maybe four times,” he said, looking amusingly at the students jumping around in the snow. 

I love living in Texas, where something as simple as a few snowflakes can brighten everyone’s day. With papers, projects and finals looming ahead, this was just the kind of “miracle” we needed

—

Twenty minutes after I got home, I looked back out the window. The sun was shining, the streets were clean, the trees were just as dry as they’d ever been, as if nothing had ever happened…

This past week when I was home for the break, my family decided to decorate the Christmas tree on my last night home. 

I was excited for the popcorn, and ornaments, and the same Christmas CD we always play that my mom and I give our own mini-concert to. I also anticipated my parents’ yearly mini-argument. 

Each year, we seem to have some sort of problem with our tree. Whether it’s how to rearrange the furniture in the living room to accommodate the tree, why every other strand of lights won’t light up, or why we simply cannot get the tree to stand up straight no matter how it’s put together or what spot it’s in, it always makes for an interesting night.

Not to mention, we have anywhere from three to five trees floating around in our attic and storage building, so each year it’s just a toss up as to which tree will get pulled down.

This year, the argument began even before the construction of the tree commenced. My dad hauled the huge Christmas tree box down into the living room as my mom sat by and commented that she hoped he and my brother could get the lighting right this year.

Last year, we had a lovely tree that, despite the lighting issues, was full and beautiful and everything a Christmas tree should be.

This year, after slaving away over the correct way to assemble the tree, we stepped back and realized that instead of the wonderful Christmas tree from last year, we got something that resembles this:

Yes, a Charlie Brown Christmas tree.

Naturally, my mom was horrified, as this was the disastrous tree of 2007 that we vowed to never bring out again. Immediately fingers of blame began pointing. You see, my mom has this theory that my dad thinks it’s too early to decorate for Christmas, so he does these little things to sabotage the spirit.

Of course, this is all in good humor, but the banter went back and forth between them for awhile until my mom declared she “wasn’t speaking” to my dad. My brother rolled his eyes while I sat, unbothered by any of this, on the couch listening to my favorite Christmas CD. In that moment, I realized that I was truly happy. It was also in this moment that I remembered that this is what the holidays are about. Not the presents or the craze or everything going perfectly. But those simple moments where you can sit back, chuckle, and truly be thankful for the wonderful family God has blessed you with. The season is here–soak in your family, your friends, all the relationships that matter.

Oh, and we decided to stick it out with our pathetic little tree after all. If it could make Charlie Brown happy, then who are we to challenge that?

It is a fascinating story, based off of a poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar entitled Sympathy. “I know why the caged bird sings. When he beats his bars and he would be free. It is a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” the poem goes.

Maya Angelou’s book is an autobiographical tale of her childhood, one marked by struggles, hardships and racism in the South. But beyond the abuse she suffered, beyond the prejudice central to that time, Maya Angelou tells a story of her journey to self-discovery–one that is applicable to people of all ages and races from all times.

As I was trying to think of a good book to read over Thanksgiving break, I looked over at my bookshelf in my room and spotted this book. Through the years, the phrase “I know why the caged bird sings” is one I have mulled over and tried to come up with an exact answer for. Though the parallel between Maya and the caged bird is obvious throughout her story, I always thought there had to be a more definitive answer. 

But there is a quote from Maya Angelou that says a bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer, a bird sings because it has a song. I think this sums it up perfectly. 

Birds do not sing for you or for me–they sing because they have a song. They sing because it’s what they were made to do. They sing because they must. 

That should be the same truth for whatever we do in life. Whatever we do, whatever circumstance we find ourselves in, we should do what we are made to do. We should find our voices and let them ring clearly, whether we are on top of the highest mountain or stuck in the deepest pit.

My “song” comes in the form of writing. I do it because I must. I don’t have all the answers about where it will take me in life or why I’m meant to do it, but all that matters is that I do it. Writing is like my oxygen, it fills my lungs, it sustains me, it’s sometimes overwhelming. But it is life to me. And, like a bird, I won’t do it for the world, but for myself. I sing because I have a song. 

I know why the caged bird sings.

This summer, I participated in Baylor in Maastricht, a study abroad program that allows you to earn 14 hours of credit while studying in Maastricht, the Netherlands, as well as the option of traveling to more than 20 countries with a Eurail pass. What follows are pictures and blogs from this summer.

Since my last post, there were a whirlwind of things that happened and honestly, because of time constraints, I’m going to rely on photos to tell most of the story. 

Let’s see… my mom came over for about a week to visit me for my birthday. We spent some time in Maastricht. but also traveled to Paris, Brussels, and Amsterdam. 

After that. the craziness began. Papers were due for class and finals were coming up. But somehow I got it all done, even in the midst of planning for 3 weeks of travel. After classes were over and finals were finished, it was time to travel. I traveled to Barcelona to meet my roommate, who was studying in Spain for a month. 

From there, I came back to Maastricht and got ready to fly out for Ireland with a friend. We flew into Dublin, where we spent a few days and took a day trip up to Northern Ireland to see the Giants Causeway.

Then I made a very long trek alone from Dublin to Prague to meet another friend. I took a plane from Dublin to a little town outside of Munich, then took a bus into Munich to catch a six-hour train to Prague. It was a loonnngggg day, but I made it safely! Prague was a beautiful city, and I was glad to spend about three days there exploring with Ashley.

This picture is courtesy of a friend, Kassy . 

So from Prague we went to our ultimate and most desired destination: GREECE! Although we couldn’t make it to Santorini  we did spend a few days in Athens and a day on a little island called Aegina, which was like our little piece of heaven. Greece is definitely a place I must travel back to. The history there is so overwhelming.

The Sanctuary of Dionysus, where all the ancient performances took place.

Here is an excerpt of a column I wrote for our school paper that talks about my experience abroad:

I told myself at the beginning of this summer that I wouldn’t leave Europe the same way I came. After spending three months there, I am convinced that would have been virtually impossible. There is something about hopping on a train with a backpack on your back every weekend and being in another country in a matter of hours that changes your perspective on everything.

Time flew by and time stood still. I had forgotten the world could still be so lovely. I saw God in everything– in the peaks of the Swiss Alps, in the orange and pink blends of a Greek sunset and the gentle, rolling hills of the Irish countryside. We live in a wonderful world overflowing with beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the discoveries we can make if only we seek them with open minds and hearts. There were small obstacles in the form of late trains, questionable hostels, metro fines and faulty maps, but I wouldn’t trade my time abroad for anything.

Something unexpected this trip left me with was a thirst to travel more. The lens through which this program helped me view the world is one that helps me appreciate every moment, every person, every opportunity; to understand the vastness of the world more fully, soak in the beauty of diversity and live more vibrantly. I believe that experiencing life in a different way, even if only for three months, has left me a changed person. And the way I see it, only people who have been significantly changed have the power to, in turn, change their own worlds.

I met my roommate again, and it was great to see her. We went to Wimbledon and spent most of our first day there. I liked the whole atmosphere of the city during that time, because everyone was so pumped up about Wimbledon.The next day we saw all of the touristy things: changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, the tower of London, the tower Bridge, Shakespeare’s Globe Theater, Notting Hill, Kensington Gardens, and tons more.

London is such a fun place with fun people! And it was GREAT to be somewhere where people actually speak English. We even took a day trip to Oxford and saw the colleges and some places where they filmed Harry Potter. I really enjoyed Oxford because it has lots of history to it, but it is also a college town. I really enjoyed last weekend because we got to see most of the major things we wanted to see and still had time to just wander around and shop and find neat places to check out and just explore.

~
So it’s official. I love Europe. I cannot believe we only have about 5 weeks left here. Time certainly does seem to keep slipping away from us. I was sitting on a train one day a few weeks ago thinking about how awesome it is that I can just decide I want to go to a random country, hop on a train with a backpack on my back, and be there in a few hours. Our train was going through Austria, I believe, and the Alps were in the distance as we drove through; it was just the definition of beauty. I had forgotten the world could still be so lovely.

This weekend a few of us decided to stay here since finals are fast approaching and we have a lot of schoolwork to get caught up on. Some days, it is hard to remember that we are here not only as travelers, but as students. Although it means I will miss out on traveling somewhere, I am willing to give that up for the chance to get caught up on work and sleep. Things are definitely beginning to get overwhelming; traveling every weekend takes a greater toll on you than I realized. And we are all beginning to try and figure out plans for our last 3 weeks of travel as well. Flexibility is an invaluable quality to have, I have quickly learned. Before this summer I had always thought of myself as a pretty laid-back person who was able to deal with things as they came, but I have definitely learned how to be more patient during the course of the summer. Things aren’t always going to go according to schedule, people don’t always speak English, hostels aren’t always going to be nice, your group isn’t always going to agree, you will get lost, and you aren’t always going to get to see everything you want to see. But these things can all make for great stories to tell later and laugh about.

I absolutely loved it. In fact, I have loved Germany as a whole much more than I thought I would. At the beginning of the trip, I was slightly disappointed because we wanted to go to both Berlin and Munich, but because of train schedules, we couldn’t go to Berlin. But it worked out great for us to get to spend the entire weekend in Munich.

I really enjoyed the feel of the city. It is modern and has lots of great shopping, but it doesn’t have a complete touristy feel to it. As a tourist, you simply merge and blend into that life for the time that you are there.

We took a free walking tour of the city, which was one of the best things I have done since I’ve been on this trip. There is so much hidden history in Munich that I was never aware of. When thinking back to Germany in the ‘30s and during World War II, I always thought of Berlin as the center of all the action, but in fact, Munich is the place where Hitler and the Nazis actually rose to power. It was even called the “Nazi Capital” at some point.

As we walked through the town, I realized we were walking some of the same streets Hitler walked; some of the same streets where people were killed because they didn’t fit in with the “superior race.” Our tour guide pointed out a small side street to us that was used by non-Hitler supporters to escape having to walk past a place where it was required that all people do the Hitler salute. Once the Nazis caught on to this, they started stationing their men at the end of the street and taking names of people who walked down it. If their name showed up one too many times on the list, they could be thrown into prison. Today, the alley has a golden stripe painted down the center in memory of those who risked their freedom and their lives for their beliefs.

Dachau Concentration Camp:
The iron gates of Dachau Concentration Camp read “Work Makes You Free,” just one of many slogans the Nazis taunted their prisoners with every day. The dilapidated buildings are a chilling, faded white. We walked through the gates and into the open space where prisoners had to stand for hours in the heat, in the bitter cold, the rain, the snow, for roll call. 

We had an audio tour, which was actually very informative. I learned that Dachau was the only concentration camp to survive all 12 years of Hitler’s reign, because it was the first established and actually served as a model camp for all other concentration camps that followed. We walked through the museum as well. There were pictures of the prisoners before their imprisonment and after. The difference in their eyes was so obvious—from bright and full of life to dull and listless. The images of the prisoners piled into beds, thousands of them in bunks meant only for 200… bones, covered by sagging flesh, mere shadows of the people they once were. These are images that plant themselves in your mind and replay, over and over again.

On display there were written accounts of prisoners’ time in Dachau, and I think that is something that was one of the most powerful things I saw. For me, the written word holds a sort of power that nothing else can top, so seeing the accounts of these prisoners is something that will stick with me.

While doing some research for a paper I have to write, I found this quote:“The Holocaust was also the defining feature of German politics and political culture during the Nazi period, the most shocking event of the twentieth century, and the most difficult to understand in all of German history.”

This quote is so true. I still cannot accept the fact that millions of lives were lost at the hands of such brutality and ignorance. They died of malnutrition, of mistreatment, of senseless beatings. I am reading an amazing book about the Holocaust for my history class right now, and visiting Dachau definitely puts things into perspective and helps me relate more to what I am reading about. Even though it was sobering and hard to take, I am glad that we got the opportunity to visit Dachau.

I’m also glad I’ve gotten to spend some time in Germany because I think before I came here, I had this notion that Germany wasn’t cool because when I think of Germany, I think of Hitler. But it’s not fair or sensible to associate an entire country and an entire population of people with a horrible time period that they had nothing to do with. It’s important to remember the Holocaust, but I shouldn’t let that define my current opinion of the people there.