An uncommon gap year path
I grew up on a dead-end street in the suburbs of Boston. I often found myself swamped in a life of suburbia—I was a good student and a good athlete, a white, closeted American teenager whose perception of the world only stretched the five miles between my town lines. A part of me constantly felt like there was something beyond the stereotypes and expectations of society’s conveyor belt. A part of me constantly felt like there was something beyond the stereotypes and expectations of society’s conveyor belt, but I wasn’t sure how to get out of the cog and go my own way.
As a sophomore in high school, I found myself Googling study abroad opportunities late at night. Not long after, I boarded a plane to the mountains of Guatemala to attend The Traveling School semester program. I soon became enraged by the culpability of the United States and neo-colonization of Latin America, the civil wars we started, the food systems we corrupted—and I became amazed by the indigenous futurism underfoot, the seeds being saved, and the rebels who organized. I came home radically altered, unable to go back to who I was before.
During my senior year of high school, I stopped in my tracks at a yard sale outside of my neighbor’s house when I overheard her say “Nepal.” A few months later, I bought a one-way ticket and found myself in Kathmandu, streets filled with the throng of motorbikes and cars, mango stands, cows quietly eating grass on road shoulders, fabric stores, and wood and bronze temples. For five months, I lived and worked many eclectic jobs: I studied in a female-led Buddhist monastery. I translated and edited a speech for the Vice President of the country. I led writing workshops at an art collective. I taught at a Tibetan refugee camp primary school. I edited an article for my friends’ start-up non-profit selling menstrual cups and educational comic books. I wrote the script for a video promoting tourism after the 2015 earthquakes. I did research for the BBC. I painted a mural on one of the busiest streets in the city. And I volunteered in western Nepal for the Kopila School, started by longtime mentor and CNN Hero of the Year, Maggie Doyne.
I’ll try not to sugarcoat my gap year: I went with no plan, no support systems, and a small self-earned budget. Even for a gritty, curious, hard-working 18-year-old, it was exceptionally challenging. It was also transformative.
The other day, I scavenged the archives of the internet to find the blog I kept during my gap year. It’s wistful, angsty, contemplative, thought-provoking, hilarious, and occasionally beautiful. Here’s a passage I wrote:
There were an infinite number of paths I could’ve taken to land me at this point in time. If I hadn’t overheard my neighbor mention Nepal during a yard sale, things could’ve turned out differently. If I hadn’t been ready to jump on a plane without any real plan, I might’ve landed in a different country. If I hadn’t disliked the place where I first lived, I may not have had the determination to walk out the door and discover Kathmandu. If I hadn’t gotten lost walking through the streets, I may not have found myself sitting on this blue couch today, writing this blog post, so certain that everything thing that did happen, happened for a reason.
There are a lot of if’s in life, and maybe’s and I wonder’s. I could’ve taken any path and felt fulfilled by the journey. But I took this path, I took that plane, I walked those streets, and I’ve found myself here. And I feel like I’m supposed to be here. I wouldn’t have done anything differently. All the days of boredom, all the sweat, the loneliness, the uncertainty, the difficulty, all of it pushed me to find my path. I’m normally a type-A planner, but I didn’t really have a plan for Nepal. I didn’t know things would go the way they did. But I couldn’t be happier with where I am.
