Funny story... I'm in Iowa.

The cliffnotes version is that I hated my job and wanted to do theatre, so I auditioned for one and now I'm here.

Guess I shouldn't say I "hated" my job. "Apathetic" might be a better word choice. Radio was not a passionate field for me. As far as I was concerned, I might as well have been working at Braum's (for more money). So now I am a performing intern of the summer season at the brand new Stephen Sondheim Center for Performing Arts (for less money).

It's been less than a week since Fairfield, IA and its inhabitants have become a part of my life, and already I am breathing much easier.

I'm relearning those little, important details again about life. Like how to navigate a new city. Budgeting on a shoestring. Being comfortable in my own skin.

I'm finding it much more difficult to be myself in a place where I am not as much an individual as I once assumed. Moving to Great Bend made me feel unique, lively, fresh... here, everyone breaks into random fits of interpretive dance musical theatre. Being a bouncing ball of spontaneity isn't quite the rarity is was in my previous position. And it's... intimidating? Suffocating? A challenge. To find my own voice again.

So far I feel I am struggling.

And it's not just that I am struggling to return to who I was before. That person and the things of her life are gone. Not forgotten, but quantified and indexed away for necessary retrieval. My real struggle is remembering that I can be better. New start, new town, new job, new people... so when's the new me going to show up?

I already know I do not want to be anywhere else. I want to learn to not want to be anyone else.

Oh Father, where do I find You in this? When will the momentum of running wear out and allow me to stop? I know that's all You require. That I stop. And You will come find me.

Perhaps that's it. I can't find the new me. Only You can. I don't always have to be the one doing the searching. If I just stop and be for a moment, let my spirit rest, I could be found.

Recalling the last year would be a nearly impossible task at this moment. I do intend to do it, but in short fits of nostalgia in entries to come. For now, for posterity sake, I've posted a slideshow summarizing some of my favorite moments and people from the past year.

It's that time of the Thursday night/Friday morning where I look at my computer clock and say, "I really should be writing an article right now."

This week has been a spec. There have been many 3:00 and 4:00 a.m. bedtimes. I'm not sure if it is a casualty of my recent spring break without a clock or this unforgiving shameful feeling that has been living in the pit of my stomach for the past 4 months.

Forgiving others comes too easily for me. Forgiving myself is a painful skill that I have yet to master.

Is it okay to write someone off? Is it permissable to erase someone from your life if all you can remember about them is the hurt? I have never given up on anyone. I don't know if it is possible for that the best thing to do sometimes. Or if the right thing to do is keep your faith in even the tiniest fading good you can imagine in them.