Don’t you find it’s easy to get caught up in the routines of life and somehow forget the passing of time, especially when you’re busy doing something you’ve never done before? You become so focused on the task (or tasks) at hand that days, weeks, months pass, and eventually you look up from that grindstone and realize that, somehow, somewhere along the way, you’ve grown and changed, and that the inevitable passing of time has produced in you something sterling and polished–a permanent memento of a change you only barely noticed was happening.
I wish I could say that sort of effortless growth is what it’s been like for the past year with Untold International. But it wasn’t.
I honestly think that sometimes the things which are the most uncomfortable, and which remind you moment by moment that you must grow and become flexible if you are to succeed–these are the things that leave the deepest marks on the person you become. And I also believe that we are all always in the process of becoming. Some of us face that becoming head on, choosing daily to do hard things because they revel in the challenge (and in the conquering of said challenge); and some of us go hesitantly, gently, full of doubts and fears and simply moving forward because we see no other way. I choose to believe that both paths are a sure sign of the simplest human courage that urges us to continue, to become, to go further.
Untold International has been that urge for me for the past year, and while I am truly thankful every day for the opportunities it has afforded me to learn about myself, nonprofit work, and Ghana, I will never deny how incredibly difficult this undertaking has been, and how wildly unprepared Brady and I were to undertake it a year ago.
As I look back on the past year–the first 365 days of Untold’s existence–what I feel most is pride. In one year we have accomplished a lot–more perhaps than we really hoped to accomplish. Indulgently ambitious in the way that privileged millennials so often are, we set out to build a literacy center in Ghana–and within one year we are doing just that. The response to the project in the village has been overwhelmingly positive, to the extent that the building could be finished up to roof-level by Christmas, with a tentative final completion date sometime in February. This is insane progress, which we definitely didn’t anticipate when we planned our trip, and for which I am incredibly grateful. The support of the community makes any headache we encounter worth it, because they are so excited about the prospect of having a literacy center for their students and community members. The notion of English and Twi education happening side by side, on equal footing, continues to be validated by Ghanaians all over the country, and I have high hopes for the center once it’s complete.
I have a vision of Asisiriwans who grow up with access to a library with a present and well-trained librarian, and to a center where they can spend time outside of school honing and polishing their language skills–Asisiriwans who, because of this access, earn themselves acceptance to university, and go on to be changemakers in their community and culture. I dream of one day reading a book written by someone who learned to write by reading, of learning of solutions to global problems posited by people who learned to think critically through their early exposure to creative thinking in literature. Perhaps it’s a silly dream, and overly idealistic, but I cling to it. I cling to it in the moments of homesickness and of doubt and fear because, despite what I may wish about myself, I am not the kind of person who faces challenges with confidence and stubborn determination. I hesitate, I fumble, but yet I proceed. Slowly. Cautiously. But moving forward nonetheless.
If there’s one thing that the last year has taught me (and it’s taught me far more than one thing, I assure you), it’s that even going slowly in the direction of your dreams is an act of courage. The road will not always be easy, but we should see this as a promise rather than a threat. The road you choose is the arbiter of your becoming, so choose well, but do not worry yourself about your pace. You are not moving toward a destination the way you think you are, so you can’t control when you get there. Perhaps that is an unwelcome thought for you, but for me, after a year of moving with only the fuel of unquenchable hope to guide me, on a trajectory that at many times seemed not my own, the idea of slowing and still maintaining my purpose is a welcome one.
This road I’m on is a tricky one, a crooked one, an ananse road. I want to thank you for accompanying me on what has surely been, and will surely continue to be, a bumpy journey.
So thank you. And thank you again.
