Today is my mom’s birthday. And last week was my dad’s. This time last year, we were moving into a new house—out of my childhood home on Long Island, NY to a little townhouse in Maryland.
Just as I packed up for my last semester at Loyola, I was packing up my room for the last time. I drove away down Valley Lane with my little Honda (named “Blessings,” in case you’re curious) stuffed to the roof with pieces of our lives ready to migrate south. It had been a difficult year, but we had hope, a full tank of gas; we weren’t entirely ready, but we left.
My parents are two of the strongest people I know. They’re complete opposites in so many ways, but that one vital quality is equally portioned. Through any challenges we’ve faced, I’ve never doubted them and I knew that all my strength came from them, mostly in seemingly mundane moments when I didn’t realize I needed support, but it was always there.
Now, even though I live about 4,000 miles from my family and our new home and sometimes face obstacles they’re not here to see, deep down I’m always relying on their support. Your family can’t protect you from everything—they can’t possibly anticipate every trial life will throw at you and prepare you for it—but that’s not really their job.
Here in Western Alaska, families can be spread out hundreds of miles from each other in separate villages, only accessible by plane or a long, cold ride on a snowmachine. This week, when I met the sister of a new friend and heard joyful stories of their childhood, or when I reconnected with a friend who has traveled away from here, I remembered something important—something a headstrong, self-reliant person like myself occasionally forgets.
From the outside, it might seem that living here—a place where temperatures drop to 40 below, travel can be dangerous, nights are long and dark and challenges are never hard to find—requires immense individual fortitude. In some ways, that’s true. The trifecta of independence, common sense, and a sort of wise confidence can take you a long way. You might even realize you’re capable of something you never expected. But the real key is knowing when it’s okay to be dependent, to ask for support. Vulnerability is not weakness, and human beings were not made to survive, or thrive, alone.
This week, I’m trying to remember to thank those people who gave me support when I didn’t even know I needed it, or I was too proud to ask. For everything, thank you, and know that I’ll be looking out for you, too.
