Ships in the Harbor
From A.W-P. (Cambridge, MA)
My story begins in Minneapolis, Minnesota. As the epicenter of the Twin Cities metropolitan area, Minneapolis is home to over four million people, thousands of Somali and Hmong families, hundreds of cultural and religious traditions, and dozens of parks, museums, theatres, restaurants, shops, and community organizations.
Minneapolis was my home, too. At least, it was – until 1999. That year, my dad got a new job that would relocate our family to another state, a place I had never been: Iowa.
Moving from Minneapolis to the tiny town of Cresco, Iowa, a farming community of less than four thousand people, was a real shock to me. As I looked around at the rolling farmland and sweeping cornfields, the freeways and skylines of my hometown became impossibly romanticized; amid grain silos and mooing cows, the city lights and tall skyscrapers of my childhood became immortalized in my memory. Attempting to adjust to my new life in the country, I made a name for myself as “the city girl” – worldly, street-smart, and more exposed to diversity than my classmates. I fancied myself quite the world traveler, far more cultured than Cresco’s farmers and schoolteachers.
But I was only ten years old, and I had a lot to learn. In spite of my better interests, I found myself growing up in Cresco, becoming a teenager there. I learned to drive on the wide-shouldered country highways of Iowa’s patchwork fields. I went to prom at the staid old country high school, went swimming in country creeks, and raced dirtbikes around my first boyfriend’s family farm. With the exception of the Buddhist family who owned the town’s single Chinese restaurant, I turned 18 without properly befriending anyone of a different race, religion, or cultural background.
Despite the pretentious identity I had built as a child, the reality was that I had become a very sheltered country girl.
In 2007, I graduated high school and moved back to the Twin Cities to attend college at Hamline University in St. Paul, Minnesota. This was a big move for me, and I was thrilled to be back in my old hometown. At my new campus, I discovered a whole host of multireligious and multicultural events. One day, a new friend of mine encouraged me to come along to an organization fair – Hamline’s campus clubs had set up booths and were giving out candy and treats. Possibly in search of a Snickers bar, I went to the Org Fair intending to sign up for as many organizations as possible. “Might as well get involved in my new school,” I said to myself. “Can’t hurt to sign up!”
Like Hermione Granger in her third year at Hogwarts, I promptly registered for everything. In the coming days, my inbox was flooded with invitations to campus events. One of them caught my eye. “Multifaith Alliance” was a campus interreligious discussion and service group. Because I was not religious and didn’t know any people of other faiths, I decided to go to the first meeting.
That day was incredible. Maggie, Megan, and Janet (the student leader, the staff advisor, and the campus chaplain) provided an incredibly welcoming space. The chapel was warm and inviting, with candles lit and a spread of vegetarian food available. After setting some guidelines for the discussion, we jumped in and started sharing about our religious and spiritual backgrounds and interests.
“I don’t really have anything,” I said. Then I paused.
I looked around at all the other students. Unlike my classmates back in Iowa, my fellow Hamline students came from a huge variety of racial, religious, and cultural backgrounds. Some were students of color. Some wore the hijab, or a Unitarian Universalist chalice necklace. Some were obviously recent immigrants or international students. All of them were new faces, all of them representing some new way of being in the world.
I realized that I was completely out of my depth – and that it was exactly where I wanted to be. It was time to leave my country life behind; the time had come to dive into the diversity I’d been waiting for.
“I’m just here to learn,” I said.
And learn I did. Over the next semester, I started coming to the group every week. We talked about religion in politics, God, holidays, food, the environment, spirituality and magic. We ate and set safe space and talked and shared. Through it all, I found myself becoming hooked.
By the time I graduated from Hamline University in 2011, I had become the student facilitator of Multifaith Alliance for seven semesters in a row. I had attended Interfaith Youth Core conferences, became an IFYC Fellow, ran service projects, delivered workshops, and interned at a local interfaith youth organization. I had become a Religion major. I had begun exploring my own religious and spiritual identity in creative new ways. I’d even been admitted to Harvard Divinity School.
My encounters in Multifaith Alliance opened my eyes to what I had been missing. Leaving behind the safe, familiar uniformity of Cresco’s farming community was intimidating, but it was what I’d always felt I should do. Leaving behind my comfort zone was how I could explore the diversity I’d always wanted. That day in Multifaith, I realized the full meaning of the phrase “ships in the harbor are safe, but that’s not what ships are for.” My ship was setting sail, and it was time to go.
After graduation, I left for Boston and didn’t look back.
