1931.

1931. When my grandmother was born. 32. My current age. When I think hard about that it becomes overwhelming–what different worlds we will and have experienced. To think that my German grandparents (who are still alive) have lived through WWI, WWII, the Cold War, the boom of technology, and the Trump administration–it makes my trials seem small in comparison. It makes the world seem so much bigger, scarier and unpredictable. It also makes me feel very grateful and proud of where I have come from.

The last couple months have been fast. I found out I needed to move in the New Year in November. While I got really lucky and landed the perfect spot in Santa Cruz County, it didn’t take away from the fact that this is an overwhelming situation for anyone, especially around the holidays. Packing up your life and moving somewhere where your comforts aren’t where you know them to be is stressful. Right? Maybe for a couple days, but if you are moving anywhere remotely comfortable (like within your state or country) there shouldn’t be too much to fuss about. But nevertheless, it ruffles our feathers and feels strange because change usually does.

This recent move happened right after I visited my grandparents and my ruffled feathers made me think a lot about how life has been for them–two people who left their countries and never looked back. What does it feel like to flee your country during a war and get on a boat with all your life belongings on your back to look for life in a new country? To have nothing. I don’t think this is something that I will ever have to experience.

My Oma was about 13 years old and had $5 in her pocket when she arrived by boat into New Orleans. She didn’t speak a word of English. The Catholic church had arranged transportation to Los Angeles, California for her and she was on her way. From there, she knit bathing suits with Mexican women, taught herself English, met my German-Romanian Grandfather who had also fled his country, learned basic accounting and became a powerful matriarch. Oma remembers a lot of these experiences vividly and as I feel her getting weaker and older, I feel myself grasping onto her retellings and wishing I had a way to hold onto them forever. When I tell my Oma that I wish she would have written a book about her life, she laughs. She doesn’t see what I see.

I am constantly in awe of her strength, progressiveness and tenacity. Her mind is so sharp and as I watch her take care of my deteriorating grandfather, I can see the virtue and strength she has lived with her entire life.  She has always been the strong one. She has always been the leader. I admire what her life has been and cherish the pieces of her that I also have within me. I know that when I find myself in trying situations I can channel the strength within me that comes from her and remember what my ancestors have done to gift me the security that I have in life.

So as I had my first packed carload of things to move, ready to drive over the rainy 17 from the valley to Santa Cruz, I found myself stricken with a moment of fear. What am I doing? I am all alone. Should I just move back home instead? How bad is this move going to strain my relationship? How did I end up here? What if I have no friends?….the rabbit hole of self-doubt and loathing. Then as I reached the summit, I thought about my Oma, as I often do. I saw the ocean creeping into view and strength and excitement washed over me. You are with me and I trust this process. I am right where I need to be and I can do this.