Alright, nothing really worth talking about has happened lately, aside from the trip to Kapadokya, but I've already been there and we didn't do much that I didn't do last summer. The salt lake was full on the way, which was different. We walked out a little peninsula thing and I got water on my shoes, and I didn't wash it off fast enough so it ate through the leather - not enough to make them unwearable, but it's definitely not a good thing. We did go to "Turkish night" where we danced and watched traditional dances and stuff. Lots of stuff was in caves, like last summer. I dunno, I don't really want to replay everything. Underground cities, fairy towers, cave churches, pottery, carpets, onyx, Haci Bektash, blah blah, all the touristy things. 

This weekend we're going to Ephesus - I'm leaving tonight, and coming back Monday night/Tuesday morning. We kinda made our director mad by planning on skipping a lecture. I don't really care. It's one lecture. I'm excited!

I guess I'll post something I wrote last night while I should have been sleeping. I realized I haven't really written in years, and doing this felt good. Yay. Okay, here you go!

Yesterday I found myself in an almost involuntary search for a bathing suit. I spent an hour and a half looking all over in the small part I know of Ankara, the capitol city of a predominantly Muslim (although progressive) country, for the one thing I am probably least likely to find. The search was productive, although I ended up still swimsuit-less in the end. I realized two things while I was out, digging my hands deep into my pockets to fight the oncoming cold front.

The first - and this is the reason for my search - was that I really miss swimming. Lately, my substitute has been the gym, with my IPod to combat the monotony of the machines. Before that, in Austin, I ran. Running almost satisfies me sometimes, but the jarring of my feet against the pavement, the passing cars, and the ever-present thought of my route never really allow me to think. I miss the rare grace I have when I swim -- the feeling of my hands slicing the surface, the bubbling of water across my ears, my muscles knotting against each other and pulling against the water, the propulsion I get from so little work, it seems. Its not even something I'm really proud of; pride in something implies effort to master it. It's just something that feels right. 

When I'm moving through the water, I can think with lucidity. A little burst of adrenaline hits when I replay a conversation in which I misspoke or misunderstood, my arms pull harder against the water, I kick off a little quicker from the wall. I smile at a funny phrase or the memory of a happy moment, and taste cold chlorine through my teeth. In the water, God speaks and I truly listen. Sometimes we fight, but in the water it's the fight of a daughter against her loving father, not of a lonely girl against some invisible idea of a God. Things become as clear as what I'm gliding through. 

The second realization was that some of my most meaningful moments in Turkish have been when I was alone. I love my friends and family here, don't misunderstand. We have some funny moments and some awe-inspiring ones, and probably the times when I am happiest are spent with them. But as I stood in the grand courtyard of Kocatepe Mosque, in this country whose language still feels like molasses in my mouth, a few drops of rain began to fall on my face. The setting sun still shone, unobscured by the black rain clouds on the horizon - my favorite kind of weather. I stood, despite the beginning rain, just staring at the two giants - the mosque and the thunderstorm - and was blown away by the world's vastness. When I'm around people, I focus on them, and I miss experiences like this. I guess both ways I'm gaining something. Why worry about how to better spend my time, when I've got all my life to both connect with people and to be alone? 

Sometimes while I've been here, I feel like I've been sliding backwards, wiping out the progress I've made in the last year. But I realized that no matter what I'm doing, I'm learning. When I'm walking alone through the streets of Turkey, comforting a hurting soul or being comforted, climbing a mountain, in a cave, on the minibus, in a plane, talking to an old friend, laughing, planning, remembering, I'm still learning, working my way through things. So maybe in order to move forwards, I have to fall back.