A Journey Toward Meaning in Life

A Journey toward Meaning in Life

“When I focus I shine.” Those words, though meant to keep my attention on getting ready for school every morning so my brother and I would not miss the bus, have held different meaning for me throughout the years. I have never been one to focus well on any subject, at least not for a during period of time. My mom, constantly vexed with me, still had an angelic amount of patience and worked with me every chance she got. I became aware of different types of personalities – intense and dreamy – and began to place my own in the vast range. Analogies sometimes helped in this difficult task. My mother, for example, focused as intensely as a laser beam, while I was more like a ray of sunshine – scattered over a broad surface for periods of time, but never sure of my own constancy. Finally, I came to a conclusion. I have the ability to focus, but it must be backed by a deeper drive than life success or ambition. And in order to energize this focus, a purpose is needed – a purpose not for myself, but for the bettering of someone or something else.

When I played the violin, focus became an important element of my life. Starting the violin ten years after the music students studying with me, I was far behind in technique and physical and mental development. They had all begun at the early age of four, their fingers strengthening and adapting to the instrument just as they adapted in elementary school to hold a pencil. My fingers, starting at the age of 14, required much training to obtain the same amount of strength and even more work if they were to gain the right amount of flexibility. Fortunately, I had the right combination of flexible genetics and natural musical ability to help speed my progress along and a string of college professors to hone my techniques from the beginning, becoming more excited as I began to truly grasp the rudiments of the instrument.

I became a work horse within six months of first touching the instrument, practicing a minimum of four hours a day to increase my chances of becoming a world famous violinist. My social life was nonexistent, but I did not notice. My world revolved around the instrument that bewitched me more daily. My focus became even more imperative to reaching my goal as I was accepted to college and thus, had classes and practicing for orchestra to add to my increased six hours daily practice routine. Yet, as much as I enjoyed the dream of creating music for all the world to hear, there was something missing, something which I remembered only as time passed and my determination began to fade.

I wanted to be social, to express all aspects of my personality, not just musical artistry. As the single dimension of my life closed in around me like the close walls of the practice rooms, I longed to go out, often taking long walks staring at the sky rather than practice the notes on the pages laid out before me each morning. I coult not talk to my friends; they were happy to be entrapped in this life of endless competition, searching for musical perfection. For me, there was no perfection, just the music and the uplifting quality if gave.

The year passed slowly and my instructor, who had praised my hard work and my seeming talent at the beginning of the year, now openly expressed his doubts for my passing juries at the end of the spring term. Juries were the musical equivalent of finals for all music students, but much more nerve-wracking as they were also a public appearance in front of one’s peers. For me, the threat of juries looming before me, brought back the workhorse, with a will to not be humiliated in front of the school of music.

As I had not had the same amount of time as my peers to practice the violin, I had also not had the same performance experience. In the five years of my playing the violin, I had performed in public only once – for my entrance audition to the university. Juries, while not the ideal setting for beginners to become accustomed to the stage, were a useful tool for more seasoned musicians.

I waited in the curtains, overly conscious that my black concert dress made my face look paler than death. My looks, however, were not what concerned me. At present, my nerves were focused on my accompanist, a Russian performer here on exchange. I had been waiting in the wings for two minutes and still he had not appeared. I knew if a third minute passed, I would be forced to play unaccompanied, the lonely notes echoing off the walls of the auditorium. Fortunately, as the third minute ended, he rushed in from backstage, muttering a breathless apology, and we proceeded out onto the stage.

While most performers will say that the black view from a stage is helpful in dealing with nerves, I believe the opposite. No faces are in sight, and with my head spinning as I played my first few notes, I desperately needed a focal point – but there was none. As the piece progressed, a lullaby by Gabriel Fauré, becoming more fervent in its emotion, I was losing both hope and focus. My arms were shaking so hard, I could barely keep them under control. My legs began to buckle, and the room was spinning around my head – a whir of bright lights and empty darkness. How I managed to finish the piece is beyond my comprehension. But after I finished, I walked up to my instructor, my voice shaking with residual terror and emotion, and promptly quit as a music major. With relief flooding every pore of my body, I also felt a strange sense of triumph. I had succeeded in proving to myself the extent of my own ability to focus.


“Live up to the Light1 thou hast.” It is another way of telling me to focus, with a far more spiritual meaning. I was in Meeting2 one Sunday when one of the Elders3 came forth and began to speak. The message was simple, familiar to any Quaker, but it sent me on a life quest – to find my purpose and how to fulfill it.

I had been brought up in a family where fostering a relationship with God was just as important as fostering familial relations. The relationship was personal, and was expressed and nurtured according to what worked best for each individual in our family. For my mom, this included morning meditations on our couch and a constant referral to the Creator for all things. My dad likewise held inward meditations, but they were less obvious than my mom’s, often being held as he worked on a portrait, or drove to work. For my older brother, God was rarely ever mentioned, but nevertheless keenly felt. My brother’s connection with God was founded upon long walks in the woods as he scaled the three mountains on our property. For me, however, this relationship with God seemed ever evasive. I struggled constantly to remember Him in all things, only to fail miserably and call on Him only when I was in great need. It would be years before I realized how much of my relationship with God prospered in those early stages.

Since my family took God very seriously, but not very traditionally, we were the object of speculation within our very Bible-oriented community. West Virginia was fundamentally Baptist, and those families who were not, were considered outsiders to a certain extent. This isolation, while causing me to wonder if I would ever fit into a group, made my own beliefs stronger than ever because I had to know why I believed them for constant explanations.

I experimented by visiting various churches and religious organizations, constantly checking what I observed and learned with what truly felt like the right belief for me. I ended up studying nearly every denomination of Christianity, as well as Judaism, and some aspects of Hinduism and Buddhism before I decided on the religion that was right for me – Quakerism.

The Quaker beliefs of a personal relationship with God, without pomp and circumstance, the Light within that led to every individual’s inherent goodness and equality, and the openness that surrounded each one of these beliefs, made it the religion for me. I joined the Paullina Meeting and became new hope for a Meeting that had been around for centuries, yet was dying from a lack of fresh blood. All in the Meeting grew up together, married, and were now all interrelated as cousins, wives, brothers, etc. I was the fresh blood, the youngest and newest member of the Meeting who held their hopes in my every move from the day I officially joined.

Then came the day I heard the words: “Live up to the Light thou hast.” They reminded me of the constant introspection I was brought up to practice, and gave me hope that there was something great I was to do with my life. This hope led to constant searching, but no results yielded themselves yet. I would find it eventually, using all the enthusiasm for life I felt, and all the tenacity and strength of faith behind me.



There has always been a piece of me that temporarily assimilated whatever book I was reading at the time, or movie I was watching, and thereby an understanding of the characters and their views were presented inside and out. In this way, I experienced life through the eyes or shoes of others, allowing myself to enter their world as I read, and remain there long after until every aspect of it has been absorbed into my imagination. As the years went by, I assimilated views and experiences; not only from books, but with the international students I met in college.

I was never looking to meet people from around the world. In fact, the idea of communicating across cultural and language barriers when I had enough trouble with Americans seemed overwhelming. I was the type of girl who was very comfortable at home, not really wanting to travel away from my beloved family.

I began my international experiences by befriending two girls living next door to me in my dormitory. They were graduate students from Krakow, Poland, who were studying comparative literature. And with them, a new world was opened up for me, full of arts, languages, refinement, and culture, always expressed by gourmet-roasted coffee and rare tea blends.

I was soon admitted into their circle of friends, all Russians and Poles. My close association with the students from Eastern Europe landed me the reputation of also being an international student myself. I came across this reputation by accident one evening as I was talking to a friend from the phone in the student lobby of my dorm. When my friend put down the phone for a minute, I heard two guys whispering as they walked by.

“That’s one of the Russians,” the first one said, gesturing toward me. I pretended not to notice.

“No, really? Are you sure?” The second one was obviously a newcomer to the dormitory.

“Yeah, ask her something.” I picked this moment to deploy my newly acquired skill of language, and using my best Russian accent, I acknowledged them cheerfully. “Priviet!” I greeted. “Kak delá?”

The pair sped up as they heard this and I had the privilege of hearing the affect of my trick.

“See, I told you!” The first one admonished the second as they raced down the hall.

With my contacts among the Russian students, I found a need for English assistance and thus set up a free tutoring service which spread my name quickly among the international students. I was introduced to students from Asia, South America, and the Middle East. It was in this group I met my husband, from Bolivia.

Our familiarity with understanding and adapting to different cultures formed a foundation for our relationship. My studies in Russian were exchanged for Spanish lessons, and a world of Catholicism tempered with indigenous superstitions, Andean music, and spicy food was opened up before me.

It was during this time, that I moved to Omaha, walking straight into the International Studies office on the first day because I had long since considered it my home. The first person I met was from Kurdish-Iraq, and yet another view of the world was given me. I began my regimen of studying and tutoring English as soon as I could, and a revelation revealed itself.

One of my students became so grateful after a tutoring session that he proclaimed I was better at explaining English than his teachers. At first I brushed this comment aside, thinking it was just a compliment, but then the truth of it began to set in. While I might not necessarily explain the methods of English grammar better than the ESL teachers in campus, I explain them with a similar passion and a talent for understanding the culture of the student, translating the grammar into that culture. I had finally found a purpose – the first since I quit being a violin major. My volunteer experience with the international students made it easy for me to get a job, even though I did not yet have my degree. I landed a part-time job with AmeriCorp, teaching English to a mix of Sudanese refugees and Latino immigrants.

I had finally found my chance to do something great in the world, and my purpose – to promote understanding across cultures. With my built in focus, my drive of faith that compels my very being, and the ability of helping those in need, I am eternally grateful to God for guiding me so well through the years.


1 The “Light” or “Christ within” is, according to Quaker belief, that piece of God which exists in every person. It could be compared to the soul, but also contain a direct link to God.
2 Meeting, an equivalent of Church for the Quakers which gives the connotation of community, not construction
3 Elders are elderly members highly respected by the Meeting