By Ella
According to Webster’s Dictionary, identity is “the distinguishing character or personality of an individual.”
The option of taking a gap year had never been something on my radar. School was everything to me growing up. I loved to learn. But somewhere along the way, the original pursuit of learning morphed into a deeper, more complex relationship with achievement. External validation became intertwined with my sense of self, and school, which was once a place of exploration and discovery, became the lens through which I measured my value.
I was part of a STEM-centered co-op in high school, a high-achievement environment focused on producing the most successful, well-rounded students. As I approached my senior year, the meticulous balance of the most rigorous academic courses, 35-hour work weeks, extracurriculars, and community involvement began to crumble as I went through one of my most trying moments—my house burning down. Displaced, overwhelmed, and overworked, the burnout began to catch up with me, and the things that used to be my purpose became shackles around my feet. I was unstable, unsteady, confused, lost, and desperately trying to hold onto the one thing that always made sense.
In this time of everything else not making sense, the opportunity to take a gap year arose. To say “yes” was bold, unfamiliar, and uncomfortable. To put off the very thing that defined who I was—to take a year off school—felt impossible. It was a decision that left me conflicted and unsure. If I wasn’t being successful, then who was I?
And that is the question, isn’t it? When you take away everything else, when you walk away from all that is familiar, what is left?
Well… it’s what you make of it.
My gap year plans started in August of 2024. While all my friends were packing their stuff away to move into their dorms, I was packing everything I could into a backpack that I would live out of for the next nine months. I decided I would spend my year away from school serving people. So I chose to live as a missionary overseas for nine months. I decided to walk away from my home, friends, and family. I decided to let go of everything I held dear—my time, my money, my comfort, my preferences. I even cut all my hair as a physical representation of the surrender of the life, and person, I was walking away from.
I began my journey in Malaysia, where I slept on the floor of a church for 40 days with 33 other people. Talk about a tight fit. I spent three days a week working in a school that taught refugee students from Burma. I went to what the locals called the “slum areas” and did Sunday school with the kids there. I visited their villages and had water balloon fights. A few families invited me into their homes, and we had house church. I made friends and danced in a music video. I painted a mural on a bakery’s wall. I visited the coast and got stung by a jellyfish. That one was not as fun. And over my time there, I discovered how to be content in every scenario and situation—how to thrive in the uncomfortable—and how to connect with others, no matter the language barriers.
I then ventured to Thailand, where I lived on a farm in Chiang Dao, The City of Stars, a rural town in the mountains. I did lots of manual labor, like cutting down bamboo and banana trees, weeding gardens, and feeding pigs. I visited elephants and saw water buffaloes. I lived with a wonderful host family who ran a children’s home. My host welcomed children who were put in vulnerable positions of poverty, arranged marriage, forced labor, and sometimes sold into human trafficking. I loved these kids so much. Every Friday we had movie nights and would bake cookies. We ate dinner together, did chores together, and shared stories and laughter. I taught them Disney songs, and they taught me worship songs in Thai. I also taught at a Thai preschool three days a week. I met Lydia, a little girl with autism, at this preschool, and we were attached at the hip. Thailand has such a special place in my heart because of the connections I made. They brought me comfort as I spent Christmas away from my family, on the other side of the world. They became my family, and it was heartbreaking to move on from there.
I am now living in Tirana, Albania. I live in the capital and travel all around the country on weekends, getting to experience the beautiful snowy mountains, vastly different from the rolling hills of Georgia, my home state. It is truly a beautiful place with a rich history, nestled right between Greece and Italy. I am not sure yet what I will derive from this season, from the location and culture. But I can assure you that no matter where I go, I won’t leave unchanged.
In every place I go, I learn much from the people who greet me. It is a different kind of learning than that of the classroom. It is not contained in textbooks or lectures, but it is discovered through rich and diverse experiences as I encounter the world around me. My time overseas has broadened my perspective, stretched my comfort zone, and challenged my assumptions.
There is still so much to discover, but one thing I am certain of is that in the midst of losing yourself is when you begin to find who you truly are.
By embracing the vastness of the world and stepping away from what is comfortable, I have found that identity is a dynamic, ever-evolving story that grows with every new place, language, culture, and relationship. It is not through approval or accomplishment that we become who we are, but through community.
And, I, for one, am very excited to see what Duke’s community has to offer.
