Gravel crunches under my feet as I step off the road to avoid another motorcycle weaving precariously in between oncoming traffic. It’s noon, but the sun barely penetrates the deeply polluted air. The acidic smell of burning trash mixed with cement dust tickles the insides of my nostrils. As I approach the familiarity of the compound, its whitewashed cement walls adorned with shards of glass to deter unwanted guests, I take a breath. A week has passed since I left the comfort of my home and my country to travel to India. I would trade just about anything now to see a blue sky or take a deep breath of the near-spring air, but I am here. It has been 10 years since I last visited this place. Participating in the medical camp that is quickly approaching, those 10 years have flown by. I have become comfortable, living my life in a consistent routine of school, sports, family life and the gym. However, none of those privileges now exist. My family is more than 8,000 miles away, the gym is merely an afterthought, and school depends entirely on my day-to-day Wi-Fi connection. The best word to describe my current situation is ‘uncomfortable’.
As I begin to cross the road, deep in thought, I am awoken by the blaring horn of a car barreling its way toward me. The driver gestures toward me angrily, probably muttering to himself about my ignorance. I am reminded again that I am not at home. Entering the compound through its newly painted blue gate, the gatekeeper greets me with a smile. I smile back. Hustling toward the building I am staying in, I reach for the door when I hear the voices of many little girls calling my name. I pause, a half smile starting to weave into my thoughtful complexion. I turn and find myself greeted by the beaming faces of 12 little girls. Their smiles and joy radiated through their faces like sunbeams on a summer day. They ask me to come and play with them. I pause again, I had hoped I would return from my walk in time to avoid any interaction, but I can’t help myself.
A couple of hours later, I finally sneak away, covered from head to toe in dust and drenched in sweat. The smile I had at the beginning of the time is still present, joined by a couple of new mosquito bites that found themselves swelling on my arms and legs. As I undress and step into the cold shower, I can’t help but think maybe the secret to happiness is being comfortable with the uncomfortable. When I think back on the compound, and the boys and girls home within its walls, the first word that comes to mind is smile. Every kid wears one, all 130 of them.
As the water cascades down my body and my breathing slows, I count my blessings. I have a fully intact and healthy family, all seven of us. I have an education, a job, a car, a roof over my head and consistent access to good food and clean water. These kids have a fraction of that. Their families are gone, either deceased or neglectful; their water is dirty, their food is consistent but limited, and their only income comes from the odd jobs they can find in neighboring villages. Yet every one of them wears a smile. A genuine beaming smile that would quickly light up any room they enter, one that shows true happiness. The pure simplicity of their lives is seen more as a gift than a burden. I step out of the shower, drying myself quickly and putting on lotion and clothes as quickly as possible to avoid the ever-present horde of mosquitoes that want my blood. To anyone from a comfortable life in a first-world country, their situation seems awful. The word uncomfortable doesn’t even begin to describe what we see as pure poverty. But, the simple truth is these kids are happier than all of us, happier than I am.
The importance of our mindset entering a situation is as critical as our attitude itself. For me, real growth began when I stopped looking at my situation critically and started to accept it. The reality was simple. For the last week, I’d been looking for ways to make my experience more comfortable. Now I wanted to accept being uncomfortable. I wanted to appreciate the privilege and opportunity to spend a month in India and embrace it to its fullest. I intended to embrace it as if I had something to learn instead of approaching it from a position of superiority. That meant I would embrace the cold showers. Learn to love the warm temperatures and humid environment, jump at the opportunity to spend time with kids who saw me as a local celebrity, and embrace the awkwardness of my situation. That was the best decision I have ever made.
Now, a week and a half later, I am joined by 16 other Americans and preparing to depart to the first village of our medical camp tomorrow. I am infinitely happier than I was just ten days ago. The epiphany I had, standing in a cold shower in my sandals, changed my life. Learning to be comfortable with the uncomfortable was easily the best decision I have made in the last year. I wear the same smile that the kids of the children’s home wear proudly on my face. I approach each new day with renewed excitement for the situations I need to learn from others to succeed. That walk, the time I spent kicking a flat soccer ball with the girls, and the shower that followed have helped me see every experience in a new light. I have begun to understand a little of what true happiness means. It’s not the possessions you have or the place you live; it’s the ability to adapt and make every situation one you can learn from, the slow and challenging method of approaching every opportunity with the same level of curiosity and creativity as any child in the children’s home. It’s being comfortable in the uncomfortable and always wearing a smile.
