What a gift!

On our first day of class at the University of Sydney, we did that normal-first-day-of-school-routine. Say your name, your year, your major, and something about yourself. It’s typical and tired: a familiar way to ease some nerves, but not much of a way to meet anyone.

Then, our professor added one more question to the usual suspects. She asked each of us to tell the group what “expertise” we brought to the class.

I can’t remember what I said. I don’t really remember what most people said, but at the time I was a bit stumped. I wasn’t exactly an expert in anything, I thought. Then the event slipped into the back of my mind and I forgot about it.

But this week, I’ve been thinking a lot about gifts. It was Valentine’s Day, and then Catie’s birthday, and all the sudden I was quite preoccupied with thinking about presents, and asking myself, “what can I give?”

By the end of the week I’d given a few presents, but I’d received some even better ones. UT gave me a dinner in Sydney Tower and a night out at the Opera House. Dr. Miller gave us all sweet cards and AWESOME koala bear keychains that grip onto your finger (they’re really cute.)

On the day of the exam, some of the Australian students in the class gave us a pretty cool gift too. It wasn’t formal, they didn’t all sign their names on a card or anything, but they took us to one of the student pubs that we never would have found on our own and drank “bevvies” and ate “chips” with us. They gave us their laughs and their personalities and their accents and their perspectives. They extended their invitation and their mateship, and it was one of my favorite afternoons we’ve had here so far.

When we parted ways, we talked about keeping in touch with them and somehow we had the idea that maybe we would cook a meal for them. We’d been talking up our “southern cooking” and decided that maybe in a few weeks we could whip up something and have them over.

Immediately I started planning in my head. I started fretting about whether or not I could make fried okra as good as my grandmother’s (the answer is absolutely no way), and whether I would be able to find the right kind of cornmeal to make proper corn puddin’ here. Suddenly I was back to the first day of class, and I had no expertise! What could I give?!

About 30 seconds into this chain of thought, I realized I was being silly. There I was, genuinely worried over a hypothetical meal that hadn’t happened yet.

That question though—it wasn’t so silly. Of course it is when it’s material. No one here would care at all what brand of cornmeal I use. But that deeper question, it’s actually really important. What is my expertise? What can I give?

I don’t know the answer yet. I guess one of the reasons I’m here is to find out, but at least I guess I’m asking the right questions now.

It was a lesson I hadn’t expected to learn, but gosh, I’m glad I did.

What a gift, Sydney, thank you so much.