A Path of Her Own: Kristen’s Global Journey

As a Bend native, my journey to OSU-Cascades was a matter of both roots and timing. After a stint nannying in San Francisco, I returned home and took the leap into homeownership. Being anchored here by my first house, it made perfect sense to complete my associate degree at COCC and then transition to OSU-Cascades. At the time, the university was in its infancy, operating right on the COCC campus. What stands out most was the intimate, pioneering energy of the school back then. Because the campus was just finding its feet, there was a unique opportunity to shape my own path rather than just following a preset curriculum.

I graduated in 2009. At the time, degree options were somewhat limited, but I saw that as an invitation to be creative. I chose Liberal Studies and petitioned the university to let me design my own academic theme: The Empowerment of Women and Children Through the Arts.

That focus wasn't just theoretical; it took me across the globe. I spent two terms studying abroad in Chiang Mai, Thailand, working in an orphanage where I taught art and sports. While there, I collaborated with fellow teachers to launch a weekend English immersion program for hill tribe girls. Our goal was practical and vital: providing them with the linguistic tools necessary to break into higher education or the tourism industry. Looking back, that ability to blend local Bend roots with a global impact is exactly what defined my time at OSU-Cascades.

My time at OSU-Cascades was pivotal precisely because it didn't offer a rigid, prepackaged map. From the very beginning, my education was as non-linear as the life I intended to lead. Because the degree options at the time were somewhat boutique, I was forced — or rather, invited — to be the architect of my own curriculum.

The Liberal Studies program allowed me to forage across disciplines, pulling from communications, art and writing to build a foundation that actually meant something to me. By petitioning for my own theme, I was able to tailor my studies to fit the dual passions of my life: a nomadic hunger for world travel and a deep-rooted commitment to the Bend community.

If there is one thing that era taught me, it’s that a degree isn’t a finish line; it’s just a license to keep exploring. I realized that learning is a perpetual, slightly messy process that shouldn't end just because someone hands you a diploma. That flexibility — the ability to look at a limited set of options and say, “I’ll build my own, thanks” — gave me the exact set of tools I needed to navigate a life that doesn't follow the main highway.

I went to Chiang Mai, Thailand, with the earnest, somewhat lofty ambition of making an impact. At the time, I felt I had a great deal of wisdom and skill to bestow upon the world outside of Bend. However, the experience was a masterclass in humility. I went there to teach art, sports and English, but I was the one who ended up receiving the education.

We don't have nearly enough time to cover the ways that internship dismantled my worldview and rebuilt it into something better. Between the kids who stole my heart and the deep friendships I forged — including meeting the man who would become my husband — the experience didn't just shape my perspective; it rerouted the entire trajectory of my life. It taught me how to walk my own path with a sense of purpose, ensuring that as I moved through the world, I was doing something to lift others up along the way.

My advice is usually delivered with a level of intensity that borders on the evangelical: Do it. Do not overthink it, do not wait for the “perfect” time and do not let the fear of the unknown keep you in your comfort zone. A study abroad program is the only time in your life where you can dive into a completely different reality with a safety net provided by your education. It is the most effective way to realize that the world is much larger, much kinder and much more complicated than you ever imagined.

To be honest, the word alumna feels a bit too stagnant for me. It implies a sense of completion, as if I’ve checked a box and moved on to a different life entirely. In reality, I still feel deeply woven into the fabric of OSU-Cascades — connected to the students, the staff and the persistent sense of possibility that defines the campus.

This connection is exactly why my husband and I are returning to give a presentation. We want to share the after-action report of my study abroad program and the hard-won life lessons we’ve gathered from years of cycling through mud, navigating foreign borders and leaning into the unknown. We aren't just looking back; we’re trying to show current students that the crazy adventure doesn't have a shelf life. Graduation wasn't the end of the story — it was just the moment the plot got interesting. It certainly isn't over yet; if anything, the next chapter is just beginning.

There is a frantic, modern tendency to live entirely in the “next.” We treat the present like a waiting room for a future that hasn't arrived yet. My advice? Stop looking at the exit signs and start living in the room you’re currently standing in.

Embrace the totality of the experience — or, to put it bluntly, embrace the suck. The grueling tests, the midnight homework marathons and the soul-crushing exhaustion are all part of the texture of growth. If you spend all your time squinting at the horizon, you’ll miss the brilliance of the present: the friendships forged in the trenches of the Student Success Center, the support of your community and the sheer, terrifying thrill of challenging yourself to do something you weren't sure you could finish.

There will always be a “next.” The world is remarkably good at providing new horizons and fresh anxieties. But right now, you are in a rare window of life where your primary job is to expand your own mind. Lean into it — the fun parts and the miserable parts alike. After all, the hardest things you do now are usually the stories you’ll be most proud to tell later.

If there is one piece of adventure wisdom I’ve carried from the Sierra to the Andes and back home to Bend, it is the concept of “zeroing your trip.” When you are in the thick of a massive undertaking — whether it’s the four-year slog toward a degree or an 18,000-mile bike ride through the entirety of the Americas — the sheer scale of the journey can become paralyzing. You start to obsess over the remaining miles or the credits still needed until the weight of the future threatens to crush the present.

The secret to survival is to make those numbers irrelevant. You have to live entirely within the day you are currently occupying. No matter how steep the climb or how grueling the exam, at the end of the day, you must “zero the trip.” You pitch your tent, you cook your dehydrated meal, you filter your water and you let the day’s hardships go.

Tomorrow is not an accumulation of yesterday’s exhaustion; it is a brand-new day with its own set of challenges. If you just take it one sunrise at a time, a strange thing happens: you eventually look up and realize you’ve reached the ocean. You look back and realize you have a degree, a finished book or a lifetime of adventures to share. The journey is only insurmountable if you try to carry it all at once. Just zero the trip and keep pedaling.