Each month, I constantly ponder what to write about for my article. It’s always easiest to draw on an individual experience, find its theme and relate it to a lesson I learned or a conclusion I came to because of that experience. However, I have come to see my time in Israel as more than just a handful of amazing experiences, but rather for what it really is—my life. Though I could easily write for hours about all of my adventures, there has recently been something much more pressing on my mind, and that is the mentality of this country.

I’ve always felt it so pressing to walk the path that had been set forth for me by my surroundings. I’m talking about going to high school, going to college, getting a job, getting married and raising a family. I still consider all of these things to be important parts in the lifecycle, but I have come to question their order and the pertinence of completing this path as fast as possible, as is the norm where I come from.

Out of around 180 students in my graduating high school class, I was the only one who took a gap year to travel. Here in Israel, kids become adults in the army, which is mandatory for all 18-year-olds. After their service is completed, they travel, work or do whatever for awhile, and then head off to university. Before living here, I never really knew how flexible life could be. And though I still want many of the same things I always have, I now see my future as having many more crooks, turns and rustic corners than I ever could have foreseen.

Over my two weeks of winter break, a friend and I decided to take the time to really explore Israel. We laughed with a group of Palestinians at a barbecue at the Dead Sea and learned words and phrases in Arabic and Hebrew. We explored the Old City of Jerusalem on Christmas Eve, wandering from service to service only to meet other curious travelers like ourselves with whom we would spend the next day. We paused for a few minutes when we heard the imam (prayer leader) chanting from a tower in Yaffo, Tel Aviv, and stood silently as the passersby dropped to their knees in prayer. We camped out underneath Masada in the freezing cold to hike up at 5 a.m. in time for the sunrise, and I asked myself, how am I so lucky?

I thought that coming to Israel would lead me on a more spiritual path, bring me great friends and put me in a more clear and mature mindset. I was right about all of that, but I have come to see that there is so much more. I am halfway through my time here and am already thinking about what I want to do when the nine months are up. Am I ready to go back to school? Should I stay here? Where do I want to go? How much can I fit into the short life I have been blessed with? These are questions I never thought would have been an issue for me before moving to Israel.

So now I sit, thousands of miles from where, as a child, I thought I would end up at age 19. Out my window I see an expanse of desert and stars that I had always thought of only in the context of the bible, or maybe Aladdin. And somehow, between the cold winter wind and the shadow-less desert sun, this place has become home.

Margy Stoner is an 18-year-old from Indianapolis, Ind. She enjoys writing, hiking, traveling, Israel, reptiles, spicy food and the guitar-campfire combination. She plans on attending Indiana University in 2008.