Home for the weekend, I started the day today with a walk to Randy's house three doors down to do something about my eyebrows. (Yes, I can walk to my hair salon. Jealous?) I walked in and greeted Randy, who was working on a client's highlights. This woman and I immediately struck up a conversation about our experiences in yesterday's storm. As we were chit-chatting, something about her seemed very familiar. Strangely familiar. But this was just a fleeting thought, and I hardly remembered it until two minutes later.
"Maria." This blonde woman whose energy I recognize smiles at me. I realize there's more going on here.
"Maria, do you remember me? From Dr. Woods' office? I used to work on your teeth. Boy, do I remember you."
There it is. The lightbulb goes off. I cannot believe it.
"COURTNEY!!!" I exclaim and she engulfs me in a bear hug.
I had braces from 11-14. Courtney was one of the orthodontist's assistants. Not sure what the exact job title is, but you know who they are. They're the ones who actually do almost everything before the doctor comes in and pokes around your mouth for the last two minutes of the appointment.
Courtney wasn't just another assistant. As far as I was concerned, an appointment during which I wasn't assigned to Courtney was an appointment wasted. I completely idolized her. I don't know what it was. Something about her disposition made me feel special, like she was happy to see me too. She was absolutely hilarious. She involved me in her life. Twenty-five at the time, about twelve years older than me, she was kind of like a big sister that I got to see once a month.
When I was thirteen, her boyfriend proposed to her. I still remember it. I remember gawking at her ring, a beautiful silver band with three tiny spherical diamonds. I remember that she was glowing. I remember smiling because I could see how happy she was. I remember when she looked at me in all of my childlike fascination and laughed. "Someday," she told me. "And I better meet him first!" She joked.
Today, she showed me pictures of her beautiful redheaded two year-old. She and her husband just celebrated their sixth anniversary. She's in her early to mid-thirties. Still just as I remembered her.
I stayed for a half hour, soaking up these moments of my past. This connection that even I had forgotten all about. How beautiful it is when someone can remind you of yourself. Courtney remembers me in a way that I cannot.
While I have memories of Courtney, she has even stronger memories of me. She said she remembers Joey crying when he couldn't come back and sit with me during my appointment. She remembers my long, flowing hair in braids. She remembers my nerves when I began high school. But I certainly didn't expect to hear this as I left the salon today. Actually, she said it twice: "Hun, I always knew you would do big things."
Was I really that important to her? She had complete faith in me? I was twelve or thirteen. That's something you usually tell your daughter or little sister, not some little girl you joked around with almost a decade ago.
All of our lives are so intricately woven. Like a spiderweb, our paths resemble strands that diverge and connect and intersect at times. After my braces came off, I never saw Courtney again, until now. I don't even remember if I was able to say goodbye way back then.
For anyone who has ever read and loved "The Five People You Meet in Heaven," you may understand how I feel. This story may seem trivial, but it feels so sacred. Here is a woman who, although essentially a stranger, believed in me. She holds a piece of me inside of her, whether I knew it or not. She knows my gap-toothed grin and my baby face. She watched me grow. And I am so happy to have intersected with her today, to have been reminded that while the world is small, those whispers from the past always seem to come back around.
But this time, without the braces.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Distortions
I walked into Capacidad this afternoon with cold hands. I put my backpack down and turned around just in time to hear cries of, "Maria!" (It's been two weeks since I was last there). Amelia is doing her homework, and asks me to help her. I walk over to her table and hardly sit down before something comes out of her mouth:
"Wow. You're skinny."
I freeze for a second. I'm uncomfortable. I make some comment about how I'm wearing a flowing cardigan today and try to change the subject. But Amelia plows on.
"I hope I'm still skinny like you when I'm growed up."
This is just getting worse.
"Are you a dancer?" Not quite sure where this is going, I say that yes, I was a ballet dancer when I was a bit younger.
Amelia matter-of-factly replies, "Of course you were. You WOULD do skinny people things."
Skinny people things?
(It's worth mentioning that Amelia is just six).
This starts a conversation. I explain that actually, there are all different body types and that anyone can dance. Anyone can play sports. Everyone is beautiful. What matters is how we treat others. Amelia looks skeptical, but gets back to her math. I breathe a sigh of relief. For now.
God help my future kids, because I just don't know what to say sometimes. This is not the first time I've had conversations about weight with children. Another girl at Capacidad asked me a few weeks back to help her do her "exercises" so she "doesn't get fat." She is eight. I explained that it is important to exercise to stay healthy, but that she is perfect just the way she is. Again, she looked skeptical.
This whole episode has me thinking about distortions. Those constant, blaring thoughts that we are "not good enough." And these thoughts don't necessarily have to do with appearance, either. On another day at Capacidad, I ran over to a crying girl on the playground. She turned her splotchy face towards the monkey bars and sputtered, "Andrew got across and I couldn't! I'm not good at ANYTHING!!!"
(Sidenote: Andrew is four years older and two heads taller).
Little girl not being able to get her five-year-old self down the row on monkey bars turned into "I'm not talented enough."
I was of course sympathetic, but once she calmed down I dismissed this as a "juvenile" concern.
Oh, hold it right there, Maria.
You do the same. exact. thing.
So the monkey bars aren't necessarily an issue for me. I mastered those long ago. But I do have moments of insecurity, and it's just incredible how quickly these thoughts take over.
We all do it. Why can't I be as outgoing as my extraverted roommate? Why does this person (seem to) have it all together and I don't? Why, why, why? The useless guilt. The comparisons.
When this happens, I try to nip it in the bud. I think of my positive qualities. Does that always help in the moment? No. But it's a start.
That's why I was so glad when it was time for "Star of the Day." Each day at Capacidad, a child is chosen and his or her name is written on a large piece of paper. We then gather the rest of the kids together and have them say one nice thing about that person. Today, Devine received a positive poster to take home.
What if you were your own "Star of the Day?" How would life be different?
Thursday, February 21, 2013
The Future Has an Ancient Heart
I came across a beautiful quote recently: "The future has an ancient heart."
I guess it can be interpreted in different ways. But when I first read it, I thought of my own life's trajectory.
An Italian writer, Carlo Levi, originally composed this line. I think essentially he's describing the complexities of feeling as if the future is so far away, that the person we have yet to become is so distant...and yet, most of the time, our inherent traits end up guiding our lives. In other words, you are always you. Sure, people change and events in our lives mold and shape who we become. But that doesn't change our place in the world, our gifts...even if we haven't discovered them yet. These gifts have always been inside of us.
I have spent a lot of time trying to figure myself out over the years, but these thoughts usually lead to utter confusion. The one aspect of my personality that I do have figured out? I'm a paradox.
Example. I've been told that as a little kid, I was very engaging. I would go up to random people and ask if they wanted to hear me read a story (usually Berenstein Bears, but there were others). People actually listened. And I knew what I wanted: adventure. Although I would often sit and quietly read books to myself, that did not stop me from exploring my neighborhood and pretending my clubhouse was the Magic Tree House. And I wanted to be everyone's friend. Everyone's.
But this passionate, engaging, caring little girl also faced horrendous anxiety that warranted my first trip to a child psychologist at age seven. I would go back for several months, and each week we would discuss my eating habits and school. We would play this game like charades where I had to act out different situations. I would also go to the hospital several times, because I suffered from stomachaches almost daily. Appendicitis? Nope. Cancer? Nope. The x-rays came out completely clean. Did she just want to get out of school? No, I actually hated to miss school. Even when I was really sick. Then I told the shrink about one day at school when I cried all afternoon because I saw another child get bullied by the water fountain. It was then (although I don't remember this, mom told me) that I received a "diagnosis": I internalized other people's pain.
The point of all this is that we are who we are, and that will always remain true. I've always been a kind, headstrong adventurer. But also anxious. Today, my personality paradox shows up in other ways. For example, I often crave intense connection, even if I would rather just be alone (I think that's the writer in me...I want to learn about life from others, and yet I have to process and reflect on these lessons by myself as well). I am still very intuitive, often to a disturbing degree. I have recognized people in pain long before they have realized it themselves. I am guard to many secrets, stories that others have had the overwhelming urge to tell me...and they stay with me. I have watched people's flabbergasted faces when I seemingly read their minds. I don't really know where that comes from. And yet, my own mind is often a mystery. I can't figure myself out the same way.
But the nifty thing about being who we are is that eventually, we learn how to use our traits to our advantage. I have learned that events that I am most anxious about often mean the most to me. It is almost like my anxiety signals a great life adventure. Someone once told me that taking a risk is ALWAYS worth it, once you get over the fear part. I've also added my own little observation to this piece of advice: even if you take a risk and it doesn't go your way, it wasn't in vain. Nothing is ever in vain. Because even if you "mess up" and find yourself back at square one, it's not really square one. Because you possess more wisdom than you started out with.
So if you are starting a new phase in your life (as I am about to), remember this: you are you. There will never be another you. Life will work out the way it is supposed to, and your ancient heart will be there to guide you along. If you take your ancient heart into consideration while discerning life's plans, it might even have something to whisper to you.
I'll keep on being my paradoxical self. Because it's gotten me this far. And even as I continue to grow and forge my own path, I'll keep listening to my heart, the heart that has always been my own.
I guess it can be interpreted in different ways. But when I first read it, I thought of my own life's trajectory.
An Italian writer, Carlo Levi, originally composed this line. I think essentially he's describing the complexities of feeling as if the future is so far away, that the person we have yet to become is so distant...and yet, most of the time, our inherent traits end up guiding our lives. In other words, you are always you. Sure, people change and events in our lives mold and shape who we become. But that doesn't change our place in the world, our gifts...even if we haven't discovered them yet. These gifts have always been inside of us.
I have spent a lot of time trying to figure myself out over the years, but these thoughts usually lead to utter confusion. The one aspect of my personality that I do have figured out? I'm a paradox.
Example. I've been told that as a little kid, I was very engaging. I would go up to random people and ask if they wanted to hear me read a story (usually Berenstein Bears, but there were others). People actually listened. And I knew what I wanted: adventure. Although I would often sit and quietly read books to myself, that did not stop me from exploring my neighborhood and pretending my clubhouse was the Magic Tree House. And I wanted to be everyone's friend. Everyone's.
But this passionate, engaging, caring little girl also faced horrendous anxiety that warranted my first trip to a child psychologist at age seven. I would go back for several months, and each week we would discuss my eating habits and school. We would play this game like charades where I had to act out different situations. I would also go to the hospital several times, because I suffered from stomachaches almost daily. Appendicitis? Nope. Cancer? Nope. The x-rays came out completely clean. Did she just want to get out of school? No, I actually hated to miss school. Even when I was really sick. Then I told the shrink about one day at school when I cried all afternoon because I saw another child get bullied by the water fountain. It was then (although I don't remember this, mom told me) that I received a "diagnosis": I internalized other people's pain.
The point of all this is that we are who we are, and that will always remain true. I've always been a kind, headstrong adventurer. But also anxious. Today, my personality paradox shows up in other ways. For example, I often crave intense connection, even if I would rather just be alone (I think that's the writer in me...I want to learn about life from others, and yet I have to process and reflect on these lessons by myself as well). I am still very intuitive, often to a disturbing degree. I have recognized people in pain long before they have realized it themselves. I am guard to many secrets, stories that others have had the overwhelming urge to tell me...and they stay with me. I have watched people's flabbergasted faces when I seemingly read their minds. I don't really know where that comes from. And yet, my own mind is often a mystery. I can't figure myself out the same way.
But the nifty thing about being who we are is that eventually, we learn how to use our traits to our advantage. I have learned that events that I am most anxious about often mean the most to me. It is almost like my anxiety signals a great life adventure. Someone once told me that taking a risk is ALWAYS worth it, once you get over the fear part. I've also added my own little observation to this piece of advice: even if you take a risk and it doesn't go your way, it wasn't in vain. Nothing is ever in vain. Because even if you "mess up" and find yourself back at square one, it's not really square one. Because you possess more wisdom than you started out with.
So if you are starting a new phase in your life (as I am about to), remember this: you are you. There will never be another you. Life will work out the way it is supposed to, and your ancient heart will be there to guide you along. If you take your ancient heart into consideration while discerning life's plans, it might even have something to whisper to you.
I'll keep on being my paradoxical self. Because it's gotten me this far. And even as I continue to grow and forge my own path, I'll keep listening to my heart, the heart that has always been my own.
Monday, February 4, 2013
A Nice Reminder
I received an email this morning from this random website that always seems to tell me the right thing at the right time. Seriously, this blogger I've never met "knows" me. Or maybe it's not so much the blogger. Maybe it's just a message from the beyond.
The message was about not knowing. We cannot even comprehend what is out there for us. What is happening now prepares us for what is ahead.
The message included a prayer. It read:
The message was about not knowing. We cannot even comprehend what is out there for us. What is happening now prepares us for what is ahead.
The message included a prayer. It read:
In this moment I don’t know how you are at work in my life.
I don’t need to.
What I do need is to trust that you are here with me in ways deeper than my knowing.
Help me, this day, to rest in your tender care and renewing presence in every circumstance I meet.
The point is that I (we) am (are) being taken care of, in more ways than we know.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
So I Remember What I Did.
I realized that in the craziness surrounding winter break, I had way too many pictures on my camera!
November-January, lightning round:
A few moments weren't captured, mainly because I wanted to deeply sink said moments into my memory. One of these moments was the birth of a special little boy. One of my best friends and her husband had their first child in November, and I've already loved watching little Jack grow up!
The holiday season reminds me of the very special people in my life, people who remind me of past experiences and a home I love so much. The beauty of life is that it changes, and we can integrate new people and experiences into our memories and traditions. Break was a wonderful blend of old and new, past and present.
I still have so many people in my life from my childhood, and I love them all. And there are people I love and deeply care for who I met just a year ago or less. That's what I'm thankful for as I am working on those "next steps" in my life. Hopefully news soon on that front!
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| Reunited with Perugia friends! |
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| Ate a ton at the kid's table on Thanksgiving |
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| Bridesmaids shopping for my best friend's wedding! (These aren't the dresses we actually bought). |
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| 15th (or so) annual Papapietro/McEntee Gingerbread House Party (this would be Joey's house). |
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| Complete with frosting mustache tradition |
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| And kids growing up way too quickly. |
The holiday season reminds me of the very special people in my life, people who remind me of past experiences and a home I love so much. The beauty of life is that it changes, and we can integrate new people and experiences into our memories and traditions. Break was a wonderful blend of old and new, past and present.
I still have so many people in my life from my childhood, and I love them all. And there are people I love and deeply care for who I met just a year ago or less. That's what I'm thankful for as I am working on those "next steps" in my life. Hopefully news soon on that front!
Monday, January 14, 2013
Ker-Plunk
It all started with a rock.
I've been feeling guilty about my unintended hiatus from my writing regimen I had been so diligently undergoing at school. Something about winter break just flips my motivation switch off almost completely. But I opened my writing book today and looked at some of the suggested creative tasks for this week. One task made me scoff. "Find five pretty or interesting rocks. They can be small, constant reminders of our creative consciousness." Unsure as to how a rock would spark creativity, I set out for the beach anyway. It was unseasonably warm today, and I couldn't reject the opportunity for a calming stroll (in my white Converse sneakers, no less).
I picked up a few rocks, half-heartedly tossing them back when they failed to spark my interest. Not even sure what I was looking for, I pondered the thought. Was I trying to find a particularly colorful rock? A rock with one of those rings around it? A rock shaped like a heart?
And then I found the rock.
This rock looked relatively ordinary at first. But as I looked more closely, I noticed a feature unique to this rock - it had several very faint rings that created a sort of 3D ripple effect. They looked like the rings on a tree trunk. But since the rock is sloped, the rings gradually became larger, just like real ripples in the ocean.
My dad and I used to skip rocks at Sandy Neck beach. Or I should say, he would skip rocks. Mine tended to go kerplunk immediately, but his would bounce seven or eight times, spawning vibrations that seemed to reach out to the horizon. After a certain point, the ripples were no longer visible at the surface, but I knew that they were still plowing forth beneath the realm of normal vision.
When you throw a rock, the ripples extend in every direction. It's impossible to know where one starts and another ends. It's also impossible to measure (at least without scientific equipment) the effects of each ripple on the overall environment.
Which is why I am so scared right now. And partially frustrated. Because I want to make a ripple, a splash. But how?
How hard do I throw the rock? Do I toss it as far as I can, even if that means I'm unsure where I'll land? Do I go find a paying job that will allow me to travel? Do I go to grad school now, or later? What if I make the wrong decision? What is the "right" decision? Do I even know what I want?
It seems like every potential prospect or "big idea" I have comes with some looming hurdles attached. God, why is there ALWAYS a complicated Visa process? And then there are the internal hurdles, that little voice in my head that that feeds on my self-doubt. What if I'm not good enough for that? Where will I find the money for that program? Who does this affect? And how?
I was whining to mom tonight about my doubts. But mom, I don't know what my passions are. I know what makes me happy, but it doesn't fit any job description. I would like to see an ad for a job that will let me be adventurous and give me a paycheck. Oh, and I am not an EU citizen. Amazing how many international jobs require that.
I don't want to settle. I know so many people with jobs they are unhappy with. Can I be 22 and fulfilled? I am hoping that's possible.
If I've learned anything about myself, it's that I have to get to the root of my emotions to feel even an ounce of ultimate sanity. There is always an underlying reason for panic, anxiety, doubt, etc. There are moments when I think my feelings are stemming from a certain event or idea, but when I really think about it, there is a different cause altogether. My fear at the moment, after some reflection, is due to the fact that I've never had to make a major decision (except to study abroad, but I had always known that was in the cards). Even the decision I made four years ago of which college to attend wasn't so much my decision as it was that of my parents due to the astronomical cost of higher education (and, although UMass wasn't my first choice at the time, it totally worked out and I couldn't imagine myself anywhere else).
I remember saying to my mom all those years ago, "I'm just glad the decision is made." I find that once I decide something and it's all over, I am excited to move forward. I just have to have a plan. Even if the aspects of that plan are unknown or scary, I am usually at peace when I simply have some idea of what's coming.
But right now, I don't even have a vague plan. And it is impossible to see how things will work themselves out. But I only hope that they will. I feel like I always end my posts on a positive note, even if it's all a facade and I am not positive at all. Today, I'm not going to do that. I'll admit that I feel just as panicky as I did a few hours ago. Heck, I think I'm even more anxiety-ridden now, because I just hashed out the root of my deepest fears and doubts for all the world to see.
If that rock did anything, it forced me to undergo self-reflection that I have been avoiding for the last few weeks or longer. I don't know what I want. I'm scared. I don't know which choice is the right one.
But every ripple has some sort of impact, seen or unseen. It may not become clear for a long time how my decisions will affect me. But one day I will look back at this time in my life and the questions will be answered. Hopefully.
Ultimately, each ripple leads somewhere. You just have to throw the rock.
I've been feeling guilty about my unintended hiatus from my writing regimen I had been so diligently undergoing at school. Something about winter break just flips my motivation switch off almost completely. But I opened my writing book today and looked at some of the suggested creative tasks for this week. One task made me scoff. "Find five pretty or interesting rocks. They can be small, constant reminders of our creative consciousness." Unsure as to how a rock would spark creativity, I set out for the beach anyway. It was unseasonably warm today, and I couldn't reject the opportunity for a calming stroll (in my white Converse sneakers, no less).
I picked up a few rocks, half-heartedly tossing them back when they failed to spark my interest. Not even sure what I was looking for, I pondered the thought. Was I trying to find a particularly colorful rock? A rock with one of those rings around it? A rock shaped like a heart?
And then I found the rock.
This rock looked relatively ordinary at first. But as I looked more closely, I noticed a feature unique to this rock - it had several very faint rings that created a sort of 3D ripple effect. They looked like the rings on a tree trunk. But since the rock is sloped, the rings gradually became larger, just like real ripples in the ocean.
My dad and I used to skip rocks at Sandy Neck beach. Or I should say, he would skip rocks. Mine tended to go kerplunk immediately, but his would bounce seven or eight times, spawning vibrations that seemed to reach out to the horizon. After a certain point, the ripples were no longer visible at the surface, but I knew that they were still plowing forth beneath the realm of normal vision.
When you throw a rock, the ripples extend in every direction. It's impossible to know where one starts and another ends. It's also impossible to measure (at least without scientific equipment) the effects of each ripple on the overall environment.
Which is why I am so scared right now. And partially frustrated. Because I want to make a ripple, a splash. But how?
How hard do I throw the rock? Do I toss it as far as I can, even if that means I'm unsure where I'll land? Do I go find a paying job that will allow me to travel? Do I go to grad school now, or later? What if I make the wrong decision? What is the "right" decision? Do I even know what I want?
It seems like every potential prospect or "big idea" I have comes with some looming hurdles attached. God, why is there ALWAYS a complicated Visa process? And then there are the internal hurdles, that little voice in my head that that feeds on my self-doubt. What if I'm not good enough for that? Where will I find the money for that program? Who does this affect? And how?
I was whining to mom tonight about my doubts. But mom, I don't know what my passions are. I know what makes me happy, but it doesn't fit any job description. I would like to see an ad for a job that will let me be adventurous and give me a paycheck. Oh, and I am not an EU citizen. Amazing how many international jobs require that.
I don't want to settle. I know so many people with jobs they are unhappy with. Can I be 22 and fulfilled? I am hoping that's possible.
If I've learned anything about myself, it's that I have to get to the root of my emotions to feel even an ounce of ultimate sanity. There is always an underlying reason for panic, anxiety, doubt, etc. There are moments when I think my feelings are stemming from a certain event or idea, but when I really think about it, there is a different cause altogether. My fear at the moment, after some reflection, is due to the fact that I've never had to make a major decision (except to study abroad, but I had always known that was in the cards). Even the decision I made four years ago of which college to attend wasn't so much my decision as it was that of my parents due to the astronomical cost of higher education (and, although UMass wasn't my first choice at the time, it totally worked out and I couldn't imagine myself anywhere else).
I remember saying to my mom all those years ago, "I'm just glad the decision is made." I find that once I decide something and it's all over, I am excited to move forward. I just have to have a plan. Even if the aspects of that plan are unknown or scary, I am usually at peace when I simply have some idea of what's coming.
But right now, I don't even have a vague plan. And it is impossible to see how things will work themselves out. But I only hope that they will. I feel like I always end my posts on a positive note, even if it's all a facade and I am not positive at all. Today, I'm not going to do that. I'll admit that I feel just as panicky as I did a few hours ago. Heck, I think I'm even more anxiety-ridden now, because I just hashed out the root of my deepest fears and doubts for all the world to see.
If that rock did anything, it forced me to undergo self-reflection that I have been avoiding for the last few weeks or longer. I don't know what I want. I'm scared. I don't know which choice is the right one.
But every ripple has some sort of impact, seen or unseen. It may not become clear for a long time how my decisions will affect me. But one day I will look back at this time in my life and the questions will be answered. Hopefully.
Ultimately, each ripple leads somewhere. You just have to throw the rock.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
L'Anno Scorso
Confession: I hate New Years Eve. One reason being that there is so much pressure (at least in my mind) to be doing something fun and wild and bracing all the crazies out there when what I would really rather be doing is sitting on the couch in my living room watching a "Once Upon a Time" marathon with Joey. Fortunately (or unfortunately), that's exactly what we did. (As luck would have it, we were both sick).
I also don't really like New Years Eve because there is a weird sense that you will never get that year back. Some years (ie. 2010) I was more than happy to see twelve months go. (After talking to many people who agree with me on this fact, I have come to the conclusion that 2010 was cursed). But 2012 is one year that I would actually be happy to begin again.
A year ago today, I was sitting on a chair in Logan Airport with my mother. Not sure who was more terrified as the minutes ticked by. Even the bookstore, which would normally give me hours of entertainment, no longer proved interesting or distracting.
Sometimes, I wish that I could go and tell my past self to just stop worrying. Then, instead of freaking out the whole ride to Italy, I would have at least known everything would be okay as I was hurtling into the unknown. Such a power would leave me considerably less anxious in my daily life. But alas, life does not work that way.
But that was a lot of what my study abroad journey was about. Emotions. Not knowing. Feeling things out. I do not remember exactly what I was drinking while I waited for my flight on that day one year ago, but I do remember my anxiety and that glimmer of hopefulness that everything would be okay.
They gave us this packet on our first night in Perugia. In it was a sheet with typed advice from past students. I half-heartedly skimmed it on the first night, but found myself scoffing a bit. I was so homesick, and had trouble believing that "Your best weekends will be the ones spent in this city" or "Get to know everyone, the staff, locals...they will become amazing friends to you" or "You'll grow in ways you can't even imagine in this moment." I was a skeptic, and yet...every one of these statements proved true for me in the end.
I guess the lesson is...what do I know?
There is a quote that says something like, "People won't remember everything you do for them, but they will remember how you made them feel." Or something like that. If I applied this statement to my experience, I would modify it to "You won't remember every site or even every moment. But you will remember the emotions involved and the thrill of transformation."
For example, my first weekend trip was to Rome about three weeks into the semester. The Colosseum was awesome, but I don't find myself remembering too much about it. But I do remember the silent beauty of the Trevi Fountain, sprinting towards it when we got a glimpse of the lights and trickling water from around the corner. We didn't mean to stumble across it in that moment. But we did. And that midnight excursion proved even more enchanting when we found an abandoned piazza with its own fountain. We just ran around and basked in the magic that comes with being in a space that has seen so many ages come and go. I had never felt so free.
Putting Italy aside, I remember the Tower of London and the hilarious Beefeaters I met on my trip to England. I remember the Tube and "mind the gap" and all of that. But when I think of London, what really comes to mind is independence. It was my first time traveling completely alone, hotel and all. And it was thrilling. I only had to answer to myself.
I don't remember exactly what I did that last night in Perugia, but I do remember just how painful some of the goodbyes proved to be. And yet I didn't mind the pain so much, because with the pain came the acknowledgement that I had met people special enough to warrant such sadness. And the warm feelings come back every time I skype my roommates, or receive a message from my Italian family, or read an email from an Umbra friend.
If the last year has taught me anything, it is that I want life be an adventure. Soon I'll have a "real" job and be dealing with life after college, but I never want to lose the sense of wonder of those four months.
I started writing in this way to try to make sense of my journey. If I've learned anything else, it is that words don't do such an experience justice! Over the last year, I have tried to paint a picture of some kind. But the truth is, the painting isn't finished yet. The tremendously positive effects of my travels continue to become evident even now. Last January 5th, I was wondering how my 2013 self would be looking back at 2012. Today, I am pleased to say that I view these twelve months with only the most grateful heart. And I didn't need my future self to tell me that.
I also don't really like New Years Eve because there is a weird sense that you will never get that year back. Some years (ie. 2010) I was more than happy to see twelve months go. (After talking to many people who agree with me on this fact, I have come to the conclusion that 2010 was cursed). But 2012 is one year that I would actually be happy to begin again.
A year ago today, I was sitting on a chair in Logan Airport with my mother. Not sure who was more terrified as the minutes ticked by. Even the bookstore, which would normally give me hours of entertainment, no longer proved interesting or distracting.
Sometimes, I wish that I could go and tell my past self to just stop worrying. Then, instead of freaking out the whole ride to Italy, I would have at least known everything would be okay as I was hurtling into the unknown. Such a power would leave me considerably less anxious in my daily life. But alas, life does not work that way.
But that was a lot of what my study abroad journey was about. Emotions. Not knowing. Feeling things out. I do not remember exactly what I was drinking while I waited for my flight on that day one year ago, but I do remember my anxiety and that glimmer of hopefulness that everything would be okay.
They gave us this packet on our first night in Perugia. In it was a sheet with typed advice from past students. I half-heartedly skimmed it on the first night, but found myself scoffing a bit. I was so homesick, and had trouble believing that "Your best weekends will be the ones spent in this city" or "Get to know everyone, the staff, locals...they will become amazing friends to you" or "You'll grow in ways you can't even imagine in this moment." I was a skeptic, and yet...every one of these statements proved true for me in the end.
I guess the lesson is...what do I know?
There is a quote that says something like, "People won't remember everything you do for them, but they will remember how you made them feel." Or something like that. If I applied this statement to my experience, I would modify it to "You won't remember every site or even every moment. But you will remember the emotions involved and the thrill of transformation."
For example, my first weekend trip was to Rome about three weeks into the semester. The Colosseum was awesome, but I don't find myself remembering too much about it. But I do remember the silent beauty of the Trevi Fountain, sprinting towards it when we got a glimpse of the lights and trickling water from around the corner. We didn't mean to stumble across it in that moment. But we did. And that midnight excursion proved even more enchanting when we found an abandoned piazza with its own fountain. We just ran around and basked in the magic that comes with being in a space that has seen so many ages come and go. I had never felt so free.
Putting Italy aside, I remember the Tower of London and the hilarious Beefeaters I met on my trip to England. I remember the Tube and "mind the gap" and all of that. But when I think of London, what really comes to mind is independence. It was my first time traveling completely alone, hotel and all. And it was thrilling. I only had to answer to myself.
I don't remember exactly what I did that last night in Perugia, but I do remember just how painful some of the goodbyes proved to be. And yet I didn't mind the pain so much, because with the pain came the acknowledgement that I had met people special enough to warrant such sadness. And the warm feelings come back every time I skype my roommates, or receive a message from my Italian family, or read an email from an Umbra friend.
If the last year has taught me anything, it is that I want life be an adventure. Soon I'll have a "real" job and be dealing with life after college, but I never want to lose the sense of wonder of those four months.
I started writing in this way to try to make sense of my journey. If I've learned anything else, it is that words don't do such an experience justice! Over the last year, I have tried to paint a picture of some kind. But the truth is, the painting isn't finished yet. The tremendously positive effects of my travels continue to become evident even now. Last January 5th, I was wondering how my 2013 self would be looking back at 2012. Today, I am pleased to say that I view these twelve months with only the most grateful heart. And I didn't need my future self to tell me that.
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