Something I forgot to mention in my last post was that after the car accident, I was sitting in my car, just bawling my eyes and shaking. A few minutes later, I heard a knock on my window, and this guy who could not have been any older than I am had pulled over (keep in mind, this is on an extraordinarily busy highway in the middle of a monsoon-like rainstorm) to make sure that I was okay. He told me he wanted to make sure I was conscious and uninjured, because he had been in a car accident a few weeks ago, and somebody random had done the same for him. He and his friend stayed with me until the police came. I am very grateful for their kindness, and hope to repay the favor one day.
This whole scenario has me thinking about kindness, and how much we reach out, or don't reach out, to not only strangers, but the people we already have in our lives. A number of times I have been called silly or stupid for, as one detractor put it, "believing the world is all butterflies and rainbows." I have also been asked what planet I live on (more than once) when I talk about how I do believe people are wonderful and kind, and that we just have to give them a chance to show that part of themselves.
I have been so extraordinarily lucky in my lifetime to have experienced the kindness of strangers, friends, acquaintances, and family. In fact, after my car accident, I was pretty shaken up, so after driving down again the next day (I was attending a 3 day conference), I asked my cousin Ali if I could stay overnight at her house, which was only 10 minutes away from the conference center, as opposed to driving back to my house, which was over an hour away. Her and her husband James welcomed me into their home for the night, and I am so happy and grateful that they did.
One thing I couldn't help but notice with the fact that this stranger helped me by staying with me in the middle of this rainstorm, is that every time my car has caused me some sort of trouble in NJ, somebody has always stopped to help me, but in LA, every single time my car caused me trouble (which was, I need to point out, often), not a single stranger stopped to help me, albeit, my friends and sorority sisters did help transport me when I needed it. I try to pay that back as well.
I have more stories of the kindness of strangers, including the kindness of strangers abroad, but before I embark on that post, tell me, dear readers, what are your experiences with the kindness of strangers? Have you ever stopped for somebody you didn't know?
I hope your weekend is going well!
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Fear
I cannot stop crying right now. I was in a car accident tonight that was extraordinarily scary, where I thought I was going to die, and I keep randomly bursting into tears. I think this is how I am coping. Perhaps, if/when I get into the Peace Corps, I will be glad to be rid of driving for two years, as opposed to being upset about it. I love to drive, but after tonight, I am extraordinarily shaken up.
I think the funniest thing about this accident tonight is the fact that my life didn't flash before my eyes; my future evaporated before my eyes. It was like "medical school? *poof*! extensive traveling/Peace Corps? *poof*! a chance at a family? *poof*! being a success? *poof*!" I can't be the only one this has happened to, right?
It was startling, and I think it says a lot about where my focus is. Always on the future, always ready to plan something new. My biggest fear is honestly not being able to accomplish everything that I wish to accomplish in my lifetime, of dropping out of school, of messing up my life, of disappointing myself and the people around me, of never being able to travel outside of the country for an extended period of time again.
I look to travel to keep me sane, and yet I also fear for the worst when I do travel. It is an interesting way to look at life.
I think the funniest thing about this accident tonight is the fact that my life didn't flash before my eyes; my future evaporated before my eyes. It was like "medical school? *poof*! extensive traveling/Peace Corps? *poof*! a chance at a family? *poof*! being a success? *poof*!" I can't be the only one this has happened to, right?
It was startling, and I think it says a lot about where my focus is. Always on the future, always ready to plan something new. My biggest fear is honestly not being able to accomplish everything that I wish to accomplish in my lifetime, of dropping out of school, of messing up my life, of disappointing myself and the people around me, of never being able to travel outside of the country for an extended period of time again.
I look to travel to keep me sane, and yet I also fear for the worst when I do travel. It is an interesting way to look at life.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Rejection
Sorry for the 3 month gap. Life got a little sad, and a little hectic. I promise I will update y'all on the Peace Corps stuff, but first, I would like to muse about rejection. Yes, this is supposed to be a travel blog, but I will tie it all together, I promise.
The more I get used to being rejected (by organizations, potential partners, even longtime friends), the more I realize perhaps a traveling life is for me. Rejection hurts. It is something that a person needs to get used to. It is something that makes me, personally, question my core values. What did I do wrong? Did I say the wrong thing? Have all the activities I have been doing for the past -forever- amounted to nothing? Should I learn to keep my mouth shut? Can I blame my mental illness? Can I blame the people who caused my mental illness? Why am I even thinking like this? Why can't I just get over it? And so on and so forth into a spiral of anxiety. Welcome to my brain.
Traveling, first and foremost, lets me step outside of this incessant naval-gazing. I like to let the experience, the culture, the language, the people, wash over me. It really brings me outside of myself, forces me to re-examine the way I think through things and the way I see the world and the way I see how people relate to each other. It also makes me re-examine my place in life. Why complain when I have so much?
Traveling also lets me run away. I'm going to be up front here. Sometimes, I like the thrill of a new place and new people and new food and new everything. I'm not really one to settle in one place. Everywhere I go, I fall in love. (Seriously, ask any of my friends. I came back from TZ, "OMG I'm gonna move there." I came back from IRL, "OMG I'm gonna move there." I came back from Nicaragua, "OMG I have to go again, for much longer, maybe for a year.")
Having to move back to the place that I "escaped" from was so disappointing. Don't get me wrong, I love my family and all of my friends in NJ, but I absolutely love LA. I know LA. I'm comfortable there. And now I'm itching to travel again. Being stuck in NJ is a major downer.
If I didn't have student loans to pay off, I would probably take what little money I have and just go backpacking somewhere. Or get a job on a cruise ship. Or learn how to sail, and then work on boats, sailing around the world. Or just WWOOF it up. Or, get a visa, go to Europe or Asia or Africa or South America or Australia, and work while there, little jobs, to have money to just get by. I hate being tied to one place by financial obligations.
So, back to the Peace Corps. The reason it has taken me so long to write this post is because of some majorly disappointing news I got while on my train trip (which, I just realized, I don't think I have detailed for you all! I will! Later!). Basically, because of a misread on the paperwork, instead of lifting my deferment or keeping it as is, they extended it until June. Which means, I probably won't be leaving until 2013, if I qualify for service at all. Hence, this post on rejection.
So, until then, I will be doing as many things as possible to keep myself busy. In fact, these past few months have FLOWN by, and in that time, I have decided to take some pre-med classes, see how I do, and, if I enjoy them and do well in them, pursue medical school.
It's a cliche, but I will close with it anyway. When one door closes, another one opens. Although in my case, I guess I can say I just don't have the key to the door yet, so I'm looking out the window.
I wish everyone a wonderful December! (I will write again before January. promise!)
The more I get used to being rejected (by organizations, potential partners, even longtime friends), the more I realize perhaps a traveling life is for me. Rejection hurts. It is something that a person needs to get used to. It is something that makes me, personally, question my core values. What did I do wrong? Did I say the wrong thing? Have all the activities I have been doing for the past -forever- amounted to nothing? Should I learn to keep my mouth shut? Can I blame my mental illness? Can I blame the people who caused my mental illness? Why am I even thinking like this? Why can't I just get over it? And so on and so forth into a spiral of anxiety. Welcome to my brain.
Traveling, first and foremost, lets me step outside of this incessant naval-gazing. I like to let the experience, the culture, the language, the people, wash over me. It really brings me outside of myself, forces me to re-examine the way I think through things and the way I see the world and the way I see how people relate to each other. It also makes me re-examine my place in life. Why complain when I have so much?
Traveling also lets me run away. I'm going to be up front here. Sometimes, I like the thrill of a new place and new people and new food and new everything. I'm not really one to settle in one place. Everywhere I go, I fall in love. (Seriously, ask any of my friends. I came back from TZ, "OMG I'm gonna move there." I came back from IRL, "OMG I'm gonna move there." I came back from Nicaragua, "OMG I have to go again, for much longer, maybe for a year.")
Having to move back to the place that I "escaped" from was so disappointing. Don't get me wrong, I love my family and all of my friends in NJ, but I absolutely love LA. I know LA. I'm comfortable there. And now I'm itching to travel again. Being stuck in NJ is a major downer.
If I didn't have student loans to pay off, I would probably take what little money I have and just go backpacking somewhere. Or get a job on a cruise ship. Or learn how to sail, and then work on boats, sailing around the world. Or just WWOOF it up. Or, get a visa, go to Europe or Asia or Africa or South America or Australia, and work while there, little jobs, to have money to just get by. I hate being tied to one place by financial obligations.
So, back to the Peace Corps. The reason it has taken me so long to write this post is because of some majorly disappointing news I got while on my train trip (which, I just realized, I don't think I have detailed for you all! I will! Later!). Basically, because of a misread on the paperwork, instead of lifting my deferment or keeping it as is, they extended it until June. Which means, I probably won't be leaving until 2013, if I qualify for service at all. Hence, this post on rejection.
So, until then, I will be doing as many things as possible to keep myself busy. In fact, these past few months have FLOWN by, and in that time, I have decided to take some pre-med classes, see how I do, and, if I enjoy them and do well in them, pursue medical school.
It's a cliche, but I will close with it anyway. When one door closes, another one opens. Although in my case, I guess I can say I just don't have the key to the door yet, so I'm looking out the window.
I wish everyone a wonderful December! (I will write again before January. promise!)
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Train to Chicago!
Hello everyone!
After an adventurous 48 hours on an Amtrak train, my friend Shaimaa and I made it to Chicago on Tuesday. We leave for another 27 hour train ride to New Jersey later today. I'm going to be sick of trains after all of this!
But in all honesty, it has been quite a ride, and quite a fun adventure for two 20-somethings. The train ride itself provided enough fodder for one blog post!
First, before even getting on the train, checking my bags turned into an adventure. It took me half an hour to get everything settled and paid for, and luckily, the train people are so much nicer than the airline people, because the first 3 bags are free, and then each bag after that costs $10, with up to three additional bags. This is a great policy for somebody who is moving her entire life from one coast to another! Well, in the process of checking them, I had to rearrange one piece of luggage (only one! I have definitely been stuck in airports before doing the juggling-weight-between-bags thing, and it is never fun), and the rest barely made it the under 50 lb range, but that was okay. The biggest thing was that I forgot to label the bags... all of them! And my grandparents had specifically reminded me to do so. Luckily, the woman gave me some tags, and everything worked out pleasantly, although the people behind me in line sure got a wonderful show! I even had somebody comment on it later when I was waiting in the Starbucks that is located within Union Station in Los Angeles. Life is funny.
Second, the train itself was causing a few problems throughout the trip. The train was 20 minutes late arriving to the station, which really wasn't too big of a deal to me, but then, about 20 hours into the trip, in Albuquerque, NM, we had to wait over an hour and a half to have the dining car removed from the train because there were some technical difficulties with it. The bright side of that is everybody received free breakfast, lunch, and dinner until the train arrived in Chicago because they had no way of properly feeding us.
Third, the people on the train were fascinating. There was a guy who kept talking about being a missionary in Mexico, and the police suspected him of being a drug smuggler, and the line "You can check my bags all you want, but all you will find is Bibles," may have been said by this gentleman at one point. He then detailed to a guy sitting near us how he illegally smoked cigarettes on the train by illegally cracking open a window so nobody is the wiser. The two men sitting behind Shaimaa and I also spent a good hour and a half bashing California. The conductor was pretty funny, always making silly remarks are engaging us in conversation or banter, so that made the time pass pretty quickly. Overall, the staff on the train were quirky, memorable, and altogether made the trip a lot more fun!
The worst part about the train was trying to sleep. It was uncomfortable the first night, where we were each confined to a seat, but the second night, I managed to score the set of seats in front of us, so we each had our own two seats to ourselves, and we slept much better. The seats went back by a 45 degree angle and had leg rests under the seat that came up with a button, making it almost like a bed. It was pretty cool and definitely a good thing when you are confined to a train for so long.
The best part of the ride, by far, was the scenery. We traveled from Los Angeles to Chicago, so on the way we hit California, Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, Kansas, Missouri, Iowa, and Illinois. There were so many different types of nature that floated past the windows of the train car as we made our journey: tall trees, desert lands with no trees, exposed rock on cliff faces, mountains, the Missouri River, the Mississippi River, and lots of rain. It was rather interesting to take a train through what are usually called the "fly-over states," and if I have the time, I think it would be fun to do again.
Yesterday, we explored almost everything the both of us wanted to see in Chicago. We are exhausted! While on the train I will type up on entry, and I will post it when I get home, with pictures.
Also, keep your eye out for my new "Picture of the Month" feature, starting this month.
Hope everybody has an absolutely wonderful weekend!
After an adventurous 48 hours on an Amtrak train, my friend Shaimaa and I made it to Chicago on Tuesday. We leave for another 27 hour train ride to New Jersey later today. I'm going to be sick of trains after all of this!
But in all honesty, it has been quite a ride, and quite a fun adventure for two 20-somethings. The train ride itself provided enough fodder for one blog post!
First, before even getting on the train, checking my bags turned into an adventure. It took me half an hour to get everything settled and paid for, and luckily, the train people are so much nicer than the airline people, because the first 3 bags are free, and then each bag after that costs $10, with up to three additional bags. This is a great policy for somebody who is moving her entire life from one coast to another! Well, in the process of checking them, I had to rearrange one piece of luggage (only one! I have definitely been stuck in airports before doing the juggling-weight-between-bags thing, and it is never fun), and the rest barely made it the under 50 lb range, but that was okay. The biggest thing was that I forgot to label the bags... all of them! And my grandparents had specifically reminded me to do so. Luckily, the woman gave me some tags, and everything worked out pleasantly, although the people behind me in line sure got a wonderful show! I even had somebody comment on it later when I was waiting in the Starbucks that is located within Union Station in Los Angeles. Life is funny.
Second, the train itself was causing a few problems throughout the trip. The train was 20 minutes late arriving to the station, which really wasn't too big of a deal to me, but then, about 20 hours into the trip, in Albuquerque, NM, we had to wait over an hour and a half to have the dining car removed from the train because there were some technical difficulties with it. The bright side of that is everybody received free breakfast, lunch, and dinner until the train arrived in Chicago because they had no way of properly feeding us.
Third, the people on the train were fascinating. There was a guy who kept talking about being a missionary in Mexico, and the police suspected him of being a drug smuggler, and the line "You can check my bags all you want, but all you will find is Bibles," may have been said by this gentleman at one point. He then detailed to a guy sitting near us how he illegally smoked cigarettes on the train by illegally cracking open a window so nobody is the wiser. The two men sitting behind Shaimaa and I also spent a good hour and a half bashing California. The conductor was pretty funny, always making silly remarks are engaging us in conversation or banter, so that made the time pass pretty quickly. Overall, the staff on the train were quirky, memorable, and altogether made the trip a lot more fun!
The worst part about the train was trying to sleep. It was uncomfortable the first night, where we were each confined to a seat, but the second night, I managed to score the set of seats in front of us, so we each had our own two seats to ourselves, and we slept much better. The seats went back by a 45 degree angle and had leg rests under the seat that came up with a button, making it almost like a bed. It was pretty cool and definitely a good thing when you are confined to a train for so long.
The best part of the ride, by far, was the scenery. We traveled from Los Angeles to Chicago, so on the way we hit California, Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, Kansas, Missouri, Iowa, and Illinois. There were so many different types of nature that floated past the windows of the train car as we made our journey: tall trees, desert lands with no trees, exposed rock on cliff faces, mountains, the Missouri River, the Mississippi River, and lots of rain. It was rather interesting to take a train through what are usually called the "fly-over states," and if I have the time, I think it would be fun to do again.
Yesterday, we explored almost everything the both of us wanted to see in Chicago. We are exhausted! While on the train I will type up on entry, and I will post it when I get home, with pictures.
Also, keep your eye out for my new "Picture of the Month" feature, starting this month.
Hope everybody has an absolutely wonderful weekend!
Friday, August 26, 2011
Question for all of you!
Would you like a monthly feature where I upload a picture from my travels, and then explain the story behind the image? This has the potential to be pretty awesome, but I'm not sure if enough people have interest (not that a lot of people follow this blog anyway).
So let me know in the comments! Thanks!
So let me know in the comments! Thanks!
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Moving On...
Two posts in two days?! Can it be?!
Actually, yes. I have a lot on my mind, and a lot planned for the next few weeks. What is a nice way to say that I am a really anxious person? But honestly, I'm always looking toward the future, always planning, always crossing my fingers that things will work out, willing things to fall into place just the way I want them... this is not conducive at all to the kind of lifestyle I enjoy, or want to live.
When I am thinking about it, I can live in the moment. Every other time, though, I'm always thinking, thinking, thinking about the future. About my journey through life. About money. About paying back student loans. About finding a job. About the people in my life, and if they are proud of me. If I am okay with my actions... and on and on and on. It is crazy-making sometimes.
Anyway, I'm writing this because I realized it all at once. It hit me as I was going through notebooks from my freshman year of college. First, I can't believe that was four years ago. Whoa. But yes, I came across a note that just stopped in the middle of the story, and I was so anxious, racking my brain, trying to remember this insignificant moment so that I could satisfy the resolution of the story in my imagination. Not such luck. I'm not the kind of person who looks for signs, but the realization just dawned on me that, hey, this is what my life is right now. I'm in the middle, I can choose how to end it and where it goes and how well I live it and tell it. It was a very writer-y life realization, but a big one nonetheless.
So yes, I am moving across the country. I am leaving in 4 days and I am downright, absolutely, completely, and utterly terrified. I do not want to leave Southern California in the slightest. I'm focusing on my plans for New Jersey, so that I don't have to think about actually living in NJ. Yes, I love my family and my friends that I left behind four years ago, and have sporadically visited since then, but I just feel right in SoCal, like I never, ever felt right in Bergen County.
It's funny, because it was the same feeling leaving Ireland. I didn't want to, because it just felt like the right place to be for me... but I did leave, and it ended up being a great year, for the most part. I'm excited for what NJ will bring, but I don't know. I think, for the most part, I will just be counting down the days as more and more Peace Corps information comes in. I think that's why I'm taking 4 classes at 2 different colleges, and interning in NYC, and hopefully (if this job I heard back on yesterday works out) working in NY state; doing all of this, so I can make the time go by faster. It was the reason I volunteered this summer; I am unbearable to even myself when I have my mind completely set on something that is out of my control. Thinking about it all day, with nothing else to occupy me, it's crazy-making.
So this blog ended up being more personal than anything else, but hey, hopefully a few people can relate to all of these wonderful feelings associated with traveling.
Have a great weekend!
Actually, yes. I have a lot on my mind, and a lot planned for the next few weeks. What is a nice way to say that I am a really anxious person? But honestly, I'm always looking toward the future, always planning, always crossing my fingers that things will work out, willing things to fall into place just the way I want them... this is not conducive at all to the kind of lifestyle I enjoy, or want to live.
When I am thinking about it, I can live in the moment. Every other time, though, I'm always thinking, thinking, thinking about the future. About my journey through life. About money. About paying back student loans. About finding a job. About the people in my life, and if they are proud of me. If I am okay with my actions... and on and on and on. It is crazy-making sometimes.
Anyway, I'm writing this because I realized it all at once. It hit me as I was going through notebooks from my freshman year of college. First, I can't believe that was four years ago. Whoa. But yes, I came across a note that just stopped in the middle of the story, and I was so anxious, racking my brain, trying to remember this insignificant moment so that I could satisfy the resolution of the story in my imagination. Not such luck. I'm not the kind of person who looks for signs, but the realization just dawned on me that, hey, this is what my life is right now. I'm in the middle, I can choose how to end it and where it goes and how well I live it and tell it. It was a very writer-y life realization, but a big one nonetheless.
So yes, I am moving across the country. I am leaving in 4 days and I am downright, absolutely, completely, and utterly terrified. I do not want to leave Southern California in the slightest. I'm focusing on my plans for New Jersey, so that I don't have to think about actually living in NJ. Yes, I love my family and my friends that I left behind four years ago, and have sporadically visited since then, but I just feel right in SoCal, like I never, ever felt right in Bergen County.
It's funny, because it was the same feeling leaving Ireland. I didn't want to, because it just felt like the right place to be for me... but I did leave, and it ended up being a great year, for the most part. I'm excited for what NJ will bring, but I don't know. I think, for the most part, I will just be counting down the days as more and more Peace Corps information comes in. I think that's why I'm taking 4 classes at 2 different colleges, and interning in NYC, and hopefully (if this job I heard back on yesterday works out) working in NY state; doing all of this, so I can make the time go by faster. It was the reason I volunteered this summer; I am unbearable to even myself when I have my mind completely set on something that is out of my control. Thinking about it all day, with nothing else to occupy me, it's crazy-making.
So this blog ended up being more personal than anything else, but hey, hopefully a few people can relate to all of these wonderful feelings associated with traveling.
Have a great weekend!
Peace Corps Application Process = Terrifying
Going through the entire Peace Corps application process is terrifying, exhilarating, and a true test of patience. In the past month, I have read quite a few blogs where things didn't work out well for Nominees or Invitees.
One guy, who made it all the way to his placement, was sent home after 22 days because of a rumor. A woman who was nominated twice just found out that she doesn't have enough experience in both of the areas that she was qualified for. A couple, 2 weeks before they were supposed to leave, had their invitation revoked because the husband accidentally forgot to include a small piece of medical information. A woman who had been serving in the Peace Corps for a few months was moved to a new location because of a tragedy, was only there for 3 months, decided that it just wasn't for her, left, reapplied to be put back where she originally was, and was denied.
And then there are those who get all the way through the process, only to drop out within the first few months. This process can take months upon months, sometimes years, and some people decide to get the invitation, accept, and then one or two weeks beforehand, decide that they don't want to do it. Or they can't get in to the service, or the people around them aren't cooperating or any number of things.
I'm not saying that these people are not entitled to leave at any point, especially if they are in a difficult position for themselves, and it does take a lot of courage to actually leave instead of coasting through however many months are left until their COS, but it is still frustrating as an applicant who just wants to be invited.
Sorry for just an entry full of complaint. Next week, I am going on a cross-country train adventure, so I should have some awesome stories to post after that. Until then, have a great weekend!
One guy, who made it all the way to his placement, was sent home after 22 days because of a rumor. A woman who was nominated twice just found out that she doesn't have enough experience in both of the areas that she was qualified for. A couple, 2 weeks before they were supposed to leave, had their invitation revoked because the husband accidentally forgot to include a small piece of medical information. A woman who had been serving in the Peace Corps for a few months was moved to a new location because of a tragedy, was only there for 3 months, decided that it just wasn't for her, left, reapplied to be put back where she originally was, and was denied.
And then there are those who get all the way through the process, only to drop out within the first few months. This process can take months upon months, sometimes years, and some people decide to get the invitation, accept, and then one or two weeks beforehand, decide that they don't want to do it. Or they can't get in to the service, or the people around them aren't cooperating or any number of things.
I'm not saying that these people are not entitled to leave at any point, especially if they are in a difficult position for themselves, and it does take a lot of courage to actually leave instead of coasting through however many months are left until their COS, but it is still frustrating as an applicant who just wants to be invited.
Sorry for just an entry full of complaint. Next week, I am going on a cross-country train adventure, so I should have some awesome stories to post after that. Until then, have a great weekend!
Friday, August 19, 2011
PC Timeline Update
Hey everyone! If any of you are remotely interested in how my Peace Corps journey is going, I have updated my timeline. Just click here and you can look and read to your heart's content.
My timeline page consists of a short timeline of the major things, a (much) longer timeline of all the little steps I have taken so far, and a summary of the cost to me so far. Feel free to comment (or not).
Have a great weekend!
My timeline page consists of a short timeline of the major things, a (much) longer timeline of all the little steps I have taken so far, and a summary of the cost to me so far. Feel free to comment (or not).
Have a great weekend!
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Sorry! And A Great Documentary
I know I have been away for a while, but I have been trying to get my life together for the big move home to the other side of the country! I promise I will write more before the end of the month, however, I'm leaving you with a documentary about Fistulas that aired on PBS. It's under an hour long, very informative, and is an explanation of one of the reasons why I would like to be a midwife in developing countries.
It is called "A Walk to Beautiful" and it is a great look at one woman's journey.
I first heart about fistulas this past January when reading "Half the Sky." I was both surprised and appalled that they are rarely treated and instead many women are left to die because of the stench. I was also surprised that I had not heard of them before then, but you live and you learn!
I hope you all have a wonderful rest of the week!
PS - Peace Corps Update: I'm sending my appeal paperwork by the end of this week. Wish me luck!
It is called "A Walk to Beautiful" and it is a great look at one woman's journey.
I first heart about fistulas this past January when reading "Half the Sky." I was both surprised and appalled that they are rarely treated and instead many women are left to die because of the stench. I was also surprised that I had not heard of them before then, but you live and you learn!
I hope you all have a wonderful rest of the week!
PS - Peace Corps Update: I'm sending my appeal paperwork by the end of this week. Wish me luck!
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Travel Injuries
I am an expert on injuries. I have been broken, sprained, concussed, burned, cut, and caught. I have never broken my nose, but I have been hit so hard on multiple occasions that it bleeds. I broke my foot playing basketball in inappropriate shoes. I tore a ligament in my knee when I was younger when my soccer cleat got stuck in the mud. I got my head stuck between two bars of a railing when I was 3-ish (you can blame my Dumbo ears). We had to call 911 when I got my knee stuck between two planks on a swing set when I was in middle school. I have slipped down wooden stairs from the top step in socks with a baby in arms. I am clumsy, but I try to take precautions as best as I can.
My worst travel injury by far has to be the one that I am still recovering from. This story is so cool that it does not sound real, but this is 100% fact.
When I was in Tanzania, we had a one week break towards the middle of our 2 months of teaching/volunteering. It was at this point that we were allowed to travel or just rest or whatever we wanted to do. A group of 8 of us took the first part of our week off and traveled to Uganda to raft in the Nile River. (Yes, the one that is located in Egypt, but also flows through Sudan [and at this point in time, South Sudan] and Uganda). I tend to be adventurous, but I have never been rafting before, unless you count drifting lazily down the Delaware River (which I don’t).
It was pretty intense for somebody who has no experience rafting, however, it was absolutely amazing, and really, the best choice between it and the alternative, a safari. I can safari when I’m old!
As we are moving along, we come to a pretty intense rapid with a 7-foot drop on one side and a nice way down on the other. Our guide asks us if we want to take the nice way down or the other way down. Obviously, we are all young and reckless (not really), so we decide to try for the 7 foot drop. Our guide specifically tells us how to handle this drop, by tucking our heads once we start to go over so we don’t hurt ourselves.
I tucked my head, but when we dropped, it went up and straight into the helmet of the girl in front of me. I blacked out for a few seconds and my face hurt, a lot. I thought I broke my cheek, the pain was so intense, but I seemed fine after some Advil. I didn’t really think about much until I realize the entire right side of my face became really sensitive to touch and I started getting headaches.
I had to go see a doctor and apparently I was concussed and didn’t realize it, and because of the impact, I have some nerve damage that is still there, although not as bad as it used to be. At one point, I couldn’t even brush my hair on that side. Now, it just a small portion of how much it used to be damaged, and it no longer hurts, just tingles, which I presume to mean that it is almost done healing.
Here’s to hoping!
So tell me, what is your worst travel injury? Or your worst travel illness?
My worst travel injury by far has to be the one that I am still recovering from. This story is so cool that it does not sound real, but this is 100% fact.
When I was in Tanzania, we had a one week break towards the middle of our 2 months of teaching/volunteering. It was at this point that we were allowed to travel or just rest or whatever we wanted to do. A group of 8 of us took the first part of our week off and traveled to Uganda to raft in the Nile River. (Yes, the one that is located in Egypt, but also flows through Sudan [and at this point in time, South Sudan] and Uganda). I tend to be adventurous, but I have never been rafting before, unless you count drifting lazily down the Delaware River (which I don’t).
It was pretty intense for somebody who has no experience rafting, however, it was absolutely amazing, and really, the best choice between it and the alternative, a safari. I can safari when I’m old!
As we are moving along, we come to a pretty intense rapid with a 7-foot drop on one side and a nice way down on the other. Our guide asks us if we want to take the nice way down or the other way down. Obviously, we are all young and reckless (not really), so we decide to try for the 7 foot drop. Our guide specifically tells us how to handle this drop, by tucking our heads once we start to go over so we don’t hurt ourselves.
I tucked my head, but when we dropped, it went up and straight into the helmet of the girl in front of me. I blacked out for a few seconds and my face hurt, a lot. I thought I broke my cheek, the pain was so intense, but I seemed fine after some Advil. I didn’t really think about much until I realize the entire right side of my face became really sensitive to touch and I started getting headaches.
I had to go see a doctor and apparently I was concussed and didn’t realize it, and because of the impact, I have some nerve damage that is still there, although not as bad as it used to be. At one point, I couldn’t even brush my hair on that side. Now, it just a small portion of how much it used to be damaged, and it no longer hurts, just tingles, which I presume to mean that it is almost done healing.
Here’s to hoping!
So tell me, what is your worst travel injury? Or your worst travel illness?
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
I Promise
I will update soon. I have just been a little busy.
Expect an update in the next 2 or 3 days, as I am taking a mini-vacation from my summer vacation.
I am in San Diego at the moment, with my grandparents. They are lovely. Life is lovely.
Expect an update in the next 2 or 3 days, as I am taking a mini-vacation from my summer vacation.
I am in San Diego at the moment, with my grandparents. They are lovely. Life is lovely.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Peace Corps Update
So, I'm Medically Deferred until December. This means that I will most definitely not be leaving in January, however, by some miracle, I may make it to my original original nomination of April. Maybe.
The reason I have been hesitant to write before now is because of this. This is a really important event, and I didn't want to update anything until I revealed this, however, it didn't really sink in until today. I received the letter on Thursday. I knew that I was not cleared the moment I saw it, because it was in a normal-sized envelope, rather than in a large, thick envelope, which usually indicates the Medical Kit.
I am deferred because the last time I saw a therapist was in December, which was for various reasons, most having to do with the amount of time I commit myself to without thinking about sleep or alone time or studying for finals.
I am so upset by this news that, at this point, thinking about it makes me queasy. I realize that it is a very good policy for the Peace Corps to have, not to send anybody until it has been a year since their last whatever diagnosis, however, it is just sad for me because I wasn't supposed to leave until January anyway, but this is more than definitely going to push back the departure date, since I still have to get the forms and make the appointments and send in the forms and make sure that I did them right.
I spent a lot of time this weekend crying. I am not even going to lie. I am doing my best to look on the bright side of things but at this moment I feel like a failure. I internalize things too much. However, I am not going to let a deferment of five months deter me. This has been my dream for a long time, what is a wait of another few months?
It means I get to stay with my family longer, make a little bit more money to help pay off my loans, and take more classes to see what I could possibly do. I was looking into Master's International programs, however, I would really like to enter the Peace Corps as soon as possible, rather than put it off for more schooling.
The Peace Corps gives you sixty days to repeal a deferral. At this point, I'm not sure if I want to, because it is such a short deferral and I do not want to make more work for them... However, I would really like to get all of my medical forms done as soon as I can, especially because some of my doctors are in LA, and I am leaving for good at the end of August, which is going to make getting paperwork a lot more difficult.
Sometimes, I wish I had lied on the original medical forms. But I know that's wrong. We'll see what happens...
Keep your fingers crossed for me!
The reason I have been hesitant to write before now is because of this. This is a really important event, and I didn't want to update anything until I revealed this, however, it didn't really sink in until today. I received the letter on Thursday. I knew that I was not cleared the moment I saw it, because it was in a normal-sized envelope, rather than in a large, thick envelope, which usually indicates the Medical Kit.
I am deferred because the last time I saw a therapist was in December, which was for various reasons, most having to do with the amount of time I commit myself to without thinking about sleep or alone time or studying for finals.
I am so upset by this news that, at this point, thinking about it makes me queasy. I realize that it is a very good policy for the Peace Corps to have, not to send anybody until it has been a year since their last whatever diagnosis, however, it is just sad for me because I wasn't supposed to leave until January anyway, but this is more than definitely going to push back the departure date, since I still have to get the forms and make the appointments and send in the forms and make sure that I did them right.
I spent a lot of time this weekend crying. I am not even going to lie. I am doing my best to look on the bright side of things but at this moment I feel like a failure. I internalize things too much. However, I am not going to let a deferment of five months deter me. This has been my dream for a long time, what is a wait of another few months?
It means I get to stay with my family longer, make a little bit more money to help pay off my loans, and take more classes to see what I could possibly do. I was looking into Master's International programs, however, I would really like to enter the Peace Corps as soon as possible, rather than put it off for more schooling.
The Peace Corps gives you sixty days to repeal a deferral. At this point, I'm not sure if I want to, because it is such a short deferral and I do not want to make more work for them... However, I would really like to get all of my medical forms done as soon as I can, especially because some of my doctors are in LA, and I am leaving for good at the end of August, which is going to make getting paperwork a lot more difficult.
Sometimes, I wish I had lied on the original medical forms. But I know that's wrong. We'll see what happens...
Keep your fingers crossed for me!
Monday, July 4, 2011
Weird Traveling Dreams
Now, weird travel-related dreams can fall into two categories: 1) Dreams about traveling, which this post is about and 2) Dreams that come from traveling, such as the intense dreams I had while on anti-malarials in 2009 while in TZ. I will write a post about those dreams later, but for now, my recent weird travel dream.
A few nights ago, I dreamt that my family and I were going to Australia. I have never been to Australia but I have always wanted to go. Also, there is no way that my entire family will ever go to Australia, for a number of reasons, including money and the fact that my brother hates to travel. Maybe it was just me and my mom, and in my mind, I just extended it to all of us. It was a dream after all, and when you think about dreams for too long after waking up, details tend to become fuzzy.
Anyway, there was a big plane, and we got through security. We only had one small carry-on bag for our entire time there, which was weird. Then I realized, after getting through security, that I forgot my passport. Also, I forgot to mention that we were running late and running through the airport to catch the plane, which was huge. My mom said, “Forget your passport, you don’t need it,” while I’m freaking out about my stupidity.
I will never, ever forget my passport. I have forgotten my phone. I have forgotten my phone charger. I have even forgotten my underwear (don’t ask). But I have never traveled anywhere without my passport. I take my passport everywhere. I treasure my passport, because of the stamps inside of it.
It took me awhile to realize that it was a dream, and when I woke up, I was still confused. I hate when I have dreams that confuse me that turn into days where I am just off of my game. That’s what I was all day after I woke up: a space cadet.
Aww well. This has been a random post, but travel-related nonetheless. I promise I will update with more interesting things than my psyche next time!
A few nights ago, I dreamt that my family and I were going to Australia. I have never been to Australia but I have always wanted to go. Also, there is no way that my entire family will ever go to Australia, for a number of reasons, including money and the fact that my brother hates to travel. Maybe it was just me and my mom, and in my mind, I just extended it to all of us. It was a dream after all, and when you think about dreams for too long after waking up, details tend to become fuzzy.
Anyway, there was a big plane, and we got through security. We only had one small carry-on bag for our entire time there, which was weird. Then I realized, after getting through security, that I forgot my passport. Also, I forgot to mention that we were running late and running through the airport to catch the plane, which was huge. My mom said, “Forget your passport, you don’t need it,” while I’m freaking out about my stupidity.
I will never, ever forget my passport. I have forgotten my phone. I have forgotten my phone charger. I have even forgotten my underwear (don’t ask). But I have never traveled anywhere without my passport. I take my passport everywhere. I treasure my passport, because of the stamps inside of it.
It took me awhile to realize that it was a dream, and when I woke up, I was still confused. I hate when I have dreams that confuse me that turn into days where I am just off of my game. That’s what I was all day after I woke up: a space cadet.
Aww well. This has been a random post, but travel-related nonetheless. I promise I will update with more interesting things than my psyche next time!
Friday, July 1, 2011
Surface Memories
Last week, after the last day of my last internship in college, I took out my Monroe. For those who do not know, a Monroe is a lip piercing that sits under and off to the side of the nose, kind of like beauty mark. After I took it out, I sat there for about a minute, felt like I was losing a part of me that I was not yet ready to let go of, cried a few tears, and promptly put it back in. Now, I’m either going to have to wait until the end of the summer, or just take it out long enough to do my substituting, then put it back in afterwards.
What does my facial piercing have to do with traveling?
I got it in Ireland.
In case you haven’t already noticed, I love memories. I love to talk about them. I love to recount funny stories about traveling or even everyday life. But most of all, I love the memories that I carry with me on my skin, on my body for people to see, and usually ask questions about. I love to tell the stories about them. It’s a win-win situation.
I have four tattoos (little ones) and one facial piercing. I used to have a different facial piercing, but that one ripped out and the story behind it isn’t that special, other than the fact that I got it on my 18th birthday because I had wanted one forever. (It was an eyebrow piercing and I thought they were “OMG SO COOL” the first time I saw one when I was still at an age in the single digits.)
Each time I change my body in some way, I do it with significance. Each tattoo has a special meaning to me. I can tell you what month and year and with whom I got the tattoo, and what the story behind it is. The same with my Monroe.
My Monroe. I love it so much. I have gotten so many compliments on it, and I have even had people, who tell me that they don’t like facial piercings at all, say that mine is the exception because it just fits. I look in the mirror and to me, it is so true. I take out my piercing and my face is just not the same at all. It is why I am hesitant to let go of it.
I got it with Niall in a little shop in Galway. April of 2010. I wanted a souvenir of Ireland that would always be with me. I went to Ireland thinking that I would get some sort of tattoo there that would symbolize my time: my family crest, a Celtic knot, a four-leaf clover, etc. I mulled it over and I just could not find something that my heart was set on, so I started to think that I wouldn’t get anything at all. Then I realized just how many people in Ireland have facial piercings and ta-da bright idea formed! Niall showed me a good place and viola, new piece of facial jewelry.
The only travel-related tattoo that I have is of my own design. I went to Tanzania from May through July of 2009. I definitely wanted something on my body to commemorate that. I definitely wanted it to say “Umoja ni nguvu” (unity is power). I definitely wanted to incorporate an AIDS ribbon. So I designed a bunch of different drawings, some with the outline of Africa, some without, some with the words on the ribbon, some with the words circling the ribbon, some with the words cresting over the ribbon. I experimented with sizes, with shading, with incorporating a whole planet, with no countries. After months and months, I finally decided on the design, and in January of 2010, I went with my little brother to the tattoo place that I go to by my house, and got it. It is beautiful and I love it and I love the questions it inspires.
Flesh memories. They consistently remind me of all I have done, and therefore, all that there is left for me to do. I would hate to be left with holes in their places.
What does my facial piercing have to do with traveling?
I got it in Ireland.
In case you haven’t already noticed, I love memories. I love to talk about them. I love to recount funny stories about traveling or even everyday life. But most of all, I love the memories that I carry with me on my skin, on my body for people to see, and usually ask questions about. I love to tell the stories about them. It’s a win-win situation.
I have four tattoos (little ones) and one facial piercing. I used to have a different facial piercing, but that one ripped out and the story behind it isn’t that special, other than the fact that I got it on my 18th birthday because I had wanted one forever. (It was an eyebrow piercing and I thought they were “OMG SO COOL” the first time I saw one when I was still at an age in the single digits.)
Each time I change my body in some way, I do it with significance. Each tattoo has a special meaning to me. I can tell you what month and year and with whom I got the tattoo, and what the story behind it is. The same with my Monroe.
My Monroe. I love it so much. I have gotten so many compliments on it, and I have even had people, who tell me that they don’t like facial piercings at all, say that mine is the exception because it just fits. I look in the mirror and to me, it is so true. I take out my piercing and my face is just not the same at all. It is why I am hesitant to let go of it.
I got it with Niall in a little shop in Galway. April of 2010. I wanted a souvenir of Ireland that would always be with me. I went to Ireland thinking that I would get some sort of tattoo there that would symbolize my time: my family crest, a Celtic knot, a four-leaf clover, etc. I mulled it over and I just could not find something that my heart was set on, so I started to think that I wouldn’t get anything at all. Then I realized just how many people in Ireland have facial piercings and ta-da bright idea formed! Niall showed me a good place and viola, new piece of facial jewelry.
The only travel-related tattoo that I have is of my own design. I went to Tanzania from May through July of 2009. I definitely wanted something on my body to commemorate that. I definitely wanted it to say “Umoja ni nguvu” (unity is power). I definitely wanted to incorporate an AIDS ribbon. So I designed a bunch of different drawings, some with the outline of Africa, some without, some with the words on the ribbon, some with the words circling the ribbon, some with the words cresting over the ribbon. I experimented with sizes, with shading, with incorporating a whole planet, with no countries. After months and months, I finally decided on the design, and in January of 2010, I went with my little brother to the tattoo place that I go to by my house, and got it. It is beautiful and I love it and I love the questions it inspires.
Flesh memories. They consistently remind me of all I have done, and therefore, all that there is left for me to do. I would hate to be left with holes in their places.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Souvenirs of Mind, Souvenirs of Material
Now, some people might call “souvenirs of mind” memories. However, when it comes to my thoughts about it, when I say a souvenirs of mind, I mean a buried memory, one that is to be brought out by smell, by taste, by touch, by seeing something that reminds you of something or hearing a song that gives you a flashback. Not those easily manifested memories of who, what, where, when, why, and how, but those experiences that you forgot that you had: the smell of milky chai first thing in the morning, looking at a scarf and remembering how your friend gave it to you as you celebrated your birthday thousands of miles away from your home, the lingering smell of a lover on an old, forgotten scarf, finding a letter written to you by someone you care about and remembering detail in there, the song in a different language you first heard blasting out of car speakers, the smell of a dirt road in a foreign country, the feel of a small hand in yours, the laughter of a stranger that sounds like the laughter of a friend far away…
Some souvenirs of mind come from having souvenirs of material. A scarf (TZ). A jacket (IE). A statue or t-shirt (NI). Even a German newspaper clipping that you can’t read. All of these have memories attached to them, places that come to mind with the feel of the material, of the paper, of the soapstone.
I like material souvenirs that come from places that I haven’t been to. Postcards from France or Japan. A t-shirt and Monopoly in French from Canada. Earrings from Mexico. A purse from India. A calendar, t-shirt, or necklace from Hawaii. It sticks out in my mind when somebody takes the time to get me something when they visit somewhere. It means that I came across their mind, even for a moment as brief as the bat of a butterfly’s wing.
This is why I collect little things when I go somewhere. Even a necklace can hold a lot of power. (That may be a thinly veiled Harry Potter reference, but hey, even he had various types of souvenirs on his journey).
So even if a souvenir is small, is cheap, or even better, not material at all, it is still important to the memory of that place.
Have a great Monday!
Some souvenirs of mind come from having souvenirs of material. A scarf (TZ). A jacket (IE). A statue or t-shirt (NI). Even a German newspaper clipping that you can’t read. All of these have memories attached to them, places that come to mind with the feel of the material, of the paper, of the soapstone.
I like material souvenirs that come from places that I haven’t been to. Postcards from France or Japan. A t-shirt and Monopoly in French from Canada. Earrings from Mexico. A purse from India. A calendar, t-shirt, or necklace from Hawaii. It sticks out in my mind when somebody takes the time to get me something when they visit somewhere. It means that I came across their mind, even for a moment as brief as the bat of a butterfly’s wing.
This is why I collect little things when I go somewhere. Even a necklace can hold a lot of power. (That may be a thinly veiled Harry Potter reference, but hey, even he had various types of souvenirs on his journey).
So even if a souvenir is small, is cheap, or even better, not material at all, it is still important to the memory of that place.
Have a great Monday!
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Goodbyes Part 2: When It Hurts to Say Goodbye...
There are times in my life where the only thing I wanted to do was to resist the challenge of leaving, stay in comfort, and continue whatever little life I had made at that point in time…
I had no trouble whatsoever leaving New Jersey. I was a little apprehensive, but other than that, completely excited to start a new chapter in my life. It was scary, leaving everything and everyone I knew behind, going to a school 3,000 miles away where I didn’t know a single soul, didn’t know the correct “slang,” didn’t know anything. But it was an adventure and that is what I was looking for.
Now, the prospect of leaving this place haunts everything I do. I officially move out of Los Angeles and down to San Diego on August 10th. I officially move out of Southern California on August 28th. I officially return to New Jersey on September 2nd. I don’t want to do any of this (well, maybe San Diego, because it is beautiful, but I do, in all honesty, prefer LA).
Los Angeles has captured my heart and my soul. I love my family and friends on the East Coast, and I look forward to unlimited (sort of) time with them, but it is going to be a hard adjustment to make. I have fallen head over heels in love with Los Angeles. The city. The proximity to the beach. The transit system. The backdrop of the mountains to the skyscrapers. All of it. The good and the bad. The homeless and the people walking by them with their Coach purses and Manolo heels. Skid Row and Rodeo Drive. The acrid smell of downtown streets and the fresh, salty air of Santa Monica. All of it.
I do not want to leave. But I have to. And it makes me extraordinarily sad.
As sad as I am, I am also very excited to start a new life for myself, to show the people I grew up around how much I have changed, to really have people take notice of my skills and my intelligence and my passions.
Despite all of this, I know I am going to have days where I am absolutely miserable at home. I’m also going to have awesome days. It is hard to be rational and emotional at the same time.
A more concrete example: Leaving Ireland was probably one of the hardest things I have had to do in my lifetime. I found love. I found friendship. I had immediately found people who just “got” me. I had never had that. I had companionship. And even though I’m glad I left when I did, both because of the experiences that came from leaving early, and the knowledge that the longer I stayed, the harder it would be to leave, I’m still getting tears in my eyes writing about it.
The fresh air of Ireland. Not a single building above three stories (in Galway). Truly being on my own, to cook, to clean, to do laundry, to take care of myself. Truly feeling like an adult, like I had a responsibility to myself to make up for how juvenile I had been when I went to Germany as a freshman in high school. And Niall (HI! I know you read this sometimes!).
Falling in love in a foreign country is a downright dangerous thing to do. Leaving love in a foreign country can be even more dangerous, for your heart, for returning home, for your dreams and wondering what could have been if you had only had the courage to leave all of your attachments and follow your heart. Even though I am far too sensible for that, it still crosses my mind. Love so intense that it produces an eight-page poem that just keeps getting stanzas added on.
Falling in love for the first time in a foreign country is even more dangerous. I had never felt companionship like that. Being taken care of felt amazing. Waking up to see his face in the morning, smiling. Getting used to the feeling of warmth on your back as you cuddle, of always having somebody around who will do whatever you want to do because they want to see you happy, of having somebody to adventure with.
Facebook. Twitter. Letters. Email. Blog entries. We can still stay in touch, and yet we’ve moved on.
Goodbyes are a funny thing, because sometimes you think you have forever and you go slow, and sometimes the goodbye looms eminent, always threatening to pierce your happiness. Either way, they are always the hardest when you don’t want to let go, whether you have fallen in love with a person, or a place.
That is why I both love and kind of dislike airports. So many hellos after a long time apart, and so many goodbyes that leave the air heavy.
I hope your weekend is going well so far.
I had no trouble whatsoever leaving New Jersey. I was a little apprehensive, but other than that, completely excited to start a new chapter in my life. It was scary, leaving everything and everyone I knew behind, going to a school 3,000 miles away where I didn’t know a single soul, didn’t know the correct “slang,” didn’t know anything. But it was an adventure and that is what I was looking for.
Now, the prospect of leaving this place haunts everything I do. I officially move out of Los Angeles and down to San Diego on August 10th. I officially move out of Southern California on August 28th. I officially return to New Jersey on September 2nd. I don’t want to do any of this (well, maybe San Diego, because it is beautiful, but I do, in all honesty, prefer LA).
Los Angeles has captured my heart and my soul. I love my family and friends on the East Coast, and I look forward to unlimited (sort of) time with them, but it is going to be a hard adjustment to make. I have fallen head over heels in love with Los Angeles. The city. The proximity to the beach. The transit system. The backdrop of the mountains to the skyscrapers. All of it. The good and the bad. The homeless and the people walking by them with their Coach purses and Manolo heels. Skid Row and Rodeo Drive. The acrid smell of downtown streets and the fresh, salty air of Santa Monica. All of it.
I do not want to leave. But I have to. And it makes me extraordinarily sad.
As sad as I am, I am also very excited to start a new life for myself, to show the people I grew up around how much I have changed, to really have people take notice of my skills and my intelligence and my passions.
Despite all of this, I know I am going to have days where I am absolutely miserable at home. I’m also going to have awesome days. It is hard to be rational and emotional at the same time.
A more concrete example: Leaving Ireland was probably one of the hardest things I have had to do in my lifetime. I found love. I found friendship. I had immediately found people who just “got” me. I had never had that. I had companionship. And even though I’m glad I left when I did, both because of the experiences that came from leaving early, and the knowledge that the longer I stayed, the harder it would be to leave, I’m still getting tears in my eyes writing about it.
The fresh air of Ireland. Not a single building above three stories (in Galway). Truly being on my own, to cook, to clean, to do laundry, to take care of myself. Truly feeling like an adult, like I had a responsibility to myself to make up for how juvenile I had been when I went to Germany as a freshman in high school. And Niall (HI! I know you read this sometimes!).
Falling in love in a foreign country is a downright dangerous thing to do. Leaving love in a foreign country can be even more dangerous, for your heart, for returning home, for your dreams and wondering what could have been if you had only had the courage to leave all of your attachments and follow your heart. Even though I am far too sensible for that, it still crosses my mind. Love so intense that it produces an eight-page poem that just keeps getting stanzas added on.
Falling in love for the first time in a foreign country is even more dangerous. I had never felt companionship like that. Being taken care of felt amazing. Waking up to see his face in the morning, smiling. Getting used to the feeling of warmth on your back as you cuddle, of always having somebody around who will do whatever you want to do because they want to see you happy, of having somebody to adventure with.
Facebook. Twitter. Letters. Email. Blog entries. We can still stay in touch, and yet we’ve moved on.
Goodbyes are a funny thing, because sometimes you think you have forever and you go slow, and sometimes the goodbye looms eminent, always threatening to pierce your happiness. Either way, they are always the hardest when you don’t want to let go, whether you have fallen in love with a person, or a place.
That is why I both love and kind of dislike airports. So many hellos after a long time apart, and so many goodbyes that leave the air heavy.
I hope your weekend is going well so far.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Terrible Travels, Part 1
The first time I flew to USC, to actually go there rather than go to orientation or go to see it, was a terrible, terrible experience. My beautiful, wonderful, amazing friends had decided to throw me a surprise going away party to say “goodbye for now.” It was great! They signed posters, made me a cake, everything. The only problem was that my flight was the next morning, so early that my mom and I were leaving the house at 4am so that we could make it to the airport in time for our 6 or 6:30am flight (I can’t remember the exact time). My friends stayed until 2am…
So I had to rush to pack everything I would need for the first four months of school, ended up falling asleep for a little bit, and then we finally left the house around 4:45 or 5am, way too late to even begin to be on time.
When we got to the airport, the line was incredibly long for so early in the morning. Needless to say, we missed our flight, but only barely. Meanwhile, my mom is yelling (that is her go-to thing when she is frustrated) and I am crying (that used to be my go-to thing, not so much anymore) and there are people staring and it just felt awful.
So the airline nicely rescheduled our flight for an hour or two later, and we were on our way to Phoenix in no time. Oh yes, Phoenix, because we had to fly to my grandmother’s, where we then drove her car from there to Los Angeles. It wasn’t too bad, except for the fact that we got lost on the highway because if you do not know Los Angeles freeways, they can be pretty darn confusing. Now, I can’t imagine my life without them. Then, I couldn’t believe they were so huge!
We got lost, but we found our way anyway. Then, there was major traffic because EVERYBODY was moving in, and then we couldn’t find my apartment building. After that, it’s not too memorable, so I’m sure it was uneventful.
The trip started out terribly and ended normally. If you ever feel frustrated, just think of how much worse it can be, or how much better it can get!
Have a great weekend!
PS – I submitted the first part of my Peace Corps Medical Packet today!
So I had to rush to pack everything I would need for the first four months of school, ended up falling asleep for a little bit, and then we finally left the house around 4:45 or 5am, way too late to even begin to be on time.
When we got to the airport, the line was incredibly long for so early in the morning. Needless to say, we missed our flight, but only barely. Meanwhile, my mom is yelling (that is her go-to thing when she is frustrated) and I am crying (that used to be my go-to thing, not so much anymore) and there are people staring and it just felt awful.
So the airline nicely rescheduled our flight for an hour or two later, and we were on our way to Phoenix in no time. Oh yes, Phoenix, because we had to fly to my grandmother’s, where we then drove her car from there to Los Angeles. It wasn’t too bad, except for the fact that we got lost on the highway because if you do not know Los Angeles freeways, they can be pretty darn confusing. Now, I can’t imagine my life without them. Then, I couldn’t believe they were so huge!
We got lost, but we found our way anyway. Then, there was major traffic because EVERYBODY was moving in, and then we couldn’t find my apartment building. After that, it’s not too memorable, so I’m sure it was uneventful.
The trip started out terribly and ended normally. If you ever feel frustrated, just think of how much worse it can be, or how much better it can get!
Have a great weekend!
PS – I submitted the first part of my Peace Corps Medical Packet today!
Monday, June 20, 2011
There is nothing quite like... (a list)
There is nothing quite like…
- the view of downtown Los Angeles from the 10 freeway on a clear night
- the smell of Galway, Ireland after a rainstorm
- the feel of the sand between my toes at the base of the Santa Monica Pier
- the view of the sunset over the mountains from the top of the hill in Babati, TZ
- the smell of authentic Nicaraguan food being served in from of you
- the taste of homemade peanut brittle sold off the side of the road by the woman who sits there day after day
- the smile on my family’s face when I return home
- the laughter that rings in my ears from my friends when we finally get the chance to go out
- the feel of a strange child’s hand in mine
- the flood of urine down a PJ pants leg because I was too scared to go to the outside outhouse alone
- the shame of confessing that last one
- the silence and darkness of a village street with only the moon as my guide
- the view of the stars in the middle of a field in upstate NY, in Manague, Nicaragua, in Babati, TZ… all different, but beautiful, patterns of pinpricks of light in the night
- the taste of a new food, a new country
- the taste of authentic Swiss chocolate, bought in Switzerland
- the beauty of a new language as it rolls off the tongue of a new friend
- the songs that you bring back in your heart
- the experience of Travel.
(Feel free to add your own in the comments! I would love to hear them!)
- the view of downtown Los Angeles from the 10 freeway on a clear night
- the smell of Galway, Ireland after a rainstorm
- the feel of the sand between my toes at the base of the Santa Monica Pier
- the view of the sunset over the mountains from the top of the hill in Babati, TZ
- the smell of authentic Nicaraguan food being served in from of you
- the taste of homemade peanut brittle sold off the side of the road by the woman who sits there day after day
- the smile on my family’s face when I return home
- the laughter that rings in my ears from my friends when we finally get the chance to go out
- the feel of a strange child’s hand in mine
- the flood of urine down a PJ pants leg because I was too scared to go to the outside outhouse alone
- the shame of confessing that last one
- the silence and darkness of a village street with only the moon as my guide
- the view of the stars in the middle of a field in upstate NY, in Manague, Nicaragua, in Babati, TZ… all different, but beautiful, patterns of pinpricks of light in the night
- the taste of a new food, a new country
- the taste of authentic Swiss chocolate, bought in Switzerland
- the beauty of a new language as it rolls off the tongue of a new friend
- the songs that you bring back in your heart
- the experience of Travel.
(Feel free to add your own in the comments! I would love to hear them!)
Friday, June 17, 2011
The Reason for the Title of this Blog
The title of this blog may seem a little sad to some, but I think of it in a happy sense. When I travel alone, which I do a lot, actually, I get to do my own things, make my own plans, and best of all, it makes me put myself out there and get to know more people. For instance, the past two times that I have gone to Washington DC, I have driven there alone, and stayed there alone, and both times have amazing stories attached to them. I see the ability to be content traveling alone as a gift, really. I have started conversations with people I never would have reached out to had I not had somebody with me. Although, I have to admit, flying alone is sometimes no fun because then you have to lug your baggage with you everywhere you go, so if you have to use the restroom, you have to pile everything together and lose your seat at the same time. But other than that, as long as I have my cell phone so my parents (or whoever is looking after me, in a sense) know that I am okay, I love the freedom.
Don’t get me wrong, I love traveling with people too, but sometimes, when you only have a small amount of time in any given place, two people may not see eye-to-eye on where to go and what to do.
When I am alone, I am unafraid to venture out on my own, to meet people and befriend them, talk to them and get their stories, their opinions, their life experiences. When I am alone, I am free.
A famous singer once said, “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.” But, I don’t think so. Freedom is adventure, a way to escape a reality you may not find all too satisfying for just a little while, to do something you may not have thought of doing before. Traveling is freedom.
Don’t get me wrong, I love traveling with people too, but sometimes, when you only have a small amount of time in any given place, two people may not see eye-to-eye on where to go and what to do.
When I am alone, I am unafraid to venture out on my own, to meet people and befriend them, talk to them and get their stories, their opinions, their life experiences. When I am alone, I am free.
A famous singer once said, “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.” But, I don’t think so. Freedom is adventure, a way to escape a reality you may not find all too satisfying for just a little while, to do something you may not have thought of doing before. Traveling is freedom.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
When Cars Suck
So yesterday was my 22nd birthday. It was nothing special, really, just a normal day. Except for the fact that my car broke down. Twice.
I love my car. Despite the fact that the gas gauge is broken, and the air conditioning, and the dash, I am still really attached to my car. It is my first… it is in my name, my responsibility alone. And even though it fails me sometimes, I think it is a brilliant piece of machinery, despite being over 20 years old.
But it is quite unfortunate when one of the only things that gives you the freedom to explore and travel on your own time decides that it no longer wants to abide by any time, and stops working. Especially when you are headed to work. On your birthday.
My car gives me freedom to move, to not be stuck in the small circle of busing around LA, to be able to drive my friends places and have that however-long car ride to deepen our connection, to be able to get away when everything seems to be going wrong. But my car also shackles me: to registrations, to license plates that fall off, to parking tickets for forgetting about street cleaning, to gas money, to the little odds and ends that come up that need to be fixed.
This post is just basically talking about how, when we are attached to something tangible, like a car or a train or a plane, or even a house, for those who do not like to travel, we are never really free. But the freedom that that object provides may just be worth it.
I love my car. Despite the fact that the gas gauge is broken, and the air conditioning, and the dash, I am still really attached to my car. It is my first… it is in my name, my responsibility alone. And even though it fails me sometimes, I think it is a brilliant piece of machinery, despite being over 20 years old.
But it is quite unfortunate when one of the only things that gives you the freedom to explore and travel on your own time decides that it no longer wants to abide by any time, and stops working. Especially when you are headed to work. On your birthday.
My car gives me freedom to move, to not be stuck in the small circle of busing around LA, to be able to drive my friends places and have that however-long car ride to deepen our connection, to be able to get away when everything seems to be going wrong. But my car also shackles me: to registrations, to license plates that fall off, to parking tickets for forgetting about street cleaning, to gas money, to the little odds and ends that come up that need to be fixed.
This post is just basically talking about how, when we are attached to something tangible, like a car or a train or a plane, or even a house, for those who do not like to travel, we are never really free. But the freedom that that object provides may just be worth it.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Goodbyes
I’m going to put this out there right now: I am a big, mushy sap. I cry easily both tears of happiness and tears of sadness, although this has become less frequent with age. I’m the kind of person who watches “The Lion King” and cries when Mufasa dies. That sappy.
And yet, goodbyes have become so easy for me that I am afraid I have lost a bit of human connection with the severity of the goodbye. I never cry when I say goodbye anymore. I don’t really cry when I say hello after an extended period of time, either, unless the person saying hello back is crying (usually my mother). I have become very good at leaving, and somewhere within my traveler self, that scares me a lot.
Let me give you a little background: I am extraordinarily close to my family. I grew up in a huge extended Irish Catholic family. My father’s entire side of the family (his brothers and sister, and their spouses and children) all live within an hour of where I live, with two of the families (one of my uncle’s and his wife and daughters, and my grandparents) living in the same town as me. Christmases and Easters were always family time. “The cousins,” as we like to call ourselves, now range in age from 26 years old all the way down to one year old. We even now have a cousin-in-law and a second cousin. That close. I’m the fourth oldest, and when my older cousins all left for college (all within NJ), they barely came home for the holidays to see the family. I always promised my littler cousins that I would never be that person. But I have been much, much worse than that, disappearing for months at a time to a far off place in search of a dream I have had since I was little.
Off topic, but relevant: When I say this is a dream I’ve had for as long as I can remember, it is more true than even I knew. I was going through papers this week and found a worksheet from 7th or 8th grade on “Creating a New Identity” (in case we needed to go into Witness Protection for some odd reason), and under where I would move were two things I wrote: Montana and California. And I made it to California. Even in high school, my friends called me a hippie and a California girl. It is like I was destined to move out there.
But, back to the topic: Goodbyes. Family. How it has become too easy. I saw most of my family at my graduation party a few days ago, and all of my cousins were asking when I was finally going to be home for good. No matter how long I am gone, they love me and they want to hang out with me.
I guess, for me, goodbyes have become something that just comes with living, especially as someone who is chasing dreams in far-off lands. It is so nice to come home to people who watched me grow up, who know who I was and how much I have grown, to people who don’t hesitate to offer me a ride from the middle of town to my house when it is raining. As much as I have complained about growing up in a boring suburban town that has everyone acting the same and was “so stifling” when I was a teenager, I am so grateful that I have had that experience. It makes coming home so much easier than if I absolutely hated it.
However, I don’t know if I can accurately call NJ my home anymore. I fit in there because I carved a few niches for myself there, because my family is there, because my best friends from high school are there, but I don’t feel truly alive there. I can handle small doses, but I don’t know how I am going to survive in the fall when I have to be there for a full four months. I’m so used to being on my own and doing what I want and reporting it to nobody, that having to live with my parents again, in a town that hasn’t really seen me blossom as my new self, so different from who I was when I left, scares me to no extent.
My mom asked if, when I return from the Peace Corps, I’m going to return to NJ or go back to Los Angeles. In all honesty, I’m hoping to go back to LA, but I don’t know if that is possible. I know LA. I have become an adult in LA. I know all of the highways, my way around downtown, which bus to take to get where, the fastest way to Disneyland. My sorority sisters are there. Some of my best memories have been made at USC. Being a graduate is weird. Knowing that I may be leaving forever in August is even weirder.
I think I’m going to cry when I say goodbye to LA because it may not be temporary. And that is the key to my goodbyes these days. They just feel temporary. My place, my home, at any given time, is temporary to me. Leaving NJ this time was so easy, and coming back is going to be one of the hardest things I will ever do, I think.
Have a great week!
And yet, goodbyes have become so easy for me that I am afraid I have lost a bit of human connection with the severity of the goodbye. I never cry when I say goodbye anymore. I don’t really cry when I say hello after an extended period of time, either, unless the person saying hello back is crying (usually my mother). I have become very good at leaving, and somewhere within my traveler self, that scares me a lot.
Let me give you a little background: I am extraordinarily close to my family. I grew up in a huge extended Irish Catholic family. My father’s entire side of the family (his brothers and sister, and their spouses and children) all live within an hour of where I live, with two of the families (one of my uncle’s and his wife and daughters, and my grandparents) living in the same town as me. Christmases and Easters were always family time. “The cousins,” as we like to call ourselves, now range in age from 26 years old all the way down to one year old. We even now have a cousin-in-law and a second cousin. That close. I’m the fourth oldest, and when my older cousins all left for college (all within NJ), they barely came home for the holidays to see the family. I always promised my littler cousins that I would never be that person. But I have been much, much worse than that, disappearing for months at a time to a far off place in search of a dream I have had since I was little.
Off topic, but relevant: When I say this is a dream I’ve had for as long as I can remember, it is more true than even I knew. I was going through papers this week and found a worksheet from 7th or 8th grade on “Creating a New Identity” (in case we needed to go into Witness Protection for some odd reason), and under where I would move were two things I wrote: Montana and California. And I made it to California. Even in high school, my friends called me a hippie and a California girl. It is like I was destined to move out there.
But, back to the topic: Goodbyes. Family. How it has become too easy. I saw most of my family at my graduation party a few days ago, and all of my cousins were asking when I was finally going to be home for good. No matter how long I am gone, they love me and they want to hang out with me.
I guess, for me, goodbyes have become something that just comes with living, especially as someone who is chasing dreams in far-off lands. It is so nice to come home to people who watched me grow up, who know who I was and how much I have grown, to people who don’t hesitate to offer me a ride from the middle of town to my house when it is raining. As much as I have complained about growing up in a boring suburban town that has everyone acting the same and was “so stifling” when I was a teenager, I am so grateful that I have had that experience. It makes coming home so much easier than if I absolutely hated it.
However, I don’t know if I can accurately call NJ my home anymore. I fit in there because I carved a few niches for myself there, because my family is there, because my best friends from high school are there, but I don’t feel truly alive there. I can handle small doses, but I don’t know how I am going to survive in the fall when I have to be there for a full four months. I’m so used to being on my own and doing what I want and reporting it to nobody, that having to live with my parents again, in a town that hasn’t really seen me blossom as my new self, so different from who I was when I left, scares me to no extent.
My mom asked if, when I return from the Peace Corps, I’m going to return to NJ or go back to Los Angeles. In all honesty, I’m hoping to go back to LA, but I don’t know if that is possible. I know LA. I have become an adult in LA. I know all of the highways, my way around downtown, which bus to take to get where, the fastest way to Disneyland. My sorority sisters are there. Some of my best memories have been made at USC. Being a graduate is weird. Knowing that I may be leaving forever in August is even weirder.
I think I’m going to cry when I say goodbye to LA because it may not be temporary. And that is the key to my goodbyes these days. They just feel temporary. My place, my home, at any given time, is temporary to me. Leaving NJ this time was so easy, and coming back is going to be one of the hardest things I will ever do, I think.
Have a great week!
Monday, June 6, 2011
Lots of Traveling!
Ok, so maybe not a lot, however, I did travel home on Friday evening. Easy drive to LAX, easily got through security (thank goodness they didn’t try to put me through the x-ray machine!), and then easily found my gate. I read while I waited to board, managed to fit both of my carry-on items in the overhead compartment (here’s a tip: If you have a purse, and you want to have two carry on items, leave enough room in one to fit your purse in, that way, you can still have your purse under your seat without having the trouble of not having any leg room), and sat down, ready to sleep until I landed in Charlotte, my one stop on the way home.
I love red-eyes for the sheer fact that I can fall asleep in one state and wake up in another. However, we hit extraordinarily bad turbulence about an hour into the flight. It was so bad, it had me on the edge of my seat, gripping onto the arm rests with white knuckles, and I’m a pretty seasoned, pretty calm traveler. It was scary, but allowed me to see something I have never seen before, a beauty which I cannot believe I have missed out on in the past (and obviously, I’m safe, so it was totally worth the bumpy wake-up call): a clear, star-filled sky. And between the few lights on the ground and the huge amount of stars, it was hard to tell where the earth stopped and the sky began. It was breathtakingly beautiful and it felt like I was flying gently through space. I cannot even describe the wonder that filled my heart at the sight. I didn’t know if I was going to be alright, but I did know I had just witnessed something extraordinarily ordinary.
I forget about the stars sometimes, living in Los Angeles. There are always lights and smog, so they only come into my consciousness when I’m looking for them, or when one happens to piece through the thickness of LA pollution. I can’t wait to be in Sub-Saharan Africa, able to see every star in the sky, the beauty in the calm. Although, right now, I would give anything to be back in LA. As much as I love my family, I really, truly feel comfortable in LA. I know the freeways, my friends are there, and the sunshine and warmth are so inviting.
There was more turbulence another hour or so later, worse than the first time because we were flying through the middle of a rainstorm. I literally just sat in my seat talking to myself “I want to see my mom. I want to see my dad. I want to see Brendan,” over and over again. It was a bit of a calming mantra. Although I say that I am ready to die, sometimes, in those moments of clarity, I know I have so much more that I can give with whatever time is given to me.
Also, my brother graduates high school tomorrow! So then he starts his life’s adventure (even though he is not as much of a traveler as I am).
Have a great week!
I love red-eyes for the sheer fact that I can fall asleep in one state and wake up in another. However, we hit extraordinarily bad turbulence about an hour into the flight. It was so bad, it had me on the edge of my seat, gripping onto the arm rests with white knuckles, and I’m a pretty seasoned, pretty calm traveler. It was scary, but allowed me to see something I have never seen before, a beauty which I cannot believe I have missed out on in the past (and obviously, I’m safe, so it was totally worth the bumpy wake-up call): a clear, star-filled sky. And between the few lights on the ground and the huge amount of stars, it was hard to tell where the earth stopped and the sky began. It was breathtakingly beautiful and it felt like I was flying gently through space. I cannot even describe the wonder that filled my heart at the sight. I didn’t know if I was going to be alright, but I did know I had just witnessed something extraordinarily ordinary.
I forget about the stars sometimes, living in Los Angeles. There are always lights and smog, so they only come into my consciousness when I’m looking for them, or when one happens to piece through the thickness of LA pollution. I can’t wait to be in Sub-Saharan Africa, able to see every star in the sky, the beauty in the calm. Although, right now, I would give anything to be back in LA. As much as I love my family, I really, truly feel comfortable in LA. I know the freeways, my friends are there, and the sunshine and warmth are so inviting.
There was more turbulence another hour or so later, worse than the first time because we were flying through the middle of a rainstorm. I literally just sat in my seat talking to myself “I want to see my mom. I want to see my dad. I want to see Brendan,” over and over again. It was a bit of a calming mantra. Although I say that I am ready to die, sometimes, in those moments of clarity, I know I have so much more that I can give with whatever time is given to me.
Also, my brother graduates high school tomorrow! So then he starts his life’s adventure (even though he is not as much of a traveler as I am).
Have a great week!
Thursday, June 2, 2011
The Peace Corps
So in a little over six months, if everything goes as according to plan, this will become a “Peace Corps” blog for a little over two years. This is exciting a nerve-wracking and makes me want to cry tears of happiness everywhere. I have wanted this for so long, for as long as I can remember. And now, now it is so extraordinarily close, and it scares the living daylights out of me, because once we achieve our dreams, what are we left with? I can’t wait to travel and live somewhere completely different for two entire years, really being on my own, and hopefully learning as I attempt to help those around me.
As of right now, I will be leaving in January of 2012 for a French-speaking Sub-Saharan African country to do Health Extension work. So basically, I will be doing what I have always wanted to do. I am so excited! This will bring so many new adventures…
Have a great end of the week!
As of right now, I will be leaving in January of 2012 for a French-speaking Sub-Saharan African country to do Health Extension work. So basically, I will be doing what I have always wanted to do. I am so excited! This will bring so many new adventures…
Have a great end of the week!
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Memorial Day Travels
I don’t remember many Memorial Days from when I was younger, but I do remember a couple of times when my family would go down to the Jersey shore with my great aunt and second cousins, because they lived down there. We would spend the day in the sand, the sun, and the water, and then go back to their house for a barbeque and some relaxation. I distinctly remember finding a slug one time on their porch and freaking out as one of the cousins poured salt on it and it started to wilt. Gross.
Memorial Day, an American holiday, is a day full of small travels because it is a federal holiday. Many people have off of work, off of school, allowing families to gather together to remember all who have died for us so that we can drink beer and barbeque on what would be a working day. We are commemorating the men and women who have made big travels, many risking their lives and their limbs, so that we can be as free as we are.
I met a man who was in the Army on a plane trip once. I can’t remember if it was when I was on my way to NJ or back to Los Angeles, but either way, we talked the entire flight (It was a shorted flight from NJ to North Carolina or vice versa). His name was Aaron and he was going home to see his family for a few weeks after completing training, before being shipped out to Afghanistan. He was 21 years old (my age!), and he was sacrificing everything to get a good education and fight for his country. It was eye-opening talking to him, because he was extraordinarily nice and friendly, very affable, and it was just sad because he was leaving right before the New Year to fight overseas.
So I dedicate this post to Aaron, to my step-cousin who is in the Army, to all the men and women who are currently fighting for the USA, and, especially, for all the men and women who have lost their lives over the years to defend the freedoms that the USA stands for, from the Revolutionary War up to today. Thank you.
Memorial Day, an American holiday, is a day full of small travels because it is a federal holiday. Many people have off of work, off of school, allowing families to gather together to remember all who have died for us so that we can drink beer and barbeque on what would be a working day. We are commemorating the men and women who have made big travels, many risking their lives and their limbs, so that we can be as free as we are.
I met a man who was in the Army on a plane trip once. I can’t remember if it was when I was on my way to NJ or back to Los Angeles, but either way, we talked the entire flight (It was a shorted flight from NJ to North Carolina or vice versa). His name was Aaron and he was going home to see his family for a few weeks after completing training, before being shipped out to Afghanistan. He was 21 years old (my age!), and he was sacrificing everything to get a good education and fight for his country. It was eye-opening talking to him, because he was extraordinarily nice and friendly, very affable, and it was just sad because he was leaving right before the New Year to fight overseas.
So I dedicate this post to Aaron, to my step-cousin who is in the Army, to all the men and women who are currently fighting for the USA, and, especially, for all the men and women who have lost their lives over the years to defend the freedoms that the USA stands for, from the Revolutionary War up to today. Thank you.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Previous Car Travels
So, I think this title will be the first of a series. I have been many, many places by car, since I was very young, up until even now. Cars, for me, will always be about freedom, about the ability to travel anywhere. Also, parking tickets and expensive parking and filling up gas tanks. But mostly, freedom.
In my almost 22 years, I have traveled a lot by car, both driving myself and being driven by my parents. I have been from LA to Phoenix and back in my very old, sometimes unreliable car. I went up to San Francisco and back in a friend’s car. Both of these trips are 6 hours each way. When I was younger, my parents took my brother and I down to Disney World, in Florida, and drove us there from our home in Northern NJ. Without air conditioning. In the spring. Which on the east coast, can be anywhere from freezing to humidity thick enough that you feel like you are drowning. I don’t remember much about it, except that I was in middle school, among other little things. At various points throughout my lifetime, my mom, brother and I (and sometimes my dad) have made the trip from NJ to Indiana by car. My parents drove my best friends, my brother, and I to Boston and back when I was in high school. My dad and I have driven down to DC on multiple occasions, and the last one, I did the 4 hour trip there and back on my own, with an overnight “pit-stop” of sorts in Baltimore. I think we even drove to Michigan once, although that memory is vague. I have taken the two hour drive from LA to San Diego and back multiple times, each time, quite stupidly, trying to beat my previous time. I have also done the 2 hour drive and back from Northern NJ to “the Shore” and back.
I’m going to be honest here: as much as I love driving, when I am on my own, I much prefer the train. The more people involved, the more willing I am to take the road trip. Alone, it can be amazing, wonderful, and freeing… for the first few hours. Then it just gets boring and annoying, at least to me. Or, it can be fun if you play games with yourself, or if your radio actually attaches to your iPod or you know the right stations that play the music that you like.
In college, I had a job for over two and a half years, where all I did was drive in circles around campus and pick people up and drop them off. A glorified taxi service, my friend once called my job. It was fun, depending on the night, depending on the music, depending on how much sleep I got the night before and how late I would be staying up. But even these small car travels (it was only a 1 mile radius from the center of campus to where we could drop off around campus) have stories all of their own. And having somebody ride along with me honestly made the time go by that much more quickly. It was four, five, six, seven, or eight hours of mindless driving in circles, the same journey over and over again, and yet each one, slightly different.
I think I have lost the point of this particular entry, but I guess I can just use it as an introduction to what may be a small series on the many car travels I have seen in my short 21 (almost 22) years. Stay tuned, and have a great Memorial Day weekend.
In my almost 22 years, I have traveled a lot by car, both driving myself and being driven by my parents. I have been from LA to Phoenix and back in my very old, sometimes unreliable car. I went up to San Francisco and back in a friend’s car. Both of these trips are 6 hours each way. When I was younger, my parents took my brother and I down to Disney World, in Florida, and drove us there from our home in Northern NJ. Without air conditioning. In the spring. Which on the east coast, can be anywhere from freezing to humidity thick enough that you feel like you are drowning. I don’t remember much about it, except that I was in middle school, among other little things. At various points throughout my lifetime, my mom, brother and I (and sometimes my dad) have made the trip from NJ to Indiana by car. My parents drove my best friends, my brother, and I to Boston and back when I was in high school. My dad and I have driven down to DC on multiple occasions, and the last one, I did the 4 hour trip there and back on my own, with an overnight “pit-stop” of sorts in Baltimore. I think we even drove to Michigan once, although that memory is vague. I have taken the two hour drive from LA to San Diego and back multiple times, each time, quite stupidly, trying to beat my previous time. I have also done the 2 hour drive and back from Northern NJ to “the Shore” and back.
I’m going to be honest here: as much as I love driving, when I am on my own, I much prefer the train. The more people involved, the more willing I am to take the road trip. Alone, it can be amazing, wonderful, and freeing… for the first few hours. Then it just gets boring and annoying, at least to me. Or, it can be fun if you play games with yourself, or if your radio actually attaches to your iPod or you know the right stations that play the music that you like.
In college, I had a job for over two and a half years, where all I did was drive in circles around campus and pick people up and drop them off. A glorified taxi service, my friend once called my job. It was fun, depending on the night, depending on the music, depending on how much sleep I got the night before and how late I would be staying up. But even these small car travels (it was only a 1 mile radius from the center of campus to where we could drop off around campus) have stories all of their own. And having somebody ride along with me honestly made the time go by that much more quickly. It was four, five, six, seven, or eight hours of mindless driving in circles, the same journey over and over again, and yet each one, slightly different.
I think I have lost the point of this particular entry, but I guess I can just use it as an introduction to what may be a small series on the many car travels I have seen in my short 21 (almost 22) years. Stay tuned, and have a great Memorial Day weekend.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Small Travels
So today, I didn’t travel very far, but for me, it is still a journey worth writing about. I’m usually the one driving when I go on the 10 or the 101 or the 110 or the 405 or really any of the freeways in Los Angeles, because 1. I have a car and 2. I like to drive. I mean, my job for the past 2 and a half years has been driving people from one place to another place safely near campus. (Yes, for most of my college career, I was also basically a glorified taxi cab, who wasn’t allowed to take tips.) But today, today my friend drove us to the movie theater (we ended up seeing Pirates 4. Not bad, but not good either.) and I just looked at the view.
Sometimes, I forget just how lucky I am that my parents let me go to college (and an expensive one at that) all the way across the country. Right now, one of my younger cousins is fighting her parents just to be able to be more than an hour away.
Anyway, today is a beautiful, glorious, clear day full of sunshine and with barely a cloud in the sky. The palm trees are amazing, the hills are spectacular, and the buildings reflect the sunbeams in just a way that, to me, everything seems to sparkle. I love Southern California and I am sad that I will be leaving, maybe forever, at the end of the summer, but I’m also happy to be moving on to something that may be bigger and better for me.
These small car journeys, even when I am stuck in the terrible traffic that plagues LA, are fun for me, especially when I am alone. I blast my music, I talk to myself, I read the bumper stickers of the cars around, and I look at the license plates. I’m calm when I am on my own. I don’t have to keep someone else occupied. Although, I have to admit, on long car journeys, it is always very nice to have somebody with you. I’d say any journey over 2 hours qualifies as long, especially in a car. In a train, not so much, because you can get up and walk around, go to the bathroom without having to change course, you can read, and you can just be at peace. And airplanes, well, it is always nice to have company in an airport to watch you stuff when you need to go to the bathroom, but not always necessary. I have mastered the art of flying alone. Round-trip flying at least four times a year will do that to you.
So today, as we were cruising along the highway, I just felt right. I must admit, at times, I don’t feel like I am in the right place, or with the right people, or even that I am the person that is standing before me in the mirror, but sometimes, these crystal clear moments of bliss in a car, on the beach, sitting in my room reading, at work or talking to people remind me that I have made choices to be where I am and who I am. I guess what I am saying is that life is a journey. (Cliché, I know, but how else can it be said?)
I value the moments I am allowed to spend living the life I always dreamed when I was younger. I’m doing it now. And I am so proud.
Sometimes, I forget just how lucky I am that my parents let me go to college (and an expensive one at that) all the way across the country. Right now, one of my younger cousins is fighting her parents just to be able to be more than an hour away.
Anyway, today is a beautiful, glorious, clear day full of sunshine and with barely a cloud in the sky. The palm trees are amazing, the hills are spectacular, and the buildings reflect the sunbeams in just a way that, to me, everything seems to sparkle. I love Southern California and I am sad that I will be leaving, maybe forever, at the end of the summer, but I’m also happy to be moving on to something that may be bigger and better for me.
These small car journeys, even when I am stuck in the terrible traffic that plagues LA, are fun for me, especially when I am alone. I blast my music, I talk to myself, I read the bumper stickers of the cars around, and I look at the license plates. I’m calm when I am on my own. I don’t have to keep someone else occupied. Although, I have to admit, on long car journeys, it is always very nice to have somebody with you. I’d say any journey over 2 hours qualifies as long, especially in a car. In a train, not so much, because you can get up and walk around, go to the bathroom without having to change course, you can read, and you can just be at peace. And airplanes, well, it is always nice to have company in an airport to watch you stuff when you need to go to the bathroom, but not always necessary. I have mastered the art of flying alone. Round-trip flying at least four times a year will do that to you.
So today, as we were cruising along the highway, I just felt right. I must admit, at times, I don’t feel like I am in the right place, or with the right people, or even that I am the person that is standing before me in the mirror, but sometimes, these crystal clear moments of bliss in a car, on the beach, sitting in my room reading, at work or talking to people remind me that I have made choices to be where I am and who I am. I guess what I am saying is that life is a journey. (Cliché, I know, but how else can it be said?)
I value the moments I am allowed to spend living the life I always dreamed when I was younger. I’m doing it now. And I am so proud.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Traveling by Train, Car, Plane!
So these past few days have been very hectic but completely worth it. I graduated on Friday, so my parents came out to celebrate with me, along with all three of my grandparents. I feel bad for my mom and dad because this was their vacation and they barely got to rest at all! They flew in to Phoenix last Tuesday to meet up with my mom’s mom, then drove six hours the next day to San Diego to meet up with my dad’s parents. Then all five of them took the two hour drive up to Los Angeles on Thursday, stayed the night, watched me graduate, and then drove back down to San Diego on Friday, which took over four hours due to all the graduation traffic. I feel really badly that they had to sit in that!
I had plans on Saturday that got canceled, so instead of driving down with them on Friday, I ended up taking the Amtrak Pacific Surf-liner down from Los Angeles to San Diego. The train ride is always a pleasure, and it’s nice to let go of control for once and just enjoy the ride. The past two years I have mostly driven down to San Diego to see my grandparents, which has taken me anywhere from an hour and fifteen minutes (speeding the entire way, in the car pool lane) to three hours (beach traffic on a Saturday). The usual driving time is about two hours. I highly recommend going on the train at least once though. Between the café car, and the absolutely breath-taking views of the beach and ocean (especially around sunset), it is completely worth it. Sometimes, I have even met and talked to some interesting people. This time around, I ended up talking to an older Australian man who had never been to America before, who asked me what there was to do in San Diego. There is so much! I would probably make a really good travel agent, because I get so excited about everything that has to do with traveling and exploring.
One time, about two years ago, I was on the train and it was packed, so instead of sitting alone, I sat with these two guys who looked to be about my age. They made fun of me because I guess they thought they looked menacing and I just sat right down next to them and started chatting away. I ended up finding out that they had just gotten out of jail (for burglary)! Oops! But they were really nice anyway, so it didn’t matter much to me. See? Random adventures on the train!
Most of the time though, I sit alone and listen to the conversations around me or people watch out the windows. This last time on the train, there was this group of four girls and two mothers, and the two mothers sat across the aisle from me, and the little girls sat in front of me, and they were so loud but exceedingly adorable! It reminded me of the time I was on the train sometime back and it was a really quiet train ride (you never know how it’s going to end up), and I was on the phone with one of my friends from home, and the lady behind me asked me to be quieter, so I lowered my voice, and then, apparently I wasn’t quiet enough, and she complained to the conductor about me! Excuse me, but there are no quiet-ride trains, and when you ride the train, there is a chance people will be loud. I know I sound like I was really rude, but honestly, I tried to be quieter and the conversation was really important. She ended up moving seats and giving me a really nasty look in the process. Dude, chill.
Anyway, so I have obviously had many train-ride adventures, but that is not where this weekend ended. So I took the train down to San Diego on Saturday, and then we left my dad’s parents, and my mom, dad, mom’s mom and I all departed for Phoenix on Sunday, with a stop in Yuma to see my little cousin, Alex. It was a three hour ride to Yuma, and I slept most of the way, except when we were passing the border fence that separates Mexico and the US. It was very surreal to see something so… so… so dividing. Dividing is not the right word, but it will work. I know that I am simplifying this, but the US is a country built on immigration, the salad bowl or melting pot or whatever you choose to call it, and it just seems so extreme to have such a clear definition of who “counts”. I know it is a lot more complicated than I am making it, but this is just how I see it. I guess it has a lot to do with the fact that while I was in Nicaragua, the group I was with listened to a guy give his story of trying to (illegally) immigrate to the US, with all his hardship and risk of death sitting on top of trains through Central America, only to be caught as soon as he crossed the border. He then spent months in jail. It is just so saddening to hear something like that and then see the proof.
So when we got to Yuma, I realized that there really isn’t much to do there. There is a mall and that is about it. It is very spread out, very desert-y, and very much a place I would never like to live in. It was nice to go out to lunch with my cousin, but then we were back on our way to Phoenix. Again, I slept most of the way, until we picked up my grandmother’s dog about half an hour outside of Phoenix. Getting to Phoenix was nice because it meant the end of traveling for at least a day. Monday was nice and relaxing, we drank some wine and helped my mom’s cousins plan out a trip to New York City. I’m sad I’m going to be in Los Angeles when they are in the City because my mom’s cousin’s son is turning 21, and my parents are going to visit them in the city, so it seems like it will be a good time. But at least I’m going home for my brother’s graduation, and that is all that really matters, right?
And now today, Tuesday. My parents spent the last 5 of their 7 “vacation” days traveling, and now we are all flying, albeit in different directions. My mom and dad are flying home to New Jersey, but they are in a different terminal, so we had to separate. I’m flying back to Los Angeles to start my last ever class at USC. Yes, I graduated, but since I had two majors and a minor, I kind of forgot to fulfill my language requirement, which has actually worked out fine for me because my Peace Corps recruiter got very, very excited when I told her I was taking French, telling me that I may just be able to leaving in January of next year, instead of somewhere between April and June, which would be awesome. My poor parents, their flight got delayed by an hour due to storms in NJ. My brother is going to pick them up, and he has never made this drive by himself. He’s a good kid, I just hope he doesn’t get lost. Newark Airport is not in the best place possible.
So now I’m sitting in the airport, waiting for my flight to start boarding. We got to the airport around 9:30 am, because my parents’ flight was supposed to leave at 11:15am, but of course got delayed. My flight doesn’t leave until 1pm. I didn’t have anyone to pick me up until one of my sorority sisters said she could. I love my house! So now all my worries are gone and I just have to get on the plane. I’m flying Southwest, which I like but also don’t like. I love that there are no baggage fees, but I do with they had assigned seats, but I guess that is what makes people fly them, because as long as you check in early enough, you can get the seat you want. At this point, since this flight is only an hour and twenty minutes long, I just want to take the closest seat to the front as possible. Usually I try for a window, but right now, I just want to get back to my house.
I will probably post this after I get back to LA because the airport here at Sky Harbor does have internet, but it is excruciatingly slow. Have a great week everyone!
PS – I didn’t have to go through the body scanner this time! Last time I flew through PHX, they tried to make me, but I opted out. I refuse to go through them. It made me so angry because after me, they closed it and then had people just go through the regular metal detector, as if to tease me. UGH! But, at least they were very professional and quick about it. I have heard horror stories where they make it very apparent that a person has opted out and just basically make it hell. That is the one thing I loved about Sky Harbor, they are super professional.
I had plans on Saturday that got canceled, so instead of driving down with them on Friday, I ended up taking the Amtrak Pacific Surf-liner down from Los Angeles to San Diego. The train ride is always a pleasure, and it’s nice to let go of control for once and just enjoy the ride. The past two years I have mostly driven down to San Diego to see my grandparents, which has taken me anywhere from an hour and fifteen minutes (speeding the entire way, in the car pool lane) to three hours (beach traffic on a Saturday). The usual driving time is about two hours. I highly recommend going on the train at least once though. Between the café car, and the absolutely breath-taking views of the beach and ocean (especially around sunset), it is completely worth it. Sometimes, I have even met and talked to some interesting people. This time around, I ended up talking to an older Australian man who had never been to America before, who asked me what there was to do in San Diego. There is so much! I would probably make a really good travel agent, because I get so excited about everything that has to do with traveling and exploring.
One time, about two years ago, I was on the train and it was packed, so instead of sitting alone, I sat with these two guys who looked to be about my age. They made fun of me because I guess they thought they looked menacing and I just sat right down next to them and started chatting away. I ended up finding out that they had just gotten out of jail (for burglary)! Oops! But they were really nice anyway, so it didn’t matter much to me. See? Random adventures on the train!
Most of the time though, I sit alone and listen to the conversations around me or people watch out the windows. This last time on the train, there was this group of four girls and two mothers, and the two mothers sat across the aisle from me, and the little girls sat in front of me, and they were so loud but exceedingly adorable! It reminded me of the time I was on the train sometime back and it was a really quiet train ride (you never know how it’s going to end up), and I was on the phone with one of my friends from home, and the lady behind me asked me to be quieter, so I lowered my voice, and then, apparently I wasn’t quiet enough, and she complained to the conductor about me! Excuse me, but there are no quiet-ride trains, and when you ride the train, there is a chance people will be loud. I know I sound like I was really rude, but honestly, I tried to be quieter and the conversation was really important. She ended up moving seats and giving me a really nasty look in the process. Dude, chill.
Anyway, so I have obviously had many train-ride adventures, but that is not where this weekend ended. So I took the train down to San Diego on Saturday, and then we left my dad’s parents, and my mom, dad, mom’s mom and I all departed for Phoenix on Sunday, with a stop in Yuma to see my little cousin, Alex. It was a three hour ride to Yuma, and I slept most of the way, except when we were passing the border fence that separates Mexico and the US. It was very surreal to see something so… so… so dividing. Dividing is not the right word, but it will work. I know that I am simplifying this, but the US is a country built on immigration, the salad bowl or melting pot or whatever you choose to call it, and it just seems so extreme to have such a clear definition of who “counts”. I know it is a lot more complicated than I am making it, but this is just how I see it. I guess it has a lot to do with the fact that while I was in Nicaragua, the group I was with listened to a guy give his story of trying to (illegally) immigrate to the US, with all his hardship and risk of death sitting on top of trains through Central America, only to be caught as soon as he crossed the border. He then spent months in jail. It is just so saddening to hear something like that and then see the proof.
So when we got to Yuma, I realized that there really isn’t much to do there. There is a mall and that is about it. It is very spread out, very desert-y, and very much a place I would never like to live in. It was nice to go out to lunch with my cousin, but then we were back on our way to Phoenix. Again, I slept most of the way, until we picked up my grandmother’s dog about half an hour outside of Phoenix. Getting to Phoenix was nice because it meant the end of traveling for at least a day. Monday was nice and relaxing, we drank some wine and helped my mom’s cousins plan out a trip to New York City. I’m sad I’m going to be in Los Angeles when they are in the City because my mom’s cousin’s son is turning 21, and my parents are going to visit them in the city, so it seems like it will be a good time. But at least I’m going home for my brother’s graduation, and that is all that really matters, right?
And now today, Tuesday. My parents spent the last 5 of their 7 “vacation” days traveling, and now we are all flying, albeit in different directions. My mom and dad are flying home to New Jersey, but they are in a different terminal, so we had to separate. I’m flying back to Los Angeles to start my last ever class at USC. Yes, I graduated, but since I had two majors and a minor, I kind of forgot to fulfill my language requirement, which has actually worked out fine for me because my Peace Corps recruiter got very, very excited when I told her I was taking French, telling me that I may just be able to leaving in January of next year, instead of somewhere between April and June, which would be awesome. My poor parents, their flight got delayed by an hour due to storms in NJ. My brother is going to pick them up, and he has never made this drive by himself. He’s a good kid, I just hope he doesn’t get lost. Newark Airport is not in the best place possible.
So now I’m sitting in the airport, waiting for my flight to start boarding. We got to the airport around 9:30 am, because my parents’ flight was supposed to leave at 11:15am, but of course got delayed. My flight doesn’t leave until 1pm. I didn’t have anyone to pick me up until one of my sorority sisters said she could. I love my house! So now all my worries are gone and I just have to get on the plane. I’m flying Southwest, which I like but also don’t like. I love that there are no baggage fees, but I do with they had assigned seats, but I guess that is what makes people fly them, because as long as you check in early enough, you can get the seat you want. At this point, since this flight is only an hour and twenty minutes long, I just want to take the closest seat to the front as possible. Usually I try for a window, but right now, I just want to get back to my house.
I will probably post this after I get back to LA because the airport here at Sky Harbor does have internet, but it is excruciatingly slow. Have a great week everyone!
PS – I didn’t have to go through the body scanner this time! Last time I flew through PHX, they tried to make me, but I opted out. I refuse to go through them. It made me so angry because after me, they closed it and then had people just go through the regular metal detector, as if to tease me. UGH! But, at least they were very professional and quick about it. I have heard horror stories where they make it very apparent that a person has opted out and just basically make it hell. That is the one thing I loved about Sky Harbor, they are super professional.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Welcome to my travel blog!
So, I’ve decided to start a travel blog. Not that I travel very often (okay, that’s a lie, sort of) or that I go to exotic places (also a lie, sort of)… but this is an experiment for me. I’ve started blogs and forgotten about them or never finished them or “didn’t have the time” to update them. But I want to have a log of all of my travels, so I’m doing this. Since I don’t plan on traveling much until next year, for now I can describe my past travels, pros and cons of different places, and all of that kind of stuff.
To start off, my name is Mary and I just graduated from college. Before high school, I had never traveled outside of the United States, however, I had been to many different states. My freshman year in high school, I went to Germany for two weeks, with day-long stops in France, Belgium, and Switzerland. I didn’t travel outside of the country again until the summer after my sophomore year of college, however, I did move across the country from NJ to CA for college, which is apparently a big deal to some people. It was a bit of an adventure. Summer of 2009 I went to Tanzania to volunteer for two months, with a stop in Amsterdam airport for a few hours, and a trip to Uganda for a week in the middle of volunteering, with a stop in Kenya on the way to Uganda. In the spring of 2010, my second semester junior year, I studied abroad in Ireland. While there, I visited Northern Ireland and England, and due to a stupid volcano in Iceland, I also went to Wales in order to take a ferry back to Ireland, since flying was out of the question. In the first week of this year, 2011, I went to Nicaragua on a school trip to learn about gender and social justice issues. I guess you can say I have a bit of a travel bug, and I love learning about different cultures, which is why I applied for the Peace Corps. I’m currently waiting to hear on my nomination, and I may leave as soon as January of next year.
Why do I love traveling? Between the people you meet, the experiences, and the beautiful places that you have to see to believe, there is nothing that I don’t love about traveling. Even the traveler’s diarrhea/constipation/sicknesses can’t deter me. That’s another reason for this blog. I want to write about these memories while I remember them and while they are happening so that I can remember them in the future. Hopefully, I can adventure some this summer, and report back, write about it, and basically keep this blog alive. I’m already planning a cross-country train trip, so if you have any suggestions or ideas about what I should see along the way, please tell me! I will write more about it as it pans out. I may even make the best of my last summer in southern California and take a trip up the Pacific Coast Highway.
Have a great week!
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