Mid-College Crisis

I recently tackled one of the more unsettling experiences of my young-adult life.  That’s right.  I faced my mid-college crisis.  We all have one at some point.  I remember back in the day... a whole three years ago...  I was a wide-eyed freshman, blissfully unaware of the sense of responsibility and looming awareness of adulthood waiting to snatch me with their snarly claws just around the corner of Junior year. 

For those who have experienced said mid-college crisis, you know the cracks in the once indestructible façade of confidence.  You know the dimming glimmer of telling people you are a  _______ major and wondering if you even like the way it sounds when you say it out loud.  For those who have not experienced the crisis… you will.  Sooner or later.  Allow me to soften the blow a bit by having you take an exclusive sneak peak into my glass case of emotion.  Now, the mind of a third year student in this tumultuous stage is like a pinball machine, darting from one place to another, dashing against obstacles, and exploding with sudden bursts of light and bell sounds.  Bear with me.  The cliff notes version went a bit like this: 

I am a Junior in college.  I am a JUNIOR in COLLEGE.  I am 21 years old.  I remember when 21 used to seem so old.  It’s not old right?  Nah, I’m super young.  Oh my gosh.  I was a junior in high school 4 years ago.  Yeah, I’m way old. That was four years ago?! Ok.  Composure. 

I just thought I would have accomplished so much more by now.  Done so much more.  Seen things.  Known things.  Do I know anything?  Anything at all?  Quick!  Think of something you know. 

My brain is an empty vat of nothing.

I have so much that I want to do and so little time to do it.  Only a year and a half left.  Life will officially end on graduation day.  So long to my joy.  Buhbye to my youth.   I will have to leave behind my scholastic comfort zone in order to get a real job.  A job.  Not a summer job or a part-time job or I’ll house/pet/baby sit and call it a job-job.  A real-life, grown-up job.  

How can I have a profession?  I have no skills.  Can I do anything?  I can whistle.  That won’t help with anything.  I could become a YouTube sensation?  I won’t completely rule that out.

I don’t even have an internship.  That’s a big buzzword, isn’t it?  The almighty internship.  Dang it. I should probably start applying for some internships. 

Wait.  Is this even what I want to do with my life?  I always thought it was, but now I am not so sure.  I feel like I lack passion.  I should be passionate about my career.  I should be barely able to sleep because I am so excited to hop out of my bed and skip merrily to work the next day, stopping in the middle of the street to raise my fists to the heavens in ecstatic triumph, “Hello, world! I love my job!” 

That’s it.  I am running away to Disney World. 

Man, when I get a job, that means I will have to actually make a living to sustain myself.  I am going to have to do without a lot of things.  As in, a lot of nice things.  As in, I might be homeless.  Can I balance a checkbook?  Can I live off of lean cuisines the rest of my existence?

Stop.  (Hammer time.)

I can’t think of anything else that could suit me more than my major.

I have really great friends and family that support me with anything.

I have made amazing memories.  And still have the rest of my life to make more!

I am my own biggest critic.

One day at a time.

Breathe.

Breathe again.

One more time for good measure.

Do not fret, my collegiate peers.  We can do anything—including survive the stage of panic that is the inevitable mid-college crisis. 

Be Here Now

It certainly has been a while since writing.  Over a whole semester’s worth of activities have passed and I have not been able to put my sarcastic and flowery spin on it.  This year school has seemed to consume my time more than usual, which, for anyone who knows me, is saying a lot.  Oh, gone are the days of when a “paper” meant three paragraphs on what you did over [insert season] break.  Now are the days of writing an eight page researcher’s profile on my personal paradigms and theories on interpersonal communication.  At school, we do not have any time to slow down—no time to even realize we are tired.  Go, go, go is the mentality.  At home, it all catches up to you and you find yourself rolling out of bed at 1:00 in the afternoon. The rest of the holidays having been equal part eating, equal part burning it off, I found myself with time (yes actual true time) to think about things. 

This just shows a grave problem that I do not believe I face alone.  I have not been slowing down long enough to really “be” in these moments.  Sure, I am busy.  We all get busy.  But at what price?  Sometimes it takes stepping back for a minute and allow ourselves to see the picture as a whole.  I know I am certainly guilty of taking a quick mental picture, only to get lost in the memory card which is our minds, revisited briefly, and eventually erased to make room for other, more current activities.  My resolution (one month late) is to try and do a better job of appreciating all the little things, as cliché as it may sound.   My favorite acting teacher once told me, that in life we have to remember 3 simple words: “Be here now.”  Sounds easy enough, but not always the case for someone like me, who tends to think 10 steps ahead.  Be here. Now. That’s what I intend to do. 

Bingo was the Game-o

I must admit that my post-Spain summer adventures have paled in comparison.  As I sit here reflecting back on my summer, I can’t even believe I spent a whole month living in another country.  It feels like a lifetime ago I was meandering the streets of Madrid.  What was the next phase of summer?  That would involve sand and a body of water, of course.

My family and I took our annual trip to Surfside Beach, a tradition we have had every year since I was born.  This is where grandma lives and it feels like a second home.  While it is ever growing, it is nestled about 30 minutes from the redneck riviera of the better known Myrtle Beach, where the joy of summer is found in the fresh paint of a henna tattoo and pair of booty shorts with YOLO across the back. 

To me, nothing says summer like the charm of Oceanside Village—walking toes deep in the water to the garden city pier, a cone of Painter’s cake batter ice cream melting onto my hand, watching the people ride by on golf carts from grandma’s front porch, and last but not least, BINGO.   Now, this is not what the average person my age would consider something even associated with their life, let alone their summer, but I have been playing with my grandma every year since I was little.  It’s her way of “showing me off” as she says. Grandma watched my card like a hawk (along with her three), should I forget to mark that last wild number.  To a kid, playing with ink dobbers and eagerly anticipating the chance of a cash prize given primarily in quarters had a lot more glitter.  In all honesty, it stopped being fun about six years ago, when I was old enough to drive the golf cart by myself. Oh, sweet freedom at the age of 15, cruising about a gated community in my electrically powered hot rod.   

There is monotony in the pattern of one lettered number after another. There is frustration of getting down to one number, only to hear someone call “Bingo” who has won three times already.  So, why do I go?  For those four hours (No, seriously, it is four hours long) I am making someone special to me happy.  Sure, I could think of one hundred other things I would rather be doing, but all of them pale in comparison to making my Grandma happy. It is something unique and special that I can do with my grandma that is all our own.  I have come to appreciate it all the more, considering this is one of the few things that she really can do anymore.   I get to talk with her friends as we all share stories.  I get to look at photos of their families.  I feel my cheeks get pink when grandma shows them all of mine.

Now, these stories I have long since memorized.  I know her friends by name, even though as the years pass they begin to re-introduce themselves more and more.  Despite my growing up, BINGO is a constant.  Now I am the one taking a casual glance over to Grandma’s card, should she forget to mark one of those wild numbers.   

El Fin

It was the trip I had been waiting for my whole life. A bit dramatic?  Maybe, but its better than “the dawn of time.”  Ever since I even heard of the concept of study abroad I knew that Spain was going to be my destination.  1) I could practice my Spanish by means of immersion. 2) It is in Europe… and I had never been to Europe.  Done and done.  And, after so much eager anticipation, just like that, the three and a half weeks were over in the blink of an eye.  Looking back, it was a whirlwind of people, places, and language.  It is as if each day runs into the other, lacking a finite beginning and end.  I have to look at the journey as a whole, then focus on individual experiences in isolation in order to wrap my head around it.  I can’t believe all I have seen in such a short amount of time.  Of course, I would have loved to stay longer.  However, I was glad to be coming home.  I was starting to miss things like air conditioning.  And the food.  Oh, and my family. 

In addition to Madrid, I also visited Toledo, Segovia, Salamanca, Córdoba, and El Escorial.  We were busy!  Let’s recap a bit: I have been to a packed stadium soccer game and witnessed history as Real Madrid won their 32^nd Championship victory.  I dined in the world’s oldest restaurant. (Er… at least attempted to.)  I ascended the tower of a castle. I perused the Royal Palace. I observed timeless pieces in the Museo del Prado.  I saw the resting place of Spanish royalty.   I watched a flamenco espactáculo done to Carmen.  I even took a Flamenco class! Travis and I (the dancing rock stars/sinverguenzas) gave the famous dance our own attempt.  In my brain, I did fabulous.  I brought the dancing to the discotecas, something unlike anything in Athens.  The best was our last night all together there at a place called Moon Dance.  Which, for the life of me, I could never get right.  (Moonlight/ Moonshine/ Moonbeam…?)  I saw Madrid from above in a cable car overlooking the city.  I scoured the racks of some of the cutest stores I have ever seen. I got to see Zac Efron speak Spanish.  Might not have been in person, and it might not have really been his voice.  Minor details.  I met students from all over Europe.  I was humbled by ornate cathedrals.  I was serenaded by a tuna in the plaza of Spain’s “college town.” I saw beauty all around me.  It was in the form of the amazing architecture, the hilltop views, the delightful parks, even the charming little alleyways.   This is all just to name a few…

If I had to say what I miss most, it would be strolling through the park or chilling in front of a café.  This may not sound very exciting, but it was these simple, easygoing moments, in which I had no commitments or places to go, I could talk and relax and just enjoy the easygoing lifestyle that is Spain.   I made some great friends, and it was enjoying their company that made it all the better.  The experience simply would not be the same without their humor and inside jokes, which for some reason were just not as funny to anyone else.  I look forward to many more adventures with them upon returning to Athens.  One person I certainly miss is my “madre” (my Spanish caregiver)  She treated us so wonderfully, and I am thankful I have a place to stay when I go back.  (That’s right not if.)    For me, I know this was just the beginning.  Sin duda, era una experiencia inolvidable.  Without a doubt, it was an unforgettable experience.  I look at leaving not as an “adios” but more of an “hasta luego.”

Here, There, Everywhere

We took an excursion to Córdoba, in the southern province of Andalucia.  We had the whole day basically to explore.  The main feature was the Mesquita.   This was a hybrid of a mosque and cathedral in design.  You first step in to the courtyard full of perfectly lined green trees.  In the center lies a little fountain and water feature.  Legend says if you drink from the fountain you will find your true love.  Well, I imagine you might find your true love to be a doctor, as he treats you from the bacterial disease you are sure to contract from drinking this water.  I am obviously a hopeless romantic.

 Of all of the cathedrals we have seen on the trip, this one had to be my favorite.  It was completely different architecturally from anything I had seen.  The  rounded arches were distinctly Arab in design.  It was very interesting to see the contrast in architecture being definitive of a mosque, but including stained glass windows.  Column after column supported rows of these red striped stone arches.  In the center, it opens up into a strikingly beautiful center of worship, as standard in most cathedrals.  It was a central hub of light and brightness with the painted murals, dome top, and sun-reflecting gold designs. 

After the Mesquita we ventured around.   Further along the cobblestone street, was a black gated area with an imposing tall statue. Stepping into the gates and walking around the structure, we had a beautiful view across a large bridge.  I enjoyed how the style of the city was a delightfully ironic mix of Arabic and Medieval design.  We casually strolled along the bridge, looking out over the river. Off in the distance, were the dilapidated remains of stone towers, now overgrown with winding ivy.  At the end of the long bridge was a castle-like stone building, which we mistook to be the fortress of Alcazar.  Upon getting there, we realized that that would be all the way back on the other side.  But from this point, we were able to get a lovely city view, with the bell tower and dome-like tower of the cathedral/mosque marking the highest points.  When we finally did find Alcazar, we found that it was not free for students, as we had previously thought. We looked at the ancient stone wall and figured that if you have seen one medieval fortress you have seen them all, right?  That money could be put to better use on some much needed helado in the 95 degree weather. 

Outside of the city, we waited for our train in a little park, which proved to be one of the more interesting people watching experiences in my life.  Why?  One crazy family.  All of the children were running around sans pants and underwear.  Oh don’t worry.  They still had their shirts on.  Better, right?  They were bathing in this public fountain.  I’m not sure what it was about the fountains in this place, but they have to know this is not the best water for drinking/bathing/frolicking.  Now you might be thinking that’s not that bad.  Kids will be kids, right?  Wrong.  One peed.  Right there.  Peed.  So... that is not “normal” or “okay.”  The thing was, this seemed to phase no one but the group of melting Americans in the park.  There was no hiding our staring.  What they consider acceptable, I consider ultimate verguenza.  Too bad that had to be our parting view of such a beautiful city.

The other trip we took that week was to Escorial.  How do you get there, you ask?  Oh, why you just take a leisurely stroll up this hill that goes up in a 90-degree angle and you will be there in half an hour.  At least it was a workout. When we finally reached the top, we had arrived at the Monasterio, a former palace-turned-monastery.  Upon going in, I was underwhelmed.  It was about as exciting as one would expect a monastery to be.  Walking through was a series of interesting transitions:  from a dungeon, then a museum, and then a catacomb.  Allow me to explain. 

At the base level, it was nothing but cold stone.  I was fearful this was going to be the whole thing until we moved up to the next floors.  There, the walls were covered in variously sized and shaped framed pictures, both religious art and portraits of royalty.  In looking, I honestly could not believe it had been a palace.  It just lacked the ornate detail of the palaces we had previously seen.  (Obviously I was becoming a castle snob.)  It was after many winding staircases that we made our way to why the Monasterio is so famous.  It is the resting place of Spanish royalty.  The Pantheon is a circular room within the monastery, and all along the walls are the caskets of kings and queens.  Though chilling, I have to admit it was interesting and eerily beautiful.  Hoping things might perk up a bit we went down the next corridor, only to find tomb after tomb after tomb.  There was an area for princes, princesses, children, and the family of the king.  Needless to say I was not expecting this.  Angel statues guarded over the marble sepulchers.  Some looked so real I was convinced one was going to punch me in the face.  (Flashback to the legend in Toledo.) 

After emerging from the land of the dead we made our way to the cathedral in the palace, rivaling in size to the other cathedrals we have seen.  It is hard to put into perspective the sheer magnitude of this palace to include all of these features, and we had not even seen half of it.  Not to mention all of the secret passageways.   Okay, I do not actually know that to be fact, but it just seemed like the kind of place that would be filled with mysterious little hideaways.  Maybe I have just seen too many movies.  And after we had looked at the Monasterio, it was all down hill from there…

Visita al Palacio

We walked through the gates to the entrance of my new fabulous vacation spot.  Okay, it was actually the Palacio Real, but close enough.  Though the royal family no longer actually lives there, it is still used for ceremonial and diplomatic things.  However, the fact that people used to call that place “home sweet home” was amazing. Donned in my flowy orange skirt (had to feel someone distinct in a palace, of course) I was in my element.   I stood with camera ready at hand when I saw the dreaded sign that every tourist fears:  the picture of a camera with a line through it.  I, unfortunately, wasn’t allowed to take pictures for reasons I will never know.  Perhaps they figure I will return to fashion my own home in the same style, since I obviously have both the means and desire to do so.   It's a shame because I probably could have taken enough to fill an entire album, but I will have to resort to using colorful language to paint a vivid mental picture. 

Everything was grandiose and ornate.  Hey, if I were royalty, I would probably have solid gold everything too.  Each room had a style completely unique, and the design of one room was completely different than the next.  The walls were adorned with tapestries or intricate wallpaper.  In fact, one room had wallpaper embroidered in silver and gold, forming a luminescent, textured pattern.  Shifting the attention upward, all of the ceilings had murals and opened to a celestial scene above.  Another impressive feature was the numerous crystal chandeliers.  What I find the most intriguing is the fact that there did not used to be electricity for a large part of the time they were used, and each chandelier must have held at least 100 candles… I would certainly hate for that to be my job.  One of the most impressive rooms was the throne room. From the red velvet walls, to the statues of Greek gods, to the marble lions leading up to the raised thrones, everything was designed to represent and assert power.  From the ceiling (can’t forget the ceiling) images were painted in a way to seem as though they were peering over a ledge onto the scene below—a sort of precursor to 3D. 

They also showed some of the china and silverware used.  Upon seeing a jewel-encrusted goblet-like item we were asked what it was used for.  The king’s drink perhaps?  Nope, that would be for  salt.  Totally my next guess.   There was so much to see, as each room was its own intricate vision of mosaic, marble, colors and luxurious fabrics. 

 We saw many of the copies of painting we had seen in the Museo del Prado the day before.  I felt so artsy recognizing the works of Velazquez.  Though I do not know much about art, I found it very interesting.   I couldn’t take pictures there either, because they obviously thought I was going to recreate all the paintings. Yes, this is my take on the famous Las Meninas.  It may be interpreted as a cloud.  Or perhaps a dog… 

Blondes Have More Fun

Hace mucho tiempo, no? I know all of you have been waiting in eager anticipation.  Guess I need to play a little catch up…  We have been spending time with our Italian amigos.  I must say it is pretty intriguing to hear someone speak Spanish with an Italian accent.  They took us to a hole in the wall Italian restaurant, for the best pizza I have ever had.  Grazie mille!  It was a nice change of pace from Spanish food, which is not my favorite.  Ham is the star of a lot of meals, and I am not big on the pig.  Chicken sandwich?  They will sneak some jamon in there.  Jamon with pungent cheese on crusty bread?  Coming right up.  Would you like jamon with that?  Well, you’re going to have it anyway.  Thus it was a welcome change.  One thing that I do appreciate about Spanish food, though, is they do love their chocolate.  (Gracias Dios.)  I had my first chocolate con churros experience.   I might have even shamelessly dipped my spoon right into the delightfully warm cup of rich chocolate once, or twice.  But who’s counting?

We took an over night trip to Salamanca.  Pablo was not there this time, and we were escorted by a new guide.  First stop, she said about three sentences and started moving on.  We stood shocked.  That’s it?  No inundation of senseless information?  We went through the entire city in four hours, while with Pablo, we would still be on postcard number three.  We went through the cathedral (of course) along with a cute river tucked away, where everyone comes to relax.  We also visited the park of “enamorados” (which is pretty much every park here.  Actually pretty much anywhere here…)    We also visited the library, and I’d have to say the most interesting part of that was the several kegs behind a bar.  When in Spain…? 

Salamanca is very much a “college town.”  Home to the first university in Spain, (second in all of Europe) it was full of people our age, and after dinner we were able to walk around the plaza and enjoy the scene.  After some intense research, we looked up top songs in Spain.  Surprisingly, most are in English.  Our personal favorite is “Boys will be Boys” by Mexican estrella Paolina Rubio.  We were enjoying our time meeting the locals and hanging out when I heard a familiar pop beat.   Boys will be Boys!  My friend Travis and I proceeded to dance, as the infectious rhythm had overwhelmed us. I kid you not, everyone in the room formed a circle around us to watch the espectáculo.  Thus, you could consider us rock stars.  As we made our way to another place, we found a “tuna.”  No, not the chicken of the sea. It is a group of young guys that dress up in ridiculous uniforms and play music.  (Think like a Spanish version of a mariachi band.) They begged us to come over and proceeded to play us songs.  So in the middle of the night right in the plaza, we had our own tuna concert, and they were pretty good, velvet costume and all.

The next night we decided to go to our first discoteca.  Kapital has seven different floors so we just worked our way up.  We found our way to the Karaoke floor and channeled our inner Shakira with “Hips Don’t Lie.”  Then we decided to take things to the next level and did Karaoke in Spanish.  Paulina Rubio is our girl, of course, so we sang “Sigo Aqui,”  another one of my personal faves.  I then danced the night away.  The End.  Obviously that would be too perfect, so you know something had to happen that was out of the ordinary.  It was at that moment that Leah’s foot started bleeding. Profusely.  Some sasquatch had stepped on it, so that was our cue to take off our boogey shoes for the night.

The following evening we were invited to a party with our Erasmus friends. We walked up some frighteningly rickety stairs to the apartment.  We arrived to find it was a theme party… which we were not aware of.  It was “flower power,” as in bright neon colors.  I was in black.  Strike one Americana.  I then spotted the Italian boy I think is adorable.  We facebook chatted which meant we are in love and soon to be wed.  He then decided to bring up in casual conversation that he thought blondes were fine, but that brunettes are always more beautiful.  Oh...  Abort mission.  Did you hear that?  It was my hopes and dreams shattering.  Sigh.  With my newfound confidence the group and I headed to the club Pacha. From the stage they were splashing water on people, which people seemed to love but I found it dampening.  (See what I did there?) 

            Naturally, today we were pretty tired, so Leah and I took the day to walk around.  We ended up seeing the movie “Cuando Te Encuentre” (aka The Lucky One.) I didn’t think Zac Efron could get much hotter… until I saw him speaking in Spanish.  The dubbed voice made him ascend to the highest level of guapisimo.   New mission…