A Letter to Parents Everywhere

Today we dropped my little sister off for her freshman year of college. It was a whirlwind of emotion for everyone involved. Even my sister, a self proclaimed sociopath with no emotion (I recommended that she not open with that when introducing herself to people on campus), broke down a couple of times at the thought of being separated from all of her high school friends, of moving away from home for the first time, and the overwhelming possibilities that lie ahead.  All in all, she is a well-adjusted kid, smart and sociable, with a heart of gold. I have absolutely no worries about her ability to be successful both in college and in life. (We always make jokes that my younger brother, on the other hand, is a different story.  I'm about 93% sure that he's going to be fine.) And she's only attending college two hours away from home so it will be easy for her to get home whenever she wants. This reminded me of the 150 freshmen that, in three short weeks, will be boarding a plane headed for Greece, their first semester of college, and the great unknown and the parents that would be dropping them off not on campus, but at an airport in the States. (The fact that I am largely responsible for these 150 17 and 18 year olds embarking on their first semester of college in a foreign country hasn't escaped me .)

Watching all of these parents and first time college kids interact, got me thinking about what I'd like to have said to my own parents in that situation and to all of the parents entrusting me (and 8 other staff members) with their babies this fall.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Congratulations! The day has arrived! You did it! I'm off to college!

At graduation,  I received all of these words of congratulations, but I'd like to congratulate you. You made it! Yes, I'm the one who earned the grades, spent hours at after school activities, and submitted the college applications, but I couldn't have done it without your help. You taught me the value of hard work, the difference between right and wrong, and the power of kindness. And for that I am grateful.

But now comes the hard part... moving out for the first time, trusting me to make the right choices, and helping me learn from those choices even when I don't always make the right ones.  

Now I'll always be your kid, but the thing is, I'm not a kid. I'm an adult. Or at least I'm trying to figure out how to be one. And while it will be difficult for both of us, you have to let me figure things out even if that means I stumble a bit. When you say, "Don't forget to pack your jacket," I hear, "I don't trust you to pack for yourself." What you're actually saying is, "I checked the weather and I don't want you to be cold." When you say, "Be careful" every time I leave the house, I hear, "I have irrational fears about your safety." What you're actually saying is, "I'm your mom and I worry about you. And that doesn't stop just because you're 18." When you do things for me that I need to figure out how to do for myself, I hear, "I don't trust you to do this yourself." What you're actually saying is, "I'm just trying to help." Even though it's not always easy, I guess we both could do better at saying we mean and really listening to each other.

So the time has come. You taught me to fly and I'm ready to leave the nest. But remember, even though I'm moving to my own nest soon, your nest will always be home.

Love,

Your College Freshman

Revelations from the Road

As many of you may (or may not) know, I recently accepted a position working for yet another study abroad program. This time, I'll be living and working in Greece with 150 first semester freshmen. I'll be a renaissance woman of sorts, serving as an instructor for a global experience class, a residence hall director, and student activities coordinator. Students in the program study abroad their first semester, then begin classes on their home campus in January. All in all, it's a pretty crazy adventure for anyone to sign up for, let alone an 18 year old in their first semester of college. So of course, the job would be right up my alley.

After I finished training for said job, I hit the open road, on a quest to explore more of the north east. I drove almost 1500 miles through 8 states over the course of 7 days. It was actually quite lovely. I drove through the New England countryside, stopping for a hike or ice cream at my leisure, staying with a few friends along the way. In college, I used to be able to drive 1500 miles in one sitting. 10 years later, however, is a different story. Since I forgot the aux cord for my ipod and was at the mercy of rural radio stations, I had a lot of time to think.

1. Adventure is guaranteed. I accepted the job in Greece only a few short weeks before I was set to move to New Orleans and start teaching. I had taken all of my tests, paid all of my fees, read all of the required pre-reading (well most of it), and was set to start on my grand adventure of molding young minds. Several weeks before, I requested to change my primary certification to special education. When I got word that my request had been granted, I felt a certain sense of calm. It felt like the right thing to do at the right time in my life. (A few weeks later, seeing my cousin with Cerebral Palsy with all of his amazing friends, classmates, and teachers at his high school graduation party affirmed that this was, in fact, where I should be. This revelation would not have occurred had I actually went to New Orleans when I was supposed to, as the graduation party took place after I was scheduled to head south.)

I definitely have feelings of loss and regret over not teaching this fall. I feel like I am cheating on kids I've never met in a school I've never been to. But I think there are lesson to be learned no matter which classroom I'm in this fall, be it in the Big Easy or in the Mediterranean.

2. New York is not the be all, end all. After grad school, I wanted to move back to New York so much it almost hurt. While those feelings have eased up a bit over the last couple of years, I still had it in my head that New York was where I would eventually end up. During my tour d'north east, I was excited to get back to the Big Apple. Stepping off the bus at the Port Authority, instead of feeling like home, New York felt like stress. Schlepping all of my worldly possessions all over the city on public transportation in 90 degree heat with a millions people doing whatever they could to push past me on the sidewalk was not my idea of a good time. Talking with a friend from grad school who now works full time in the city summed it up nicely, "As you get older, you get tired of putting up with the bullshit." And he's exactly right. While New York was a great place to live and go to grad school in my mid-20's, several years later, it definitely lost some of its appeal. So I've amended my "Must move back to New York" rule to include, "If I do end up back in New York, that's great, but I can't live below 72nd Street because people are crazy. And if I don't end up back in New York, that's okay too."

It's Like Coming Home

Re-entry. Re-adjustment. Transition. Coming home. I have been thinking about these things for several weeks, even before returning home it was my job on the ship to think about these things on behalf of our students. I would argue that we didn't dedicate enough time or effort to these things on behalf of our shipboard community, but I would also argue that I didn't dedicate enough time or effort to these things on behalf of myself.

Transitioning home after such a cliché but aptly labeled life-changing experience is really challenging, to say the least. For the past few weeks since arriving home, I have been trying to pinpoint exactly what it is that makes it so difficult. Yes people's lives went on at home. Big things happened, they really did. But I think it boils down to a lack of understanding. Of understanding something they can't possibly understand. Of understanding something they really may not have an interest in understanding.  And therein lies the problem. The real question is, "How do you explain the inexplicable?"

Past the first night at home, I haven't sat down with anyone at home to try to explain just how this experience has changed my understanding, my perspective, and my life. I haven't posted any pictures on facebook and I haven't shared any pictures with anyone at home. The farthest I got was looking up brochures for parents on their college student transitioning home after being abroad. I contemplated printing out a copy for my parents. As a grown adult, you wouldn't think this would be necessary, but I don't think it's a bad idea.

The only solution I have come to is to keep moving, keep learning, keep exploring. This may not be the best long-term solution, but for the foreseeable future, that's the best I got. 

Get Me Outta Here

Amsterdam, The Netherlands

Ahh, travel. Like everything else, it has its good days and its bad days. Today was a far cry from that first day off the ship in Japan where Christine and I were trying to navigate the labyrinth of subways and I told her elatedly, “Figuring it out is the best part!” Today, however, is a different story.

After getting off to a late start (and getting stuck in the revolving glass doors on the way out of the port terminal while simultaneously getting a family with four small children stuck along with me), I was off. My Semester at Sea journey had come to an end. Being too cheap to pay 60 Euros for a cab to the airport, I decided to take a quick cab ride down the street so as not to have to have to carry my luggage to the train station. Mind you, I could see the train station from the port terminal. 8 Euros and at least one illegal u-turn later, I arrived at the train station. At the station, the ticket machine didn’t take my debit card (or cash for that matter). Of course. Why would it? When I asked the repair man fixing the turnstile where I could purchase a ticket with cash, he directed me to the ticket booth…on the opposite site of the station meaning I had to go outside and around with all of my earthly possessions. This is when “tired from processing a new country every two days, packed more than I can carry and I think I may cry” girl made her first appearance of the morning. He let me in through the open turnstile and 4 Euros later, I was on my way to the airport.

Getting luggage on and off the train proved to be a bit of an ordeal. I had in tow a rollerboard carryon that tethered to another suitcase and also a rolling duffle bag I bought at Coscto. Note to self: repeatedly yanking on a suitcase that is stuck on the step of the train and cursing “Come on, you piece of…” under your breath over and over does not work. But thanks to the kindness of strangers, my bags and I all made it onto the train.

Upon arrival at the airport, the issue of the luggage again reared its ugly head. Online, it made it sound like there were luggage carts readily available once you got off of the train, but when I arrived, there were none to be found. I saw at least five ladies pushing just their purse in one of these carts. After breaking a sweat more than once hauling all of my worldly possessions all over Amsterdam, I wished every single one of those ladies bad travel juju. Trust me, they earned it.

At the terminal, it became something of a mystery in order to find the check in counter. Everything at the Amsterdam airport was assigned, what appeared to be, an arbitrary number. I found a screen with check in numbers. I had to find my flight number, then that flight had a designated check in counter. Check in 20. What the heck did that mean? What about just having signs for Icleandair? Too easy? After using my imaginary Dutch decoder ring to solve the mystery, I finally found the ominous check in 20 where I was told that my bags were over the weight limit. Every time I use that damn duffle bag, I am over the weight limit. Every time. That is what I get for buying a bag that could probably hold half the contents of a Costco store. I kept pulling things out of my Buick-sized duffle bag and when I had a sufficient pile of dirty laundry and other essentials weighing what I hoped would be at least 5 kilograms on the floor in front of the airport counter, the attendant asked, “Now where are you going to put all that?” When I pointed to my rollerboard, she politely told me that then my carryon luggage would then be too heavy. So I piled everything back in and forked over the overweight baggage fee.

At security, I read all of the signs, followed the protocols accordingly, and still was asked to unpack half of my suitcase and put it in a plastic bin before putting everything through the x-ray machine (laptop, charger, liquids, camera, pretty much anything with a battery…). Sir, a word of advice: if you make that clear on the signage, people would have to unpack everything on the conveyor belt. Just saying.

Almost every interaction I had with another human being this morning resulted in me saying, “You want me to pay how much?!” and then me mumbling to myself, “Get me out of here.” But on the upside, the lady sitting next to me on the plane pulled out a Walkman. Not an iPod or even a Discman, but an honest to goodness Walkman. I was rather impressed until she shooed me off of my own try table during takeoff (as I was writing this) and told me, “You must have this up. For safety.” And proceeded to put the tray table up for me. What does she know about safety? She had her Walkman on during the entire safety briefing. A few minutes after takeoff, she points to the tray table and tells me, “It’s probably okay now.” What are you, the tray table police? My response to her, “I have been on a place before.” Lady, your walkman just got a lot less cool. 

Coffee Shop or Coffee Shop?

Amsterdam, The Netherlands

Amsterdam itself is a really cool city, with winding city streets intertwined with a series of canals. Did I mention the bikes? Lots and lots of bikes. I’d even go as far to say that pedestrians don’t in fact have the right of way in Amsterdam. Bikes do. And for someone is who is anything but an avid cyclist (see post from South Africa above), this was a bit troublesome for me.

I did all of the standard Amsterdamy things: the Anne Frank House, saw the Flower Market, and meandered through the old city. The jury, however, is still out on the Dutch people. Based on the ones I interacted with anyway. At one point, I had my map out, trying to get my bearings, and a guy asked me, “Do you know where you are?” Now that is a loaded question. Like at this exact moment or in life?  The second guy to help me with directions then proceeded to ask me for money. I gave him two Euros. Then he asked me for one more. Sir, if you knew how much money I’d given to people in New York City, you’d be a) a little more grateful and b) shocked at my current generosity.

The interactions I had with a couple of the shopkeepers weren’t that much better. I was burying stamps and postcards and I thought I heard the woman behind the counter asked me, “Inside Europe?” And I responded, “International. United States” Well apparently she has asked, “Outside Europe?” because then she proceeded to tell me that “Yes, the United States is international” and that in Europe there are different countries that require different postage not like sending mail between the states in the US. Really? Is that how it works, please tell me more about these countries you speak of.

At the second shop, I was buying at tshirt that was advertised at 15 Euros at the 8 other tourist shops I’d been in. I put the shirt on the counter and the guy says, “20 Euros.” When I told him I thought it was 15, he tells me, “Okay, 17.” I tell him that every other shop on this block is selling it for 15 (and I’m pretty sure he had it signed at 15 as well), he begrudgingly takes 15.

On the upside, the guy who sold me a falafel for lunch was really quite pleasant. 

Nothing that a Belgian waffle won't fix

Antwerp, Belgium

I’m done. My brain is just done. If having six days to research, explore, and then process a country during the full semester seemed like a daunting task, try doing it in two days or even one. I’m ready to figure out a new place and have that be how it’s going to be for awhile.

I was getting disappointed in myself as  a traveler, not out exploring from sun up to sun down, but then after a sweet and a coffee at a café in the town square, I realized that this in and of itself is traveling. There’s no one way to do it. (This is not the first time a revelation has come after a snack break.) And it’s okay to go home in between and regroup. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. 

Thank you for helping to keep Paris clean

Paris, France

I spent the last few days in Paris, arguably one of my favorite places. It’s such a cliché place to love, but I don’t care. And what they say about Paris in the spring, it’s all true. It really is beautiful. When Maureen and I were here last year, it was the end of February, cold, rainy, and still awesome. So imagine a bit warmer weather, people out and about, and flowers in bloom. I spent two days just wandering around the city, sitting on a park bench watching the world go by, stopping to eat a crepe whenever the moment hit. I really just love Paris.

The real accomplishment was successfully navigating the city with three children under the age of nine in tow. I had come along to Paris with the K family to afford Mr. and Mrs. K the opportunity to have a night out in one of the most romantic cities in the world. I was a bit apprehensive, as usually we are confined to  the ship during our time together, but things went surprisingly well. We spent the entire afternoon in the Tuileries, a lovely garden at the end of the Champs-Elysses. I insisted that no trip to Paris was complete without a ride on the carousel. They were hesitant at first, but ended up loving it. I bought two sets of tickets and the guy behind the counter gave me a third one for free. We repeated this process again and they rode six times. They also have these trampolines (or jumping carpets as the French call them) set up in the middle of the park. You pay two Euros and kids can jump for five whole minutes. The boys convinced me that buying two tickets was a really great idea, and seeing no downside to expending more energy, I agreed. (Too bad the trampoline guy wasn’t as generous as the carousel guy.) Sometime that day, the two oldest boys started collecting used Metro tickets that they found on the ground. It was a great distraction, but it was also a great distraction. Especially when walking to and from…anywhere. There was one point at the metro station on the way home that I thought they were going to get trampled trying to pick up used tickets right outside the turnstile as people were trying to get in. Luckily, all injuries were avoided. While we were at the jumping carpets, one of the boys was rifling through the landscaping, picking up old tickets and one of the fathers said, “You know those aren’t good right?” When I explained that it was just an impromptu hobby, he said, “Thank you for helping to keep Paris clean.” A good distraction (most of the time) and picking up liter. It’s a win-win.