MEMORIES

            As some of you may know, my time here in Spain has introduced me to many incredible new people and practices. One of these practices that I have been trying to incorporate into my life is meditation. Up until learning some of the most basic meditation techniques a few months ago, I had a misconstrued perception of meditation— a major component of that being that it was for “really zen” people and not for me. In my brief time practicing, however, I have found that it is quite the opposite—merely taking the time to attempt meditations on a regular basis is what creates that quote-on-quote zen feeling in one’s life. At least that’s how it has played out for me. In the past few months I have noted significant differences in how quickly I fall asleep, how well I sleep, and how little neck pain I have—something that had been an unquestioned constant in my life until now. Overall, the meditation seems to have positive effects on my state-of-being. However, I hadn’t yet had a really eye-opening experience with it until this weekend.

            The other day when I got home early for a Friday night I was actually a little excited to take the opportunity to get in a longer meditation. Per usual, I prepared myself for bed but before settling down for my meditation I stopped to fix the cheesy-but-festive red and white sparkley garland I currently have hanging over my window. My taping job wasn’t the best and so one of the ends continues to come undone. Thus, before turning off my lights for my meditation, I pushed that end back onto the masking tape ring at the end of the wooden box above my window. Although it stuck for the time being, for the next fifteen minutes or so I was extremely aware of the crinkling sound it produced as the individual metallic strips started to detach from the tape. As gravity pulled the garland off of its not-so-adhesive-anymore adhesion, I tried to focus on ignoring the noise that was intruding on my peace of mind. But eventually, I decided to embrace it. 

            I decided to embrace the sound my scarce Christmas decorations were making because in that moment—with my eyes closed and my mind cleared of everything else—no other sound could have reminded me more of Christmas. Had I not been in meditation I don’t think I would have really focused on the noise or let it affect me in any way. But in the silence and the darkness of my room I began to picture myself somewhere else. Instead of sitting on my bed 4,000 miles from home I felt as though I were in my childhood bed in the southwest corner of my Darien bedroom, trying to fall asleep on a cold December night. The inconsistent, crunching noise of my garland was instead the crackling sound of the frost on my windowpane. I could hear the sound and feel the reverberation of the persistent wind gusts hitting the side of my house. I could imagine the wintery scene outside my window—a magical snow globe-effect as the dust-like snow was picked off the ground and spun around by the wind tunnel resulting from the open space of the retention pond next to our house.  It was something I had experienced a million times, but I had never thought much about it. It was just a normal winter night in Darien. I never would have imagined that an insignificant little sound would remind me of all of that and fill me with Christmas feelings.

            After picturing myself and my noise in my bedroom, I pictured it downstairs in the bay window overlooking our driveway. I was reminded of a Christmas Past, sitting on the ledge of the bay window, gazing at our beautiful Christmas tree and singing along to Hard Candy Christmas. It was the middle of the day, but I was home and doing nothing-much because it was Christmas break and what could be more perfect than that? It was just a simple moment; nothing particularly interesting happened, but I was filled with Christmas spirit and for some reason that’s a day I remember. In that particular memory, that crackling sound was there too—on the windowpane again: this audible barrier between the frigid weather outside the glass and my toasty existence inside. On a subconscious level, I guess Christmas is filled with that crackling noise for me. 

            After reliving those memories, I decided to scan my whole house. A meditation technique that I’ve recently been taught is called the “body scan” in which you do a mental scan over your body, focusing on only small parts of it at a time. So I decided to employ a little creative liberty and apply the technique to my home instead. The logical portion of my brain figured it would be also be beneficial because we recently sold our house and so my mom had asked me to think about the things I might want them to save for me. I thought that during the scan, I might zone in on some possessions I didn’t realize were of importance to me. What I realized in my “home scan,” however, is that there is really nothing that I need there. 

The things that are important to me are not the physical objects, but the memories.  I didn’t picture a big fluffy red couch; I pictured the place where my mom and I have spent countless “sick days” watching our favorite movies and gorging ourselves with delicious snacks. I didn’t picture a lifeless basement bathroom; I pictured all the random but familiar trinkets my dad filled his shelves with—the Lessons My Father Taught Me book that my brother gifted him, stacked on top of the comparative religion book that I believe my mom bought him one Christmas, the real scorpion frozen in a semi-circle plastic encasing, most likely purchased in a Mexican souvenir shop, the old-fashioned pistol that I believe my dad built himself, the silver chain of two outstretched arms holding hands, a million little things that really had no business being in a bathroom…but that’s what made it my dad’s bathroom. 

Although some of the people who toured our house probably mused at the strange wall along our staircase that is covered in confetti, I smiled when I saw it in my mind and remembered the many gathering we would have at my house when my cousins Ari and Isis were youngsters and how the wall would be covered in handprints when they left. I smiled because I know that wall is not only covered in shiny bits of plastic, but in memories and in love. 

I didn’t picture two commonplace picture frames hanging over the loveseat in our living room; I pictured hand-me-downs and family. I pictured those same painting in my grandparents’ house— in their same dinky plastic frames, with the crack in the upper left corner of the frame on the right. That crack has probably been there for years, but no one’s ever cared about or bothered to do more than half-heartedly mend it with invisible tape. 

I didn’t picture the plant that sits in the space between the two closets in my parents’ bedroom; instead I pictured the heart-shaped valentine made on pink construction paper that I probably left out for them on the kitchen counter ten or so years ago. I wouldn’t say it’s an especially great production, but it has been proudly displayed on the bottom shelf of the plant’s stand for as long as I can remember. 

I also didn’t picture everything the way it looks now, but rather the way rooms once were. I know that the third bedroom upstairs has been mostly cleared of our possessions and that our family laptop now sits atop my small, white IKEA desk. However, when I pictured the room I pictured it filled with our sewing machines, our tiny TV, our treadmill, and that enormous computer cabinet with a chunky first Dell computer. I pictured the many hours I spent there playing Speedy Eggbert with my cousins and The Sims with Chelsea. 

That house is not filled with things, it is filled with memories. That’s why it is bittersweet that my family will have moved by the time I get back to the States. It makes me sad to think that this will be the last Christmas in our Darien house and that I am not there to share in it. But we sold the physical object, we didn’t sell the memories. Therefore, my Darien Christmases will always be mine, our summer barbeques will always be mine, the many holiday get-togethers, the random parties with friends, the hours spent watching baseball and hockey games, the relaxing nights filled with baths or wine and conversation… all of it will always be mine and that doesn’t change with our change of address. 

It was really comforting to be reminded of that. I wouldn’t say that I’ve “struggled” with the news because honestly, I hadn’t thought about it much until last night. But I think it was important to really contemplate it, to acknowledge that there is some sadness there but that overall I am at peace with the change. It’s all a part of the process and I really believe that my whole family is at a turning point in our lives. Moving on from our wonderful time in Darien is just a step forward in the direction we are heading. And I have faith that it’s a positive direction. 

UNDECIDED

“I’m 100% certain that I am 0% sure of what I’m going to do.”

            The above quotation comes from a post-grad tumblr and was, unquestionably, written to be comical. While I can certainly see the humor in it, I look at it a little differently. And as of late, I have embraced this concept with full seriousness.

             In the past few weeks, I’ve become more and more aware of the peace that I’m finding in the unknown. Now, more than ever, I am undecided regarding what I want to do after this year but instead of that making me feel anxious, I’m excited. This time last year, I would make a joke about not knowing what I was doing after graduation. I would play the question off lightly merely to avoid creating room for others to judge my uncertainty. In retrospect, I don’t know how much anyone else really cared…I just know that the uncertainty made me feel uncomfortable and as though I were doing something “wrong.” You could blame American society, or the economic situation, or the environment I was in at Wesleyan, but the truth is that it wasn’t any of those things—it was the influence that I allowed them to have on me.

            Fortunately, somehow now that I’m here, I’ve allowed myself to let go of that. Being in a place where I’m surrounded by other people who are following their hearts is incredibly inspiring. Don’t get me wrong—there are plenty of people doing the same in the U.S., I just don’t feel like I come into contact with as many on such a regular basis. Or maybe their “heart paths” are so different from mine that I don’t recognize them. Or maybe we just don’t talk about it. Whatever the reason, being here right now is pushing me to try new things and think in different ways. It’s encouraging me to consider options I never thought were plausible for me. Sure, I knew plenty of people did the Peace Corp or Teach-for-America. I knew that in other countries I could get better accommodations and compensation to teach—allowing me to pay off loans and maybe even save money by doing this. I knew that there are dozens of other Spanish-speaking countries that I could work in…but I chose Spain and the CIEE program because, even though it was scary, it was the least scary of all the other options. 

            I don’t regret that choice for a minute. I know that the experience that I am having right now is invaluable and exactly what I needed at this point—the right next step for me. However, this experience is starting to make me think that that’s what it is: a step. Just one step in the grand scheme of my life! And that’s extremely different from how I looked at it before coming here. Originally, my thoughts were: “I’ll take one year to do something awesome, then come back and start my life.” But THIS is my life! I want to feel this inquisitive and inspired and challenged every day. I want to always feel like I have the time and capacity to think about things abstractly, to consider how I can make myself and my world better, to put those thoughts into practice. I don’t want to feel like that’s something unique to my time abroad; I want it to simply be a constant in my life. That being said, I don’t necessarily have to be in Spain to continue this path, but I need to stay excited and look for the next thing that still makes me feel this way. 

            To hell with “realistic”! In today’s society, we use that word interchangeably with “dull” and “unimaginative”. I don’t want to look for a job that will pay the bills; I want to figure out how to pay the bills while working a job that I love. A quotation of which I try to remind myself often says “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” I want to feel alive and love what I do, always. And not just love some aspect of it or feel like it “kinda fits” me. That’s the way things were at State Farm—I was pretty happy with my internship placement, I enjoyed my department and I really liked the people. The company had a good work environment and I loved feeling a part of the State Farm family. But does that mean it felt right? Not necessarily. 

            It means I felt comfortable. And that’s nice and all, but I’ll probably end up feeling comfortable anywhere I work, once I give it a bit of time. So I shouldn’t settle on the first place that made me feel that way. I am grateful to State Farm and the experience and support they gave to me. But at this point in my life, I don’t think that’s the right path for me. I need to continue to do that which pushes me outside of my comfort zone. That’s what is making me into the kind of person that I want to be.  That’s what will make me feel fulfilled. 

            I am extremely lucky to have the opportunity to live here Spain and to have means of supporting myself financially while still having amble time to explore, ponder, and self-discover. I love the time that I spend at my primary school and I am falling a bit in love with teaching. But I didn’t realize how much this year would be about me and figuring myself out. There are a million questions when it comes to that topic, and I know a million more will continue to pose themselves. But I’m excited that I’m beginning to answer a few. I’m also excited that the fact that there are so many unanswered questions in my life is becoming less scary and that I am learning to approach the unknown with curiosity instead of fear. 

I’m not completely there yet. I’m far from being fearless and I continue to worry far more than I should. But I’ve noticed little changes in myself and my ways of thinking and I know that if I continue in this direction they can have large, positive ramifications. That is an exhilarating realization. More often than not, these changes within us happen on a subconscious level and we are unable to see the process unfold. Because that has mostly been the case for me, I am so grateful to notice this shifting now and to be able to push myself and observe simultaneously, rather than in retrospect. I’m still unsure of where I’m going. But I’m 100% sure that I’m excited!

FEAR

          Before I left for my adventure in Spain, a number of people asked if I planned to blog about my time here and were very intent on persuading me to do so. I kindly, but firmly turned them down. Although I love to write and I love to share my stories with friends and family, I had no desire to do so in a format that was open to the public and broadcasted over the world wide web. 

As many of you know, I’m a bit of an “old soul” in the way that I’m leery of the world of technology and am not a fan of how much information is available about us at the click of a button. I was not interested in adding yet another link to that list for any stranger to happen upon. I was also carrying around this conviction that I didn’t want to share my stories so “impersonally”. For me, to have a skype date, a facebook thread, or personal email through which to recount my tales and catch up with individual people is so much more endearing. And anyways, if you don’t wanna take the time to ask me personally, why should you get the privilege of reading about my fantastic life?? At least, that’s how I saw it before I got here.

Since arriving in Spain, however, my perspective on a lot of things has been shifting. It’s not just because of the “no pasa nada” mentality that I continuously joke about. It’s not just because of the appreciation I have for the educational experience that I was so fortunate to receive and my aspirations to truly share some of that with my students and the staff at my primary school where the experience is markedly different. It’s not because of so many of the little things I can think of that would highlight the cultural differences between Spain and the US. My perspective is beginning to change because of the big things—people who I have met and experiences I have had that raised questions so big that I can barely begin to share them here, let alone answer them… but over the next few months, I will try.

What am I doing here? (In Spain… on this planet…interpret however you see fit.)


Why have my passions led me here and what does that say about the person I am?


Do I like the person I am? What parts of me am I so proud of? What parts of me do I want to work on improving? 


How do I fully embrace the incredibleness of my time here and take advantage of every beautiful, minute opportunity while still treating it as my comfortable everyday life? How do I keep from becoming complacent about my dreams while I’m living one?


If Spain has been the big scary dream for the past few years and now I’m here already tackling it, what’s next? How can I balance working towards the next dream, while still focusing on the amazing life I have right now?


How in the world do I even begin to answer these questions?!?!?

Although I know I’ll still rely on my personal journaling and on much-needed heart-to-hearts with much-appreciated best friends, I think it’s time for something new. The last time blogging was suggested to me it was done so in a new light and I think that being forced to see it in that way has made me understand why I need to do it. 

At the same time that my fear about blogging revolves around sharing with others, it first and foremost revolves around me. I have been talking about being a writer…probably since I first picked up a good book. It’s something that I believe I am innately good at, but more importantly, it’s something that feeds my soul. I always say that I want to be able to share that emotional experience with others the way that I have felt it shared through the words of my favorite authors. And I do want that; it is not a lie. What is a lie, however, is the reason I tell myself I’m not doing it. The truth is far simpler: I am afraid.

I am deathly afraid of putting my writing out there for the world to see because I’m so worried that people won’t like it. Even scarier is what you— the people I am closest to and the people I care most about— will think. That’s why forcing myself to blog is so important. In order to write through a public forum I have to know that my words have an audience, but know that that audience is not one particular person for whom I know how to sculpt my words. With a blog I can’t choose to share a different version of an experience with each different person I tell. I can’t share my feelings from the perspective that I know one particular listener will relate to the most. I have to just be myself.

And the worst part about that is…I still don’t know quite who I am. It’s not only a matter of being honest with my readers; it’s a matter of being completely honest with myself. And I never realized that that scares me. I’m not merely afraid that you won’t like the person I present myself as through my writing; I’m also afraid that the way I choose to present myself won’t wholeheartedly fulfill my own expectations. 

It’s almost as though I’ve been waiting for the “right time” to really delve into my writing, the time at which I feel fully defined and confident in who I am as a person and as a writer. But I don’t think that day will ever come. Or even if it will, I’m going to miss out on so many years—in which I could do great things—merely waiting to feel like I can do great things. 

I don’t quite know where this blog is going to go. Like much of my personal writing, I anticipate that each entry may end up as something incredibly different than I envisioned when I started out. That’s okay. At times it may get too personal or too long-winded or too dull for your individual taste. That’s okay too. What’s important is that I’m constantly pushing myself outside of my comfort zone while I’m here in Spain. It seems ironic to me, really, that writing would be a way to do that since it has always been my chosen form of solace. But now it’s time to take something I love and turn it into something greater.  I’m still anxious about it all but I have confidence that I’m going to figure it out along the way. And I do truly think this will help me confront the fears I have that stand between wanting to be a writer and being a writer.  

I’m not quite sure what I’m getting myself into or what you’ll be getting into by choosing to subscribe… but I invite you along for the journey.