Fasting and Feasting

I’m writing this from my pitch-black room in Bunratty Castle hotel, it’s only a bit after 10pm (22:00 for the Irish) but my sisters are still getting over awful American jetlag and I’m quite tired myself.

Anyway- my sisters! They’re here in Ireland at long last, along with my parents, and it’s been glorious, truly wonderful to see them. After a sort of complicated scary bus ride, I arrived at the hotel here at Bunratty about a minute after they did, and immediately fell back into the fold without excessive fanfare. Everything feels natural and good and normal and I love it.

To backtrack a bit for a moment and make the parallelism of this theme work well, I’d like to spend a bit of time talking about yesterday’s recognition of Good Friday, one of the highest holy days in the Catholic church. As is tradition, I fasted for most of the day, which is always an inconvenience, but Galway made it a particularly challenging test this year by placing a massive food festival on this weekend. I attended a talk with my roommate about the history of food in Galway, which was really interesting and run by the same guy who gave the history of Galway talk for the visiting students back in January. I already knew some of his jokes and stories, so it was interesting to see them worked into a little bit of a different scope, but also made me feel really knowledgeable about Ireland and the Galwegians in general, so that was nice. I also think I appreciated it a lot more now that I know where different streets and landmarks are today, so I could compare my modern appreciation of them with the historic fun facts he spurted out every so often. 

Good Friday always makes me think, lately, of my Lenten excursion to Jerusalem, and this year was no exception. I nearly missed listening to the passion in the midst of running around on last minute errands about the city, but luckily, a church is never far away in Galway. I don't think I mentioned this before, but the other day, with a group of my roommates and other friends, I experienced my first authentic Passover Seder celebration! Complete with all of the authentic traditional foods (even matzoh), we learned all about the traditions of the holiday, which was perfect, because the focus of Passover really is about teaching and passing on rituals, so that was neat.  

While yesterday was all about fasting (which I eventually broke with pasta and rice cakes smothered in fake Nutella- Panda brand!), today was most certainly the feast. I met up with my family at Bunratty Castle, which is a feast for the eyes in it's own right, but there also ate a lot, and thus began my glorious week of all-meals-included. Lunch was a nice seafood chowder, but the real treat was in the evening, when we were honored guests at a legitimate mock medieval banquet in the actual castle that's been in use since the 1400s. How incredible is that? The servers were also actors and musicians, dressed in period garb, frolicking about with harps and violins and pouring us extra cups of honey mead and singing beautiful haunting tunes. We quite literally feasted upon ribs, roast chicken, potatoes, vegetables, soup, and some sort of wonderful raspberry mousse for dessert. No real utensils, but we had a 'dagger' knife to pick up and cut food, otherwise it was all about our fingers. We had a little bowl of water to wash off the excess sauces, and a napkin, but it was surprisingly far less messy than I'd anticipated. 

Earlier in the afternoon, we were able to explore the whole castle grounds and old style village, too, which was nice to put the big old castle into context of who would have actually worked inside and benefited from it's stronghold from protection. The little refurbished houses from the different classes were cool, but I think my favorite part was all of the animals kept on the property. I've seen loads of sheep in Ireland, but this was the first time I was able to see ponies, deer, donkeys, goats, and more sheep up close- I even pet a good number of them. But the absolute, hands down, greatest part was the baby lambs. Perfect for Easter, we found two young lambs in a pen with their mother (she had horns, but it was definitely a mom), and watched them for a ridiculously long amount of time. They were the cutest things I've ever seen in my life, running around bleating and playing, wiggling their disproportionately long tails, nursing from the mom, and generally just cavorting around enjoying life. 

When I was trying to come up for a nice unified theme for today's post, I realized that though these past two days have very literally been ones where I fasted and then feasted, it also broadly applies to the transition from my general Galway life to this short fun trip with my family. I've been living on cheap St. Bernard's pasta and am now being treated out each meal, but even larger still, these past three months I've been sort of isolated and running on empty at times trying to experience as much as I possibly can and figuring everything out mostly on my own. I've made awesome friends, but nothing can compare to the sense of belonging I get when I'm with my family, a sort of feasting on love (okay I know I'm getting ridiculously corny here) that can't be found anywhere else. 

And that's so nice. Tomorrow we're headed up to Galway, where I'll get to show it off yet again, and then all sorts of perfect will collide. There are still plenty of people I miss dearly back home, but for now, I'm feasting, absolutely, and celebrating both Easter and having my family here with me. Break-FAST has begun! Hehe. It's included in the hotel here, so in the morning I'm going to stuff myself with far more than hostel cornflakes and toast, and it will be wonderful. Also chocolate. I got a bunch in Dunnes before leaving for all of them, and it's a surprise- but they're all sleeping now...don't tell! :)

The Beginning of the End

Time for another turning point, Catherine.

I'm now finished with my classes as a junior undergraduate student- the next one I take, I'll be a senior. (It's a summer class- but still!) Today started my first day of spring break, although for all intents and purposes it's really the beginning of summer: one final paper left, and under 50 days remaining on this side of the Atlantic ocean. Tomorrow morning my family lands in Ireland, and Saturday I'll meet up with them at the iconic Bunratty castle for a feast and just the overall euphoric festivities of being reunited with the people I love most in this world.

My home email inbox is starting to swell again with messages I need to address, just as my NUI email is becoming quickly filled with confirmations for travel plans and boarding passes to print. After this upcoming Easter week with my family, I'm off for 9 days to Austria and a few potential side trips, then back in Galway for a spurt of maybe the Aran Islands or Thoor Ballylee, quick finishing my last paper, and then shooting up to Real Hogwarts, Edinburgh, Loch Ness, Belfast and Giants Causeway. When that's all said and done, I'll have just under two weeks remaining in study abroad. Knowing I have a full month and a half ahead of me sounds so much shorter when I break it down like that, and I'm beginning to get fairly anxious about it, even while still absolutely looking forward to picking back up my chaotic and comfortable life at home.

Since I've posted last, I've been preoccupied mostly with accomplishing my final papers. I read two books that I should have ages ago (Dracula and Jekyll & Hyde), supremely stressed about finding an affordable and convenient place to stay the one random day I'm in Dublin before Austria (this has yet to be accomplished), and intense planned for the Scotland/Northern Ireland week. I went to both of my lectures on the final day of classes, even though I didn't really need any of the information they were giving since my papers were done, but I wanted to be there for the last class- in a silly sentimental way. I had one last Wednesday college bar lunch with my friends from Marquette, chowed down on those wonderful 3 euro 'hot chicken rolls' with my smuggled fruit, and today got lost on campus one last time trying to find the philosophy department office to turn in my final paper. It turned out the office was closed, so I slid it under the door and am now praying that it reaches the appropriate person in time.

Though I'm really quite proud at the progress I've been making along Project 75000 so far, it's been slowing down ever since I've similarly slowed down with my academic paper-writing, stopped going to Writers Soc meetings and having their wonderful exercises, and been blogging a bit less as well. (No, that's not why I'm updating today at all, don't be silly...) But today in the library I dug out my old 30,000 word novel beginning from middle school, reread the whole thing, and decided not to abandon it after all. It's kind of like I've been learning in my Celtic Languages class about language death as opposed to language decline. Even if no one is speaking or thinking about a language, if some written or oral recording exists, it hasn't truly died: sort of like a softly flickering candle that has yet to burn out. My book can be brought back to life, and I need to do something to fill all the extra time I'll have now that classes are done, right? I still have a ways to go, and the place I'm living right now is possibly the most inspiring one I could hope for.

Many more adventures to come in the following weeks, I promise! Thanks for sticking through all the thought-adventures (or at least I'm going to pretend you have). This might be the beginning of the end, but I'm certainly far from done yet. Wanderlust continues to reign, until further notice.

Also- a huge good luck to the La Salle Explorers tonight! I might not make it up to refresh Google for the entire game, but I'll probably dream about the results. You've made Philly proud.

In Which I Suddenly Care about Sports

A few days ago, I posted a Facebook status lamenting the troubles I was having finding a way to stream college basketball in Ireland, poking fun at how I'd never imagined this was an issue I'd have during study abroad.One of my best friends from high school commented that she didn't know who I was now, and it was a very fair point- gone are the days where I go on angry rampages about the pointlessness of all athletic events (though don't get me started on salaries of professional players), because now I have a Cinderella story that's very near to my heart. I've also always loved underdogs, because well, who doesn't?

So in the possibility that someone's reading this who doesn't know, my home college, La Salle University, is in the famous March Madness tournament for the first time in 21 years- and we're doing phenomenally. It's been so strange to be away during this (and I have to admit, I'm a bandwagoner for our basketball team) and watch it unfold from video clips of everyone celebrating to just getting in the tournament, to waking up to seeing that we won the first game, finding a way to stream the second despite shoddy internet connection, and then last night not having a working video stream but refreshing the live score on Google every 10 seconds. Now we're in the 'sweet 16' top of all schools in the US, and have a fairly good chance of going even farther. The next game is showing at 2am Ireland time Friday morning- just four hours before my family lands in Shannon Airport!

It's all been terribly exciting and stressful and I think I might have installed some scary programs on my computer while unsuccessfully trying to find a way to get the live footage last night, and eventually passed out a little after 2 am without seeing the final score. I must have had several of those Inception 'fake out' dreams of waking up and checking the score, because I was fairly certain we'd lost by 2 points when I finally got up this morning- but it was just the opposite, and our rise to the top continues. Watching the videos online of everyone celebrating in the streets and being interviewed by major news channels gave me homesick goosebumps, but in a happy way, still. Reread why I'm La Salle Proud if you need a refresher, but basically it's awesome to be able to now proudly introduce myself as from Philly and have La Salle be known- maybe not to the Irish, but at least the other Americans! (I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm the only person in the country who cares about our success. BUT I CARE A LOT.)

Now while the Irish couldn't be less concerned with our NCAA takeover, there are definitely a ton of very invested sports fans in this country. Earlier in the year, well basically the very first week, I went to a game of Connaught rugby, which is a very big deal, and yesterday I was able to catch matches of very local and historic sports: Gaelic football and hurling! Also, rugby has lost a little of it's 'major leauge' shine since one of the players is friends with my roommate and is always over with his daughter, who is an adorable ball of energy and makes the whole sports star thing seem more human.

Yesterday's cultural sports excursion was sponsored by the NUI International Students Society, which has been wonderfully instrumental in helping me to see so many important parts of Irish life, and this event was no exception. While it was freezing, we were treated to seeing two totally different sporting events. Both were played out on a field that looked about the same size as a soccer pitch. Gaelic football, as far as I could tell, was a big combination of our 'soccer', combined with a little basketball (they passed the ball and bounced it off the field) and a little bit of rugby/American football where they can carry it for a short while and make points by throwing the ball through high goalposts (but also if they get it in the soccer net- that was confusing). Any true followers of the sport would probably either laugh or be angry at this description, but it's the best I've got. 

Following the Gaelic football match (we came in halfway through), the hurling team came out to face off against their rivals from Cork! Their uniforms, for both games, were also maroon, which was another nice hometown-pride swell of remembrance for the Lancers. Hurling was also really different, and without looking up any official rules, I'll give you my take on the matter. They all had long wooden sticks that they used to whack the ball across the field  scoop it up off the ground, catch and volley. They also caught it from the air with their bare gloveless hands, and that looked painful, and as far as I can tell it was just a much more difficult version of lacrosse.

So now, begrudgingly, my journey of learning how to appreciate sports is coming to a new peak. It's expanded through a lot of my other travels- mostly by admiring the passion of fans from all over: soccer as peacekeeper in Israel, national pride in Kenya, the cricket craze in India, and now here in Ireland. It's something that unites peoples from all over, even while driving competition. I may not be a major fan yet, but it's progress. This trip is making me become more open minded in ways I never would have guessed, it looks like! 

Slaying the Sloth

Well, the title of this post will probably shock and offend my friends here, but I can explain- it's not what you think!

For a good several weeks now, my roommates and a few others have taken to identifying with the cuddly slowpokes so beloved by Kristen Bell, and I have to admit that they are actually adorable in a strangely pathetic way. I mean, they often die by grabbing their own arms in mistake for a tree branch and then falling. They don't really wash themselves (hey...my washing machine has a faulty dryer!) and actually the more I'm thinking about it now aren't very unlike my own favorite animals, the fat and stupid but oh so perfect giant pandas.

Anyway, the past few days I've been feeling much more connected to the fire and brimstone biblical definition of sloth, also known as that terrible vice of sitting in the library for 10 hours watching YouTube videos. There is no exaggeration there, and I'm not proud of it.

I've always had a problem with procrastination, I've definitely bragged about how I could pull off a paper the night before it was due and still get an awesome grade, and it's come to the level of structuring time to panic and stress, where I believed I physically couldn't do well except at the last minute or write anything of value except at 3 am immediately preceding a due date. So I think it's an actual issue, which I've taken to remedying by faking myself out with deadlines and 'challenging' myself to get to a certain word count before time was up. It works to an extent, but only after I've properly stressed myself out with to-do lists and promises of failure and What Ifs. It's a condition of particular impact here in Ireland, since the concept of 'continuous assessment' is an unpopular one, and all of my classes grades are based almost exclusively on final papers due in hard copy during the middle of my journey to Austria. (Did I mention before that I'm going to Austria? I am- in 10 days!!)

So yesterday I think I finally shamed some sense into myself. I came to the library immediately following my class that ended at 10, and didn't properly leave until grabbing dinner before Writers Soc (around 6:15), and then camped back out again after the meeting for another three hours. In that time, I accomplished outlining and mostly finishing one paper, almost entirely done between the hours of 5-6 and 9pm-12am. From 10am to 5pm, I honestly can't really pin down what I did- watched a lot of music videos, read lots of Thought Catalog  (disclaimer- I don't know what will be on the homepage when you visit that link, but most of their stuff is thought provoking), Facebook chatted, refreshed my blog stats, and sort of vaguely outlined my paper. When my friend found me there frying my brain cells in front of the screen about two hours before the meeting we were both headed to, I was awoken with a deep sense of disgust of how much time I'd wasted with the mindset that 'I had all day to do it'. So I made her give me a deadline:  700 words by the time we'd head to dinner. And then I did it- simple as that, because I'd promised I would and it really truly wasn't that hard so what had I been waiting on?

Then after the meeting, I pounded out the rest of the essay and triumphantly left the secret library reading room I'd only just discovered that day as it was closing at 1 am. (Easter Egg: if you feel like checking up on my Project 75000, you'll see what days I get work done.) I felt vindicated from the rest of the day's pointless time wasting, but it also kick started me on a productive rush I hope holds out at least until I can finish two more essays and polish up last nights and the one I wrote today.

This morning I didn't turn on my computer until I'd left the apartment after lunch. I ate a good lunch and breakfast, took a shower, went food shopping, bought and started to fill out some postcards, outlined an essay, and then wrote the whole thing and watched a few TED Talks before creating this blog post and now I'll be heading home to watch La Salle beat Kansas City in the NCAA tournament if I can find it online. So it's been awesome and fulfilling and I just hate that it takes those terrible sloth days to get me to this point.

The end of my night last night was interesting, though, as I plodded home with my heavy backpack in a strangely mixed mood of bitter euphoria and hopeful regret. The streets were empty, and the Cathedral was turned off. Normally glowing yellow against a dark blue sky, shining picturesquely over the river, it was a chilling and unnerving sight heading back to the city center without the big landmark blazingly visible. Hardly any cars were out on the streets, and I saw a chain of about 5 or 6 taxis circling each other down the road, not really stopping to see if anyone was coming.

When I arrived on my street at long last, I did that sort of dumb carpe diem thing that happens in movies but not real life and walked down the middle of the empty road, perfectly along the dotted white line. It's a one way street, so I wasn't in danger of anyone zooming up behind me, which would have happened if this were My Life The Comedy, but instead I pretended it was My Life The Inspirational Drama and started to piece together how I would describe it for you here as some turning point in my educational journey of how not to procrastinate. Then, when I was maybe 100 feet away from the door, headlights swung towards me and my heart jumped into my mouth and I darted for the curb. I made it to safety in plenty of time, obviously, and sheepishly scurried into my building.

For now, I've shoved the sloth away and done a great amount of work, but I have a feeling it'll creep back towards me when I'm not expecting it. I'll do my best to avoid it, but it's hard to say how successful I'll be.

And so it goes.

The Reason I've Never Stopped Exploring

HAPPY 150th BIRTHDAY LA SALLE! I miss home incredibly, and it's a shame not being there for the big day, but it’s easier knowing that I have so much to go back to in two months. Here’s just a little segment of why I'm La Salle Proud.

I'm proud of the Mapendo service trip that’s inspired me more than anything else in my entire life, and also for the whole service trips family: Dominican Republic, Habitat for Humanity, Blackfeet Montana and especially for the recent strength of Project Appalachia and the support they've received from the campus community. 

For travel studies to Israel and India that opened my eyes and forced me to never look at the world the same way twice.

For kindly Treetops workers and the B&G salad bar. Late Night La Salle bingo prizes and Xmasoke, the SGA basketball marathon and RSA’s Carnifall.

For charter dinner chocolate covered strawberries that I’m dying to eat at the moment.

For UMAS broken blue vans, trash bash, Officer Kitchen and Brother McGinness knowing everyone’s name.

RAs who throw late night breakfasts and RCs who give the go ahead for zombie apocalypse water balloon fights and planking competitions during a hurricane.

For Miguel front stoops and the downhill dirt trail to the Neumann annex. For bushes full of bees out front of McShain and grassy slopes by the retired Japanese tea house.

For Peers Stress Busters and Speak Up Reach Out, advisors who encourage us to develop new ideas and implement them and see dreams come to life. For Take Back the Night and pictures with Santa, Kissing and Petting and Post Secret connections.

For Honors triple field trips and circle discussions with Dr. Moreau, Basils soul sharing and late night Asia runs. For Happy Fortune and Intermissions mozzarella sticks (bring them back, we’re all begging you!) and for pumpkin spice lattes (guess you can’t have both…).

For basketball fans who fight on for better or worse, for that spot by the window on the second floor of the library and for the Wister lab printers and the Wister lab stairs that are the whole of my exercise regime.

For Explorer Cafes and Diplomat in Residence talks, Olney hall air conditioning that gives strangers something to commiserate about, for the shuttle bus tracker and daily mass at one.

For classes with 7 students and 2 professors where I can speak without fear, for stacks of Collegians and quiet spots in the art museum. For Improv shows and the Masque formal, health fair snacks and Dr. Lane Neubauer. For night classes and the Holroyd roof, for those kids who play guitar on the quad.

For yellow picnic tables. For the N2N closet in UMAS, shorthand from Brother Ralph, mixed CDs from Calcutta, UNO with Raphael, and clean up talks at Face to Face.

For 3 am paper writing delirium and dinners with the Christian Brothers. For the Brothers above all who made this possible, for the social justice legacy of the original La Salle.

For the flat explorer who’s accompanied me here, and for the wonderful friends with whom I’ve skyped and written to and missed so very much.

For blue and gold banners at the service trips auction and for the dance-a-thon and for cannolis in Chestnut Hill while soliciting. For the trolley car diner and the Charlie Brown Christmas tree, Buddhist monks touring campus and the TOMS day without shoes. For strange rules surrounding events on the tennis courts and for soft pretzel sales every two days, trains to center city and presidential election watch parties in the Dan Rodden.

For wind chimes on the door of the multicultural and international center, for candles at the 9/11 remembrance vigil. For t-shirts galore and for RESnet who fixed my Cisco login popup.

Today I’m taking an Adventure in Galway down memory lane, thinking of the life I’ve left behind, but only temporarily. I’ve recently found out I’ve been hired as a Day ONE host for this summer, which means getting the new freshman ready for their time at school, and I hope more than anything that I can help them to see all the things I love about the place on the corner of 20^th and Olney.

St. John Baptiste de La Salle, pray for us.

Live Jesus in our hearts, forever.

Paddy's Day Dublin!

So you know how much I dislike writing about jam-packed-awesome weekends, and I know it's contradictory, but the 15th to 17th of March were certainly no exception. I need to get it out though, so I can move on to rambling about the end of my experience with the Scoil Bhride homework club- probably tomorrow, when I'm not plowing through hell week Spring 2013 in which everything ever needs to get accomplished.

So I didn't die in Dublin, despite not having written for five days now! It was the perfect whirlwind end to a great visit with my cousin. We spent the first few days here in Galway, which I talked about a little bit last post, and then headed out to the capitol of Ireland bright and early Saturday morning to celebrate the national holiday of this temporary home of mine.

We were staying in a hotel on the coast just outside of Dublin- about a half hour away from the actual city, but it was so much cheaper to get a real hotel out there than stay in a dingy hostel in the city center, since this was the weekend of all the tourists, and the bus stopped right out front! Everything was very convenient and it ended up being just the right decision for this trip- I took really long hot showers and didn't worry about locking up my stuff, we had the room to ourselves and coffee in the morning and the bed was big and soft. So that was great, and the actual shore was so beautiful too- a great look at the other end of Ireland. I'm still hoping to walk along down to Salthill in Galway soon, and will report back with pictures and memories when that goes down.

Since I'd been to Dublin already with my friends in January and seen loads of the historical sites, there wasn't too much on my agenda for this weekend besides seeing St. Patrick's Cathedral, the Guinness Factory, and the parade of course! Those ended up being the three big highlights of our trip, and it all worked out very well without needing to rush about, though the crowd was insane and there were a few confusing points about finding the right bus back at the end of the day, but the Irish were their usual helpful selves even while mobbed with foreigners and repeatedly pointed us in the right direction.

Saturday featured the famous home of Guinness, a fitting visit for that weekend, where we were able to experience what seemed like a Disney World for grownups. While the whole building was basically a massive advertisement to their product, it was actually really informative about the process of making the drink, historically and in the present day, and included lots of little museum type exhibits about marketing and the stories of the company founders. They worked very hard to make Guinness seem legendary and irreplaceable, but I suppose in a way they've succeeded. I've never been the biggest fan of beer, but I could definitely appreciate the amount of work they put into the building and the passion the company exuded about being Guinness. In addition to touring the exhibits, we were granted a voucher that enabled us to learn how to 'pour a perfect pint', which was more complicated than one would expect. More than just pouring the drink, serving Guinness is a process or maybe they're just really picky about letting it sit, then topping off with foam at the end, and well, I think I did it pretty well! We also went up to the top floor and saw the 'gravity bar', basically a circular bar with big glass windows for walls that overlooked the entire city, which was a really cool view. There were also several stations throughout the building for 'free samples' of Guinness, which I thought was sort of silly, because I doubt anyone would really pay the admission fee to see a building all about a drink they'd never had or cared about.

The other major site I'd really wanted to check out but hadn't before was St. Patrick's cathedral, seemingly the perfect place to be on that weekend celebrating his existence in Ireland. The church itself was beautiful, and the architecture and design inside reminded me a lot of Westminster Abbey in London, except here, we could take pictures! Which was a nice change. We got in for free because we were there for mass, though the ticket guy was really skeptical and sort of mean about that, but it was true. However, we were both really surprised to hear that what we'd thought was a mass advertised that afternoon actually wasn't, it was an Anglican service- and St. Patrick's isn't a Catholic church. This was surprising because I'd known Christ Church Cathedral, the other major ecclesiastical landmark in Dublin, was protestant  but given Dublin's history I'd assumed that this one was Catholic. It wasn't a huge issue and we did enjoy the service, with it's small but noticeable differences, and it was definitely still the right place to be for the holiday.

The major part of the actual St. Patrick's Day, then, we spent at the Dublin city parade! It was snowing when we woke up and stayed fairly freezing for most of the morning, which was a struggle since my St. Paddy's Day outfit included shamrock patterned tights under green shorts, which looked awesome but didn't do much for feet-warmth. After the parade I ran into a touristy store and bought Irish-flag socks that then saved me from frostbite and were well worth it. The parade had interesting floats and groups, some of which I couldn't really figure out what they were- and included one (fittingly with the weather) about the doomed Shackleton voyage! If anyone from HCHS class of 2010 is reading this you'll understand my very mixed feelings on seeing that icy ship and explorers, excitement on knowing what was going on and dread of ever needing to think about his 'wisdom' again in my life.

The streets of Dublin were positively mobbed all weekend, with your typically celebrating young adults but also families, some locals and loads of foreigners. Over the course of the weekend, we met a wonderful group of Canadians, countless Americans, some living abroad and some here just for the weekend, Germans, and of course Irish having the craic. We went to one small bar with traditional music and sang along as people tried to climb in the windows off the street once it was full, as well as the famous Temple Bar which played perfect songs one after another and contributed to a lot of rousing sing-a-longs with new friends.

At the end of the day, this weekend was one of those once in a lifetime experiences that will make all other St. Paddy's Days pale in comparison. Steph and I were talking about how we'll probably turn into that annoying person who brings it up every year as we strut our stuff in shamrock leggings, but it was incredibly worth it. I think I also got to know her so much better, too, as we were able to hang out as both cousins and friends, independent of any annual family function. I'm looking forward to way more of that in the future. :)

The Joys of Being Infinite

I'm going to try to get this out quick, because my cousin Stephanie is HERE in Ireland and sleeping on the couch and I'd like to write this before it's time for us to head out and explore Galway- and then heading to Dublin for the greatest St. Paddy's Day of all time.

It's been wonderful to have her visit, and again, like I did with the group from La Salle here on spring break, get to show off this city now feels so much like home. When she first arrived on Wednesday night I took her to all of my favorite pubs, and yesterday we went to a play put on by some members of Writers Soc that was set in and around Galway and even the NUIG campus. Though now I'm apprehensive about venturing over to the Engineering building (where I have my Celtic Languages class and which was the setting for a murder/haunting in the play), we will definitely be checking out the Spanish Arch and all of the other wonderful Galwegian landmarks.

Last night after the play we decided to stay in and hang around the apartment, and ended up eating ice cream and watching The Perks of Being a Wallflower, a recent film adaptation of a book that I forgot how much I loved. It was directed by the author, so followed extremely closely to the truth of the text, and is just overall a fantastic story that needs to be heard by everyone. It does handle a lot of mature content, though, so take note.

One of the two great lines from the story, along with "we accept the love we think we deserve", is uttered twice in the movie, though most strikingly at the end. The introvert high school freshman main character is driving through a tunnel with his two best friends, and stands up in the back of the truck as music blasts. He's been through a ton during the course of the plot, and closes the scene with "And in that moment, I swear we were infinite."

I can't explain what about the line gives me goosebumps, because it even works out of context and I'd remembered that alone from the book even before seeing the movie last night for the first time. (I'm notoriously bad at seeing movies everyone else has.) I just find it so beautiful, though. It's the moment of bliss and contentment where nothing in the world can touch or harm you, and it's fleeting, but to capture it I think is one of life's greatest gifts.

Yesterday while Stephanie was out exploring the Cliffs of Moher and the beautiful Connemara landscape, I went to a training session through the group I've joined that visits an elderly persons day care center, and got a bit of advice about talking to those in their golden years of life who may not always be in tune with what's happening around them. It included a lot of good reminders on the dignity of humanity and the importance of connections, and at the end I had a really thought-provoking talk with the woman who's been taking us each week and really leads the sing-a-longs, keeping everyone's spirits high. It jumped from a conversational remark on the new Pope Francis, expanded into some tricky theological territory, but then moved towards a peaceful consensus on how life will frequently get you down, but that the important thing is to keep moving and enjoy each bit that you can.

There have been a lot of moments recently when I've forced myself to slow down on the nightly walk back from campus where I'm finally starting to lock myself in the library for hours on end, to just sit along the river, look up at the stars and illuminated cathedral and breathe in the realization that this is where I'm living for two more months. (I do this less frequently when it rains). It's hard at times to think about life at La Salle or at home churning on without me, but when I stand against the railing of the river where the bridge is all lit up and there's sometimes a woman playing a flute, it really does feel Infinite. Being here has made me take advantage of those times so much more than I normally do in the rush and bustle of campus life, and while I'm going to love the moment getting off the plane and hugging my loved ones, there's no reason I shouldn't take full advantage of each one here, too.

A Lack of Leprechauns

On the wake of an unprecedented boost in blog-readership following an endorsement by the official Study Abroad at NUIG Facebook page that absolutely made my day, I'm going to move away from writing about my feelings and back towards relevant, insightful commentary on life in Ireland. It seems to be an appropriate decision, so we shall see if this rise continues!

As is made painfully aware to everyone both in Ireland and back home, St. Patrick's Day is nearly upon us, and so my Facebook newsfeed is already beginning to swell with mirror photos of girls in green tank tops and links to Philadelphia or Boston pub crawls. Though I'm tempted to lean back in my chair and scoff about how 'they don't know Ireland like I do', there's also something comforting in knowing that during this time of year, a big part of the world takes a bit of time to think about the Irish, or at least, their perception of this wonderful island.

Yesterday in my absolutely engaging and thought-provoking philosophy lecture, I turned to give the man seated next to me the sign-in sheet (the existence of which had nothing to do with my attendance to class that day) and noticed that he was a leprechaun. I did a double take, and didn't want to stare blatantly at him as he filled out his ID number, but proceeded to sneak glances out of the corner of my eye for the rest of class and informed  my friend seated to my other side of his magical nature via typing it into the search bar of my handy Kindle Fire. She giggled and agreed, so officially confirming my suspicions.  But for real, he had red-ish hair and beard, a bright green sweatshirt, and a brown cap with a flower in it. Why the flower?! I failed to notice at the end of class if he was shorter than average height, but for the sake of the theme lets just pretend that he was.

There is a Leprechaun Museum in Dublin that's basically an upscaled touristy playground for little kids, but other than there and in various St. Paddy's day decorations (not Patty's!), the little green men that my culture sees as synonymous with Ireland have been strangely absent. I have, however, been newly educated on the proper way to pronounce the name of Artemis Fowl and the LEP Recon team's creator, Eoin Colfer- it's exactly like Owen, not something rhyming with 'coin' as I'd previously thought. (I will forever mispronounce 'monk', however, and you'd be shocked how frequently that word comes up in daily conversation).

So, in the spirit of the upcoming St. Paddy's, I've decided to outline a few other perceived truths about Ireland and viciously debunk them all for ye, Snopes style. (More on 'ye' and other language differences later!)

• Ireland is a land full of lazy drunkards 
• The Irish do enjoy their pints of Guinness and Bulmers, and coming here definitely subjected me to the culture shock of students going out on weeknights primarily, since they go home to work on weekends and use their time in Galway to be with friends. It's important to know, however, that a pub is far more than a place to get extraordinarily intoxicated, it's a hangout point for all generations to enjoy music and company. They can probably handle a pint better than you, anyway. As for the lazy part, that's pretty blatantly untrue: I'm writing this in the library right now (instead of my papers) and it is positively packed. People here also plop down next to you to do work instead of keeping a healthy germophobe bubble around each seat, which is a little uncomfortable but also efficient.
• who eat potatoes and corned beef
• Potatoes are definitely popular and I've seen the contents of Mrs. Weasley's sandwiches in Dunnes, but never actually observed anyone eating them. My family's coming to visit in a few weeks (have I mentioned that enough yet?) and one of my sisters worriedly asked about how she'd fare here as a picky eater.  Well, you could read my food post but if not, just take my word on it here that there are plenty of yummy options for all palates. Some of my friends have a variety of complicated allergies and food preferences, all of which have been accommodated by the Irish quite well I think.
• and get into fistfights with baby kittens
• I threw the last part in for effect there, I don't think anyone thinks that back home- and they shouldn't, as I've seen no fights here, and no kittens either for that matter...
• while playing a harp and fiddle

• Okay, probably more true! I'll write about this in depth eventually I swear, but the music scene here is fantastic. My favorite part of any day is walking down shop street to the sounds of traditional music mingled with modern tunes from all over the world. Maybe it's just Galway in particular, but the sounds of Ireland have certainly stolen my heart.
• wearing a green wool sweater
• Fun fact told to me by someone who heard it from an Irishman who would know: famous and expensive Aran Wool isn't actually from the Aran islands just off shore from Galway. It was originally, but the sheep ran amok and ate all the grass on the island before it could be replanted. They're somewhere nearby, just don't live directly on those islands. But wool is worn a lot, and the girl working directly across from me at the this moment is wearing a green sweater and got here after I made this stupid list, so so much for debunking stereotypes.
• as it rains
• True, the end
• on their soulless ginger hair
• Despite what I said above about my leprechaun philosophy friend (he doesn't know we're friends or that I'm about to make him famous), redheads are definitely not as common here as movies might lead you to believe. One of my American roommates has red hair, and was telling me this morning that people here are always stopping to ask her for directions because she looks Irish, but she's constantly needing to disappoint them and reveal her true nationality.
• and sheep frolic about
• Sheep actually are everywhere, I was super excited to see them the first few days and have sort of gotten over the novelty but not really. They're all colorful too; farmers spray paint different colored dots on the wool so they can go roam the fields freely with each other, and then when shearing time comes around they all know which flock belongs to who.
• asking each other about where to find some crack.
• This isn't a stereotype so much as a heads up for any unsuspecting tourists who find their way into a group of Irish people who will undoubtedly ask them before long "What's the craic?", "where's the craic?", or "how's the craic?" That word at the end sounds suspiciously like an illegal substance, but is really a catch all term for fun, sort of. I'd compare it to a kind of 'what's up?' most closely if I had to pin it down- a greeting and genuine inquiry into finding something to do.

There you have it, this is now my longest post so I'll leave it unconcluded and start to do my real work. If you subscribe to me, it will make me the happiest person in the library and I promise to send more good stuff along soon. J

All for One, One for All

I've been writing a lot recently- if I put this up tonight, it'll have been three in a row- a new record! This is partially because of my 'write a ton' challenge, but also somehow weirdly related to the semesters-worth of work crammed into the next two weeks that I'm truly dreading and putting off by doing these instead. Also,  I can only work properly in the library it seems, and these are doable from my kitchen table so here you go. Hopefully it's not an overload, especially since the last few and this one too aren't really about any Galway Adventures, but more my daily thoughts and experiences. If nothing else, I'm enjoying doing them, as a sort of reflection similar to what I've had on past structured group travels.

I've been thinking about those travel studies and service trips a lot lately, and become rather homesick as a result. Last week was spring break for La Salle, so all of my friends are returning home from far off destinations and posting their photos. I'm here in Ireland having the experience of a lifetime, so it's not so much that I'm jealous of their trips, but I miss the La Salle community more than I thought- and I was definitely thinking I would. Probably the biggest reality-check moment for me the past few days was when I found out by an unfeeling news article that the members of our annual service trip to Kentucky had been lost in the mountains overnight. They've all returned home now, safe and as strong as ever, but having worked very closely with some of them in different service capacities, as well as just being friends, it was a scary wake up call that travelling is dangerous. I joked before about wandering around Wicklow in the snow and dark, but I can scarcely imagine what they faced and felt out there- and as the pictures went up from earlier in the week, I'm realizing how many of them I do know and deeply care about. This trip has been going for decades, and is one of the biggest testaments to the La Sallian character and drive for service that I know. The thought of something terrible happening to the group, while I'm so very far away from school, is just an awful one. Being away from home for any extended period of time means risking missing out on both good and bad events in the lives of your loved ones, and it's a hard truth I've experienced before and again now.

Service trips at La Salle are definitely some of the best programs the school has to offer, and one of my biggest qualms about going away this semester was that I'd miss out on being a part of one. However, I caught on pretty early that being in Ireland didn't mean I'd need to be disconnected from discussions of social justice. I've mentioned it in passing here previously I think, but tonight I completed the final session of a six-week Global Issues course run by Irish non-profit organization Suas.  Very similar at times to the introductory class to my Leadership and Global Understanding minor, we learned about issues in Development Education, Debt, Gender, Climate, and Trade. Each 2 1/2 hour class had a guest lecturer, some of whom were more engaging than others, but almost always also had a big group discussion about the topics, some of which got rather heated.

I was the token American in a room full of mostly Irish students (one other girl was too, but she'd been living here since she was 13, so I count her as Irish), and one African man. Since most of my classes here have been large lectures, it was a great chance to really engage in an academic discussion with Irish students, and was granted a new perspective into my own culture through the eyes of others, as well as an understanding of the role Europe played in the global development discussions. We talked about a lot of topics I'd known quite a bit about before, but also delved into issues I hadn't really studied in depth until then. Following a role play negotiation meant to teach us about the inequities in the banana trade, in which I nearly got into a yelling match with an Irish boy who told me America was everything wrong with the world (but only because I first told him he was everything wrong with the world), I've now been much more conscientious about buying local and fair trade food products. And don't worry, as far as I know I didn't make a permanent enemy out of my well-meaning banana opponent.

Today's closing session dealt with the topic of "Where do we go from here?", a question meant to inspire all of us to continue living out the practices we'd been reviewing, but also with a focus on the unintended results of well-meaning but patronizing aid campaigns to benefit 'third world' countries. That's a huge ethical question I've grappled with a lot the past two years, and still don't have an answer to, but is also relevant to my studies in Ireland. I wanted to go to Argentina or Australia to work with the indigenous populations of either, envisioning myself as some sort of important do-gooder, but I'm glad I didn't. I have my whole life to figure out the best way to make a positive impact on this planet, and will continue working towards that goal, but being here has made me realize that every country in the world has an absolutely vital role to play in terms of international betterment. I don't really think it's possible any other way.

And Give You Peace

Today is Mother's Day in Ireland, so this post is dedicated to the wonderful woman who has always been the number one supporter of my writing and the rest of my exploratory endeavors.

She's given me so many gifts in life: life itself, a love of words, a wonderful childhood, and the tools I've needed to follow my dreams to all the far-flung corners of the earth, though still worrying about me probably more than I'll ever know. When I was younger, we'd read every night at bedtime and covered (among many others) all of the Harry Potter books, the Redwall series, The Little Prince, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, The Princess Bride and The Thief Lord, journeying to fantastic realms in hour-long bursts that always seemed to end on a cliff hanger or Mom dozing off mid-sentence and not remembering the last five pages.

At the moment, I'm working on an essay for one of my classes where I'm talking a lot about the summer I spent in Spain when I was sixteen, living with the same family my mom lived with when she was about the same age on an official exchange program. My trip was entirely unofficial, but made possible because of the incredible lifelong connections she'd been able to cultivate, and I didn't die because of the mini-Spanish cheat sheet she made up for me before I left, as well as weeks of TPRS intensive language preparation around the kitchen table. It was a hard experience being away from home that first time, and I hated the moments immediately after hanging up on our few precious phone calls, cutting off the lifeline to the safety and comfort of home. It's been easier recently, since I'm away at school so often, but there are definitely still moments when I long for nothing more than a quiet moment on the family room couch with a cup of tea, and the opportunity to watch 5am Action News and play Dice With Buddies.

She's a high school Spanish teacher who is loved by her students, one of those cool tough teachers who doesn't take any nonsense and ends up imparting far more wisdom than those pushover educators who give loads of extra credit. She's developed the foreign language program at her school slowly and steadily to cater to students of all backgrounds and interests, and followed that passion for culture and teaching in a way that has been infectious and inspired me, my sisters, and so many others.

I've followed in her footsteps to Bilbao, Holy Cross High School, and even La Salle University, and in just under three weeks from now, she'll finally be meeting me here in Ireland for her first time in the Emerald Isle. One of the first people to induce my daydreams about Irish faeries, her trip to Galway is one that very nearly didn't happen; up until a week ago I never thought she'd be making it here. This past summer, she slept next to me on a probably uncomfortable hospital chair for 10 days, leaving only to shower and change clothes, just because it helped me.  It's a scary thing to admit, but I really did need her there, and I can't imagine not having had that support. It's that sort of selfless care for me and my sisters, unconditional love for my dad, ability to wake up at the crack of dawn to get to work, willingness to go the extra mile for a struggling student, and deep appreciation of the simple things in life that makes me feel so very, very, lucky to have her in my life.

So Mom: thank you for putting up with my temper tantrums and nosebleeds, getting rid of the rats nests and splinters, for helping me to dream big and for only letting me watch PBS Kids, for sitting through that awful Holy Cross uniform fitting, and for taking me to an Irish pub for lunch just about this time last year and being so genuinely excited when I told you I'd decided to come here instead of Argentina. There have been times before when I've sent a generic Mother's Day card that proclaimed 'Thank you for everything', and while I still haven't covered everything, I think I've come just a bit closer.

I'll see you soon. J

Home Away from Home

A few nights ago, one of my friends was deploring the impending end of the semester, and said something that really rang true to me: "I feel like I have two lives, and I miss the home one, but can't imagine leaving this one either." And she's right: I'm settled here now.

This has been the first weekend where I've actually stayed in Galway for quite some time, supposedly to get some much-needed work done, and though I've yet to accomplish very much academically, it has been a wonderful chance to get to really see the city come alive. This morning I went to a market only a few minutes from my apartment, where I purchased an eggplant and three jumbo, super fresh, and still dirty carrots from a friendly old farmer man who threw in the third as a bonus- and it was all only 1.50 euro! I looked around the rest of the stalls and got really excited to show it off to my family when they come to visit (in 20 days!), and also had one little falafel which was delicious. :)

Today was seriously gorgeous, with temperatures in the early 50s, and it was also sunny! So naturally the main shopping district was packed with people and the street performers were out in full force. It only lasted a few hours, which I should have expected, but that made me really glad that I went out to the market to enjoy the weather while it lasted. I talk a lot about the weather, but that's because it's always just so remarkable.

My 'Project 75000' that I've been plodding along at ever since the Letterfrack weekend has been going really well, though I feel like my last post about 'Student Life' sounded fairly forced and muddled, which might have been because I was stressing about getting to my requisite number of words for the day, so I don't think that was a good idea and from now on I'm just going to try not to think about that too much with blogging, if I can. Hopefully this comes across flowingly and natural- maybe I'll go back and edit that last one at some point.

Since I've stayed home this weekend, I do really feel like a resident of Galway. This afternoon I went to tea at the house of a girl from the Writers' Soc, which was lovely, and last night I also hung out with a group of them- something I wouldn't have been able to do if I was rushing off to another Irish county on the first GoBus to Dublin. Irish life is slower and more laid back, and I'm happy to finally be taking part in that.

Before I close out this baby post, I want to tell you a bit more about my little 'home' here in Ireland. I live with three wonderful other Americans in a pretty spacious flat near the center of town. (I love saying 'flat'- it's in the song Galway Girl and just sounds so much more inspirational than 'apartment'.) A lot of other visiting students are living with Irish people, but much farther away from the city center- which has been so convenient for me in terms of everything from grocery shopping to pub hopping to getting to class. So our place is nice, though it does have a bunch of strange quirks, including a kindly landlord who is never there when you need him, but always there when you don't, a temperamental heating system and a washing machine where the dryer function just makes all your clothes hot and damp. The plumbing is also definitely not normal: turn on one sink in any of the rooms, and the shower in the bathroom starts to run. But I love it all despite that, and will likely miss it when I go home and end up letting the water run to help me sleep at night or something.

To end with another quote (parallelism!), I give you this line that appears in the song From Finner: "And we are far, far from home, but we're so happy. Far, far from home, all alone, but we're so happy." It's been in my head a lot recently.

Tomorrow marks the halfway point in my journey- thanks for sticking with me so far.

My Student Life

I'm in Ireland for four and a half months, am now just nearly halfway through that time, but also very close to being finished the actual semester. The thing is, I'm only now really feeling the sting of the actual 'studying' abroad portion of the experience. I've talked here quite a bit about my travels, things I've seen and done and eaten, but very little about the classes or work that I've been doing, probably because I quite honestly haven't been doing a lot of it. At the first general information session before I came here, a school official repeatedly emphasized that we were studying abroad, not just dumped out here to party, and my dad then took that to heart and jokingly reminded me of that tidbit several times in the days leading up to my departure. It's been a strange experience, though, of being here as simultaneously a student and also really a sort of long-term tourist (or traveler, if you want to be elitist about it).

I procrastinate my usual unhealthy amount, but I've been doing a record amount of reading for my classes, have completed all of the very few assignments I've been given, and haven't skipped much at all, considering that I take mostly huge lectures without any sort of attendance policy. That alone is a testament to how much I've really wanted this semester to be about learning: something I've found myself losing sight of the past several terms at La Salle, where I was often so caught up in the 'everything else' activities of school that I felt unable to really be a student.

This past week has been spring break for everyone back at home, and two of the wonderful La Salle travel study classes took a large group of students all across Ireland, including here, to Galway! I met up with them Tuesday and Wednesday nights for dinners and craic, and along with just the general joy that comes with seeing familiar faces and catching up, I also really enjoyed getting to give a mini-tour of my new 'home'. Towards the end of their stay here, I asked the several people I was sitting with what their favorite place in Ireland was- hoping they'd say Galway, because I've developed a real sense of loyalty and affection towards this town. The character of this place has truly stolen my heart, and I loved showing it off to two of my friends in particular the first rainy night, pointing out favorite spots and recommending the best places to visit if they ever got the chance. I also felt very important when I ran into two separate people I knew during our walk to see campus- something that almost never happens here, since the school is quite a bit larger than I'm used to. 

But I guess I am becoming part of the community here, at long last- Writers' Soc has welcomed me in and made me feel loved, and it was a sad realization today that my best defense against the rabid campaigners for various student union political positions was that I'm not going to be here when they take office, so couldn't rightly vote either way. (Although a note on that: it's been impossible to walk across the main academic building this past week without being bombarded by students in professionally designed VOTE FOR 'NAME' shirts scattering glossy printed handouts with bulleted policies and witty slogans. I couldn't handle how intense they were about it, I thought the SGA candidates back home were committed, but it was nothing compared to this.) 

It seems that just as soon as I'm falling into a routine, it's just about time to change things up again. Classes end March 27th, and then I'll be off for a weeklong Irish bus tour and another week and a half exploring Austria, then all my papers will be due and then- I don't quite know where yet. Until that's upon me, I really need to get my act together with finishing my essays, or at least starting. I don't have any actual final exams, unlike most of the non-visiting students, but unlike most of the other visiting students, my grades do transfer (most Americans are on a pass/fail credit system). It's stressful because while I'm fairly apt at making an essay look like I know what I'm talking about, I have no experience with grades here. Everything is riding on one or two papers I turn in at the end, so I don't really know what they're looking for or how to tailor my work towards that. The grading scale is also quite different: a 70% is considered an A+, and a 40% is passing. 

So I really don't know. I also need to pick my classes for the fall of my senior year really soon, and somehow communicate those all important decisions with my advisor and everyone while here- I don't even know if the English course list has been released yet, as it's always deposited in our mailbox back at school, or when exactly I register...but everything will be okay. There will likely be panic and confusion and frustration involved, but hey, I'm in Ireland. Hakuna matata! (Does that fit here? I'm going to say yes.)

Universe, I am Here

Experienced immediately following a late-night rant about my struggles as a writer, I've just returned from a grand inspirational weekend with the NUI Galway Writers Society to Letterfrack, a very cool little town in the Connemara region of western Ireland. It's situated right outside of the Connemara National Park, which we were able to explore a little bit, and features the incredibly quirky Old Monastery Hostel. None of my pictures of the place can really sum up what made it so strange and wonderful, but to the right is a photo of the bathroom: beaded entrance, Christmas lights that I assume made showering a magical experience (I didn't take one), murals and couches. Scattered throughout the building were stacks of abandoned or discovered books, all available for one euro on the honors system, beautiful and creepy paintings, posters, antiques, a taxidermed ferret, a confessional, and a mountain of stale bread populated by minuscule plastic bulls. It's not shown on any of the hostel websites I've used to plan my own trips, there didn't seem to be an official check-in, and none of the doors locked, but it was hands-down the coolest accommodation I've had here.

The main day of the trip included two writers workshops run by a local Irish poet, Dave Rock, who led us through exercises in composing and performing- so yeah, at the end, I did stand up in front of the group and read my poem! I think the greatest part of that afternoon was the incredible support he gave us all, mostly the demand that we not apologize before reading something: which was much easier said than done. Nearly everyone in the group, myself most definitely included, attempted at least once to preface a work with 'this isn't very long','this is kind of long', 'this isn't very serious', 'I just wrote this', 'I know this is a bit weird', or something similar- and after each soft explanation, he would simply say "good", and wait for us to continue. The mindset was that we had to stop comparing our work to what we thought it should be, and truly embrace what we'd created, to love the taste of the words in our mouths, and not shortchange the audience by limiting the work. Some of the exercises included jumping into the middle of the circle and yelling out things we loved or hated, designed to get us out of our fear-zone. I did so with a joyful rant about the cuteness of baby donkeys, and that was a nice turning point in the afternoon for me. The performance work combined with the actual composing section gave me what I'd really needed, personal permission to write, a lot, even if it was terrible, because something good would come out of it eventually. This led to another plan to truly write more I thought of on the bus ride home, that I hope will continue and be a success.

Outside of the actual writing workshops that were the professed intention of the weekend, I also explored a little up a 'hill' in the Connemara park that was actually a mountain by my standards (and didn't feel too dead- I guess the Wicklow persevering paid off!), and really got to know the other members of the Writers Society better. It's hard to say what really made the weekend for me: the workshops or the people, because both combined made it a really unforgettable experience. There were 19 of us who went this weekend: mostly Irish students, and also two other Americans, two French, and one German girl. I'm not sure if I've complained about this before, but it's been difficult to really get to know Irish students, since I'm never one to bound happily into a circle of established friends, and my building is filled with mostly American students. Anyway, this weekend was a wonderful way to start to become a part of the Writers Soc group- we bonded over brain teaser games, hung out at the exceedingly non-touristy pub, and all were together in awe at the top of the mountain: it was nice to know that it was the sort of view you can't really get used to. But in general, it was so nice to finally get past the point of "Hello, I'm an American and you're Irish so let's talk about the ways that we're different" and just be a real individual person. The sharing our writing probably had something to do with that, too.

The title of this post is a reference to one of the last exercises that the facilitator threw at us, in which we all needed to stand up and complete the beginning: "Universe, I am here, and..." Some people were funny, others were serious, but all important in the sense of declaring our existence. I finished it up in a very possibly predictable Catherine-fashion, but also in a way that fits my mindset at the moment. I'm extraordinarily content with life right now, overall. It's a beautiful wonderful place to be.

Universe, I am here, and I love you.