School starts tomorrow, so it's a natural moment to look back and take stock of my summer.
For the first time in eight years, my summer was my own. I was responsible to no one but myself. Last summer, I taught. For the six summers before that, I was in grad school, either working on my dissertation or cobbling together a living from the kinds of summer teaching opportunities that crop up on college campuses (thank you Upward Bound and McNair!).
It wouldn't be accurate to say I had the summer off, though. I did some writing and sent out an article for publication and sowed the seeds for the next article.
What I really did this summer, though, was recharge. How? Mostly, by going to Barcelona. Almost as soon as I turned in my spring grades, I was on a plane to Europe. Why Barcelona? Several people have asked me that question, and I have cobbled together an answer that works, though it's not entirely satisfying to me. I knew I wanted to go to Europe. I knew I wanted to be near a beach. I think my first glimpse of Barcelona came from the Woody Allen film Vicky, Christina, Barcelona which features an unfortunate amount of narration and some absolutely striking scenery, particularly of Park Guell. I think I've been learning about the city in bits and pieces ever since then. I talked to a few friends who'd been there for short visits-- they all raved about the city and said it was very English-friendly.
Before I went, I knew this was important because I don't speak Spanish (Castillian). Once I got there, I realized the English-friendliness was important because I don't speak Catalan either.
I spent eight days walking, watching, eating, and breathing. There was nothing else I needed to do. I went alone. There's a great deal of freedom in being by yourself-- I think our culture-- so caught up in our Hollywood coupling narratives-- ignores the joy that comes from being completely free and independent. At times I get caught in those narratives, too, but in Barcelona, I was on my own. It was wonderful. If you ever get the chance to travel on your own, DO IT.
I also recharged in New Hampshire/Maine. I went back for a wedding and stayed with dear friends. After a good length of time-- maybe four of five years-- the best friendships become harbors where you can be absolutely at ease. Many of my UNH friends are like that now. At 18, I would never have guessed that I'd have many strong friendships with people I rarely see. Back then, I thought I would always live in the same place with all the same friends. I like this unanticipated turn.
Lastly, I visited Ohio. I'm lucky to have an extended family full of wonderful people who aren't just nice to me because they've always known me, but because they also like me. There's nothing remarkable to say about my Ohio visit-- I did what I always do-- there are people and places I always visit. My Ohio visits are always moments to remeasure the distance and time that has passed since my mom passed away. I moved out of Ohio six months after her death, and I haven't lived there since. I mourn what I cannot share with her-- she would have loved to hear about Barcelona.
She would like to hear about my plans for the new school year. And I do have some plans-- I'm excited for school to start again.
For the first time in eight years, my summer was my own. I was responsible to no one but myself. Last summer, I taught. For the six summers before that, I was in grad school, either working on my dissertation or cobbling together a living from the kinds of summer teaching opportunities that crop up on college campuses (thank you Upward Bound and McNair!).
It wouldn't be accurate to say I had the summer off, though. I did some writing and sent out an article for publication and sowed the seeds for the next article.
What I really did this summer, though, was recharge. How? Mostly, by going to Barcelona. Almost as soon as I turned in my spring grades, I was on a plane to Europe. Why Barcelona? Several people have asked me that question, and I have cobbled together an answer that works, though it's not entirely satisfying to me. I knew I wanted to go to Europe. I knew I wanted to be near a beach. I think my first glimpse of Barcelona came from the Woody Allen film Vicky, Christina, Barcelona which features an unfortunate amount of narration and some absolutely striking scenery, particularly of Park Guell. I think I've been learning about the city in bits and pieces ever since then. I talked to a few friends who'd been there for short visits-- they all raved about the city and said it was very English-friendly.
Before I went, I knew this was important because I don't speak Spanish (Castillian). Once I got there, I realized the English-friendliness was important because I don't speak Catalan either.
I spent eight days walking, watching, eating, and breathing. There was nothing else I needed to do. I went alone. There's a great deal of freedom in being by yourself-- I think our culture-- so caught up in our Hollywood coupling narratives-- ignores the joy that comes from being completely free and independent. At times I get caught in those narratives, too, but in Barcelona, I was on my own. It was wonderful. If you ever get the chance to travel on your own, DO IT.
I also recharged in New Hampshire/Maine. I went back for a wedding and stayed with dear friends. After a good length of time-- maybe four of five years-- the best friendships become harbors where you can be absolutely at ease. Many of my UNH friends are like that now. At 18, I would never have guessed that I'd have many strong friendships with people I rarely see. Back then, I thought I would always live in the same place with all the same friends. I like this unanticipated turn.
Lastly, I visited Ohio. I'm lucky to have an extended family full of wonderful people who aren't just nice to me because they've always known me, but because they also like me. There's nothing remarkable to say about my Ohio visit-- I did what I always do-- there are people and places I always visit. My Ohio visits are always moments to remeasure the distance and time that has passed since my mom passed away. I moved out of Ohio six months after her death, and I haven't lived there since. I mourn what I cannot share with her-- she would have loved to hear about Barcelona.
She would like to hear about my plans for the new school year. And I do have some plans-- I'm excited for school to start again.
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