Because I feel alive there.

Despite barely being able to string more than two words together in the language, I had responded without thought in French while speaking to a friend from Bordeaux.

“Why are you so drawn to Europe?” she had asked.

Because I feel alive there.

It seems like a simple answer, but until that moment, I had been unable to verbalize exactly what kept me going back across l’Atlantique. My response to the question usually includes a lot of bumbling on about enjoying language learning, the benefits of public transportation and a walking culture, unique cuisine, and so on. But the answer is actually far simpler. Because I feel alive there.

Of course all of the above things contribute to my love of Europe, but in actuality, those aspects of life abroad annoy me almost as much as I enjoy them. Learning a new language is a constant frustration. Progress always leads to plateaus and not being able to communicate makes your average intelligent person feel no smarter than a Kindergartener. I love walking and my waistline certainly appreciates the exercise as much as my wallet enjoys not having to pay to maintain a car, but the individualist American in me is frequently frustrated by my inability to be in control of when I can go somewhere and how long it will take to get there. I appreciate European cuisine greatly, but 4 months into living anywhere, I am usually making hamburgers for myself a few times a week and cursing the exorbitant prices that I must pay for peanut butter.

Living abroad is like being on constant sensory overload. In truth, it is not nearly as glamorous as it sounds. Even the smallest everyday tasks are complicated. Grocery shopping alone is an adventure and living your life constantly concerned about committing a faux pas is extremely exhausting after awhile. There is an unending consciousness about everything that you do. Every action is thought out and is more likely to have a purpose when even the simplest endeavor is that much more of a challenge. But despite this, when you are acutely aware of everything that you are doing, there is no chance of having a life that consists of “wash, rinse, repeat” or of getting in a rut. It is this overriding feeling that I would consider to be what makes me feel so alive there.

I have always had a strong interest in history and am fascinated by things that are older than I am. Although I can be rather high maintenance and would probably not enjoy the lack of indoor plumbing or toothpaste, I sometimes feel as if I’ve been born into the wrong generation.

As a child, I far preferred my American Girl dolls to my Barbies. My friend Mary Catherine and I would play dress-up in long skirts stolen from the closets of our mothers and invent elaborate stories involving pioneers, colonists, and immigrants. Unlike our peers and their lemonade stands, Mary Catherine and I invented “Café Français” where we labeled our plastic food and store-bought croissants with their French names and played tea party while discussing our glamorous futures in Europe. We laid atlases across her kitchen table and decorated coffee cans with the flags of all the countries we wanted to visit and to keep our allowances in until we had the funds to get there.

The paint has cracked and faded over the years, but the coffee can still sits atop my bureau in my bedroom at home. Both Mary Catherine and I ended up spending a few years abroad, she in France and me in Spain, England, and Germany. We have visited one another in our respective cities and have marveled at how far we have come since the days of playing Ellis Island in my backyard.

While the challenges of the heroines in the historic novels I read as a child were unique to their time periods, they appealed to me because their struggles touched on universal themes. Not belonging in one place or another, never feeling completely whole no matter where they were in the world, and ultimately discovering that home is truly where the heart is. I did not even have to leave my backyard to feel this way as a child. An old soul feels these things because, in some way, they have already experienced them. Perhaps that is why I am drawn to all things old.

In the introduction of “Notre-Dame de Paris” (The Hunchback of Notre-Dame), Victor Hugo says that he was inspired to write the book because of a single word carved into an obscure corner of one of the walls of the cathedral:

‘ANÁTKH

In Greek, the word means “fate.” He was so moved by the word and thought so long about why the poor soul may have felt the need to leave such a word as his enduring mark, that he weaved together the tragic story of Quasimodo of Notre-Dame.

The importance of architecture is a presiding theme in the novel. Hugo later remarks:

“Il existe à cette époque, pour la pensée écrite en pierre, un privilège tout à fait comparable à notre liberté actuelle de la presse. C’est la liberté de l’architecture.”

(“There exists in this era, for thoughts written in stone, a privilege absolutely comparable to our current freedom of the press. It is the freedom of architecture.”)

I am no expert when it comes to architecture, nor a connoisseur of any art form for that matter, but I appreciate what is old particularly when it is still relevant. I like nothing more than to read a story or quote that is still applicable hundreds of years later, much in the same way that I enjoy meeting people from different parts of the world who, despite speaking different languages and coming from a different culture, are kindred spirits.

When walking around in Europe (as I am far more prone to do there than in the U.S.), I am so often struck by the deep curves and cracks in buildings that have been around far longer than my own country. Like the indentations in my coffee can, each shows its own marks of change.

Charles Baudelaire, in his “Le Peintre de la vie moderne” says, “Etre hors de chez soi, et pourtant se sentir partout chez soi; voir le monde, être au centre du monde et rester caché au monde, tels sont quelques-uns des moindres plaisirs de ces esprits indépendants, passionnés, impartiaux, que la langue ne peut que maladroitement définir. Ainsi l’amoureux de la vie universelle entre dans la foule comme dans un immense réservoir d’électricité. C’est un ‘moi’ insatiable du ‘non-moi’.”

(“To be away from home and yet to feel oneself everywhere at home; to see the world, to be at the center of the world, and yet to remain hidden from the world- such are a few of the slightest pleasures of those independent, passionate, impartial natures which the tongue can but clumsily define. Thus the lover of universal life enters into the crowd as though it were an immense reservoir of electrical energy. He is an ‘I’ with an insatiable appetite for the ‘non-I.”)

Being surrounded by history, frequent encounters with kindred spirits, and an awareness and appreciation for the everyday simple things in life…. the feeling that I get while in Europe can be described as nothing other than, simplement… what it means to be alive.

“Je n’arrive pas à penser dans ces moment-là. Je me laisse aller, je fais le vide autour de moi….” – Yelle

(“I manage to not think in these moments. I let myself go, I make a vacuum around me….”)

The song “Hometown Glory” by Adele just came on my iTunes. Now, sitting in my own hometown, I can look back on moments connected to it. Having spent last summer in Germany listening to Adele’s album daily for nearly a month straight, the smells, scenery, and feelings of that summer immediately come to mind.

The end of summer and the arrival of fall came as a quick transition in Radolfzell. Long summer days and sun-filled afternoons gave way to crisp breezes and dimly lit rides home from visits with friends and walks by the lake.

It is now more than a year later, but I need only to hear a brief ostinato from one of Adele’s songs and I am on my rust-colored bike, riding with no hands on the handlebars through a dark field, staring up at the open blackness and taking in the first breaths of that cool autumn air.

A key change brings me to a stroll back to my house from the train station, passing a beautiful lilac bush and stopping to drink in its powerful scent. With the street devoid of cars, I stand in the center, reveling in the captivating smell. I desired to be a poet, for if I were, I would write a few lines about flowers of purple, lit dimly by a starry night sky.

With the change of weather that summer came a change of cities, and a whole new life began in Dresden. Now, with both of those experiences behind me, I can’t help but to reflect on them and to treasure the memories that are triggered through the chords and melodies of familiar songs.

Round my hometown, memories are fresh
Round my hometown, ooh, the people I’ve met
Yeah, I ain’t lost, just wandering
- “Hometown Glory,” Adele

Time seems to be moving very fast. I have a joke with a friend about our inevitable “future-less futures.” However mine is finally starting to take shape. I’m in the midst of making some major life decisions. Completely out of the blue, I had a job prospect in Hamburg arise. Of all things and of all places, it seemed like the perfect opportunity. In fact, it is exactly what I thought I wanted. As conversations have continued, it has gotten more confusing. Not only has the process been slow while the whole of Germany is on vacation in August, I have been thinking a lot about where I am going and what I am doing with my life. I finally have a telephone interview planned, but even if it goes well, I think I’ve already made my decision. Regardless, it is still pretty fantastic that they called and expressed interest.

I had a friend visit from Switzerland and 2 exchange students from Germany visit and it was great to speak some German and show them around. I also joined a German speaking coffee meet-up that is a mix of Americans who speak/are learning German and Europeans (German, Swiss, English, etc.). It was helpful to listen to the Europeans talk about why they love living in Hartford. I think when you’re from somewhere, it is hard to appreciate it as anything other than where you grew up. They helped me to realize that my Europe experiences do not have to end just because I’m not there anymore.

I know that ultimately I don’t want to be a classroom teacher and if that is my conclusion, I can’t keep taking teaching positions because that is what is easiest. Even if it means I can’t be abroad, it is time to take some concrete steps toward the future that I would like to have for myself. If I continue to float from teaching position to the next, I may wake up one day stuck in the pattern. There is a saying that “when you have to make a choice and don’t make it, that is in itself a choice.” I got a job in CT working with a girl with special needs. The hours are flexible and the pay is good. It would allow me to take some classes to feel out some other interests and explore different talents while providing money that I will be able to save while living at home. This way, wherever I go next, I can actually afford to move there, to invest in one place for a while, and to grow some roots. I’m taking 2 Economics classes and Into to Public Policy at Uconn. I’m also volunteering at the Jewish Community Center in exchange for Hebrew classes (haha.) So… that’s my plan for the moment. Not as exciting as the last few years of my life, but I think it will help to secure a happier future.

I was fortunate to have my current job “fall into my lap” so to say. I think I have to listen to that opportunity, despite it not being the most glamorous. I’ve been very lucky to have the chances that I’ve had. Many of my jobs and life opportunities have come purely as a result of a conversation with a stranger in a coffee shop or bar, or just putting myself out there and hoping for the best. Oftentimes I haven’t realized the significance of these chances until much later, but they have fit into spaces in my life just when I needed them the most. When I made the decision to apply for my Germany program one week before the application was due, I had to dive in immediately. It was either go through the process of doing it all on a crazy time crunch or not. Ultimately, it was one of the most significant and important decisions I have ever made.

Career-wise, emotionally, physically, and mentally, I know I am capable of achieving great things. I don’t ever want to settle for less than I can be.

I had a bit of a taste of America this past week with the visit of our awesome President to my little city. It was amazing. The Dresden newspaper published a list of famous dignitaries and politicians who have visited Dresden in the past. Being in former East Germany, the list was rather small and included such splendid people as Fidel Castro and the president of North Korea… umm, yeah.

A lot has changed since the wall fell though, and this was an great opportunity for Dresden to catch some headlines and show the world just how beautiful it is. Living the life of an ex-Pat on and off since 2006 has been a very interesting experience. When you travel abroad, you expect to gain knowledge and awareness of the new culture you are integrated into, but one of the most valuable insights I have gained is being able to look at my own background and seeing how I perceive my own culture- both its positive and negative aspects.

The morning after Barack Obama won the election was one of the most interesting days I have ever experienced. Despite being cloudy and rainy outside, it felt like an invisible cloud had been lifted within me and my fellow American peers living here abroad. Germans talk about the World Cup soccer championships of 2006 as the first time they can remember feeling like it was ok to be proud to be from Germany. Finally they felt like they were allowed to display their flag and sing their anthem without feeling the constant pressure of bearing the burdens of the mistakes of their ancestors. While not quite as drastic, since Obama has been in office, I’d imagine that all ex-Pats, despite political affiliations, whether in agreement with Obama or not, would probably admit that the climate for an American abroad is infinitely better. For the first time in 8 years, I feel like I don’t have to apologize for a government I never elected in the first place.

I never thought I’d see the day when a city I was living in abroad would throw parties in its squares that included cheerleaders and hot dogs. As Americans, we’re facing all sorts of new challenges and of course the halo that seems to rest on Obama’s head can’t last forever. But even in my corner of the former GDR, he incites ideas of freedom and hope into the hearts of a people who weren’t even allowed to leave their country 20 years earlier.

While not exactly my favorite politician, Bill Clinton had it right when he said, “there is nothing wrong with America that cannot be cured by what is right with America.”

I have always been interested in religion, but have always had a love-hate relationship with it. I was half-heartedly raised Catholic but attended Protestant summer camps and Hebrew school because “all of my friends were doing it.” This combination left me rather confused as a child. I never understood how one person or group of people could think that they had a monopoly on the truth. As a result, I can fairly say that I do not believe in absolute truth. Though I often find myself envious of those who believe in concrete answers to life’s biggest questions, my diverse upbringing has exposed me to a number of ideas, and I think that I am a more tolerant person because of it.

I have read the Bible, and I think that in order to be an educated person in today’s world, one must. Whether you regard it as the word of God, an epic poem that has survived the tests of time, or even as fabricated nonsense, no one can deny its significance throughout history and the strong relevance that it has in our modern world. I have also always been particularly interested in modern American religions, specifically The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or as most people know it, the Mormon Church. The idea of a possible apostasy after the death of Jesus, the belief that there can be modern-day prophets, and that a story can exist that is strong enough to complement the Bible which documents the history of the Western world at the same time as the Bible documents that of the Middle East, is fascinating to me.

I’m not sure that I will ever be able to believe in concrete dogma or find myself compelled enough to join organized religion. Nevertheless, I think it is important to have some sort of defined belief system while acknowledging that it can remain fluid. In the LDS Church, strong emphasis is put on personal testimony. Using passages and quotes from the Bible and the Mormon religious texts, this is my version of a testimony:

Doctrine and Covenants 9:8 “But, behold, I say unto you, that you must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right, and if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right. But if it be not right you shall have no such feelings, but you shall have a stupor of thought that shall cause you to forget the thing which is wrong.”

Jeremiah 29:13 “You will seek me and find me when you search for me with all your heart.”

I believe in myself. I am not narcissistic, nor am I conceited; in fact, I am rifled with many imperfections and insecurities. While I am flawed, I believe in loving myself, faults included, and I believe in my ability to better myself through their recognition. Regret, guilt, and self-condemnation are wasted time, while action and self-acceptance are constructive. Of course we all can’t help reflecting on our inadequacies, but if we learn to see them in a new light, one in which we trust in our ability to love ourselves, we can begin to own them and to heal the wounds which we brand ourselves flawed by.

1 John 4:16 “And we have known and believed the love that God hath for us. God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him.”

I believe in God. I use the word ‘God’ interchangeably with the word ‘love.’ I have faith in both God and love. In all three of the languages that I speak, the word for ‘love’ is different (Love, Amor, Liebe). Regardless of the language in which it is spoken, love is one of the only words I know that is acknowledged to be an insufficient replacement for a feeling that cannot truly be explained but can undoubtedly be felt. The idea of God encompasses these sentiments for me, and therefore, I believe that God is love, and in this capacity, God is with us wherever we go.

Ecclesiastes 9:1 “For all this I considered in my heart, even that I might declare all this: that the righteous and the wise and their works are in the hand of God. But no man knoweth whether love or hate awaits him.”

I believe that God works through us in the form of love, but I do not know if I believe in an interventionalist God. I believe that God gave us a great ability to love, and the rest is up to us. We can choose to use or abuse our power to love. Love provides us the drive to be good people. And we must be good. Not only because we seek Heaven or we fear Hell, but because it is our duty as loving beings to achieve goodness in our own right. If I were to find out that there is no life after death, it would not change my resolution to be a good person, for I believe in righteousness for its own sake.

Isaiah 40:28-29 “Hast thou not known? Hast thou not heard, that the everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary? His understanding no one can fathom.”

I believe in prayer. I pray often and hard. I do not concern myself with whether or not there is a God who will listen, nor do I know for sure that if He can, He will intercede. I pray because I believe that self-reflection, introspection, and voicing feelings, are the path the positive change.

The Book of Mormon, Alma 36:27 “I have been supported under trials and troubles of every kind, yea, and in all manner of afflictions; yea, God has delivered me from prison, and from bonds, and from death; yea, and I do put my trust in Him, and He will still deliver me.”

I believe that we have a God-given capacity for love and that God gave us the ability and skills needed to love, and it is through our choices that we construct our own destinies. One night, a few years ago, I lay on the bathroom floor, crying: the culmination of a series of difficult experiences and events. I had hoped and prayed to God for years to take away my pain, but I saw no results. That night, I prayed and waited. I prayed and I waited until I finally understood. I realized that I had been waiting for God, but in fact, God had been waiting for me. He was waiting on me to make a decisive step to have the life I knew I was capable of having, or to die in the one I was living. God did not pick me up that night; I did.

Psalm 36:5 “Thy love, O Lord, reacheth to the heavens, thy faithfulness unto the clouds.”

I believe in Heaven and Hell, but not in a biblical sense. I believe that when love is exchanged between people, it becomes an eternal element of who we are. Whether love is lost or kept, through circumstance or death, we are forever changed by the love that we receive and we then give this love to others. My idea of hell is not loving others, and never receiving this love in return.

Isaiah 40:30-31 “Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men stumble and fall; but they that hope unto the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall soar on wings like eagles; they shall run and not grow weary, and they shall walk and not be faint.”

I believe that love is a power greater than death. My brother, Tyler died last December. He did not want to die, nor do I believe that God wanted him to die. We make choices every day, and on this particular night, Tyler made a poor one. I pray to Tyler often, but not because I believe he can hear me, though admittedly a piece of me hopes that in some way he can. However, I do not need to believe in a concrete reason for his death to trust that he is at peace, nor a tangible afterlife to believe that he is still with me. I can still hear his voice, I know how it feels to hug him, and this is how he is still alive within me. I do not need dogma to believe this; I know it.

Kurt Vonnegut wrote in his book Cat’s Cradle, “Tiger got to hunt, bird got to fly; Man got to sit and wonder, ‘Why, why, why?’ Tiger got to sleep, bird got to land; Man got to tell himself he understand.” In Matthew 22:37-39, Jesus says, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.”

Intellect and man’s desire for the black and white tell us that belief in truth is a result of evidence and proof. In D&C 93:36-37,40, God revealed to Joseph Smith that, “the glory of God is intelligence, or, in other words, light and truth. Light and truth forsake evil. I have commanded you to bring up your children in light and truth.” When I have children, I aspire to bring them up in light, but I also have the hope that they will recognize the importance of leaps of faith.

Intellect and the mind can take you to a point, but after this point, the heart, soul, and spirit must take over. The missing piece can only be satisfied through faith. I may never have the answers to life’s big questions, or believe in a concrete definition of God, but I have faith in this uncertainty. To many this may seem like a contradiction, but as Walt Whitman says in his poem Song of Myself, “Do I contradict myself?/ Very well then I contradict myself/ I am large, I contain multitudes.”

Matthew 6:34 “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.”

For the moment, the here and now is enough. This I believe.

In the last 3 years, I have lived in….
- 4 counties: U.S., Spain, England, and Germany.
- 2 states: Vermont and Connecticut.
- 7 cities: Burlington, W. Hartford, Groton Long Point, Madrid, London, Radolfzell, and Dresden.

I am tired. Even now, I am preparing to pack up my room at the TU-Dresden dorms to move into an apartment on the other side of the city. Now that the stressful search for a place to live is over, I’m looking forward to being in more of a neighborhood and having German roommates. I’ll be living with 2 guys in their mid-20s who are training to become police officers. Or at least I think that’s what they said…. they have thick Sächsisch accents.

My efforts to update this Blog have been shameful, but from now on I plan on trying harder. Since I’ve arrived here, so much has happened that it has been difficult to write only a few words. Here being: Dresden.

Today is one of those rare days when the clouds that seem to reside permanently in Germany have decided to take a break and have opened up to a lovely, clear day. Beautiful bells from a 13th century church nearby are ringing 10 am. I only have to glance out my 17th story window for a gorgeous view of the city. After spending 2 months in Radolfzell, it was quite a dramatic shift to go from living in the Southwest to the Northeast of Germany. Different accents, different upbringings for most of the people (Dresden being in the former GDR), and very different architecture. The city has 3 visibly distinct time periods in its recent history- before WWII, during the GDR, and post-reunification. Strolling along the streets of the city one can pass an amazing building from hundreds of years ago and then abruptly arrive at a Soviet-style monstrosity. However, it will most likely have been painted some absurdly bright color, as if this technique could actually hide the ugliness that is rectangular buildings with no windows. Only a few feet away you will encounter a statue of modern art from about 2006. It is a strange but intriguing combination. Every day is an aesthetic adventure here.

I spent a semester studying at Technische Universität Dresden. I use the word “study” loosely since there was not much accountability involved. Wednesday was my favorite day of classes. I began the day with “History of the English Language” taught in English and then went to “Deutsch als Fremdsprache” (German as a foreign language) taught in German, to “Spanisch Stufe-5″ (Spanish Level 5) taught in Spanish. This confusing but enjoyable combination of classes is a reflection of where my life has taken me. Much like I enjoyed each of the classes for different reasons, I appreciate the opportunities I have had to live in the places that I have over the last few years. One thing I’ve enjoyed the most is getting a chance to meet and connect with so many interesting people. The kindred spirits I have met along the way have shown me that we can connect on a purely human level with people even though we may come from different places and speak different languages.

As I begin the next phase of my program with an internship in an elementary school, I am thinking a lot about where I have been and where I would like to go. The time will fly and eventually I will have to see where life will take me next. The 2 suitcases that have carried my life with me from place to place are beginning to wear. Whether I choose a place to settle some time in the near future, or decide to pick up my bags one more time, one thing I have realized is that one doesn’t need to have a permanent address to grow roots. In the past months, friends from all over the world have visited me and I have made efforts to see others. Most recently I went to Spain and saw people who I will spend far more of my life apart from than I will with them. But I have learned that even separation is a type of link, and we are always connected in unseen ways. Because, “I’ll never be a stranger and I’ll never be alone. Whenever we’re together, that’s my home.”

You’ve practiced these words so many times before. You’ve perfected the tone, the presentation. They leave your mouth like a well recited line from a play you’ve preformed a thousand times. You’ve trained yourself not to cringe when people who are practically strangers rest their hands sympathetically on your arm. You’ve mastered how to return an ostensibly sincere smile after the looks of pity that you receive almost everywhere you go- in the grocery store, at the pharmacy, out to lunch with a friend. Like a clockmaker who has fine crafted his trade, you know what makes these people tick. You’ve learned how to detach yourself from your feelings, how to make the timbre of your voice completely devoid of emotion.

“Ich hatte einen Bruder, aber er ist gestorben.”

The meaning is the same, but these words are different. You haven’t practiced these words. This is not your home turf; these are not your people. Although your brother has never been to this city, this country, or even set foot on this continent, in this moment you are conscious of his silent presence in your life more intensely than you have been in months. Despite being in a foreign language, you feel as if you actually understand these words for the first time. They fall from your mouth so heavy that their weight hits you like a pile of bricks. Suddenly you are acutely aware of the burden that you have been carrying. The words cut your tongue like shards of glass, each one bearing such profound significance that, until now, their consequences have been beyond nameable recognition. You have worn your grief inside of you like a great ocean, and only now, in the company of strangers, in this unfamiliar land, does it spill over.

You understand that some pain is too deep to feel all at once. Instead, it penetrates you slowly, entering your system like a virus that seeps into your bloodstream. It permeates your heart and eats away at it little by little, until it carves a hole so cavernous, you know that if you enter- if you allow yourself to feel- that there will be no escape.

Sometimes you have visions of what it would be like to lose an arm or a leg. Maybe then your outer appearance would match the way you feel within. But an appendage isn’t a brother, so your body would still be more whole than your heart. Because your heart is no longer complete, you patch it up with fiction. You weave together a convoluted web of what you wish to feel with what is actually there. In lieu of any other anodyne, your mind becomes a storyteller.

You make a game of imagining the lives you may have had if not for your brother’s death. Sometimes you’re in a sunny backyard, your nieces and nephews crouch to observe a wriggling worm in the sand. You watch from a porch while laughter echoes in the wind. Or, curtains ripple at the window in an apartment, city traffic purrs on the streets below. Your brother visits and you share stories of your childhood and talk about the adults you have become.

Perhaps you have only dreamt about the clothes that have been boxed and hidden in the attic, or of the cracks you traced in the yellow wall where his posters once hung. Maybe you really are asleep somewhere, tossing and turning through this recurrent and familiar nightmare.

However, the reality to which you wake each morning isn’t so. It is easy for you to envision a wide range of scenarios, had your brother lived a considerably longer life, some or even many of which would be far from idyllic. But for now you resign to fill the void by practicing new words, and you ease the pain by crafting images of would-be summer days, overseen by a happy and contented Tyler.

The town I’ve been living in is quite small (30,000 people) and reminds me very much of Burlington but without young people. Everyone here is either 0-18 or 30-90 years old. But the town is beautiful, I live 5 minutes from the gorgeous lake, and there’s a university city only 20 minutes away. On Tuesday I will leave to go to Dresden where I will spend the next 10 months studying for a semester and then doing an internship. I’m very excited, but it’s also bittersweet. These last 2 months have been similar to freshman year of college. A group of people get thrust into a whole new environment and because of the amount of concentrated time spent together and the strange circumstances, relationships are formed hard and fast. I’ve met some great people and I’m excited to have fun places to visit, but it’s sad that we’ll all be spread out all over the country. I’ve been hearing really good things about Dresden though, and I know that once I get settled in there, all will be good.

In terms of the people that I’ve met, I’ve found a few very kindred spirits. I’ve started to think a lot about the idea that people are connected to one another in a way that cannot be seen. I used to believe that things happened for a reason, but after such a string of horrible experiences, it was difficult to believe that there was any purpose to it all. However, here in Germany, my faith in this idea has really been renewed. There are people who have walked into my life here who have fit into so many empty spaces in my heart. My host-mom, Wiebke, my program coordinator, Silkee- even my German tutor, Herr Henze are all people with whom I have had very powerful experiences with. A powerful experience doesn’t have to be very intimate or even very complex. For example, last week my tutor and I wrote lyrics in German to a classical piece my Brahms. The week before, we translated a psalm from the bible into German. To find people who share such specific common interests is very rare. It doesn’t matter how well you know the person, if they are the same age or 30 years older, or if you ever see them again- experiences like these are priceless.

My friend Jaclyn wrote me a message recently and told me about a person who she was feeling very close to very fast and how it was a little bit frightening but also exhilarating. She ended the message with, *insert German phrase about life and love and fearlessness.* I loved this line and even wrote it on my hand the morning that I read it. It really is so important to be brave in matters of the heart.

I’m finding Germany to be a pretty incredible place. I feel very comfortable here, but in a completely different way than I did in Spain. Spain was inspiring, and I learned a lot every day there, but I never exactly felt like I fit there. I have a passionate relationship with Spanish and I think it will always be closest to my heart, the way that Spain itself will be. But despite the fact that German is a much harder language, I learn it much more easily. It’s more natural to me when I speak it. Again, like it fits me better.

It’s only fitting that a girl from Hartford, Connecticut finds herself relating to Mark Twain, who had a very love/hate relationship with the German language. A dog is “der Hund,” a woman is “die Frau,” a horse is “das Pferd.” If you put a dog in the genitive case, is he the same dog he was before? No, he is “des Hundes.” Put him in the dative case and he is “dem Hund.” In the accusative case, what is he? He is “den Hunden.” But how about if he is a twin and you have to pluralize him? Then you put the twin dog through the 4 cases until he thinks he’s an entire international dog show all in his own person. It’s just the same with a cat. Start her in at the nominative singular in good health, then put her through all the 4 cases and she limps out through the accusative plural completely unrecognizable. Yes, sir, once the German language gets hold of a cat, it’s goodbye cat. And don’t even get me started on verbs.

“Whenever the literary German dives into a sentence that is the last you are going to see of him until he emerges on the other side of his Atlantic with his verb in his mouth.
- Mark Twain, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court

We reached the end of the block when Tyler stopped. I grabbed his hand and urged him along, but he would not budge. After much debate, I finally resigned and we headed back towards home. We could not go forward, Tyler insisted, because we weren’t allowed to cross the street.

Years later I sat in my living room during one of the rare times I had actually come back to Connecticut and Tyler was home from boarding school.

“You know, people are like, throwing themselves over fences to come into America every day and you’re the only one I know who is trying to get away from it,” Tyler said to me as he reached across the table to steal my plate of chips and salsa.

“That’s not very politically correct,” I responded.

“Fuck being P.C.,” he chomped. “Seriously Allison, what are you running from?”

Fast-forward to April. Twenty-two years old and in my childhood bedroom, sitting atop piles of clothing, Metro maps, and receipts; pieces of my life brought back with me from Europe. What I was doing there in the first place, I don’t really know. Running away, always running further away, but never finding a city, a country, a continent that would allow me to run away from myself.

They say that culture shock can be difficult but that reverse-culture shock is even worse. I would agree completely with this sentiment. Being abroad is a life-changing experience, as cliché as it is to say. When I returned from Spain the first time I felt so fundamentally changed that it was difficult to relate to most people around me. I gravitated towards others who had gone through similar things because I craved connection to those experiences anywhere I could find them.

I can recall sitting with Jan on my terrace in Tetuán, drinking a glass of wine and basking in the Spanish sun, which seemed to perpetually shine. I remember feeling so at peace with the world, emptying my mind of stressful thoughts and breathing in everything that meant being truly alive. I never thought I would feel that way again once I left Spain. But today on the bus home from a day spent lying by the Bodensee with new friends, I had the same feeling. Problems don’t leave you when you go miles from home as I once believed. Your life is still as it always was, but we can control the way that we live our life even if we can’t control the things that happen to us. I no longer feel like I am running away from my problems or from myself. This time, in Germany, I am running towards myself- towards who I would like to be and working towards the life I would like to have for myself. Funny how you can run away, only to discover what was there all along.