Sport!?

“Document the moments you feel most in love with yourself - what you’re wearing, who you’re around, what you’re doing." - Warsan Shire

I went windsurfing!

Four years ago I took Freshman Advice very seriously; I threw myself into new waters, diving into a new school, town, environment, chapter of my life on my own and determinedly forced myself to talk to anyone and everyone that happened to be within earshot. This is one thing that hasn't changed over the course of my collegiate experience: when in doubt, I'll chat it up. (Though honestly it is always more fear [fear of loneliness, fear of missing out] than confidence that pushes me to this, but the end result is the same, either way.) That same instinct was put to good use again as I embarked on this term and one of the reasons why I chased after a man on the street because of his hoodie.

"Excuse me!" I called out, tailing a tall dude in wave-emblazened black. "What's your hoodie about?" He was clearly taken aback but politely and enthusiastically told me about windsurfing, anyway. They go every Wednesday, beginners welcome. Sign me up. It took two weeks to get to it, but I managed to recruit my housemates and thus four American amateurs threw themselves into the freezing waters of a Welsh lake. Literally. We threw our bodies into the lake over and over and over again. Turns out windsurfing takes a lot more muscle than anticipated -- I never envisioned how the sail got upright, in my mind it always just was...but, no, you have to pull it up yourself. Then you have to hang on real tight and steady or the wind betrays you and everything goes tits up from there.*

I loved it, though, at least with all the parts of my body that hadn't gone numb from the cold. (My toes weren't a big fan but they'll get over it. "No one's ever lost an appendage doing this, right?" I asked the crew that was corralling us all back to shore via a small motor boat. "We have had people missing a few fingers do it!" They replied, taking a suspiciously long time to confirm it wasn't during windsurfing that the loss of fingers occurred...) During the few precious moments of standing upright, shoulders back, and gripping the angled sail without immediately losing balance I forced myself to take a deep breath and gaze ahead at the horizon. The sky was a clouded grey, thankfully dry, but smeared like dirty paintbrush water. Just above the tree line was a bright white as the sun began its descent, contrasting the forest green trees in a way almost prettier than on sunny days. The ocean lay just beyond the trees and behind me sat a small castle on a hill, as they often do in Wales.

It's these fleeting moments of serenity that I often try to solidify in my memory, "This is my life. I'm 22 in Wales and I'm windsurfing." Somehow stating the facts quietly to myself and blinking really hard and purposefully brings me fully into the present. I keep these small snapshots of myself at various ages (normally high peaks of emotion because obviously those are the most poignant, but really any moment can be infused with emotion and isn't that cool!?!?: passionately sobbing at 11, watching the sunrise at 14, clinging to my best friends at 17) in hopes of remembering at least snippets of what it felt like to be me at that age. I want to fully be able to respect my past and present self by preserving her as best as I can at least in my own mind. The fear of a failing memory is definitely one of the many reasons I'm so drawn to journaling, and even blogging. Maybe it's narcissistic -- what's so worth preserving? But fuck that, we should be important to ourselves. We're the only self we've got to know and love and enjoy and remember for our lives. Especially as constantly changing individuals we're all interesting AS HECK. Honestly, I generally love people's thoughts and feelings. I want to get to know you like I want to get to know myself. Being a person is pretty inherently interesting, everything else only adds to it.

I guess the goal is to be eighty and still be able to feel the Welsh wind on my face that I felt at twenty-two while windsurfing.

*Actual charming quote from a girl in my Medieval to Postmodern Lit class, referring to The Lais of Marie de France but it works here, as well, I think!

Iberia!

Last Wednesday saw me in my professor's office on the first week of school. I was there to anxiously inform him that, however amped I was to study Dylan Thomas, I would be missing the first two lectures of the term...because I was taking a week off to galavant through Portugal and Spain...because I'm an uncultured American who's never been anywhere and a girl whose life mottos are sometimes too heavily influenced by Hilary Duff...

"Enjoy Iberia!" He exclaimed as I left, relieved he'd been so understanding. I smiled and thanked him and perhaps threw a 'thumbs up' at him because for some reason Europe's done that to me?? It wasn't until I was on the other side of the door I realized it wouldn't have been ridiculous for me to ask him what "Iberia" was instead of contemplating on my own the word I'd never heard before. It's nice that even though I've yet to have a class with him, the prof's still managed to teach me something (with a lil help from Google.)

My Iberian adventure was unbelievable.

I bought myself a bottle of wine (rose, not the normal plane size bottle -- imagine a toddler size bottle rather than the teeny tiny baby kind) on the flight in while the man next to me taught me a few key Portuguese phrases. The airport shuttle ride was me and five middle aged vacationers who I informed, very excitedly, that it was my 22nd birthday in one hour, can you believe it?! The hour long ride from Faro to Armação de Pêra soundtracked by a night club kind of Portuguese/Late 2000s hits mix and I was in awe of Portugal at every turn. They dropped me off in front of a cyber cafe/convenient store (yes...for real) when I realized I had no idea what the actual apartment number was...Also I was apparently in the wrong place entirely...After an anxious 10 minutes the sight of Alexa and Gwen running towards me from the down the street, while the two kind Portuguese store clerks looked on in amusement at the wild American girls hugging and yelling, filled me relief and elation.

Birthday excitement flowing through my veins it wasn't even that difficult to get out of bed for a beach sunrise. The serenity of a deserted oceanfront at daybreak, soft sand, warm water, everything awash in oranges, pinks, blues, yellows; I've never known colors that vibrant. It was the perfect start to an absolutely perfect day.

Dranks In The Ocean

We returned to the beach a few hours later properly packed to settle in for the day, equipped with enough wine, beer, and snacks for the afternoon...Not enough sunscreen, however, I literally emptied my bottle right then and there, which left all of us burnt in unfortunate and strange patterns across our bodies.

It was six hours of laughing, bonding with new friends, catching up with old ones, discussing the future and the past, eating everything, briefly going topless because we could. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and I didn't have a care in the world. (This is not a normal feeling for me, a constant ball of anxiety.) It was the most relaxed I've ever been in my life.

I treated myself to a birthday steak dinner, obviously, and extremely overpriced Sangria, then we hit Albufeira for the night clubs. As the area's a tourist spot, the bars were mostly middle aged Brits on holiday (seriously Brits get to go on SO MANY HOLIDAYS; jobs here just let people have time off...all the time. Like, every year. It's bonkers. Get that together, America), but one club played "Gasolina" followed by "Jai Ho" and then Shakira's anthem "Waka Waka" and it was the highlight of my night.

happy girls

The next day took us to Lisbon, where we stayed at the world's greatest (medium-sized) hostel, according to HostelWorld and according to ME out of all the hostels I've stayed in so far. It's literally called HOME, it's cozy AS HECK, with a patio, living room, and full-experience three course home-cooked meals every night made by the owner Mamma for only 10 EURO. She literally takes everyone's personal dietary restrictions into consideration. It was incomparable. We saw Lisbon's open-air church and museum, the Castle of St. Jorge, and unreal views from a couple of the cities' miradouros. One of Portugal's 'things' is free shots upon welcoming someone and with every dinner and it is one of my favorite countries in the world, so far. Portugal and Ireland have absolutely stolen my heart.

Cheetah Girl's 2 gave me high hopes for Barcelona, and it met them, but October in Iberia means winter's coming and that means rain season. It absolutely poured straight through our first day in Spain, the kind of storm that doesn't allow for great exploration. I managed to see a lot of the Gothic Quarter though, and honestly, it was some of the most incredible and oldest architecture I've ever experienced, so, cool. I ate patatas bravas either with or in substitute of every meal and mixed a lot of wine and cerveza.

The overcast skies didn't deter us from what I came to Barcelona determined to do: Monserrat. It's a serrated mountain ridge, with an old church and abbey built into it, and Spain's first National Park. Astonishing doesn't begin to describe the entire impact of being there. It was by far the peak of the trip and potentially my entire life -- Four years in private Catholic school, forced to go to church at least once a week, and I've never felt closer to religion than literally above the clouds, sitting atop a Spanish mountain.

Gwen, Ashley, and I then braved the extremely aggressive club promoters of La Rambla and Plaça Reial and spent the night bumpin' and grindin' in an undeniably hip but small, sweaty basement. I'm pretty sure we left around 2/2:30, but the club showed no signs of slowing down. At all. The clubs literally stay open until the party dies and sometimes the Barcelona party don't stop until, like, 7 AM. I was busing to the airport Saturday morning at 7 and actually watched hoards of drunk people crawling from clubs to cabs with the sunrise. It was honestly kind of beautiful.

The third day was finally sunny and warm and we hit the dry pavement, covering over half the width of the surprisingly large city, passing by Gaudí's Sagrada Família and spending the afternoon wandering Park Güell. It's been hard to say goodbye to every city so far, but the end of a trip is always a confusing co-mingling of relieved exhaustion, disappointment that it's over, and excitement to move on to what's next.

Swansea welcomed me home again with clear skies and a huge group hug from my lovely new Swan friends.

My Space: Not the Website

“Any woman who chooses to behave like a full human being should be warned that the armies of the status quo will treat her as something of a dirty joke . . . She will need her sisterhood.” - Gloria Steinem

It's very frustrating to realize that all of history has strategized to create a society in which men feel absolutely entitled to my space.

I went out to the bar with a friend -- I'd been having a fantastic evening and I was jazzed to have a beer, dance, hang out. But all night long I encountered the same problem...Extremely forward men. I don't know if it was worse than normal, or if I was just more aware of it, but I ended up feeling uncomfortable the majority of the night until I ended up home early with a stomach ache unrelated to the singular beer I consumed but completely tied to the way I was treated by random men.

It was several different things, beginning with the Aggressive Staring across the bar that is like, theoretically harmless except undeniably threatening and violating nevertheless. All I can do to avoid potentially dangerous confrontation is try my best to ignore them, avoid their eye-line, and pretend that dancing under their gaze doesn't make me feel like I exist to entertain them. That's not my job. (If you want to watch me like that you really should be paying me, I'm just saying.) I could not possibly care less how a random man in a bar -- or anywhere -- perceives me; why do they feel the need to wink and wave like I should be grateful for their approval when I've CLEARLY spent all evening grimacing at their advances and distinctly shifting away from their approaches?

That's one thing...Then there's the Cornering.

It happens literally out of no where: two grown-ass men will swoop in together and all of a sudden, there's one in front and one beside and only one way out. It happened twice in one night! At one bar! In the same general area! Four different men! What is this?! I'm very small, but I'm not invisible...even if they aren't making eye contact (????????? what is this about ??????) I know that they see me. I've been dancing in this spot for an hour. Back yourself up. But no, I have to grab my stuff from the spot beside me and shimmy down the bar, the bar that is entirely empty on either side because it is 12:30 on a Tuesday night, and re-establish a position over there. Amazingly enough, a minute later the men decide they aren't so attached to that specific spot anymore and leave. Shocking. What made that particular spot so appealing just a moment before?

That move must be totally unrelated to my presence, though, right? Am I making this all about me? Am I being self-centered? Except then I sit on the wall, an elevated shelf there, and I'm just minding my own business, casually swaying to Lil Wayne and watching Betty White inexplicably on TV. Then BAM! In the blink of an eye, there's a man directly blocking my left and an even larger man blocking my front -- completely barring me from being able to hop down to the floor without confrontation. But they won't look at me! They're both literally UP AGAINST MY KNEES!!!!!!! But they won't actually make eye contact! (I mean, I definitely don't want to make eye contact with them, that can turn aggressive too quickly. It's just such a strange sitaution. It's like they're ignoring me from directly on top of me. Why?) I stare in stunned disbelief, and heave a sigh. I'm appalled. I throw my hands up and pull my legs onto the bar instead of jumping down; I step over the pile of coats and scarves and bags and sit on the other end of the entirely. empty. bar. AKA: where they could have gone to set up in the first place instead of forcing me to move. Then (NOTICING PATTERNS) they leave. As soon as it registers that I'm gone, they evaporate into thin air. Unbelievable.

It is an entirely empty bar, but they choose to stand in my lap. When it happens twice within an hour, it's not a coincidence or merely oblivious drunk dudes...it's a problem with an utter disrespect for women's personal space.

The cherry on top, the complete trifecta of Awful Interactions With Men, was the Verbal Attack in the form of a man directly pointing out my physical disadvantage to him. My friend and I had decided to finish the night at another bar, ran into the rain and across the street, but of course it's crazy to think that two young, attractive females could hope to exist in a bar undisturbed. While I had been annoyed originally, pissed off by the second intrusion, it was the third instance when I knew the night was over.

Let me break it down for you: There's a giant problem when a drunk man at the bar leans into my face, staring unseeing and uncaring at my disgusted expression, and points out repeatedly that I would be unable to fight him off. That is literally what I had to deal with and I'm expected not to pepper spray him just for saying such a thing. Thank you for needlessly pointing out our size difference! Thank you for senselessly disregarding the fact that I am ignoring you and just continue to repeat the phrase, "You have no bows!!!! You have NO BOWS!" in reference to my lack of muscle mass over and over and OVER again until I literally throw my weight into the elbow I do possess an inch from your face and I want nothing more than to obliterate your nose right then and there. He continues, "I'm like, 250 pounds. You've got nothing. That's weak. That's weak."

I could vomit right now just remembering hearing that.

This is not flirting. This is not cute. This is threatening. I am aware I am very much half your size, male person, I am reminded of this every second of every day in every situation I am ever in. The fact that the idea of my inability to defend myself was something this man fixated on so passionately...It makes me sick. "That's comforting, thank you," I replied. There was no life in his eyes and he couldn't see me, let alone imagine me as fully human. A friend of a friend I just met two seconds previous and with no relevance or provocation whatsoever he began screaming that I "have no bows." It wasn't even like we were cracking jokes about play fighting or something weird and dumb and casual; I didn't say more than "Hi, yeah, I'm friends with so-and-so," when all of a sudden he was obsessed with my elbows and stature.

What a magnificent time to be had by all. Once again, after only being in the bar for five minutes, I couldn't do it anymore and left.

I feel like there's so little I can do in response to these things! That's the most frustrating part. Is there a Best Way To React? I'm forced to leave the environment that they've now claimed as their own because I am small and helpless and "a bitch" if I say something.

Forget that.

New Year, New Resolutions

"I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes. Because if you are making mistakes, you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You're doing things you've never done before, and more importantly, you're doing something." - Neil Gaiman
 

Seasons, semesters, holidays, years, months, days, birthdays -- all tools we have instituted into society in order to keep track of time. And I love them.

I'm a hugely nostalgic, sentimental sap, while slightly embarrassing and childish, it might be one of my favorite parts of myself because I genuinely derive so much pleasure from marking the passage of time. Whether that's through journals, pictures, blogs; I eat it up. I seek out books and songs and people that make me feel deeply because I LOVE IT. I think everyone generally enjoys, you know, feeling, duh. But to someone who doesn't, I don't know if there's a way to capture the catharsis of crying it all out to songs from the TFIOS* soundtrack. Or standing on the steps of the New York Public Library, watching the sun rise between the buildings lining fifth avenue and silently tearing up to Sara Bareilles's "Chasing the Sun."

We read Tennyson's "In Memoriam"** in my British Lit. class, which gave me all the platonic love feelings (my favorite) and all the romantic love feelings...so many feelings. It's great. I just want to live my life knowing that I've felt as deeply as I can for as much as I can? That sounds like a dumb sentence, but whatever, it's true. I always have this nagging fear that I'm not doing enough to preserve This Moment; I think that's a common thing considering the popularity of Instagram and Twitter, etc. I can stress myself out so badly about the expectation I have that I end up getting FOMO even while participating. (Especially true of nights like New Years Eve that get built up so much that it's nearly impossible for the night's reality to live up -- that pressure is unbearable. I constantly have to remind myself to chill on the expectations.) That's ridiculous and counter-productive! I have to make that stop. It's the reason I have to force myself to put the phone down during a concert, even though my Snapchat instincts are on fire because if I'm not even briefly present in that moment I'll regret it. But of course, there's balance to be found in everything. As someone who's standing on the precipice of another year in the life (and someone who puts a lot of stock in that type of thing, other birthday-worshipers and NYE resolution-makers are with me on this), I have GOALS, man. I know no one really associates the word "balance" with the age 21, specifically...but I'll do my best.

New Years is a time practically invented for reflection on the previous year and the rapid rate at which it flew by -- there's no way it went as quickly as every year has ever gone before. No way. So fast. Unbelievable. Similarly: I was such a different person a year ago! I have grown so much! So much has happened! Where has the time gone? Who will I be a year from now? Life is crazy! So on, so forth. All this reflection occurs simultaneously with an eye on the horizon and what the future could hold. This is why I love resolutions, they're how we take control and decide what we can do to make the most of this potential. I know that many resolution haters will roll their eyes and say that a day is just a day, you have the power to change at any time, stop waiting for arbitrary timelines and Live Your Best Life Today. Blah, blah, blah. Resolutions are FUN. Here are some of mine: (I filled an entire three pages of my journal with goals and hopes for how I'll grow in the next year, but I'll spare you.)

• Forgive myself
• Drink more water
• Give gifts
• Watch my posture
• Take creative projects seriously
• Put myself "out there" as often as possible
• Unabashedly live in Selfie City
• Make money, get turnt

Please share some of yours with me! I'm always on the hunt to steal the best resolutions.
 
*Birdy's "Tee Shirt" when you want to cry, though. For REAL.
**aka: "'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" (aka - the motto frickin yolo)

The Planned Parenthood Generation

As the president of my college campus's Generation Action chapter, I and the rest of the exec. board (my lovely friends Michaela, Kayla, and Emily) were invited to Washington, D.C. for Planned Parenthood's Generation Action national youth conference.

It was incredible and inspiring, empowering and enlightening, to be surrounded by over 400 activists and leaders who are all concerned with same issue -- reproductive justice -- and all the many, many facets related to such a complex issue. The conference spanned four days, with activities ranging from guest speakers (such as Sen. Elizabeth freaking Warren!!!!) to workshops (such as, "Beyond Choice: Reproductive Justice 101" and "The Importance of Public Policy and Advocacy: Advancing the Issues You Care About") to a day spent lobbying with each state's senators and representatives.

Zoe Ridolfi-Starr, one of the co-creators of the Carry That Weight movement on the Columbia University campus, led a discussion on the issue of sexual assault on college campuses nationwide and how we can most effectively utilize social media in bringing about awareness and affecting change at a specific dinner centered on strategizing with peers. It was just so definitively cool to be able to talk with girls from all over the country on how our experiences differ along our fight for the same thing. I knew I'd come away from the conference with ideas, but I couldn't take notes fast enough as we exchanged stories about different events held and actions taken that we can share from campus to campus.

It was sometime in my high school career that I first went to my local Planned Parenthood for a check up; my regular doctor isn't a gynecologist and I just felt like I needed some specific questions answered. I was struck by how pleasant the experience was over all, how friendly and helpful the staff was -- it was comfortable, from the waiting room to the check out desk, the entire facility felt accepting and reassuring. Every time I've ever visited a clinic has been a positive experience -- I've even had direct responses from the Planned Parenthood account on twitter before the social media importance push that now has every company with interns specifically dedicated to replying to all tweets, all day. This is a company that has always been there for me and to be encouraged by them as a young leader in my community means the world to me.

The Generation Action conference invigorated me; there are students all over the country taking action in their lives and on their campuses and I can't wait to get to work alongside them. Our generation will make up 40% of the voting population in 2020 -- that is a lot of power. It means a great deal that Planned Parenthood has invested so much in supporting young people because we are the future and we can get shit done. Start conversation! Support your local women's health center! I've really realized the importance of making your voice heard, whether your deal is rallying on campus or lobbying state government. Speaking out makes a difference.

Imbalanced sea metaphors

"Every day I discover more and more beautiful things. It’s enough to drive one mad. I have such a desire to do everything, my head is bursting with it."

- Claude Monet  

I was once told by the internet that adults make a lot of lists and oh my god, is that true. I make hella lists. All I do is make lists. I feel like I have more pads of post-its than I do places to actually put those post-its. I write everything down; It's not even a matter of being organized, but rather I forget everything I don't write down. So, I write it all down, basically in as many places as I can. Listing and planning is an important part of the process of Getting Shit Done, as long as it doesn't take up all the time that could/should be spent on the actually doing of the shit that needs to be done. It's a hard balance to distinguish for me, because the planning process is the easiest and most cathartic part -- I'm not being judged or graded on my notes, so I don't feel outside pressure hindering my ability to think freely. However, it's also an activity I normally feel I can do while multitasking (there aren't many activities I feel I can't do while multitasking, whether that's accurate or not) which means I'm not really devoting my time to getting anything finitely done. If I'm not actually finishing anything, what am I accomplishing? I'm basically just wasting time, labeling my procrastination as "organizing my thoughts" or "creating a game plan." All good strategies to tackle projects, but not in the precious, dwindling time before it's due. Then all that's just nonsense and it's time to sit down and actually put some hard work into it.

Imbalanced: the life of a terrible Libra

I've always struggled with the balancing act of life. I want to have it all*, but also I want to nap. And watch The 100. And scroll through mindless hours of Tumblr. I've never been a math or science person, as much as my current Geology class has inspired interest in me, I'm not very skilled in either of those departments. But I read, and I can understand basic concepts, and that Newton character knew a thing or two. According to this handy-dandy teacher's site from the turn of this century, Newton's first law states: "An object at rest will remain at rest...An object in motion continues in motion." Which is what a little tiny voice whispers inside my mind when I fall face-down into bed at three in the afternoon and whine into my pillow until I force myself to get back up again. For most of last year, what got me to class in the morning was the promise of returning to bed in the afternoon but that's not even a passable lie anymore. I've been forced to get up in the morning like a normal human being and accept my (over)scheduled fate.

I'm pretty sure my best friend from high school once said, "It's not the size of the ship, but the motion in the ocean." Of course, we were giggling ninth graders and she was referencing something much different than I am, but whatever, same idea. I am a small human (or boat, for purposes of this metaphor) but it's what I do that makes a difference. Right? Sure, why not. Go with it. If Rachel Platten can write an entire song around a similar idea, I can post a blog about it.**

Also, it's The Great Gatsby's 90th birthday! Take my advice: if you've only ever read it for school, read it again. The popularity is not all hype; It is legitimately some kind of magical.

*
**The other day I actually met a guy in my English class who's favorite novel is Moby Dick. Ok. I wouldn't have believed him if his eyes didn't legitimately lit up when arguing that every single sea-related novel/movie/song basically owes it all to MD. Yay for sea-metaphors, I guess?

A Tornad-Ode to Dorm Life

"I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself."

 -Maya Angelou

"Attention. A tornado warning has been issued -- seek shelter immediately."

A disembodied voice reverberates across campus. The kid who pitches a tent and smokes hookah beneath the elevated walkway in bad weather packs up; a girl coming back from the gym darts, shoes in hand, through the swamp that was my hall's courtyard two days ago; the alarm announcing the impending tornadoes sounds straight out of Silent Hill, awakening me from my safe and peaceful cat nap.

I love thunderstorms more than anything, especially ones that show up on an afternoon perfect for lounging near a window, protected by an empty schedule from facing the elements directly.

Just a minute ago, I was in my bed and now I sit cozily perched in my friend's. That's what I'll miss about dorm life: the proximity of possibility. It's the never knowing what could happen because there's always people around, even a night-in has potential to produce anecdotes worthy of re-telling. A wedged-open door could bring anything when you live with a couple hundred almost-strangers. My home is a hallway away from my best friends' floor. Loneliness just isn't even a thing because I'm never alone for long. Which, on one hand, can be read with an inflection of exhaustion: I'm never alone. Because, yeah, I like my space. But also, there's comfort in the tradition of stumbling into the room with my roommate and falling into our respective beds. Being jerked awake by the barging entrance of someone from down the hall. Getting locked out of the suite-style shared bathroom.* I like people and being forced to live with so many inspires so much friendship that wouldn't spawn in any other environment. (It brought me my former-RA, current-BFFL, Erin, who I probably wouldn't have met otherwise. Eternally grateful to the dorm gods.) It's gross and weird and a germ's freaking wet dream, but it's a unique situation to this time in my life and that's cool. We bond because we have to, we're stuck together; We're all scared and tired and invested far more in television shows than our homework. I bet Zac Efron has some choice words about this.

It's been nice and I'll miss it. Much love, Res Housing.

...But also obviously I'm excited to have my own room again, let's be real.


*Yeah, no. I won't miss that at all. Even if it is relatively easy to jimmy it unlocked.