Next Steps

     Well, I officially have a plan for next year. After countless applications, several interviews, and long weeks of waiting, I have a job! What's more, it's a job I feel so good about that I cannot wait to get started. I'll be teaching at Lake Yojoa Bilingual School in Pena Blanca, Honduras. Pena Blanca is a little town in the mountains of central Honduras, the school a private non-denominational Christian school with around 400 students from kindergarten to 10th grade.
     I am well aware that this is going to be something completely different from anything else I've ever experienced, but that's kind of the point. I don't know exactly what I'm going to be teaching, but it will probably be upper-elementary or middle/high schoolers. The situation of the town will be as different from Petrzalka as it is possible to be, almost. It's a small town in a rural area, in the mountains, near a lake. There's lots of hiking, not a lot of clubs, and I will certainly not be anonymous; I was told the American teachers stand out quite a bit from the rest of the population. While the children who go to the school will be well off as far as Hondurans are concerned, I will be living in one of the poorest countries in the Western Hemisphere.
     I will once again be living in a different language, an inevitable part of being an English as a Foreign Language teacher. However, unlike Slovak, Spanish is a language which I feel reasonably confident of being able to pick up quickly. I'll be able to dredge the remains of middle school from the depths of my brain, and put my hibernating French grammar to use again. I'm excited about actually being able to communicate with people, and not feel lost in a sea of sounds.
     Other than that, I don't know a whole lot about what my situation will be. But this feels right. Talking to my family about it last week, I literally could not stop smiling.
     I'm excited about the teaching I'll be doing, the students, teachers, and other locals I'll meet. I'm excited about no longer living in the concrete jungle of Petrzalka. At the same time, I'm going to miss the people here so much. Saying goodbye to my kids was the hardest part; they were really the main reason my time here was so good. If there was a way I could teach them in a vacuum, without any of the other complications of Bilgym or Slovakia, I would do it in a heartbeat. They are such sweethearts. When I leave, part of my heart will be staying behind with them.
    
     Part of what comes with living such a nomadic lifestyle is that you get attached to people, and create connections that you are reluctant to let go, in the fear that they will disappear. But that's part of life. Pieces of my heart live all over the world, with my family and friends in Minneapolis, in various locations across the US, in Scotland, Prague, and now, in Bratislava. And while it may seem like I'm running out of heart to leave places, I think exactly the opposite is true. As humans, I believe we have an infinite capacity to love. The more love we spread into the world, the more we receive in return, and the more we have to give back.
     I have been incredibly lucky in having found people in every place I've been who have made an impact on my life, and who I am proud to call my friends. Bratislava is no exception, and for that reason, I'm sorry to be leaving. But I'm sure the same will be true of Honduras, and I cannot wait to head out on this new adventure.
     But first, I have almost two months at home to look forward to. Two months of sisters, friends, bike rides, road trips, and English. I absolutely cannot wait. 

Life Less Ordinary

     Once again, I am on the verge of a major life change. I don't know where I'll be going next, but thinking about moving away from Bratislava as well as the general trajectory of my life over the past couple years has brought up some thoughts that I've been quietly mulling over for months, but didn't really know how to express.
     But then, I was reading this article earlier today, and it helped solidify some of the language I've been wanting to use concerning these ideas. It also gave me something concrete to respond to which resulted in a (rather tenuous) conclusion, or at least a viable foundation for further exploration. In the article, after coming across an urging to live an extraordinary life, the author asks his wife if she thinks they do.
     Her response is no. They, like many modern parents, spend most of their days at work. They run errands, watch TV, and try and squeeze as much time in together with their son as they can on evenings and weekends. There is nothing remarkable or unusual about their lives, nothing extraordinary. But, and this is the important part, they are extraordinarily lucky to be living the lives they are. She also acknowledges that this 'luck' does not mean they should not be striving for a more extraordinary life.
   
     This is my response: all our lives are extraordinary. Like many young people living abroad, I fled the country as soon as I could, not because I don't love it, but because I didn't want to get stuck. I didn't want to get stuck in a job I didn't like, or find myself back in school because I didn't know what else to do with myself. I wanted adventure, to try new things, to meet new people. I wanted to be able to say that I had lived abroad. And in all honesty, I felt sorry for the people who didn't. I felt sorry for the people who got married right out of college, settled down somewhere with jobs, bought a house, maybe even started a family.
     How sad, I thought. I would hate being tied down like that so early in life. Yes, someday I want to get married and create a life for myself and my family someplace I love, but not at 22. Or 23. Or probably 24 or 25 either. At that point in my life, that wasn't something that appealed to me, so I judged other people's decisions through my own restless lens. As pompous as this sounds, I thought they were missing out on the kind of extraordinary life I was living.
   
     But here's the thing. Those people, who married their high school/college sweetheart, who have steady jobs; they are living their own adventure. Just because they never left the country, state, or even city where they were raised, doesn't mean they're not living an extraordinary life. Their adventures building careers, continuing their education, raising a family, surrounding themselves with comfort and familiarity, none of that is less important than my globe-trotting. In many ways, it may be even more important.
     It is undeniable that I am having experiences and facing challenges living and working abroad that none of my friends at home can fully understand. But it is equally undeniable that their lives are just as foreign to me as mine is to them. I may recognize where they are living their lives, but that doesn't mean I know everything about them, or that they're less exciting than my own.
   
     I've chosen to live the kind of life everyone says you should live in your 20's. I'm making decisions for myself, I left the US to go work abroad, basically all of my essential belongings fit into a suitcase and a backpack, and I don't have strings tying me down. But as wonderful as it is to have that freedom, it's an incredibly hard life to live, especially for someone as introverted as I am. Constantly having to make new friends, get used to new cities, learn new languages, facing trial by fire at a new job every six months, it's exhausting, and I've found myself envying the people I pitied two years ago.
     Yet even now, knowing the challenges of living abroad, I still have this fear of living what I saw as an ordinary life. I'm afraid of going home. I'm afraid that, finding myself back in Minneapolis, surrounded by my wonderful childhood friends, and the sights, sounds, and smells of home, I will never want to leave. I'm afraid that I will grow content with what is there, and no longer have the desire to adventure out into the unknown. As much as constant transitioning and culture shock have lost their novelty, the idea of losing the desire to do more with my life is even more debilitating.
     But here's what the article forced me to admit: routine and familiarity are not the enemies of adventure. If you don't have those things, the adventures don't stand out. Choosing to get married early doesn't limit your options, it gives you another set of dreams to live out together. My way is no better than anyone else's, no matter what the internet or my own impulses might say.
   
     An extraordinary life does not come from what you do, but rather how you do it. Extraordinary moments can be found in the simplest joys, the ones that take your breath away with astonishment, laughter, or love.
   
     So here is my promise to myself: as long as I'm home, however long that ends up being, I am going to find the extraordinary moments in the familiarity of life in Minneapolis. Instead of constantly longing to be elsewhere, of searching for some elusive 'other', I am going to savor the things I know and have loved for years. All our lives are extraordinary, because life itself is extraordinary. The simple fact of our existence, of us being us and not some other combination of DNA, is mind-bogglingly unlikely. So even though it may not seem like our lives are anything special, it's absurd to think of them as anything but.
     By no means am I saying I want to grow complacent with living at home, I certainly will be looking forward to once again setting off into the wild blue yonder. But instead of treating it as a time that somehow doesn't matter because I'm not off doing anything especially interesting or exciting, I want to treat it as a time of appreciation, of rediscovery. I want to find the extraordinary in the everyday, and strive to create more extraordinary moments through my own thoughts and actions.
     
     Extraordinary lives don't come from wandering around the world or wild adventures, they come from a desire to appreciate the moments that really matter, whether that's the pride that comes with a job well done, spending time with your family and friends, or taking treks to places no one you know has ever heard of.
   
     For those of us blessed to have the assurance of safety, shelter, and sustenance on a daily basis, there is no reason not to value the life we are living, regardless of the life we would ideally be living. So while you should never stop striving to live a life you love to live, be sure to pause every now and then and find the joys in the life you're living now.

Verona: All Deliciously Italian

Padua, while beautiful, does not offer a wide range of entertainment options for those who are neither university students or residents of the city. Much like Aberdeen, Padua is a lovely town to live in, not quite as nice a town to visit, at least that's the impression I got. With this in mind, we opted to spend our full day in Padua about an hour away in Verona instead. I'm not sure what I was expecting Verona to be like, but it wasn't.
     I certainly didn't anticipate it being as large as it was. When I pictured Verona, I saw it as more of a smaller city, maybe the size of Padua. Definitely not as a city seemingly larger than Florence. But it was. The first hint was that Verona has more than one train station, one of them being a terminus, a not insignificant clue to it's size. We embarked from the main train station, and walked the short distance into town, passing an old moat along the way. The main drag leading to the old city gates was lined with modern shops in slightly-less-modern buildings. There were wide sidewalks, with occasional tree-lined boulevards. The effect was lovely. I liked Verona already.


     But it's not until you get to Piazza Bra that you really are struck by the vast importance of this city. Standing smack in the middle of the square is a giant Roman arena, one of the largest, most well-preserved arenas in the
world. It's very nearly complete; most of the outer section was destroyed by an earthquake, but the rest is still standing, a remarkable testament to it's builders. What were they thinking, these Roman, as they built all these aqueducts, temples, arenas, and forums? They had to think they were going to last forever, because they thought the Empire was going to last forever. Did they know these stones they laid on top of each other were going to last longer than almost anything else they left behind? I stood on the plaza, my hand resting on the cold stones, trying to soak up everything they could tell me. Can you imagine what stories they could tell? What intrigues, what mundane details, what scandals and governments have risen and fallen as they watched silently? How many millions of people have walked past them and marvelled at their grace and power, exactly as we were that day? It absolutely boggles my mind.


We continued exploring the city, wandering down the streets, stumbling upon churches, more Roman ruins, and the house of a famous girl who never actually existed. Yes, I'm talking about you, Juliet. The house is lovely, despite the balcony which was added on in the 1930's as a ploy to attract more tourists (it worked. People pay money to stand on Juliet's balcony. I don't understand.), and if this is what has to happen to maintain sights like this in a world so intent on modernity, I guess I can live with it. The falsity of it seems to mock the entire atmosphere of the city in a way it wouldn't in Venice, say. But honestly, there's only so much one can expect. I'm willing to give Verona a pass on that. It makes me sad, but not as sad as the alternative would.

   
The contrast between Florence and Verona is subtle, but definite. For one thing, Verona doesn't exist in the bottom of a bowl. Consequently, it had more room to grow. This makes it seem like a much more livable city. The streets are wider, perhaps a tad bit cleaner and the river is given more freedom to roam. Although the actual old center of town isn't actually that big, the sights are perhaps more spread out which maybe dilutes the crowds of tourists a bit. And with the wider streets, and more open riverfront, the stifling heat of summer could maybe not hit quite as hard.
      While eating lunch (the most delicious gnocchi I've ever had) on a sun-drenched piazza, we pondered the storyline of the another Shakespeare play set there: Two Gentlemen of Verona. Neither of us could remember much about it, unsurprising, since according to Wikipedia, it's generally considered one of his weaker plays. (I read it when I got home. It doesn't even take place in Verona.) But, it did inspire a great travel itinerary.
     What if you created a tour that went to all the sites mentioned in Shakespeare's plays? Think about how great that would be: all over England, Scotland, and France, numerous cities in Italy and Greece, Denmark, Egypt, and possibly more I'm unable to bring to mind right now. Who wants to come with me?  I'm dedicated to this idea. It's going to happen at some point.


Eventually, we found steps to a terrace overlooking the city. On the way up we passed the ruins of a Roman theater currently undergoing excavation, some absurdly picturesque homes, and a mini-park half-way up that gave us a teasing glimpse of the city from above. When we did finally make it to the top, we stood silently, drinking it all in. Florence was a city of domes. Verona is a city of spires. The sun was shining in bursts through the clouds, lessening the menace of the dark grey hanging over the city. We paid absolutely no attention to whatever castle or palace was behind us, because we were so taken with the city laid at our feet.

      Reluctantly, we retraced our steps, somehow managing to end up at a different point along the river than where we had found the path. We passed a crowd of seagulls surrounding a pile of spaghetti someone had dumped on a concrete post. Spellbound and slightly uneasily, we watched as they devoured the pasta, pushing each other in order to get to the food.


Seagulls aside, Verona was the perfect antidote to whatever travel weariness I had experienced the day before. I don't know what it was: the lack of rain, having slept, being in a different city than the one which had made me such an inexplicably grouchy human being, or just the simple fact that I got over myself. But I'm certainly willing to give Verona some of the credit. So far on our trip, we'd immersed ourselves in the old, even ancient worlds of Italy. Disregarding Milan (which I am perfectly happy to do), Verona was the first truly cosmopolitan city we visited. It had charm and history, but also sensibility and forward motion. It recognized it's past, while acknowledging there is more to a city than the number of tourists it can attract. In Verona you could sense both the old and new civilizations living in harmony with each other. The contrast of ancient ruins and modern idlers on cell phones nowhere seemed more natural. Florence and Sienna were museums, Padua, a dream. Verona was real life.

     As we passed back through the gates on our way back to the train station, we discovered another Shakespeare artefact. Right next to the gate, on the inside wall of the city, there was a plaque quoting Romeo: "There is no world without Verona walls/ but purgatory, torture, hell itself. / Hence banished is banished from the world/ and world's exile is death..." I might not go that far. But Verona definitely captured my heart.