Withering Words

It’s hard to believe that there was once no space for the very thing that makes me full. It didn’t exist between Greek Goddesses, they only had vices. The 11th century exemplars were David and Jonathan, and Shakespeare had the audacity to show females as friends- but only as a social critique on Elizabethan England, as Chute observed about the 16th century in a letter:

“To Europeans, England was known as a "paradise for women"; foreigners were startled by the freedom they took as their right. It is particularly curious that women went into taverns… accompanied by other women (40).”

Slowly, things have changed - Emily Rapp said:

“Friendships between women are often the deepest and most profound love stories, but they are often discussed as if they are ancillary, ‘bonus’ relationships to the truly important ones.”

They are still, too often, discussed like so- as if friendship only prepares you for the relationship that matters. But not always. Not here.

As my eyelashes untangle, the sunlight makes the curtains glow and I see a hazy merlot hue smeared just beyond. A warm body curls up onto mine. We’ve never had the same blood nor church bells chiming nor an official DTR. We are somewhere between family, for better and for worse, and just sit still and hold my hand. 

“Today,” a sleepy breath comes out of her mouth.

“What are we going to do today?” I squeal. The warm body pops up, her long blonde curls messy behind her shoulders.

“I’m not sure,” she replied, and plopped back down on her pillow. We lay there for a few minutes, studying each other’s heartbeats.

Her alarm beeps, the least preferred sound on the most perfect day. I grip her biceps tightly and create ripples in the mattress. “You’re getting married!”

Facebook reports that we have 298 friends in common. We were in the same room at least one hundred times during our first three years at Carolina, yet, to my regret, we never collided. It wasn’t until we were in the same wedding and were the only ones with the same priorities, that is, Carolina basketball, that we became friends. We were seniors and since our stars crossed, you’ve been a giver. A giver of everything- revealing yourself, your thoughts, and your life. Sharing your family, your path at Ayr Mount, and your embarrassing dance moves. And I am committed to rejecting the fringe and fraught that comes from dead thoughts of “she loves me, she loves me not”. I fight with evidences of grace because ever since then, our friendship, desires, prayers, and memories listlessly collide. And through the test of time, some friends will fade, and I’ll be left with the positive influencers. And I know you will always be one of them, until death do us part.

Sometimes you need a friend that digs their knees into the warn-down carpet next to yours and cries out. One who is like a Carolinian summer and lingers a little longer because she never wants to leave. Or one that trades in sleep for a 12 hour drive through the night to celebrate life in both the Bull City and the City of Brotherly Love. One who yells “LaLa Land” and “Stone Cold” at the top of her lungs in her favorite cowboy boots that make the black pavement shine. One who lets you sleep in her bed because it’s the closest thing to a cloud and because you need a place to let your fears drip down your face. One who hums “Magnolia” as she walks around doll house mansions and questions how we will ever fully enjoy. Or one who plots making our duo a trio with our favorite author. One who makes glitter styrofoam pumpkins so iconic they could be featured in Cosmopolitan. One who reveres red wine as a deal breaker and sits with you under sycamores. One who laughs so hard she gasps to fill her lungs and drools at the mouth. One who gets stuck with you in invisible inner tubes and floats in joy. One who lets you be a little kid- who giggles and frowns and doubts everything and skips away, content. One who wanders for miles through the green world and carries you home on your heavy days. One who stays firm as a brick wall but loves you back like a flat coat retriever. One who wouldn’t care if anything was missing as long as she had her groom and she got to be his bride.

This friendship is a harmonized hymn. In it I get all in one, a posey, and it has become my image of freedom. Together, we produce something that glorifies God and displays his image here. Where there was nothingness there is now good, life and newness.

And it’s not unique to me, your contagious joy and freedom. You live and it bursts from you like a diadem and people can’t hide from its impact. And in three years its strength has built up, like molten lava that effervesces up from the core, through the mantle, out of the Earth’s crust, and into the atmosphere. And your layers have flexed and healed and shot out a fruit of pure freedom.

Yet, as quick as the caramel leaves that come out after one crisp Autumn night, your freedom shifted. Suddenly, it was not just freedom, but a fearlessness.

In Gattaca, Vincent is a meek, mocked, weak child compared to his genetically perfect brother Anton. Vincent becomes an outcast in his family and society and has never had the ability to win anything. To settle a dispute, the brothers swim out from the shore at midnight - the first one to head back to safety loses.

Anton: “Vincent! Vincent! Where’s the shore? We’re too far out.”

Vincent: “You want to quit?”

Anton: “We’re too far out!”

Vincent: “You want to quit?”

Anton: No!”

After pushing their bodies forward a few more yards towards an unseeable destination, Anton yells: “Vincent! How are you doing this? Vincent, how have you done any of this? We have to go back.”

Vincent: “You want to know how I did it? This is how I did it: I never saved anything for the swim back.

This is what your fearlessness looks like - You don’t save anything for the swim back. You’ve felt the barriers before, just like Vincent- the Should I really do this?; What is he thinking?; and but this is too risky. There are fears of making the wrong decision, fears of getting into the depths of who you are, fears of laying down who you are, fears of being misjudged or misspeaking. Still; your fearlessness has been growing strong and now blossoms through your honesty and your sorries and your kindness.

You take risks- speaking into things you’ve never experienced because you’re sure of truth and pursue it without flickering your eyes around a room in fear of judgment. And our conversations have turned away from my beloved pro-con charts that I so truly trust to lead me to security and instead have turned towards a serious trust in truth that you have everything in Christ. And you count all else as a loss in comparison to the surpassing worth of knowing him. And you are so sure of your security in Christ that it enables you to live as this free, and fearless light.

This new depth to freedom - your fearlessness - shot up like a fresh chute of bamboo about two years ago. And two years ago, Matt started revealing himself. Matt in Paige and Paige in Matt has brought out a new layer on them, together. Together, you produce something that glorifies God and displays his image here. Where there was nothingness, there is now good, life, and newness.

Matt was my friend’s room leader with a goofy smile who wore jumpsuits and swung from mini vans. He was a boy who dared to go, and a man who is okay to say he doesn’t know. He’s a real friend to 28,928 and carries a treasure in his book bag. He sits across from me at Chuy’s and digs through nachos while digging into the purpose behind all of my yesses. He swooned over my curly haired soul mate and he promised to be hers. 

And just like Vincent, I’m sure you will have moments of seeing the waters rising- seeing you are just humans, seeing you are physically two, seeing you are highways and oceans away from porcelain pieces of your heart that you want to gather in a woven basket. And you may even see this good, life, and newness veer backwards towards chaos. But still, don’t save anything for the swim back. You can swim impossibly far, and yet you will only make it from His pinky to His thumb. And when you think you are tired or sinking, you are only laying down to rest in the lines of His palm. And when you think you are in the chaos and darkness, He carries you in His hand.

To: Spencer. I’m thankful for your birth 24 years ago and 5 years ago. 

A 5 year old dreams. At 5 I aspired to be the oversized-sweater, big-smile-at-the-lake, 1999 version of Britney Spears. You dreamt of being an artisan apple dumpling maker and a firefighting paleontologist. 5 year olds are blind socialites, figuring out people and testing boundaries. They have wild visions of jungles and pirate ships. They have no doubts in humanity or fears of shootings and because of that, the world, and they themselves, seem limitless. When I was 5 my biggest worry was if the Johnny Appleseed who visited my kindergarten class was real. I had nightmares of him as a gigantor with a prickly beard and a scent of Red Delicious.

A 5 year old is just a kid -- still dependent. Your mom is still learning if you like coconut, wonders if you are allergic to dust, has no idea how to protect your knees, and uses trial and error to try to get you to communicate about your day.

I see you as the 5 year old and the 24 year old that you are. I remember crawling with you during our growing pains. In our tree fort we babbled about Thailand and Florida and who the hell was in charge of our lives because it often didn’t seem like it was us. We laughed about touchdown celebrations and you taught be about NBA Christmas jerseys. You helped me appreciate the godliest NBA player based on his hot hand and heart. We had a nightmare ride to Greenville because we refused to state the hurtful obvious but we shook it off like a 5 year old moves on from a big boo boo and that night we lived without loneliness in such a highly isolated city.

You’re the first person I’ve grown to love that isn’t a Carolina fan and doesn’t care about how proud I am or what I am proud of. The first person I’ve befriended that is so different than me. The differences struck me so much I yelled insults in your face in the basement of Tucker. Then, 5 years ago, on the same day in different places we changed completely. December 31, 2011, Day Zero.

Over the years my aversion towards your State fanaticism and uncharted organization lessened. Yet, I found ways to uncover our differences- making fun of your wardrobe and creating fall club banters and rudely saying how I would say this and not that. I grew up with you over glass-bottled Coca-Colas and Fall variety packs and the best rest in the rocking chairs of Cracker Barrel. 

Over the last months my coldness has melted into radiant delight in being your friend. The differences are and always will be there, but your friendship has been so purely kind and gentle and pushy and it is one of my top 5 favorite things in Raleigh. It’s shone in the bubble-blowing car ride and double-header weddings in Durham then New Jersey in 24 hours. It’s shone in the Pit, in Celebration Suites at Old Town, in the L of Maingate Lakeside Resort, on starry nights at the Court of Carolinas and during fall breezes in the Tree tops of the Peace House. It doesn’t matter where we are.

And now it’s hard to see you as a 5 year old when I am so sure that you’ve become a man. Nothing is perfect around you and yet you directly think of things and people next to you and set your mind on the one that goes before and behind you. You sit with them in coffeeshops and turn snowballing ideas into forts and teams of snowmen with snow forts and even though you are efficient on your own, you give yourself to others with no rush. You faithfully, genuinely, sweetly, ask me why I want anything in addition to Jesus-- a simple question, but one that surfaces worthless pursuits in the world. 

Like a 5 year old who wants to be a firefighting hero, you’re so curiously driven to be a hero for the IM-champ at Red Zone and the unmet friend with no direction. You are Sherlock, desperate to meet every stranger with a curious lead. You want to learn from people--  how they play with their daughters and how they have developed a mentality that is brutally outside themselves, how they made decisions to leave everything behind and gathered people to follow them while following Him. You aspire to be the man who lays out the wisest challenge and has endless, loving questions. The man with a coolness that is as memorable as the no. 44 jersey hanging in the Wolfpack rafters. The man with sticky stories that create teary-eyed laughter and quotes that live on for centuries. It’s you, and all your cross eyed, “no-no”, ponder-and-tilt-head quirks with a little dash of Chais and Charles and Curry. You aspire to be the Spencer at the finish line. 

And yet, as a man, you are still a kid. But your Dad doesn’t have to learn about you day by day. He knows every brown hair on your head, every emotion you feel, every dream you have and everything else you don’t even know you dream of:

O LORD, you have searched me and known me! You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from afar. You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O LORD, you know it altogether. You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high; I cannot attain it.

I love remembering who you are right now. A 5 year old and a 24 year old. A boy and a man.

Under a tumbling wave the salt water fizzles and burns every pore. Full panic. My legs kick and kick and in the darkness I can only hope I’m going up towards oxygen.

My lungs ache a little. They get acclimated. They recover from the depths. Confused, I abruptly move from chaos into safety. Even though my body is still trembling under the water, the sun shines my hair and warms my cheeks above. My lungs are full and my smile is back.

I feel this often. After exams; after moving from one home to another; one country to another; after earning alumna but still entering into another kind of grad. I wave to my friends with jobs who live in independence where they put hours into startups like CommuniGift and they live for someone else. They are committed to goodness that they haven’t seen but absolutely see. Vision for the not-yet is faith.

It’s easy to doubt, but even in the mundane I’m working from faith—even in my walk to the one place I can go to start my day and think clearly at 6am in Chiang Mai, Thailand. It is consistently open and has free 4-hours of wifi with the purchase of an overpriced espresso that makes me bitter. But the air-conditioning, oh, the air conditioning. I’ve realized it is the real secret ingredient to S-V-O… not all-nighters or office hours or memorization. The first time I sipped the coffee, tears fell from my face. For so many reasons, this place is my only option.

With floating steps I walk there— faith is freeing. Every day I start burdened trying to lead a team and rephrase their complaints into positivity. I feel the pressure of trying to make every day a memorable experience that will make them say It was worth it after 51 days in a place where we converse with people who don’t know the speech sounds a, and, and the have meaning and show us prices, house numbers, and time changes by punching in numbers on calculators. But in that coffee shop I sit on the mats on the floor, bruising my tailbone further, feeling my legs prickle as my circulation becomes more limited, and I change. Over truth, Burden and Pressure and Weight become Light and Free and I float like the glowing butterflies.

And love is the common denominator and lets me send messages to people who I can’t talk to and love is the truth that changes people from the inside out. And evil and hatred and shootings and shame exist in any pocket of this planet but love is deeper still. I’ve seen it change a calloused soul. One carrying the guilt of death. One so scared of her own thoughts and words. One who is so determined to make up for herself that she was too tired to live. Little by little, she is still changing.

My hands move so fast I don’t even realize what they are doing- building ice castles that melt into puddles, scavenging for materials to hide the shame, enslaving themselves to endless work. The idealistic outcomes and lies drive me forward, a little girl chasing the wind like a fool.

I escape under the covers, hoping to zap the chaos with emptiness. But my mind is still jittery, darting from side to side. Shutting doors. Knocking on others. Knocking down Others.

I tried, and the failure made me believe that I didn’t try hard enough. So the cycle continues. And in a hollow bed of wilted daisies, the ground drops and I go down in the mines of disappointment, revealing my heart’s wants and my feet’s failures. And even so, I try harder to dig myself up to breathe.

But the air was made out of grace—all along. The Creator laid the foundations and gave the oceans boundaries. And to a feeble child of dust, he sews air into my lungs that is made out of golden grace. There is a reset button, a button that winds me up to ground zero. That reverses the frightening free-fall drops and instead promises life and rest.

Would not my success be me moving forward, or growing taller, but instead bending lower. Looking up. Leaning. Laying down. Soaking in the nutrients from the vine.

Direction is deceiving. And growing higher is a lie. But abiding is certain. Outcome is and never will be dependent on my effort, or my ability, or my control. As if going through a fire, the deception that my worth is based on what I do and how I do it, is being scorched out of my mind and my heart.

Return, O my soul, to your rest. Instead, I can lean into the process of my work, engaging fully, leaving the light on late at night, or turning it off without getting anything done. I can muster up the deepest courage to lie down and let go, and then get up only once the Spirit leads me.

He makes me lie down in green pastures. And they are rich and robust with that earthy, gritty green smell that elates my senses with the perplexity of roaming, replenishing, resting.

And with sleep being shaken off, I wake up with the identity of Beloved. When I follow, I’ve found joy in being led because I trust who is leading me. In these moments of clear sight, a glimmering ray of delight shines on my path of serving, helping, working- even if no one sees me, indicating a slight but drastic transformation in the state of my heart. It is only because I can depend on His perfect, pressure-less outcome. His final cry, “It is Finished,” followed by the final victory where He sits down. Freedom. Fly.

A real ode to friendship and a spin on the storybook Dee Dee Doodle and her friend Almond 

My stomach flipped as I dropped, free-falling on the elevator and bracing for the crash. Panic took over. My breaths became short, my mind darted between deadlines, disappointment, chalkboards, self worth-

There’s a friend that creeps under my covers and gently wakes me up from the nightmares, with coffee breath and dreamy eyes lit up like twinkling lights. She reminds me that the day is just starting, that my Favorite is waiting for me, speaking to me; I just need to be willing to go to Him, to believe I can. My reality is better than my dreamiest dream. I get up with her and come to Him.

There’s a loneliness that taints your day when you’re in an unfamiliar city, in an unfamiliar area, in an unfamiliar building. I keep myself from breaking because I know if I step outside, I’ll still be staring at unfamiliar trees with unfamiliar people that already have everything they seemingly need. So I cope by wearing myself down and giving myself a way with big smiles and bleeding knuckles that have been stepped on by girls who are the best painters and guys who callous their fears with force. 

There’s a friend that reminds me that the air I breathe is made out of grace. Who rubs the stiffness out of my shoulders, who holds my arms down when they naturally hide and protect and wipe my face. Who slams the door and drives recklessly and dreams of teahouses and pumpkin buggies and lavender candles and we realize we have the good gifts right at home and the best gift in the love from the One who chases after us and leads us when it seems so dark. We return with Him, our faces radiant. 

The invitation was personal, my name embossed in elegant calligraphy; it was no mistake. But I know my worth, so I’m convinced I must’ve been invited for something I could do, something I could offer. It couldn’t be just for me. My mind tricks me to feel the burden of going to the King only to bring him something he needs, something he’ll desire, something that will make me worthy of his presence. I tuck the shame under my fine gown and I string a script of embellished white lies together with the hopes of trancing Him into loving me, as if it was dependent on this one unmistakable mistake of a meeting.

There’s a friend that travels with me to the King. Who holds my hand all the way there. Who quietly approaches His door so meekly, with a bowed head that is eager to look up to his glory. I step back, amazed. She reminds me that I get to Come to him

only because he has Come to me,

for me,

because he loves me, 

unconditionally,

“Just Be”,

she says, and he loves, and I rest. 

There’s a pain of loss. Of never seeing someone, ever again. Never hearing their voice, their laugh, their love for you. As finite as life is, the thought of it lingers so deeply in my gut that it pangs, making me pull away and crawl down until the world stops spinning. But it doesn’t, of course.

We’re two fatherless friends with the same Dad, clinging to each other, loving deeply. We’re freed from slavery and sold to scandalous redemption. There’s a friend that writes a note and just knows. She knows which shake of my head means I’ll be in the library indefinitely, and which one means I’m so overwhelmed and so full on the best emotions that I just can’t hold it in and joy shakes from my core and makes me tap my toes and she sings along like my very own Canary. We binge on strung lights, classic looks, the Fall Club, and spontaneous, cheap friendship dates. We’re citizens of heaven, and we’re almost home. I wouldn’t be this me without you. And it’s the worst I’ve ever been in the best way. Thank you. 

By Erin Rolandelli and Jolean “Bo Bo” Brann

O, what a witness,

To the heavens and the earth.

It sees & speaks & shines,

Because of the sun.

  Wandering through vastness,

On a passeggiata of infinity.

Witness the magnificent intricacies.

  Side by Side,

Walking slowly,

Whisking away.

  Responding to the calls,

From the crash to the calm.

  Bring the night! Bring the night!

The sky cries with me.

Dusk steeps in.

  And creeps with heavy steps,

Heavy, full of rest.

Feeling the details in every step.

  O, what a witness,

To the heavens and the earth.

It sees & speaks & shines,

Because of the Son.

-       birds that sang to me and woke me up before the sun could give me its light.

-       fine colors that transform in the sky from one degree to the next.

-       time in Italia. Time to sit and watch and listen. Time to walk slow. Time to love.

-       Giardini Margherita and its grass and sun, Bologna.

-       Spain, Italy, Ireland, France, Prague, Bahamas.

-       Positano and the overgrowth of nature and simple beauty it radiated.

-       Tripp’s facetimes and prayers.

-       the Hannah family who shared their own home of safety with me in Bologna.

-       The squeezes from Deb, Ben, and Tripp when I surprised them at Maingate Lakeside Resort and I hadn’t seen them in 6 months.

-       the Spirit of celebration and excitement.

-       Growlers with Zack.

-       Neck kiss.

-       Flower crown.

-       Chit chats in bunk beds with Meaghan.

-       No excuses attitude I’ve learned from Meaghan. So accountability.

-       Veuve Cliquot bubbly around 6 o’clock every Tuesday night.

-       Flying to New York and stealing the city’s shine for the 36 hours we had.

-       loving Tati and Rachel and wanting nothing but them to gaze at your beauty and walk out of that.

-       the wind that gives me chillbumps when I’m weary.

-       uncomfortability.

-       HW in Tru.

-       Any excuse to go to Tru.

-       Meals with Tripp.

-       finishing the Tarheel 10 Miler.

-       Steph and Zach Oyler breaking bread with me.

-       Rain that waters the flowers. And helps us all live.

-       Azaleas that bloom. And the dogwoods.

-       A sun that is so bright that you can’t stare into it. But it is so beautiful.

-       my sisters who I’ve been able to talk to more than usual.

-       Mom and dad who I can still hear cheering me on and affirming me in their confidence.

-       DC at New Years with Nulty and other college kidz.

-       Wanting to really sing to God.

-       Aqua water.

-       Other people who cared about living on campus their senior year.

-       An awesome church.

-       ride or dies in Melissa and Hanna.

-       Blueberry Wheat beer, TOPO.

-       The friends & love that surround me when we are drinking those.

-       Celebrating Christa and Mason’s marriage.

-       Being included and welcomed in to different parts of Christa’s life.

-       Christa telling me at her engagement party that I’d be going on Project for the third time.

-       Being able to trust God. I mean really cast all anxiety on Him.

-       Wanting to be right next to Sarin anytime I’m in the same room as her.  

-       Kate’s belly that has life in it.

-       Fridays on the Front Porch, the Carolina Inn.

-       Satisfaction from the feast.

-       Resting in tetelestai.

-       Prayer walks with Allie in the Arboretum.

-       4-5 seconds from Willin’ with Paige.

-       Wanting to walk in the land of the living.

-       Thanksgiving at Leigh and Chris’s house.

-       Drinking the wine from Emmanuele with the whole family on Christmas.

-       Revlon liquid eyeliner.

-       Dresses.

-       Ruffles.

-       Glitter.

-       Tall IC with 1.5 SFV and 1.5 WM, no milk.

-       Venti iced green tea latte with coconut milk, unsweetened, with 1 scoop vanilla bean powder on a good day.

-       Wanting to write down everything.

-       Learning. Reading so much. Writing too many papers.

-       Farms that care about soil and water and quality

-       Farmer’s markets with a network of people trying to live with integrity.

-       Buyers that help farms transition into sustainable agriculture

-       Counter Culture coffee

-       10K with Ethan and

-       Graduating from the first public university in America. First among the 100 best U.S. public colleges and universities that offers students high-quality academics at an affordable price, according to Kiplinger’s Personal Finance magazine.

-       Go Heels.

-       instagrams of bulldog celebrities.

-       Watching Deb go cast her nets.

-       Peace House frights. And excitement.

-       Rachel Canter letting me be by her side.

-       Stripes nightclub on our Spring Break Cruise.

-       Alexis’ boldness. Her laughter. Her questions. Her advice.

-       Future dreams in Raleigh.

-       Gifts of meals and knowledge and surprising friendship from professors and students in Eats.

-       The walk through the quads with Toni after Southern Lit.

-       Mup-Mup-Mupping with Paige in sweet moments and chocaholics.

-       South Building benches that overlook those quadding and the acorns that fall from the grand Oaks.

-       Not being seen.

-       Search for for humility.

-       Praying with kelli. Kelli praying when I couldn’t.

-       Having a seat in CO’s senior night.

-       The grace that has flooded that room.

Four cars collided on I-40 and we all screamed. My knees dug into the driver’s seat—four of us were crammed in the car. Green, coniferous trees whizzed by and I held onto the idea—the only thing that I wanted to protect. Four minds pushed the idea into existence, and we all screamed with excitement.

“This is why we’re here! This is what we were brought together to do!”

This semester, I have joined a group of fifteen students who were assembled based on intellect, influence, and interest in food. This past weekend we traveled to the Biltmore Estate, and when we arrived we perched on top of a hill to gaze out at the 8,000 acres of forest that made up the Biltmore grounds. The Appalachian Mountains stretched in the background—so far away that they looked like layered pieces of delicate papier-mâché. The hill made our group slide closer together.

The weekend’s table talk stemmed from a list of 36 questions. We listened, interrupted, and fell in love with each other. We hoped that our taste buds would notice the $95 taste of the Rosé… and not hate us for going back to the $5 bottle of wine that we buy at home. We cozied by the fire and leaned in to the aroma of red wine that entangled us in a night we didn’t want to end.

“Two bottles to three-six-nine, please.” One was bold and we all were young.

The next day we looked like monkeys swinging from chandelier to chandelier in the Vanderbilt’s lavish estate—we were children.

Then it was time to return to the Triangle and the deadlines that never yielded meaningful results. In the car, Zack, Emily, Allie, and I started unpacking the weekend: we entered meals with strangers and left with friends.

What did I learn from the weekend?

Our group thrives as a community: we challenge, sharpen, and love one another.

15 of Carolina (and Duke!)’s brightest students are jumping into this experience even though the logistics (and end result) are unknown.

So, what are we going to do about the high potential and expectation of this group?

Idea: Collectively create something meaningful by the end of the semester: keep working with this exact group of 15, with their different strengths and backgrounds, and leave an impact together.

The idea marked the first acknowledgment of true trust in everyone in the group. We screamed - we believed in it – we were inspired to do something big.

The idea reminded me of the mountains. It was all I could see in front of me. It overwhelmed me. It seemed a bit unfeasible, but it gave me the delight of dreaming. A dream that will only happen if I dare to believe that it can happen—that it will happen. The parameters of this idea were purposefully left undefined; they are limitless. And, so far, the idea is just that… an indefinitely pending idea. But whether or not Spring 2015 allows the idea to manifest, I hope one day that it will – and I hope I will forever surround myself with people who won’t let me solely absorb knowledge, but push me to leave an impact.

I’ll never forget that moment or the other brilliant passengers who pushed me into the oblivion of believing that my actions really could create change for the better. The weekend in Asheville was like the opening of a Veuve Clicquot – We stepped in with the tension built up from having too much required of us and no time to rest. Then, Pop! We came together to enjoy the experience and each other. Cheers to hoping that the bottle never runs dry.

Flags marked the finish line. Cheers glided with the wind. Blurred t-shirts rested at the Old Well and lined the race path. My body felt like concrete and jell-o all at once. The bottom of my feet were asleep, and each step felt like I was plunging my foot into a bucket of pins and needles. FTK race officials buzzed me as I completed the race and grabbed my time tracker. I stood still for the first time in an hour and eighteen minutes;  f a c e s , b a g e l s , b a n a n a s , and a w a r d s spun in my sight. One of my friends who volunteered at the race came up to me and said, “Erin, great job! I don’t know how you did it!” I huffed and puffed, unsure if the Quad’s Oak trees were producing any oxygen, and all I could exhale was, “The Lord, The Lord!”

The week prior, I had a paper due everyday; the majority of my week was spent in the basement “dungeon” of the UL, UNC’s library on campus. Finally, at 12:30 on Thursday I turned in my last paper due for the week, and the weight of 59 typed pages were finally off my shoulders. Now it was my professors’ turn to be the victim of their own assignment; all of our papers sat on their desks, waiting to steal their time, too. I convinced my best friends Melissa and Hanna to get margaritas on Franklin St. … it’s 5 o’clock somewhere, and we needed to celebrate!

That week, I complained about my workload and the poor schedule of due dates (#stillbitter), but I also complained to God that I was running the race alone. The past month, I felt unsupported in ministry, in discipleship, and in deep friendship. I was sour with loneliness, believing the lie that people fueled me, not God. I forgot the latter half of the Scripture that explains why I run the race:

Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.  (Hebrews 12:1-2 ESV)

During this depression of dissatisfaction, I wanted to challenge myself with a 10K, but I also knew that I am so out of shape. With this in mind, I thought of my friend Jesse. A year and a half ago, we were at a Leader’s Retreat. We were room leaders on the Teal team, getting ready to go to Campus Outreach’s Summer Orlando Project. To create bonds between leaders, there was a competition against other teams. One was a footrace to a challenge on etiquette… Jesse was the fastest, and someone said I was the most proper, so we were delegated to do this competition together. Yet, putting the two strengths together didn’t negate my weakness, that I was the slowest. Jesse jogged with me while everyone else sprinted.

(Above: the eating competition. Jesse hurled over. 10 hot dogs. A pound of cream cheese. A gallon of blue juice. 2 packages of saltines.)

Last week I thought of that moment, and how I needed a friend like that to run alongside me for the 10K. I asked Jesse, and he immediately responded "yes" and brought his roommate Ethan to run, too. 

The race started, and the fall trees brightened as the sun found their  leaves. The pines of residential Chapel Hill dropped their dried needles on my nose. Gimghoul Castle stayed hidden behind the brush, threatening to take me prisoner if I didn’t keep running. The Magnolias by the Boshamer Baseball Stadium swayed and cheered me on. Ten minutes into running, I tried to convince Ethan and Jesse to let me walk.

That is when they turned into angels - every time I wanted to walk, somehow they were flying, advocating for me to keep running. They had enough energy to run circles around me, yelling Scripture memory like, 2 Corinthians 4:17, “For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison”. Five more miles. Ethan acted like he was The Bengal’s Chad Johnson and made cuts as Jesse launched our half-filled water bottle to him for a touch down. Four more miles. They played games around me and kept me laughing and entertained, so much so that I forgot I was running a 10K. Three more miles… until I hit a hill. Hills are the only reason why I will ever say I dislike the city of Chapel Hill. When I walked on the hills, Jesse said, “It’s mental, Erin. It’s all mental!” Two more miles. Ethan set the pace to make me catch up to the man in orange. One more mile. I started to reconsider this whole 10K thing… I noticed possible short cuts and thought of Memorial Hall with its leather couches and lit fire places. I slowed down to a power walk.

That didn’t last long. “Erin, I did not come all the way from State to power walk,” Jesse laughed and yelled. I felt an arm around me, and I picked up the pace.

Ethan drilled me with the same question over and over: “Erin, where does your strength come from?!”

I responded, “The Lord!” The boys knew there was only .1 mile left in the race, they got in position at my flanks, and we sprinted into the finish line. My mind heightened and thought of the heavens: entering the gates to finish the race, coming face to face with Christ.

(above: proof. teamerin. and non-last-placers.)

That’s when my discouragement from the past weeks was muddled. Looking forward to Christ is what sustains me. In life, the wind isn’t always going to be at my back, but Christ will faithfully be my supplier in a time of thirst and hunger. And in this light and momentary affliction, he even blessed me with great friends to run with me. They were sweet vessels of encouragement that helped me boast in Christ during hardship.

To fellow runners: Who needs Spotify Premium to get through a race when you have friends who will cheer and remind you of the present God who goes before you and stands behind you?

 Oh Lord, what a gift that you would let fellow warriors run the race and look to the Victor, Christ Jesus with me. Thank you Christ for being the best runner. You are the one who suffered through death on our behalf, that we would only have to walk through the shadow of it. You are the one who tore open the veil so that a place would be prepared for those who believe. You are the one whose love we long for. You are our sustainer. We are utterly desperate for you. Amen.

“Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.”  (Ephesians 5:14 ESV)

The Mighty One, God the LORD, speaks and summons the earth from the rising of the sun to its setting. Out of Zion, the perfection of beauty, God shines forth.  (Psalm 50:1-2 ESV)

Dear Humans,

I call my friends before dusk, but it takes eight minutes and twenty seconds for their phones to start ringing. I wait. When they do pick up, I just want to talk for twenty minutes. They don’t have to say anything. Last night when I rang, you were worried about time. The dog needed to be fed. A red circle flashed on your iPhone screaming at you to read your urgent e-mails. But the right time does not exist. Time is never abundant. It never stops. That is why I call everyday. I give you second chances and third and fourth. You answered, and when you hung up you felt more rested than you have in years, like when you walked out of the opera for the first time and you felt more alive than ever before. You questioned why you had put off going through the golden doors that led into the town’s opera house for so long. Give me a little time, and I will change your perspective- the rest of your life.

I am timeless. I faded in the background of Bellini’s Renaissance paintings. When the Earth rumbled during the world wars, I stood unaffected, rewarding each face that peeked out of its hiding quarters underground to be with me. I smiled when man stepped a few feet closer to me in the Apollo Mission. I gave light when the great tsunami crashed Indonesia. Be still. Enjoy me. I am an explosion of a handful of glow sticks.

I create hope. For the sick. For the imperfect. For the future. I flash the memories of playing whiffle ball in the backyard with dad. Walks through the winding, open paths at the park. The neighborhood wave, which consisted of a nod of your head and a raise of your palm. I remind you that you are finite. That you are not in control. I make you question God. And if all creation has a purpose. Even I, in my wondrous display, am a mere facet of His glory.

You can’t catch me. I want your attention, not your works. I’m honored that you think of me, but my beauty can’t emerge from tubes of paint. The filters you place over me on Instagram to add contrast offend me. The bag of colored pencils is cute, but with them I become a self-therapeutic exercise for five-year-olds. Stop meditating on lesser versions of me during the day, when I give you myself, in perfect form, every night. Open your eyes. Come see me.

I am the purest fire. I burn and it is marvelous. You can too if you would accept the DNA strands that make you, instead of fighting them. Stop altering yourself. Stop infusing the expectations of your parents and your friends into your mind. Your thoughts are occupied with strategy to try harder and to be better. Be content with shining as simply as you are. If all seven billion humans shined in their purest form, you would be as radiant as me. 

I taste like a juicy, peppered steak after all you have ever eaten is a dollar hamburger. Or like the escargot you had in the Latin Quarter of Paris that was so incomparable because you’ve never eaten something so delicate and light. It was more than food; it was an experience that started with being tucked in your seat on the outside porch of the restaurant with twinkling lights above. You were warmed with the confidence that your beauty was just as important as the food’s. You learned how to use foreign utensils, the escargot tong and fork. The pesto stayed on your tongue long after you finished chewing.

You sat there, wishing someone else would occupy the other seat, blind to the total number at the end of the bill, but seeing the priceless experience that it was. You were lonely. But come to me, and my beauty and constancy that lasts until the end of the universe, yet only twenty minutes, will remind you that you are not alone. I am your companion, and I sharpen you to reflect and grow, just as I change slightly every second. Until I leave you.

See you tomorrow,

I have a Top 5. I’m not talking about MySpace, or silly boys, or people at all. It is my 5 favorite things – excluding people and the Word – which I venture to find for a cheer-me-up and inspiration:

Glitter

Every color all at once

Sunrises and sunsets

Clear sky of stars

Flowers

That last one, flowers, is my Dr. Feel Good. When people travel, they often have one constant that they try to check off to compare all the cities that they have jet set to. Commonly, that constant is trying a traditional dish of food. When I traveled, it was my goal to find each city’s best and brightest garden. The results were eye-bursting, heart-thumping, and soul-moving.

Thus, I present The Top 5 Habitats of Flora and Fauna in the World:

5) Bologna’s San Luca: After climbing up the longest set of porticos in the world, my friends and I made it to San Luca, an ex-monastary that overlooks my favorite city and second home, Bologna. We picked yellow dandelions and then found an alternate route which wound through the mossy hillside.

4) Cinque Terre’s Trails: Cinque Terre rewarded every step I took with an exotic flower to smell, a pinterest-worthy scene to view, and a fresh gasp of Italian-air. The hiking trail named Sentiero Azzurro connects the five villages. You can see the multicolored villages from a bird's eye view as you are on the trail, then as you descend down you enter the the village pathways (no cars or roads) that are filled with bustling Italian kids trying to kick a soccer ball past their opponents and into a home-made goal made by fishing nets. The white paths wind down to a pool-size harbor where you can find the native fishermen and look out on the Ligurian Sea.

3) London’s St. James’s Park Lake: Every section of this park presented a different way to enjoy it. There was a minimalist café on the lake, a maze of vibrant violet and brilliant blue orchids that stretched their long pipes toward the sun, outdoor plush mats to watch the clouds pass through the in-between of earth’s crust and heaven, and a huge open-air gazebo that inviting everyone to step up and salsa with strangers.

  2) Palace of Versailles’s Gardens:

By the number: 1,976 acres; 200,000 trees; 210,000 flowers planted annually; 50 fountains; 620 water jets; 1 grand canal.

I spent an entire day winding around walls of blooming ivy and the manicured lawns accented by irises… and I only saw a small fraction of these magnificent gardens, designed originally for the pleasure of King Louis XIII and then the rest of the following Kings of France- and of course the cossetted Marie-Antoinette. I couldn't help but feel like royalty in the unending green grounds.

1) Rome’s Rose Gardens: This place shook my bones while I was  navigating the social and spatial challenge of a peregrination to Rome alone. After a long day of wandering through the Coliseum and purposefully losing myself in Paul the apostle’s stomping grounds, the Roman Forum, I slogged back to my Airbnb. That trek was interrupted when I saw a sea of blooming roses. Upon further examination, I found out that these gardens contained almost every identified rose in the world (over 1100 are represented)! People explored every bushel to compare swirling colors and aromas and find out where they uniquely originated. In the background you can even see the ancient Coliseum standing indelibly. I lay down next to my favorite flower and lifted up a sacrifice of thanksgiving to the Lord, because his grace is steadily showering me everyday, and strengthening my heart pervasively.

Although I will always want to be back in Bologna, where time moves as slow as your pace of step during a passeggiata, but also so quickly that 5.5 months came and went with a blink of an eye- it was time for me to come home. Currently, my spirit is quite torn between three places: the fresh memories of Bologna, the comfort of home, and The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, where I am anxious to return for senior year.

Looking back on my time in Bologna, I have realized that although I traveled to places I never thought were in reach and accomplished goals through the language and culture learning process I never thought I would comprehend… it was the people who inspired me.

Before my arrival in Bologna, I researched gospel-centered churches in Italy. You can find a Catholic Basilica on almost every corner, but the evangelical churches are rare. However, in such grace, I found Nuova Vita Chiesa Evangelica, just one bus ride away from my apartment in Bologna. I attended my first Sunday in Bologna, and while it was all in Italian, the pastor immediately made me feel welcome and scurried me over to an English speaking family: not just Americans, but fellow southerners from Nashville, Tennessee, who had dropped everything to move to Italy 5 years ago and do ministry on Bologna’s college campus with 100,000 students.

They are the Hannah’s: David and Nicole, and precious Ruby-Love. Immediately they offered me hospitality and coffee (sold!); their flat turned into my home away from home. They hosted small group at their home on Wednesday night, where we talked over Efesini (Ephesians) with 10 other Italians who were in college or were young pros. Nicole discipled me on Friday’s (in English, which was quite restful!) in the most soothing, open way. We would find a nook in their home- the kitchen would always smell like freshly ground espresso beans or the balcony looked out at all the terracotta red roofs. We would talk freely- about who we missed back home, how we are adjusting to the culture, and what we are learning in the Word. And on the best Fridays, I would go with Nicole to pick up Ruby-Love from pre-school. I will forever play back the memory of spotting her first, the darling girl who was always in a different sundress with a huge bow in her hair, as if her lighter skin and blue eyes didn’t already distinguish her against the other Italians. And then the second she saw that both Nicole and I were there, she would full-out sprint to me, hands full of crafts that she had made that day, and jump in my arms, letting me give her a million kisses.

I can’t explain how this family has touched me. They shared everything they had with me. They would open their house up to me for an unlimited period of time, they showed me love, gave me precise attention, encouraged every person before goodbye’s were said, cared about my response when they asked me how I was. They are the most open people I have ever met: not just transparent, and definitely not loose-tongued, but absolutely open about what was going on in their lives, the good and the bad. They let me into their lives, to see how they loved each other as a family, how they loved the city and community of Bologna, and how they received grace.

Some of the things I learned after time with them:

to always put myself in the position where I am most desperate for God, which is usually an uncomfortable, challenging place.

to make the decision for “the next best thing” (copyright Mack).

going to Jesus and hearing from him in the Word everyday is not an option or a choice, but it is crucial for my essential survival; it is life.

fearing the Lord and fearing to not obey leads you into walking in the will of the Lord.

accepting grace needs to be partnered with forgiving yourself and believing that Christ already has.

Oh, I could continue. Know that I am eternally grateful for each of you, David, Nicole, and Ruby-Love.

The Italians that I met were also amazing. My favorites were by roommates: Carlotta, with whom I shared a double room, Sebastian, another (south) “american” from Colombia, and Enrico, a great cook and the guy who made me love tea by making the best chamomile (probably because of how much sugar he would add- not complainin!). You three are the most patient and understanding people I have ever met. The reason I can now speak Italian to natives that I meet in the gardens, or get sassy at gross Italians who try to hit on me on the bus is because of you. Enrico stayed up so late with me to correct my grammar worksheets and long final papers for sociology. Just as important, Carlotta taught me every cuss word that made me culturally relevant. Sebastian followed everything with a “tranquillo, dai” or “stai calmo” and elevated me to one of my most serene elements, no matter the conditions. I seriously had the most fun with the three of you. Thanks for letting me be different, not judging me, and letting me into your lives. I love y'all so much, vi voglio bene!

My prayer: that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, 18 may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, 19 and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. (Ephesians 3:17-19)

There are many great things about traveling alone: there is time to think, you can go as fast as you want, as slow as you want, meet people along the way, help others take pictures, stop and look at any flowers you want without holding anyone else up, journal and write poems on any whim.

Hiking is one of my favorite activities, so I really really enjoyed Cinque Terre today. The difficulty of the connecting paths between the 5 lands' (cinque terre, literally) winding, barely-there, paths seemed more bareable against the backdrop of the 5 tall mountains with pinterest-flocking, color-popping towns. So I wrote this poem:

The breadth, the width, the height, the depth.

Will I ever know?

You woke me this morning in a shower of new mercy,

and in my restoration I decided I had the strength to climb.

I climbed up, then down, around curves, seemingly infinite.

The path drug me deeper.

Then I failed- or the mountain laughed like it won.

But Oh, beyond the mountain was the sea, and I saw its vastness.

Step, Step.

The water came alive, rolling onto the cliffs.

The cliffs became a canvas for the sun-soaked people to color.

The people paraded on the paths that laced the mountain.

And the mountains were no longer scary.

Step, Step.

Big, yes, but only to allow the red poppies to bloom and the river to run home to its vast, yet controlled, mother.

With my exhale, I forced my face up- I made it.

And after the pain of going left food, right foot, I knew what was the breadth, the width, the height, the depth.

I had been swimming in it the whole time.

[When I finally saw Vernazza after climbing uphill for 1.5 hours- there was hope]

After journeying for 10 days through southern Italy, I have officially traveled to all of the cities in Italy that I wanted to see! While I was traveling, I started thinking about the purpose of why I travel. After living in Bologna for 5 months, I know that seeing a city for 1-5 days is not enough to understand the culture.

So, my goal was to just love the city and love the people and meet with God in these very different contexts… and if I found myself pleasantly content in a particular spot, I was going to stay there and drop the rest of my itinerary.

First, my amazing study abroad program took all of us on a final excursion through Tuscany. After we saw the medieval town of Monteriggioni, we went all over Siena in our free time and also explored the city with a guide. After seeing the main piazza, we went to the Duomo di Siena, where Nicolo Pisano’s pulpit was constructed and remains in total grandeur and detail! (That was one of the pieces some of us studied in a History of Italian Art class, so we were amazed!). For lunch we stopped and got Gorgonzola and pear pizza. Gorgonzola+pear has become my, and a few other girls’, favorite combination… but on a pizza it was wild. We felt sick after it seemed like we each ate a whole wheel of cheese, so we abstained from cheese for a week. After we saw Siena, we took off to the hills in Siena to sleep in the spooky, abandoned rooms of an ex-monastery. After winding through the alleys of another quaint and beautiful town, Pienza, we made our last stop at a vineyard in Montalcino. We all brought lunches and ate in the backyard of the home vineyard that overlooked the vines and hills. Then, the family-run vineyard showered us with fresh bruschetta and shared the story behind their business. We had a tasting with 3 of their wines (that Brunello, though...), then hiked a 7km trail through the hills that I really enjoyed. My coordinator asked me which city I liked best- I said I loved the bus ride! Our bus wound around the hills through the sun, the rain, and another beautiful double rainbow.

The countryside of Tuscany had a distinct way of life: it was slow. 5 months ago it would have irritated me, but now it makes me joyful that the people have a simple peace as the day comes and goes. There was nothing there except the amazing rolling hills that were perfectly set by God, and the people loved the fruit of the land.

About half way through my semester I decided that one day I would come back to Bologna to live, but the countryside of Tuscany is the only place to make me reconsider my location.     

After Tuscany I came home to Bologna to wash my clothes and repack for a 7 day journey through the South. I started by myself in Rome, where I loved the historic city. I got lost in the Forum and Palatine Hill, dreaming that I was in Paul’s stomping ground as I read excerpts of his letter to the Romans. Unfortunately, the present city didn’t impress me much. That being said, I really enjoyed the Coliseum, Trevi Fountain, the Forum, the Sistine Chapel, and the massive St. Peter’s Basilica.

My favorite part of Rome was a surprise Rome gave to me on my walk home from the Forum: Rome’s Rose Garden.

I have make it a goal to see a garden or park in every place I travel to in order to give the flowers some of my sunshine and breath in some of their sweetness. I enjoy all of them… but this was the greatest flower treasure in the world, pulsing with life and hope and beauty.

In a huge acre there were two semi circle gardens with a road in between them, and every 3 feet there was a different type of rosebush planted with different colors, different scents, and different origins from all over the world! I got so overwhelmed when I walked through half of the gardens, that I just layed down in the middle, enjoying all of them, reading Isaiah 60 and the beauty of the glory of Israel. Nothing could take away that sweet smelling hour.

In Napoli there was a thrilling spark and things got bo$$y… the girls crimped their hair and were total G’s. The men were always fighting and greeting eachother with vaffanculo. After 3 total nights by myself, Kyra finally joined me! We ate the famous pizza of Da Michele (featured in Eat Pray Love); shopped at AMAZING stores/vendors; explored the underground Napoli by crawling through caves; entered churches that had exquisite sculptures. Furthermore, the Mediterranean sea and the active volcano Versuvius were in the background of it all! We were couch surfing with a great host who guided us to the best places: for dinner and dessert on our last night we had the Panuozza and Graffa (fresh sugar donuts that are filled with a crème of your choice right in front of your eyes! Honestly, the only time I’ve ever said that a donut was better than Krispy Kreme’s) that you can only find in these small towns. In Sorrento we tried a million limoncello’s throughout the day, and then made our way to Positano, a tiny city that inserted itself literally on the side of a cliff without taking away any of it’s vegetation! The winding bus ride had all of us worried that we would go tumbling over the cliff and into the water at any moment… but the view was spectacular. This town has now become my favorite vacation place in the world, and I’m sure Kyra was annoyed every 5 minutes when I gasped at it’s beauty at every turn in the stairs.

After sleeping in Sorrento we woke up to do a day trip to Capri. It was another beautiful, natural island. We took a chairlift up to the very top of the mountain that overlooked all of the white houses and clear, tropical water, until a cloud literally consumed us and all of our view! It was unreal. To get down we opted for the 45 minute hike that I really enjoyed (but my knees didn’t). Next, we took a bus to the Blue Grotto, a cave that naturally glows a brilliant blue from the sun reflecting through a small hole onto all of the white sand below. I’ll never see anything like that again.

To get to Sicily we chose the cheapest option- a 12 hour ship through the night. Things got weird. When buying our tickets, there were three options: a bed, a chair, and the 37euro ticket (cheapest, but no further explanation… we took it). Not knowing what to expect, we finally found our carrier ship, passed all of the 18-wheelers that parked at the ground level, and a worker told us to go to floor 5. We opened the doors and found ourselves in the ship’s Bar and Casino, where everyone on the ship hung out until they went up to their bed. After downing a liter of wine to help us pass out, we laughed all night and then curled up on tiny couches along the perimeter of the room and “slept” there. We were freezing and paranoid by the sassy-southern-italian women and the outstanding amount of men, 20% truck drivers, the other 80% in the Sicilian mob.

We made it. We were in the port of Catania, and my first thought was about how much I loathed my black back-packing bag that weighed way too much and I had carried for 7 days too many. I couldn’t even look at it. We remained in the ghost-town of Catania after sadly cancelling our day plans to the beautiful Taormina. Throughout the day we ate well for 5 euros: a fresh brioche in the morning as a reward for making it off the ship alive, and Sicilian arancini with ragu, spinach, and eggplant-ragu for lunch.

That night, Kyra and I made it to Modica (Sicily) so hungry, so we took the advice to go to the family-run Osteria for dinner. We sat next to the cutest group of 4 retired men and women from Venezia. We shared stories over our liters of wine and a 3 course meal, (typical modica antipasti, pasta, and of course a real Sicilian cannoli). We spent 3 hours total with that group in the restaurant and left so content with happy hearts and fully tummies!

We met Salvo, our couchsurfing host who had a particular character full of an intense consciousness and care for other people. Salvo was the town celebrity and lived spontaneously as he spent everyday on his bike checking in on the other locals (when he's not on excursions and with the environmental organization). The next day we stayed on the beach and met the 3 new couchsurfers who came in (how he hosted 5 couchsurfers in his 2-room* beach bungalow is comical). Everyone had a different story, including a 25 year old Norwegian girl who has traveled to 95 countries with* an undergraduate degree. What a boss. This trip was amazing because of the places I saw, but it was unforgettable because God put me around people so different than me, and I learned something from each of them. Their wisdom wasn’t dependent on their age, or their credentials, but on their passion. And that is inspiring.

[BCSP and the lovely Tuscan countryside]

[Rome: The Colosseum, the Rose Garden, and the Forum in the background!]

[In the clouds at the beginning of our hike at the top of Capri]

[Capri's Blue Grotto]

[Sunset at Positano]

Paris had such a unique ambiance: it is laced with elegant architecture, and full of polished people. Everything is romantic, and inevitably I fell in love with the city. I have to preface this post by saying that my amazing company made it easy for me to love Paris: Adriana and Kyra are two of my greatest friends in my program. They are very different than me (New Yorkers who have funny conceptions of the South), but they really enjoy life and are so open to anything- I’ve learned so much from them (plus, all photo credit goes to Adriana / her nice Canon:) thanks!)

[at the top of the Arc di Triomphe]

The sites in Paris were amazing: we did it ALL and our bodies were DESTROYED from exhaustion after 5 days. Paris is a lot bigger than you think- I would suggest to always take the metro, which we didn’t commit to until day 3. We first went to the Lourve, a ginormous museum that make me feel like I was drowning until I made it to the Italian section, where I saw works of artists that I had studied in my Itlaian Art class like Cimabue and Giotto, and of course DaVinci’s Mona Lisa.

[Kyra and I outside the Louvre]

My favorite museum was the Orangerie, where Monet’s Lilly Pads were placed in oval shaped rooms, just as he had envisioned when he painted them. The lilly pads were huge and the paintings are without a horizon so they seem to go on forever, meanwhile your perspective places you in middle of the pond. They were stunning.

We also took a day trip to Versailles. After hours of waiting, we entered the Palace that King Louis XIV-XVI had lived in. The palace was so isolated it seemed like it’s own country. Veramente, everything that you could need was within these walls. It was beautiful with ornate gold. One loooong room had a wall of solid windows and the adjacent wall of solid mirrors, meanwhile 100 gold and crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. It was so beautiful. What really amazed me was the gardens. They went on for eternity in perfectly shaped bushes and flowers that framed centralized fountains. We went to Marie Antoinette’s section of the property with about 8 buildings that made up her own estate. I preferred it over there: It was elaborate, but more intertwined with the nature of the gardens.

[in line for the Palace of Versailles]

The food was amazing. Every morning we would grab brie cheese and fresh baguettes to last us through lunch. One lunch we got the tip to go to the famous falafel place in the Jewish Quarter, recommended by John Legend himself. Another day we bought sweet and savory crepes from a cute old man who was so skilled. Before going out for dinner each night we would try a different bottle of Rosé. Once we were ready for dinner, it would be so late, about 10 or 11, so kitchens were shutting down and our options would be limited. One night I ate escargot with pesto from the shell- it took a few tries before I understood how to use the instrument to eat the snail! In the Latin Quarter I also ate duck. Of course, we also stopped at the Lauduree to buy the original macaroons. They were beautiful AND so yummy.

The first day I saw the Eiffel Tower, I was walking to the Lourve a couple miles away. It towered way over the horizon’s buildings and I stopped where I was walking and gasped. Adriana and Kyra thought something was wrong with me until they saw what had grabbed my attention. Still, 3 days past and we hadn’t visited the Tower. Finally, our last night in Paris, after walking up and down the River looking for the Livre della Jungle at the book huts, we dragged our limp bodies (plus, Kyra was seriously handicapped and had to have surgery immediately upon return to Italy- povera ragazza, bless her heart) under the Eiffel Tower. We crawled on the ground at one of the legs of the structure, amazed at the grandeur of the monument and amazed that we were alive. We relaxed for 2 hours, then grabbed a Parisian dinner nearby. we returned around 10 when it was dark so we could see it lit up- it was breathtaking. We haggled with a seller to buy some wine and found a spot on the lawn. I am always attracted to live music so we sat in earshot of a group playing their guitars and singing. Every hour the lit-up tower starts to SPARKLE for 5 minutes. I felt like those 5 minutes were moments I had been programmed to see since I was born, but I had been deprived of. It really shook me.

After we saw it once, we were still so tired, so we thought we would head home. However, the group of Parisian music players had seen us swaying to their music and came over to us and asked us to come sit with them. They all only spoke French except for one boy, Maed, so I stuck with him and got to know them. By midnight we had all tried to sing these foreign lyrics, and we all danced together (I even incorporated shag moves). I was dancing with Maed until suddenly my body awkwardly jolted as a reaction to the Tower shining at the strike of 1am. I stood mesmerized and Maed was so sweet to let me enjoy it. Those 5 minutes were so nice.

Even though there was a huge language barrier between our groups, we spent 3 hours with them. These people were so artistically talented, yet they lived with such simple, not showy, contentness that was inspiring. They really loved every moment, and enhanced it- they always added something positive to it. Paris was truly the city of lights: not only because the lit alleys and the sparkling Eiffel Tower mesmerized me, but because we met some amazing Parisians that also had a light within them that they freely shared with us.

[Kyra and at the gardens in front of the Louvre]

My first trip out of the country was during Easter break to Spain. It was well needed after I studied so hard for the Art exam… It all started when Christine and I flew to Barcelona. We still think back to Barcelona and laugh, because we don’t believe that the whole trip was absolutely perfect and flawless- If you know me, then you know it is strange for my life to not have any minor (or major) hiccups.

When we touched down in Barcelona, the entire plane began to cheer and clap. It was hilarious- it seems like the Italians don’t travel on planes often, because apparently that happens on EVERY RyanAir landing. Anyways, we were immediately mesmerized by 1)the COLOR: people wearing color, walls being painted, and the sun illuminating the buildings (Italy is the opposite). 2) The palm trees, we weren’t ready to be immersed in the tropics so soon. 3) How easy the lifestyle is… almost too easy?... We grabbed our bags from luggage claim and continued to find the bus to take us to the center of Barcelona. About to board the bus, we really thought the day had been going way to perfect, we must’ve been forgetting something, right?! We stopped and looked at each other… CUSTOMS. We left the bus stop and went back into the airport, looking all over for customs, but it was back at our gate, and we couldn’t get back in the airport. We asked airport officials to help us (Catalan is very similar to Italian so we got by speaking Italian the whole trip)- and when 2 customs officers came to help us they just laughed at us… we don’t ever have to go through customs in the EU because we have living permit for Italy (so that is why I spent months waiting around Italy’s beurocracy system and I paid 250euro for a permesso di soggiorno). We laughed, and left the airport.

Barcelona was sunny and 75. We strolled through La Ramblas with our huge backpacks and stumbled upon our hostel, Sun and Moon. We spent the rest of the day exploring the Barri Gotic, looking the colorful jewelry that vendors were selling, and eating Spanish nachos at the famous outdoor food market. We stumbled toward a waterfront mall that we didn’t know existed and we later returned for Sangria with our friend Alex whose trip to Barcelona was overlapping ours. We returned to our hostel late at night to find that the other 4 bunks had become occupied by mystery people. It was my first time staying in a hostel, and we began to freak out. Who were these other people? Were they dudes? Was it worth it to live with randos for only 14euros a night? They came in, and they were actually 4 friends traveling together from Spain. The second day was absolutely perfect. We got up early, ate our free breakfast, which consisted of a basket filled with 5 types of bread. We ate two of them and rationed the other slices for later in the day so we wouldn’t have to buy food. We began a “free” walking tour - our group was the guinea pigs for the new, 13 mile trek all over Barcelona to see all the architecture that Gaudi created in the city. It was stunning; the wavy, unique style of Gaudi is unparalleled. We ended the tour at the HUGE Sagrada Familia.

We were so tired after the Gaudi tour, but we kept going. We strolled through gardens, stopped at a store and found whole mangos for only 1 Euro (they are 5euros in Italy!). Without a fork and knife, we peeled the skin back with our teeth and ate our mangos right out of our hands as we strolled in the direction of the beach- it was so comical, and so tasty. Before finally arriving at the beach, Christine spotted a deal at a restaurant. It was such a gem- a local spot, with the best paella and pitcher of Sangria. At night we went to the Magic Fountain: this grand 3-part fountain that is at a top of the hill where you can see the entire skyline of Barcelona! It was strange, because the time listed were wrong, so about 1,000 people who were ready to watch the show at 7 turned grouchy after waiting an hour. We left our seats, but just to explore the sites around the huge fountain. About 8:15 the sun went down, and I saw the prettiest sunset, and I thought wow! God wanted me here early to see a show, but not the magic fountain, to see his show, the best one!. I also just love sunsets, so it was amazing. After climbing more stairs, our path crossed with Alex’s again, which is almost impossible because there were atleast 1,000 people there.  Then, at 9, the water started rushing down from the top tier of the mountain, through the middle, and then began filling the Magic Fountain in color and all its glory. I left so overwhelmed in joy, and also extremely tired and crashed at the hostel, (I slept talked in Italian and the Spanish girls woke me up 3 times to stop hahaahah).

The third day we did some final exploring then went back to the food maket for 1euro fresh famous juice (I got raspberry-coconut… DELISH) and we split the Spanish nachos again. Then, we went to the airport for catching our plane for Ibiza. We arrived 2 hours early, leaving plenty of time. Somehow we were selected for a whisky tasting in the duty free store. After buying some Bacardi that was on sale (We had to- the Bacardi famiy was from Barcelona and commissioned some of the architecture we saw!), we meandered towards the gate. Yikes! Where was everyone? They made the announcement that the gate was closing, and we started to walk a little faster… we barely made it onto the plane, but because we were the last ones on the plane, they bumbed us up to the exit row. Thank you, RyanAir. We left, and found Gerard, our AirBnB host who I fell in love with, and he took us back to the apartment we would be staying at for 5 days in paradise.

Ibiza was beautiful with turquoise water, cliffs with a beach cove that view the rocky islands, and a piazza with surrounding bars and live music. We explored our first morning by taking an island run and finding the coolest public workout machines on one of the trails. During our trip we visited three different beaches- my favorite was the cliffs. At the cliffs, there were little nooks, and not-so-hidden spots for people to lay out… completely nude. It made the European topless beaches seem so normal. The last full day we had in Ibiza was my 21st birthday! It was the most unique day, and while I wish I was with my best friends and family from home, I made sure that throughout the day everyone would know it was my birthday (#delli #diva). I woke up, and immediately put on my flower crown- I never took it off. We went shopping, then went to Comidas San Juan… the best restaurant ever! Someone tipped us to go there, and to arrive promptly when it opened. Luckily we did because a line had started at the locked doors! Once it opened, they sat everyone, but sat two random women at our table for 6 with our group of 4. Excuse me, did they not know that is strange… or that it was my birthday and I wanted to be with my girlz? Anyways, it turned out to be a great thing- they were two sisters from Sicily. So, we talked with them in Italian the whole dinner! Two others from the table close to ours overheard our Italian and introduced themselves as brother and sisters Stefano and Silvia from Trieste. They squatted at our table for an hour after they finished their meal because they were forced to give up their chairs. They waited for our table to finish eating, and all 8 of us went out for drinks and shots in the piazza with music! It was so spontaneous, so unplanned, and I couldn’t believe that was my birthday in paradise!

On the morning of our flight I got up at 6:30 to go to the cliffs by myself and say goodbye to Ibiza while watching the sunrise. I spent an hour there, returned, and everyone packed, but we realized that we had so much delicious spanish lemon-beer and terrible cheap wine leftover (I’m a wine snob now that I live in Italy). Before our 9am flight, Alena and I took care of it all.  We got to the airport and Stefano and Silvia were actually on the same flight as us, so we got another 2 hours with them. The plane landed, and once again we clapped and cheered with the other Italians. It was a trip of a lifetime, thank you, Spain.

Right before leaving for my Easter break, I had to take a final for my  “Arte e Società tra Medioevo a Rinascimento” class. In an intense 3 months of lessons with our strangely art-passionate professor, we covered every page and every picture in our textbook of the art and architecture in Italy and the history behind it from year 200 to the 1500’s.

To study for finals, we asked him what was really important. He said to know everything. Normally I could narrow things down myself based on what I thought was important or what he emphasized, but he is the type of professor that would ask you something that was mentioned as a side reference in passing. So, beginning 3 weeks in advance, I tried to memorize the textbook (lolz).

Two weeks before the exam, the Hannah’s, my great friends here, were leaving for a long trip and asked if I could housesit for them and watch their dog… it couldn’t have worked out better. So, I went MIA for two weeks, studying every hour or hanging out with the most precious dog, Preacher. Their house is high up and their balcony overlooks the beautiful rooftops. On both sides of their home every night God put on a spectacular art show with a sunset, and i would run back and forth between the balconies to get two different views of it. It gave me some hope (sidenote: God's art > Giotto'art) to get through my work. I also ate all the food in their house, and had unlimited AMERICAN coffee (grazie, famiglia di Hannah!), which served my studying well.

Then, it was time for the exam. It was terrible. Imagine: we all sit down, and Professore Benevolo enters the room carrying the exams above his head like he was in a Catholic Church procession at the beginning of mass, meanwhile he began humming a funeral hymn. It went downhill form there. He explained that the pile of folders were to be taken, and inside would be two photos. Just two. After the thousands of photos I memorized, based on the luck of the draw I would know the photos, or I wouldn’t.

Unexpectedly, our crazy prof threw the folders on the front table and said “Venite, ragazzi!”. Then, all of the students left their seats and rushed to the center table to grab a lucky folder, pushing other students. It was insane, I grabbed three and then threw the other 2 folders in the air, hoping that I picked well. We all sat with our folders in front of us and I couldn’t stop laughing in unbelief of what had just happened, it was like the stampede in the Lion King. Luckily I received the architecture of Sant’Andrea and I contrasted it again Santa Maria Novella. Unfortunately my second photo was the Polittico di Giotto a Bologna… which no one wanted because it was what he wrote his own thesis on – so basically anything I said was going to be wrong in some way. Anyways, I wrote for the 2.5 hours, then left, and kept studying.