Shadows in the Painting

I met someone today in chapel. His name is Lyle and he graduated from Concordia 60 years ago. While chapel was engaging today, the message I took away from it came from Lyle afterwards.

After chit-chatting for a while, Lyle and mine's conversation soon became a deep conversation. We began to talk about the imperfections in life and the difficulties that ensue. Here's what he told me:
Think of a good oil painting. Every good painting has shadows that bring out the light. Keep the paint wet and the painter can change what is on the canvas. Too many shadows, the painting has no depth. Not enough shadows and the brilliance of the colors and lighting is lost. Shadows are necessary but one cannot let it take over.

This past year has been the hardest yet for me, as I have said before. The shadows of my life ruled my picture for months. But, like an oil painting, I can remove some of the paint and paint more light into it. I have tried and tried to forget everything that happened and begin anew with not much success; but Lyle's words now ring true.

The shadows are nothing to be afraid of; sure, they suck. They are terrible and I wish they didn't happen but they did. But now, I can paint more light into my life portrait, utilizing the shadows to my benefit. As Lyle said, I can learn from them - both the shadows and the light - and see what picture they can create by themselves. Together, they are beautiful. A bit of a mess up close with valleys and ridges of paint, but what oil painting isn't a mess close up? The greater picture, though, can be simply stunning.

Peace.

-Nicole

Slowing Down Time

I am currently in the library because I had to print something off an "old school" computer because, for some reason, my laptop is not able to send print jobs to the on-campus printing system. And goodness me, was I annoyed. I still have copious amounts of readings to do before tomorrow and I have to do the dishes!

I often get asked what the biggest difference between Spain and the US and I almost always answer with, "The schedule." The Spanish get up late, eat late (try 9am, 3pm, and 10pm), and always nap. It was certainly weird, but gosh did I love it after a while.

The schedule is a certain mindset, where time is valued above being productive. Dinner at a restaurant was a three hour affair; a walk down to the park would be nearly a day's event. It wasn't that the service was terrible or the park was a ridiculous distance away; conversation and enjoyment of the area was the reason. Time in Spain operates differently than time in the US. Time's goal in Spain is not to get as much done as possible; time's goal is to provide happiness and fulfillment.

So, back to the library. I was going to use this time in the library to the maximum by replying to emails, texting people back, and doing things while I waited for the slower-than-my-laptop computer to log me on so I could print and get the heck out of here. After groaning about how dumb it this was, I came to realize how different my concept of time is from when I was in Spain. So, instead, to slow my time down, I put my phone down, refused to check my emails, and sat and enjoyed the time by people watching and admiring the artwork.

Although it may be difficult in the US and especially on a college campus to allow three hours for a meal or a day to hang at a park, it is possible to slow time down. Productivity may decrease, sure, but the quality of what is produced and the fulfillment gained from it, at least for me, far outweighs the loss of the productivity. I need to slow my time down and maybe there will be no need to hit a pause button or fast-forward. I will have used my time in ways in which I need it, by taking the long route home or not doing anything while waiting for the microwave to be done or the computer to load. Maybe if I slow down, life won't feel so overwhelming in stress-inducing or anxiety-ridden times.

Go Spanish Time! Peace!

-Nicole

Proving It To Myself

I broke down crying in the library last night. The hours previous had been great - dinner and pie with some friends, productivity with homework, beautiful weather - but I found it all to be proof of what I lack. With my hair as a shield from passing stares, I cried about having no one who cares, no one who checks in on my well being, about how unmotivated I was feeling.

As I was journaling last night, my main thing was about how I am not "on the front line" important in anyone's life. As of late, I have been waiting for life to prove me wrong, instead of doing what I was taught to do and prove those thoughts wrong myself.

After I got back from the library, I finally figured out what was the truth and what was my head getting the best of me. I do have friends and I know that I am important in people's lives, even if they haven't told me directly. And I do have people check in on me, but the thing is, I have to do the same. If I am sitting in my room or hiding in the library, how are people supposed to connect with me?

Yes, I did have to start over on making friends and had to seriously re-connect with people, but because I lost one of the most important relationships in my life, does not mean I have no value in anyone else's life. And that is what I have to tell myself over and over again. I do have value and it isn't the world's job to prove it to me. I have to prove it myself.

Peace!

-Nicole

My Anxiety's Dismay & My Complete Joy

I just ate so much food. Two plates of Mongolian grill and then a very large bowl of frozen yogurt. Orientation Core 1 made a huge mess of our table (nearing 20 empty plates with 9 of us) and were the loudest people in the whole place, receiving many glares of disdain. I probably used up more gas than I should have to go eat. However, the laughter, the pure joy, and the lessons I got out of the evening were so worth the stomach discomfort and the use of gas.

In the car on the way to get some fro-yo.

As I have mentioned before, this past year has been the hardest year of my life. I lost a lot and felt broken beyond repair; my social anxiety, along with the adjustment back, got the best of me. I was petrified of how senior year would go. I was scared that I would have absolutely no friends, that I would be utterly rejected by a lot of people (and for good reason), and that I would have to muck through my last year in undergrad by myself.

Much to my anxiety's dismay and my complete joy, those predictions I told myself have not come true. Relationships with old friends have been rekindled, even if it was (and continues to be) tough to do. I have made new friends in people I have admired for a good while and I have found a group of people via Orientation who I enjoy being with and who truly give me life. Not to mention, I have a group of first years who I admire for their excitement about starting a new chapter in life.

These past two weeks or so have been a lesson for me: no matter the past or what heartache and anxiety I bring, it is possible to find a new place in old situations. I know Concordia, but I have found a new place to stand in it and more people to stand with. And that is very awesome.

So here is my thanks to all who have been with me the last two weeks in any capacity - even if the only interaction we had was an introduction: I appreciate you all and I hope you know how important you are to me. I truly admire each of you and I hope that there will be more opportunities for my appreciation and admiration to grow. Thank you.

Peace.

-Nicole

Life-Giving

At Concordia, all of the first-year students go through orientation a couple of days before the first day of classes. And at Concordia, orientation is taken very seriously. My orientation experience freshman year was fabulous; it was exhausting, as my first blog posts pointed out, but a great experience. I felt at home and I learned so much about myself and who I wanted to be in college (hence, the blog).

Preparing for Orientation: Round 2 has proved to me yet again the changing experience it can be - for anyone involved. We started training today and I have gained more bruises today than I had all summer from the games we played and I have lost a few pounds from how much I have laughed because of it. I'm doing what I love and I feel like I know what I'm doing, but I know I have a lot to learn and I'm going to learn it. It, as my mother would say, is "living-giving". (Gosh Mom. Your little catch phrases are coming in handy lately.)

As I get older and especially as I enter my final year of undergrad, I am beginning to notice more and more about my reactions and emotions I have when I am in a certain group. There are things that feel like work but then there are those things - like orientation, speech, and theatre - that give so much life to me that I cannot fathom a life without experiences like this.

My last blog post pointed out that doing something life-giving is what I need in my life. And although I have no idea what my career will be or what my plan is for after I graduate in May, days like this prove to me how much my life journey needs these experiences.

Peace!

-Nicole

Meaningful Adventure

I sat in my closet for two hours today. I got home from a decently good day, put sweatpants on, along with my infamous kitty sweater, and then crawled into my closet. I cannot tell you why; it's just been that sort of life as of late.

I certainly have been feeling off for a while. It's the type of feeling that makes my bed more appealing than the world outside of my room, where the worst that could happen is falling off the bed or my computer dying. It's the feeling that seems to come out of no where.

I have a lot to be angry, sad, and scared about. I have relationships to mourn, to repair, and a lot to make; I have to mourn the loss of a country and a life there, plus I am still walking the path of bereavement with the passing of my dad. I have a slough of other things on my list of "Anger, Sadness, and Terror" that may or may not bring me healing if I were to list them all.

No matter what that list contains, I catch myself saying, "Adventure awaits". However, this time, I have to add something to that saying: "Meaningful adventure awaits." As I was sitting in my closet today, staring up into my shirts, I realized I have lacked meaning in my life. I have many a story to tell you of the great adventures I have had this summer; not many have given much meaning to my life. They are still worth telling - they are a part of my life story. But right now, maybe what I need to get this feeling of not wanting to leave my room is to find something meaningful to do. Maybe I need to find something life-giving that is an adventure at the same time.

Life is terrifying and tough, especially when my list of "Anger, Sadness, and Terror" is as long as it is. But adventure awaits me and maybe life won't be so terrifying with some meaningful adventure in my life.

Paz.

-Nicole

Aventura

I just got a tattoo. I decided before I left for Spain that I would most definitely get a tattoo during my study abroad. My cousin Kathryn, who studied in Segovia five years ago, got one of her first tattoos in Spain, so why not me? So, on Monday, I walked to a tattoo parlor and laid on a table for 7 minutes and there it was, a very permanent thing of ink on my left calf.

The word is "aventura" which translates to "adventure". The word adventure has been following me since the day I got to college. Heck, it was even said in the first sentence of my first blog post. And my fortune cookie spoke to me about a great adventure and change just before I left. "Adventure is out there," says the movie Up.

Just before I got my tattoo, I thought a lot about what qualifies an adventure. When I was younger, I thought it was about doing things that people would find extraordinary; things that would cause a ruckus if I told people about it. But recently, the definition has changed for me. It has become more about changing my perspective on the world and changing who I am in it. When I got to Spain, my adventure was adjusting to life. It definitely had been done before and it isn't anything too extraordinary - something most people wouldn't consider an adventure. However, to me, it was one of the hardest adventures I've ever gone through. It was new to me - new emotions, new people, new language - and I came out as a slightly different person, with a new perspective on life in Spain.

Adventure doesn't have to adhere to any standards except your own. I had an adventure last week roaming around a part of Sevilla I hadn't yet seen. It wasn't grand, it was the funnest things I've ever done, but at the end, I had learned something new about the city I have been living in for a couple of months and I discovered that I have so much more to explore in Sevilla.

The quotation, "Adventure is out there" is very, very true. One just has to look for it. And maybe get a tattoo to remind them of it.

Peace!

Nicole

In Chefchaouen, Morocco

I rode a camel in the pouring rain.

My mother, who recently visited, and me in Granda.

During Semana Santa in Sevilla

Adventure in the Expo area of Sevilla. Who knew?

Disconnected

I rode a horse for the first time on Saturday and I took a total of three photos. (Did I mention it was on a beach?) I didn’t take that many photos partly because I was afraid of dropping my phone and directing my horse where I didn’t want it to go, but mostly, it was because I didn’t feel it necessary to message anyone or send anyone a photo. Everyone I would want to message was with me or I knew wouldn’t get the message until much later, so, I just save the few photos I took and kept on riding.

I never thought of myself as technology addicted or even remotely close to it. I had gone on so many trips where a cell phone wasn’t permitted and I had done fine. Once I got here, though, I discovered just how connected I am. Granted, the first few weeks here were rough and did require communicating with people back home. But, even though I was more comfortable weeks later, my level of communication stayed the same. I soon discovered how little I was experiencing when my phone was in my hand at all times. I was constantly check my BlackBerry for messages from home, from friends here in Spain, for anything.

I told myself when I was on the plane here that I would come back with so many stories. The first few weeks in, though, I felt like I had absolutely none. I was always jealous of those people who could tell story after story and never run out. I have discovered that it isn’t because they live such an extravagant, crazy life (well, maybe just a little); it is because they live in the moment and no one, except for the people who were present, knows what comes next. No one saw the live-feed of what was happening on Facebook, no one got text message after text message of what was being said and thought. The story is new, except for the storyteller. That’s why it’s so exciting - because everyone anticipates the next part and the storyteller is often telling it for the first time.

Maybe it took adjusting to Spanish time, where no time is set in stone and plans are made in the moment, or maybe it was forcing myself to put my phone away and not allowing myself to check it every few minutes, but let me tell you, I have so many stories to tell now that I’ve disconnected  a bit.

Peace!

-Nicole

Photo #1

Photo #2 (turns out they were pretty much the same)

Photo #3: My horse Andalus

Feeling at Home

As I was sitting on my computer this afternoon, I had a very odd thought cross my mind: I'm glad I'm home. I stayed out pretty late last night, as is normal in Spain, and so it was nice to be in my room, relaxing. But what was odd about it is that I referred to this small apartment I once hated be in as my home.

When got to Sevilla, I refused to call this small apartment "home". I only referred to it as "the apartment" or "Ana's place" (Ana is my host mom). I was so miserable and wishing I could go home that I did not want to adjust to the differences of my living situations. I knew I could adjust; I just didn't want to. Adjusting meant I was here for a while and it meant that I had to make a life for myself here.

Let's just say I've come a long way. I am now thoroughly enjoying my time in Spain. I've stopped counting the days I've been in Spain. I finally put up my pictures I brought with on my bulletin board (the photos don't make me sad anymore). I have a bus pass and I know the system pretty well. I have my favorite places to shop and my favorite places to hang out. I've discovered that Spanish coffee makes my heart feel like it's about to explode and that I should probably stick to tea. Heck, I even made friends.

So I'm home. I have fallen in love with Spain and what it has to offer. Looking at my calendar, I'm starting to feel like there isn't enough time here. So, I guess I should starting living it large, right?

Peace!

-Nicole

Here are some photos from the past few weeks.

Roaming around Aracena

In Granada

Cathedral in Sevilla

Cathedral in Córdoba

Time Won't Go to Waste

My first week here in Spain was anything but perfect. Yes, I enjoyed my first few days of class, but nothing else felt right. I had the usual complaints: my feet hurt from all the walking, I knew nobody in the program, the food was new. Those things I knew I could soon get over. But, as some know, I have social anxiety. For the past few years, I have been in therapy and have had it well controlled. However, when I got to Spain, any little thing that didn't fit my usual pattern made me quite uncomfortable and beyond anxious. Normally, I know what to do - talk to someone I trust, make an appointment with my psychologist, jump into activities. But here, I had no idea what to do. I couldn't talk to anyone I trusted, because there was no one. I could call someone back home, but phone calls are expensive and I didn't have internet at my host home to Skype anyone. I also couldn't make an appointment because, well, I'm in Spain. And there were no activities to speak of and no one I could do things with.

I knew the first week would be rough - it always is, no matter where you are. The same thing happened to me last summer when I started to work at camp. This 'being uncomfortable' thing was not new. But what really got me was my anxiety. I eventually called my mom and talked with people who work at the Center. After a few days of planning and a few more days of adjusting, things are better.

Discomfort is easy to handle by oneself, which is why I think trips are easy to do. A study abroad, however, goes beyond discomfort. Granted, I have anxiety, but I still believe everyone has that one thing that makes it harder.

I have discovered something new: what was a great plan for one thing may be terrible for another. I had come in with the plan of jumping into things, which is what I usually do, but found it to be a terrible idea. My friend Malyn gave me some of the best advice: "Start small. It's okay not to be okay sometimes. Do whatever feels good to you - don't feel pressure to 'make the most of it'... [time] won't go to waste."

So although my first week was terrible, it wasn't wasted time. Yes, I still have to say to myself, "You made it 10 days!" but those are 10 days I proved to myself that I can do this. 10 days I stuck to my adventure. And I will only have more.

Peace, friends.

-Nicole