Ready or Not, Here I Come...

Haven’t written in awhile—haven’t been inspired to. I need to write about Barcelona and London, but don’t feel up to the task quite yet. Eventually, though.

My countdown widget says that I have exactly 11 days, 17 hours, 8 minutes, and 8 seconds as I begin writing this. It’s hard to believe that my time here is almost finished. The first night I spent in Ireland was intimidating, to say the least. I looked at the twin bed in my new flat and started crying. How could this be home? Back then, four months seemed like a lifetime, and I wasn’t quite sure what I had gotten myself into. But here I am, reclining in a bed that has taken my shape and realizing that I have truly come to love this place. I suppose the beginning stages of reflection are just starting to settle in.

I don’t know if I can honestly articulate why I decided to leave the States and study in Ireland. Part of me believes I signed up for it “just because” and went along with the plan until, before I knew it, I had packed a giant suitcase and boarded the plane. Now that the experience is almost over, I recognize just how much this somewhat “four-month-long holiday” meant to me. It has been a break from routine, a place for discovery, and a time for growing up. I can’t tell you how I’ve changed exactly, but I imagine the ways in which this experience has influenced me will continue to reveal themselves even long after I have returned, probably during moments when I least expect them to.

I’m going to start packing next week. I’ll turn in final papers and take pictures of everything in Cork that I know I’ll want to remember. Most of those will be things that I pass on a daily basis—things I hardly even notice anymore. The three skylights placed throughout the apartment, the two orange couches in our living room; unofficially, one is hers and one is mine. I pass a dark stairwell and a purple doorway on my walk to church every Sunday. I might miss the little black and white dog that hangs around Gratton Street, and the cute elderly man who walks his dog everyday across campus. The English Market and Café Depeche. If I have not already written about them, I hope to “photo document” these things and revisit their affect at a later date.

Home brings seemingly less opportunities for foreign travel as I will find myself tied down to a job and school. I’m scared to go back mostly because I am scared of not moving. If anything, I hope to remember how a lifestyle of freedom tasted and try my hardest to weave it into the realistic life that is waiting for me. Find that balance of American efficiency and Irish patience, and find ways to truly enjoy living no matter where I am. Although I am returning to obligations and a tight schedule, I am most importantly returning to the people who give my life meaning. Engaging in those relationships once again is what kept me from extending my time here an extra semester. I love them even more now that I know what it is like to be far away from them. The disconnection between us, that is due to the Atlantic Ocean and the six-hour time difference, will be over soon enough—over in 11 days, 16 hours, 9 minutes, and 35 seconds. I think I am ready.