Bright Lights Bigger City

So if you know me, you know that I'm not versed in urban, but I aspire to be. I've fallen in love with places like New York City and I'm committed to the idea of living there someday. With Edinburgh, its the same story. At first I really had my reservations because I felt like the city was a bit cold in more ways than one. I know that's true of city life in general, but there was just this kind of subtle aloofness that rubbed me the wrong way initially. But with more time that I spend here and the more people I connect with, I feel almost comfortable. I learned a lot about myself in the short span of time that I've been here or at least reaffirmed what I already subconsciously understood. I'm not big on being the kind of person who goes out and parties at clubs. I don't really appreciate being dumped amongst random inebriated people without a little backup. I'd much rather meet people in a less forced situation that's more laid back and open.

Don't get me wrong, I've met some nice people this way and I appreciate the assistance broadening my social sphere, but I don't really know if I need it. There are somewhere around 15 people that came across the pond on the same study abroad program and I'm happy to say that I've clicked with a few of them. My equestrian lover (meaning that she loves horses, actually she loves all animals) is such a bubbly, friendly, loving person (a great complement to my sarcastic, brash self). I've already made plans to go to Paris with a dude that is pretty laid back and definitely on his organization shit. I have yet to really get to know the rest of the crew, but I really hope to. The seniors on the trip are like the cool kids on the block and kinda do their own thing, which makes me feel like the younger sibling that wants to be with it. I secretly wish that I was one of them because they're just really smart, insightful people.

One of my closest friends from college who's on this trip with me lives on virtually the opposite of town (I would have to walk a fucking hour to get there) in a building that's basically a repurposed hostel from what it looks like. It looks like it was built at least 50 years ago, but I could care less that they randomly have sinks and questionable smells in their rooms. They have the most friendly, inclusive, outgoing, happy, jazzed people that I have ever met. I decided to come visit him a few days ago and I am thoroughly in love. It wasn't quite a Dartmouth freshman welcome, but it was pretty close. I met this amazing, spunky chick who's from Connecticut and she's just the most hilarious and lovable person and this lovable Scot named Scott who I just adore. The whole building is just a fantastic community, which is basically what compelled me to gush in the written word. The first time I met them, they fed me, went to a bullshit creative writing (which turned out to be fantasy writing) meeting, and got KFC with me. Today I returned for more of the much needed affection and ended up watching part of a lesbian film in their common room with a handful of other people, ate some more, got groceries at Sainsbury's, and decided to make cupcakes at 9pm. I honestly have never laughed as much as I have with these people and it makes me sad to know that our love is on a timer. I'm so glad I found people here that I absolutely am fond of because I was feeling a little lonely here. Having meals alone is honestly so depressing so preparing meals for each other is seriously uplifting. I think we have plans to travel to Florence potentially, which honestly would just be incredible, but even just sitting around and talking is amazing. Fingers crossed that we stay friends even when I go back to the Big Green.

I'm Not Built for This

So I finally have reached my destination of the beautiful Edinburgh. It was not at all smooth sailing that started when I realized I was fucked by how heavy my bags were. I decided to check one 50 pound bag and carry a duffel stuffed with the rest of my things in addition to a backpack that was way heavier than its contents would suggest. So with my backpack on and this 30 pound monstrosity over one shoulder and the other arm dragging about my luggage bag, it was just peachy. Basically the security checkpoint was hell since I was standing in line for a good chunk on time, switching shoulders and forearms to even out the pain of the straps cutting into my flesh. All of this exertion so sudden after my summer of lethargy made me sweat, literally and metaphorically. I was clammy and absolutely disgusting and that was not the end of my problems.

I thought I had run into some luck when it turned out that another girl from my study abroad program was on my flight to Edinburgh. We were able to share a cab and she left on the first stop. The normally scintillating human that I am only then realized that I was totally screwed since I only had a general idea and title of the place to which I was headed and not an exact address. Flustered when the cabbie stopped in the general vicinity of the place I was headed, I told him to go ahead and leave, even though I had no clue where the hell I was. The whole street shared the title that I thought was the name of a specific location. So I spent another good chunk of time walking up and down the street with all of my crap, while construction workers just gave me bemused looks. The normal response to a situation like this would be to call or text someone or just look up the address, but did I mention that my phone had zero service? My Hail-Mary was to connect to spare Wi-Fi, paying 8 pounds in the process, to no avail. Some guy then walks up to me, a person in obvious distress, and asks if I'm a student looking to check into housing for the university. I WAS ON THE WRONG FUCKING SIDE OF THE STREET. So thoroughly embarrassed I followed him and finally got to my room.

But no, that's not all. I wanted to pick up a few living necessities from the nearby convenience store. All was fine. I went to check out and luckily there was a woman I could follow by example. The plastic bags are not dispersed to all self-checkout stations and are rather in one place. Thanks to the lady, I did not have to panic for too long before finding them. So I get all situated and scan my items. Except that every minute it stops and tells me to go get someone to help me. I'm the only person who gets stalled over and over again and I swear the clerk can tell that I'm a daft American. After scanning my card the screen freezes on the same notification to get the clerk and there's some dispute about whether or not the card went through or not. Eventually the guy just gives up and tell me to get out of his sight (not really) and I book it out of there.

After having been through all of that I'm pretty sure I stink, since stress and bodily functions are conducive to such things. So I get back to my room and I decide to take a shower since I already feel gross from a day of traveling. My room has its own complete bathroom and everything is new and fancy. The lights are turned on by a motion sensor and the shower has two knobs for water pressure and temperature. Pretty straightforward. So I turn on one knob for the pressure and when I turn the temperature knob the water stops. So I try again. And again. And the water just is fucking frigid or not there at all. There are these weird buttons on the knobs that dictate how far the knobs can turn so I fiddle with those for a while and twenty minutes of this tom-foolery, I'm pretty sure I'm a moron. I mean the red arrows are obviously a universal symbol of "turn this way for hot water", right? Eventually I give up and end up taking a frigid shower. Thirty seconds in and cursing the damn shower, the lights turn off. So I reach out of the shower and wave my hands around until they come back on. Thirty second later, they turn off again. And once more. At this point, I'm done with this shit so I just suck it up and take a frigid shower in the dark. Fantastic.

If this isn't a sign that I'm screwed for the rest of this trip, I don't know what is.

Wanderlust

Well after about three months of a grueling summer, my time is almost up. The school year could not come soon enough. While managing to resist the temptation of slowly letting myself develop bed sores from the lifestyle of an invalid, I haven't prevented my brain from decomposing into a gruesome puree of wasted white and gray matter. Mind you, I started several bouts of mental stimulus through reading and flirting with musical pursuits. Hopping from Slaughterhouse Five to Jane Eyre back to Vonnegut with Bluebeard. Tickling those ivories by attempting to play Chopin's Fantasie Impromptu and Andante in E-flat major from Nocturne. Attempting to learn to vocally harmonize by pulling apart a capella recordings. Reclaiming past knowledge of Python though online tutorials. I've given my fair share of starts to expanding my compendium of skills with little to no avail. My mind is too set on the track years down the road that fumbling with rudimentary steps is frustrating and aggravating. I can picture myself running my hands across the keys with the smoothness and grace that can only be imitated with satin. Yet when it comes to the 3:4 polyrhythm of Chopin's great work, I just want to bash my fingers with the piano cover. I feel utterly inadequate in the state that I am in. Neither an expert in literature or an accomplished anything for that matter. Just so incredibly average.

And I can rationally appease myself momentarily by calculating the amount of time and commitment that it takes to become a master of something. But I want to be everything all at once and have little patience because the reality is that I would be lucky to be that skilled in just one of those many things. So I'm left with this feeling of anguish in that I don't have enough time on this earth and I let myself rot instead. I count time until I can be in a place that I feel as though sparks that light in me and makes me pursue something once again. I'm waiting now with hopes that I'll find some traction and then momentum to set me on my way again. I feel as though this time I'm set in such a way that with the right conditions I can propel myself with greater velocity so that my trajectory leads me to another set of conditions for propulsion. I'm to go to Scotland in a week to study philosophy and I just hope that travel in a brave new world can cure me of my wanderlust for places where I can be what I imagine. So I guess from now on I'll write as though I'm performing an experiment on myself to see if life abroad with unforeseen possibilities can make me better equipped to settle in my own skin as I am.