Last Minute Panic

It's not a Rachel trip without a good last minute panic. Obviously, everything is going to be fine, ect, ect, but I STILL MUST PANIC. It's little things, really. I didn't start packing up my dorm room until last night, so it was a rush to get it done. My suitcase is smaller than I remembered so I can't take as much stuff as I wanted (there will be a upcoming post on "stuff," I'm sure, and how I'm doing without a lot of it). Then my suitcase ripped when I was repacking it. I'm still not sure it's going to be under 50 pounds. I just keep telling myself that it's going to be okay, EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY.

On a positive note, I had some really excellent goodbyes before I left. The first wave was my lovely friends we refer to as the Ordal Crew, who came in just like the big, loud, inappropriate family that they are and gave me lots of love and hugs. Later the other half of my friends came by for ice cream and an entire package of Oreos. Also gummy worms. It just made me realize how much I really love my friends-every one of them. I don't know how common it is to really like your friends (I imagine it's less common than I like to think), but I'm so glad that I do.

Next time you hear from me, I'll be in London! Wish me luck!

Blogging From the Past: NYC

This is a travel blog. It’s not necessarily just a Rachel Goes to London blog, especially since I haven’t left yet. It’s mine anyway. I make the rules. Muah ha ha. So I’m going to talk about some traveling I did earlier this year. Because I can.

A good friend of mine goes to Barnard in New York City (fancy, right?) and I've been dying to go see her (and, you know, New York) for a while. I finally got to go this year, courtesy of my lovely parents and a well placed birthday. It was a super short trip, only three days, but still SO MUCH FUN.  I was very intimidated by the whole idea: traveling by myself, navigating the subway (as mentioned, I have a fear of public transportation. Is there a word for that?), trying not to look like a tourist. As with most of my fears, it was unfounded. 

My lovely host (pictured left, with me) took me on a beautiful walking tour of NYC that reminded me of why I like to drive. I think we walked something like forty blocks, with detours through Central Park and 5th Avenue (to see the Plaza because Eloise!). We walked past Times Square and 30 Rock (I had a Tina Fey moment) and while I didn't particularly feel like a Native New Yorker, I felt okay. Better than I thought I would. 

I also got to see Zachary Levi (Chuck! Tangled! Thor 2!), who is a beautiful, beautiful soul, in his Broadway show, First Date, which made me laugh and cry, like all good things should. There was a certain song that had a, um, Jewish flair, we'll say, that my friend trio, Jews and Gentiles alike, nearly died of laughter while watching.

AND AND AND I rode the subway like a pro! My deep-seated fear of public transportation was served a temporary eviction notice, because-shocker!-using the subway is not actually that hard. In fact, it's pretty basic. It gives me hope for the tube in London. 

More pretty pictures:

30 Rock!! I want to go to there (again). Liz Lemon is my sprit animal and possibly also the incarnation of my adult self.

No trip anywhere is complete until you go to the bookstore. I believe my friend posted this to Facebook with the caption, "This is what a 20 year old look like."

In the Arms & Armory section of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, standing next to my preferred suit of armor. Because I'm not a princess. I'm a khaleesi.

View from Central Park!

My trip to New York was definitely a big step towards my goal of Independence and Confidence. I did it all by myself, planes, trains, automobiles and all.  It also have me an appreciation for the city, an environment I've never really been in much. It's something new and exciting, what I'm always after. 

Small Town Girl, Big City Lights

Let’s play a fun little comparison game.

	My Hometown	London
Population	~12,000	8 million
% of white people	Hovering around 85%	Less than 50%
# of horses per person	Like, at least 5	I’m assuming less than that

I’m not besmirching my hometown. I like it there. It’s nice and pretty and quiet. But it has done nothing in the way of giving me street smarts or navigation abilities or diversity education or any other helpful, big-city skills. Frankly, I’ve already beaten the odds by leaving it to go to college somewhere else. Here’s another helpful demonstration:

Key:

Red-elementary school

Purple-middle school

Green-high school

Blue-college

I’m assuming that the more observant among you have noticed that these are all on one street. If you go to college to become a nurse, you can work at the hospital, which is right above the elementary school. You can feasibly live your entire life on a single street.  Which, again, I’m not saying is a BAD thing, but it’s certainly a thing.

Anyway, I’m just hoping that this provides you all with a little insight into why I’m a weensy little bit freaked out to live in London. More excited than scared, but it’s just something that is the tiniest little bit outside my sphere of experience, not to mention comfort. Just a little. But you know, stretch, grow, build character, live daringly, ect.

I’m gonna grab life by the horns, y’all. Just, like, a little bit timidly.

Anxiety Girl

Let’s get one thing straight: I am a worrier. I’m fairly sure this is a genetic trait, or at least learned, because I am only the most recent in a long line of worriers. In high school, my friends dubbed me Anxiety Girl. It was meant to make me a kind of superhero—Anxiety Girl! Able to leap to conclusions in a single bound!—but we tend to refer to it more like my version of Dexter’s Dark Passenger (albeit a considerably less bloody version). “How’s Anxiety Girl today? Anxiety Girl reared her ugly head in calc. Tell Anxiety Girl to take a step back for a second.” I am compelled to worry. If there wasn’t something to worry about…I’m not actually sure what would happen, because there is always something to worry about.

Now. Apply this to extended transatlantic travel. Doesn’t sound good, right? Luckily, Anxiety Girl has so far kept it in check. Knock on wood, cross my palms with salt, whatever warding-away-evil trick you prefer. But this has created an interesting phenomenon. I’m worried that I will worry too much to enjoy my trip. Objectively, I can realize how ridiculous this is. I’m preemptively freaking out that I will freak out too much while studying abroad to enjoy it. Objectivity, however, is kind of an elusive state.

I’ve tried your typical controls for this-yoga (least flexible person on the planet), meditation (clear your mind, yeah right), ect, and had little luck. The best cure, I’ve discovered, it being around other people who don’t share this worry gene. The kryptonite for anxiety, at least for me, is a chill friend. Someone who will look skeptically at me while I sob because we’ve missed our tube stop (I have a public transportation thing) and be all like, “Dudebro. It’s fine. We’ll catch the next one.”

So here’s to all the cool and composed people in the world who keep my special brand of crazy under control, and here’s hoping one of your kind will befriend me in London. Please. I need you.

In Which I Sally, Like a Good Heroine

Queen Jane

Jane Austen, Queen of All Things Good, once wrote, “If adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad.” I’ve studied Northanger Abbey twice in two different classes, so I think I can interpret this with some kind of authority.* There’s this great literary tradition of the “sally.” Basically what this means is that the protagonist has to get out of dodge before they can Know Themselves and get wherever or whatever it is they’re supposed to get. In Northanger Abbey, Catherine Moorland has to go to Bath and beyond (it took all of my self control not to type “bed” before that phrase), Jane Eyre has to leave Thornfield, and Harry’s gotta say goodbye to Hogwarts before he can really get anything done.**

Because I have always aspired to be the heroine of a Jane Austen novel, and because I love to travel and want to challenge myself, I’ve decided I’m going to follow in the footsteps of a million people, both fictional and not. I’m going to sally. A month from now I board a plane bound for London by way of Iceland, and it will be at least four months before I come back. Am I scared? Terrified. Am I excited? Beyond belief. I’m hoping that by forcing this sally on myself I can undergo a little character development of my own. I don’t need to find a husband or defeat You Know Who. Nothing so grand. I just want to gain a little bit more knowledge about me. With the wisdom of Jane on my side, what could go wrong?

*I’m gonna call my own BS on this. I kinda know what I’m talking about. A little.

**It feels like plagiarism if I don’t credit the professor who put all of this knowledge into my brain, so thanks, Professor Ramos.