Hey guys, My name’s Erica and I’m a sophomore here at UAlbany.
To be honest with you, I am not even sure anyone will ever even see this (I mean really how many people do you know would choose some basic nineteen year old girl’s blog over that lit twitter fight?) Well, for those of you who do, what’s good? Oh and before I even get into whatever spiel this ends up being, I’d like to clarify my less than scholarly descriptor words back there. More often than not, the terms “basic” and “girl” strung so closely together paint a picture of hashtags and Starbucks — or #Starbs, if you will (SO insta worthy btw). Now don’t get me wrong I’m as much a fan of social media, and anything that rivals my now increasingly irritating job (@Dunkin) as the next person. But, the Erica everyone else has come to know, and inevitably love (What can I say? I’m great!), you too will soon realize, is anything but a basic girl. You see, here, “basic” refers to my past. I grew up in your traditional white-picket-fence realm of suburbia, raised by traditional parents in a traditional family of five. But really, even as my own fingertips graze this keyboard with the intent of sincerity, I know that “traditional” is just a frilled way of saying average.
Again, please don’t get me wrong, I appreciate this upbringing. The close-knitted community blessed me with more than I could probably ever fathom. It saved my family in a time of tragedy, a story, I will save for another day. I would not change my years in that small Connecticut town I call home for anything .
It all started just over a year ago: I was a first semester freshman, performing averagely in my, mostly gen-ed classes. Apparently getting accustomed to the academic shift between high school and college did not come nearly as naturally as the social one had. Personally, I blame frat houses. I mean they’re just so clean and tame and it’s almost like heels were tailored specifically for those rickety spiral staircases! I’m sorry I literally just cannot help but laugh at that one. But I could not, solely, blame the staircases for the damage my body had, undeniably, absorbed. I went from the palest white to black and blue REAL QUICK. Continue reading “Around the World and Into Myself”
Today marks the one week point of my hundred-and-five day study abroad program,
here in the beautiful little city of Firenze. Funny, as I write this I realize just how arbitrary the word “program” has become to me. Three months ago, I was practically shouting from the rooftops about this “program” had been accepted into. Saying that every other breath I exhaled, clung to the phrase “study abroad program,” is less of a dramatization than I care to admit. But now, I cannot help but eye-roll at this past self of mine. By no means, out of embarrassment by my initial excitement; I have been immersed in this fairy tale long enough for it to be reality and believe me I am shouting louder than ever. Continue reading “More than a Program”
Throughout the first two posts of this series, I shared some of my past hindrances, as well as my present successes. Now that we are a little more acquainted, I think it is time to get into something deeper. I was saving this post for a rainy day, if ever I was to write it. Plot twist: It may, very well, be the sunniest day yet, here in Florence. On top of that, my trip to explore and skydive over the Swiss Alps, specifically, Interlaken, the extreme sports capital of the entire continent, departs in a few hours. So yeah, maybe I am just feeling a little extra ballsy today by writing this post now. One of the reasons I decided to write for
Project MyStory, in the first place, was to force myself out of my comfort zone. Now, I am writing about the worst day of my life, while I am getting ready to fling my body out of an aircraft from 14,000+ feet. I am doing this for a blog that is (haha – nervous laugh), showcased on the front page of UAlbany’s website. In the endeavor to self-progress, “backing out” is no longer an option. Accountability is everything. Believe me, you, sweet reader, are helping me as much as I hope I am helping you, whoever you are. So screw it, open book, people! Continue reading “Tragedy & the Transformative Power of Travel”
I guess it’s true. Time really does fly when you are having fun. I am not even apologizing for the cliche, because if you have been following this series, you know that cliches are to be expected. Back at home, even before returning overseas, “tumblr quotes” were merely a platform for jokes in my eyes. Of course, some of them were so, hilariously extra and they still are. Disobeying such a direct order from the universe to use them would be a disservice to us all, and that just will not do. #InWittyMockeryWeTrust
I am also a fan of hashtags.
But here, “here” being not only Firenze, but countless other magical cities across Europe; the very cliches I once smirked at are the ones I find myself exuding more, and more intensely every day. Though I felt it for three weeks last year in London and have been feeling it for even longer this semester, I still struggle to describe this feeling, this “it”. Continue reading “Clichéd Experiences or Something More?”