I came to Quito, Ecuador feeling good about my knowledge of the Spanish language. My mind was changed once I realized how different each persons’ accent is, and when I found myself not knowing nearly enough vocabulary. My mind was changed about the simplicity of handling money when it became clear that NO ONE will accept a $20 bill because there’s no change. And, my mind was definitely changed in my abilities to get around when I had to speak to a policeman for 30 minutes just to figure out where I lived.

I came in with certain expectations for myself, only to have them shut down and turned into learning opportunities. When I expected burritos and enchiladas I got broccoli soup, and quickly realized that Ecuadorian food is not remotely like the Americanized version of Mexican food.

People always told me not to have expectations before coming here, but I have changed my mind about those. Some expectations are good to have, because then you can fully recognize how ignorant you are. I haven’t learned 1/100th of what I will this year, but I will know I have learned when all of my 125,687 subconscious expectations have been shattered.  And then, I want my friends to look back and laugh at who I once was… and then continue to laugh at how much I still don’t know.

When we reached our top of that ragged, beautiful volcano, we should have been disappointed that we had come so far and tried so hard, yet couldn’t see the sign that said “Congratulations, you’ve reached the top!” But we weren’t. We were grateful for the rock climbing, sight seeing, sweat producing adventure that we’d just endured together.

I have expectations for what this year will bring, as I’m sure others have expectations of me, and that’s okay; that’s normal. All I know is that I am walking into a cloud, and I probably won’t come out for a long time.

No matter what I experience at the peak of this journey, I’m glad it won’t be what I expect because that would be plain boring. The more crushed expectations, the better. Bring it, Chimborazo!

The post Why Expectations Are Good appeared first on Global Citizen Year.

The bus system here is equally challenging, they are less like buses and more like very large taxis, one must flap their hand around to hail them and, once aboard, fight their way to the back of the bus where the exit button is to ensure that the bus slows down in front of your stop. Often the bus will make a complete stop, but if the driver is feeling rushed, or you are at the back of a long line of passengers trying to get off, it is likely that you will make a James Bond-like hop off the moving bus. If I have made this country, especially this city, sound somewhat anarchical, I apologize, that is neither the case, nor my intention, in fact, I have witnessed more order than in the States. Everyone seems to have a purpose and know how to get to their destination; despite the wild roads, I have not seen an accident yet, and even the pedestrians, weaving their way between cars stopped at a light or stuck in heavy traffic, appear pretty safe. I have begun following their example and crossing the roads at even the slightest lull in oncoming traffic.

The people who I have encountered in my time here, are the nicest I have ever met, ranging from the stranger on the street who warned me about a dangerous neighborhood, to the family who has folded me into their lives and made me feel like one of them, I have yet to meet someone who wasn’t willing to go out of their way to help me. The generosity of the Ecuadorian people has taken down a wall that I have constructed throughout my life, I now feel no hesitation at asking for help because I do not fear any rejection. Being able to ask for help when I need it has opened so many doors! Getting around is not an issue, because if I’m lost I will just ask someone; speaking my choppy, barely comprehendible Spanish is no longer embarrassing because people don’t laugh, they just politely correct my errors and move on.

All of this brings me back to my original topic: Satisfaction. Happiness is often thought to be a product of satisfaction,which is usually thought to be getting something you want, but I have experienced so much happiness in the last three weeks, and most of it was because of undesirable situations. From the 20 bug bites on my face at Pre-Departure Training to the inevitable homesickness that pops up when I am feeling the worst, I have encountered my fair share of low moments, but they were at once the worst and best moments of my life. I would think to myself, “Bella, you are doing this!” That’s why this is such an incredible experience, because the moments that make me wish I was back home are the moments when I know that I am doing this, and wow, I am so much more capable than I ever knew!

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We take our time on the uphills and cruise down the downs. Remembering that the top of this volcano rests at just over 15,000 feet, we break, often. There just is not enough oxygen for us gringas coming from sea level. We stopped to breathe and appreciate the views. Sometimes, I didn’t stop to pause. Sometimes, I dragged myself to the top of the next little peak. Sometimes, I ran. And sometimes, we sat in the grass and laughed at our entire endeavor.

Reaching the summit had many ups and downs. We were encased in fog at points, unable to find trail markers. We scaled rocks, walked the edges of cliffs, and met local hikers promising our success. We were on an adventure. Although we couldn’t see through the fog to know exactly where we were venturing, it didn’t matter because we knew we were headed towards something. We just hoped that something would be the summit, imagining the sign to declare our feat.

That something ended up not being the summit. That something was me scaling a cliff to encounter panic at the top. That something wasn’t what we had hoped for, but it was a learning experience and a story to tell.

In reflection, I realize that every adventure has its highs and lows. And at the end of every adventure, something awaits. It’s okay to not know what that something is and it’s okay to not know the perfect way to get there. It’s okay to run up some hills and take others slowly. It’s okay to pause. So, for my adventures during the next seven months, I choose to embrace being okay with being okay on my journey to something.

The post Something. appeared first on Global Citizen Year.

Every morning is pretty routine starting with two options: water or no water? If I wake up to a cool breeze coming from my fan, I dash to the bathroom to take a much-appreciated cold shower. If not, it’s a quick face-wash with my bottled-water. Then I walk up the spiral-tiled stairs to my Yaay’s (mother’s) room to say good morning. She’s always up at 5am for prayer and I make a point to greet her when she returns.

Breakfast is a banana, granola, and some tea which I take to the roof of my school. It has an amazing view of the rooftops of Dakar and around 8am, the air is still cool.

While in Dakar I have been taking language classes for French and for Wolof. It’s amazing how appreciative people are when you try to speak their language. Some of the most gratifying moments when I am with family are when I manage to implement something new I’d learned. It could be as simple as a new word or another greeting, but it always gets laughter and cool handshakes.

From 13h to 15h I return home to eat with my family. It’s usually just the women in the house: my Yaay, Awa, Yassi, myself and any friends of family who decide to pop in for a bite to eat. We all eat around a large silver tray with our right hands or spoons depending on the meal.

The afternoons are usually spent at The Office: an air conditioned room in the neighborhood of Karack occupied by our Global Citizen Year team. Lessons that take place here could range from learning about gender roles to safety in Dakar, to health precautions to drumming and dancing. It’s been so valuable spending these few weeks with my Senegal cohort. We learn so much from each other’s experiences and we are a great outlet to each other for venting stress and celebrating breakthroughs.

Along my walk home are numerous mango vendors. Stands of mangos, baskets of mangos, and mats stretched on the ground covered in mangos. It’s a daily ritual and I’m getting good at picking up the best kind of Senegalese mangos – Hey, it’s the little things right?

The evenings are my favorite. I live in a nice neighborhood called Mermoz. Along my street are boutiques, tailoring shops, a beautiful half-finished mosque, a large courtyard where kids are always picking up a football game (soccer to my fellow Americans), and my front steps. This is where I have learned the most. Every night I sit on my wide front steps and watch Dakar go by in rambling taxis, dressed in colorful boubous and striped business suits. People go by on motorcycles and in running shoes, carrying large buckets of grain on their heads or leading a handful of sheep. This is where I watch the women sell their wares on the street: bags of grain, roasted peanuts, and grilled corn on the cob. This is where I drink ataya (tea) with my brothers and their friends. We often start out a discussion about daily life in Dakar and end up philosophizing about the fate of humanity in broken English and Frolof (French/ Wolof). Most of my language learning happens here too. It’s a funny thing, language in Senegal. There are so many different languages such as Wolof and Pulaar and Serer that you realize how amazing it is the people here are so united. Wolof is the dominant local language second to French. Even though French is the national language, Wolof is the most widely spoken. And yet, especially in large cities, much of the language is lost to more modern words in French. Sometimes I will have to ask two or three different people for the Wolof translation of a French word just because people forget certain common Wolof words. I did meet one man on our front steps who said he spoke “pure” Wolof. He was very proud. Every day, the locals pass by and great me and switch between teaching me new words in Wolof and new handshakes. I’m still not sure which one is more useful – as I mentioned earlier, the handshakes are pretty cool.

There are so many little kids around who all come running at me as I walk up our street scream “Sophie! Sophie! Sophie!”. On my front steps, I’m basically on center stage, seemingly strictly for their entertainment. I make faces that set them into contagious giggles and I chase them around the porch and I read with them from their little french school readers and I sometimes pull out my pencils and we sit in silence drawing the sheep that graze in the football field and under the trees across the street.

My youngest brother once tried to show me how to play a football video game – neither of which I have any experience with: football and video games – and let me tell you I shall never live that game down. But just thinking about him explaining the rules using over-exaggerated hand motions as he mouthed out the french words makes me laugh because we really connected, he really cared and despite all that, I was still as technologically challenged as I had been in the States.

Dinner is around 20h30 here and by that point I’m ready to just go to bed. But meals are highly revered here and I always make a point of being there no matter how much I eat. Though if you think you can get out of picking through a dish, you shall be sourly surprised by the fierce commitment of your mother to fatten you up.

It’s after dinner that the uncertainty of a good night’s rest kicks in. If we are going to lose power, it’s usually right…about…now. So many nights I’ve sat on the tiled courtyard with my back against the plaster walls listening to my brothers talk about anything from which sheep to sacrifice for Tabaski (more on that later!) to the proper English translation of various Wolof words. We might sit up for hours passing the time in hopes that the current would come back on. The prospects of going to bed without a fan are worse than the idea of sitting up outside all night. Either way you don’t sleep but at least out there I have company. With the ritual sighs of relief, the lights flicker on and we disperse.

My days here in Dakar are regular and I enjoy the deeper layers that I slowly peel back as I revisit each nook and cranny of my stomping grounds with ever increasing confidence, knowledge, and curiosity.

Good night Dakar.

Cheers,

Sophia

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Now that that is taken care of –

Dakar. Dakar seems to be a good place to start. It’s where I’ve spent my first two weeks in Senegal and yet I still cannot seem to put a finger on what exactly Dakar has done to me. Done for me is different. It’s a test run for what my long-term host site will be like. So basically, everything I do here is practice for when I really need to make friends with the neighbors, connect with my family, and find the best stands to buy mangos from. But when I reflect on my time here, I have a hard time understanding all the raw thoughts and emotions that have been evoked by these littered streets, cat-calling strangers, and disproportionate number of taxis-to-civilians.

I won’t sugarcoat it. Dakar isn’t a city sought-out for its magnificent architecture and manicured gardens. The fact that it is the capital of Senegal doesn’t exempt it from the daily power-outages and sketchy internet access. If a family doesn’t happen to have a huge, grassy field to graze their herd of sheep, goats or cows; they’ll use highway medians or public parks. I went exploring the upper levels of my house one day and found fourteen sheep sleeping on my roof – which is four floors up, mind you – sheep happen to be good stair-climbers! If you don’t have a car or a flat-bed truck to transport your wares, you probably have a horse and two-wheeled wooden cart that you navigate through the crowds of pedestrians and honking taxis.

Life in the city doesn’t seem to imply that life suddenly changes when you enter “civilization”. And that is because people here just have a different way of life. I can’t say it’s better or worse, just different. And yet, that acceptance doesn’t make the adjustment much easier. A few nights a week, I awake with my mosquito net plastered to my face and my shirt sopping with sweat when the power goes out and my fan stops working. Usually, if I don’t wake up really early to take a shower, I might have to go the day and perhaps next few without having any water at all. There are just times when it decides not to come out of the faucet. Spraying my room with some insecticide each morning to fend off the cockroaches is just another daily task I have had to adopt. To walk to school each day involves shaking off the ever-present taxi drivers, turning a blind eye to the waves of begging children, sidestepping mangy dogs, and dashing through wide lanes of traffic (don’t worry mom!). I haven’t even begun with the borderline hilarious language-barrier. Street signs could be in French or Wolof or Arabic or sometimes even in English. My family speaks what I call “Frolof” which is a combination of French and Wolof – one of the more widely-spoken local languages. There I was thinking my French would get me through and the next moment someone throws in a completely foreign word which turns out to be in an entirely different language! The food here is really interesting. So good. So many flavors and textures. I almost forget that I’m eating rice in every meal because of the multitude of way to prepare and spice it. That being said, fresh fruit is a rare thing and not something I get to eat during mealtime. I’m constantly tired and overwhelmed and craving weird vegetables like whole avocados and handfuls of spinach.

So yeah, the transition has been hard. Every day, throughout the day, I fluctuate from fascination and curiosity of the culture, to laughing uncontrollably about its quirks, to being overwhelmed by the magnitude of differences, to wanting to fly home to hug my mommy. As I’ve studied, this is known as the U-curve of adaptation in which there are three basic stages: honeymoon; culture-shock, and integration. I’d like to say that I experienced a smooth “culture-shift” instead of the many visits I’ve made towards the bottom of that U but I would be lying to myself. Culture-shock is real. But it doesn’t have to be immobilizing. Another key point to this U-curve is that it isn’t a U-curve in reality. It’s a cosine curve; it goes up and down and up and then down again and then up and…you get the idea. Constantly I am experiencing moments of culture-shock. Like when I went to the beach on day with my family. Apparently women here don’t tend to learn how to swim so I was one of a few females in the water. Basically I was getting a lot of unwanted attention for doing something that – to me – seemed normal and not-warranting of such behavior. I became very frustrated with the people around me and resented their standards of gender roles. As soon as I felt frustrated, I recognized that I was experiencing culture shock. The best thing to do is to either remove yourself from it for a while or simply take a metaphorical step back and separate your own expectations from the reality of the situation. What I mean by that is, if you keep trying to enforce your own standards, it’s a losing battle and you will only distance yourself from coming to any understanding. In order to “integrate”, you have to let go of those hindering expectation, and just go with it. Every circumstance is different and some are easier to cycle through but no matter what, it’s all you can do.

The key to success is time which is really funny because time has a different meaning in every culture. Here, the well-used French word “après” is a good representative of Senegalese concept of time. Après means later. “I’ll show you how to make tea later.” “You can come with me to the market later.” “ Those dirty clothes that have been sitting in your room for a week, yea, I’ll help you wash them later.” “Later when?” This is what I often ask myself, partly in exasperation and partly in amusement. But later just means later. There will be time, relax! And that is true. And what is also true, so so true is that time heals. Just in the two weeks I’ve spent with my host family and with my neighbors, I’ve slowly become more comfortable. Of course it is hard at first. That is just the way it is. Every new environment is strange and unwelcoming at first. But over the course of my two weeks I have come to know my neighbors names, to play with their children, to greet the colorfully dressed women who always sit beneath the trees across from my house, to understand how to pick the best mangos and which streets make good shaded shortcuts. I’m picking up bits and pieces of Wolof and can hum along with the local mosques call to prayer. My family has stopped giving me a spoon to eat meals with – which is actually a step forward because everyone else eats with their hands. It has all come with time. With all these little steps, my emotions have become steadier and my demeanor more relaxed. I feel more level-headed and comfortable with the direction I’m headed. But ironically my immediate future as in a few days from now will be taking me to a whole new place: my long-term host site! But more on that later for sure.

Well, I hope this wasn’t too much of a downer and more of a realistic window into what I am experiencing. It’s a rollercoaster ride for sure!

Cheers,

Sophie (which is apparently a very common name here in Senegal!)

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Toilet paper is always thrown in a waste bin, never flushed and sometimes it is located outside of the stall. As I lingered a few steps behind the Ecuadorian woman I noticed that in this particular bathroom the toilet dispenser was located outside of the stall. As she began to shut the stall door we made direct eye contact and I held it, wanting to inform her but having no idea how. So I just continued to stare until she realized I had something to say. I simply uttered, “Mi espanol es mas o menos pero…” (My Spanish is so so but…) and I pointed to the dispenser. She chuckled and responded, “Gracias, gracias!” She began speaking to me in Spanish muy rapido (very fast). I had no clue what she was saying so I just said, “Yo soy de los Estados Unidos. Ocho meses.” Simultaneously I held up eight fingers, not quite sure I was actually making any sense. She then said, “Que linda. Muy linda.” I stared at her blankly. “Gracias!” When I returned to my seat I asked another fellow what que linda meant. How pretty or wonderful. I sat in the chapel and basked, holding onto this joyful moment.

For the woman this encounter was probably simply a passing moment in her day, but it reenergized me. It reminded me why I was here: to absorb everything, to extend myself, and to be present. One of the main focuses at Pre-Departure Training in California was the concept of authenticity. I struggled with this throughout the days there. I was lost – here I was, here I am, trying to gather a better sense of myself over this year and I was being told to be authentic, but to who? I am still in the process of figuring that out.

That miniscule moment with the Ecuadorian women in the bathroom was reassurance for me. Moments can be authentic; you can find sincerity in people you barely know; being grateful is genuine. I could not have had a more humbling first interaction with the people of Ecuador. It reminded me to be kind and pause, to reach out, because el mundo espera (the world waits).

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That’s a loaded question, and definitely a hard one to answer. I’ve only been here for three weeks, but I’ll say that it’s everything you can think of in the most extreme form, but nothing you would expect. There are no subtleties. Whether you like it or not, the atmosphere is loud and makes sure that you are present in the moment to experience it for what it is.

When it rains, it pours down on the rooftops and wakes you up in the middle of the night. It’s more inconvenient than comforting, like it was for me at home. It means more leakages to take care of, more mosquitos hovering around puddles of water in the streets, and more power outages. Electricity surely is resilient here considering the power always comes back on after going out daily. There is just so much to adjust to, ranging from something as simple as clocks reading 19:30h instead of 7:30pm, to more significant differences like being asked for medicine or my hair.

That being said, every small win is a big victory. The simplest of things motivate me to pick my head up and keep moving forward. Things like the reaction I got from my host family when I said “you’re welcome” in Wolof for the first time, or when I’m able to make somebody laugh even with my limited language skills. When my little brothers invite me to play soccer with them in the evening, and when I bought my first Senegalese dress (green, white, and orange colored fabric for the Irish, of course). Especially when I look up at the night sky and can see every star, because I know I want to make it through another day so I can stargaze again tomorrow night.

There really is not one word to sum up the experience I’ve had so far. I can’t even encompass one day here in a word, let alone three weeks. I am emotionally, physically, and mentally challenged consistently. I’ve felt overwhelmed and sad and nervous and scared, sometimes all at once, but I also remember to count my blessings. I have a roof over my head and know where my next meal is coming from. I have my own room with a fan, along with access to water and somewhat functional internet. Not to mention my fantastic support system back home, between my loving family and the Global Citizen Year Staff. I also have incredible team leaders with me here, in addition to the other fellows that I’ve grown to love and care for. Despite the demanding conditions, I know I’m in a good place.

I hope this answers your question.

The post My Answer appeared first on Global Citizen Year.

I have now been in Senegal for three weeks and away from home for a little more than a month. It’s been a while since I’ve last uploaded a blog, and I know that many of you are very curious about what I’ve been doing and—more importantly—how I’ve been doing since I arrived here. That’s what this blog post is for—updating. It’s a bit dull of a post, so please don’t expect any life-changing anecdote or a grand life lesson. It will also be pretty long. However, I promise to you that this will be the first and last of these kinds of posts, for I wish my blog to be a window into my thoughts, and not a chronicle of my day-to-day:

I arrived at Dakar, Senegal on the morning of Friday, August 29^th. Dakar, the capital city of Senegal and one of the most important cities in West Africa, is a large city situated in the farthest tip of the West African coast. We mainly rested and took tours of Dakar the first two days. With its half-finished abandoned buildings, easily floodable and heavily polluted streets, overabundance of street vendors and beggars, and heavily inconsistent water and power services, Dakar was noticeably a city with a lot of progress left in its future.  However, with its rock solid public transportation (*cough cough* get it right AMA), cheap cost of living, warm and vibrant inhabitants, mouthwatering fruits, and rich culture, Dakar also demonstrated to be the perfect location to live while we learned to adapt and live in this new country.

On Sunday, I moved in with the host family that would attend to me in my short time in Dakar. Sunday couldn’t have been a better day to move in; Senegal was playing Puerto Rico in the FIBA World Cup that day, so breaking the ice and cross-culturally bonding became easier-than-usual tasks. My home consists of two (and a half) bedrooms, one (and a half) bathroom(s), and 6 to 8 occupants: two parents, two housemaids/babysitters (super common job here, apparently), three kids and me. My sisters, ages 7 and 9, warmed up to me pretty quickly, probably because of my camera and playing cards. My 15 year-old brother, who knows a bit of English, became upon my arrival a translator, tour guide, help desk, basketball teammate, and at one point even my nurse. My mother and father both work, so I only see them in the morning and at nighttime, but they are both very helpful and welcoming.

On Monday, In-Country Orientation (ICO for short) began. ICO is the third section of the program (directly after the Summer Campaign and Pre-Departure Training) and consists of language-learning in the morning and group seminars in the afternoon. The afternoon seminars span a wide variety of topics, from Risk Management to Cultural Competence, to more abstract ideas like “vision”, “purpose”, the meaning of life, even. ICO’s main purpose is to equip us Fellows with the proper mindset needed to have the most fruitful experience possible at our specific sites. What makes ICO so powerful is the “In-Country” part of it. The city and its culture became our classroom, and our everyday interactions with the people, our exams. Being in this new, still mysterious country provides a refreshing new lens onto the concepts of family, life, values, and what I thought to be the definition of poverty.

These first two weeks have not been short of challenges. Many of us in the Cohort have had to deal with a variety of issues. You name it, and I can assure you that someone’s been through it. Personally, I got hit with a very tough case of food poisoning, which, more than bringing me down physically for a few days, really affected my mental and emotional state for a few days. My ability to learn a language effectively is not as strong as I thought it would be, either. My progress is steady, but slow. Since I’ve always considered myself a lightning-fast learner, my pace in learning Wolof and French is teaching me a lesson on patience and consistency.

Saying that this has been an easy, pleasant month would be a straight out lie. It has been pretty hard. Nonetheless, we’re are all happy to go through these challenges, and the Cohort’s morale is high. Every day has its own new lesson, and needless to say, we are all learning more in these few weeks than what we could have ever learned in one semester of college. We have experienced moments of pure bliss and moments of pure frustration. Sometimes, these moments are only a few minutes apart. In short, the first two weeks were crazy, but the good kind of crazy.

This week, though, we have all been staying at our specific sites to get to know our homestay families and the way of life of our sites, but also to cool off a bit. A break from Dakar was very much needed for me, hehe. In fact, I’m writing these words from the living room of my in-site host family’s home. But more on that later. Next week (by the time that this blog is up, actually), I’ll be back in Dakar until the end of September to finish up with ICO. While Dakar has been fun in its own special, convoluted way, we’re all looking forward to October. I’ll keep you posted.

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“Would you like to sit down?”

“Não, obrigada.”

“No thank you.”

It amazes me how the bus drivers manage to keep buses intact as they quickly make turns, speed up mountains, and then back down them again all the while passengers sway from side to side.

Every time I get on a bus I feel I’m missing out if I sit. I’m in a whole different country with a marvelous landscape and through this marvelous landscape there are some not very marvelous roads. Roads whose every bump demands passengers’ attention, whisking me out of daydreams and into the present.

I am here. I’m hugging onto the handrails. And I am happy. 

Going on the bus here is one of the things I look forward to. There’s no metaphor or hidden meaning to why I love taking it. I just do. To me, there’s a kind of romantic essence to public transportation.

Back in Miami, I loved taking the Metrorail and watch the city in motion below me. In my eyes, that train symbolized independence; I could freely go places without asking for rides and was responsible over whether or not I missed my train. Now in Brasil my feeling of liberation comes in eight wheels.

I love the sense of freedom the cold air brings as it blows against my face in a packed bus. Buzzing up and down the streets, I get so engulfed by this sweet feeling that I tend to snap out of it right as the doors are closing at my stop.

One may say I’m simply enchanted by the bus because I’m in a honeymoon phase – I’m an outsider experiencing new things that are regular to the inhabitants of “Floripa.” However, it definitely does not feel like only two weeks have gone by. I am always in awe of this country’s beauty, but yet for some reason I’m not surprised by it. I’m curious about the way of life and culture, but I don’t feel as if I’m a foreigner. The shock only sinks in when I speak and broken Portuguese comes out. That’s what feels out of place.

Still, it makes sense. I’ve been here a short time… my soul just feels otherwise.

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Thursday night I went to a concert with some of my new friends, and I chose to leave my backpack at my host grandparents’ house instead of taking it and risking theft. The concert was amazing; I had a fantastic time rocking out to Spanish music. When I left the concert, it was very late, and I couldn’t go back to my grandparents’ to retrieve my backpack. So I went home (by taxi) without my backpack and my toothbrush inside. The next morning, I had to go back to my grandparents’ house. I only had a dollar because my wallet was in my backpack, so a taxi was out of the question. My host dad told me the name of the bus I had to take, Ecovia, and I went to the bus stop by my house and took it. I was even more self conscious than usual because I had bad breath. When the bus pulled into the trolley terminal instead of near my grandparents’ house, I was confused, but I didn’t want to ask the woman next to me for fear of knocking her unconscious with my breath. I exited the bus with everyone else and proceeded to wander around with a confused gringa look. Thankfully, a sweet old lady saw that I was in need of direction, and she asked me where I needed to go then told me which trolley to take and how many stops until the stop closest to my cross streets. I got to my grandparents’ house, immediately brushed my teeth, and made it to Spanish class on time.

I told this story at the sending-off fiesta Global Citizen Year held at a salsateca as my “inspirational speech.” The moral of my story is that we shouldn’t let our insecurities hold us back this year. To not let our bad breath stop us from asking for directions. To not let our broken Spanish stop us from making friends. To not let being a “gringo” stop us from becoming a part of our community. To not let our differences, our insecurities, or our hesitations stop us from going out and making the most out of every moment this year. We are Global Citizen Year Fellows; we have already taken the giant leap to come to a foreign county, and every day is another step further in this journey of a lifetime.

The post Drawing Inspiration from Insecurities appeared first on Global Citizen Year.

You don’t always get the most glamorous or comfortable thing in the world. What happened in the past will kick you in the butt today. Other times you didn’t even do anything and life will still kick you in the butt. Like in a race, sometimes nothing seems to go the right way; You’re legs are heavy, the air is thin, your head is lost, and your arms are stiff. My track Coach (Susan Perry) once told the team “In my life I’ve had very few ‘incredible races.’ Many people look at those races and say “wow she’s good.” But  those are not the races that define you. You define yourself in the mediocre races and the bad races. You’re training kicks in and even though it’s unlikely you will [beat your personal record] you will have made something out of nothing.”

ICO has been a mediocre race. It has been grueling, it has been trialing. It had it’s ups: Walking blind-folded up a sand dune to a 360 view of Lagoa da Conceição, becoming close friends with the kids in the cohort, meeting my ICO dad, learning more Portuguese, my ICO host brother Matteus, beaches and so much more. And then there were the downs. Mistakes were made just like in a run or race there’s no making them up.

Running sucks. Some say that it’s inspiring to run from tier to tier and see new places and wonderful mountain top views. But for me, these moments are so fleeting, the distances you have to run to see anything different is crazy far. On top of that there is never a comfortable moment. The pain never goes away as long as you are running. The only thing that you can do while running  is put one foot in front of the other.

Don’t focus on how far you have to go, because you will be intimidated and turn around. Don’t focus on how far you’ve gone, or you’ll underestimate your own strength to reach new heights. The only thing you can focus on is the now; “How do you feel NOW?” The grueling task of putting one foot in front of the other becomes a crazy kind of fun. The glorious views never lose their luster or sparkle. And most importantly you’ll run exactly as far as you need to run. This is why I love running.

The post I Love Running appeared first on Global Citizen Year.