Ireland: Wild | #Europe2015

In June of 2015, I traveled to Dublin, Ireland from San Francisco, California with my two best friends, Janna and Emily, and Emily's sister, Katie. The following three weeks were filled with sleeplessness, bedbugs, rain, wind, sunshine, and countless memories. Each location holds a special place in my heart. 

These posts might be mostly for me (how many other people are reading this, anyway?), a digital scrapbook, if you will - to remember the experiences and, hopefully, the overall feelings I had. Because let's be real, the emotions going through you when you land somewhere knew, see something you've never seen before, experience a culture not your own - it's something you can't feel about that specific place again. No filters, no edits - just the way I saw things through my camera (and phone). Doesn't do it justice, but it's the best I've got. 

So go on this journey with me. 

First up, Ireland. 

The first thing that struck me was how not different Ireland felt. People spoke English. I could read the street signs. Perhaps a little disappointing at first. But I was glad that we went to Dubin first. Similar enough that I didn't panic but, I would learn, different enough that my adventure in Europe began to feel real. 

There's a wildness to Ireland, even in a city like Dublin. There's something in the way that the brick and sidewalks are so old the cobblstones are uneven enough to be a deathtrap. The way that the paint on old pubs are is so characteristic that there's no use or desire to repaint. There's a kind of almost ignorance towards tourists, a statement of "you might be visiting, but for the time you're here, you're going to be forced to temporarily become a resident of Dublin". 

Ireland's history is so fraught with violence. Buildings in Dublin, no matter how beautiful, always appeared a bit looming. As we ventured out into the country side, towards the west coast and the Giant's Causeway, I was really struck by the organic beauty. It wasn't just "it's so green" (which, to be fair, I did say a lot) but it was also the reverence that the people of Ireland have towards their country's natural beauty, its natural wildness that didn't appear to be contained but rather built around, built upon, and showcased. 

Even in the most beautiful of places, there was the biting wind coming off from the water, the swaying of the rope bridge at Carrick-a-Rede. Even at it's most calm, as the water lapped ashore at the Giant's Causeway, there was a roughness to the landscape that seemed, to me, unique to this place.

When were entered Northern Ireland to see the Cliffs of Moher, the city of Belfast felt completely different than Dublin. And traveling through the countryside, that feeling continued. Everywhere you looked there was stone, walls and ruins and long, endless fences of rock. Remnants of the great potato famine, the land seemed harder, less forgiving, and as the bus rocked side to side from the wind as it wove through narrow, winding streets, there was a sense of treacherousness. 

The wind was so strong I watched an older man get blown over. Literally, he was pushed to the ground (don't worry, he was okay). Despite the steps with handrails, the guideposts, the trail etched along the edge, the Cliffs of Moher was an experience of power. It got my heart racing, whether from climbing the steps or battling the cold or facing the wind. It was exhilarating. And while I wasn't brave enough to jump over the fence to take a picture on the edge, the feeling of recklessness, the idea of that rush, was so tempting, I could (almost) understand why some people would risk their life to get that selfie. 

My senior year I took a course in Oscar Wilde. It was one of my favorite classes, for while I find Oscar Wilde incredibly difficult to read and study, his life and why he wrote the things he did were endlessly fascinating to me. Wilde challenged so many ideas in his writing, and his life, and I was determined to find this statue of him in a park in Dublin. I fell in love with the parks in Europe, little havens blocked in by fences covered in vines, foliage, and trees, like a little jungle or something hidden in the middle of an urban hub.

Ireland was amazing. With a pothole in the cobblestone in front of Temple Bar, with a gust of wind from the top of the Cliffs of Moher, it imbedded in me a fear, reverence, and love for its wild, almost aggressive beauty. It told me, none to gently: 

"You're here. You're in Europe. There is something intrinsically different in this place."

Clouds.

My favorite weather is 68 ° and cloudy. It's probably why fall is my favorite season and why Berkeley's weather was absolutely perfect for me. As I was driving to work the other day, it had just stopped raining. I was driving slightly over the speed limit on Foresthill Road, a curvy stretch of pavement that winds through the foothills and one of the few routes out of my town towards civilization, when I noticed the rolling clouds.

They make me feel cozy, even though it's cold. They bring back memories of curling up in blankets on the floor in front of our wood burning fireplace, playing Scrabble with my mom and failing to make the cat cuddle with me. It makes me think of walking around campus, hoping that it wouldn't rain but knowing that if it did, I was prepared because, like a true Berkeley student, I always, always had an umbrella in my backpack. It makes me think that the sky is so pretty, even when it's not clear and blue. I think it's even prettier, to be honest, when its filled with clouds threatening lightning and thunder and rain. They seem to move more, and faster. They seem to have a purpose or something, shifting and heavy in the sky.

They aren't threatening. They aren't ominous. They're interesting. They're dense (literally). They're distracting as you're driving down the road, because I just want to sit and watch.

Flexibility.

So I tried to do pilates.

It was like a scene from some 80s movie where the person can't bend their legs enough to sit cross-legged and falls over trying to do the tree pose. At one point I was laughing to hard I fell over and managed to trap my arm under my leg. I am so incredibly inflexible and the day before I ran 3.5 miles so I could barely walk. I could handle the deep breathing. I could handle the stretching. And then the instructor bent her body in a way that seems really easy but actually requires a significant amount of core and shoulder strength and I was done for.

I have never been flexible. I danced from age 3-16. I learned jazz, tap, and ballet. We would start every class, once a week, with stretching on those fluffy mats that can fold up into a giant block. We would try every day to do the splits. I remember being super jealous that a girl my age, Jessica, could do the left, right, AND straddle splits. No matter how many years I danced, including a year when I was eight where I did only ballet, I never managed to get even close to doing the splits. Or even  touching my toes.

Back to pilates. "If you can't keep your leg straight while pulling up from the knee, feel free to bend your free leg. You want it straight." I bent my knee. Still bent. I changed where I was pulling. Still bent. I put my leg on the ground, straight, and then raised it up. Still bent. By this point my leg was shaking, though I am going to blame that on the fact that my hamstrings were basically dead from 3.5 unasked for miles the day before.

But I finished the 20 minutes stretching pilates lesson. I laughed at myself as I tried to hold my body weight on shaking arms. I had to take a break when, at the end, they had me try and do the bridge, where you arch your back and push up on arms and legs. I used to do this every dance practice. I wasn't the best but I could do it. My teacher, Ronnie, would walk by and pretend to put a glass on our stomachs so we'd be distracted as we held it for minutes at a time. Oh how far I've fallen since I was 6.

But, I also wasn't running 5ks when I was 6. And granted, it was an incredibly slow 5k but 3.15 miles nonetheless. So maybe I can't touch my toes. So maybe I'll never be able to contort my body into strange shapes again.

Moral of the story, I guess I'm still bitter that I've never, to this day, managed to do the splits. I have never been, and I am convinced that no matter how much pilates I try, will ever be, flexible. Not in the physical sense anyway. However, I think in life I'm one of the more flexible people around, willing to change my schedule, priorities, whatever for myself or others. I enjoy thinking about things that challenge me. I am trying to become more excited and open to change. So I suppose that in all the ways that matter, I'm very flexible.

As long as it's not important that I can touch my toes.

Simulation.

I love playing the Sims. I got Sims 2 back in the day, for a computer that could hardly handle it, and have been a fan ever since. My dad likes to call my love of the game my 'god complex' and my response is always, "but I'm a very benevolent god!". I watch over my sims like a overprotective parent, making even the most rebellious Sim a straight A overachiever.

I like playing Sims because it puts me in control. I never considered myself a control person until I realize that I'm a very control oriented person. I think the fact that I don't notice/don't try is the only reason that friends/classmates/acquaintances don't absolutely abhor working with me. And I always reasoned that since I'm using my omniscient powers to positively impact my digital Sims' lives, it wasn't a bad thing.

Recently I've come to the decision that any changes I want to make in my life need to be made by me. That sounds ridiculous. Who else can made decisions and cause change in your own life than yourself? But the Hodge family firmly believes in the "stumble along" method of life - I stumbled into volleyball in middle school and found myself fairly good at it. I stumbled my way through applying on a whim to a great school and getting in. I stumbled through sleepless nights finishing papers hours before they were due and still getting top grades. We are a family of stumbling idiots, and it's worked out great so far.

But after the first few months of 2016 being the worst few months of my short and otherwise star-filled life, I decided that any changes I want - in job, in mentality, in body image - I'm going to have to decide to actively engage in change.

So I enjoy controlling my Sims because I live vicariously through their picturesque lives, where they don't have to worry about a change in weather or paying off a car or having to actually apply for a job. It's a relief, almost, to spend a few hours hyper controlling the lives of my Sims, while I take a break from trying to barely manage my own.

I wish that there's a Jasmine like entity clicking around on the screen controlling my life. If only it was as easy as signing up for a job on your phone and control+shift+c-ing 50,000 simoleons into my household fund.

However, I'm glad that it doesn't take me an hour to eat a bowl of cereal.