Tomorrow is Celebrating Student Achievement Day here at MC, where we have a day off of classes so that students who have done research can present it. I will be presenting my thesis, but won't bore you with the details of that; instead, I offer my award-winning (no, seriously) study abroad essay that I will be reading tomorrow afternoon:
Everyone who goes on a study abroad trip comes back claiming that it was life-changing. For the first two years of my Meredith career, I scoffed, thinking that that was just hyperbole; I knew it was perspective-changing, but life changing? That seemed a little extreme, but after my own study abroad trip, which was spent in Ireland with the Meredith Art Department for three weeks, I came back claiming the same thing. Reflecting on the trip, I can see three different areas in which I was changed: I became a confident traveler, I forced myself to do things that I was afraid to do, and I learned how to draw.
I had never traveled much before this trip, other than occasional road trips with my family; the furthest I had ever flown was Denver, Colorado only a few months before I made the decision to study abroad. Of all the things that I could have worried about while preparing, the flight to Dublin worried me more than anything. The thought of being over the Atlantic Ocean at night while I was supposed to be asleep was worse than anything and several times, I considered cancelling because of that. I did discover during the flight that I am unable to sleep on airplanes, but not because I was afraid; I am not, evidently, one of those fortunate people who is able to sleep semi-sitting up.
In our pre-trip class, we had been warned about gypsies and beggars; like any other green international travelers, we were cautioned to keep our money and passports close, and I, like several of my companions, spent that first day walking the streets of Dublin wide-eyed, hand on my bag at all times. Holding on to my bag with one hand became second nature to me and at some point, I stopped staring in awe at all the buildings and started focusing on where I needed to go. My map-reading skills were greatly enhanced and by the time we left Dublin a week later, I felt as if I had always lived there, so confident was I in navigating its streets.
When we first arrived in Dublin, there were three things on the itinerary that I was convinced I would never be able to do because of my fear of heights. These things were to visit the Cliffs of Moher, climb Dun Aengus, and cross the rope bridge at Carrick-a-rede, Dunluce. I expressed my terror to Dr. Boyles, who, with a slight smile, promised me that I would be forced to do nothing that frightened me. After Dublin, however, I decided that I should at least try walking the Cliffs of Moher, because I might never have that opportunity again. Despite our bus driver telling us that it was a popular place to commit suicide because of the three hundred foot height and the clear drop to the bottom, I decided to take my chances and venture past the sign that said “Do Not Go Past This Sign,” which every other tourist in the place was blatantly ignoring. The view, so beautiful that it seemed surreal, made that little bit of daring worthwhile.
Several days later, we were on Inishmore, the largest of the Aran Islands, and we took a tour to visit Dun Aengus, a prehistoric rock fort, presumed to be around three thousand years old. It retains some of its ancient security, for the climb is difficult and the fields littered with sharp rocks, placed there as deterrents to enemies when Dun Aengus was in use. Dr. Boyles had explained to us that morning that, because of the wind and the exposure of the fort, if we wanted to see over the edge, we’d have to crawl on our bellies to look. At first, I tried to content myself with walking around the walls and taking pictures, but as I watched the rest of our group shimmying up to the edge for the view, I convinced myself that I ought to try too. The view of the rocks below was at the same time incredible and frightening; again, a sheer drop of three hundred feet was not exactly comforting, but as long as I looked down and not out, I could focus on the stark natural beauty.
Since I had completed two of the three things I had decided I couldn’t do, I decided that, when we got to Carrick-a-rede, I would at least try to cross the rope bridge. After spending the morning climbing around on Giant’s Causeway, we drove to the rope bridge; the ticket stall was at least half a mile from the actual bridge itself, which gave me plenty of time to get nervous. It was a windy day, and the bridge is suspended a mile over the rock-filled Atlantic Ocean; the bridge didn’t look terribly sturdy, but it didn’t flip while we were in line, so I figured it would be at least relatively safe. I approached the bridge with my heart pounding faster and faster; the man at the gate took the ticket and I was off. My first few steps were tentative, but when I realized that I wasn’t going anywhere but where I wanted to go, my confidence increased. According to Dr. Boyles, I “sauntered” across the rest of the bridge and, after reaching the other side, promptly sat down on the edge of the cliff so that I could be photographed.
The final way in which study abroad changed me and forced me to grow was in my artistic capabilities. I have always been the kind of person whose stick people don’t really even look like stick people; my brothers laughed at me when they found out that I was going with the art department. I struggled through the pre-trip class every time that we had to draw from a photograph, wondering what exactly the trip would be like. Despite weeks of practice, my drawings never seemed to improve.
Once we were in Ireland, though, I was much less anxious about the finished product. I learned to treasure those quiet hours spent in ancient, still churches, trying to get the proportions of an arch or a window exactly right. While I’d like to say that I achieved absolute proficiency in drawing and considered changing my major to art while abroad, I didn’t. I did learn the basics, though, as well as the deep connection to a person or place that arises when a person is willing to spend time contemplating the physical object that is there; I felt that I understood the power and the passion of Jonathan Swift’s prose even more after sitting under his epitaph plaque, attempting to draw. For our final project, I even came up with an artistic project that combined my English major with the new artistic eye I had discovered in Ireland: I merged photographs of the Irish countryside with lines from Yeats’ poetry, which gave me a product wholly my own.
Now, almost a year after I first began planning my study abroad trip, I can see how much the experience did change me and how much I gained that I did not anticipate. I, like so many other study abroad alumnae, can go on for hours about all the experiences I had while I was in Ireland, but the fundamental changes were within my own person. I learned that travel is not something to be feared, but embraced, that I need to have much more confidence in my abilities because I can force myself to do things I thought impossible and enjoy them at the same time, and that embracing new skills, like drawing, can open up options that I had never thought of before. These are all achievements I ought to claim because of their significance and impact on my life in the States.
Wish me luck tomorrow!
