2014

Six minutes until 2014. Six minutes to reflect on 2013.

This past year was for me to grow self-confident. That's what its purpose was. That's how it served me. The most important part of 2013 was working at the summer camp in La Manga for four weeks. I had never felt so happy in just being myself. Now that I've had a taste of what that's like, I want that for good. I want it to keep. Not something I leave behind when summer is over. My month at camp showed me a self-confidence I didn't know was in me. It all started out as a playful risk, and turned into 40 kids' perspectives being shifted. And it was all because I didn't care what anybody else thought. And because I chose not to complain for one moment, but to see the negatives as either opportunities to have a beer on the complainers' tabs or as amusement. Some of that summer camp self-confidence has noticeably faded, but now I know it's there... I know what's possible and I'm willing to go after it this next year.

My biggest obstacle was self-doubt. For 2014, I want that cleaned out for good. Fifteen years is long enough to have carried it with me. I'm ready to thank it for its well meaning attempt at protecting me, and bury it right here in Sweden. This year I saw myself truly shine and I know that the self-doubt isn't truth. Self-doubt in myself, my talents and my relationships. All out.

#12cosasquequieroen2014

Life
1) To dance more.
2) To learn a brand new talent.
3) To live in a tropical place near a beach.

Relationships
4) To always feel respected, adored and important in all close relationships and friendships.
5) To gain a close and diverse network of friends I cherish and can truly be myself around.
6) To have an intellectually stimulating, playful, mature, adventurous, respectful, supportive relationship in which love is freely given and I always feel absolutely adored - and not getting in my own way of it.

Me
7) To write daily Good Things and thrive with a sanguine perspective.
8) To stop comparing myself to others and worrying about others' judgements of me.
9) To always be grateful to be me, to adore me, to be self-confident and to remember to look at my wrist often and smile, knowing.

Career
10) To work with people I respect and enjoy.
11) To be financially responsible and financially comfortable.
12) To have a job where my unique talents are highly valued and appreciated.

Akershus

The ereatheral poise in the silouetted figure's gait reinforces the fortress walls, making them seem taller than they were five minutes ago. Five minutes ago I was just another tourist, walking up the slick, glistening cobblestone path, taking photos of the orbs of light bobbing on the black water below. A subtle, ineffable peacefulness had settled over me as I'd realized I was all alone in a bailey that had began witnessing history 30 lifetimes ago.

This tranquility had coaxed me towards the arched entryway leading to the castle. I'd glanced up at the walkway atop the entryway where the guards used to keep watch. "Allure!" I'd grinned, surprised I'd remembered the technical term I'd learned in some high school history class. But the grin quickly faded when I noticed something move along the allure.

It was was the outline of the plumed bowler hat that tied my ankles together. It was the outline of the bayonet that sucked the air out of me.

Utter silence deafens my ears, causing them to ring slightly. My little toe goes numb as my boots surrender to the damp earth. A rancid taste of nothingness seeps into my dry tongue. The only parts of me that seem to still function are my eyes, pupils having driven out the irises, which follow the figure intently as it marches right to left, with such slow grace that it almost seems to float.

As I continue watching, the consistency in the figure's movement begins to melt my startled fear into a cautious sense of security. I scold myself for not immediately realizing the figure is merely a member of Norway's Hans Majestet Kongens Garde. "The bayonet is an odd touch," I think to myself, "but it has a certain quaintness to it, I suppose."

Upon reaching the end of the length of the allure, I expect the guard to turn around and continue left to right. But instead, he disappears, descending down the allure's steps. Transfixed, I wait for the figure to reach the bottom and pass through the entryway. But nothing appears. Nothing?

Without thinking, courage takes fear hostage, and I run through the entryway and climb the stairs to the allure. When I reach the top, a subtle, ineffable peacefulness is the last thing that settles over me as I realize I am all alone...

Puddles

I'm sitting in the lobby of my hostel in Oslo. I have been sitting in the lobby of my hostel in Oslo for the past four and a half hours. Today I learned that the next time I plan a trip to a country alone during a holiday, I should research whether that country decides holidays are time to completely shut down for nearly 72 hours. Oops.

I spent the two hours of the day in which things where actually open walking the main streets and getting thoroughly soaked in the windy drizzle. Delightful. My initial reaction to the city itself was that it was a lot more elegant than I was expecting. Everything feels new. I was expecting some gnomes and rocking horses I guess, but so far it's four story malls and historic yet elegant buildings. I guess you need to get out of the city to find the old-world charm. Makes sense.

I know I'm only a day into it all, but I've been thinking about it, and I think that I would like to retrace my steps of the travels I've done, but instead of going to all the major cities, go to the tiny towns. Next time, I'd go way up north in Norway to see the Northern Lights. I would go way up north in Sweden to stay at the Ice Hotel. Things like that. I'm glad I'm seeing the cities now, but at some point I'd like to see the lesser-known parts of these places. It's like somebody who's only been to New York thinking they know all of the US...

Anyway, I've been sitting in the lobby pondering the challenge placed before me: how do I fill two full days in a foreign country when nothing's open and I'm all alone? Last year's two week adventure was so much different because I couchsurfed the whole time and never had a single idle moment. I was always with somebody doing something. And I ADORED it. But this time, I'm flying solo for the first two countries, and I think the optimism and tenacity I would usually have are being squelched by the fact my cold isn't getting any better and I really just want to be cuddled up in bed right now.

So I've allowed myself to sit here, coughing all over myself, eating my Dutch caramel waffle cookies (they had them at the supermarket here!!) and allowing a damp sense of hopelessness and loneliness puddle around me for a little while. I know that tomorrow, after sleeping in a real bed, finally showering and eating a real meal (and maybe finding a pharmacy for more cough medicine) I'll be ready and open to adventure. But for right now, I'm not, and that's okay.

I did at least use this down time to plan out what I'll be doing in Oslo for the next three days, and I'm excited for the hike in the forest, the stroll through the garden of crazy statues, the giant ski jump and ski museum, the nine minute toboggan ride outside the city, the Viking ship museum, and an afternoon of window shopping and a cookie hot chocolate at Cocoa in the alternative/artsy neighborhood. But if I'm going to do all those things sanguinely, I definitively needed tonight to plan and recharge.

Germany

My limited observations on Germany after having been here a whopping seven hours:

1) German as a language isn't nearly as harsh sounding as it's made out to be. I would argue Spanish teenagers make more of those gross glottal noises (think: the sound of a cat hacking up a hairball) when they speak slang than Germans do in normal conversation. In fact, if you're not paying attention, it almost sounds like English. Obviously, German and English are super closely related, but for me, German has always been the uncouth uncle who burps at the other end of the table. Turns out, I might have had him pegged wrong this whole time.

2) Because they are related, I could sometimes pick up on a few key words when people asked me questions and nod or shake my head in response. That was fun, until they'd keep talking to me and I'd finally have to ask "What?" and they looked at me confusedly.

3) You know how I just said that if you're not paying attention, German can start to sound like English? Well, it can... but the only words it sounds like are curse words! I swear I heard "dick" and "fuck" a million times today. The first makes sense, as I'm pretty sure "dich" means "you," but I can't explain the other one. Maybe "fuch" means "them" or something? Whatever the logical, linguistic explanation is, it doesn't make hearing those words so often and out of context completely hilarious.

4) Teenage German girls look like they are the molds for popular teenage American girls. I've never seen so many blonde hair, blue eyed girls in my life. But I don't mean model types, but cute, chubby cheeks types. Maybe it's just that I've lived in Spain too long (if you see a blonde, you KNOW they're foreign)... but seeing something other than dark brown hair/dark brown eyes was disorienting and exciting!

5) Brats, pretzels and strudel are German. Now, after typing that, that seems obvious, but I never would have thought about it had I never been here. These three things are everywhere here. At the airport. At the metro stations. At the Christmas Market. And, I mean, they make a kinda weird combo, too. But there they are, proudly proclaiming their Germanness.

6) The Berlin Wall was taken down the year after I was born. THAT is really weird to honk about, especially when you're standing in front of it. I found it interesting how they had poles or bricks or other markers to show where it had been. The one I saw cut through a busy street and a METRO STATION. I read that that station was shut down and the entrances were literally bricked shut because that station stopped on the wrong side of the wall. My whole life I considered Europe to be a classy, sophisticated continent with rich history that gave each country it's own depth. But when I see things like the Berlin Wall and hear stories about Franco from the mid-70s, suddenly Europe doesn't seem like the wise grandfather I always considered it to be.

Chicago

Freshman year my dorm organized a day trip to the German Christmas Markets in Chicago. It was a terrible, near-blizzard sort of day and perfect for staying inside and cuddling with a movie, but I had been waiting for weeks for the outting and wouldn't let the weather get in my way. I left J to fend for herself inside my tiny room for the day and bounded for the bus.

Looking back, the German Christmas Market in Chicago wasn't really anything terribly exciting, but to 19 year old me, it was as close as I'd ever come to a European Christmas, and I loved it! I was mesmerized by the cuocuo clock stand and the man explaining how each of them worked in his thick accent. I was enchanted by the warm scents of candied nuts and cider. I pranced along to the little quartets with their festive singers. It was all just so... foreign and exciting!

As I wound my way through the market for the millionth time, snowflakes dusting my eyelashes, I thought to myself, "How amazing would it be to go to a real German Christmas Market?! I mean, to get in a plane and fly to Berlin or Munich and lose yourself in the REAL THING?!" The image made me giggle to myself, but I gently brushed it aside as a quaint little fantasy.

"Nobody would really fly all the way to Germany just to go to a Christmas market, Chels. That's a loooong way just for a little festive shopping!"

It's moments like the one I'm in right this second that I wish I could go back in time and give younger Chelsea a tiny little message. If I could, I would go back and find her in downtown Chicago and show her our plane ticket and give her a little wink.

Still, as I sit on this plane, I can hardly believe it myself. That a tiny little wish I made one afternoon five years and two weeks ago is coming true all because I stumbled upon a flight with an overnight layover in Berlin! That in a few hours, after stopping first to see the Berlin Wall, I will find myself strolling through one of Germany's largest Christmas Markets, drinking mulled wine or hot cocoa and perusing each stall, taking in the sights, smells and sounds of it all.

Man, 19 year old Chelsea would be THRILLED. But not quite as thrilled as 24 year old Chelsea is right now. ;) Thirty minutes until touchdown! Holy. Crap.

Jitters

A little known fact about me is that right before a big adventure, I suddenly find myself scared SHITLESS. I try to keep it a secret. I rather keep up my image as the fearless, jet-set type. But I shall forever carry proof of it in the form of a small hole.

...

May 2011. I had less than 24 hours before my flight to Spain, and instead of bouncing around, giddy and excited, I found myself sobbing in the parking lot of a Target. And so I called Sammy. We went on a pre-adventure adventure to take my mind off of the growing pit in my stomach.

She'd suggested maybe going out for Krispy Kremes or going to the mall and walking around, but I needed something a little more intense to deal with my anxiety. "Freaky's?" she asked me, eyebrow raised. It was the first smile I'd felt in days, so I made a sharp turn into their parking lot.

A half hour later, I walked out with a pierced lip Monroe and enough courage to last me until my plane ride the next morning.

 ...

What really scares me is that I know that I will never be who I was before I left for the adventure. There's almost a little period of mourning that I go through right before leaving. It's like attending a sliver of a second of your own funeral. And it's sad. And scary. Because you don't know who you're going to come back as, and how that will affect your life as you currently know it.
...

I am incredibly content and cozy where I am right now in my life. Incredibly. Which is another thing that adds to my apprehension. Last year when I went on my two week adventure, everything had just fallen apart and I couldn't wait to get AWAY from it all. But this year things are quite the opposite. And so to willingly leave this reality for an unknown one for two weeks takes a little more...oomph.

...

But the second I wake up, ALL of this fear and anxiety will miraculously have disappeared. I will be jumping around squealing like a little girl on Christmas morning.

Text

As hour five in a car with three American girls and one Spanish guy crept by, I wanted to open the door and just bail, taking my chances that another car on the highway could run me over and squish me dead.

The girls hadn't shut up for two seconds the whole trip, and from what I could gather, they were idiots. Absolute. Idiots. And the guy. He had an accent that was so Southern and thick that I could barely make out two words, which made me feel like the most fraudulent Spanish major in the world. I was trapped in my own small version of hell, and was beginning to get carsick on top of it all.

"How the FUCK am I going to survive an entire month living and working with these pathetic people if I can't even take five hours in a car with them?!" I texted my friend, seriously hostile and, now, nauseous.

I clutched my phone for dear life and unlocked the screen about a million times, waiting for his response. My question, though clearly lacking in maturity, was a serious one. And I hoped to God my Whatsapp would quickly convert itself into a fountain of digital wisdom... otherwise, this threatened to be one of the worst months of my young adult life.

When my phone vibrated and the little green symbol appeared in the upper left corner, I got so excited I accidentally almost showed human emotion and was invited to join in on the IQ-lowering conversation the girls were now having about some inane culture shock commiseration. His response was only a sentence or three, but I was not left disappointed. Not at all.

"Be so busy doing your own thing and being 100% yourself that you forget to give two shits about what anyone else thinks about it. See it as a 30 day adventure; a game. Have fun with it."

I grinned a sly grin, the nauseous anxiety suddenly evaporated, and wrote back, "CHALLENGE ACCEPTED."

And that's how what I'd dreaded would be one of the worst months of my existence turned into one of the very best months I've ever had.

From that moment on, it wasn't about pleasing anyone nor judging anyone. It was about being authentically me - and not holding back one damn bit. I sang the narwhal song at the top of my lungs randomly. I threw my kids a pizza party one night and bought them Popsicles. I let my kids take 30 minute naps in class when they successfully created a valid argument for it. I taught half a class in my bikini. I made Harlem Shake videos with them at 2am and helped them sneak out of their rooms when the mean lady was on night watch. I taught my kids the "Can't Hug Every Cat" song for a camp-wide performance.

Basically, I made things as weird as I possibly could, and the kids LOVED it (and, quite by accident, learned a lot in the process). The other American girls, of course, thought I was bat-shit crazy, and they were probably right. But those girls aren't getting calls from their campers four months later begging for their address so they can send them Christmas presents and visit them on the other side of the country soon.

In those thirty days I learned things about myself and my potential that amazed me. For the first time, I was being 100% true to myself. And for the first time, I felt 100% adored and valued – all for just being vibrant, unique little me.

When I got back to Madrid, this glow continued for a month or two, but fearing it might fade, I seriously considered getting a tattoo to mark how important the experience had been for me and to remind me of what I was capable of. I never got it, and as feared, the camp high began to fade.

I've been conscious of this progressive fading for the past month and a half, but it wasn't until this week that I actually forgot what it even felt like and promptly crawled into a hole of blahness. I resigned myself to feeling victimized and hopeless. I resorted to incessant complaining and refusing to take any responsibility in the matter.

"I'm surrounded by idiotic Americans and inept teachers. I feel like I'm considered no more intelligent than a circus monkey, doing pointless tasks just to get me out of the way. What a waste of my abilities. What a waste of my time. Why can't every job be like my Summer Camp job? What if that was just a once-in-a-lifetime flash? Maybe THIS is what life really is."

Funks are normal, but when this dismal view didn't clear up a few days after its onset, I knew there was only one thing that could help. I texted my friend asking for a refresher of what he'd told me that day during the interminable car ride.

The response was immediate, and even pithier than the original, but just as perspective altering. "Do your thing and don't worry about anyone else. We both know what you're capable of."

That sly grin from before snuck back on my face and I had to laugh at myself for thinking this situation was so unsalvageable. I'd completely forgotten about how I'd felt in the car on my way to camp! That experience wasn't a unique, magical one that could never be repeated. No, it was a conscious shift in perspective that set everything in motion and made the month what it was. All it took was a weekly dose of playful "fuck it" when I got weird stares from those who just didn't understand.

I only have one week of school left before winter break, so this bit of wisdom will have to settle itself in my back pocket and perhaps peek out occasionally as I make plans for exactly where I'll travel and what I'll do for my two week vacation. But come January 7th, it will be my best buddy. It will come with me to school everyday, just like my tiny pink stuffed animal, Mrs. Hippo did my whole 3rd grade year (I've always been strange).

This past week before that text everything felt so dark and I felt so small. So to have awoken from that place into the life I currently have was like opening up the blinds, thinking you'll see you're in a rundown inner city motel, but instead realizing you are in the Maldives in a little guest house on a sparkling spring mid-morning.

Since feeling the sunkissed again, I've asked myself what exactly went south to make everything I'd worked for fade, and the answer was terribly obvious. The fading began the week I stopped writing gratitudes. Maybe that's what I'll make my New Year's Resolution: to always take time out of every day or two to listen to music and write the little things that made me smile during the day. It changes everything. It changes the way you think.

When you live in another language, you get really great at describing things, because often you don't know the specific word you're looking for, so you have to get creative so the other person can understand you. Imagine not knowing the word for "key" and "forget." Now imagine you've left your keys at home and need to tell your roommate this. You can't say, "I forgot my keys." Instead, you write, "I am unable open the door as the device that unlocks it is in my room!" Sure, it's a little awkward, but they get your meaning and let you in!

It works the same way with keeping a physical running list of gratitudes. You begin to go about your day LOOKING for things that you can add to your notebook later. A simple cup of coffee becomes steamy, cozy and reassuring as you begin to play with words for the entry you'll write about it. A glance from somebody important to you becomes a suspended moment in your day in which you felt inexplicably privy to a fanciful secret only the two of you share. And when you get really good at it, even annoying or seemingly negative things begin to expose their hidden silver lining to you...

Right now? Right now I'm grateful that my stay in the dark hole only lasted for four days. I'm grateful I have a friend who is patient with me and supportive of me and knows just what to say when I most need it. I'm grateful for the one teacher I work with who truly values me and gives me big Spanish kisses every week, thanking me for being such a good teacher to her students. I'm grateful for my home life and how my roommates almost even feel like family. I'm grateful for being financially responsible for the first time since when I used to hoard money from babysitting. I'm grateful for the moments when I feel like my fingers are the story tellers and I go to reread what they've just written and don't remember writing a word of it. I'm grateful for my family and friends in the US who still talk to me all of the time despite the fact I haven't been home in almost a year and a half. And I'm ever so grateful for the sprinkles of top of it all on the other side of the towers that push me to continue growing and make me so happy.