The Never-ending Lessons from 'The Eternal City'

It was an hour’s drive from the airport to the apartment in the city. The van driver was whistling an opera, making noises with his lips that were better suited for an orchestra than a mouth. The day was overcast, but 70 degrees (f) warmer than the -20 temperature I left on the plains. Nothing looked as I expected it to; the cars were so small and squeezed two or three to a lane designed for only one, the trees were new shapes and the architecture unfamiliar. A hectic menagerie of horns honked and beeped along with an increased ferocity as we got closer to our destination in Rome’s heart. The streets made no sense. For the first time in my life I had absolutely no idea which way was North.

The entire concept of foreign was completely unbeknownst to me.

I was 19, fresh off the farm, and three semesters into a university located in a town best known from a film by i fratelli Cohen (the Cohen brothers). The reality of people speaking a language other than English was something I had never truly experienced, each strange word making my mind flinch. It had never occurred to me that not everyone in the US grew up on a farm or went to a state school in a small city. I was baffled by the attitudes and insights of everyone who seemed to know some secret I had missed out on.

Our apartment was spacious with tall, plastered ceilings and large windows. It had the loveliest dining room table and a kitchen that barely fit two bodies. My roommates included a sweet southern belle, two bold and sassy best friends from Boston, an edgy girl from South Jersey, and a heartbroken adventurer from Rhode Island.

Within a week, my first impressions evaporated. Two months in, those girls became my best friends. Five years on, nothing much has changed with our relationship.

Studying abroad in one of the world’s most legendary cities inherently provoked plenty of clichés before I left North Dakota. Rome, after all, was where I was going to fall in love; where I was going to lose myself until I found out who I am.

In some way or another those clichés came true.

I did fall in love in Rome, with Rome.  I adored its dog shit covered cobblestones and its stubbornness to straddle a millennium of history, with one hand in Caesar’s era and the other hand Instagramming ancient wonders. It’s a city dripping with passion – every trattoria, SPQR-stamped cornerstone, and piazza is in a perpetual lovers’ embrace.  The Italian language is as graceful leaving your tongue as it is slipping into your ear. Every sensation in the city lends itself towards love and adoration.

I also got lost in Rome; almost daily and usually on accident. But I always managed to find my way back to my apartment. It was not the romanticized type of losing oneself, oh no. Up to that point, I had never been anywhere where I could legitimately lose my way. My dad engrained in me an internal compass so that I instinctually knew cardinal directions, but that compass was askew for quite some time. It was a huge accomplishment when I finally became ok with losing my way, knowing I’d always make it back.

At 19 I could to go into a bar, travel to other countries, and generally act however I felt without the knowing eyes of family and lifelong friends present. I drank screwdrivers and Sex on the Beach because I didn’t know what else was good whilst attempting to seduce Italian men with my devastatingly amazing language skills.  I danced until dawn, studied like crazy to pull off straight A’s, and threw myself into discussions on topics I had never bothered to express my opinion on prior.

Rome didn’t change me, it exposed me. In six short months, I discovered it was ok if I didn’t aspire to the same societal norms as many of my friends back home. The fear of the unknown transformed into a fascination with new experiences.

In some ways, these discoveries were kind of a curse. Had their existence remained a mystery, the future would have unfolded very differently. But they have engrained within me an insatiable curiosity to see and do more than what might be possible. Consequently, the idea of staying in one place for too long feels like settling rather than striving.

I crave more of those long drives from the airport to the city when the new air hits your face, the unfamiliar language lingers in your ears, and an expectedly unexpected landscape unfolds before your eyes.

Thank you, Rome, for introducing me to the rest of the world.

explore

Spin cycle

It was miserable -- I couldn't breathe, my hands were slipping from sweat on the handle bars, and all I could stare at was the glowing green RPM number on the screen near my left knee.

"C'mon!" I thought, "What does it take to get you up to 105?"

The instructor was bouncing between singing to the upbeat tracks and spouting out inspirational nuggets,  "The only thing that's stopping you from success is yourself! You can do anything if you're willing to work for it!

"Ok, dude, I'm working my butt off," (literally, hopefully) and finally, finally! I hit 105!

"Hold it, last 15 seconds. Go!" the instructor shouted.

Feeling as though I was running for my life, the 15-second sprint seemed to take forever. But then as quickly as it started, it was finished and we were sitting down, clipping along at a brisk 85 RPM, catching our breath and prepping for the next set.

My friend and I received a few free classes from a boutiquey spin and barre studio in Seattle that opened recently and I had always wanted to try a spinning class. Flywheel sports is the cousin to the ultra-hip Soulcycle studio in New York. Soulcycle set itself apart with it's dark spinning room and intense life coach-like trainers who add the yoga concept of really being in the room and combine it with bumping music and loads of empowering life lessons.

Flywheel had all of those elements, along with super cool wall-mounted water taps that let you choose the temperature and Evolution Fresh juice samples ready after class, not to mention a friendly and helpful staff that helped calm the intimidation I was feeling. The studio was busy, and easily the average body fat percentage of the class was well below the national average. The room was filled with very fit folks, most of whom were in trendy (re: expensive) workout gear.

The class was a haven for Type A personalities. With a board in front ranking the bikes in order of who was working hardest, it's an easy place to get ultra competitive. Since the lights are turned down low, you don't have to look at anyone around you and can seriously get lost in the music and the trainer's words of wisdom.

Going into the class, I had heard about the high people feel post-spinning. It's the same rush of endorphins that come along after any intense exercise, but running and spinning seem to get the best reputations for the highest high.

Twenty minutes into class I was calling BS on the high. My legs were jello, my arms were in pain, and I just wanted it to be quiet. It was after I hit that low that I started feeding into the trainer's words without even realizing it.

"No one but you is going to know how hard you work, are you going to let yourself fail?" followed by, "Change can't come unless you're willing to challenge yourself and reach out of your comfort zone, how badly do you want to improve? GO!"

Ok, I'm going! I'm going! This. Is. Awesome!, as Nicki Minaj and Justin Beiber crooned in the background. 

About the time I finally let my mind go and really start having fun, class was over. Drenched in sweat and a little shaky, I gingerly walked over to my friend and we shared a moment of mutual "Wow, what was that?" followed almost immediately by "ufff da."

Will I do spinning class again? Definitely. That is of course, pending my ability to move tomorrow... it could hurt a little.
improve. explore.

Alleviating Uncertainty 15 Minutes at a Time

2013... it just sounds futuristic, much more so than 2011 or 2012 could ever muster. In fact, it hasn't been since 2009 or 2007 that a year has sounded new and modern that one can't help but think, "how the hell did we actually make it to this point in time?"

Well, maybe that's just the 12/21/12 apocalypse hangover still impacting my thoughts.

Really though, 2013 is starting out incredibly uncertain. We ran off the fiscal cliff roadrunner style, paused just past the ledge, and somehow congress pulled through. Asides from the cliff, there are a host of other prominent issues that are demanding the world's attention now and can't be ignored any longer.

I don't want to drag this post down with the million and one problems the world ought to solve this year, though. Uncertainty most often leads to change, which leads to growth, and ultimately opportunity. So this unknown feeling is a good thing, right?

My goal for 2013 is to tackle the unknown one itty bitty step at a time. After completing 30 consecutive days of bikram yoga a couple of weeks ago, I realized that I don't think I had ever done anything non-essential (i.e. eat, sleep, brush my teeth) every single day for as long as I had done bikram yoga.

The yoga was incredibly time-consuming, usually three hours had passed by the time I left my house from the moment when I finished showering. But I was committed and somehow it began fitting into my schedule with less effort because it just became another innate thing that I needed to do during the course of my day.

I want that philosophy to translate into other parts of my life, I want the things most easily procrastinated to become engrained in my daily routine. Each 15-minute or hour long chunk of time is a step taken to solve my personal uncertainties, while also hopefully aiding the uncertainties of those around me. Collectively, our tiny actions might spur something bigger.

Here are the small things that I intend to do every single day throughout the course of the next year:

1. Write.
2. Study: Mandarin lessons, coursera.org, guitar lessons... bring it!
3. Move: exercise is good for so much more than just a tight bod
4. Share: stories, food, resources
5. Listen: one can't learn without first listening

Small steps to alleviate big uncertainty... cheers to a new year!
improve.

Ok, Cupid, You Lured Me In

The plan was dinner at home then happy hour at a bar that could promise loads of handsome and single Prince Charmings who would, of course, be hypnotized and transfixed by our intellect and ravishing beauty. Yes, that was how our Thursday night was designed to play out.

My friend poured a glass of wine as I finished off a crude and hasty version of homemade marinara sauce. A few bites in and her phone chimed in with a message, seconds later a bright pink notification light shined from my phone as well.

She had a new message from OkCupid, while I had a new five-star rating from the same site. Just a couple of days before, we both joined the free online dating site. Several of our friends were on it, we’re both single, and it’s free to use – “Why not?” we thought.

Since our profiles were fresh and new, the site’s search algorithms ensured that we showed up more often in search results and appeared more frequently for the array of eligible bachelors on the site. All of which adds up to loads of messages, five-star ratings, and uncomfortably high amounts of profile views.

“Oooh! He’s cute! Should I message him?” asked my friend as she showed me photos of a guy just shy of 30. He was good looking and his photos showed him out with friends, smiling from the top of some mountain, and hugging his dog.

She decided to keep shopping around.

“How come he hasn’t replied to my message? We would sort of be perfect for each other, I mean we’re an 84% match,” I said out of frustration as I showed my friend photos of a dashing tall, dark and handsome type who OkCupid rated as one who “replies selectively.”

I guess I didn’t make the cut on that one, time for another glass of wine.

Soon enough, we migrated from the app on our phones to our laptops so we could have a full-screen view of all of the potential dates or mates we might meet. All too quickly, two glasses of wine turned into three and before long the entire bottle was empty.

“WHAT?! How is he a match?!” my friend exclaimed as she quickly turned around her computer to reveal a super overweight guy with way too much hair on his face and a joint with smoke shrouding any sort of recognizable features on his face. Sexy.

“Umm, I don’t even know what to do with this,” I said as I turned my computer to show my friend.

“TieMeUp4u, sweet screen name. Totally appropriate, all he has are bondage pics in his underwear! What the hell?!”

It was after 9:00, happy hour was definitely out of the question at this point in the evening. We both mustered up the courage to message some of our top picks. My friend carefully selected only the cream of the crop, whereas I, suffering from a bout of intense professional networking, messaged anyone and everyone who seemed like they had a good story attached to them.

Around midnight we finished our OkCupid marathon and went to sleep in a wine-induced haze. The next day, the hangover headache wasn’t the only consequence from the night before, I had an inbox full of several messages from guys I vaguely recalled messaging, all of whom had date proposals. My friend, on the other hand, had a single reply from someone who turned out to be a fantastic first date for her.

Ooops. Never ever mix wine with fake online dates. It’s like creeping on Facebook, except not nearly as anonymous as one might hope. Lesson learned, indeed.  

laugh.

Daily meltdown

Five minutes in and sweat is dripping out of every imaginable inch of my body – my forearms, the sides of my stomach, my calves – places I didn’t even realized produced sweat!

“Look back, fall back! More back!” prompts the teacher. There’s a loud clap, “Change!” My head leads the way, slowly bringing my backwardly bent body upright. I try not to put pressure on my lower back, my legs are shaking as I ever so slowly come back up and see my face in the mirror.

...which by this point is beet red and also drenched in sweat. “Oh man, I’m only 10 minutes into the 90 minute class… it seems like I’ve been in here an eternity.”

But I somehow always manage to survive. Today marked day 17 of a 30-day challenge of daily hot yoga.

Each day I go to the class knowing exactly what to expect. The room is always 105 degrees and 40% humidity. The poses are the same each day, done in the same order, for the same amount of time. But inside, my body feels dramatically different from the day before.

Most people think of Bikram yoga as a special little corner of hell. More often than not, the first class drives people into a dizzy, nauseated state leaving them wishing they had never walked into the hot room in the first place.

The class is stressful, it’s hard to stare at your own terrifically sweaty body for 90 minutes. Harder still is avoiding the inevitable comparison of those around you – old men, super fit young ladies, not-so-fit people trying to make a positive change in their life – you name the type, and odds are they’ll be right beside you, in front of or behind you, sweating more than is humanly possible.

It’s a mental battle to stay awake, focused, and moving during the class. The experience is wildly uncomfortable and it’s almost as if your mind retaliates for putting your body into a furnace for an hour and half. Crazy thoughts creep in and emotions tucked deep in your heart are released in your throat, and up out of your mouth in a quick fit of hysteria.

Then you’re on the floor again, for a moment, allowing your mind to cool off and your heart to chill out a bit. The feeling soon passes and whether you know it or not, you’re suddenly lighter.

The lightness doesn’t kick in until about a half hour after class. At which point you’re suddenly the highest high you can imagine, provided you downed at least a liter of water. Stress is gone, relaxation sets in, and the high lingers with every subsequent sip of water.

Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and do it all over again. And my body will thank me for it. My laundry budget, on the other hand, will not be so grateful.

improve.

I'm 24 and broke up with my job

A year ago I was giddy with excitement at my new job at a fabulous advertising agency. I was going to be creating brilliant campaigns! Developing strategies! And beating impossible deadlines!

All of which, I did.

In doing so, my friendships tanked, my face got zitty and at one point, 10 days before a huge event, my body broke out in stress-related hives.

Don’t get me wrong, I adored my co-workers and my company did some fantastic work, but my heart and body were screaming at my mind to get with the program and get back to what I do best. So that’s what I’m trying to do now, reconnect with things I’m passionate about and genuinely good at.

The trouble is that all of the things I’m good at are soft skills. If I may compare my talents to food, my signature cuisine would look a lot like a fine French bakery: sweet, savory, delicious and certainly not always necessary to have.

Connecting, storytelling, organizing puzzling projects, analyzing others -- these are the things I’m really good at, but that doesn’t mean I have companies knocking down my door for my services.

Like almost every other 20-something in the US, I’m saddled with loads of student debt and a pathetic excuse for a savings account. The current economic climate for my generation is a distinct and classic mix of glasses half-full and half-empty.

The half-full crew are the brilliant entrepreneurs of the startup movement. Encouraged by new technology and driven by the spirit to change the world, these folks have the brilliant ideas and skills to make our world more engaged and connected than ever.

On the same token, there is this little monster known as the “recession.” The news tells us the job market is toxic and impenetrable, businesses are dreading the impending Fiscal Cliff and consequently nervous to bring on new hires, and the global economic health is feeble and in need of a bowl of chicken soup.

As a result of both perspectives, I feel simultaneously excited for new prospects and silly for walking away from something stable and reliable. It’s as if I called off an engagement to a man I was planning on marrying.

Up until this fall, I had never in my life had to put in a two-week notice.  What’s worse is that I didn’t even have a backup job, a “rebound,” if you will. When it’s not right, it’s not right, so I cut my losses and walked away.

Now 20 days in to this strange purgatory of exploration and investigation, I feel more in tune with myself than I have in months. However, being in-tune with oneself doesn’t necessarily pay the bills.

Every single (un)employed person out there has something unique to contribute to the world. I know I have a little something special, too. It’s just a matter of finding a soul mate, err perfect profession, which is mutually compatible.

 improve. think.

Standing Ovation

This post is a little bit lazy... it's going to be 99% sharing someone else's words and only 1% writing my own. But that 1% will be meaningful.

For all of you astrology geeks out there (maybe you're like me and became one slowly, one Elle daily horoscope at a time), today was the start of a new sign. My sign (Virgo) hung up its hat for the next 11 months. 

Since the 23rd of August there have been extraordinarily high highs and some very low moments (a trip to the ER and an unexpectedly solo flight back to the States). It's been a month of focusing on the change -- the gap between where I am now and where I was a month, 6 months, or 18 months ago. There has been an intense focus on the things in my life that are unpleasant or uncomfortable and a new energy to take tangible action and do something about it. 

Why not applaud the magic of the world's heartbeat and breath and embrace the always changing tectonics beneath our feet and embedded in our souls. It's terrifying. But it's how we grow.

Go on, clap.

http://zenhabits.net/applause/
think. improve.