Sometimes Lessons are Learned the Hard Way

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I have learned some really great lessons while traveling – like always keep your passport on your person at all times, locking your luggage with a TSA approved lock doesn’t mean that they will actually take the time to use their tool because cutting it off is easier, and avoid checking your luggage if you can. Those lessons weren’t particularly difficult to learn for me personally, but on the trip to Italy and Greece, I did learn one lesson the hard way.

To fully understand this lesson, I must remind you of my newly found understanding of my aversion to moving in inhuman ways, i.e. flying. If you missed that, feel free to read about it in this blog post.

On this trip with EF Tours, we toured Italy AND Greece. So after our wonderful evening in Pisa, we took a ferry from Ancona, Italy to Igoumenitsa, Greece. We took a bus from Florence to Ancona, which took about 3 1/2 hours. Loading up the ferry took nearly just as long, but it was fun to explore. This was the first time I’d ever taken a ferry of that size. It was basically a small town! The rooms were basically glorified closets, but there were multiple dinning rooms, entertainment areas, gaming rooms (for kids and adults), and countless decks to explore a 365 degree view of the Italian coastline and then nothing but the Adriatic Sea. It was beautiful!

Well.. back to my lesson…

So, I bummed some motion sickness medicine from a student and looked forward to a puke-less trip across the Adriatic Sea. A little bit later, the chaperones met up on the top deck to sit and chat until it was time for dinner. One of the parents had purchased a bottle of wine in Florence and we all sat down to share the bottle– about eight adults drinking one bottle of wine. I had about the equivalent of a Dixie cup’s worth of red wine.

And… you guessed it… about 15 minutes later I was drunker than a skunk, not a sensation I am super familiar with, and definitely not a sensation I enjoyed. I hardly ate any food due to the world spinning and wobbling simultaneously. I went to bed at about 7pm and slept until the next morning.

SO… lesson learned… motion sickness medicine and booze, even in small amounts, DO NOT MIX!

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My last unintoxicated view from the ship

The Enchanting Magic of Pisa

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On the epic trip that EF prepared for us, we were not “supposed” to go to Pisa. However, after we requested a side trip, our tour guide agreed to take us the Friday night after we had been in Florence.  I nearly didn’t go because it was an extra fee to pay the bus driver and a tour guide when we got to Pisa. However, since all the group was going, I decided to go as well… and my life is better for having gone.

We arrived in Pisa after dark, and like all of Italy, it was breathtakingly beautiful. Our tour guide met us by the baptistry (see my Florence post about the significance of the different buildings). She there gave us a brief history of the bad soil in Pisa that caused not only the bell tower, but also the baptistry to be slightly tilted.  People don’t often know about the baptistry because the tower is much more tilted.

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Because it was Good Friday, there was a quiet hush over the area due to actual services going on in the cathedral. Our tour guide even whispered as she gave us the history of many doors on religious buildings in Italy and around Europe. Much of the general populace (during the times the religious buildings were constructed) could not read. So often the doors told religious stories so that the illiterate masses could see them rather than read them.

These are the doors on the cathedral at Pisa, including one of the tiles that apparently has something to do with finding love… that tile is actually shiny from the humber of people who rub it for a blessing/good luck.

We were not allowed to go inside the cathedral as it was invitation only due to the presence of a very important Cardinal… or something like that. We were disappointed, of course, but it made sense why they wouldn’t want a bunch of American teenagers just bursting in.

So we walked around the outside and over toward the tower where our guide talked to us more about the tower’s history. Apparently, no one wanted to take “credit” for the starting of the tower, so there is some controversy as to who began its construction. It was only two floors high when it began to sink. They took a nearly 100 year break in the construction due to conflict with Florence and other surrounding towns. This was apparently a good thing because it gave the foundation a chance to settle.

The tower continues to sink a little bit from year to year. It was even bolstered up in the late 90s to decrease the degree of the leaning, but it will likely need to be done again at some point. It was quite an impressive sight to see. I’d heard about it, of course, but I really had no idea how dramatic the lean was. It is positively impressive that it doesn’t tip over. The uppermost floors are smaller than the others to reduce the appearance of the lean and also to add less weight to the structure.

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As we finished our official tour with the local guide, our main tour guide gave us ten minutes before we needed to head back. However, just a few moments later we started to hear singing coming from the speakers mounted on the outside of the cathedral. At first we didn’t know there were speakers, and it was a very beautiful and eerie collection of voices coming from… well, we didn’t know where.

And then, someone pointed out that there was some kind of procession off in the distance from the direction of the town. At the front of the procession was this very important Cardinal carrying an enormous cross, and people were just falling in step behind him, creating this long chain of people from the town who were all singing the same song that was coming from the cathedral. It was obviously in Italian, so I don’t know what the song was, but it was haunting and magnificent.

The procession went into the cathedral, and everyone poured in… so I did too! I got some amazing video of the procession – the Cardinal, other important religious looking people, civilians, and also first responders (police, firemen, etc). Everyone was singing and pouring into the church… it was positively magical!

I’ve mentioned before in other posts that I am not Catholic, but Italy has this way of making you feel a part of the religious experience even though you technically aren’t. The emotion of it all makes it very understandable that nearly 90% of Italy identifies as Catholic (even though only 36% of them consider themselves devout). On this religious holiday, it seemed as though the entire city of Pisa was in or around the cathedral as we open mouthed tourists stood outside.

I called my parents afterward (my father was raised Catholic) and actually cried as I described the beauty of the experience to them.

I don’t remember how much money it cost me to go to Pisa, but it was worth it a million times over! Pisa is a glorious place to spend Good Friday… and probably regular Fridays too.

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Birthplace of the Renaissance – Florence, Italy

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There are few places on Earth that give me the kind of joy that Florence, Italy did! The pictures I took on this dreary day do not come close to highlighting the beauty that Florence offers.

In preparation for the trip to Italy, I watched the first season of the Netflix series The Medici – a bit too rated R for me, but it highlights the rise of the Medici family and everything they did for Florence in the 13 and 1400s. Along with a healthy amount of unnecessary sex and love… quadrangles (?) was some of the history of Florence. It is a fascinating city!

The construction of the duomo is filled with scandal, sabotage, and political gain, but dear God it’s beautiful! Once again, the religious holiday made it impractical to inside due to the lines, but we did get to see all of Florence that day.

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This is the bell tower and cathedral in Florence (the duomo is behind this). The detail is unimaginable – so intricate, it is no wonder it took a hundred and forty years to complete this masterpiece!

A short history about the construction of cathedrals and their surrounding buildings in Europe:

  • Cathedrals and bell towers were originally constructed as separate buildings- unlike today where they are constructed together.
  • Originally, the you were not permitted to enter the cathedral until you had been baptized, so older cathedrals have a separate building called the baptistry. That way people could (pay to) get baptized, and then be able to enter the cathedral in order to worship, receive the sacraments, and to attend confession.
  • Baptisteries were octagonal in shape because in Christian numerology (which was very popular at the time), the number eight follows the “perfect” number 7, thus symbolizing a new beginning.

Pretty cool, huh! Who knew!

Below is a picture of me at the Paradise gate on the baptistery in Florence — so there is Ms. Paradise, in front of Paradise gate 🙂

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Also on our tour we passed the sculpture garden of the Medici family. One of the many things the Medici did for the city was finance artists. The sculpture garden was more of a courtyard than a “garden” – but it was insanely impressive, and during our free time I sat there and wrote in my journal to try to process the beauty of the city.

We had lunch at a beautiful little cafe with tasty, albeit expensive sandwiches, and of course a glass of red wine that was the same price as a Coca-Cola- one of the many reasons why I loved Italy!

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My friend and I also took the advice of our tour guide and found a glorious cafe at the top of a department store that gave us an amazing view of the city. There we had a cappuccino (of course) and sat and talked while enjoying the view of Florence from the air.

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Florence’s most famous tourist attraction is the Ponte Vecchio. It is one of the most recognizable bridges in all of Italy, and it is basically an ancient high-end strip mall. I’m over-simplifying of course, but it was interesting to see the beauty of the bridge lined with jewelry shops and leather purses. However, it is historically accurate. The bridge was the center of commerce when it was first constructed.

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The day was sunny and glorious – but there was so much more of Florence that I would have loved to have seen. It would be very easy to spend a week in Florence, and we were only there for a little over a day. There is, of course, the museum where they have the statue of David. Unfortunately I didn’t get to see that. It was an option, but due to the crowds and our time constraints, I chose to see more of the city and experience more of Florence rather than wait in lines. However, on the outskirts of town they do have a replica that was rather impressive too!

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Next week’s post will be about the most amazing evening of the entire trip – our impromptu trip to Pisa!

Rome Wasn’t Visited in a Day

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Day two in Rome was unimaginably packed. If someone would have told me we could have seen as much as we did in one day and still have time to eat food, I would not have believed them!

We started out the day at the Roman catacombs just outside of the original walls of the city. Unfortunately you are not allowed to take pictures in the catacombs (flash or no flash it is a no no), and I am a rule follower, so I didn’t take any pictures inside. The catacombs were not nearly as creepy as I imagined miles of underground crypts would be. The stories our guide told us were truly fascinating– from debunking the myths that the Christians hid there to avoid persecution to telling us about the modern Christian symbols that originated as catacomb graffiti to signify to other believes of a fellow Christian. We only saw a very small portion of the catacombs, but it felt like we walked for miles! It’s truly amazing the amount of underground tunneling beneath a massive city.

Once we were outside, we were allowed to take pictures of the the replicas seen below of famous graffiti from the tombs.

After leaving the catacombs we met up with the rest of our group (who had decided to tour Rome on their own instead of going to the catacombs) at the basilica called Saint Paul’s Outside the Walls – also on the outside of the Roman walls.

I am not Catholic, but this place moved me in a way I did not expect. The beauty of this church was unbelievable! We visited Rome during Holy Week (the week before Easter), and they were prepping for Easter services, and boy… they weren’t holding anything back. Below are a few pictures that honestly do not even come close to doing it justice.

I do not have the words to describe this place. Truly there are none that give explanation to the grandeur of St. Paul’s. The statue of Paul in the outer courtyard is huge – just the podium it rests on is probably 7 or 8 feet tall. The Holy Door, or the door of jubilee (with the large cross on it), is over 12 feet tall and only opened for very special occasions that would probably make more sense to a devout Catholic than they do to me (who is only Catholic if it’s passed genetically).

Also inside (and pictured above) are what is believed to be the remains of Saint Paul of Tarsus. The basilica was purposefully built over the site where Paul was buried after he was martyred. This portion of the tour meant a little less to me since the bones of Saint Paul really aren’t that intriguing to me (especially since no one knows if they really are his). However, the art and architecture of this building are stunning. Gold covered everything, and painted portraits of every pope throughout history line the walls like some kind of gloriously pious wallpaper boarder.

Despite my lack of Catholic faith, my eyes got a little misty as I thought about how amazed my grandparents would be at this place. Irish Catholic, through and through, they would have been stunned by the beauty and history.

The highlight of my day, however, was our third stop for the day: the colosseum. I knew I would love it before I even saw it. Literature and history (and even film) are so intertwined, that the colosseum has been something that has always fascinated me. And like everything else on this trip, the colosseum blew me away. I am not embarrassed to say that I wept a little as we toured the corridors and looked out upon the city. The stones, the steps, the passageways, and the intensely vast opening of the arena are wrought with history and legend and rugged beauty. Though some may not see the crumbling ruins of such a dark place as beautiful, as I touched the walls my mind swirled around the history of the place. That I, Allison from Indiana, was standing there where people before the time of Christ stood watching magnificent and gruesome battles carried out. Just writing about it gives me chills!

My only slight disappointment was that I did not realize that there was no longer a floor. I imagined, as I was planning for the trip, that I could walk out into the middle of the colosseum, raise my hands and shout, “ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?” at the top of my lungs in a glorious moment of camaraderie with Russel Crow in The Gladiator. However, since the floor was made of wood, and would need to be continually replaced over the years, they leave it open so that you can see all the hidden jails and trap doors that make the colosseum so ominous. There is a small portion where (for an additional fee) you can walk out a few feet, but that just wasn’t going to be the same, so I didn’t waste the Euros.

Next we traveled a short distance to the Roman Forum, which was also very interesting. At first I didn’t particularly want to go. And yet again, I was surprised by what I had thought would be boring. The Roman Forum was a hub in ancient Rome. Business took place there, politics, and even the assassination of Julius Caesar.

Believe it or not, we did all of this before having lunch at an adorable pizzeria just a few blocks from our next country – Vatican City! Stay tuned for next week’s post on more about that visit.

Italy: Rome, day one

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If you are expecting a glorious beginning to my travels, you are going to be very much disappointed.

To explain how terribly the start to this trip went, we have to back up to October 2016. I was less than a month away from my first solo trip abroad when my son got the stomach flu. One thing that I was not prepared for as a parent is that when your children get sick, it is truly only a matter of time before you also get sick. Sure enough, just as my son was starting to feel better, I got kicked in the gut with the worst stomach flu I’d ever had.

At the time I was not too worried about my trip being in jeopardy since my son had gotten better in just a few days. Mine did last longer, almost a full week before all was said and done. However, even then, I still had a very tender stomach for a few weeks.

When I got on the plane in late November, I really didn’t think there would be any problems, but during my eight hour layover (yes, eight hours!) in New York City, my stomach felt increasingly … bleh. And approximately ten minutes after take-off to Dublin, I began vomiting and didn’t stop until about two hours after I landed. I’ll eventually tell that story, but not today.  Then I blamed my sickness on my weakened stomach from the flu.

Flash-forward to ten minutes after take-off on the flight from JFK to Rome. Sandwiched between a dear friend and a former student I began throwing up. I continued to throw up every 20-30 minutes for the entire flight. Fortunately (?) once we landed I felt relatively “fine,” though I did get a little queasy on the bus ride into the city.

So… apparently I get motion sickness on planes. WHO KNEW!

However, once we started walking around Rome (much like when I started walking around Dublin), I began to feel much better.

At the airport, we were greeted by our tour guide, Raquel, who spoke about six languages fluently and is possibly the fastest walker in the history of humankind. We basically hit the ground running. We arrived in Rome about 10am and went straight to the city center.

Our first stop was just a couple of blocks from the Trevi Fountain (pictured above). Immediately I was in awe of Rome. Of course I knew it was an old city, but even having been to Ireland, I had no concept of how old Rome would be. The cobbled streets can be quite treacherous, but they are positively beautiful. It was intense to imagine the centuries of travel those stones had seen. How many feet? tires? horses? had walked on these very steps? I couldn’t wrap my brain around it.

One of the first things on my agenda was to get a cappuccino in the birthplace of cappuccinos. So, my friend and I found a cafe just off of the square where the fountain was and ordered our first cappuccinos. We sat outside and listened to the people and the fountain and drank slowly, trying to soak in every minute of amazingness.

 

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Chelsea’s first Italian cappuccino

And it was there that we first learned the pace of eating in Italy is NOT the same pace at which they drive (or walk). Despite the fact that they drive as though they were fleeing Satan’s wrath, they eat and drink as though they have all the time in the world.  We finished our cappuccino, but waited another ten minutes for the waitress to bring us our check. However, we refused to get flustered by it and enjoyed the time watching people and listening to the water of the fountain.

After the fountain, we walked all over and saw amazing things: the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps (they lead to the Spanish Embassy- which is where they got their name), and tons of other beautiful sites.

We ate lunch at a small cafe, and I decided to be brave and eat caviar. It actually wasn’t that bad! I had it with salmon risotto. I’m not a big fan of fish, but I figured having fish in Rome would be quite a bit different than having it in Indiana. I wasn’t wrong. It was much better than I had anticipated!

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Next week’s post will be more about Rome — the Colosseum, St. Paul outside the Walls, the Catacombs, and the Vatican.

“You stayed WHERE?” And Other Things People Say to Solo Travelers.

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Photo taken from The Times’ website

“You stayed WHERE?”

I’ve heard that question nearly every time I recounted my “take back” trip to Ireland.  When I chose to go to Ireland on my own, I had to make some choices. One of those choices was where to stay. The biggest obstacle I encountered was that if I wanted to stay in Dublin, and I did for multiple reasons, the cost of just sleeping was going to be astronomical. This was going to make my trip either more complicated or impossible. I could stay outside of Dublin for a less expensive cost, but then either have to rent a car and drive into the city each day (huge cost and stress) or spend as much as an hour and a half on public transportation each way – costing me precious time on my whirlwind trip. However, I simply could not afford to stay in Dublin because the cost of the hotel would more than double the cost of my trip.

Consequently I looked into other options and landed on staying in a hostel.

And this is where the American readers’ eyes bulge nearly out of their skulls.

To Americans, hostels are the scenes for horror movies, at the worst, or, at the very least,  a place for a likely sexual assault. Because of this, I chose not to tell many people until I returned to the US.

In my (not so) humble opinion, staying in a hostel is absolutely the way to go for a single traveler. Not only did it make my trip financially easier, it also provided me with so much more!

I found The Times Hostel in Dublin while looking for places to stay near the center of Dublin. As I mentioned in my post about Dublin, The Times was literally across the street from Trinity College (one of my favorite places in Dublin) and that was the main selling point. But I was also able to get a bed in a small room for only women. So I booked the bed – 20€ (approximately $23) a night instead of the cheapest, non-sleazy looking hotel that was 125€ (approximately $140) a night.

In full disclosure, I was a little nervous. However, all the things I read online about this hostel reinforced that this was a very safe option. So I embarked to Ireland. And The Times was even better than I could have imagined.

My room included a bathroom and three racks of bunk beds (pictured below). It was clean and neat. The only thing that was a slight inconvenience is that it was on the third floor (in Europe that means the equivalent of the 4th floor) and there was no elevator, which is pretty par for the course in buildings in Europe (unless they’ve undergone major renovations, which is not something hostels are known for).

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Photo taken from The Times’ website

What hostels offer for the single traveler is community. On my first night, my dorm room  housed six ladies – of which I was the oldest by about eight years. Four of us were Americans, one was from Germany, one from France.

Each night the hostel offers one community event. My first night was wine and cheese night. For no fee, the hostel provides (cheap) wine, cheese, and crackers. As a room we all decided to go down together, and we talked until late in the evening. Of the Americans we were from Indianapolis, Chicago, Texas, and Arizona and were 38, 30, 28, and 21 (respectively) and all there for very different reasons, and we were all traveling alone.

Texas and I decided to see the city together the next day on the Hop-On-Hop-Off bus since the two of us would still be in the city. We spent the entire day together the next day and had a wonderful time exploring the city, laughing, and discussing our various reasons for our solo trips. We got pretty deep… and I do not even know her last name. Despite our closeness that day, we knew we were both unlikely to ever see the other ever again, so we didn’t bother exchanging information. Nonetheless, it was a wonderful day, and she left the next morning to fly back to Texas.

On the other nights the guests continued to change, and we exchanged casual conversation. One woman (35) was Irish and came to stay at The Times every week from Thursday to Saturday so that she could work. The small village where she lived did not have a enough jobs to go around, and so she came to the city and stayed in order to have enough money to stay in her family home.

On Wednesday night I went to the common room (pictured below) and met a young man from India who was living at the hostel because it was cheaper than renting a flat. I helped him type up a resume for his interview the next day, smoothing out the edges of his relatively extensive knowledge of English.

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Photo taken from The Times’ website

Overall the people who stayed at the hostel were friendly and eager to make new friends. It was an experience that I cannot do justice to in a single blog post, but it will have to suffice. I highly advise solo travelers to stay at a hostel instead of a hotel where social interaction is much more difficult and awkward. In a hostel, those who stay to themselves are few and far between; it is truly a community experience.

There are several things a hostel “newbie” would need to know before staying at a hostel– fuel for a future blog post, I’m sure. But in general, I highly suggest it, especially for the solo traveler who doesn’t necessarily want seclusion.

Check out The Times Hostel here — I stayed at the College Street location. They do not know about my post, and I am not being paid for any kind of endorsement. They are just awesome, and I want to promote them (though I doubt they need it).

My Take-Back Year (and a half)

Over the last nine years I have taken significant losses in my life– an unborn child, a marriage, friends, family, dreams, and ideals. And for the last eight years I feel like I’ve been in a holding pattern.  I made choices based on a general concept that I was waiting for my life to change, and I couldn’t do too much until it did change.

But starting in July 2016, I finally started to pull myself out of the holding pattern. I began to live my life as it is, not hoping for what it could some day become.

In July 2016 I bought a plane ticket to Ireland. Just one. I planned for months for what I hoped would be an epic take-back of my life. And it was everything I wanted it to be… well, except for puking the entire way from New York to Dublin… Despite the many people who looked at me with pity or skepticism that I was making this trip alone, I absolutely had the time of my life. Four days is a whirlwind trip, but those four days were the most glorious four days I think I’ve ever had.  I had time to reflect on who I had become, who I wanted to be, and how to get there.

This year was void of a major trip due to the purchase of a new car in February; however, I tried to continue my “take-back.” I started taking care of my mental health– trying to build relationships and focus on becoming a generally less broken version of myself. There were a few set backs, times when I felt crushed and that my heart was being trampled on yet again, but the difference was that this time I had a better support system in place and I was able to bounce back.

I also focused more on my writing this year, taking on a project that has been exciting and in many ways discouraging. Though the rejection letters keep pouring in, I try to keep my head up and my focus set. Even if my novels never get picked up by an agent, I know that I love what I do, and for me, that is enough.

So as I continue my quest for rebuilding myself in 2018, I look forward to the ways that life and adventure will open up my world.  In March I head to Italy and Greece with a group from school.  I look forward to seeing new things and finding a little bit more of who I am.  I can now say that I am more excited about moving forward than I am held back by the things that tried to drag me down.

Here is to a great 2018!

The Project of Secrets

I’ve decided to transform this blog that I don’t really use anymore to something more than a place to vent my frustrations to the world. Because I learned something…

No one is listening.

There are enough complainers in the world. I want to do something more productive.

Now, my idea is far from original. In fact people have been doing similar things since the days of Post Secret… does that still exist anymore? After I finished writing my 2016 National Novel Writing Month novel, an idea came to me in a lightening bolt. An “ah ha” of sorts after talking with an acquaintance who I originally thought I had very little in common with. Turns out, I was wrong.

The “ah ha” was that there are SO many things that we keep secret for one reason or twelve. We keep certain things about us so close that few (if any) people know about the things that are the closest to our souls. The things that shaped and formed us into who we are.  Sometimes it’s just a matter of not know how to bring it up or maybe it’s just not deemed “appropriate” to share, but sometimes there are darker reasons we keep things hidden.

 

The problem with all this silence is that we then feel isolated. All of us feeling alone about things that we are not alone about! Why? Why don’t we share?

We are afraid.

We’re afraid what people will think of us, what people will think of our family. We don’t want people to look at us differently or pity us. It’s uncomfortable.  It’s embarrassing. We are so afraid to be open with each other that we would just rather be miserable in our self-imposed isolation.

Now, I realize I’m not talking about everyone.

There is a lady that told me her entire life story while we were waiting in the checkout line at Meijer. There are people who post about everything from what they had for breakfast to the seedy details of their family dramas on social media. But honestly, those people are a relatively small part of the population.

And there are others who have been blessed with extremely fortunate lives who don’t feel like they have to keep anything hidden from anyone.

And still others who do not suffer from the same feelings of isolation that many of us do surrounding sorrow and trauma.

So, my plan for my next novel was to write about all the things we don’t talk about. Here’s the challenge… people don’t talk about the things people don’t talk about.

Or do they?

I reached out on Facebook for people to give me ideas of things that people don’t talk about. Over 40 people responded to the post when I asked them the first thing that came to mind when they heard “no one ever talks about…”  I got everything from religion to rape. And it exploded from there– people messaged me on Facebook telling me they wanted me to tell their stories… I have to admit it was overwhelming. I had to put it off until the summer (I do this strange thing called teaching during the rest of the year), but I scheduled over 30 interviews with co-workers, acquaintances, former students, and parents of former students ALL willing to talk about “the things we don’t talk about.”

I cried with people I barely knew. I held former students while they cried. I had matter of fact conversations about extremely difficult topics.

Two interesting things I came away with from those interviews:

  1. Though I am not extremely close with any of these people, they were will to talk about these VERY heavy topics when given the opportunity.
  2. Every person- every one of them thanked ME. (insert WHAAAAAT face here) Some thanked me for listening. Some thanked me for being willing to address topics that they feel no one else will. I was expecting a lot of things doing these interviews, but I was not expecting people to be grateful to me. I was grateful for THEM being so open.

This leads me to believe that we don’t want to be silent and isolated about these things. We just need someone to listen. WHEW! Mind blown.

This month I’m attempting to do justice to all of the stories I heard and I know I will fall massively short. Another thing I didn’t count on with this project is how many people want to see it already. I have told a few people that when I let someone read what I’ve written, I kind of feel like I’m dancing naked in front of them. Because even though these are necessarily my stories… my heart is in them. And, let’s face it… after rejection letter 32 came last week, I’m becoming doubtful of my writing abilities. 🙂 But that’s another blog post.

So— Here is my part. As a thank you to those who have shared, and in the spirit of sharing things that we don’t talk about… here is what I don’t talk about:

I don’t talk to people about the paralyzing fear that I have that may not ever find someone who will love me. I see friends and coworkers get divorced or become widowed and get remarried and still I sit – single as the hair on Charlie Brown’s head.  I fear that there is something tragically wrong with me. I know I am loved by my parents and my son and my friends and even my students. But in the nine years that I have been single, not one date has worked out. And it’s been over a year since I’ve even been on a date. I am a nearly 40 year old, over-weight, single mom.  Let’s just be honest, I am not the kind of person that someone sees across a crowded room and goes over to talk to.  I work at a high school where my co-workers are married or WAY too young. I go to a church filled with people who are married or WAY too young. I don’t go to bars. I go to coffee shops– but that’s not really the place where someone comes up and says, ‘hey, can I buy you a latte?’ I tried online dating MULTIPLE times and only received completely inappropriate comments (even–scratch that, especially on Christian Mingle) or men in their 60s who live in Wyoming. I’ve been set up by friends only to meet the person and never hear from them again. So in my brain the logical conclusion is that there is something undeniably rejectable about me.

Whew. Thank you for listening…. er… reading.

My challenge to you: Talk to someone about the thing(s) you don’t talk about. It is surprisingly therapeutic.