I brought in 2015 by watching fireworks at the Coliseum at midnight and running around Rome until 5 a.m. with a group of friends, trying to avoid literal bombs being set off in the streets, which is, apparently, par for the course when it comes to Italian New Year’s celebrations. That night really did set the tone for a whole year full of adventure and unexpected twists and turns. Looking back on some of my earlier posts, I can hardly believe the wide range of lifestyles I’ve lived this year: teaching in Sicily, hostel-hopping around Europe, bumming around at home, starting law school, and bumming around at home again to wrap it all up. Every part of the year came with its own difficulties (most of which deal with the common theme of acceptance, as I cleverly indicated in the title of this post), but they each had their own unique tone.
At the beginning of 2015, I was still struggling with Italian life. I was quickly growing frustrated with how impossible it seemed to fit into Italian society. The gusto with which I had started my Fulbright year began to fade, and now, with some time for reflection, I can finally admit that I was, in fact, quite lonely. And depressed at times.
It became clear to me that I would never really be accepted in this society. The fabric was too complex, and I didn’t exactly look the part either. It’s hard to describe the combination of hospitality and alienation I experienced in Italy–halfway between a tourist and an immigrant, between a linguistic novice and a fluent ex-pat, being an employed college graduate with a small, but important, network of people, and yet perceived by strangers as one of the many South Asian immigrants escaping their native lands to try to make a better life in Italy. For the first time in my life, I experienced the incredible isolation of an immigrant’s life, despite being an immigrant to the U.S. myself. But in Italy, I was not a model minority, I was not 5 years old, and I always had the comfortable notion of knowing I was going home soon enough.
When I took a moment to realize that other immigrants, many of whom leave their countries only due to inconceivable hardship, do not have this notion of “home” to rely on, the true pain of an immigrant’s or a refugee’s journey dawned on me.
In Italy, I accepted I would never be seen as one of them, as hard as I tried. But I also accepted that this weight was far easier for me to bear because of the million advantages and privileges that gave me some solace in the face of such loneliness. My compassion for immigrants and refugees increased hundredfold, and, looking at the dialogue we’ve seen about the topic this year, I think that was a crucial moment in my personal development.
The Fulbright experience ended up making me a better conversationalist, less fearful, and (I hope) a better friend. Because, as I learned when my friends finally arrived from the U.S. to travel with me, the luxury of comfortable companionship makes everything better. I still value the importance of loneliness and self-reflection, but too much time in your own head definitely drives you a little bit crazy.
All this being said, I’m only one semester into law school, and I already miss the adventures of travel and exploration. The thrill of finding a cute little nook or alley of a famous city, the awesome weight of being in a space laden with history, the emotions of seeing great art or being in the presence of great inspiration are all a little lacking in my new life of logic, analysis, and endless, endless reading (and not the fun kind, either).
I haven’t posted since the end of my travels, and that’s because law school has consumed my life. It’s been difficult to even stop and breathe, much less think, write, and create in the way I used to. My poor guitar has been collecting dust in its case.
Law school has been an exercise in accepting that I cannot, in fact, do everything. Certain things must go on the back-burner right now in order to have the career I want to have and to do my job well.
It’s been a bittersweet realization. I remember sitting in my Ithaca apartment, which rattles every time a somewhat large truck drives by the road in front of it, poring over yet another contract case about what constitutes an offer, and suddenly finding myself crying when one of my favorite songs started playing on my computer. Was it partially stress and exhaustion? Probably. But it was also that I hadn’t experienced beauty or art or culture or all those things I grew to love as a humanities major in months. I used to spend my weekends hopping around the greatest centers of art and culture. I used to read great works of literature…for school. I used to feel something every day of my life. And all of a sudden, life had taken a drastic turn.
Nothing could have made this contrast more apparent than a brief weekend break from law school, when I journeyed to Boston to reunite with my beloved Veritones and sing with other people for the first time in months. It was so wonderful to be standing up on that stage with people who know me to my very core, experiencing that inexplicable bond that comes through years of singing together. It’s a sensation unlike any other.
And yet, even knowing all these things, I’m happy. I love the artistic side of myself, but, in law school, despite the relative dryness of the subject matter, I know I’m gaining the tools I need to help people in a meaningful way. I’m enjoying the intellectual challenges, and I feel confident–for the first time in my life–that I am where I’m supposed to be. I’m doing something that I will find fulfilling and important. I will undoubtedly have difficulties, and I will have to take risks, and I will have to push through incredibly frustrating times I’m sure (my first semester of law school was not without its (really) low points), but it’s a journey I’m willing to take.
It certainly helps to be accompanied by some truly amazing friends that all have what I value the most: a good sense of humor, putting to rest that lawyer stereotype you have mulling about in your head (ha!). And because of the very powerful nature of the bonding experience of 1L year, for better or for worse, this is the fastest I’ve grown so close to so many people. Especially after the first half of this year, new friendships are not something I take halfheartedly. Occasionally, when I’m overwhelmed by annoyance or drama or frustration at the people in this very small world of law school, I remind myself how desperate I was, just several months ago, to talk to anyone, anyone, my age who could simply speak English fluently.
Of course, with this acceptance of my new life, and the relief and gratitude of realizing that I do, in fact, enjoy it, comes a little nagging fear that this is the beginning of the long, hard road of adulthood. That bit by bit, the logical, all-consuming nature of a legal career will take over and will overshadow the softer parts of my soul, that the rat race at the beginning of my legal journey will make me lose sight of the bigger goals I have, the goals that are informed by the fundamental understandings and insights I gained from my humanities background. That acceptance will soon turn into complacency and my own inertia will prevent me from leading the life I want to lead.
Alas, every theme has its flip side, and acceptance is no exception. But the good (?) news, I suppose, is having the remarkable knowledge that all of these choices are up to me.
Thank you to everyone who followed my crazy mishaps and bumps along the road this year; it’s been quite the ride. According to WordPress’ Year in Summary for me, the posts that resonated the most with you all were “Limbo“, “Language, Etc.“, and “Last Days in Sicily.” Notably, these posts were all written during some of my lowest moments abroad–perhaps darkness really does beget the best art? To anyone that offered me words of support and encouragement after reading my blog: thank you, thank you, thank you. I cannot begin to express how helpful they were and how grateful I was to receive them.
One last thing: I’ve recently learned about a very cool organization trying to ameliorate the abysmal way in which homeless women’s hygienic needs are treated. Check out this article, the non-profit #happyperiod, and their GoFundMe page to learn more if you’re still feeling the charitable buzz of the holiday season.
Peace and love.