Sometimes writing is hard even for writers; sometimes because I can’t find the right words, sometimes because I don’t know how to translate what I’m feeling.
I’ve lived in a bubble all my life. My hometown, Grandview Heights, is a small suburb just outside of Columbus, Ohio. I walked to school every day because our school district is too small for buses. I can name every street in order from one side of town to the other. I graduated high school in a class of 89. After high school, I moved to another bubble for college–Miami University is only so big when 60% of the student body comes from Columbus, Cincinnati, Cleveland, or Chicago. Oxford is bigger than Grandview, but the streets are still intimate and confining. These bubbles have given me great opportunities and I am so lucky for that. I have always been surrounded by tight-knit communities that support their members and people who care about me and my well-being. These are wonderful, safe, nurturing places, but I know there’s more I need to see.
It’s not uncommon to hear about a college-age girl who aspires to travel. With the number of social media influencers taking beautiful pictures in Santorini, Ibiza, or Thailand, getting paid to promote skin care products or detox teas, and wearing the cutest, coolest high-end clothing, it’s easy to get sucked into the fantasy. The first time I went out of the country was on a three-day cruise to the Bahamas with my family. We got to get off the ship and roam around the island for a few hours; I thought the brightly painted buildings were pretty and the drivers were crazy and that’s about all my eleven-year-old mind took note of. When we went to Niagara Falls and stayed on the Canadian side for a couple nights, I heard a few people with accents and was intrigued. My senior year of high school, I went to Costa Rica for a week with my Spanish class and we hiked, swam, rode horses, went ziplining. On that trip we also got to visit a school; we played soccer with the kids, sang our countries’ national anthems to each other, and spoke in broken Spanish. The school building was one room and I remember thinking: wow, this is such a different culture and way of life. I was not well traveled. My experience out of my small town in Ohio was limited.
I was ready to leave home by the time August 2017 rolled around. I wasn’t sad or scared to leave my small town and everything and everyone I had grown up with, I was ready for college and I could only think of the positives. During winter break my sophomore year of college, I went to Italy for a month with my best friend and I was ecstatic. I turned around one last time to wave to my mom as we made it through the security line, and I could see the worry in her eyes from across the room. She was smiling but crying and I could tell she was scared to death I would get kidnapped or lost or just straight up disappear into thin air and never return. I had never been on a plane for more than a few hours, I had never been to Europe, I spoke no Italian–there were so many firsts–but I wasn’t worried.
So, in December 2019 when I booked my plane ticket to the Dominican Republic, naturally I was nothing but excited. I was excited to travel to a new place and do what I love with an organization that has such a meaningful mission. Everyone asked me if I was nervous about going to a rural area; if I was worried about my safety; if I was anxious for the culture shock. Going there was easy. I was energized, curious, excited, happy. It was coming back that worried me.
This is where I struggle to put what I feel into words. Life is different everywhere you go; each continent, country, city has its own customs, geography, and lifestyle that makes it unique. If I had to use one word to describe the Dominican Republic, I’d choose vibrant. The smiles on people’s faces, the colors of the buildings, the flavors of the food–they all have an energy that elicits presence and purpose. There’s an appreciation for life, love, and time that I don’t feel here in the United States. I had never noticed this before; the way I view my purpose and the system I acquiesce to. For 15 years I have existed in a cycle of school and work–and I haven’t even entered the real workforce yet. This system is so engrained into my understanding of what success is and what I’m supposed to do with my life.
The major I chose is called professional writing. Basically, I’ve learned about writing in a ton of different styles and contexts, and I love it. I love writing and the freedom it gives me to express myself. I love the challenge of finding the best way to communicate a message to an audience. I love reading other author’s works, talking to people, seeing new perspectives, and sharing those messages with others. My professors have always told me, you can’t be a writer without being a reader. But reading isn’t just taking in words on a page. Reading is learning, reading is listening, reading is entering a conversation with other ideas. All of my reading and writing made it really easy for me to connect the dots on that trip to the Dominican Republic. When I was there, I wasn’t at a resort in Punta Cana. I wasn’t wandering around the most populated city for a few hours to shop for souvenirs. I wasn’t eating at good restaurants for tourists where everything is Americanized. I wasn’t stopping by a local school for a few hours to marvel at the differences and then drive off and carry on with my life. I was entering the conversation–the one these people have every day of their lives. I was listening to the motorcycles that parents drive on with their babies, the chickens that woke me up in the morning because most people raise them in their yards, the beeping of car horns and the shouting from police because there was an accident and cars were zig zagged all across the road trying to push their way through. I was learning that my lifestyle and the system we adhere to in America is not the only one to live by.
Coming back from the Dominican Republic was challenging for a lot of reasons. Leaving beautiful, sunny, 85º days and heading back to frigid, gray Ohio winter was disappointing to say the least. But beyond having to be cold again, I was scared of going back to school. I have always loved school because I love learning, and throughout my time at Miami I’ve learned so much. But I was afraid school didn’t have anything else to teach me. Now this isn’t a be-all end-all statement, but this was a huge realization for me. Yes, I can take more classes and learn more about social media marketing, digital analytics, or coding, but I don’t think that’s the kind of learning I need right now. I was scared to death to go back to sitting in a classroom and trudging to the library and stressing over the assignments and due dates piling up around me. What good am I doing by learning like this?
I am in the odd position of not having enough classes left to take. I have finished my first degree, professional writing, and am currently in the process of completing my second, interactive media studies. I have just two classes left that I’ll take next fall, and then I’m done. I didn’t want to graduate early, even by just a semester because, to put it simply, college is fun. I’m surrounded by my friends, I have full freedom without all the responsibilities of being an adult, I get to study what I love, and be a part of awesome organizations on campus. But I also want to keep learning and doing what I’m passionate about in a way that has a bigger impact.
The learning I want to do is out in the world. I want to learn by experiencing. I want to go to new places and meet new people. I want to learn about what other countries are doing and tell those stories so people around the world can be more informed, too. Being in the Dominican Republic and the village of Angostura opened my eyes to the fact that I have so much more to learn about the real things that are happening every day, all over the world.
I am a writer. I want to use my skill and passion to better connect people and ideas and I just don’t see how I can do that if I’m not out there in the world learning.
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