When I picture my childhood, I picture the outdoors. Playing outside, catching toads, building dams in streams, skittering rocks across frozen ponds. My mother's answer to boredom was "go play outside," and even if I had to be reluctantly pushed, I inevitably found myself lost in imagination, a world unfolding amongst the trees of my backyard.
Dublin is a great city. It's moody, historic, fun-loving, intellectual, and a tad gritty - all-in-all, it's delightful. But - and perhaps it was the challenges posed by the historic snowstorm during our visit, perhaps it was the particularly ineffectual heater in our AirBnB - I was ready to get out of the city after a couple of days.
I love New Year's Resolutions. I love the idea of a fresh start, of giving yourself a quick refresh halfway through the academic calendar. It reminds me that life is a constant state of trial and error - and January first is prime time for a new phase of "trial" to start.
No need to delve into the details - we all know that a lot of people are feeling discouraged, defeated, angry, and blue this week. And the truth is that a decent amount of people are feeling that way on any given day in the year. It's ok to be gentle with yourself.
With what feels like an ever-thickening smog of bad news in the air these days, cute little memes reminding us to think positive are all over my social media accounts. But sometimes those well-intentioned graphics can actually cause more harm.
What is it about wanderlust? Why does it hit so dramatically at times, so much so that it almost feels like a physical ailment? Why does it always strike when I am least capable of planning a trip ā when Iām neck-deep in deadlines and hanging onto to the tether ends of my last paycheck?