A neatly detailed map of the European Union (EU) hangs tacked against my dorm room wall. Glancing over it from time to time surely boosts my arbitrary knowledge of European geography. For example, it proves that Luxembourg is not a myth but actually a country. It displays that Germany neighbors the most countries in the EU, weighing in at a whopping nine. Honing my encyclopedic handiness, however, is only a peripheral reason for its position on my wall.
Its main purpose is relatively simple. I have placed it there to remind me of an evermore-approaching summer destination. Following an upcoming spring semester abroad, I will be—hopefully—traversing Europe with friends like a band of jolly roaming horses for nearly two extra months overseas.
In anticipating such a summer trip, going abroad second semester rather than first could not be more ideal for an obvious reason: I'm there and so I stay. Such plans for an attempt at a vagabond-ish lifestyle have long been in the forethought of my mind. A European summer has been one of my most undying pledges. A few of my friends, among other people with similar plans, share in this sentiment.
We too, at a future moment in our lives, would like to drop smiling bombs of nostalgia beginning with the words: "Remember that time in Europe?" No, I have not watched the movie Euro Trip recently. But sensationalizing the thought of any trip in any way—not the least bit limited to Europe—is never a bad place to begin the journey. Perhaps then, in the most non-physical sense, my spirit has already long departed without me.
Still, I wonder if this spirit of mine has idealistic plans of its own. An extended summer in Europe seems massively daunting even if exciting. The map on my wall therefore exists as a fatalistic reminder. There is no turning back, for I have chosen it as such. It helps me confront a forthcoming trial of backpacking and stingy budgeting and face the reality of immeasurable situations and outcomes however good, bad, or ugly they may turn out. After throwing the map a nervous glance, I imagine myself as a paratrooper bracing for an adrenalized drop off into the heart of unfamiliar terrain. Parachute packed? Check. Provisions readied? Check—two previous summer jobs have yielded modest savings. Grit? Ch…wait. Not so fast. Finding the courage to stay is not so easy. For still the question remains: Why do I jump?
There are many reasons to take on such a summer trip with paralyzed footing. An extended summer feels overwhelming due to expensive financing, for one. We aren't exactly talking cheap, even though in relative terms the trip can certainly be made cheaper if need be. Additionally, the malady of homesickness pulses for many inexhaustibly. It lives between stages of intensity and near immunity, and who's to say it won't hit a peak? Even more formidable yet, the professional life of a normal summer insists on a job or internship over the folly of travel. But there is something to be said about equating two months of survival with full-time employment.
And yet, restrictive as any of these reasons may be, they prove only minor in comparison to the real monster of the whole ordeal. By its very nature, a trip of two months almost inextricably includes disorganization, lack of concrete plans and open-ended questions of where and when we'll eat, sleep, laugh and whine. To many, such unpredictability poses the most insurmountable of problems. This is partly due to the fact that our current collegiate environment yelps for obsessive time management and organizational skills. A summer without direction snarls like an untamed beast. In what way will I be devoured in the midst of wandering aimlessly? But like most monsters, leveling face to face with its growl can reveal softness in its heart if not too strength in your own.
As convenient as an itinerary may be, who really wants to spend the time to figure it all out? It seems nearly impossible to draft a working itinerary of daily action given the vast movement and spontaneous appetite such a trip presents. After all, traveling implies roaming. Roaming knows little boundaries. If you can catch the drift, there is but one solution: Cower not away, my fellow second-semester abroad juniors and underclassmen, but attempt to walk the distance! We are talking thither here, people. For unpredictability allures anyone with immense appeal.
Embracing the psychology of spontaneity helps grant anyone surefooted confidence. Understanding its benefits helps in this process. The summer following my spring semester abroad details no specific program excursions. Its tinkering personnel are not prearranged by way of tidy roommate questionnaires. It could possess as much or as little routine as its group members desired. Its wheres and whens can be decided with personal inclination and convenience. In short, such a summer binds you to formalities and concrete decisions only as much as you prefer. Its route remains the design of you and your compadres (or you alone, for those particularly daring).
Who knows how living within an engorged realm of unplanned possibility will affect you? Perhaps it's safe to say it will impact you—at the very least—differently than a summer back home. For even though the idea of stepping back home into coziness of expectancy and boss-mode domination of that promising internship feels safer, its comfort seems just as much like a scary retreat to the familiar. Home for many assumes the inescapable paradigm of a past self-image. For this we hardly blame it. Yet perhaps a spontaneous summer plunge looks more easily forward than it does backwards. It's time to conquer these landlocked blues and embrace the unplanned as a lodestar instead.
Returning one final glance at the map on my wall, I notice it thumps with a most domineering presence. It takes an almost animated shape. Its roundly keen, crystal-blue oceanic eyes stare back at me; its draped flatness shimmers in the light.
"Hey, buddy. I'm coming for you," I say aloud with a burst of newfound confidence, leveling with the vastness of its latitudinal countenance.
It's about time, something mutters in charming response.
—Jamie Turak '13 is a student at Vassar College.
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