Post Election Reflections and Quarter Life Crises

Today is the day after Election Day, and I stayed up all night to watch the historic moment. Barack Obama’s achievement is not only historic in terms of being the first African American president, but is historic in its potential for how much change the entire world will undergo socially, economically, militarily, almost every aspect that possibly could be changed I feel will be changed. Not only because of Barack Obama, but because the general populace wants something different in the world and Obama just happens to symbolize that. That very thought has made my head reel in terms of my own personal history and placement in society. You would think that the moment Obama spoke in front of thousands to accept his nomination as the 44th President I would be able to magically know exactly what I want life to be like in that optimistic future Obama proposes. Which brings me here, to Dublin, to my current state of self-awareness. There are a few things that I was not expecting out of this trip. I came here to find myself in a lot of ways, but all I’m finding out is how confused I am about life: my current priorities, my future, even things as simple as what I truly enjoy doing is a total bafflement to me. In this era of economic crisis, social change, and burst of involvement within the public sphere, I feel like I should do something different and important. Since my surroundings are new and familiar, I expected a switch to go on, a flame to burst, to have this grand epiphany of my life’s calling. What I expected within the first few weeks here was to get a call on my mobile from a deity saying something on the lines of “Hi Caitlin, I just thought you should know that you’re good at juggling, you like circuses, therefore you should be a clown.” Instead I feel so stuck in the mud in a lot of ways. I feel this inability to feel like I have a certain place in this big city and big world, and that task of finding myself seems so daunting that I keep pushing off any major changes to my way of thinking and how I perceive the world. I so wish I could tell everyone that I am changing for the better, that I’m more self aware, but today I feel as lost as ever, as definitionless as I could be, even on one of the most historic days of the short 21 years of my life.

Assimilation

I now have been a Dubliner for a month. Everyone reading my blog from home probably assumes “A month is enough time to acquire a full blown accent” or “She MUST have a lover by now” or “She probably can drink more than I can!” or “She knows Dublin like the back of her hand by now.” Surprisingly (or not surprisingly), none of those are true.

Looking back at myself a month ago and today there are a few things that I will admit are more Irish. I am used to not having mixed taps now, paying 2 Euro for a cup of tea, I don’t laugh when I see the Tayto brand of crisps (for whatever reason I thought that was the funniest thing in the world), Irish accents are a little less exotic, I’m used to giant class sizes, I don’t get tipsy off of just one pint of beer, and I feel like I can walk the entire day without the arches of my feet cramping up. My roommates and I even got called regulars at a pub a couple weeks ago. Except that I’m known as the girl who doesn’t have an indoor voice, which may not be the best reputation to have in the world.

Despite the appearance that I might be getting the grasp of Irishness truly is and blending in, it still takes me by surprise that cars drive on the left side of the road. My head’s instinct is to look to my left first, not my right, and if I haven’t broken that instinct by now I don’t know if I ever will. The other night my flatmate Lucy had to pull me back more than once from me walking out into incoming traffic, which normally I am very cautious. I suppose I am getting ballsier in terms of crossing the street (I used to be the idiot who would sprint across the road), but it doesn’t help when you forget which side cars drive on.

I cannot figure out the public transportation system for the life of me still. Buses are frustrating because you pretty much have to know exactly where you get off and where you are going; the bus driver never calls out what street intersection people are on. They are also really unreliable, the other night we wanted to do some shopping at Tesco in Sandymount, but we waited a good 30 minutes both going there and coming back in the freezing cold. We did some shopping the other day on the other side of town, and we knew what bus we needed to get on to get back to our apartment, but it almost seemed easier to walk back for whatever reason even with the rain pounding against our fragile shopping bags that inevitably split open. I almost reached my apartment when a middle aged man made eye contact with me and started laughing. I probably looked absolutely crazy; my hair was drenched, I was carrying a bundle of clothes and food, my jeans were soaked up to the knee, and I probably looked ready to kill someone.

There’s also so little of Dublin I feel like I have actually seen. I’ve been stuck in my own Dublin 4 bubble, in this little nook of town. There is a surprising amount I have yet to explore, such as Phoenix Park, the biggest urban park in Europe. You are probably wondering, “What has this girl been doing with her time if she hasn’t been to something like that?” The answer would be not knowing how to budget my time. I spend so much time staring off into space, or facebooking, or watching Living on the Edge (British version of The Hills) or attempting to play the tin whistle that I acquired in Galway last weekend. I will explore my own backyard soon, once I feel like I have some sort of organization in my life. For now everything is so up in the air that my response is to do nothing at all.

I may be getting used to separated hot and cold taps, but something as simple as figuring out what direction cars drive or how a public transportation system works goes to show I have a long way to go before full assimilation. Speak to me after I actually can impersonate an Irish accent and when I actually explore the rolling green hills I see everyday out the window beyond the frantic city.

The Irish are Manly

Irishmen are very masculine, more so than British men and lots of American men. During my homestay in Tipperary I seemed to have experienced more fights than I have in years in America. Our host father Micael (pronounced Me-hall or something close to that) practically got into a physical fight with this one guy over an incident on the road where he got cut off. The guy came over, completely overlooking three young women in the car, and screaming at Micael “I’m going to fucking kick your ass” even though he was the one who almost got in the accident. This was right after experiencing my first hurling match. Micael LOVES all sorts of Gaelic sport, including hurling, which is probably one of the scariest sports to watch. I was frightened for all those young men in such a contact sport. Imagine a bunch of men running after each other and trampling on each other with sticks, only some wearing helmets. Fighting, blood, and grown men curling up into the fetal position ensue. It is funny though, when I was at the pub afterward, I recognized one of the hurling players and had a chat with him. He didn’t seem all too upset that his team lost. They might feel the need to prove their masculinity more than men in other countries, but at least they aren’t sore losers like American men.

The Irish are Disorganized

Six months ago everyone I know at home had the satisfaction of knowing what they were taking this term. Unfortunately, three days before courses begin, I still do not know what I am taking for sure, and I don’t even need to turn in an official registration form until October 17th. Yikes. I went to all my departments and was able to sort of sign up for some History classes, but there are still other departments that I have no idea how to read the timetables and no one really showed me. This is learning self-sufficiency in an almost extreme way; I don’t know how to do this on my own! In a few weeks I’ll probably look back on this time and think “why was I so anxious about all of this” but for now I have no idea how this is going to go. It’s a stressful process and all the professors say about it is “It is a silly process but we don’t know any other way!” IT’S CALLED THE INTERNET!

Dubliners

Dublin thankfully doesn’t only consist O’Connoll Street and Temple Bar, I feel like my head would explode if I were to spend everyday in those crowded areas- word has it that as the year progresses the less time we’ll spend in that area. There are outlying “urban villages” that Martin, our GORGEOUS “local assistant,” told us about. We went to one called Sandymount yesterday, but I felt a bit intruding. Imagine seven young loud Americans walking into a local pub where people are talking quietly amongst themselves. The stereotypes are correct indeed. We weren’t too obtrusive, though I think that it would have been better if we didn’t walk in hordes. I feel these mysterious urban villages are more of the heart of Dublin and I will survey these in closer detail, probably a day and time other than Sunday evening when everything was closed other than a corner pub.

The Irish Poop Out Music

My last night in Galway we saw this Mediterranean Irish infusion band that were amazing. My mind was blown. I even got asked to dance, lucky me. We sort of hopped around awkwardly though, apparently I don’t know how to dance in the Irish fashion (or any other fashion at that.) Music is in the blood of Irish; it is such an integral part of their culture. A lot of the touristy pubs in Dublin boast “Traditional Irish music every night!” or something to that effect. It makes me wonder whether or not the Irish be the Irish without music. Most likely not. I am starting to gain more and more respect for what it means to be Irish. The other day after my first giant grocery shopping adventure, our disgruntled cab driver Derek Chubb was talking about his disappointment in Dublin. The Irish are a low-key kind of people who are in love with their history and their culture, and globalization has caused Dublin to be less of a truly Irish city. For example, many Dubliners absolutely despise the Millennium spire on O’Connoll Street and call it “the stiffy by the Liffey.” After his little rant on how these historic buildings have been turned into Burger Kings and painted over, he asked, “How do you all like Dublin?” Of course we all answered, “We love it!”

Spoiled Girl

Orientation made me feel very spoiled. My days in Limerick have not in the least been lacking in food or interest. I feel like all I did was eat all the time in Limerick. I was probably the most awake, refreshed person because everyone either arrived the day of orientation or the night before, not that everyone was a zombie, but where a lot of people wanted to sleep I felt really invigorated. We were stationed in a pretty luxurious hotel; we all had a nice view of the water and the city. We even had orientation in the penthouse in another nice hotel and had this fabulous lunch with leather seats in the restaurant. Coming from hostels where large groups of Germans wake everyone up at 7 am and where you have to use your cell phone as a flashlight in order to not wake anyone up I felt like I was at some five star hotel. A couple nights ago (still in Limerick) we went to Bunratty’s, a little tourist spot full of traditional music, food, and dancing; essentially it felt like going to a luau in Ireland in terms of the atmosphere and entertainment (in a good warm fuzzy way.) I had a feeling that the tourist trap wasn’t the cheapest thing to do in Ireland.

I feel extremely and wholly spoiled right now in Dublin. I am sitting in my apartment right now located on a river with this great modern art piece with red straw things that light up in the night and reflect on the water. We also live right next to a pretty swanky pub with free Wi-fi, which I predict I will be frequently as the year progresses. Lucy, my roommate, hit the nail on the head when she called our area “yuppie town” because it’s full of well-to-do thirty-somethings. It’s a lovely peaceful place though, and it’s a good place to come back to at the end of a long day in a hustle-bustle town. We were told that we didn’t even want to know how much it normally costs to live in our flats.