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Mindful Road Rage

June 11, 2014 Mak Akhtar Leave a comment

Once upon a time, I drove around in circles in a Kaiser parking lot bawling my eyeballs out, thanks to an old man who had no a clue just how terribly he had impacted me emotionally. I had already spilled my morning smoothie, was running late to an appointment, and had a conference to prep for the next day.

Like everyone else, I was desperately searching for parking and finally found someone leaving fair and square. Unfortunately, I had to torturously watch a seemingly evil old man slowly steal my spot, pretending I wasn’t there honking at him, staring aghast at the injustice of it all. One last hand-on-the-horn-for-15-seconds only earned me the bird for my efforts to take back justice. And only resulted in the flood gates bursting open instantly. Once I managed to calm down, I tried to justify my overemotional reaction after reigning in my thoughts of how cruel and, well, fucked-up people can be. I was ready to get that old man and his little dog, too

Here’s something everyone can relate to: road rage. Just pure, unadulterated everyone-out-of-my-mother… fatherbrothersister’s-way road rage.

I don’t know what it is about people who drive like maniacs / fools / donkey riders in the tenth century… but nothing riles me up faster than being cut off by someone (read: idiot on wheels) who doesn’t have the decency to pick up the pace when they get in the lane that is rightfully yours. Isn’t that what it feels like? The thirty-foot space in front of your vehicle belongs to you! It has your name carved into it. I get so territorial and deranged; I start tailing them, revving the little engine of my not-so-souped-up two-door manual Civic and I’m so damn pleased with myself when I finally overtake the shit out of them, sneak over with a dirty look, and show them who’s boss. (Cue a war cry followed by your choice of ‘EAT MY DUST, SPARKY!’ or ‘JUSTICE!’ or ‘This is SPARTAAAA!’)

But what happens when you are desperate to be constantly zen like me? When you judge yourself every time you get irritated, because you have a reputation for being a meditator and working at a center for compassion? I’ve been doing that for nearly eight years now (the meditation bit; the compassion gig for two), and only in the last few years have I touched upon the tip of the iceberg of something I like to call “Mindful Road Rage.” The road is truly is the best place to practice mindfulness—and by that I don’t mean you start meditating while driving. (My old research professor says she ‘meditates with her eyes open’ for her grueling two-hour commutes—much to my horror for her safety.) What I mean is realizing your supremely bizarre emotional anger every time you feel wronged on the road, before you begin to act like that a-hole on the road yourself (everyone in a Beamer—I’m looking at YOU! Including my friend Ari. The stereotype is there for a reason…!).

Of course, as I was thinking of this article, someone (an idiot so to speak) cut me off and I had immediate road rage Tourette’s and cursed out loud in what is known as Unglish (Urdu English—the language would warrant too many horrified gasps and therefore will be withheld. My mother knows I blog, okay?)

So why does this matter? Why in the holy name of Thom Yorke’s exceptional dance skills would you want to be mindful about your road rage? Why should you and whose army care?

Well firstly, not everyone can be as special as you, driving like they’re Han Solo in the Millennium Falcon in an asteroid field. Damn these inferior X-wing drivers. But guess what? The only person whom this negatively affects is actually you. The person who just cut you off most likely has no clue. And it’s unlikely they’ll become a better driver because you go off blaring your horn at them. You’ll probably startle them shitless and make them more of a liability on the road.

It can also be hard to see a person in a vehicle as a human being with loved ones… I know I just see a damn box on wheels. Similar to how it’s harder to relate over a computer or phone screen: we’re wired to read body language and voice tones. So it’s easy to get caught up and be obnoxious. Perhaps the metal body surrounding them, like a Power Ranger on wheels, sucks a little bit of the humanity out of them? Bold and a little out there, but something to consider.

Another reason is… science. Our flight-or-fight response is best reserved for fighting off wild beasts. It hasn’t evolved to deal with first-world problems just yet because we change shit too fast and too well; evolution is a long process of trying and testing—not like fast tracking in the FDA. There’s nothing you can do to get rid of that damned stress hormone, cortisol, so when you amp up your stress response, you are literally creating conditions for chronic stress (which, over time, will seriously fuck you up—to put it kindly). The power of science compels you!

Let’s go back to that dastardly old man in that Kaiser parking lot. Once I finally wiped the sob-snot from my face, I thought, What if this man has a wife who’s dying in there? What if he’s coming in for his own regular chemo? People do douchebag things out of desperation sometimes. Perhaps this was something that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of what he was going through. Or you know, maybe he was just truly being a douchebag. But once you start to consider that you have not a damned idea about going on in another person’s story at that moment, it is in your best interest for your sanity to give them the benefit of the doubt. And that, ladies and gentlemen, will put some so-called a-hole drivers in a whole different perspective.

The fact is that everyone else on the road, your fellow earthlings, are just trying to get where they’re going, just like you are. They need to put their needs before yours, just as you put yours before theirs… and it’s going to happen again and again and again. You can’t change that, but you sure can change how you feel about it, and it’ll benefit not only your own well-being, but also the chaotic mess that is the phenomena of driving and traffic. You can even take it a step further by making it your random acts of kindness for the day or an easy way to be nice. You can’t change the situation, but you sure can change your thought process about it.

Now when you want heads to roll on the freeway, either play nice to boost your own good karma or choose wisely from Carlin’s incomplete list of impolite words, take a deep breath, and drop it immediately, so that no drivers, including yourself, are harmed in the process.

Big Mak standing by…

Photo by Rob Adams

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So You’ve Decided To Purchase Weed

June 9, 2014 Anonymous Leave a comment

A friend of mine recently sparked the idea for this article when she told me about her recent trip to Denver. Her host, a college buddy, took her to a recreational marijuana shop, because when in Rome. They purchased a small amount of weed—LEGALLY!!!—and gleefully brought it back to their apartment, only to find themselves staring at the friendly little buds with bewildered expressions. Casual but not regular users of pot in college, neither of them had ever had to roll a joint, pack a bowl, or any of those other mildly scandalous verbs. For them, it was the equivalent of standing in front of a sack of potatoes holding a martini glass.

And such is the case for thousands of similarly passive users who are now exercising their new rights to buy recreational marijuana in Colorado and Washington. Should you smoke it rolled up in a joint or spliff? Perhaps using a glass pipe or bong? Using something simpler, like a one-hitter, or something expensive, like a vaporizer? Your choice might vary based on factors like how many people you’re smoking with, and how comfortable you are with handling the ganj.

[Note that this is more of a guide for people who have smoked in the past. Things to remember if you have never smoked marijuana before: start with a little bit; remember to gulp the air, almost as if you’re swallowing it; know that it’s okay to cough; and remember to eat/drink something. Don’t do what this guy does... or do, because it’s fucking hilarious (it’s not crack, sir!!).]

For starters, regardless of your smoking device, you’ll need to grind down that pretty, conical green bud. Many people who use weed regularly have a grinder of their own, which allows you to break a bud into a few smaller pieces and then grind it within a range of fineness—say, French press to espresso. Others, myself included, who haven’t gotten around to investing the $25 in a small grinder, use their fingers. I usually break a bud into manageable pieces—around the size of a pea or smaller—and then rub the piece between my thumb and forefinger with all the delicateness of a French chef crushing some dried thyme over a steaming coq au vin. If you go for this chez stoner approach, be sure to crush the bud over a smooth surface so it’s easy to sweep up and won’t get stuck in any crevices. An open magazine works nicely for this.

Now, to choose a device. If you’re just looking for a tiny toke and you happen to be near a corner store that sells tobacco products, it’s worth investing in a one-hitter, also know as a “porcelain cigarette.” True to its name, it’s painted to look exactly like a cigarette, but it’s typically made of metal (someone realized porcelain was too fragile for pot smokers). Very sneaky, if you’re trying to fool any friends who also don’t happen to have a sense of smell. The great thing about a one-hitter is that it’s easy to pack and even easier to use. All you need to do is gather up some of the bud you’ve just crushed—a coarse grind works in this case—and stuff the front of the cigarette (the end of the white part, where there’s about a half-centimeter well) until you can’t fit any more in there. I had a friend who would simply plunge the one-hitter into a jar of weed to simultaneously crush and pick up bits to stuff the front, which is a little barbaric, but to each his own.

To smoke your stuffed one-hitter (which is actually a misnomer, as you can usually get 2-3 small hits out of it), simply light the front end with a lighter and inhale gently. The one-hitter might get a little warm because it’s metal and thermodynamics something something something, but only the weed itself will actually light. You’ll have to repeat this with each hit, holding the lit lighter in front of the weed without jamming the flame into the front well, so the pot inside gently burns. To clean out the residue after smoking, simply hit it against something hard. I recommend a brick wall. One-hitters can get a bit gunky, but you can boil them in some vinegar to loosen the crud inside. And you know those pipe cleaners you used to love in art class? They’re not just for homemade ornaments anymore!

My one-hitter, whom I call “Trusty Rusty”

If you’re planning on sharing with multiple friends or if you just want to smoke a lot of weed (no judgment), you might want to consider packing a bowl or bong. Here, you can be a little coarser with your grind. You just want to pile a bunch of little pieces of bud into the bowl or well of a glass piece, almost filling it up. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend purchasing a giant bong, especially if you’re an infrequent user or you have grandparents who like to drop in unannounced, but if you have one to use, this helpful video will show you how to smoke from it.

I personally prefer smaller glass pipes, as they’re easier to store and clean (see one-hitter cleaning instructions, minus the brick wall part), and they come in a wide variety of styles and colors. My beloved pipe is beautifully glass-blown to look like a hedgehog: the underside is the bowl, the tail is the mouthpiece, and the mouth is the air hole (also known as a “carb”). I keep it on my mantle, and no one’s the wiser…

Ain’t she a beaut?

Smoking from a pipe is pretty simple but takes a little bit of practice: hold it in one hand, with a finger covering the carb, and have a friend light the bud; or if you’re feeling coordinated, do it with your other hand. As you see the green bud glowing merrily, inhale gently, still covering the carb. Then, release the carb and inhale a little deeper. All of the smoke that’s accumulated in the pipe will now be in your lungs! Be careful not to produce too much smoke before you release the carb, though, because coughing a lot is way less fun than being high.

The last and (I think) most visually classic method is the trusty joint. This is when you’re going to want to use that grinder or those fingers to their full extent, really pulverizing your weed. You’ll want to get rolling papers for this. My favorite brand is OCB, though I’ve heard those are tricky to get in the US. But any brand will do! Simply lay out a single rolling paper horizontally, with the tiny adhesive strip on the far side, facing up. Carefully place your finely-ground weed along the fold of the rolling paper, then even it out, leaving a pinkie-nail length of empty paper on one end. That will be your smoking end. Carefully pick up your loaded cargo and take the fold between the thumb and forefinger of your hands. Give the weed in the paper a little pinch from below, to try and pack it into this long cigar-shaped form. (You can use a little or a lot of weed, but remember: the more you put in, the harder it is to roll. And you can always roll another!)

Pre-loaded joint/spliff rolling paper

In theory, what you’ll want to do next is very gently shift that packed weed roll toward the non-adhesive end of the rolling paper, so it’s primed to roll within the paper all the way up to the adhesive end. This step requires a lot of finesse, so don’t throw it against your wall in a fit of rage if you don’t get it right the first time. That would be very wasteful of you! I like to hold the end of the paper with my thumbs, sticking my forefingers atop the weed at either end, and resting the whole operation on the rest of my fingers. I use my thumbs to lift the paper up and over, and then I use my forefingers to tuck in the weed. Once there’s a reasonably tight seal, it’s easy to finish rolling the joint, licking the adhesive to completely seal it up. This sounds much more complicated than it is, so here’s a video demonstrating that same process.

Then I tuck in a roach, which is a little piece of poster board-weight cardboard that usually comes with the rolling papers, rolled up and stuck into the end where you left a little empty space. Truly great joint-rollers will stick this in while they’re rolling, so if you’re feeling ambitious, experiment away. If you find that your joint is too loose, just re-wrap over it with another rolling paper!

A professionally-rolled joint, with roach

Obviously, if you’re only using a small amount of weed, and especially if you’re double-wrapping, it can feel like you’re smoking more paper than pot. Because of this, my go-to rolled choice is a spliff (mixed marijuana and tobacco), which requires either buying some rolling tobacco at a corner store or, if you’re in a tight spot, bumming a cigarette from a friend. Yes, cigarettes are definitely bad(!), so I recommend using rolling tobacco if you can get it, which is still tobacco, but has fewer nasty chemicals. I never use more than a third of a cigarette’s worth of tobacco in a shared spliff, anyway; and also, you’re already smoking, so, let’s talk about the pot calling the kettle black (ZINGAHHH!!!). The rolling process is obviously the same, although you’ll have more product to roll since you’re mixing tobacco with the weed. I like to pre-mix to ensure evenness when smoking, either stirring the pulverized weed in a jar with the tobacco or just mixing it with my fingers on the same open magazine, before piling it into the crease of my rolling paper.

I recently visited a city where weed purchasing is, if not totally legal, then at least ignored. There, I purchased a pre-rolled, monster-sized spliff, which I took apart to show you its guts:

Notice how nicely the little weed pebbles are mixed in with the tobacco strands

Of course, if you’re in the middle of the woods or you don’t have any of the aforementioned devices, you can go all high-school and make a bong out of an apple. I’ve tried it before—it’s not as delicious as you might expect, but it gets the job done.

Happy toking!! Don’t eat too many frosting sandwiches! Uh-oh, I’ve said too much.

Photo by Gali Levi-McClure

Career

Our Mixtapes: Soundtracks for Getting Through the Work Day

June 6, 2014 Kelly Danver Leave a comment

Whether you make money selling or buying, doing or saying, some days at the office (whatever shape that office is) are better than others. One day you might feel like the most productive employee ever and the next day the least competent. Though we don’t all have the same jobs, we all work day to day, pounding the pavement for better or for worse.

But that doesn’t mean that our time in the office has to be without inspiration. Some days we need a little help getting into the swing of work and to honor that, here are some of my favorite tunes to listen to at work:

Productivity Train

Let’s face it, there are some days when BuzzFeed is particularly entertaining and we don’t get as much work done as we should. When that happens I put on my blinders, plug in my headphones and turn on these tunes.

1) “Elevate” – St. Lucia, When The Night

2) “Arizona” – Kings of Leon, Because of the Times

3) “Hollywood [Felix de Housecat Remix]” – RAC (feat. Penguin Prison)

4) “Macchu Picchu” – The Strokes. Angles

5) “Gotta Get Away” – The Black Keys, Turn Blue

Calm the Mind

There are just some days where work makes us want to pull our hair out in frustration, no matter how much we love it. For those days, I turn these songs on and take deep breaths before hunkering down again.

1) “Welcome Home” – Radical Face, Ghost

2) “Tumblin’ Dice” – Rolling Stones, Forty Licks

3) “Momentary Thing” – Something Happens, Planet Fabulous

4) “Take A Walk” – Passion Pit, Gossamer

5) “We Are The Tide” – Blind Pilot, We Are The Tide

Kicking Ass

A power suit can get you into the zone when you need to kick ass at work, but why stop there? When I need to roundhouse-kick a project into fruition or a jerk coworker who keeps stealing my ideas, I turn to these songs to pump me up.

1) “Fancy” – Iggy Azalea feat. Charli XCX, Fancy

2) “She’s Electric” – Oasis, What’s the Story (Morning Glory)

3) “Troublemaker” – Weezer, Weezer (Red Album)

4) “Body Work” – Morgan Page feat. Tegan and Sara, Body Work

5) “Movin’ Out” – Billy Joel, The Stranger

Hangover Cure

As any employed person will tell you, one of the benefits to having a salary and no homework is that you can go out on a Tuesday night. But we always have to pay dearly for it when Wednesday morning rolls around. For that, I listen to these songs and drink lots of water.

1) “Tennis Court” – Lorde, Pure Heroine

2) “Back to Black” – Amy Winehouse, Back to Black

3) “See The Sun” – The Kooks, Konk

4) “Fool to Cry” – Tegan and Sara, Girls, Vol. 1

5) “Time Go” – Caught A Ghost

Photo by Rob Adams

Career

My Journey To Behind the Chair

June 4, 2014 Kate Miano 5 Comments

The first time I cut off someone’s hair, I was 5 years old, unsupervised while the adults were watching the Super Bowl in the other room. I set the scene, making sure to have a towel to cover my younger, easily convinced friend, and placing a box on the floor to catch the hair, and then I went to town with my cuts-only-paper scissors. Her hair was fairly long, having never been cut before—and, needless to say, her very pregnant mom was not nearly as thrilled with her daughter’s hacked up pixie-esque haircut as I was. Scissors were generally kept away from me from that moment on, but when I could get my little hands on them I chopped off the hair from every Barbie possible.

Growing up, I always loved doing my own hair and makeup. In middle school and high school, I started researching special effects makeup programs and declared that that was what I was going to do. Alas, like many parents, mine felt that a traditional college path was what I needed, and off I went to the University of California Santa Barbara. After just over a year there, I knew it wasn’t for me: while I thrived in arts and humanities classes, I changed my major almost every month (much to the despair of my advisors) and I struggled to find my place. I moved back to San Jose and after trying my hand at college for another couple years while working in retail management, the best thing happened to me: I was laid off. I decided to take the plunge. Within three weeks, I dropped out of San Jose State and started attending cosmetology school.

I immediately felt like this was the learning environment I had been searching for. The first time I held real shears and cut hair, it just felt right. It came easily for me. In traditional college, my main struggle had always been taking classes I wasn’t interested in or that weren’t applicable to my major-du-jour. Why did I need to learn something I wasn’t actually going to use? Yes, I realized it creates a well-rounded person, but it just wasn’t for me. Now, everything I was learning applied directly to what I would be doing as a career. When I started cosmetology school at the age of 24, I was definitely a little older compared to my classmates—many of whom were fresh out of high school. I felt this gave me an edge, however, and I realized that a few years of college had endowed me with the skills to really study and readily absorb the information. I was hungry for the knowledge and, at this point, paying for school myself, which made me want to excel further.

Working with hair is much like sculpting, beginning with a block and carving out a shape. You use straight lines to create curves and softness, which translates into visual weight lines and forms. Adding color to the hair takes the shape further by adding shadow and light. Cutting hair is an equally terrifying and exciting thing all at once: you literally get to create a shape out of nothing… but as we all know, you can’t put back anything you take off. As an extremely visual, hands-on person (from playing piano and many other instruments to baking, knitting, and crafting), I love using my hands to help people feel beautiful and express themselves on a daily basis.

Cosmetology isn’t all creative, as there’s also the service part. Working with clients can be both challenging and rewarding, and often develops into a very personal experience for both the client and myself. It isn’t always an easy job. It is mentally and physically exhausting at times. Trusting someone, especially a stranger, to touch you isn’t something that comes easily for many people. Hair is an intimate part of us: it defines us and is one of the first things noticed about us. On the other side of the chair, the work I create is an extension of me and, like most creative jobs, my ego can be tightly tied with that. When a client is dissatisfied, it’s painful: I only ever want the best for my clients and I hold myself to the highest standards.

Throughout my career I’ve had some unhappy clients, either because of mistakes I’ve made or unrealistic expectations. Clients bring me pictures of celebrities or models as references, and I always do my best to explain that things like extensions, wind machines, lighting, and Photoshop contribute to the image, and that for the average person, most of those looks aren’t achievable. If a client isn’t happy with their cut or color, I always have them come back in so we can discuss and work together to reach a happier conclusion. I’ve had a handful of people cry in my chair. Nothing is worse. Those days I want to hang up my apron, lock my cabinet, and put my shears away forever. But I’ve learned to shake it off and get behind the chair again the next day, and work to learn from the experience.

My closest clients are like family. We talk about anything and everything—at times, very personal and privileged things. I’ve had many people tell me getting their hair done is better than visits to their therapist. It never ceases to amaze me how complete strangers feel comfortable telling me things they may only tell their closest friends. I feel fortunate to have a career that allows me to create tight, personal bonds with my clients.

I recently made the move from being an employee at an amazing team-based salon where I did all my assistant training to now renting my own chair and essentially running my own small business. This change in my career has given me new goals and hurdles to conquer. I’ve been able to expand the bridal side of my business, which has been quite exciting. It’s a whole different side of cosmetology for me: although I love cutting and coloring hair, I have a passion for styling because my freedom of artistic expression gets to shine the most in this area. It has allowed me to work with numerous brides, other creative types on photo shoots, theater productions, and even styling for The B-52s!

I definitely don’t have it all figured out yet. I’m growing as a stylist and trying to find my voice in this amazing industry. I feel fortunate to live in an area with many outlets for hair and makeup artists. It can be scary to follow your passion, especially in a society where we are pushed toward a traditional four-year college plan. I look forward to seeing my career evolve, traveling, meeting interesting people, and sharing in their journeys all through the simple commonality of hair.

Photo by Gali Levi-McClure

Career

Office Drama, or #WHATSHOULDWECALLTOXICJOB

June 2, 2014 Anonymous Leave a comment

How many times do you need to come home from work in tears before you start considering a new job? My last job was terrible almost from the moment it started, but I stayed for nine months trying to make it work, and then trying to hoard enough cash to get out. Looking back on this past year, all I can see is the slow buildup of quiet-yet-demeaning incidents that made me question my worth, my abilities, and my general sense of why I am at all interested in do what I do.

Here is a list of the major red flags.

When I started my job, there was no training. None! They actually said: “Here is your computer!” and then left me on my own.
My supervisors act like they don’t trust me, and revise deadlines without telling me. Once, after seeing the timeline for the interviews that I manage, my supervisor approved and implemented it, and then scheduled all the interviews and emailed the schedule to me. She never addressed whether I had done them wrong or late, or any reason why she had done my job for me, even though it was a full week before we had agreed it needed to be done.
There are three people whom I report to. Every time I ask for clarification on whom I go to for what (even things like time off and emergency situations), they tell me that I was hired because I could “work independently.”
And then when I ask one of them for help with one of the other departments, they usually fail to answer the question because they get sidetracked, ranting about how pretentious the other department is.
Once, in a committee meeting, I had an older co-worker stop mid-discussion, turn to me and say “who are you?” I responded with my name and title, and he said, “Oh! I thought you were a student spying on us. Are you even on this committee?” He checked on his phone, found I was, and said, “Oh, well, what can you do?” We had met multiple times.
When I was introduced to one of the departments, which was formerly all-male, and I’m a young woman, several comments were made to the effect of “Well, now we can’t curse in meetings.”
Recently, one of my supervisors has been asking me to help her with Excel spreadsheets, and when I turned in a draft (like she asked me to), she brought me into her office and pointed at a column without borders and yelled at me, “Where is the column?! Where is the COLUMN?!? There is no column there!” and then had me redo it.
I am required to have an autoreply message on my email instructing students how to make appointments. I have gotten back multiple emails from coworkers who are outraged that I would send them appointment instructions. The first sentence is “This is an autoreply.”
This year, one of my papers was accepted to a prestigious conference. When I asked that same supervisor if there was any funding I could apply for, she said “If you get funding, we might as well add a budget line for my cats.” That was about two months into the position.
I am frequently asked when I am planning on having children. These are not subtle hints from people I am close with. Coworkers who I rarely interact with have come into my office specifically to ask me when I am planning on getting pregnant.
After having congratulated me for improving our numbers so much that a particular department might not be at risk anymore, one supervisor came in and told me that the numbers should go up even more because “we haven’t worked that hard

What I’ve learned from this experience is that—surprise!—my happiness really is affected by being treated poorly by the people whom I spend the majority of my day with. I’m really not sure when the turning point was… when I knew I needed to GTFO. I wish I had known when to say something, because maybe things would have gotten better. But by the time I left, I trusted no one that I worked with or for, and I dreaded going to work. I worry I’ll run into coworkers around town and I feel like I’ve developed some really bad work habits (like hiding from my supervisors) that will affect me in the future. My job was affecting my relationships outside of work as well, I was so emotionally drained that I wasn’t myself.

The worst part was that this was supposed to be my dream job—working with exactly the right population in exactly the right role. But my coworkers and terrible supervision ruined it. I put in my two weeks’ notice despite not having something else lined up because not knowing what was coming next was better than being unhappy every day.

Much to my surprise though, leaving my toxic job felt just like a really bad breakup. It probably should have not been surprising, but ah well. My last two weeks were full of utter insanity, and all I could do was hold on to my end date, knowing that it would be over soon. A small sample: My two weeks’ notice was initially rejected so they could “think” (is this legal?). I had more than 12 meetings with all levels of my supervision, where the second question was always “but, your partner isn’t leaving too, is he?” driving home the point that in their minds I was only there because of him. They told me that I would have had a better time in the job if I were “friendlier.” On my last day, none of my supervisors even showed up, wrote an email or left a voice message saying goodbye. And then, as if to tie a big bow on the whole package, about a week after I left, one supervisor sent an email to my personal address about job searching in my field, and how to know if a job is a good fit.

I’ve been free of this job for three full weeks, and let me tell you, life is so much better. If any of the above sounds like your job, get out. ASAP. Don’t wait. If you don’t have a cushion that will let you bail, start sending your resumes faster, network more, do something. It’s not worth being unhappy every day. I also highly recommend just reading the entire archives of Ask a Manager: this helped me figure out the difference between what was simply strange and what actually crossed a boundary, so that I could work up the courage to leave.

Photo by Meaghan Morrison

Career

Finding My Way into Game Design: Education After Graduation

May 30, 2014 Richard Thayer Leave a comment

Choosing a career path can be difficult for many students. You want to find something that will financially support you, while meeting your own personal goals, and doing something that fulfills and entertains you. My own search for a career has continued past my college education, and I found myself searching for other growth opportunities to really pinpoint what I want to do.

So where does game design fit into all of this? When I completed my Bachelor’s degree, it was in Pictorial Art with an emphasis on Studio Practice. It’s a pretty general degree for art students, where your specialty really comes down to what you choose to study. I had a fairly well-rounded education, jumping between animation, illustration, traditional art, digital art, and graphic design. My dilemma was, how do I put all of these skills to use in the real world?

My eventual decision was to further my education, so I began to research post-degree programs, such as certificates and two-year degrees. I also researched different career paths that would complement the skills I already had. I decided that any new education I pursued had to be something new that would build off of what I had already learned. The answer: game design!

I found a certificate program through Post University that would have a focus on the basics of game design, game programming, and some animation. Game design is still a relatively new subject with degree and certificate offerings, so it felt like a good opportunity to expand my skills in an emerging field of study. Probably the most important class I took was the Programming for Game Design course. It began with a basic intro to programming, focusing on C++, and led into the basics of game engines and how programming fits into graphics.

It was a fairly short program, but it gave me access to a lot of good resources that I wouldn’t have known about otherwise. The most useful were the game engines we worked with: simple engines, such as the App Game Kit and the Dark Game Development Kit. These are both fairly cheap engines provided by TheGameCreators.com. They are beneficial for someone who is new to programming or game design, and serve to ease new designers into the game development world. Beyond the scope of our actual class projects, I was advised to look into the Unreal Development Kit to learn more professional game development. The UDK 3 is free to download and use for anyone (however, licensing fees apply if you want to sell something). Recently, I acquired the Unreal 4 beta, which drastically improves many of the Unreal features; however, it requires a monthly fee, unlike the UDK.

A lot of the learning process was self-driven, such as working on my own projects beyond the scope of the class. I spent most of my time playing around with building maps in UDK. Working in the UDK, you have a choice between hand-coding minor details, or designing in a more what-you-see-is-what-you-get mode, which makes it probably the most robust engine available, and the fourth edition builds on these principles further. Here is a video exploring a partial level I have been working on:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I1Iq4CAgYFs

Finding an industry that I enjoy as a consumer as well as a professional helped drive my projects as well. Good game designers make great games because they enjoy playing great games themselves. Going behind the scenes and seeing the raw elements of game design is like getting the best cheat codes available, and I think this is the type of fascination that one should strive for in any industry. If you love what you do or make, it will be that much more exciting and meaningful to make it your career.

Whether you’re interested in getting into a particular industry or just want to learn new skills, there are always opportunities for further education. If a set program is out of your budget, community colleges offer a lot of similar classes as well, or you can check out Coursera or Codecademy to learn from videos at your own pace. At the end of the day, it’s more about the knowledge and skills you gain than the degree or certificate you might receive.

Always make it a goal to never stop educating yourself!

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Career

Let’s Ask an LPGA Golfer

May 28, 2014 Let's Ask Leave a comment

I’m primarily a runner and the thing that impresses me most about running is all the adult athletes I see around me. Sure you have the kids who ran in college, but I’m always impressed by the people who discovered professional sports later in life. One such person is my friend Caiti Klassovity. When Caiti told me she was leaving the film industry behind to pursue a professional golf career, I had no idea what that meant. I was happy for her, but didn’t understand what obstacles she had to conquer to do that. So, we went to dinner on weeknight in Los Feliz, caught up, and I asked the hard-hitting questions about life as a nearly professional athlete.

Liz: How did you discover golf? Why did you decide this was something that could be your career?

Caiti: Golf was the furthest thing from my mind, but one weekend my now-ex was out of town and I thought, “Hey, there is that par 3 down the street.” So I went and I did it and was addicted. I literally woke up at 6 am every day from there on out, up to today, to go play and practice this sport. It hit me like… whatever hits you and wakes you up.

What’s a typical day? What do you do to train for golf from an athletic perspective? Because all I know is that it’s a lot of walking

Yeah, it takes four and a half hours to play eighteen holes (laughs). I give about an hour a day to working out, which consists of running, core work (where all your power comes from), arms, and I guess your thighs, really. Beyond that I’ll go to the course in the morning for three to six hours, averaging five hours. If I have a lesson, I’ll have my lesson and play afterwards. If I don’t, I’ll warm up for about an hour, then go play for four hours. And then I have to go nanny after all that.

Can’t forget about that day job. How do most people get involved with golf?

Most people are born and bred for it. I obviously started super late. My brother was the golfer, he went to college on a scholarship, and he is pro level now. He shoots under par regularly; he’s like 69, which is crazy good. We grew up on a course so I was around it, but I played basketball, tennis and softball. I think most people start around ten or eleven, and go on scholarship for college. If they excel, they will get their pro card.

For the LPGA, you do what’s called Q school, and it’s a series of two tournaments. You have to qualify and make the cut for the first tourney, then the second. Only then will you have pro status. On top of that, you have to maintain it for that season so you have to hit certain scores in the tournaments you are in. There are not very many people with pro cards, maybe 200 women.

It is, of course, insanely hard to maintain that level of competition—to keep playing tournaments like that. But there are also less women that do that, compared to the PGA. It’s insane. Every young guy you see at the course wants to be on the tour and it’s not very likely it’s going to happen.

I’m older, in general, but that’s the great thing about golf. There are women who have been on the tour for twenty years who are still in the top five and then you have Lydia Ko who is 16. It’s a huge range: you can get into it at any age.

Do you feel like golf is more prevalent in certain parts of the country?

The hubs for golf are Southern California, Florida and Arizona—those are the biggest spots. But also there is a lot of golf where I grew up in the Northeast. Even though we have strong prevalent seasons, it’s very huge into golf culturally. I guess that makes it a coastal thing. But year-round warm weather helps: anywhere where you don’t have to spend part of the year inside.

What do you think your biggest challenge is right now (as a golfer)?

The biggest thing I lack is experience—playing competitively or just playing a lot at all. I have a membership now so I can play every day, but you have to develop a different persona to turn on during competition time. Even swinging in front of people and playing with people is different than when you just go out there by yourself.

For me, it’s about finding a good base of my game, which I have a good grasp of now. I have been working with my coach now for almost a year, so that is coming together. It’s the skeleton of my game. But I think getting into competition mode and performing at that level consistently will be my biggest challenge.

Can you explain where you are going? Why you are leaving LA?

I am leaving LA to move to Savannah, Georgia, in July. In LA, I have a great core group here in the golf world, including my coach—who coaches me for free simply because of our shared passion. But I have an opportunity where I can have golf and housing paid for by a sponsor that I can’t recreate here. I would like to not worry about rent, not worry about a job. So I’m going to take the opportunity to just quiet down and focus on this.

I wish I could remember the exact quote, but it’s like “you have to spend a little time creating the life you want now so you don’t spend all of your time living a life you don’t want later.” That is exactly what I’m doing. I’m not giving up time—I’m working towards what I want my future to look like.

How did you form your community out here?

Alicia is one of my best golf girlfriends here, actually my only one. The scene is completely male-dominated. When I first decided I wanted to play, I literally searched all the pros around my area and emailed them what I wanted to do. Asking for advice and positions. My now-coach Ben Krug answered and said let’s meet. Eventually I became a member of the club there and it’s a community once you are a member of a club.

Age wise, walk-of-life-wise—golf is an old white man’s sport. Let’s face it—Ben is 35, Alicia is 33. We’re all there because we love the game. But everyone can see themselves in golf one way or another other, playing or working in it.

I remember back in the day when you first started this, you were talking to a friend about women’s golf apparel and how it drove you nuts that all you could find was pink.

That has not changed. I was just talking to my friend about that and she wants to do a whole line and stuff.

Are you going to help with that?

I would. I would do that side of things. First I’m going to see where I can get my game and where I can compete. I will compete first, but as another avenue, absolutely. We want different styles, patterns, fabrics, and not pink, but we also want something that’s not $80 for a shirt. It’s super expensive.

The women golfer numbers are lower than before just because it’s expensive. At my course. it costs $90 to play a round of golf.

Speaking of all those costs, what generally are the startup costs of golf: like if I want to go out and play, what do I need? How much do you spend a week on golf?

Membership at my club is about $4200 a year, and they worked with me to make a payment plan when I started.

Just starting with golf, you don’t need the best clubs. Look for slightly used clubs—but even at Play It Again Sports, that will be $400. A jazzy new outfit will be $150 for gloves, shoes, and the rest. A lot of the courses for LA Parks are great and they are only $30; when you play twilight, you can even play some courses for $12.

If you want to get serious, you need to start to take lessons. It is a sport that you absolutely cannot teach yourself. Your natural habits in golf are going to be the opposite of what you should be doing. That’s why it’s a tireless game. You have to have the mentality and the physicality and spirituality—all cylinders have to be firing.

You’ll have the weekend warriors, guys who go play on the weekends and hit the ball around. I think it’s hilarious when people take golf up in retirement, because it’s one of the most stressful things! You have to be persistent and you have to practice. Most people go straight to the range, but you have to have a short game. You have to go to the putting green or else you’re not going to score. But that’s what people who are just beginning don’t know. They just go out and play and they are like, “Why can’t I hit the ball? Why is it going left? Why is it going right?” They try to self-correct and it doesn’t work… at all.

What would you say is the most fun part of the game? Is it the people, or a specific moment?

The most fun part is finding that sort of release where you relinquish control within the game but also within your life. It’s mind-altering and life-changing. If you go for a round, a four-hour round, and I’m playing with you, I will see every emotion I’ll ever have. It’s a picture of character really. The fun part for me is trying to maintain this game and realizing, every time, you are going to have shitty shots. You are going to mess up more than succeed but every hole is different. You always have another chance. You always have another round. You can be in a sand trap and only have one shot left and you can hole it. Or you can putt it in. You can always save yourself.

So figuring that out and being able to read the green—I love it. It’s always challenging, but it always brings you back because once you make that putt or nail that drive, you’re addicted.

It’s never repetitive and it never gets boring and I can see a future in it.

Is there always something to do? When I see golf it’s the most boring sport, but on the other hand I guess some people say running is boring too!

Take softball for example. If you go to a softball game, it’s a slow sport. I could be bored watching that, but the spectators aren’t thinking strategy like you are. They aren’t thinking, “Okay, if she hits it here, I’m going to throw it here. If she does this, I’m going to do that.” You know the mental aspect of the game and you are thinking ahead. With golf, it’s the same. You can have weekend warrior level where people just hit a ball, walk to it, hit a ball.

When you graduate to a higher level, you are using course management. You are able to control your ball flight, you are able to use a different swing for a different shot, get this distance out of this club, put the ball here.

It’s hard and amazing. I can understand it seems boring, I thought it was boring for twenty-six years, but you know the diehard fans realize that these people are rock stars. She’s not alive anymore but Babe Zaharias is a legend. She was like back in the day during the founding the LPGA, but she was crazy good at everything: Javelin, golf, competitive sewer. And then today, I really admire Azahara Munoz. She’s from Spain. I saw her play a couple weekends ago at the Kraft-Nabisco tournament. I like the way she composes herself, and her swing is beautiful. She’s always on the cusp of greatness: she’s in the top five of every tourney but waiting to bust onto the scene. I like her style.

Final thoughts?

Play golf. Women reading, please play golf.

Liz Bohinc is a staff writer. Compassionate Human Being. Runner. Reader. Science Fact and Science Fiction Enthusiast. Softball Addict. Animation Connoisseur. Twitter: @littlelyme.

Photo by Sara Slattery

Career

Yes, I Get Paid to Do That

May 27, 2014 Liz Kerin Leave a comment

Someone (or many someones) once (or many times) told me that the hardest thing in the world is to turn your passion into a living—probably in an attempt convince me to attend law school instead of doing whatever it was I called daily life in my early 20s. But doing hard things is kind of my thing, so this sage wisdom only served to reinforce the borderline-masochistic work ethic I already had.

Writing was the only way I’d ever wanted to spend my life and, lucky for me, it also happened to be the only thing I was pretty decent at. When I graduated high school and went to college, the only logical choice for me was to enroll in a creative writing program. And when I graduated college and started forging my path into the belly of the beast known as The Real World, the only logical choice for me was to keep doing what I knew I was good at. To keep doing what I knew I cared about the most. I saw no reason to divert from the plan—the plan to write professionally, to pay my rent with words. I knew it would take some time and a boatload of dedication and that I’d probably have a succession of mind-numbing day jobs to pay the bills until then, but like a great many someones said: Turning your passion into a living is hard work.

By no means am I any kind of expert on this topic. I don’t think anyone is, because everyone’s journey towards gainful, fulfilling self-employment is 100% different. But I can say that I’ve learned a few really vital things about this whole process that probably do apply across the career spectrum, whether you’re busting your ass trying to get a tech startup off the ground or rousing your neighbors at 7 am with your vocal warm-ups in hopes of one day joining the Metropolitan Opera.

Make Time

First of all, there’s this: If you really care about it, you’ll make time for it. It’s so easy to say, “Ohhh, but I am le tired. I think I’ll have a beer and watch Top Chef instead.” It’s especially easy to say this if you’re working full-time in an arena that doesn’t relate to your ultimate goal. Trust me. I’ve been there. A beer and Top Chef sounds like the best thing most nights. And yes, you should treat yourself with a mental break now and then! But as soon as those credits roll, it might be time to turn off the TV and re-focus on your double life. If you care about your startup, your novel, or being prepped for your audition tomorrow—you will put in the hours.

By now, most people have heard of Malcolm Gladwell’s 10,000 hours thing. If it takes 10,000 hours of hard work and epic failings to turn a novice into an expert and you spent three hours watching House Hunters after work, you cheated your own damn self out of that valuable time. Three hours might not seem like a lot day-to-day, but it adds up over weeks, months, and years (you do the math—just be prepared for the subsequent existential freakout). But if you’re that guy or gal who makes a point to clock a fraction of your 10,000 hours every day, you’re not doing it because someone is making you do it: you’re doing it because there’s a little voice in the back of your head that keeps feeding you inspiration: ideas that you’ll continue to be excited by. You make time, because it’s easy to make time when you truly, deeply, give a shit about something.

Expand Your Definitions

Something else I figured out in my journey towards paying my rent with words is how important it is to challenge yourself and expand your range. This was a major revelation for me and is probably the #1 reason I can use words to keep a roof over my head.

I studied creative writing in college, with a focus on screenwriting and playwriting. I still do both of those things, and I still love both of those things with the same fervor as an 18-year-old college freshman. But it was only when I started blogging, editing, and writing creative prose as opposed to dialogue-driven drama that an actual need for my services began to crop up. People asked me to write blog posts and articles. They asked me to write jokes for their company’s Twitter feed to attract a certain type of audience. I was approached to contribute a short story to an anthology.

I realized that I didn’t need to sit behind a desk or wait tables or sling lattes all day while I cultivated my writing career. I could have a writing career right now, even if it wasn’t quite the type of writing I originally imagined myself doing. But I’m so psyched that I ventured away from my comfort zone and took on different types of projects. I can parlay the experiences I’ve had ghostwriting for other people and researching unfamiliar topics into my personal projects. It helps keep my ideas fresh and I’m constantly learning new things—not to mention I was able to pay my hefty electricity bill last month (woop woop).

There are so many other ways that people can use their talents and passions aside from the way they might have always imagined. That’s not to say you can’t and won’t ever use them the way you want most! It’s just a nice way to bridge the gap while you work towards your ultimate goal. It’s also a major confidence booster: nowadays, when people ask me what I do, I get to tell them what I do. I don’t get insecure anymore because I have to explain the origins of my totally mundane double life or fudge an answer that godawful question, “Do people ever pay you for that?” If I hadn’t forced myself to expand my range, there’s a good chance I’d still be awkwardly avoiding eye contact at family reunions whenever the subject of my “career” came up.

Move Forward

The final lesson I’ve learned since I joined this whole circus is an ongoing one: as long as I keep moving forward, I’ll always be improving. My most recent work is almost always my best work, which serves as near constant incentive to continue plugging ahead. I always tell people that the best idea I’ve ever had is something I haven’t even thought of yet. If I put a stopper in my pursuits, if I focus on something else, something easier… I might never have the best idea I’ve ever had. And that’s the thing that scares me more than anything else, even more than having what some people might call an “unstable” career path.

If you’re the type of person who can’t fall asleep at night unless you can assure yourself every day that you did something to further your own cause, then guess what: somehow or another, you’re going to make this thing work. You care about it too much. You know that there’s a difference between a job and a career. You might occasionally wonder what will cause you to stop trying—if there will come a day where the uphill battle finally makes you its bitch. But I personally wonder about that potential doomsday less and less as time goes by: I’m not sure if that means I’ve finally accepted the delusional veil I’ve been pulling over my eyes since I was 18, or if it’s a sign of actual progress. Either way, I feel good about where I’m at, even if most days are fraught with daunting rewrites and difficult clients and insecure inner monologues every time I hit “Send.” I’m doing my thing and I get to do it everyday. I’ve worked hard for my right to do my thing. If you have a thing, and if you truly care about it, you will make time to do it. And that’s how you do it for life, whether you’re a pro or a soon-to-be pro.

Photo by Meaghan Morrison

Travel

A Night on the Paris Metro

May 23, 2014 Nidhal Ben-Romdhane Leave a comment

When someone mentions the Fourth of July, most people think of fireworks, barbecues, and good old-fashioned American liberty. However, my last Independence Day was nothing like the relaxing image of beers and hot dogs that we usually think of, and I’ll never forget just how different it was.

I had landed in Paris and been there for a few days—just enough time to check out the Louvre and Notre Dame, but nowhere near enough time to know my way around the city. Since I was staying with my cousin at the time, I hadn’t had a chance to meet many people… leading me to solve that problem the way I solve all my problems: with the Internet. If you haven’t heard of Couchsurfing, it’s an awesome website where people look for hosts wherever they’re traveling and others can host travelers to make new friends! There, I discovered meet-up happening at the Parc des Buttes Chaumont for a wine and cheese party. I figured wine and cheese was close enough to hot dogs and beer, and I ended up taking a ride on the metro to meet up with these travelers from all ends of the world.

My first mistake, of course, was forgetting to charge my phone—I had no way of finding out where exactly in this enormous park to find the meetup. After some various interactions with French people and an interesting conversation with a drug dealer, I finally found the promised land of wine and cheese and settled in for a nice relaxing evening with travelers. Unfortunately, the park security didn’t agree with our plans that night and we were kicked out because the park was closing shortly after.

Our night was just beginning, so we didn’t let this stop our Fourth of July celebrations. As we were walking to the metro to get back to our temporary homes, someone yelled that we were all going to take a train to the Seine River and finish our wine and cheese party along the water. From here, the night escalated. Somehow on our way to the metro, another Couchsurfer procured a giant speaker box. Not even your run of the mill boom box, we needed a dolly just to move it. Naturally someone connected their phone to this thing and suddenly this wine and cheese picnic had just turned into a traveling rave.

Now, here comes the part that would have never flown in the United States. Our picnic group took over an entire subway car, and all of a sudden we had turned this public transportation service into our own personal night club. People were popping open bottles of wine, shooting champagne corks into the group, and dancing their asses off. What was going to be a fifteen minute ride to the river turned into us taking over this train for about two hours.

This whole time, I was having the time of my life, but there was a little part of my brain that was freaking out just a little bit. We were drinking in public, creating a huge disturbance, and confirming the stereotypical image of tourists in Paris. I couldn’t help but think that the night would end up taking a turn for the worst once the authorities got involved.

But they never came. When we reached the first stop, everyone who wasn’t interested just got off and went into another train car. By the end of our metro rave, we actually ended up with more people than we started by accumulating random Parisians who felt like partying for a while..

We ended up getting off at the river once the trains stopped running and decided to just keep partying until they started up again at six in the morning. (This of course led my cousin to freak out since I had no way of contacting her. Whoops!) After about twelve full hours of meeting new people, dancing all over the city, and drinking heavily in public, I finally got on the train again and reacquainted myself with my bed.

It was probably one of the most memorable nights of my life, and will always be the kind of Fourth of July I could never experience in the United States.

Photo by Meggyn Watkins

Travel

A Volcano Trapped Me in Rome

May 21, 2014 Sara Danver Leave a comment

“The word adventure has gotten over used. For me, when everything goes wrong—that’s when adventure starts” – Yvon Chouinard

A volcano trapped me in Europe, but strangely enough, that isn’t where the story starts. The story starts a few weeks earlier, during my year studying abroad at the University of Edinburgh, where “Spring Break” is three weeks long. Armed with a EuroRail pass, a carefully mapped trajectory, and a duffle bag I wore as a backpack, I was ready for my Grand Tour. Or, as close to a Grand Tour as I was probably going to get, given my gender, income status, and the century I live in.

My friend and I started the journey with five days in Paris. We’d eaten plenty of croissants, clomped all over famous French memorials, and kissed Oscar Wilde’s tomb stone (leaving bright pink lipstick smears mingling indistinguishable among their fellows). It was time for our night train to Venice.

Only someone was in our berth, and as a helpful, if stern, official pointed out, our tickets were for a month and some days later. Thank goodness for the young French woman behind the customer service counter, who took one look at our desperate American faces and then asked in English, “Alright, so where are you trying to go?”

She took our map, our EuroRail passes and our itinerary, and then presented us with some options that would get us out of Paris that evening. We picked a night train to Ventimiglia. We say it was because that route took us along the French Riviera through Monaco, along beautiful coasts we never would have seen otherwise. Really though, it was because we both loved Gilmore Girls.

nice, we had a one-night trip to Ventimiglia, another train to Milan, a hostel in Milan, and then another day of traveling. We ended up eating gelato in a tiny beach town on the edge of the Italian coast. We washed down delicious focaccia and prosciutto sandwiches with warm Pepsi on the sun-drenched train platform of a sleepy little town somewhere between Ventimiglia and Milan. We stayed in a strange, haphazard little hostel that might have actually been someone’s house, commandeered by the house sitter. Of course, we were panicked in Milan—unsure how the rest of the trip was going to go, unsure if we could even make it to our next stop. We were ready to scrap all of our plans completely because there were no train tickets to be had to our next destination. At least, no one who understood us well enough to sell them to us. We ate kind of mediocre pizza, and then I curled up in bed to read Percy Jackson, which just goes to show, you can’t have everything.

We did finally get a ticket to Belgrade, Serbia, the next stop on our journey. After three different train stations where they were not selling these tickets, we basically offered our first-born children to the travel agent who finally figured it out for us. The train itself was definitely older than we were and the air conditioning didn’t really work. The concierge spoke Serbian, German and Italian. We, suffice to say, did not. Mostly he talked to us in Italian and we tried to match it up with the French we knew, romance language to romance language. We did, as it turned out, finally make it to Eastern Europe, back on track to meeting up with another friend in Athens, our final destination.

Between getting lost in tangled webs of back streets, eating fried cheese in five or six European cities, taking seated showers in a bathtub, drying ourselves off with our t-shirts, and ripping our only pair of pants each, we finally made it to Athens. When I called my parents to let them know we’d arrived, they had some dire warnings about some volcano in Iceland, but I waved them off. It sounded as absurd to me then as it probably does to you now. A volcano? In Iceland? The Grecian sun was bright, the sky was blue, burning almost too brightly above the monuments. There was no ice to be seen!

“We’re going to be here for five days or so, it should have cleared up by then. We’ll be fine,” I said. My parents were skeptical but I ignored them and went back to hiking ruins, eating gyros, catching up on Bones, and drinking sweet, gritty coffee in the blinding Greek sunlight.

And yet, while we clomped all over Athens, the Icelandic volcano, Eyjafjallajökull, continued to blanket the European skies with thick, black clouds of ash and dust—grounding planes all over Europe, including the one that was supposed to take me and my friend back to Edinburgh.

We were stuck. The friend we were visiting was leaving on a trip of her own, and due to a booking mishap way back in January when we were planning this trip (yes, the adventure started early), we actually had tickets to Rome in our back pockets as well and so we figured that we might as well be stuck in a new city. We saw the Sistine Chapel, ate delicious gnocchi and pizza, stayed in another haphazard hostel run by a lewd, if ruggedly handsome, Italian and his more earnest, but no less lecherous Irish counterpart.

Later, people would hear this story and say sardonically, “Oh poor you, stuck in Rome! How awful!” And I will agree that there are much worse places to get stuck in the world. We had food, we had wine, we had ruins and warm brick and dappled sunlight. We had gelato.

We also had no money. While in Athens, a vicious ATM ate my friend’s debit card, so we were living on my bank account alone. We wouldn’t be able to get a train for weeks, and even if we could somehow find our way onto one, the tickets were about three hundred dollars. Our best plan was finding a train to France and then hoping against hope that someone would rent us (only recently 21) a car with an automatic transmission. Our second best plan was to try to stowaway in a DHL delivery truck. We sat in a café, alternating between giddy appreciation of the word “adventure,” and nervous eavesdropping on the conversations of the Brits sitting near us. We wondered if they would ever be able to get out of Italy, if they’d be willing to take us with them.

Finally, after three days, the smoke and ash cleared long enough for us to get a flight to Glasgow and a midnight bus to Edinburgh. When we got home, we slept for days.

It is, bar none, the best vacation I’ve ever taken. I think, in all likelihood, it will remain so for the rest of my life.

A million things went wrong, and we spent a few nights desperate and uncomfortable. We were nervous and scared a lot. Regardless of our fears, however, the sun rose the next day and we figured out what to see, where to go. We figured out how to circle Europe. It was a trip made up of old churches, art that stole our breath away, fried cheese, sunlight and rain, ripped jeans, endless train tracks, and uncountable, unbelievable stories. We were terrified and amazed. We were indomitable.

Photo by Sara Slattery