Thoughts from the 4th floor.

College is a funny place. We build up to it, idealize it, say we love it, and try and convince ourselves that this absurd schedule we keep is normal and "nbd", while complaining about it of course. We eat terribly, get up at absurd hours of the morning to study, play intermural sports "for fun" against people who are so good they should be on a real team, learn important life-changing information from professors who should have been fired the day they started, and call this whole thing "an education". It really should be called "an immersion".

We spend so much of our time worrying about how everyone's college experience is better than ours. Everyone else studies more, prays more (may not be a desirable trait elsewhere, but here it is), has more fun, is more well liked, and has a body totally uneffected by unlimited ice cream monday-friday and french fry decked salad. I'm starting to realize how much time we spend not spending our time. We're not in the "mood" for stepping out of our comfort zones, and by the time we figure out what a blessing it is to be "young and dumb" (song my mat kearney...the rest of the title is "in love", but let's face it...we're not all in love), we have wasted the "young" part, and the "dumb" is looked down upon less favorably. Ok, so don't take this as my personal "screw rules and let's drink till we pass out", this is simply my thought progression on a typical Tuesday night.

"Oh, to be young and dumb and in love...."

I Miss Gaming

I miss Gaming at the most random times...


I miss it when we are saying the Our Father in mass...in English. I close my eyes and picture the church at the Kartause, and say the prayer to myself in German.


I miss it on Wednesday mornings, when I think about how I used to walk to the Cassidy's at 8am.


I miss it when I wake up and look out my window...and there are no mountains.


I miss it when I hear other people talk about how they are going to Austria...and I get jealous that I can't be there.


I miss it when I think about how I can't go back to the Fall of 2011, no matter how much I want to.

I See You

I objectify you.

No, not in that way- don’t worry. I see you as a person, worthy of being treaty with dignity and not as “something” existing for the purpose of benefiting me. It is precisely because I see you as a person, as a “someone” worthy of respect that I objectify you. I see what you do, and I care enough about you to make a judgment about it. I see what you cannot see from within yourself, I have the power to go beyond your limited judgment from a subjective standpoint, and state things the way they are.

If only you could see what I see from out here. You would see your value, your spontaneous expressions, and your shyness. You would see someone who contents yourself never to object, never to blatantly stand up for yourself. You would see a worthiness of being loved. You would see intelligence that is undermined by yourself and others. You would see your weaknesses and your trials, and if you were me…you would love you even more for them. Not in spite of them, for them.

I wish you could see you objectified.

Injustice

Why is it so much easier to believe people are either black or white, completely guiltless, or the worst person in the world? Why is it so much harder to see that everyone is fighting the same fight I am, the fight for the good part of myself? I can see it so clearly in myself, but in everyone else is fighting a losing battle for my goodwill and understanding. Why am I not joyful when I see someone I don’t like showing virtue or goodness? Why does it make me angry? Because it threatens the case that I have built up against them? Is that why? If that is the case, in the end I have as much culpability for my lack of charity as they do for whatever I am holding against them. If their fault really offends me that much, shouldn’t I be overjoyed to see myself proved wrong? Why does it hurt my pride so much? And why, oh why, do I care that everyone else knows who they “truly are” or the “true persons” that I create them to be. Because, really, who am I to say who they truly are.

Dirndls and Water Slides

One of our first weekends here, we had a really unique and awesome opportunity. The school was celebrating 20 years of having an Austrian program in Gaming, and there was a special mass with the bishop at the Kartause, and barbecue. We all got to dress in the traditional Austrian outfits; the girls got dirndls, and the guys got lederhosen. Let me tell you, at first I was not going to get the outfit. Everyone was really excited about them, and literally the school had two nights when the 130 girls who live in the Kartause this semester all packed into a room and picked out their Austrian outfits. We usually only rent them at the end of the semester for the Austrian ball, and then if we want to buy them we can. I almost didn't get one, because I didn't understand the big deal, but now I am really glad I did. Almost every girl was wearing one the day of the anniversary celebration, and it was really fun seeing everyone all decked out.
It was a wicked hot day, and after the barbeque, we went to the local pool for the day, and it was CRAZY FUN! It was the very last day the pool was open, which was weird because we continued to have nice weather into the beginning of October. They had a huge water slide and a high diving board, which I went off for the first time ever. As which everything we seem to do, there were at least 50 Franciscan people that converged on the community, and it was a blast.

Streeeetch

So many things happen every day, and while I admire the people who blog every day...honestly, I'm too busy making memories to write them down!
In our household journal that the SOL sister have written in when they come, several sisters used to word "stretch". "Austria stretches you", they say. The first day, when myself and my 3 other household sisters here opened the household box and read that, I don't know about them, but I didn't get it. As the days pass, however, I can't get that word off of my mind. When I realized my classes were not going to be a piece of cake, when I got blisters the size of texas on every one of my toes from walking all day, when I experienced just how uncomfortable sleeping on a bus really is...I began to understand the meaning of "stretched". Even further than that, I feel that God is stretching me to the very seams in my spiritual life, in my relationships, and in the non-stop pace of life here. It's the kind of stretching that leads to a better formed product, though. You know when you're spreading pizza dough? You have to tug and pull at the dough, that just does not want to spread. If you make a hole, you don't know what you're going to do, but you just keep stretching. Yes, I just made an food analogy, but that's the way my mind works, I guess.

Speaking of a non-stop pace....I have to go before I have really written anything concrete. Well, I'll put up a picture of a mountain. Ok. Bye for now.

Cliff bars and Backpacks

So I have to say, I'm not much of a hiker. An occasional nature walk, but not the hardcore, Cliff Bars and boots, backpacks and scaling rocks, mud and bugs sort of thing. So I still am baffled as to why I signed up for a 16 mile hike. Yes, you heard me right, and no, Dad, I did not get the conversion from kilometers to miles wrong- it really was 16 miles. When the school told us about this hike, they described it as a hike "anyone can do". A 7hr, low key, occasional hill, fun pilgrimage to Our Lady of Mariazell shrine. I figured this was a standard, everyone-does-it-I'll-be-fine sort of thing, so I signed up, along with 3/4 of the student body here.

Let me tell, it was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my 20 years of life. The day started out great, with sunshine and good spirits, and it truly was gorgeous. I brought a backpack that had mine and my roommate's lunch and bathing suit, towel, water bottles, and other essentials in it. I soon realized that it was not the smartest choice. I honestly didn't mean to overpack, and it didn't feel like overpacking back in the comfort if the Kartause, but let me tell you, 3 hours in and you start to feel like every oat in every granola bar in the bag weighs 3 pounds. My camera was in the bottom of the backpack, and I regret not being able to get the most gorgeous parts on the trail on record. When you're walking for that far, and that long, and asking yourself why on earth you ever thought it was a good idea, I realized that so much of your attitude can be affected by the people you are with. I was lucky- the group I was with prayed together, laughed, and encouraged each other. It truly became a pilgrimage and a bonding time as we fell and got cuts and lost nearly all willpower going up steep inclines.

A couple hours in, one of the sisters joined our groups, and she was the greatest blessing of all. She had been sick for 10 days before the hike, and still felt called to come on it with the students. At the toughest parts, she kept us distracted by asking about our lives, and we all opened up to each other even more as we got to learn about each other's families and lives.

I was worried about how my knee was going to do, although I tried not to show it, and there were times when I pictured my physical therepist rolling his eyes and me and calling me an idiot. I am just so happy that I was able to do that hike. If I had known what I was getting into, I'm sure I would have thought I couldn't. I guess God really wanted me to go though, because He got me through it, and honestly, my feet hurt 10 times more than my knee.

The thing is- it was awesome, and hard, and a sacrifice, but I would do it again. Well......maybe not right away.