backpacks and sidewalk cracks

My experience with high-school Spanish was a little like trying to remember to floss every-day. I knew it was supposed to be good for my all-around educational health, but I could never remember where to put “accentos”, vocabulary was an endless struggle, and however much I gargled and spat in class, I was physically incapable of rolling my ‘r’s. Despite my three tumultuous years in high school, I only succeeded in testing out of one semester for the St. Olaf 4-class language requirement. I bitterly fought my way through 111, 231, and threw a personal fiesta on May 16 th last spring when I stepped out of my 232 final. I never really understood the necessity of this education requirement and was always a little irritated that it stole three of my precious classes, but after a week wandering the streets of Copenhagen, the lilting exchanges between people seemed suspiciously alluring. Long strings of noise that sounded like complete gibberish to my English ears resulted in roars

The time spent on trains is both fleeting and contemplative. The landscape flicks between dark tunnel and exotic scenery, like slides on an old projector. It’s so quick, so quick… But there’s so much time to think about it passing. The time spent on trains is different than time spent on airplanes, as it actually requires investment in the environment. It makes the destination that much more rewarding, because of a participation in the journey. The time spent on trains is a community time. A group of travelers— united by the need to relocate. Watching people’s lives exist, and for a fleeting second existing with them… but then passing through to different destinations. The time spent on trains is spellbinding. The cars curl around the coast of a narrow, snaking fjord. Mountains climb straight out of the water, while white strings of waterfall pull the rocks back down. The little houses seem impossibly nestled betwee

Something I’ve noticed while hiking in the past few years is a particular aversion to climbing down mountains. Ascending to the summit is fabulous. The path is full of fresh possibilities and vantage points. The steep terrain sets a steady Lvl 1-2 heartrate and boulder stairs ignite a welcome quadricep burn that fuels the climb. A bubble of excitement forms as the peak appears and all there is to do is go up, up, up. And then there’s the top, offering evergreen-speckled valleys and a distant pastel horizon for climbers to feast their eyes upon. It’s a glorious moment of elated competence that’s probably fueled by a bit of a runner’s high. But the time always comes when you have to climb down. I wouldn't even categorize it as climbing so to speak, more of a hap-hazard stumble between loose tallus and slippery streams praying that I don’t roll an ankle. My knees hurt, my quads are shaky from the ascent and I’m normally a little dehydrated and hangry. While it inevitable loom

  I just embarked on a four-month journey to Europe to study Architecture in Denmark and pick up any other adventures along the way. As a traveler, one of the most crucial items to cram in your already overstuffed carry-on luggage is awareness. I’ve found that are three types of awareness; situational cognizance, past reflection, and present engagement. Situational cognizance is extremely important en transit to destination. Marine Frank, a man whom I worked with this summer, exposed me to labels for such situational cognizance called Cooper's colors. This Color Code has four phases white, yellow, orange, and red. Condition White is a state of obliviousness. You are completely unaware of your surroundings, for example texting on your cell phone. Hopefully you won't be attacked in condition white because you'll probably be killed. Condition Yellow is still relaxed but aware that there could be hidden danger around the next corner. If you are attacked, you will be prep