I Don’t Wanna Go to London
The first time I ever really failed was during my sophomore year of college. Well, I mean, I’d failed before then. (I’ll add the list of sports I “played” as a kid as an appendix to this blog post. Too many to list here.) But I mean “failed” in the sense of something that I really, really wanted. Something I had set my heart on. Here’s how it went down…
Towards the end of my second year of college, all sophomores had the opportunity to apply to a study abroad program. At the time, I was a business major. A miserable, miserable business major. Which, now that I think about it, I was also failing at. Okay, so maybe the incident I’m trying to tell you about was like the fourth or fifth time I’d failed. I’m not really sure. I’ll tally them all up as soon as I’m done writing this blog post. So anyways, I’m a miserable, failing business major and the time comes for me to apply to a study abroad program. Naturally, like all good business majors, I applied to the London program. Now, did I want to go to London? Not particularly. Since I was a kid, I had been fascinated by India. Even when narrowing it down to Europe, London was maybe fifth or sixth on my list. But London was where all of the business majors studied abroad. And, at the time, I didn’t have the self-confidence to always pursue what was really in my heart. So, bring on the…bangers and mash? I really don’t know. In case you can’t tell where this story is going, I’ve never been.
Because I got rejected.
I mean, why wouldn’t London have wanted to let this guy in?
I remember it like it was twenty years ago. A balmy spring day in South Bend, Indiana. I received the rejection letter, read it calmly, carefully placed the letter back into the envelope, and then gingerly slipped in into a drawer before heading out for a lovely walk in the floral-scented air. Just kidding, I was furious. And, like all dramatic twentysomethings, I decided to lash out in the best way I knew how: by blasting music. (Fun fact about me: blasting music is also how I celebrate, grieve, get ready for work, get ready to exercise, get ready for bed, study, relax, and deal with boredom). But on this particular day, I blasted music to express my anger. And, because it was the turn of the millennium, I decided to blast one particular song to get my point across: “London” by Third Eye Blind. Allow me to save you the Google. Here are the lyrics:
“I don’t wanna go to London.
I told you I don’t care.
I don’t wanna go to London.”
So apropos, right? I know, I was proud of it too. So like I said, I start blasting this song and played it over and over and over and over. And as I played it over and over and over and over, I remembered that I never really wanted to go to London in the first place. And as the song played, and I fumed, and my RA came to tell me to turn it down, I made a decision. I was never going to go to London. Or Europe. I was going to boycott the entire continent for the rest of my life to really show them. Who’s them, you ask? Um, I’m not really sure…Europeans, maybe? Who knows. I wasn’t thinking super rationally at this point. But still, the decision had been made and I was sticking to it.
I told you I don’t care.
Now, like many things that don’t go our way, not getting into this program wound up being one of the great blessings of my life. It was because I did not study abroad that I had the flexibility in my schedule to completely change my major mid-way through college. I transferred from being a business major to an English major. And my life has never been the same. I got to read amazing books. Learned how to write pretty. And made some lifelong friends through the program. I sometimes think about what would have happened to me if I had remained a business major and shudder. I think it would have involved a lot of ties maybe?
With that clarity, you might think that the whole ‘I’m never going to Europe’-thing would have become null and void, right? And, it should have. But when I graduated and some people were setting sail for the coveted post-college Grand Tour of Europe, I found myself drowning in the icy cold waters of needing to feed and clothe myself. So naturally, when I heard about people on their European adventures, I comforted myself with the reminder that I did not, in fact, want to go to London. Or Europe. Or really, anywhere near the continent. I was just fine exactly where I was. Me and my tw0-taco meal deal from Del Taco.
I told you I don’t care.
I can literally sense someone on the internet reading this blog post right now going, “Wrap it up, Saftig. You’re getting a little long-winded here.” Okay, okay, I’ll fast forward and get to present day.
I’m flying to Italy in a little over two hours.
When the pandemic first descended, my version of bread-baking was to start learning Italian. And then that was followed by reading books set in Italy. And Italian cooking. And slowly but surely making my way through Fellini’s canon. My exploration of the culture has brought me so much joy over the past two years. And after a few postponements, I’m finally doing it. I recognize that this is a massive privilege, one that, at times, has even made me a little uncomfortable. So I’m approaching the whole thing with copious amounts of gratitude and humility.
My intent for this blog is, ultimately, to connect. With you. With the people I meet. And with the experience itself. For those of you who want to follow along, you can input your email address at the bottom of this page to get email updates when I publish new posts. You can also follow a new account I set up on Instagram for the less-wordy version of what I’m experiencing: @tasteforwords.
I’ve got a few surprises planned for my time in Italy, which include (but are not limited to): special guests, a month-long course on a skill for which I am woefully inept, and a stay in the exact hotel suite where a rock icon once wrote a song. (Edit: that should say “the” rock icon. Because, for me, there is only one.) And in between all of those things, I am sure there will be lots of delicious meals, hilarious mishaps, and “whoa” cultural moments.
After three months in Italy, I’ll start weaving my way through the continent, eventually making my way towards the UK where, yes, I will visit London. (And some fabulous friends who now live there.)
I realize it’s a crazy time to travel. My heart aches from the destruction of the pandemic and ongoing conflicts around the world. And I seriously considered cancelling the trip because of these things. But worldwide unrest has only reinforced the urgency of this trip for me. Our lives are precious and fleeting. And there is both beauty and darkness right in front of us, as well as on the other side of the world. After the last two years, I’m very familiar with that which is right in front of me. I want to look further out, to the horizon.
Because truthfully, I do care.