DONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! July 9, 2009

This morning, I took my final exam for my final class of my final term of the MBA. HOORAAAAAAY!!!

Nearly 24 months, three continents, three cities, a hundred identity crises, several failed classes, dozens of amazing new friends, $120,000 and a virtual lifetime later — I FINISHED MY MBA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (A little strange, I know — given that I graduated in April, so it feels a bit… Anti-climactic? Maybe? But only a bit!)

These last two years have been, without question, the best two years of my life. It’s been a roller coaster, and I still doubt my own judgment in choosing to do an MBA (instead of studying, say, Education? Journalism? Spanish?), but the experience has been amazing. I’ve never doubted myself so much, never had to dig so deep, never been so frustrated and so stretched. I’ve also never laughed so loud, partied so hard, learned so much, or reached so far. As a result, I feel more resilient, more humble and, actually, more professional (turns out I may have actually learned a few things along the way! weird!).

The highlight reel, in no particular order:

- AMAZING new friends! Matt, Blanca, Benj, Dan, Megan, David, Leo, Guille, Nicole, Brian, Aimee, Graci, Christopher, los Klose, los Gonzales, Brooke, Kelly, Tonni, Camilo, Heather… The list goes on and on!!!

- Visits from AMAZING old friends and family! Paddy N, Aimee, Becky and Ben, Laura and Sean, Kim and Marijn (who got engaged when they came to visit!!), Mary and Doug, Will, my parents, Jessey and Aaron — ALL awesome!

- Speaking of AMAZING old friends: in the course of these insane 24 months, I also FINALLY figured out that, duh, the love of my life is also one of my very dearest friends. Don’t know how I missed it, but turns out I’m madly in love with the guy. Who knew?

- Trips! Dublin with Aimee, Sevilla with Matt, Blanca and Ben, San Sebastian with Megan, Munich with Will and J&L, PR for Guille’s wedding with los Tompkins and los Klose, London twice! (about to make that three times!), Portland at Christmas both years, the Beach House with Micah, Boston for 4th of July AND my birthday last year, Andorra for skiing, LA for Jen and Laurent’s wedding, DC in February, Kruger Park with Megan and David… Wow! What an incredible couple of years, just for traveling!

- Living in Barcelona with Raul again, in el Gotico!

- Really living in Brooklyn with my tremendous family and realizing how awesome that is. Brooklyn rocks my world. Also, all that family time was priceless — family dinners, soccer games, movie nights, birthday parties, millions of great conversations… If it weren’t for the aforementioned love of my life, I’m pretty sure I’d be heading back to the basement in Brooklyn!

- Friday night dinners!

- Passing Finance on the first try. Passing Corporate Law on the first try. Social Entrepreneurship. Global Economics. Leadership, Power and Influence. Never having to take another accounting course ever again. Ever. The DGDW conference. Studying all night for finance with Guille and then walking all the way home at midnight.

- Hours and hours and hours at the MBPoW and the fabulous cheap tapas place (pescaitos fritos… mmm…).

- Working for the most prestigious bank in the world and making some cash for six months last year. While the work itself is not for me, I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.

- The last six months, while strange in some ways, have been an amazing time to relax, rejuvenate, kick Operation MM(f)PF into gear (15lbs down! woot!), and attempt to re-focus (yeah, still working on that…).

- Graduation. What an amazing, special week with my folks and Mary and Doug, and an incredible time to meet the families of my friends.

- Living in South Africa for three months. When will I ever have a chance to do THIS again??

- Testing my personal boundaries, limits, comfort zone and intellectual capacity.

Anyway, wow, I’m sure I could go on, because I’m sure I’m leaving out TONS of important, memorable things — but obviously, it’s been a very intense two years. I’m sad it’s over, terrified of the all too present future, and ready to move on to the next phase of my life. I have NO idea what the coming weeks and months will bring, other than a lot of joyful reunions with family and friends, starting in London next week, progressing to NY and finally back to Portland, my new home! I’m going to take the next few days to feel excited about this accomplishment and ignore the fact that now that I’m done with my MBA what I REALLY am is unemployed — because for the moment? I’m just EXCITED (ahem, Laura and Sean).

And? I’m DONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m done I’m done I’m DONE!!!!!!!!!!!

Detox-retox-retox-detox… June 29, 2009

As predicted, I did NOT make it for a whole week on the uber-punishing maple syrup lemonade detox. My heart simply was not in it. However, I DID make it through two days of the stuff, and then transitioned into three days of only eating fresh fruit and steamed veggies (no seasoning, no olive oil, no nothin’! — that’s commitment!). Much as I love my veggies, I was pretty burned out on steamed zucchini at the end of three days — but I DO feel good about leaving the caffeine behind (ugh, again…), and I do feel detoxed. Er, rather, I DID, until I, once again, found myself making those damn carrot cake muffins! I can’t stop! It’s a compulsion! I must must must perfect the recipe, and I simply haven’t been satisfied yet. Also? Jon, my Cape Town GBF, has been around a ton since his hubby is away for several weeks. Which means: certain debauchery (read: going over my calorie limit and also indulging in a glass or two of wine) and rabble-rousing (read: laughing so loudly that it’s almost embarrassing). He’s fabulous for my soul, but not so much for the ol’ diet. And oh gawd, and don’t even get me started on Sarah’s baking projects this last week (for her mother’s birthday). I’ll just say that it ALL adds up to potential ruination, and goes totally counter to the spirit of the detox — but, as Laura will likely argue, binging is nearly inevitable after sustained deprivation.

Having spent the last two months dieting and detoxing, my conclusion is that dieting, my friends, is freaking HARD. I looooove food. Love it. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, dessert dessert dessert… And also? You KNOW I love my beer and bubbly — neither of which is tremendously diet-friendly. LAME! In addition, I loooooove my coffee — but it, I must report, does NOT love me. Every time I give up coffee I remember how good it feels to be caffeine-free: I can wake up all on my own, I feel more focused, less jittery, more even in general. However, having spoken to both my honey and Miss Laura in Boston (soon to be in Walla Walla!), I was met with rather fierce resistance to the idea of giving up the stuff. The verdict seems to be that, no no no, we do NOT drink decaf! Decaf is for losers, wimps and old ladies.

But why?? Surely it’s unhealthy to be so leashed to coffee that I get severe, crippling headaches (and yep, have even been known to vomit…) if I don’t have it. That just can’t be right. Furthermore, I’m fairly convinced that caffeine exacerbates my already outrageous ADD. Going off the stuff always always always feels GOOD. Really, really good. Independent-spirited girl that I am, I like being free of my most demanding addiction.

But, well… There’s always a but, isn’t there? And it’s this: I freaking love the stuff. I love that the idea of having a cup of coffee is the carrot that lures me out of bed in the morning. I love the ritual of making the coffee — the teasing smell as I wait those twitchy four minutes until I can push the plunger down. I even like the way my soy milk swirls and changes the color of the stuff. (Before the diet? The swirls of half and half sinking to the bottom of my cup…) I love sitting down with my hot cup of coffee and checking my email — talking to no one, just me and my ritual. This ritual describes how I most like to start my day. So what do I do now? Well, I’ve started substituting herbal tea — which is lovely, but the ritual isn’t nearly as satisfying. And I’m sorry, nothing tastes like “wake up, woman!” the way that a delicious cup of freshly brewed coffee does. So… what? I’ve been toying with the idea of making soy chai lattes at home — but then, crap, am I really THAT girl? The “no, I don’t drink coffee, I’ll have a chai latte made with soy milk, please” girl? Should I trade in my boots for Birks and my cashmere for fleece and just BE that girl? Really? Or do I quietly, shamefully, in an embarrassed whisper, start ordering decaf in coffee shops? Start brewing it at home? What is it about that that feels like… giving up? Giving in to getting (gasp!) old? My 80 year old grandmother still drinks a pot of coffee a day — surely I can’t be the wimpy granddaughter with my own pathetic little press on the side for decaf? For shame!!!! What’s a girl to do??

Inevitably, I ALWAYS go back on the stuff. Always. Every time I give it up, a month goes by, and I start sloooowly slowly letting that delicious drink start wriggling its way back into my good graces. And before I even know I’ve done it, it’s sayonara herbal tea, hola cafe con leche, and I’m right back where I started. Vicious, vicious cycle!

Adding insult to injury, I’m about to move to one of the greatest coffee cities on the planet, and no self-respecting coffee worshiper (such as myself) REALLY does a permanent dive into the dreaded world of decaf in THAT city! I mean, sure, after dinner sometimes, MAYBE, but… I am not a wimp, I am not a loser (er, let’s hope…), and I am NOT an old lady! And crap, my grandmother, the 80-year-old one, IS an old lady, and SHE doesn’t even drink decaf! Ugh. It is a conundrum, to be sure, and easily the hardest part of any detox for me.

Needless to say, the detox is over, and I do feel healthier, but… Why do I feel like I may have won the battle, but I’m nowhere near winning the war?

Detox, part deux June 19, 2009

For some reason, I’ve convinced myself that it’s a GOOD idea to do the super duper detox again — you know, the maple-syrup-lemonade no-food-for-days one. The same detox that, last summer, made me violently ill for the first couple of days, and let’s not even discuss how ill I was after. But somehow, in my get-fit mania, I’ve convinced myself that this is a good idea — I’m so intent on getting healthy, I should do a cleanse, too, right?? Right. And, as luck would have it, my roommate is also interested in this cleanse, so we’re doing it together. The plan is to just do a week, though (not 10 days), since we both have plans that we don’t want to cancel next weekend (that involve eating and drinking, clearly).

I must admit, today is day 1, and my willpower is not what it was when I did this last year. I’m hungry. I’m spacey. I feel mostly good about the choices I’ve been making with food/drink lately (um, except my bizarre compulsion to make carrot cakes…), which might make a detox seem less necessary. I’m dreading the potential migraine tomorrow after 48 hours caffeine free. But still, I don’t know, the idea of a detox is appealing. I’m so stressed out about finding a job and have just been channeling that energy into getting healthy and ignoring the job search. So, I figure a little, erm, taking out of the garbage?, can’t hurt — as though, I don’t know, it’ll help to re-focus me. Plus, I’m not even doing the whole 10 days, so it can’t be THAT bad, right? Right??

But as I’ve said, my willpower is NOT what it was, so we’ll see if I can make it through the whole week. Maybe 4-5 days would be enough… Although, that’s probably not the BEST mentality to have as I kick this thing off… Well, we shall see.

Counting down, once again June 17, 2009

It seems I have just four weeks left in South Africa. Wow. I still feel like I’m getting acclimated here, and it’s swiftly approaching time again for me to leave. Typically, with this realization I am spiraling into a giant freak-out about What Comes Next. On Saturday, I damn near worked myself into a full blown panic attack when I realized that there are soooooo many more jobs in SF and Seattle than in Portland. Which means, of course, that the responsible thing to do would be to expand my job search. I’ve put my heart and soul into this degree, and should try to get as much benefit from it as possible. However, the mere thought of continuing to be in a long distance relationship with my awesome honey makes me feel like there’s an elephant sitting on my chest; I really, really want (need??) to be where he is. So now I’m back to the drawing board with my business plan, and I think I have a really good idea, BUT — I haven’t yet figured out how to make it profitable enough to live on. It’s still beer, just not a shop (yet!!).

Of course, What Comes Next is terrifying for a plethora of reasons — mostly having to do with uncertainty, and a lot of scary, unanswered questions. No matter how sure I feel about my relationship (and I feel pretty damn sure — 10 years of being best friends is an unbeatable foundation!) it still feels like a gamble to move halfway around the world to be with someone, especially given that I’m launching myself into an incredible sketchy job market. It’s a strange thing to be SO sure about Micah, and do terribly UN-sure about, well, EVERYTHING else.

However, I do have four weeks left in South Africa, and there are a LOT of things I should do before I go. My housemate and I are going to do a half Master Cleanse this week (so just 5 days, starting on Friday — which is to say, AFTER my dreaded finance mid-term), and then we have plans to do some hiking up Table Mountain and Lion’s Head, since I haven’t done that yet. There are restaurants I want to try before I go, too, and probably a fair amount of touristy type stuff to do. Which means, I think, that the next four weeks are going to FLY by. Then it’s off to London to hang out with my awesome “family” there, and then… Back to the US! (Um, provided that prices become reasonable. Wow, yeah, flights are CRAZY expensive right now.)

So, yeah, four weeks and counting!!

Passionate about…? June 4, 2009

As I was a-jigglin’ away on the elliptical yesterday, my mind wandered to my least favorite thing to think about (um, besides the jigglin’ arms, jigglin’ booty, jigglin’ belly… ah, but I digress) — The Job Search.

Ooooh, The Job Search. Two years later, I feel no closer to knowing what I want to do with this fancy, expensive degree o’ mine. What have I considered up to now? Well, it began with the green spa, then it was HR type stuff, the it was anything at all, as long as it’s in Europe, then I got on to social enterprise, then the beer shop, and now? Now, I’m just confused. Which is awesome, because one month from now, I’m unemployed, and two months from now, I’m unemployed and living with my grandmother. Don’t get me wrong — I still looooove the idea of having a little beer shop to call my own, but have, for the time being, talked myself out of it (for cash flow reasons).

But yesterday, on the elliptical at the gym, I got to thinking about passion. All of these ideas about career have in common that they’re things I am, or I think I am, passionate about — ah, there’s the rub: things I THINK I’m passionate about. For example, I really, really love beer. So much that I’d like to make my living peddling the delicious, malty, hoppy stuff. However, since I’ve been in South Africa, I’ve been on a total hiatus from beer (since, as David will attest, the beer here is less than thrilling — like Spain, but without the oasis that is the MBPoW). And actually, it’s been okay to take a big break from the beer. In fact, I hardly miss it. So I have to wonder: am I so fickle? Out of sight, out of mind? I’m only passionate about beer if I can go down the street for it?

The question I came to (while simultaneously ellipto-sprinting my b-school weight away) is: what am I truly, consistently passionate about? Anything? Or am I so fickle that things totally come and go? (I think we know what I’m currently obsessing about — Operation MM(f)PF — when I should be obsessing about…? Um, exactly. Job search. And beer — writing that b-plan for beer. Which I am decidedly NOT doing.) I do, definitely, move through phases of obsessing about things, and I don’t want to make any career decisions based on what’s AWESOME for me today, because what’s AWESOME to me seems to vary with the seasons… And the sad thing is, I’m not even sure I know what I’m consistently passionate about. People, I guess — I never stop being excited about people, and being able to help them from time to time. Kids, definitely — I looooved working with kids, but I’m not sure I want to go back to that. Ummm… what else? Words? Language? I love to read/write/etc, and I’m pretty proud of my abilities with the ehSpanish. Consumables? (Food, beer, cava, etc…) Independence — is that something one can be passionate about? But are any of these things compatible with my post-MBA career possibilities? And are they even relevant?

Adding insult to injury, I’m not even sure it matters what I’m passionate about. The job market in Portland (like everywhere, I s’pose) has yet to show me ANYTHING that calls to me — in HR, in social enterprise, in a brewery, or in freaking Corporation X that offers me a reasonable wage to show up every day. Nearly everything I see requires 10+ years of experience and some further degree or qualification that I don’t have.  Oh, I mean, unless I want to paint houses, work in a call center, or go door to door for the Sierra Club.

But even if there were a million jobs available, I’m not convinced that I would be any more clear about what I want to do with this degree. It’s an awesome degree, and it was an amazing experience, but: I probably should have done my research a little better before I started, because I would have known what kinds of jobs people GET with an MBA. All the way through this degree, I have struggled and battled and fought with myself over the same question: what do I want to DO with the MBA? Coming to the end of it, I still don’t know. All I know is that I don’t want any kind of job like my summer job, I’d like to be as close to being my own boss as possible, I’d like to do a job I feel good about (as in, it’s socially responsible, it makes a difference, it somehow makes the world or at least a few people’s lives better), and I’d really, really like to be passionate about it. Sooo… I guess I need to figure out what that means.

Operation MM(f)PF — goes global? May 29, 2009

I’m a month in to my most recent get-fit-lose-b-school-weight regimen, and I’m happy to report that, though not as quickly as I’d like, I am making progress. To date, I’m at least 2kg down, and definitely feeling generally leaner and stronger. It’s been pretty challenging to keep within the 1600 cal/day limit, especially given that this beautiful country is full of incredible, affordable wines, and I definitely don’t always feel motivated to go to the gym EVERY day (I do, though — I’m afraid if I miss for a second, I’ll lose my momentum and be back in Fat Pants City within 24 hours…). However, I’ve been sticking pretty faithfully to my goals and lifestyle adjustments, and yeah, I also think that the distance from the MBPoW has been absolutely critical to my success — I can literally count on one hand the number of beers I’ve had since I started this project. Whoa. Talk about a lifestyle change!!

But here’s the thing — every time I recount to someone the trials, tribulations, and varied humiliations that go along with this project (28.75% body fat? REALLY?? — and let’s not even TALK about the mortifying arm jiggle that accompanies every freaking shoulder exercise I do, ugh — my roommate here calls them “Bingo Wings,” which is only hilarious until I see my own wings jiggling away in one of my gym’s nine million mirrors, and then it just makes me really, really sad), they invariably tell me that they feel inspired to get started as well. I have a girlfriend here in CT who’s planning to join a gym, I’ve got my roommate thinking about calories (taking a page out of Lauren’s book, when she kicked my a** so hard 3 summers ago!!), and Laura in Boston, Megan in NC, and Stella in MN are all threatening to start their very own MM(f)PF personal revolutions. Which, of course, I think is totally awesome.

What’s funny about this is that all I ever say is the same thing — this is hard, my body hates me, I miss pizza and beer, I was humiliated for xyz reason at the gym today, etc. But behind all of that, I guess my message gets somehow translated to: DO IT!! (Really? All my whining and complaining doesn’t just put you off and send you right back to the bar??)

Of course, as we know, I have a notorious problem with say/do ratio — I mean, how long have I been complaining about my pants NOT fitting?? (Um, yeah, that’s still mostly true, even if I am feeling leaner and stronger. A** fat is stubborn, man!) And obviously, I can now enjoy a total surplus of free time that really, really makes it easy to force my self to go to the gym (every. single. day.). But it took me the better part of a year to get really, really serious about this. And why? We KNOW I had the time in Spain, even if not in NY. And even in NY, I could (COULD!) have made it a priority (in fact, I still have a Bally’s membership in Brooklyn that I never ever used and that I keep forgetting to cancel — oops!!). But no. It’s much easier to whine, complain, bemoan an ever-diminishing wardrobe (due to an inability to FIT any of the clothing presently owned), and then have a second serving of pasta with cream sauce and another freaking beer. (Obviously, most of us LOVE the Path of Least Resistance, and I’m no exception!!) What it finally took for me to get serious was that even my so-called Fat Pants were on the cusp of not fitting, and I thought, wow, okay, I’ve let this go too far. Enough is enough, dammit!!

However, I know from my conversations with friends that I am far from alone in my frustrations with myself and my current state of fitness (um, lack thereof). My proposal is this: let’s set some collective goals for, what?, the end of the year? I mean, I’d LOVE to be bikini ready by the time I get back to the US, but, erm… Yeah. My trainer told me that it would be pretty unrealistic to drop from 28.75% to 20% body fat in just about 10 weeks, so… That’s not going to happen. But it could happen by, I don’t know, December? I hope?

Oh, and to any potential nay-sayers, let me just say: really, this is about feeling good and comfortable in my body. I don’t like to be squishy and pudgy and out of shape. As Megan would say, I don’t like to put on my favorite pair of jeans and feel like a stuffed sausage! So yeah, fine, women are always under a lot of pressure to be leaner, skinnier, more perfect, blah blah blah. But I think we can agree that MOST women (maybe all of them?) really, really like it when their favorite pair of jeans look kickass on their asses, right? And THAT is what I’m talking about. (My Citizens jeans, specifically, haven’t fit for about 2 years. And they’re my favorite and I love them and they WILL fit again!!)

Anyway, never fear, non-OMM(f)PF-participants. I am NOT going to convert Sin Logica into a weight loss blog, even if it is ALL I’m really thinking about at the moment (um, yeah — I think we know that I have a tendency to obsess… I can’t tell you how many times a day I think about how many calories I’ve consumed… and actually, I’m hoping that goes away before it becomes a real sickness — plus, it just sort of makes me uninteresting, doesn’t it?). I will continue to chronicle, as ever, my life as a b-school student/exchange student/etc.

Alright, so: who’s in? Who has a kickass, lose-that-ass, make-my-EFFING-pants-fit fitness goal to meet by the end of the year? And how are you going to do it? (Obviously, I won’t be able to keep up this personal trainer business for much longer. I love it, but man, even in SA it’s just not sustainably affordable…) And I’d love to hear some purple-faced, man-this-sucks anecdotes from those of you who are participating, because if we can’t laugh at this process, well… I think we’ll probably just cry.

A sense of purpose May 27, 2009

In my life prior to b-school, you probably heard me say, repeatedly, that I wished I could get by just working part time — you know, 20 hours or so a week, just enough for “a sense of purpose.” And what does that even mean? Well, to me it means that I’d have a good mix of obligation (somewhere I HAVE to be and things I HAVE to do when I get there) and free time; or rather, enough obligations to then be able to creatively FILL my free time, if that makes sense. I guess I mean order and structure, but also balance and liberty.

The reason I mention this is that I’ve finally nailed down what’s been so troublesome about this time in Cape Town. Yes, I’m lonely. Yes, it’s foreign here. But is that really it? To be honest… No, I don’t think so. I think if I were uber-busy with school (like I was 12 months ago, for example) I wouldn’t have TIME to feel so lonely and frustrated and culture-shocked.

What I’m missing here isn’t my home and isn’t my friends (though I DO miss you guys!!). What I’m missing is a sense of purpose. School occupies precious little of my time, and it’s (theoretically) the reason I’m here. I’ve made my gym project a serious part of my life here, but that, too, only occupies at MOST 2 hours of my day (more often an hour, though, if I’m being really honest). I’ve also made a special project of sharpening my cooking skills, but that, again, is really only 2 hours a day. And if I’m being really sincere, I would call these things self-indulgent side projects (which is reductive, I know, but reflects how I feel) — distractions, more than anything.

Most people I know would LOVE to have the time (er, the “problem”) that I have. They might even be content filling their time the way that I do (cooking, reading, gym-ing, etc). But I don’t know… I find myself wondering what’s WRONG with me, why I can’t be content with my lovely, simple life here. Is it Super Woman complex? Some kind of bizarre guilt that I’m not filling every hour of every day, AND trying to save the world? (Um, yes, probably.) Is it deeply acculturated American obsession with productivity? (Absolutely. You can’t divorce that sh** in a month.) Am I mad at myself for my own lack of creativity and discipline? (YES.)

In summary, I’m missing a sense of purpose. A raison d’etre, as it were. I feel convinced that the loneliness, discomfort, culture shock — ALL of it — would diminish radically if I felt like there was something I HAD to do here, some way that I HAD to fill my time.

The thing is — this SHOULD be enough. My life is lovely and beautiful here, and WHY should I be so obsessed with “productively” filling my time? Why can’t I just relax and enjoy it? Why do I NEED a sense of purpose? I wish I had an answer for that. I wish I could find that perfect center that they talk about in yoga and just BE here, in the moment, thankful for the time and unconcerned with how much I fill it.

I’m thinking there has to be a happy medium. Maybe I’ll content myself with filling my time the way I have been, or maybe I’ll find more “productive” ways to fill my time — hopefully, it’ll be a little bit of both. And sheesh, it’s not like I’ll EVER have this kind of time again, right? So maybe I need to let go of this whole sense of purpose business, at least for now, and just enjoy this beautiful city, eh?

Still homesick May 18, 2009

I wish I could report that 10 days have made a huge, life-altering difference in my experience of South Africa thus far. Alas, no. Don’t get me wrong — I’m definitely trying to make the best of things here. I’ve been excessively diligent about going to the gym (every. single. day. — oh, except Sundays, because they’re closed). I’ve been eating yummy, home-cooked, healthy meals. I’ve very nearly stopped drinking alcohol. I’m reading, watching movies, getting good sleep… And finally (finally!) beginning to make some very cool friends. I actually had social engagements on Friday, Saturday and Sunday — yay! (School, clearly, is a total afterthought — but didn’t we know that’s how it would be here, anyway? And let me just say: repeating Finance is one of the dumbest ideas I’ve EVER had. Ugh.)

But still… I don’t know. I’m just impatient to feel comfortable here, I guess, and extraordinarily homesick. Micah asked me — “homesick for where?” Ah, right… There isn’t any ONE place I would or could call home right now. Barcelona will never be the same, since most of my friends have now moved away. Boston hasn’t been home for almost 2 years now, and my friends there have also been steadily moving away. I definitely miss New York (a LOT!!), but wouldn’t necessarily point to it as the epicenter of my homesickness. I certainly can’t say that I’m homesick for Portland, since Portland has never been my home. So perhaps the argument could be that I simply feel the loss of a general home — but what is “home,” really? Much more than just a house, clearly — even more than just the place where I live, I think. A place where I have friends and a social life and feel reciprocal love and understanding, where people not only know but have participated in my stories, and I know and have participated in theirs, where I have my own stuff and my own car, and feel as comfortable alone as I do in the company of others… Maybe that’s what I’m missing. Whatever it is that I’m missing, it’s throwing a dark cloud over my time here, and making it nearly impossible for me to conjure a good mood. Not that I’m always in a BAD mood, per se… Just, I don’t know, I’m not in a very good mood — I’m mellow, morose, blue, unenthusiastic, whatever you want to call it. Which then drags on my motivation, making it harder for me to get out of the house and harder to break the cycle. Needless to say, I’m super frustrated with myself right now.

Incredibly, I’ve already been here over a month, and have just 9 weeks left. Which means that no matter how uncomfortable or “home”sick I may feel, it’ll all be over ridiculously soon, and then I start an even bigger, in many ways scarier, adventure (you know — the post-MBA career start, the entrepreneurial side bet, the Big Relationship, etc). So despite my sad tone, I’m committed to making an effort here, making some friends, and really getting something great out of this experience. I mean, really — when will I be living in Africa again? Maybe never? So I promise to write a more optimistic, hopeful, light-hearted blog next time. But for now, yeah… I’m pretty homesick — whatever that means.

Getting settled(-ish) May 8, 2009

So far, I’m still not feeling terribly settled in here, and I’m trying to remember if it took this long for me to feel comfortable in Spain — probably not, since I already knew Raul, and my social life with all the other MBAs kicked off nearly the moment I arrived. Here, it’s so very different — all of the other students are all already acquainted, and I’m the lone exchange student in the group. Don’t get me wrong — they’re all extremely friendly and approachable, and have been very welcoming. But they also have more course work than I do, and are still at that early, stress-y stage in the MBA. Having already been through that stage (and then some!) I can relate, but have no interest in re-tracing those stressed-out steps.

Luckily, Megan and David were here last week, so I got to pretend that I have a social life. We went to a few really great restaurants, a halfway decent club, and spent a wonderful afternoon last Sunday at Cape Point, the most South-Westerly point in Africa. Once again, rather than narrate, I’ll illustrate with photos. Of course, this is just a handful. It takes a year to upload these to the blog, so you can see the rest here.

Luckily, I have my new gym regimen to keep me busy (been there 9 out of the last 10 days! and it’s not getting ANY easier! wheeeee!), as well as fun veggie/vegan cooking projects. Earlier this week, I made some yummy soup from Laura’s blog, and my roommate made a delicious black bean one. (Yeah, it’s about to be winter here. Winter? In MAY? Yep — in the Southern Hemisphere, friends. Luckily, I think the winter here is more or less equivalent to, say, Santa Cruz or Barcelona, so it won’t be that bad. That said? Rain and fog are still indisputably soup weather.)

The thing is: I just can’t seem to get comfortable here. Yet. Maybe it’s the in-your-face racial divide. Maybe it’s the nine million cautionary tales I’ve already heard about walking the streets after dark (which is a big DON’T!!!!!) or getting in the informal taxis (think: giant gypsy cabs, like in vans, but with routes, and, if I understand correctly, more or less run by the mafia — probably totally safe, as so many people take them, but potentially a place to get mugged, stabbed, kidnapped…. too many years of watching Law and Order, methinks, and I can’t get myself to get in the damn things, so I’ve been paying for taxis to and from school — no public transportation… thank goodness it’s relatively cheap to do that!). Maybe it’s the WAY too present evidence of the difference between the “haves” and the “have nots.” Maybe it’s just that I don’t really have friends here yet. Maybe it’s the cats pissing in my room. (Did I mention there are FIVE of them??) Probably? It’s all of the above. Still, though, I know that this, ultimately, is an incredible experience, and that all of that discomfort must ultimately dissipate and leave my horizons broader than they were. Until then? Like I said: the gym, good eating, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of studying and business plan writing.

Operation MMPF revisited April 29, 2009

I’ve been in Cape Town nearly a week now, and let me just say — WOW. I haven’t done a TON of exploring (yet!!) but I’ve loved everything so far. It’s amazing to step out my front door and smell the ocean, walk down my street and see it. There’s no way anyone could argue that the ocean doesn’t have a presence here, as I might have done in Boston or even (gasp!) Barcelona. The Atlantic is rugged and raw and real, and I LOVE it. I’ve now spent several days walking along the ocean-side promenade, both towards and away from Cape Town, and every time it’s just as magical. It’s a bit like walking on East Cliff Drive in Santa Cruz, actually. And definitely as beautiful. I’m delighted to have the ocean be such a presence in my life. As soon as I can get myself a bicycle, I’m planning on having it be my primary mode of (daytime…) transport, and hope to ride along the promenade 7/8 of the way to school. (Um, yeah… no public transportation, per se, in Cape Town. I have yet to experiment with the sketchy-looking van-taxis that my roommate seems to think are safe enough and only cost R5 or so, versus a regular taxi that would be about R50… Hm… I don’t know, man. They look pretty damn sketchy to me. But, erm, when in Rome…?)

Having all this free time, though, has been a little strange, especially given that it’s a generally accepted truth that venturing out alone after dark is a BAD idea. So basically, I’ve been eating and cooking good food every day, getting out to walk for a couple of hours or so, and spending the evening watching tv, reading, hanging around the house with my housemate, and playing on the internet. Oh, and I’ve been off the booze this whole last week — giving my liver a break, you know (also, what am I going to do? go to a bar by myself? yeah, no). And I know that it’ll all be different as I start making friends, and I’ll have REAL excuses to leave the house and whatnot, but yeah, it’s been odd — healthy, but odd.

So, once again, I’ve decided to attempt to dedicate myself to losing all the damn weight I put on in B-school. (Seriously. I just can’t live like this anymore!) As luck would have it, there’s a personal training gym down the street from my house, and (hurray for the exchange rate!) it’s relatively affordable. The place is beautiful, and has huge windows overlooking that gorgeous ocean that I love so much, which is a total bonus. I got myself all enrolled yesterday, and met for the first time with my booty-kicking trainer today. Um, yeah. Apparently, not only am I a giant fat-ass right now (for me — 66kg, gasp!!!), I’m also REALLY (really, really) out of shape. I guess today was a “light” workout. (Light? LIGHT?! Light workout my A**!!) I thought I might die at LEAST three different times. I had no idea that personal training would mean working every major muscle group AND feeling like a total fool. (My trainer is, like, thisbig, adorable, Vietnamese/Canadian, and ALL muscle — I was so embarrassed every time I had to ask for less weight on something that the tiny woman could do with her pinky! BUT, she’s a total sweetheart and really good at postive reinforcement, so she definitely wasn’t TRYING to make me feel like a g**damn heiffer.) The worst part? Sprints. In the gym. With a medicine ball. Suddenly I’m the fat kid in gym class, or Chunk from the Goonies, or something (doubled over, panting “hey guys… GUYS… just… guys… just a second…” pant pant pant). The horror!! Especially when my trainer says, as I heave my fat ass from one end of the gym to the other with the bright orange medicine ball “It’s not a jog! Come on! Visualize those pants you want to wear!!” And I’m thinking “I AM running!! What the hell? Eff those pants!!” So then I force myself to push harder, and she says “Good! Only 30 more seconds!” which nearly makes me cry, because really, I’m no sprinter and it’s HARD, and my face is turning seventeen shades of purple, and I want to drop the stupid medicine ball, and I finally finish, and want to collapse and die, but am congratulating myself internally for at least completing the excercise without falling on my face and maybe now I’m done for the day — but NOOO! There are lunges to be done! And tricep curls! And squats! And hey, guess what? Another set of effing SPRINTS! Dear god, it was humiliating. Oh, and yeah — this is the gym where the SERIOUS fitness nuts go, so, while it was the middle of the day and there was (luckily) almost no one there, there was only one person in the whole place larger than I am — and she’s freaking PREGNANT! Gah!! And my trainer is so dear and sweet and positive that I had to force myself to smile all the way through it and act cool, purple face be damned (”Yeah, I can handle this, no problem… wait, how many more? … uh, yeah, no, it’s fine… really…” Smile smile smile…). Meanwhile, my face is now a deep shade of crimson, I have sweat dripping out of every pore, and I want to fall on the floor and die. And again, this was the LIGHT workout. Even more fun? I’ll be keeping a food journal and sharing with my trainer. Awesome. Turns out it’s a good thing that the beer here isn’t very tempting, eh? When she told me I need to try to cut out 500 calories a day (combination of diet and exercise) I almost fell of the elliptical machine! I mean, I’ve been eating well, but sheesh! This is going to make partying with the classmates challenging, to say the least (”just a white wine spritzer for me, thanks” — nooooo!!!). Tomorrow I have to go back to the gym for a half hour of cardio and more punishment to my abs (yay!) and then I’ll be seeing my trainer again on Friday morning (8:30am, yay!). Um, I don’t know what I’ll do if she wants to give me more than a “light” workout. Hopefully not hyperventilate and die, because that would be REALLY embarrassing… In any event, I guess I can expect some results from this one, right?