A mile, or so, in a prisoner's shoes

Per request of a former professor, I am rummaging through old stories and articles from college to send for her students to read as examples and I came across one of my personal favorites. Since I wasn't a blogger in these days I thought I would post it. If you have nothing better to do than read this I highly encourage it. If you know me, you know I feel strongly about the justice system, prison life, death row and much more regarding criminal justice. This story I wrote for a class as a feature article after my second field trip to Angola (Louisiana State Penitentiary.) After reading this, I think you will realize there is more to Angola than hand-carved furniture, paintings and one helluva rodeo. This story explains fairly in-depth why I feel the way i do about criminal justice and why, shortly before moving to NYC, I applied to grad school to earn a master's in CJ. Here goes...

A mile, or so, in a prisoner’s shoes

At the end of LA Highway 66 near St. Francisville, La, sits an 18,000-acre gated community.

This community bares beautiful gardens with bright purple petunias and roses, a deep blood-red. A nine-hole golf course is adjacent to the cemetery that is neatly lined with headstones engraved for former residents. Fields of wheat sway gently in the acres surrounding the enormous livestock population. Little white chapels populate the community for residents to worship in.

What mars this otherwise picture perfect scene are the razor sharp wires that glisten in the warm spring sunshine.

Louisiana State Penitentiary, Angola, is the largest maximum security prison in the nation.

I am in a white school bus now with 15 fellow journalism students, and our professor, Dr. Beth, preparing to tour this beautiful community.

The bus drives down a blacktop road lined with Cypress trees carrying us to the first stop on our tour, the dormitories.

Mary Anthony, classification manager at Angola and our personal tour guide began telling us facts as the bus rode along.

“Of the 5,218 inmates incarcerated, more than 3,800 are serving life sentences, and will never experience freedom again,” she said.

Life sentences in Louisiana are natural life sentences without parole.

“Most of them die here, and most of their families can’t afford funerals so they are buried here, too.”

Angola has prisoners ranging from age 18 to 80 plus years old.

This is my second trip to Angola, and I was really looking forward to a replay of my last visit. Unfortunately, I did not realize this trip included a full tour of the prison until we got there because I had just tagged along with Dr. Beth and her class. The day turned out to be something I was not quite emotionally prepared for.

My first visit to Angola consisted of a three-hour seminar with The Angolite staff in a secluded classroom. The Angolite is Louisiana State Penitentiary’s award-winning magazine written, edited and published by a staff of inmates.  I was really close minded to the realities of prison then. I suppose I could blame my conservative, southern Baptist raising to the attitude I had then. A trip to Angola is a sure fire way to open up a persons mind.

The layout of the dormitory, oddly enough, reminded me of summer camp, but with grown men in uniforms. The dormitory shelters 90 men. Rows of bunk beds lined the room with trunks on each end for the prisoner’s personal belongings, if he has any. The bunks were immaculately made and shoes were paired up beneath each bunk in a straight line. There are a lot of loafs of bread, and I think to myself that they must snack on a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  

Already I am annoyed by this tour. We are not allowed to talk to the prisoner’s but it is okay for us to walk through their home and gawk at them like zoo animals.

We left the dormitories and headed to the hospice area. A hospice nurse, whose name I have forgotten, spoke with us about how hospice came about, why and when. Then, she showed us a trailer for the upcoming documentary that is going to be shown on TV. At that moment, the tears involuntarily poured down my already red, heat-stricken cheeks.

Prisoners are people, too. I just wish everyone on the outside understood that the way Angola does, thanks to Warden Cain.  

I voluntarily stayed behind with Dr. Beth while the other students strolled through the hospital quarters. I knew what to expect in there, and that was something I was not brave enough to witness.

Next comes the best part of the tour that I had long anticipated. At the end of a hallway, there are offices full of books, old computers and journalists. These journalists are prisoners. Trustees, prisoners who have good conduct and have been incarcerated for at least seven years, make up the staff of The Angolite. The magazine is written solely by its eight-member inmate staff.

I stood toward the back, leaned against a countertop and began taking notes while Kerry Myers, editor of The Angolite serving a life sentence, began talking to us.

He wore blue jeans, a maroon Angolite T-shirt, clean, white New Balance sneakers and a gold chain necklace. He looked like any man you’d see on the outside.

Myers talked about the magazine not being a general news magazine, but a criminal justice magazine. He said the staff covers the prison and tries to reveal what the mainstream media does not.

“Mainstream media does not dig deep enough, they just take the governments word as truth and regurgitate it,” he said.

Their magazine makes a person think beyond the limits of mainstream media, which Myers said is managed corporately, not journalistically.

He talked about the staff’s limited resources. They have no Internet access and rely on books, outside sources, other prisoners and their own knowledge to write their stories.

“We have a lot of freedom, but we’re still in prison,” Myers said.

Myers, a 15-year veteran of The Angolite staff, said the staff takes pride in their job, and not just anyone can be part of the crew.

“The pool is broad but not deep,” he said. “We have to know everyone here can be trusted and has the same goal, and that’s the magazine.”

The eight men work together day and night to produce their award-winning magazine.

One of the students asked Myers how long he had been there and he replied, “21 years today.”

The date seemed irrelevant to me, until now. It was Tuesday, April 5, 2011.

I am only 21 years old, as of a month ago. I was 13 days old when he came through Angola’s gates. I do not know Kerry Myers personally, and I had no idea who he was until last October when I first visited Angola. Regardless, it doesn’t seem fair that he has spent, what is to me, an entire lifetime in prison.

I cried a little inside because I had already realized this last October when I visited Angola, but it took me this long to remember the sad thought.

John Corley, another lifer and Angolite staff member, was still there. I met Corley on my first visit to Angola and couldn’t forget him since he is a fellow die-hard Elvis Presley fan such as me. Leave it to me to find that out in a five-minute conversation.  

I shook his hand and told him I was glad to see him again and asked how he had been.

Thinking back that seems like a moronic question to ask a man who is serving a life sentence in prison and essentially has the same daily routine.

The day was depressingly steady as we moved from site to site of the prison, and it never got happier.

Our next stop was the old execution and lock down area known as “Red Hat Cell Block.” Mrs. Anthony informed us that this was where prisoners were sent for punishment when the prison first evolved. They were stripped of their clothes and feed through food slots in the door and sometimes 12 men were piled into one eight by eight holding cell.

Directly next to these cells is the former execution room.

In front of the execution chair is standing room for the public who came to watch executions. Public executions ended in 1973 and Ms. Anthony said that 65 men and one woman were legally executed in that room from 1957 to 1973. She put a lot of emphasis on legally.

The next building we toured was apparently newly erected and resembled the entrance of an elementary school, and for whatever reason I remember the distinct smell of freshly-baked blueberry muffins. I had no idea where we were until someone informed me… We’d arrived at death row.

Inside we walked through a set of doors and proceeded down a hallway that had phone booths and visiting rooms to the left. Ms. Anthony informed us that four times a year, death row prisoners are allowed a visitor, if they are really good.

At the end of the hallway, another door leads into death row. In the center is a round room enclosed by glass with computers and what I assume to be security, surveillances and what-not. The room serves as the center of the building where hallways extend like rays of sunshine, but really the hallways are more like blades on a razor-sharp saw.

I tell Dr. Beth I do not want to walk down the death row hallway, but she insists I cannot truly know how disgusting it is until I go.

So I follow her, and the rest of the students. In a single file line we walk to the end, turn around and return in the same fashion. Again, unable to speak to the prisoner’s, but able to gawk at them like zoo animals.

Again, the tears involuntarily stream down my face, faster and longer. I am disgusted not only with the system, but with myself. I didn’t need to walk the plank to know how disgustingly heartbreaking that was going to be.

There are 83 death row inmates who spend 23 hours a day in their cell and are allowed one hour outside for exercise, twice a week. The exercise area is set up in a small, fenced in area that looks like batting cages. Each cage has a basketball hoop. Their shower stalls are in their cellblock, so they really see nothing but death row. The only sign of life they see in a day, aside from a guard, gawking tourists or fellow inmates passing by is a thin line of trees and grass barely visible through the thick iron bars. It is tragic, and I am slightly nauseous at this point.

There is one more stop on our tour and I can’t even fathom what is left to show in such a hell. Well, of course it only gets worse. Not far from death row is the execution room. Again we are at the end of a hallway. To our right is where the victim’s family, lawyers, etc., sit and watch the inmate die, by lethal injection, through a glass window.

Directly in front of us we proceed through to the room which holds the lethal injection table. An execution table looks exactly like one would imagine or see in a movie. Gray and bleak, with three thick, burgundy-brown colored straps, two at the feet and one around the waste to restrain the inmate. If you need any more of a visual you can watch Dead Man Walking which was filmed at Angola in the late ‘90s.

Angola has used this table since 1991. Eight people have been executed since then.

Inside the execution room, there is a reaper (as I choose to call him.) He is inside a smaller room within the execution room and no one ever sees him except the prisoner facing execution and the warden standing beside the prisoner, but only once the curtains close over the large glass exhibition window. The reaper then comes out, injects the euthanasia, and returns to the closet-sized room and almost instantly, the prisoner is dead.  

Why Hobby Lobby won't have to shut down

Here is where my inner nerd and love for Constitutional Law comes out! 
As a lover and supporter of all things controversial (usually,) Constitutional Law (I & II) turned out to be my two favorite, most challenging, classes in college. I kept these 1,000 page books and at the time I had no idea why. Now I do. I have so many marginal notes and highlights throughout every page of these two books that you'd think I bought them used. Well, I didn't. I'm browsing Facebook, as I do every day, and come across the Hobby Lobby article floating around. The light goes off in my head and I take action and drag out those Con Law books I love so much to let my followers now why they don't need to panic. Or perhaps why they should provided a little legal knowledge.
I am going to attempt to give my legal viewpoint of why Hobby Lobby can win this case, based on former Supreme Court decisions based on the opposite of what Hobby Lobby's case is. In a nutshell, a new government healthcare mandate wants Hobby Lobby's insurance/health plan to cover "emergency contraceptives," such as the morning-after and week-after pill. As a Christian based company it is against their religious beliefs to support such a pill.  
From a legal standpoint, here is why Hobby Lobby won't be closing down, folks:

• Hobby Lobby has, "with great reluctance," filed suit to a federal court in request to stop the mandate. I'm not saying Hobby Lobby is going to win because they've filed a suit, that doesn't mean bologna in the system. However, if they lose at whichever court they initially filed, there is no doubt in my mind this case could go to the Supreme Court (if it isn't settled at the district courts first.) For those who find the whole court system, branches of government, etc., extremely complicated (as I do,) this website can help! 
• This case could potentially become the first, of many, from this new government health mandate (which most likely stems from Obama care, but don't take my word because I haven't researched that much.) 
• The American people, the media and the Supreme Court love these types of controversial cases. Here are some former cases that are semi-oppositely related to Hobby Lobby's case, but could potentially help them. 
• Poe v. Ullman (1960)- This case was dismissed by The Supreme Court, however, was significant in future cases regarding the use and selling of contraceptives. 
• Griswold v. Connecticut (1965) - In this case, a Connecticut law prohibited medical contraceptives, even the counseling of use, a criminal act: for married couples. Thanks to the Bill of Rights and the right to privacy, the Connecticut law was overturned.
• Since Roe v. Wade (1971,)  to date probably one of the most controversial cases in Supreme Court history, the issue of abortion has become a key player in politics. Being pro-life or pro-choice is an everyday question that is the root of many discussions and conflicts. In this Supreme Court decision, the privacy act established in Griswold v. Connecticut was put to use. "This right of privacy, whether it be founded in the 14th Amendment...., is broad enough to encompass a woman's decision whether or not to terminate her pregnancy." Before the case of Roe v. Wade, pregnancies were only allowed to be terminated if the mother's life was in danger. 
• So, historically, all the above listed cases are foundations for other cases regarding the use, selling and counsel of contraceptives and the legal acceptance of abortion. Although it is 2014 and these cases seem ancient, they are helpful. I don't know that Hobby Lobby would choose to directly use them in their argument, but, they provide hope. 

Here is how it breaks down. Basically, the Constitution and anything pertinent to this country and its government was founded on our forefather's religious beliefs. If you don't believe that then you have obviously never read any historic document or a letter written by George Washington or Thomas Jefferson. Were the forefather's beliefs right in today's standards? Absolutely not, and that is why our Constitution has Amendments that change with the times. Were our forefather's wrong? Not entirely, but they lived hundreds of years ago and America has come a long way from The Revolutionary War, tacky wigs, and ink-dipped feather pens.
I say all of that to say, if the above listed cases can be passed because of religion (in a sense), Hobby Lobby's case could allow them to be omitted from the healthcare mandate for the same purposes. Religious cases are a continually recurring issue in the Supreme Court, yet every one is examined differently. 

On a personal basis, here is why I see Hobby Lobby coming through:

• They are a Christian-founded, family-owned business. Yes, they are a huge company now, but they stick to what they believe. 
• I don't support religious persecution, but I don't believe a government has the right to make demands and force a company to diss their beliefs because the government deems it fit.
• If you've ever been to a Hobby Lobby you know they are a Christian-based organization for two reasons: 
• They are always playing Christian music, mostly old hymns or newer renditions of old hymns. 
• Secondly, they are never opened on Sundays and you know it even though you drive half way across town before you realize it. 

• If you work anywhere and you seriously want your insurance to cover, over-the-counter, morning-after or week-after pills, you are absurd. I am pro-choice, but that's a bit tacky in my opinion. 
• I am pro-choice, but as I said, I don't approve the government butting into a company like Hobby Lobby expecting them to abide by this mandate. Morning-after pills are completely different from other forms of contraception. Get real people!

"By the content of their character"

I can't believe it took me all day to realize I need to write a blog for MLK Day. As a writer and avid supporter of all things and people discriminated against, I just must say something about today. 

About a year ago, I was visiting family in Alabama and went to see the Civil Rights Museum in Birmingham. I never published what I wrote about that day because at the time it didn't seem very relevant or important. That's foolish because of course it is important. 

About three years ago now I visited the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee where Dr. King was assassinated in 1968. The motel now serves as a Civil Rights Museum just like the one in Birmingham. The museum in Memphis is phenomenal and I will never forget how I felt standing outside of that hotel as well as how I felt throughout the tour, but Birmingham was different. 

It takes roughly eight hours to get to Memphis from my hometown, and the same eight hours to get to Birmingham, but, for whatever reason, Birmingham has always hit closer to home. I suppose because I have a gang of family I love to visit there so it can often feel like home. 

Back on track...

When visiting said family last February, my cousins Larry and Carol were nice enough to drive me to, and accompany me through the Civil Rights Museum in Birmingham, about 40 miles or so from their home. Being February, it was Black History Month and the museum was packed with tours of school children, their parents and teachers.
Here was our initial reaction: "We are the only white people here."
But considering what we came to see, I think it was the most appropriate situation I'd ever encountered. It may sound ridiculous, but I honestly felt like a part of something beautiful that day. My flair for the dramatic imagination took me back to the '60s and I pretended to be a part of that small percentage of Americans who supported Civil Rights. That percentage of Americans who acknowledged African-Americans as human beings and not "coloreds." 
The thought still disgusts me how one race could so cruelly treat another race, literally based on their skin color. I am beyond grateful to have grown up in the decade I did and lack the ignorance of many people from past decades. However, I always catch myself wondering if I'd be racist if I were raised 50 years ago. Times are changing, but racism and prejudices still exist and it's atrocious. It scares me to think I could have a different opinion on equality than the one I was blessed with in this life. 
Before I go on with the most eye-opening and amazing part of this story I want to give a small background on what MLK Day meant to me growing up. Obviously, MLK Day was nothing more than a long-weekend to me as a kid growing up in school. And all Black History Month ever meant was re-learning about Harriet Tubman and the Underground Railroad and Rosa Parks and the Montgomery Bus Boycotts. More in depth, they always showed old black and white movie clips of sit-ins, bus boycotts and cops beating and hosing innocent people. When you're eight, ten, and fifteen years old, the sights of all these photos and videos are disgusting, but also seem like they must be from the 1700's because human beings simply can't be this barbaric. And then you grow up.... You lose all since of innocence and naivety and you realize that that kind of cruelty still exists, and sometimes it was among children in your own classroom. 
To this day, this is how I feel about racism and prejudices. I have family members who are growing older but left their mindset in the '70s. It's pathetic really. I often feel more sorry for them than the people they discriminate against because they will never know a world where it is okay to love a Black person or be friends with a homosexual. But that is for an entirely different blog. 
Meanwhile back at the Civil Rights Museum in Birmingham, Alabama... I am in the zone to focus on the heartbreak and misery endured by my fellow Americans, not even 50 years ago. Discrimination is something that will never die, and as much as it breaks my heart, something I will have to teach my children is true, yet completely unacceptable when it should never even be an issue.
As a writer, I always have a notebook and a pen. At this point, I graduated college four months ago and I am walking through this museum taking notes like I have a term paper due the following Monday. The first thing that catches my eye is a quote: 

"Equal and exact justice to all men, of whatever state or persuasion, religious or political, I deem [one of] the essential principles of our Government, and consequently [one of] those which ought to shape its administration." - Thomas Jefferson
 
Of course this quote is a load of crap from the slave-owning ex-president. And when the Constitution was written, African Americans were slaves and not even considered human beings.  (I have that marked and highlighted in a law book if you want proof.) The quote is beautiful, and a nice gesture if it proved sincere at all. 

As I walk through the museum, reading the plaques and acknowledging the exhibits I am blown away by something simple. Something that shouldn't impress me as much as it did. Nearly every child in the museum with us was accompanied by a parent. Some even two. This is fascinating to me for two reasons: The first is because I went to public school and I know how involved parents typically are when it comes to museum field trips. The second is the amount of ambition and knowledge exuded by said parents to these children because of how education and the black race is typically portrayed in the South. Believe me, I'm aware of how harsh that sounds, but I am just reiterating the stereotypes.
I watched a mother guide her son through the museum. She made him stop in front of every plaque and read it aloud. This specific mother and son caught my eye, but in my peripheral I could see others doing the same, and could hear the children asking their parents questions. 
In this moment my heart broke and my brain raced with questions to these actions: 

• Was it pride in where their race had risen from? 
• Was it pain from where they'd been?
• Was it joy to where they were headed? 
• How do you explain this history to your children?

I could list 20 more questions that flooded my head, but you get the idea here. I left there humbled that day. More than that, I was glad we were the only three white people there because it was a rather refreshing taste of what it's like to be the minority. This story isn't much, and it did happen almost a year ago now, but the feelings from that day resurface more frequently than you'd think. And they're just as clear today as they were one year ago. 

The last thing I have written in my journal for this day is a quote from Dr. King as follows:

 

“We are not wrong in what we are doing. If we are wrong, the Supreme Court of this nation is wrong. If we are wrong, the Constitution of the United States is wrong. And if we are wrong, God Almighty is wrong. If we are wrong, Jesus of Nazareth was merely a utopian dreamer that never came down to Earth. If we are wrong, justice is a lie, love has no meaning. And we are determined here in Montgomery to work and fight until justice runs down like water, and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

 

 

 

Home is where you update, post and "like."

As of tomorrow, I will have officially completed my first two weeks of working in NYC. Not only am I no longer a waitress (hallelujah!,) but I work a 9-5 and actually have tasks. Though they are few, it's a start. Besides, now that I have a routine and a paycheck to cover bills, I can focus on my next achievement. 

This blog isn't about chasing dreams though. This is something for my family and friends so they can know how I am adjusting to "life in the big city." Also, how I adjust to missing them.

First and foremost, now that I have a daily routine, a furnished apartment and a few new friends to meet for drinks, New York is home. The never-ending, obnoxious honking, constant sounds of stirring humans and creaking floors of my old building and the busy subway stations in rush hour have replaced the serene sounds of crickets and frogs outside my window at night, rain on a tin roof and the familiar sounds and scents of home.

It is all of the little things, as it always is, that I miss the most or never realized was such a luxury before. I love the noises in my apartment because I never feel alone, even when the radiator knocking gives me a good startle. However, I miss my car, but only when I need to go grocery shopping and am carrying home loads of grocieries via the subway and its stairs and turnstiles. And, although, for whatever reason, I love the atmosphere of the laundromat, I desperately miss being able to throw loads of clothes around without worrying about flashing my bra and panties to strangers (but I'm sure that wears off quickly.) 

Home is where you make it, and aside from the familiarity of the tangible things, home is also where my social network is---friends, family, and yes, my pets. Literally, they are my social network. Thanks to the Internet and social media, I never miss a thing on what is going on with my fan base back home. 

Thanks to my best friend's avid love for snapping photos of her son's every move I get to watch my adorably handsome nephew grow, smile and play every day. And because weddings are all the rage and worth bragging about, I get to follow my two best friends as they plan out their future together from engagement pictures to stuffing invitations. 

Let's not forget the mother. Southern mothers are a grapevine of information providers. My mom is no stereotypical gossiping lady, but she always makes sure I know what's going on with the family; right down to the small things like how my two cats were runnung rampid through the house and one skidded to a halt while the other plowed into the door, table, etc. And I love every ounce of it! 

And as I watch my friends live their lives through pictures and 120 characters, they follow me just the same and the connection is just as fulfilling. 

I've had my share of ranting about the people who post their lives on social media sites for the world to see, yet, here I am doing the same. Say what you will, but since moving from home, and before when traveling, and just because, I've posted my life, and we all have. Now I understan why some people live on social media. It's their way of connecting to those they love (or stalk.) I agree that we can all be excessive in posting bullshit and our own obnoxious biases, but whatever: that's what it's there for. All I want to say is if it weren't for social media, I think I would get homesick far more frequently. 

Baby steps

As you all know, this year I've been chasing my dreams and traveling the world. Well, I haven't quite made it around the world, but I've traveled more than ever before. Thirty-five days in Europe isn't even close to where I intend to travel for the duration of my existence. I am already planning an adventure to Ireland and Scotland by next summer and who knows how many states I'll catch a flight to in between.
So quit talking about how badly you wish you could travel or move but "can't" because your jobs tie you down or you can't afford it, or whatever your excuse is... 
What you need to travel, chase dreams and be adventurous is quite simple and I am going to tell you how in the next couple of paragraphs.

•  AMBITION: This is the most important thing to possess when setting your mind to anything. If you have ambition, you are halfway to where you want to be. Where you get ambition is up to you. It's different for everyone. Personally I find ambition in each new person I meet and each new place I see. I don't even mean new cities, states and countries. Right in my neighborhood, in the grocery store or on the subway.Find your passion, initiative and scratch the itch! 
• Step one: Your job. If you hate your job QUIT! No one wants to hear you grip about it anymore than you want to endure another day. People, the jobs are there and you can do anything. Who cares what it is if you are happy. I answer eight, steadily ringing phone lines with crazies on the other end all day and I've never been happier. 
• FRUGALITY: This is the money part. I am not necessarily a material girl, but I have a lot of stuff and I am quite fond of it all. But, most of the things I have are crafted from Pinterest for less than $20, hand-me-downs or thrift store and flea market treasures. So, become comfortable with the uncomfortable. Stop chasing the bull shit "American Dream" because quite frankly, Horatio Alger was full of crap. Besides, most of you want the world handed to you on a silver platter and aren't going to work for that multimillion dollar mansion and Ferrari you dream of having anyway. Money honestly doesn't buy happiness. So, take that Michael Kors purse and watch you just received for Christmas and sell that baby on eBay and you already have a down payment for a nice vacation or an entire weekend get away. 
• Step two: Here's what I do:
• I don't catch every movie premiere in theaters, or any if I can avoid it. I don't have cable and I haven't purchased a Blu-ray or DVD in probably over a year. I pay for Internet and I watch whatever is on Netflix. I'm not saying I never go to the theater, but make dinner at home and watch an old flick on Netflix. Especially you lovebirds- a night in is often more romantic than sharing your evening with a bunch of strangers and spending $100 before you make it home between dinner, concessions and a movie. Pizza is $20 at most and maybe less than $5 if you love a good frozen Totino's :)
• I pack a lunch for work. I'm not saying I never eat out or buy a coffee, but I definitely don't do so daily. If I eat out or buy a coffee it is a treat to myself or I am usually meeting with a friend to play catch up. If you know me personally, you know how fond I am of a good PB&J. Sometimes, I don't know if I really love PB&Js or if I've just eaten so many it's in my top five favorite foods. Look guys, I eat PB&Js so I can eat gyros in Greece and pasta in Rome, Italy, among other things like live in New York City. You see where I'm going here... Oh, and I still get the "blue box blues." We ate it growing up, why stop now? And don't give me any shit about gluten and GMOs because you don't honestly know what it means. 
• Get a credit card. Don't be stupid, but it makes for nice leverage. Invest in one with flyer miles. Eventually your flights pay for themselves. Credit is all the rage, just don't be an ass and put yourself in debt before age 30. 

• OPEN MINDEDNESS: This is the most important to me. Leave the comfort of what you know and go somewhere you never imagined you would. I promise it isn't as scary as the movies and TV shows make you believe. 
• Step three- It is crucial to have an open-minded curiosity because not only are you going into someone else's life, but you need to be observant, tolerant and prepared for what you may see. People are different, not strange, weird, abnormal or wrong. Admire the architecture, indulge in the food, admire the variety of people and most importantly, if traveling somewhere non-English speaking, be understanding of the language. I'm not suggesting you learn languages before traveling afar, chances are they know English, but don't be frustrated when they do not. You're not in Kansas anymore!  Don't become frustrated. They key is laughter. Indulge in feeling out of place and being uncomfortable. Be content with being a tourist and oblivious. You can be carefree and still be careful. Oh, and get lost! Getting lost is half the fun; trust me!

Since living in New York City I have learned more than ever that people are simply people. And there are millions of kinds of people that live here and they are all beautiful in their very own way and it is important that we branch out and explore other worlds, cultures, religions and people. I think I got off track somewhere in this blog, but I think you get the point. There is life out there and if you want to see it and experience it simply find your ambition, be a penny-pincher and become impartial to differences. There is no shame in having little and seeing endlessly. I promise!

I'll close with my most recent, personal favorite quote: "We travel not to escape life, but for life to not escape us." 

Farewell, Europe

Day 33

Well this is the last city an country of our marvelous 35-day journey. I honestly hate to write this one because it makes me feel empty all over again. I constantly talk about Europe and the adventures I shared with all of my fellow travelers. It was one helluva good vacation. Five-hour tours and all. 

We are at another hostel, but it's nothing like Prague. The most memorable moment from this day was Brittney. When we arrived at the hostel we had to fill out emergency contact info sheets. I'll never forget for nationality Brittney wrote, "nig." If you don't find this humorous, then you don't know Brittney, or "Doodoo," as I prefer to affectionately call her. :) Seriously, I know it sounds harsh, but damn, that shit was a riot.

Moving on... We settled in and all walked around together as we often do when arriving at a new destination. We split off from each other and ventured to find the best Paella Barcelona had to offer. With sangria of course :) We found a decent pan of Paella only after a tumultuous, now memorable, decision-making process. If you were with my group, you know the reference. So after all this we headed back to the hostel to take it easy after the long bus ride and we of course had a tour in the morning. 

So, on top of this blog being hard to write because it is the end, it is also hard to write because, since it was the end of the trip, I was beyond ready to return home to my family and friends back home, although I really did hate to part with my new posse. It was hard to enjoy Barcelona in it's entirety because all I could think about was my own bed and not living out of a suitcase. And honestly, at this point we were all physically, financially and mentally drained. 

Day 34  

Today is a jam-packed day. Also, the last actual day of doing. It started with our long tour. From what I gathered on the tour, Barcelona is Gaudi. Anton Gaudi is this uber famous Spanish architect. Like so many artists, he was not famous until after his death. The first stop I remember making was Park Güell. 
This is the birthplace of Gaudi. The colors and designs make you think you are living in a mushroom-induced gnome land. The vibrant colors are displayed in ceramics and tiles on buildings, statues, walls, and so on. Ceramic art is apparently one of the characteristics of Gaudi's art.

We all assumed the term "gaudy" came from this architects style, but our tour guide informed us it was not. Well, when you see Gaudi's art for yourself you'll side with me in saying the tour guide was a bold-faced liar. Gaudy is Gaudi; no doubt. 

I set my mind on Gaudi is gaudy when we stop at our next destination: La Sagarda Familia. This structure is just absurd. Construction on this church began in 1892 and has remained under construction ever since. Sagrada Familia is expected to be finished in 2030. Yes, more than a century after it was initiated. There is a long back story as to why it has taken so long, but like I said, I zoned out frequently in Spain. Plus, that's what Google is for. :) 

It looks like Candyland

From the top of Park Guell

Last group tour :)

La Sagarda Familia

Engraved into Sagarda Familia walls.

From the church it was time for the beach. The beach was so packed Bri and I were literally laying out on the sidewalk, but who cares. Dozed off and on, but it was an exceptionally hot day and some of us were meeting for a flamenco show tonight.
I really had no expectations for the flamenco show, but it was bizarre, in a good way, though. It was a musical soap opera with a lot of stomping. I expected more use of the castanets (wooden, hand clacking instruments used,) but they made up for it in dancing. Besides, going to these countries and cities is all about experiencing the culture so how could I go to Spain and not see a flamenco show. 

After the show, we met the rest of the group to go clubbing; Barcelona style. The clubs line up along the beach and they all have entrance to the beach from their back porches. Once you are good and liquored up, you head outside and can lay in the sand or dip your toe into the Mediterranean while the moonlight flickers across the ripples of water. I don't know if this night was so wonderful because it was our last or if it really was just a perfect night, but boy, it was memorable. We made it home around 6 a.m.

Day 35- The End

So there is absolutely nothing on our agendas for today other than to enjoy the European sunshine for this one last day. I spent the day alone. I slept in, then I walked around in search of souvenirs, or possibly my lost soul. I'm a real advocate for personal time, whether it's to read, write, watch your favorite movie for the 100th time, or simply to be. I walked up and down countless blocks of Barcelona streets with my headphones in simply soaking in the last 864 hours of my life. I'd never felt more at peace with being alone than I did on August 17. It wasn't even six months ago that I stood on foreign soil discovering the things I wanted most in life. It was the end of trip, Day 30, under the Eiffel Tower, in Paris, when I realized how unbelievably happy and content I was to be there. And on this day, Day 35, I had never been more content with the unknown. It's crazy how quickly life changes. 

              

In a nutshell, that was my last day in Barcelona, Spain. My last hours of the grandest adventure of my life. That night we all huddled in the lobby, exhausted and lost. It was hard to believe it was all ending and the uncertainty of whether or not any of us would ever see each other again. Thirty-five days ago in Athens, Greece, we were split into groups of roommates, and for the most part, we stuck together until tonight in Barcelona on Day 35. So, it is safe to say, we shed tears then made promises of reunions and keeping in touch. And today, five months after Spain, I've seen four people from the tour and remained in contact with the majority. Will it last? Who knows. Point is, I gained more than temporary, or even lasting friendships from 35 days with 16 strangers.  

I'll finish up by saying thank you. Thank you to myself for not letting my dreams simply be dreams (we actually did it!) Thank you Europe for your beauty. Thank you to all of my group for being adventurous so our paths crossed. Thank you Eirini for your guidance through it all. Thank you Bri for being a friend and for teaching me the always positive outlook on life. Thank you Nicole for being you and sharing your clothes and beauty traits. Thank you Steph for being beautiful and carefree and encouraging the same in me. Thank you Ana for reminding me it is okay to be young, wild and free. Thank you Brittney (doodoo) for being innocent and inspired. Thank you Stephanie G. for making me want to open a dictionary more. Thank you Lil' Kim and Jenni for being absolutely adorable and memorable. Thank you Tim for being you and never fearing. Thank you Kim for being badass and letting me know I'm not the only foul-mouthed broad in the world, ha. You all taught me something and made me appreciate you, even if just in the smallest way. You all made the trip worthwhile. 

That's the end, folks. We split off in three separate groups to the airport, tears trailing every group. I held in my tears until I hugged Eirini and Bri good-bye when we split for our flights. It still hadn't set in. And even without gellato shops, foreign accents, churches on every block and American currency, it took about one week to realize I was home. 

Saying goodbye