What do you want to be?

It's a question we constantly ask kids and teenagers as they advance through school: "What do you want to be when you grow up?"  I recently started a new teaching job, my second major one since obtaining my TEFL certificate.  Growing up, I never particularly wanted to be a teacher.  I'm still not sure that I do.

The first answer I remember giving to that question as a child was "scientist", motivated by both wonder at the way the natural forces of the world could be manipulated, as well as a fascination with The Magic School Bus and Bill Nye the Science Guy.  As I got older and realized that science involved more math and fewer explosions than I realized, I re-evaluated.

As a teenager, confused and unsure and wishing people would stop asking me what I planned to do as an adult, I would answer that I wanted to be Emma Thompson, because Emma Thompson is awesome (hell, I'd still like to be Emma Thompson when I grow up).  But college approached, and the pressure put on me and my fellow high schoolers to choose a major and decide what you want to do with your life mounted ever greater.

No one ever told me you could change your mind.  No one told me that you could decide that you wanted to try something else later on, that your career decisions at age 18 weren't set in stone.

Taking off to a new life

Sometime during college I decided that I wanted to be a counselor, and I poured my soul into my psychology degree, in the process abandoning many of the other things I enjoyed doing, like choir and writing and reading.  The message from the culture was that, if you work hard in college, you'll get a good job and be successful in your field and you will be satisfied with it.  So I bought in, worked hard, did the internships, went to graduate school (because if one degree is good, two is better, right?), got the job, and worked all the hours.  I wore myself down and burned myself out.  By the time I was quitting my full-time counselor job, I felt like a shell of the person I used to be.

Fast-forward a year.  I'm trying different things, teaching part-time and knowing it isn't quite right for me, but feeling ok with that.  It's a stepping stone to where I want to be, rather than the final destination.  I'm traveling, writing, and seeing what feels right to me.  I feel like an adolescent again, getting reacquainted with myself, discovering interests, and developing hobbies.

Now I'm the adult asking myself, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

The truest answer is, "I'm not quite sure yet, but I'm on the right path.  Give me time."

Ghosts of Terezín

Modern Terezín is a ghost town.

I don't mean in the sense that it's barely inhabited, although that is true; when you arrive, there's an immediate sense that this potentially pretty little town was the site of great suffering, that Death visited this place a few too many times.  At least, that's the impression I have when my friend and roommate M and I get off the bus on a cold late-December day.

The former concentration camp and Nazi prison site has become a living museum and memorial to the suffering and loss that occurred here.  We walk around the museum galleries, seeing artwork and writing from the residents of the ghetto. Too many names are followed by the phrase "died at Auschwitz in (year)".

The overcrowded, inadequately fed, and disease-ridden ghetto was hardly safer than the most famous and deadly of concentration camps; a large number of people died here before they could be shipped to Auschwitz.  Although it wasn't designated as a death camp by the Nazis, over 33,000 people died in Terezín.

We make the walk from the town to the crematorium, about 10 minutes.  There's an eerie quiet over the whole town.  Chatting about light subjects feels wrong here.  When we arrive at the crematorium, a Jewish tour group is already there.  They move slowly through the long concrete building, stopping in the middle for prayer.  A man sings a beautiful, mournful-sounding prayer.  A few people are taking photos, but I can't bring myself to do so.  In this place where the Nazis attempted to hide evidence of their atrocities, silence and reflection seems the most appropriate.

Spartan bunk beds in the Terezín prison

M and I make our way back through the village in freezing rain, heading towards the old fort that served as a Nazi prison.  As we enter the compound, an arched entry proclaims the famous lie in bold letters, "ARBEIT MACHT FREI"; work makes you free.

Walking through the fortress, the flat images from history books spring into horrifying reality as the crowded wooden bunks, tiny solitary confinement cells, and communal showers that bear so much resemblance to the gas chambers appear in front of me.  I'm shivering.  I'm not sure it's all because of the cold.

Living in Europe, especially in central Europe, the Nazi genocide and the war become real.  They leave the realm of ancient history that only exists in a textbook and become tangible.  And the more I learn about the war and the rise of the Nazi party, the more I compare them to the things happening in our current political climate in the US, the more I worry.  No one group of people can account for our problems in the US- it isn't that simple, it never is.  We are all people, first and foremost, just as every one of the Nazis' victims was a person with a family and a story and desires and dreams and aspirations.  Although the future is daunting, we cannot let fear overtake our humanity.

What They Don't Tell You about Moving Abroad

When I first moved to Prague, I thought that I was relatively prepared.  I had lived in Europe before (in Italy) and I'd visited Prague, which was more than many aspiring English teachers could claim.  I also had the advantage of having some distant Czech relatives in Prague, which eased my mind.  Still, there were some things I learned in the first few months that nothing could have prepared me for.

When you try to pose for Instagram...

You will get sick at first, and it will happen often.

It makes sense if you think about it.  When you first move somewhere far away from home, you're not yet immune to the local nasties.  Perhaps because I moved in autumn, the local nasties took up residence in my respiratory system and hung around for quite some time.  I felt like I was in varying stages of  a cold for the first three to four months of living in Prague, which culminated in a highly unpleasant case of bronchitis.  On the plus side, you will likely learn about the workings of the local pharmacies (pro tip: pharmacies in the Czech Republic are separate from drug stores, and only open from 8 am-6 pm).

You will feel ignorant.

I like to consider myself a well-informed, global person.  Still, prior to moving to the Czech Republic, I couldn't have told you who the president of the country was, what the local attitudes towards sex/drugs/etc. were, or even that there was a debate on changing the official name of the country (on Google Maps the Czech Republic now appears as Czechia).  I was (and am) routinely impressed by the knowledge Czechs and other Europeans have about the US, but knew very little about their countries prior to moving.  The feeling of ignorance can bring you down- I felt that I was confirming an American stereotype that I thought I defied.  However, it also gave me the chance to learn and show that, even though I didn't know much, I was open to learning and enthusiastic about my adopted home.

People will try to take advantage of you for being American.

Due to the aforementioned "ignorant American" stereotype, several people will try to take advantage of you.  When I first moved, I found it very difficult to find an apartment due to several landlords insisting on having Czech-speaking tenants.  Add to this the fact that many people automatically equate being American with being wealthy and, well... there's a strong chance you're going to be charged more for an apartment than your Czech friends.  My rent is still quite a bit less expensive than it was in Chicago, but it's high by local standards.

You will miss strange, random things about home.

The other day, I found myself trying to describe Chicago deep-dish pizza to a European friend and suddenly missing it desperately.  I sometimes get a sudden longing to go for a walk or a run around my old neighborhood in Chicago, or go to my favorite frozen yogurt place, or smell the air in late spring right before a big thunderstorm.  Sometimes I get tired and miss seeing signs and labels in my language so I don't need to translate or guess at meanings.  Homesickness is real, and it comes up in some slightly bizarre ways.

Don't misunderstand me, I love living in Prague and don't regret moving for a moment.  There's little that can prepare you for being an immigrant in a new country.  There will be experiences and trials that you don't anticipate.  The best preparation is an open mind, a lot of courage, and a lot of faith in yourself that you can handle whatever comes at you.

Photo of the Week

I'm utterly in love with this photo I took of love locks on a fence overlooking a park on the outskirts of Stare Miasto in Warsaw.  I wanted a photo of the locks in any case, but when I saw the couple I just knew I needed to find a way to get them in the shot.

Why Prague?

How did I wind up in Prague, anyway?

Looking down the Vltava

Like so many stories, this one started with a boy.  We were in love and happy and, although life wasn't always easy, it was good.

It was good until, sometime after finishing graduate school, depression took over my brain.  I took care of myself, took medication, and took myself to a therapist.  Over time it got better in phases and got worse in phases until eventually, the stress of my job (intake counselor at an Employee Assistance Program/Behavioral Health Insurance company) rose so high that the TMJ disorder impacting my jaw caused it to lock.

I spent the next several months dealing with chronic pain, trying to work at a high-stress job that required an intense amount of talking, and becoming steadily more depressed.  Finally, one day I asked my then-fiance if he would support me as I quit my job and focused my energy on finding a new one.  He agreed, and two weeks later I left my office for the last time.

One week later, he left me.  We had been together for over five years.  Our wedding was two months away.  I was devastated.

I moved back home with my parents, unable to cope with living alone.  Almost immediately, I enrolled in an intensive outpatient therapy program at a nearby hospital.  It's not an exaggeration to say that it saved my life.  Therapy gave me something to do with my time, people to think about outside of myself, and hope that maybe, just maybe, my life could move forward.

Catch you later, USA!

One of the first thoughts that made me hope a future was possible was the thought that, without a partner keeping me in one place, I could travel, and maybe even live abroad.  Life in Europe had been a dream of mine ever since a study-abroad stint in college.  A trip to London and some time with my dear friends there confirmed that I wanted to try to make my life somewhere outside of the USA.

I looked into the Peace Corps and other options, but the one that always called me back was a small TEFL certificate program in Prague.  I had been to Prague for a weekend previously, but never for a significant amount of time.  Nevertheless, I decided to go with my gut and sign up for the program.

Six months to the day after my seemingly world-shattering break-up, I was boarding a plane with a one-way ticket to Prague.  After six months convalescing at home, it was time to start a new life somewhere far away.  I've been enjoying the local beer, meeting new friends, and generally Eat Pray Love-ing it in Prague ever since.

Where to Start?

Filtering selfies since 2016!

I'm Kay.

I'm 27 years old, an American, a daughter, sister, roommate, friend; a traveler, an MSW holder, an explorer.  And, as of today, a blogger.

I hesitated in starting a blog because I didn't know what I wanted this to be.  Did I want to be a travel blogger, one of an army of globe-trotting young women who somehow manage to travel constantly and take flawless Instagram photos while not having a discernible job?  Maybe I could write about the street food or coffee or tea of the places I happened to visit or live?  Perhaps I could get really racy and write about dating foreign men!

Truthfully, I'm not glamorous, rich, or sexy enough to put on any of those personas.  Sometimes I'm a homebody.  Sometimes I'm not going anywhere over the weekend.  Sometimes I want to stay in my sweatpants and read.  Taking on a blogging persona would mean pretending to be someone I'm not, and above all else I want to be genuine.

This will be the story of my life abroad and my story of finding myself.  We'll see where it goes.  In the meantime, I hope you'll join me on this adventure!