Me in front of the Tower of Pisa! I think I might have poked it a little too hard though :/

Hi readers!

My name is Quinn Christensen and I’m a junior Literatures in English major here at Bryn Mawr. This spring is my first time back on campus in a while – each year, about one third of Bryn Mawr’s junior class studies abroad, usually for one semester, at one of more than fifty approved programs, and this year I was one of them! I spent my fall semester in Florence, Italy on study abroad. 

If you’re asking yourself why an English major decided to spend a semester in Italy (a country with a distinct lack of English classes,) let me assure you that I’m minoring in History of Art, and that’s totally the reason I chose to go to Italy instead of somewhere that would, say, make sense. I definitely didn’t pick Florence just because I saw a single photo of the Ponte Vecchio that made me swoon. That would be decidedly silly! Could never end well!

The swoon-worthy Ponte Vecchio, in the flesh.

Except that’s exactly what I did, and it ended perfectly. Forgive me – I’m about to be every annoying person you’ve ever made fun of for being physically incapable of shutting up about their semester abroad. I sound cliché, and trite, and I have no choice, because it turns out some things are cliché for a reason. As it happens, traveling is in fact kind of a little bit life changing. They weren’t lying, guys. I know. I’m disappointed too. 

My roommates and I visited the Boboli Gardens the first week (the gardens quickly became a favorite spot!) It was quite the climb, but the view was beyond worth it. (From left to right: me (Quinn,) Julia Hansen, Julia Smith.)

Sometime in the summer I started dreading late August. I was so scared. And I knew I couldn’t complain, because I was about to get on a plane to Italy to live out every wine mom’s dreams. So, to anyone who would listen (and everyone who was already sick of listening – my mom, my best friend, my favorite coworker) I kept saying: what if I make no friends and get eaten by a bear? But it turns out there aren’t many bears in Florence. And it turns out I made friends! Real, good, true-blue friends. Friends who I braved 20 hour bus rides with. Friends who, when the end of the semester came crashing into la la land, sobbed in the street with me for an entire hour, just as ripped raw over leaving as I was.

Watching the Christmas tree light up in front of the Duomo, surrounded by friends, was a highlight.

Going somewhere so new, so fresh, meant that none of the things I’d been nervous about at home stood a chance against these new fears. Nervous to say hi to acquaintances? Here’s a city of new people whose language you don’t speak. Go make friends. Order dinner. Scared to take the train by yourself? Well, now your carry-on is lost and despite having a hundred little dresses and a trench coat, you have not a single sock. Better figure out how to buy a tram ticket, or else accept your fate as the next barefoot Contessa. Life is scary, and fear is rarely glamorous. But glamorous fear is a good way to practice regular fear. And getting to spend four months breathless, equally as giddy as I was terrified, helped me hold fear a little tighter, let it stay a while and let myself hold on through it.

On my first solo adventure, I took the train to Padova, a small town north of Florence, to visit the Scrovegni Chapel. I had studied the Chapel in my Renaissance Art class at Bryn Mawr. It was amazing to see these works of art in person!

So, yeah. If you have the chance to go abroad, go. And it’s never too early to start planning for your time abroad! You can start planning for as a first year. Check out the study abroad section of Bryn Mawr’s website for more info, or visit the Study Abroad Resource Library in the Lower Level of Guild Hall to explore approved programs.

I’ll close out with another cliché: feeling big feelings is so good. I wouldn’t have it any other way. The simple, exhilarating sadness of missing a time when I didn’t know anything I needed to know but didn’t need to know anything I usually know hurts. But it’s a good hurt. And it’s not that the hurting is worth it, exactly. It’s more so that the hurting is part of it – part of the sweetness of having loved it all so much, so hard. The place, which was so very mine but really just borrowed. The people I met, some of whom I’ll see soon, and some I’ll never see again. The people I didn’t meet, but who lived in my building, or baked the bread at the grocery store; the people who live there always and were kind to me without even knowing it. It’s the place and it’s the people. And with every new place you go, there will be new people to love. 

We’re always lucky to feel big feelings. But if you don’t always believe it – I know was having trouble believing it – living somewhere new is a fantastic reminder. The world feels a little wider and a little closer now. I’ll be grateful forever.

Until next time, Quinn