For my part, consistency means the absence of change. I don't like it when things drastically change. I like things to stay the same so that, to the best of my ability, I always know what is going to happen next. This also offers me a sense of security. When I don't have consistency, I don't feel safe. When I don't feel safe, I feel scared. When I feel scared, I withdraw into myself. When I withdraw into myself, all the little demons and and angels in my head start to bicker and I feel as if I'm going insane. But, this condition, this preference for consistency does not have to control my life.
One of the reasons that I came to Italy was because I wanted to become a better person. In truth, we all have problems, but anyone who has known me for the past two years of undergraduate school knows that I have been, for lack of better words, really messed up. Looking back, I realize that it all started when I first moved to Cedar Rapids. Moving to Cedar Rapids definitely turned my world upside down. Everything was different from what I was used to: I didn't know anyone, the bed that I had to sleep in every night was not my own, the city smelled funny, I had recently come out of the closet, etc. Basically, everything changed. And how did I react? Over the course of my first two years at Coe, I panicked. I cried. I screamed. And I did other things that I would prefer not to discuss here. But, more than anything, I found consistency in order to survive. I established a routine so as to feel safe and not go insane. But, here's the kicker: every few months things would change again. My classes would change, my professors would change, the weather would change, etc. Summers were the worst because it required that I find a job and a place to live. I didn't have classes and everything would change again. And every time I would experience these changes, the same cycle of panic and fear would commence. So, basically, every three or four months I would go through this and as a result, my depression - which I have battled since I was 14 - would only get worse.
Coming to Italy would be the biggest change in my life yet, and I knew that. I think that deep down I wanted to come here so that I could both experience a break in consistency and challenge myself to deal with it. In truth, I think I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. It's taken me a while, but I think I am beginning to come out swinging. I am taking that monster that is consistency and beating it down.
Here's a brief breakdown of my experience so far:
1. The first month was hell. I experienced drastic changes to my environment. I was faced with a different language and living with an Italian family who neither new a single thing about me, nor could they understand me when I would try to speak. I missed Stephen (as I still do) and desired nothing more than to come home. I hated the bus system. I didn't know anyone. I couldn't find my favorite cigarettes anywhere. EVERYTHING WAS DIFFERENT just as it was when I first moved to Cedar Rapids. Even the sirens on the ambulances and police cars sounded different and it drove me crazy! And, I reacted as I always have in such situations: I cried and screamed. I panicked and withdrew into myself. Whenever possible, I would shut myself in my bedroom, lay on my bed, and I would start to breath very heavily and feel my heart rate shoot through the roof.
2. The past few weeks I started to take note of the changes in my environment and my reactions to them. After all, my month-long panic attack had ended. I was finally "okay." But how?
3. And over the passed few days I have found an answer to this question: consistency. I did it again! After experiencing drastic changes in my life, I had the same negative reactions - as always - and not until I found consistency did I feel safe. Not until I felt safe did I stop being scared. Not until I stopped being scared did I come out of my room and make valid attempts to communicate with my host family.
I CANNOT LIVE MY LIFE THIS WAY.
How did I find consistency in Italy? By doing little things every day in exactly the same way until they became a routine. Every morning, I would eat breakfast at promptly 8 A.M. Two cups of coffee, two slices of bread with Nutella, and two biscotti with my coffee. Then I would take a shower that lasted no longer than 7 minutes. After, I would leave my apartment and walk to school, always taking the same roads, walking on the same side of the street, etc. For lunch, I always ate grapes and crackers. (Although, I should take a moment and draw attention to the fact that I am a "poor" college student and eating a lunch of such simplicity is partly a way for me to be fiscally conservative with my budget). After class, if I didn't have anything else to do, I would walk home and shut myself in my room until dinner - which always commenced at promptly 8 P.M. - only leaving my room when I wanted to smoke.
This week is fall break. Today is Wednesday. I have exactly 52 days before Stephen and my parents meet me at the Chicago airport. In my head, this translates into, "I have 52 days before I can be in Stephen's arms again. 52 days to grow. 52 days to become a better man." And because it's fall break this week and I am like the only student who stayed in Florence, I have taken some steps. Yesterday, I ate four slices of bread at breakfast instead of my usual two; today I had three. Sunday, I walked home by way of roads that I have never walked before. Last night after dinner, I watched the Italian news with my host family. I did all of these things just to prove to myself that I could. When I think about it, desiring consistency in EVERY LITTLE THING is a really foolish thing because it's impossible. This world is constantly changing. I think God made it that way so that we would have a methodology by which to grow. And do you know what? His method is working. I can do this. I can survive change. I can survive this world. I can be happy.
And do you know what's really funny? When I look at my life, I realize that I have experienced a lot of changes that were GOOD. For example, I met Stephen, the love of my life. That was a huge change, and yet he is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I also got to be a part of the generation that elected Barack Obama president of the United States. That, too, was a huge change. And it was a good change.
So, here I am: An Iowan by birth and a Florentine by choice; a student of the universe and a teacher to myself. I can do this. It's going to be okay. And now, I think I am going to hop in the shower and then walk into the city and do some research. I'm meeting my professor later to discuss Michelangelo and his poetry. Afterward? Who knows!
Talk about a break in consistency! Look at my new hair!
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