I've been done with grad school for 6 months now, and I think I've had enough time and distance to write a bit about the overall experience. Obviously, this blog was created to document the whole 'let's move to Europe' adventure, so I thought I'd try to describe the emotional progression in a (semi) concise manner. Just in case someone else decides to try it.
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In hindsight, the decision to up and move across the world on what was basically a whim fuelled by what I jokingly refer to as a quarter-life crisis was a good one. I had always intended to go to college outside of Alaska, but found myself staying in my hometown due to the quality of the engineering program and rifle team. Then a good job and Ev's grad school made leaving hard. I was heading down the path of being one of the people who never leave the town they grew up in, and that gave rise to a feeling of discontent and restlessness. Add in the natural competitiveness Ev and I have, and I felt the need to get a masters degree. Leaving Fairbanks for grad school made sense. I'd taken some graduate-level classes during and after my bachelors, and wanted different perspectives and material.
I don't think Ev was 100% serious when he suggested Europe as a grad school destination. But some very good geotech programs were there, and I wanted to make a change. And in my universe, why take the easy path when the harder one makes for such a good conversation starter? Might as well go big.
Something people don't tell you when you move to another country is that there are stages of culture shock. That initial strangeness is often all you encounter when you're travelling, but when you're living in a new place where you don't speak the language (even though everyone around you speaks yours), know where things are, and aren't familiar with, well, anything, that strangeness can take on a sinister tint.
After a couple weeks (about the time you actually adjust to the time change), the sense of new-ness and adventure starts to wear off and all the differences seem starker. There's still novelty value, but you start to realise that you're here for the long haul; your friends, support network, and everything you're familiar with is on the other side of the world and boy, there sure are a lot of people here. Give it a month and you get slammed by a wave of homesickness.
Then you get into a groove. You figure out the trains and metro, find the nearest grocery stores, discover the best bike route to get to school/work/the train station. You locate the nearest climbing gym and start developing preferred running routes. Then classes start and you meet people in the same situation and all of a sudden you have a bit of a social life. You start building a new network.
For a few months, things are copacetic. Sure, some days are harder than others, but in general you're fine just plugging along. You're doing a bunch of travelling on weekends, seeing the world in a way you haven't had the opportunity to before. Travelling in Europe is cheap, your perspective is more as a local than a tourist, and there's so much to see and climb.
You keep in touch with your friends from home, but the time zone means you're always a little behind on the times, and they're having adventures you wish you could join. Things happen and you can't be there to provide a shoulder or a hug or a high-five. You do what you can from across the pond. Life moves on.
6 months in, the homesickness cuts you down at the knees. You miss your people, the small town, the snow and vast wilderness. The sense of discontent that was the impetus for moving in the first place is back, but this time it's more of a dull depression that you just can't shake. You half-seriously consider saying screw it and going home, but you're too proud and stubborn to concede defeat. You call home a lot and try not to have a break down. After a few weeks, it fades and things seem to be better.
By month 8 you're got this whole thing figured out. Sure, there are days where you get homesick, but for the most part you've got your life sorted and things are going well. You have friends, a schedule, a go-to coffee place. You learn things about other countries and cultures over a passionate coffee break or a beer.
When you go home for a month in summer, you realise how much you love Alaska. This time, when you go back to Europe, you know with absolute certainty where you want to be when you graduate.
The second year goes by faster. There's less time to travel because you've started your thesis, but you've forged some strong friendships and made a place for yourself. There are impromptu pizza parties in the geo-corner and lots and lots of coffee. Everyone's a bit sleep deprived, but you're in it together. When you finally defend, you all go out and have a blast, and there's a small twinge of regret that your days of hanging out are numbered. As people start to graduate, you get together more and more before you go your separate ways.
When you finally fly home, you know you're gonna miss your people. And, surprisingly, there are things about the country you'll miss, too. After all, Alaska doesn't have great bike infrastructure or public transport, and it is nice having easy access to different climbing areas and exciting destinations.
The transition back to your old life is easier than starting a new one. You look for a job, and it can be frustrating because you know you're qualified and talented, but the economy just isn't cooperating. You slip back into old friendships and patterns, and appreciate things you took for granted before you left. People ask you if you'd take a job in Europe, and look surprised when you say no, it was a great experience but Alaska is where I want to be. It almost seems like you're not supposed to want to stay here after living overseas.
You've developed an awareness of international politics. You're certainly not an expert, but you recognise the implications of some political and economic actions in a way you didn't before. All of a sudden, you see yourself as a citizen of the world, not just the US. The direction our nation's leadership wants to go worries you, but you hope the government keeps it in check.
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Stating the obvious, the grand European adventure changed me. I like to think it made me a more balanced and interesting person. It certainly provided me with a good topic of conversation. And it definitely helped me realise what's important to me. Moving to Europe was hands-down the ballsiest thing I've ever done. And it was a lot of fun.
In hindsight, of course.
