I have loved traveling around Europe and expanding my comfort zone. My comfort zone is already pretty large, so it was nice to really push myself and travel alone to random places around Europe so that I could feel comfortable in relatively every situation. That's what this whole thing is all about. Getting out of your comfort zone. I bring this up, because getting out of your comfort zone will make coming home even better.

“Told him the shortest way to Tara was via Hollyhead.” –James Joyce, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

My mother once told me something: “Sam, don’t tell people you read James Joyce, it makes you a pretentious know-it-all.” Yet these wise words only incited my reading rebellion against a household of Poe, Hawthorne, and Melville in favor of Yeats, O’Brien, and of course, mister pretentious himself.

I sadly had to leave Freiburg... but I was on my way to Switzerland to see some of my cousins. First stop, Zurich. I had only been to Zurich one time before this and it was for a very short time. It is a pretty busy city with a lot of businesses and what not. Very different to Freiburg. I was really excited because I had not met my little cousins yet. We were hoping for some good sunny days since it was really foggy and misty almost the whole time my family was in Freiburg. The whole train ride there was pretty much cloaked in fog.

For the past couple months, the third of every month has felt like a countdown for me.

Three months until Dublin…

Two months until my plane takes off…

One month until I go…

Freiburg is one of the cities in Germany that is known for its Christmas Market. We spent so much time at this market it was unreal. It was a great place to go hang out after class and snag some really good food. My favorite thing to get there was the käsewurst, which is a sausage that has cheese inside of it. May sound weird, but it is one of the best things there. They had lots of other stuff too, like these flat potato pancakes that you dipped in this garlic sauce. Good food that keeps you warm.

Monday’s are blood-pumping red, hectic morning commutes on the JR Keiyo Line. The pounding of feet, the rush of Suica cards passing through the gates, the quiet thrum of electricity before the train arrives. Every morning, I watch the crowds part ways, waiting patiently for the passengers to get off before packing into the nearest car. I lean against the side of the end seats, my head resting against a metal pole. I count the seconds that flutter by. All commutes start and end on the Keiyo Line.

I’m lying on my couch, wrapped in a blanket and watching the West Wing.  I’m eating my mom’s delicious chocolate chip cookies and enjoying the warm winter of Tucson.  For all intents and purposes, I’ve picked up right where I left off four months ago.

My departure from Italy was obvious the second that I stepped into the Munich airport—the air was still and devoid of the steady whir of espresso machines. I fought the urge to cut in line even though a few months in Milan had taught me to smile and slide into whatever entry point I could find in the bulbous vaguely line-shaped clumps that are preferred in Italy to the linear and subdued German queues.