Nostalgia

Ireland

All year long, I anxiously awaited the Ireland green, clothing the vast, eternal countryside. I had seen pictures and heard stories about the Irish lads and lassies who emulated hospitality and humor through toothy smiles. I imagined a truly warm, homey feeling that would surround me for the months after. And that is exactly what I got when I visited the home of my ancestors. 

In my mind, I was ready. I completed my first year of college, spending the year chasing the college experience. I needed time to sit back and reflect on my exhausting, exhilarating year. I thought I could be ready for a new, wholly different experience that would necessitate 150 percent of myself. 

I spent so much of the year creating my identity—a distinct sign of getting older. I had a blank slate in which I could take bits and pieces of my previous persona and stitch together who I wanted to be now. I molded myself to fit every atmosphere, changing depending on the people and location. It’s a freeing part of college and moving away from home, but it is tiring. After a whole year of identity creation and recreation, I was lost. I thought I knew who I was or what I wanted out of life, but I truly had no idea what my life would hold from here on out. I craved distance from expectations. I desperately needed somewhere away from my life at college or my parent’s home to contemplate who I wanted to be and what I wanted my legacy to be. I thought the location for that was Ireland.

My family reached the vibrant city of Dublin. We spent our time at quaint pubs with live music that drowned out the outer world and invited you to an intimate experience of culture and community, native or not. Rain poured for several days, despite the fact that it was June and the weather in my home state yelled “heat wave!” The soaked streets glistened and stirred opportunities to sneak from cafe to cafe, trying to avoid becoming as drenched as the road. The rain made the city even more beautiful and warm, culminating in bright green shrubbery and grasses whisking us off to our next destination. 

Then, onto Southern Ireland, we stopped in the coastal towns of Kilkenny, Kinsale, and Killarney. Each town sported its own unique ambience: Kilkenny with its grandiose castle built nearly one thousand years ago, Kinsale with houses painted every color of the rainbow, and Killarney with surreal views and the most alive hills that I had ever seen. We spent our days hiking and wandering the countryside, casually stopping in intimate taverns for a cup of tea. Every local we met in Ireland was the kindest, most genuine person. I could pick up a conversation with someone sitting to my right at a bar. It offered complete anonymity but, simultaneously, I felt known and appreciated for who I was at that moment. 

Still, I spent hours on trains and in cars consumed by memories, regrets, and what-ifs. “Real life” doesn’t disappear whether or not you are five thousand miles away. It was naive of me to think that I would forget my worries if I changed location. 

Then, finally, we reached the Cliffs of Moher. 

In my eighth grade art class, my teacher told us to draw a landscape where we could envision ourselves. After browsing pictures on the internet, I finally found an image that sent chills up my spine. Unknown to me at the time, I would be standing in front of this very view five years later. Seeing the Cliffs of Moher was a dream for me ever since eighth grade. Here I am, standing in the exact spot where the photographer must have taken that picture all those years ago. The sun was shining just as it was in my painting, a rare sight in the majestic gloom of Ireland. The waves crashed on the shore with the same force as my paintbrush caressed the canvas in eighth grade. The yellow and white wildflowers sitting inches before the staggering drop down to the sea were precisely the flowers I imagined running my hands through all those years ago. 

These ethereal cliffs that I stood before have stood through thousands of years—the sea eroding the edges of the cliffs with a vengeance, millions of individuals having trekked across its hilly walkways, every form of weather beating down. Even so, the Cliffs of Moher remain a symbol of natural beauty, timeless and unchanged. 

Yet, so much has changed. 

I have grown up from a starry-eyed fourteen year old to a passionate, confused 20 year old. The in-between included love, pain, joy, illness, and resilience. Even with all the ups and downs my life has brought, I am here—now. Who cares if I don’t know exactly who I want to be? My identity that I was struggling to find that year will constantly evolve and change. But I hope that whether I’m fourteen, twenty, or forty, I will continue to be amazed by the beauty that the Cliffs of Moher beholds, amazed by the unforgettable beauty of nature. 

I thought Ireland would give me an oasis, a detachment from real life. Even better, Ireland served as an opportunity to zoom out and gain perspective on what consumes everyday life. In this moment, the ocean mist and wind in my hair, I couldn’t help but feel immense gratitude for everything that has brought me to stand in front of the Cliffs of Moher. Life changes, people change, but the Cliffs of Moher constantly remain standing for those who need it.