Oftentimes the best things in life are the ones that were not expected. Why do you think so many guys try to keep their proposal plans a surprise? (Not that I have any experience there, but I imagine that’s the case.)
The feeling’s no secret, though. You go to the cinema, not necessarily crazy excited about the film you’re about to see; then you thoroughly enjoy it and walk out feeling satisfied. Compare this situation to the movie you’ve heard rave reviews about and don’t end up liking. Or the big screen production of your favorite book. Have I made my point?
I love surprises, but as a life-long planner, I rarely leave untouched time in my schedule to experience the unexpected. Thinking I, of course, know my tastes and desires, I hesitate to venture outside of my well-kept, neatly trimmed set of ideals. Well, at least I used to hesitate.
These days—eight months abroad and counting—life seems to have a way of mixing up the pitches, throwing circumstances higher and lower, faster and slower, and, finally, simply lobbing them over the plate where I’m standing, doubled over from the exhaustion of calculating my next move. I expected to come into the game and hit a home run. Learning the hard way (maybe even striking out a time or two) wasn’t part of the plan. Perhaps that’s what makes up the game, though—you can prepare all you want, but you’ll still have to execute, a spontaneous reaction to the play that can make or break end results.
Today, I chose baseball as my metaphor specifically because it’s one of those surprises in my life. A little more than a year ago, I realized I’d let twenty years of life slip by without understanding this “All American Sport,” and I determined to change that. With a little (ok, a lot) of help, patience and coercion, I ended up standing along the railing at AT&T Park in San Francisco, Calif., in August 2010 , cheering the Giants on through eleven exciting innings and watching a winning team during their World Series season.
What I especially love about baseball, though, is that conversations with my expert friends continue to open up the intricacies of the sport in fresh ways. Strategy bursts the seams of every game—little tricks and bits of knowledge that spread themselves amidst the sport's pristine green turf, white lines and dusty diamonds. In addition, I have a new team to cheer on. Following the Giants online occupies a significant amount of time, especially considering they play 29-of-31 days this month. Good grief! Truthfully, though, I enjoy it, particularly because I didn’t expect it.
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Another case of surprise was my recent trip to Switzerland. Unlike Lisbon, where I was venturing into totally foreign territory, I was counting on a bit of home in this case, namely my friend Brittany: an American married Swiss transplant. Visiting friends this time meant I didn’t feel the need for prior preparation and research. I was happy to discover whatever she showed me.
On my overnight train there, I started thinking about Switzerland, home to Heidi, Lindt chocolate, and the Alps. I knew I wanted to see the pristine white peaks and was hoping for a few strolls around clear glacier-fed lakes, but other than that, my expectations were strangely non-existent.
The end result? I was blown away by the beauty reverberating throughout the varied contours of the striking landscape. Spring had arrived in Switzerland a few weeks earlier than here in the Harz, and the intense color and light of the breath-taking vistas—ranging from Alpine ridges 10,000 feet above sea level to verdant green valleys to impossibly clear lakes and rivers to sunlight-bathed soy fields, sparkling yellow squares rolling over the pastoral hills—shocked me with joy. Literally an electrocution of happiness, intensified only by the company and laughter that accompanied my 6 day vacation.It was practically perfect, mostly because I ventured in willing to experience life as it came. Admittedly though, the attitude was not entirely by choice.
Four days before the commencement of my adventure, I badly sprained my ankle—first time ever—at my bi-weekly volleyball group. Sitting on the bench along the gym wall, my black knee-high sock awkwardly protecting my skin from the ice pack attempting to subdue the rapid swelling, I watched the others continue to play and started crying. Not because it hurt (it did). Not because I was terrified of my imminent trip to the German emergency room (I was). But because the simple false landing had probably ruined some of my most-anticipated plans over the next month (it had).
An hour later, after my fellow players had finished their game and cleaned up, my ankle still hurt so badly I couldn’t make it out to a teammate’s car. He carried me—piggy-back style—to the waiting car and got a wheelchair when we arrived at the hospital. Thankfully, everything went amazingly smoothly once inside, and within an hour, I was talking to the doctor, post scan, about the ramifications of the injury. Nothing was broken, but the swelling and pain could take up to six weeks to subside; I’d need to wear a brace during subsequent athletic activities; and I should stay off it as much as possible for the foreseeable future.
Once I was home, lying on my bed, leg propped up on my all-purpose grey travel pillow, my plans started falling apart. First—and perhaps most personally devastating—the half marathon at the end of May I’d registered for, paid for and was diligently training for would no longer be a possibility for me to complete. Secondly, the days spent hiking and evenings spent playing volleyball with my friend in Switzerland would have to be re-invented (think days spent riding trains and evenings spent icing my ankle on their couch). Thirdly, my weekend trip to Hannover to see the last home basketball game of the UBC tigers was cancelled. Finally, the 11th grade lesson planned with my friend Jordan to compare American and British English—LIVE—was postponed.
Nothing earth-shattering, but all rather disappointing, nonetheless. A trio of days spent in bed, longingly watching the sun laze its way across blue skies, wishing I could enjoy the weather by doing something! My trip to Switzerland came and went, with the added daily itinerary item of studying the bruising and swelling paint blue, purple and red rainbows across my ankle, foot and toes. Then, to top it all, I got sick. Again. Health has not been my friend since I’ve been in Germany.
It wouldn’t have been so bad except that I was supposed to visit Nessa (my fellow Fulbrighter and adventurer) over the weekend and except that today is May 1.
Two years ago, I found out that the Germans have a holiday on the first day of the fifth month when my friend posted facebook pictures of his wife’s family’s annual hiking tour. Two years ago, university classes were cancelled on May 1 due to an outbreak of Swine Flu on campus. Two years ago, my friends and I escaped to the beach for a day of laughter, playing and sunshine, and I adopted the holiday officially.
Since then, I’ve looked for ways to celebrate my new favorite day of spring. It’s possible that today was the German holiday I was looking forward to the most. I knew I’d spend it outside, preferably hiking, definitely with friends and assuredly not working.
Maybe I should have known it was doomed when it fell on a Sunday. I didn’t get the day off of school because it was already the weekend. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to do anything else I wanted to either. The weather would have been perfect for hiking. At 8:30 a.m., I woke to a cloudless blue sky accosting me from outside my window, then I coughed for five minutes straight, turned off my alarm and decided to stay home for the day. No church. No hiking-turned-walking. No May 1.
The story ended a little happier, but it was despite my expectations. Today didn’t meet them and it didn’t succeed them. In fact, it failed them, but I was still surprised on a couple accounts: Basking, after all, in the eruption of spring green and flowers during a short walk to eat warm broccoli casserole in the sunny bungalow on the hill with two friends and writing outside on the blue bench behind my house, serenaded by the brook dancing along its rocky bottom and the birds rejoicing in spring. Perhaps it's time to stop expecting and start experiencing. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?
Happy May Day 2011.
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