The Last Round: Spring Break 2013

I haven't spent a Spring Break in Oklahoma since I was a sophomore in high school. Actually, I vaguely want to say I didn't even stay here then, but it's almost tucked too far back in my memory to remember. Let's just say that Spring Break is my thing.

2008 was a free trip to New York City where my yearbook advisor was invited to speak at a journalism conference at Columbia University. In 2009, he took us out to see the plant where our yearbook was made in Fresno, California, but after that one day of school-related business, we traveled up the coast to Coos Bay, Oregon. After graduating from high school, my position as editor no longer mattered, which meant I was on my own for planning (and financing) these trips, or so I thought.

My freshman year of college, I joined the Women's Rowing team. Spring Break was a week-long training in Cocoa Beach, Florida. We spent four hours a day in the boat, so after we all came back and got some showers in, the evenings were spent on the beach, at local eateries, or maybe even just sleeping. It was a rough week physically, because I ended up suffering an injury that meant I got to spend a little extra time with our trainer and each day meant I may or may not have lost my spot in the boat. We competed at the end of the week and I was proudly representing the freshman team in our A boat at the 6 seat. (I was a port, for anyone who knows a thing about rowing.)

Sophomore year, after quitting the rowing team and gaining a bit of a reality check in the form of financially supporting myself, I chose a little bit of a quieter Spring Break. My friend and I spent a week living in my cousin's apartment in Chicago. I felt pretty independent and cool, despite the fact that his office was only a few blocks away and I saw him nearly every single day. I spent my nights lounging next to his full-length windows as the sun set over the city and my days having lunch at some of the nicest restaurants in the business district. It was my second trip to the Windy City, what became the second of seven that year, and the first time I stayed more than one day. It was then that I knew, I could live in Chicago someday.

Last year, as a junior in college, I  traveled to the wonderful land of Arizona. We've done the Grand Canyon thing before, but this time, I was tagging along with my parents, my brother, and my grandparents on my mother's side. Also, there was a lot more action before and after the big hole in the ground: Spring Training. I'm a baseball fan, so getting to watch my Chicago Cubs take on my dad's White Sox was the highlight of the trip. (The free tickets to Colorado Rockies games from my dad's cousin, the manager, was a pretty great bonus, too.)

I'm graduating in December, which means this is it, folks. Maybe someday, I'll have kids who get holidays, but this won't ever be the same. So now, how do I rival all these wonderful trips I've taken in my last chance at an official Spring Break? The answer is simple: I'm going home. Not home to the city I've lived in for 21 years, but home to the city I fell in love with from Day 1: Chicago. Technically, I'm going to spend the week at my Grandma's in Illinois, but there's a couple days that are already book for Chicago. I'll be there for St. Patrick's Day, and being 21 for the first time means I'll actually be able to enjoy the holiday properly. So let's raise our glasses in a toast to The Last Round.

My first taste of Wanderlust

There's a moment in ever wanderluster's life where the realization hits them. It's not always in the middle of some fantastic adventure or even in another country. If I think back on my life, I've always felt as though "home" was changing. I could feel at home just about anywhere I was: camping in the wilderness, sitting in my grandmother's kitchen, or watching the sun rise on a beach in Florida. I've always been lucky enough to travel, whether it was with my family or friends or some other opportunity. I remember hearing that I would be getting a free trip to New York City when I was a high school sophomore. As editor of the yearbook, I was given the chance to visit one of the most popular destinations in the world at the measly age of 16. To say I was excited would be an understatement.

The yearbook adviser chose my mom as our "chaperone" to accompany him, myself and the other editor on the trip. She was just as excited as I was and we immediately planned out all the places we wanted to visit. From Columbia University, the host site of the event we were attending, to the top of the Empire State Building, we pretty much saw every tourist attraction in the city. I remember standing in the middle of Times Square thinking it was a lot smaller than I pictured it in my mind. I remember riding the Ferris Wheel inside the Toys-R-Us and taking pictures with giant candy bars at Hersey.

The moment that stands out most in my mind, however, is a bit quieter than the rest. It's softer, almost like a dream. There's a spot in the giant room where immigrants used to check in that has a giant window. If you aren't looking out it, you'll miss the sight, but nearly everyone catches the Statue of Liberty caught in the window. It's this exact moment when I realized that I was more than a tourist. I was a traveler. Caught up in the feelings of all the history of the place, it's easy to think more deeply about traveling as a passion. But the feeling I found there hasn't once left me. Ever since then, I've spent every spare moment chasing it, and it's taken me to some pretty amazing places. Along the way, I've also discovered quite a bit about myself.