a commitment to remember

maybe the real study abroad was the intense self-reflection we did along the way?

Apr 07, 2026

a short one.

musing, that’s all

I’ve spent this semester barefoot, and I’ve held onto a lot of feelings. The texture of the floor in each room, the muck of wet grass, the grit of the asphalt, rough sidewalks, the polished concrete of the dining room. My callouses thicken and my blisters pop and reform and the semester passes by. Recently, I’ve understood that this barefoot tradition may not survive the early Patagonian winter. For 10 minutes in the morning I slip outside to stretch, but the grass is frosty now and my bare feet start to develop a cold ache. Maybe I can train them. My research professor told us that, to prepare for data collection in the snow, we should stop wearing gloves. There are two types of cold, he says. The red cold is good, it means your fingers are getting blood and still working. The white cold is bad. Dying. I don’t think I’ve ever heard this before, but I’ve been trying. I am going to come back hardened and ready to be barefoot and gloveless anywhere. Any climate can be a barefoot climate, if you really believe.

A bit of me is going to be in this little town forever. I have a feeling deep in my gut that I’ll come back, it’s like a pull from the very center of me. My days are filled with tiny simplicities and hours of floating. I take walks and pop in and out of shops and restaurants. I repeat buenas, chao, buenas, chao. It’s a walking meditation and a mission to take in every part of this place. Ava and I realized yesterday that if we wanted to we could probably spend an afternoon walking every street in Natales. Up and down and up and down and we could see it all. I want to soak it in so well that when I leave I can walk up and down the streets in my head and remember each one feels. The tiniest details and the smells and the people I walked them with. It’s a commitment to remember.

some places

Punta Arenas was a resupply and a reconnection with small luxuries. There are some things that you cannot get in Puerto Natales. Off the top of my head: most spices, greek yogurt, good yarn, books in english, niqwax, hand warmers. Being in Punta Arenas felt like a blip, a chance to snatch anything we needed before running back home. We successfully executed a raid on yarn. More than half of the cohort has begun a knitting journey, and we ran through town collecting wool and airdropping sweater pattern PDFs and debating weight to length conversions. Projects are popping up and sweaters are coming together and we pass bus rides and home time knitting and exchanging advice. My only other Punta Arenas acquisition was spicy garlic. Radical. Life changing. Let me tell you. Life has flavor again. Other than that, I’ve realized that many of the things I was so worried about living without have become less important. I have embraced being wet and cold, as my rain pants maybe actually make things worse, and I am down to two pairs of hand warmers. I’m training.

Punta Arenas is also beautiful. We spent two nights in a magical perfect hostel being cared for by the loveliest woman who ushered us to the roof on our last morning to watch the sunrise. She scurried away so excited for us to see and responded to our excitement with a triumphant “sipo.” This place is full of love. I realize that more and more every day.

In our journey of embracing the cold we hiked Base Torres in the pouring rain. It was one of those mornings where you start assessing what your tolerance for suck looks like. At what point can you no longer embrace the suck? How bad is it even going to suck really? We started early and strong and I think the universe saw us determined to enjoy ourselves and caved. It double rainbowed (verb?). We danced and sang and jumped around. We splashed in puddles and filmed a music video and laughed and frolicked. I was wet all the way down to my core. It even snowed a bit. It was wonderful and perfect in every way and we didn’t see the towers and it was so ok.

Campfires are a thing that I have missed. The more I think about them the higher up they move on the mental list of things I miss. The way you talk around a campfire and huddle and cluster and share in its warmth is a special thing. This weekend we made a campfire and it was warmth and joy and togetherness. I just love these people so deeply! Ava asked us all for our favorite thing about ourselves. Ethan asked how we think these months have changed us. We shared our gratitudes for each other and for Patagonia and for ourselves. All of my clothes smell like campfire now and it’s like the little whisper of a shared memory.

things I miss & will miss

I love change, but I miss things deeply. When I left camp after my first summer I struggled a lot with leaving. In the weeks leading up to the last day I stopped thinking about it entirely. I was avoiding all of the feelings and as a result feeling totally fine until I talked to Yards and broke down. He told me that when he’s missing home, he writes down what he misses so that he can appreciate those things when he has them. When he’s loving where he is, he writes down gratitudes so he can remember everything he loves when it’s hard. It’s a privilege to love places so deeply it’s hard to leave.

Here’s some incomplete thoughts in that vein.

things i miss

chili crisp

my bike

my bay window bed

candles

miso soup

art classes

ceramics

swimming

the comfort of being known (starting new is hard)

things i am cherishing