Looking forward to looking back
When I was a freshman, a very important friend of mine who was graduating wrote me a letter before she left.
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When I was a freshman, a very important friend of mine who was graduating wrote me a letter before she left.
Before this year's spring break, the last vacation I'd been on that I could remember was to Puerto Rico when I was 7 years old. I spent the week having my hair braided by local women and playing with a Beanie Baby parrot that my mom bought me at the hotel gift shop, which I cried hysterically over after an overzealous playmate snapped off its TY tag in the heat of an argument. Needless to say, I was wholly unprepared for the booty-shaking, tequila-shotting, banana-boating sin that was rumored to ensue on the Xtreme Trips getaway my friends and I planned to attend this year. In our senior year, my pledge class is a group of 13 girls who've been friends since we were freshmen. We made a pact around this time last year to voyage to Mexico for the final spring break of our college careers - a "last hurrah" of sorts. And while the promise of tanned skin and sunlight was titillating, as the trip grew closer, I started experiencing major anxiety. For the past three years, I've spent every spring break at home on Long Island sleeping and stuffing my face with bagels. The thought of passing up my sedentary rituals was unnerving, partially because I'm lazy and typically try to avoid change and partially because I wasn't sure if I was prepared for the chaotic college spring break that seems to appeal to every other student. Friends told me all about what to expect on this seven-day excursion to Mexico, and what I took from their stories was that I should expect an excess of alcohol, drugs and sex - and if any of these elements didn't interest me, I would basically be left in the dust all by my pious lonesome. However, I was pleasantly surprised upon arriving in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico to learn that my wholesomeness was not at stake simply because I was traveling to another country through a less-than-respectable travel agency. Although debauchery was definitely encouraged on the trip - "If you don't throw up at least once, I'm not doing my job," said one of the trip's adult chaperones -my friends and I took our freedom and did what we wanted with it, without pressure to outdo the wanton behavior of students of spring breaks past. I realized this sense of autonomy is what spring break, or any break, is all about. Whether you spend your time off making snow angels in Buffalo or shot-gunning beers on a beach in Cancun, you're doing it right as long as you're doing what you want. I know I'll probably never experience a trip like my trip to Mexico ever again, and I'm OK with that, especially for my liver's sake. Some people still raise their brows at me when I disclose the fact that I spent my week in a beachside bacchanalia, but the truth is, my fondest memories from the trip involve laughing and dancing with my friends - not taking body shots off sandy strangers. On one particular evening toward the end of the trip, I sat alone on my balcony while my roommates napped. In my twilight-induced serenity, it hit me that the year is coming to a close and the arrival of spring break marks the beginning of the "home stretch" with graduation looming at the other end. These thoughts got me feeling sentimental. And as I stared through my dewy eyes at the pink-streaked Mexican sky, I made a vow: never again will I trade a good time with my friends for good bagels in my bed. Email: lisa.delatorre@ubspectrum.com
Before this year's spring break, the last vacation I'd been on that I could remember was to Puerto Rico when I was 7 years old. I spent the week having my hair braided by local women and playing with a Beanie Baby parrot that my mom bought me at the hotel gift shop, which I cried hysterically over after an overzealous playmate snapped off its TY tag in the heat of an argument. Needless to say, I was wholly unprepared for the booty-shaking, tequila-shotting, banana-boating sin that was rumored to ensue on the Xtreme Trips getaway my friends and I planned to attend this year. In our senior year, my pledge class is a group of 13 girls who've been friends since we were freshmen. We made a pact around this time last year to voyage to Mexico for the final spring break of our college careers - a "last hurrah" of sorts. And while the promise of tanned skin and sunlight was titillating, as the trip grew closer, I started experiencing major anxiety. For the past three years, I've spent every spring break at home on Long Island sleeping and stuffing my face with bagels. The thought of passing up my sedentary rituals was unnerving, partially because I'm lazy and typically try to avoid change and partially because I wasn't sure if I was prepared for the chaotic college spring break that seems to appeal to every other student. Friends told me all about what to expect on this seven-day excursion to Mexico, and what I took from their stories was that I should expect an excess of alcohol, drugs and sex - and if any of these elements didn't interest me, I would basically be left in the dust all by my pious lonesome. However, I was pleasantly surprised upon arriving in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico to learn that my wholesomeness was not at stake simply because I was traveling to another country through a less-than-respectable travel agency. Although debauchery was definitely encouraged on the trip - "If you don't throw up at least once, I'm not doing my job," said one of the trip's adult chaperones -my friends and I took our freedom and did what we wanted with it, without pressure to outdo the wanton behavior of students of spring breaks past. I realized this sense of autonomy is what spring break, or any break, is all about. Whether you spend your time off making snow angels in Buffalo or shot-gunning beers on a beach in Cancun, you're doing it right as long as you're doing what you want. I know I'll probably never experience a trip like my trip to Mexico ever again, and I'm OK with that, especially for my liver's sake. Some people still raise their brows at me when I disclose the fact that I spent my week in a beachside bacchanalia, but the truth is, my fondest memories from the trip involve laughing and dancing with my friends - not taking body shots off sandy strangers. On one particular evening toward the end of the trip, I sat alone on my balcony while my roommates napped. In my twilight-induced serenity, it hit me that the year is coming to a close and the arrival of spring break marks the beginning of the "home stretch" with graduation looming at the other end. These thoughts got me feeling sentimental. And as I stared through my dewy eyes at the pink-streaked Mexican sky, I made a vow: never again will I trade a good time with my friends for good bagels in my bed. Email: lisa.delatorre@ubspectrum.com
Before this year's spring break, the last vacation I'd been on that I could remember was to Puerto Rico when I was 7 years old. I spent the week having my hair braided by local women and playing with a Beanie Baby parrot that my mom bought me at the hotel gift shop, which I cried hysterically over after an overzealous playmate snapped off its TY tag in the heat of an argument. Needless to say, I was wholly unprepared for the booty-shaking, tequila-shotting, banana-boating sin that was rumored to ensue on the Xtreme Trips getaway my friends and I planned to attend this year. In our senior year, my pledge class is a group of 13 girls who've been friends since we were freshmen. We made a pact around this time last year to voyage to Mexico for the final spring break of our college careers - a "last hurrah" of sorts. And while the promise of tanned skin and sunlight was titillating, as the trip grew closer, I started experiencing major anxiety. For the past three years, I've spent every spring break at home on Long Island sleeping and stuffing my face with bagels. The thought of passing up my sedentary rituals was unnerving, partially because I'm lazy and typically try to avoid change and partially because I wasn't sure if I was prepared for the chaotic college spring break that seems to appeal to every other student. Friends told me all about what to expect on this seven-day excursion to Mexico, and what I took from their stories was that I should expect an excess of alcohol, drugs and sex - and if any of these elements didn't interest me, I would basically be left in the dust all by my pious lonesome. However, I was pleasantly surprised upon arriving in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico to learn that my wholesomeness was not at stake simply because I was traveling to another country through a less-than-respectable travel agency. Although debauchery was definitely encouraged on the trip - "If you don't throw up at least once, I'm not doing my job," said one of the trip's adult chaperones -my friends and I took our freedom and did what we wanted with it, without pressure to outdo the wanton behavior of students of spring breaks past. I realized this sense of autonomy is what spring break, or any break, is all about. Whether you spend your time off making snow angels in Buffalo or shot-gunning beers on a beach in Cancun, you're doing it right as long as you're doing what you want. I know I'll probably never experience a trip like my trip to Mexico ever again, and I'm OK with that, especially for my liver's sake. Some people still raise their brows at me when I disclose the fact that I spent my week in a beachside bacchanalia, but the truth is, my fondest memories from the trip involve laughing and dancing with my friends - not taking body shots off sandy strangers. On one particular evening toward the end of the trip, I sat alone on my balcony while my roommates napped. In my twilight-induced serenity, it hit me that the year is coming to a close and the arrival of spring break marks the beginning of the "home stretch" with graduation looming at the other end. These thoughts got me feeling sentimental. And as I stared through my dewy eyes at the pink-streaked Mexican sky, I made a vow: never again will I trade a good time with my friends for good bagels in my bed. Email: lisa.delatorre@ubspectrum.com
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