A blast of cold, fresh air

And then winter hit a couple of days ago.

I hate winter. I'm from Southern California: The temperature never goes below 60 degrees, and when it does, we wear ski jackets. So, in Princeton, I'm always cold come winter. Every morning, I put on all these layers, but then I'm really hot in my room, so I take half of them off because I can't imagine it could possibly be that cold outside. And then it is, and I cry.

The dropping temperatures made me realize that two-and-a-half years into college, I'm still in culture shock. "Minor problems" like getting dressed in the morning really do "seem like major crises," and I do get decidedly "anxious" when I know I'm about to go outside. It makes me wonder if I should have paid a little bit more attention in those meetings. Because if I still haven't adjusted to the cold two-and-a-half-years later, clearly I have no idea what to do about culture shock.

I suppose I could keep lots of mementos of U.S. culture around to make the adjustment easier. The same way lots of West-Coasters wear flip-flops in the winter to show off their undying allegiance to the beach, I could keep speaking English or insist on hunting down American food a few nights a week. Of course, in the same way I think that wearing sandals in 40-degree weather is more likely to make you mildly hypothermic than to preserve your California roots, I'm not sure any of that would really help my cause. After all, going to Spain only to pretend that I'm still back in the United States sort of defeats the purpose of going in the first place.

The Study Abroad Handbook says that "There is no well-established way of dealing with culture shock, although recognizing its existence and accepting your vulnerability to it is an important first step." So clearly, I'm ahead of the game, since every time I step outside into the arctic temperatures, my stinging face and chattering teeth remind me that I am nothing if not vulnerable to culture shock.

Of course, there's no step two. I have no idea what to do next. But the more I think about it, the more I think it doesn't matter. I think maybe culture shock is part of the fun. I wanted to go to school on the East Coast because I wanted to have seasons, and as cold and miserable as I am, it's kind of exciting. And I want to go to Spain because I want to try something new - learn what it's like to live outside the Princeton bubble. Sure it's going to be scary to have to have full conversations in Spanish about something other than literature. Also, since I am one of the pickiest eaters ever, eating is going to be an interesting dilemma each day, but maybe I'll find new foods I like to eat (hopefully before I've offended too many people).

Clearly, there are going to be things I'll have to do that will scare me or upset me or disgust me. That's part of going somewhere new. I'm sure I will often find myself in a panic, wishing that it wouldn't cost me my life's savings to call my mom back in California. But I think that going into culture shock is sort of the point. There wouldn't be any reason to leave Princeton and travel 3,500 miles just to have the same experience I'm having here. That everything is different is what makes it worthwhile.

Culture shock, it seems to me, shouldn't be listed as a potential problem for students going abroad; it should be something to strive for. You can't learn anything new if you don't put yourself out there into scary situations. Maybe I'll be singing a different tune in a couple of months, but hey. They say that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and if I can survive an East-Coast winter, then I can survive anything.