“Porque es preciso perderse Para volver a encontrarse”
“Because it is precisely in losing yourself That you return to find yourself.”

by Laurie Jirak
COPA-Santiago

So what happens when you are twenty years old, know who you are, what you want and what makes you happy, but to fulfill some obscure lifelong dream, you decide to leave it all behind? What do you do? Well, it’s July 18th, all the paperwork has been filed, all the checks signed, so I was getting on the plane. I kept repeating the mantra I had heard so many times over from others, “this is going to be an experience of a lifetime,” or “travel when you’re young, before you know it, life sneaks up on you and you can’t do these things anymore.” I repeated it, but somehow do not quite believe it. By the time I arrive in Miami to board my international flight to Santiago, Chile, it is just motions. I have stopped thinking and quite possibly even stopped breathing. I cannot even say that I am scared; I cannot verbalize what I am. It was someone else getting that last cup of Starbucks, making a quick phone call home and enthusiastically greeting all of the other study abroad students. Ten short hours ago I had known exactly who I was—I had goals, friends, family and familiarity and now I was letting all of that go for something as abstract as “a cultural experience.”

It seemed almost immediate, the change in myself. I arrived at orientation and realized that although all of my luggage was there, I had lost something in between Minneapolis and Olmue, Chile—my vision—my vision of who I was, why I had left to go abroad and the goals I had once held for my experience. My exterior was still intact though. With a little magic from Cover Girl, the tear-stained eyes disappeared and I could talk and function like all of the other students. But everywhere I looked, I saw fuzz. That lifelong goal now seemed like such a heavy weight. I felt numb and void and finally, I could say it, I was scared.

Everything was supposed to be new and exciting; I was not supposed to want to be back home curled up with my dog and watching Sex and the City reruns. This was NOT what an independent, driven Northwestern woman was supposed to be feeling. What happened to the emotional “up curve” I learned about in the pre-departure meetings? I had not even seen so much as a little bump, just a straight shot down to disillusionment. This was not normal, I could tell, not on any charts in the orientation handbook; I was alone on this one.

As my post-orientation feet stepped onto Santiago soil, once again, it was all motions. Through the slicing rain, I made out the sign my host-family had made, and went over to greet them. Within 24 tear-soaked hours of my family’s soy-bean tofu bread, Enya music and incense, I had discovered the two keys to happiness. First, junk food and second, my friends and family back home. I decided new experiences were not worth having if you cannot share them with people you care about. I already had those people, no need to stay in Chile; I would be on a plane home by the end of the week. Ok, so maybe that was a little extreme. So I was back to my original question, what happens when you are twenty years old and have voluntarily uprooted your knowledge of life, what do you do?

You start pushing. You push through the emotions, not ignore them. I was an expert at ignoring the difficult, and this was the first situation in my life where I could not just walk away. Everything was so new, it was isolating. I did not know what made me happy anymore or even how to approach re-discovering it. I truly did not know who “Santiago Laurie” was. For someone who had always prided herself in self-knowledge and independence, this was quite a blow. I had to do something completely revolutionary for me—surrender to the unknown and start rebuilding. So, I starting digging, digging within what remained of my determination to change things and that life long goal that got me there. I started learning about myself immediately. Lesson number one: as new-age as I am, I realized I needed a more “traditional” family. Lesson number two: if I was unhappy, I had the power to change something. So, within one week, I had changed to a wonderful family of three energetic siblings twelve, twenty-one and twenty-six, two active parents and of course, a dog. The enthusiasm of the family seemed to penetrate me from the moment I carried my three suitcases through the door. That night, after one of what was to become many of my host-mother’s five-course meals, pouring over my pictures from home and sipping coffee until late, I realized taking the leap of changing families would be one of the best decisions of the semester.

I was slowly getting back up. For the first time, I was the one coming up with exciting things to do, not just following along lethargically. I discovered a theatrical hot-spot, “Teatro en el Puente,” an old bridge converted into a theater, the new literary café overlooking the park, a great running path along the river. Bit by bit I was digging what I liked and knew out of this once ominous city. I was Laurie again, but this time in Santiago, Chile., and that was the most empowering and motivating feeling I knew. Eventually, I straightened myself out and walked around like I owned the city.

My confidence was not flawless, however. My biggest fear was still being approached by Chileans on the street. Whether it was to be asked for the time or simple directions, I seemed to instantaneously turn into not only a non-native Spanish speaker, but mute all together. The encounter would usually end with a troubled look of both confusion and pity on the part of the Chilean and near tears on the part of the now deflated “gringa.” One of the first rules of study abroad is laugh, laugh, laugh. At the beginning, I could not even manage a chuckle at myself.

One day, as I was confidently embarking on my daily metro routine, I spotted something horrifying out of the corner of my eye— channel 13, the most well-known television station in Chile, had just pointed one of its cameras in my direction. Within seconds I was surrounded by a camera man, a Cheyenne look-a-like anchor and a microphone that seemed to take on a life of its own. It turned out that the station was doing random street interviews on the recent strike of the national soccer teams, not on evil Americans living in Chile, which of course is what I anticipated. After three minutes of questions, the camera man quickly walked away to the next soccer fan and I was left on the grass in complete shock. I had answered all of the questions without missing a beat! I couldn’t believe it. What only weeks ago would have sent me into near cardiac arrest and later extreme self-criticism, left me giddy and even a bit arrogant for the rest of the day. My responses never made it on air, so the only lasting proof I had of that day was a new lesson. Lesson number three: any routine is susceptible to change— the only response for survival is, adapt, adapt, adapt.

Two weeks before the one year anniversary of September 11th, this adaptation was tested once again. The Chilean newspapers announced a speech on international policy and peace to be given by the ambassador, at the exclusive, “Club de la Union.” Until recently, the club had been a private men’s-only dining and business hall in the middle of the city. My friend and I saw this as a great opportunity to see a new place in the city and hopefully learn a bit in the meantime. We met at ‘our corner,’ both donning sophisticated business attire, so as not to stick out entirely, and both thinking we were pretty damn cool. After nearly a half hour of running back and forth between the Club and the North American Institute, we were finally informed that what was to be our debut on the Chilean political scene had been postponed until the next week. Tired, annoyed and deflated, we turned towards the door. Wait! We were at the famous “Club de la Union,” there was no way I was going to let this pass by. I had noticed a formal restaurant at the top of the gothic staircase and got an idea. I tapped the attendant, “Excuse me Sir, is it possible for my friend and I to dine at the Club this afternoon?” Baffled, he turned to his partner. Their conversation, unknowingly understood by the gringas, clearly indicated that two single women dining at the club would be highly unorthodox. I wasn’t going to wait for them to decide. “Oh, don’t worry,” I interrupted, “We can find the dining room on our own, thank you.” As the men, and even my friend, were left stunned, the two of us headed upstairs. We may not have gotten to hear the ambassador’s platform for international peace, but for the next two hours we reveled in the astonished glances, overheard conversations of Santiago’s top businessmen, and of course, had incredible Salmon soufflé and red wine.

That afternoon, and each one to follow, helped me rediscover the characteristics I had once known of myself as well as develop new ones. With each unexpected mishap, I was built up a little quicker and a little stronger. I could recognize mistakes and challenges for what they were and put them into a new perspective. I no longer started claming up and producing sweat beads each time I could not understand a micro driver. Instead, we would both pause, laugh and eventually get me where I was going.

My abroad experience would not have been half of what it was if I had not been brought down to my knees during those first two weeks. I had to examine the pieces lying around me and start building from what I knew best—myself. Not to say that after my new-found determination I never had a bad day again, or never felt like standing in the middle of Alameda and screaming, “STOP LOOKING AT ME!” to every passer-by. In fact, whether it was the little things like taking the subway north instead of south, or bigger challenges like solely taking on the streets of Buenos Aires for eights days, in some way or another, I was brought down to my knees through sudden onsets of frustration or panic, probably once a week. But after a while, getting lost can turn into a daily adventure, if you let it.

I lost myself in Chile, physically when I arrived to such drastically different elements, but more traumatically, as a person. It was right here, within the whirl of loss and confusion, that I encountered what seemed to me a phenomenon-- The ability to create something out of what truly appears to be nothing. And not just something to help me survive, but something that is me—a home, dreams, goals, comfort. I could list all of the personal accomplishments and self-discoveries I eventually came to make, but they would all come out like a recorded cliché: confidence, determination, patience, laughter, flexibility and love. The point is not only what I found, but that I found them myself, about myself and from within myself.

Back to top.