This document is a reflective essay written by Eliza Steiner about her experiences on a semester abroad trip. The essay discusses her struggles with procrastination in writing the paper and reflects on memorable moments from her travels, including visits to the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland and the Blue Grotto caves in Italy. She describes feeling homesick while in Morocco and having to step outside her comfort zone during a field lab in Barcelona. The most impactful experiences were two nights spent in the Amazon jungle, where she learned to accept uncertainty and imperfections. Writing the paper allowed her to appreciate these experiences and find peace in acknowledging the unknown.

1. Perfection in the Unknown
Eliza Steiner
November 18, 2014
Music in Everyday Life
Professor Kisliuk

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Procrastination. Definition: my life in a nutshell. I’ve had ideas for this paper
running through my mind for weeks, and I now sit struggling to get those thoughts
to run across the screen rather than the twists and turns of my brain. It always
happens this way. I have plenty of ideas but I would rather spend my time gazing
out at the mesmerizing crests of the waves than type out the words in my head. I
watch the waves ebb and flow in a methodic motion as we make our way across the
ocean. Every wave is slightly different from the last like pieces of a puzzle that link
together to make up most of the world’s surface. This methodic motion of the waves
marks a passage of time, as the sea propels the ship further into the future, leaving
behind boatloads of memories with each passing mile.
Moments from the weeks past flood my mind as I reflect on the journey I am
trying to convey. My adventure to the Cliffs of Moher over five weeks ago replays in
my head as I remember the cartoon-like voice of our bus driver telling stories of the
clans that walked the lands before us. Suddenly I am transported back to that day at
the cliffs listening to our bus driver, Ro, scream “Hurry up the cliffs before the sun
disappears” as I run up the stone steps to see the famous view. At the top I sit
watching the water splash against the rocks at the base of the cliffs, unable to hear
the crash of every incoming wave but imagining the depth of sound taking place. I
flash back to the summer I spent in the Mediterranean, constantly floating through
time on a 100-foot schooner, surrounded by the sounds of water hitting the hull. I
think back to the day we went to the Blue Grotto, small caves in the enormous rock
formations in Italy, little holes through which we entered to see the piercing teal
blue color of the water. The lapping of the water against the cave walls tells the

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story of nature’s magic, the ways in which the sun reflects off the water to light up a
cave with no other light sources.
The fog slowly engulfs the cliffs drawing me away from the memories of my
past and pausing the chaos of sound for a few minutes. The previously visible green
grass turns into a distant shadow as I become one with the natural world around
me. No longer am I concerned with the passage of time, but fully invested in the
natural presence of self. The sun slowly begins to poke out behind the fog and I am
brought back to reality, the reality of fleeting time and the reality of the evolving
world around me.
As I look back now on my memories from the Cliffs, I think about the future I
anticipated in that moment, and the passage of time that has occurred since. Time is
something with which I struggle. I don’t believe it is possible to ever be fully in the
present, because as each second passes we are thrown from the past into the future
in a game of hot potato. I am reminded now of a train ride to Florence where I sat
gazing out the window, watching the scenery fly by in a blur as the train rushed past
the countryside. When I looked to the far side of the window, glancing at the town
we just passed, I saw the scene clearly for just a second, as if frozen in time just
before the blur of color became the next scene to be paused for a moment. It was
then the upcoming pastures and towns that I looked to from my seat, these scenes
also frozen in time just before becoming a blur of colors as the train passed the
pasture. In this way, a moving train is like the passage of time. While in the moment
it is nearly impossible to completely grasp what is happening, but these moments

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quickly become snapshots of the past, like postcards filed away somewhere deep in
the mind.
I distinctly remember wishing time would speed up as we began the downhill
slope of our voyage, wanting more than ever to be home again with my family and
friends. There was one night in Morocco I remember feeling a deep pit of
homesickness swell in my stomach as I wrestled between the excitement of
upcoming experiences I had yet to have, and the desire to be back in the comfort of
my own home. That night I lay out in the middle of the Sahara desert, surrounded
by mounds of sand similar to the rolling waves with which I have become
accustomed on the ship, gazing up at the moonlit sky. I remember sharp pings of
loneliness as I lay still surrounded by the commotion of people dancing and singing
off in the distance. And then suddenly out of the starless sky shot a shooting star,
lasting only the length of the blink of an eye. As they do in the storybooks, I closed
my eyes and made a wish, a wish to be back home with the comforts on which I have
grown to rely. It’s strange to me now, looking back on this moment, the idea of
wishing on a shooting star. They say that stars are balls of fire, many of which have
burned out thousands of years before they are seen from earth, so are shooting stars
the last few seconds before the fire burns out? If so, the idea of wishing on the
fleeting seconds of light left in a star is like wishing away thousands of years of
existence. The shooting star reminds me there are only thousands of seconds left to
enjoy the rollercoaster ride I have been on for the last few months.
That’s the thing about this trip; it is constantly throwing me outside of my
comfort zone, only to land me steps closer to home and leaps further in my quest of

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self-discovery. I am in a constant tug of war between wanting to have unique
experiences that make me better off as a person, and wishing all the same that my
life would return back to normal, to a place where I can predict what the next day
will bring.
The moment I remember experiencing the biggest push outside of my
comfort zone was during our field lab in Barcelona. I stood on the beach at the end
of our field lab reflecting on the events of the day, realizing how much I had learned
about myself. The moment that stuck out the most was when we were asked to
perform the African dances on the boardwalk next to the beach, a situation that
helped me realize how close I walk to the line of comfort. I began to feel incredibly
anxious as we formed the lines and started to sing out loud. I watched the people as
they passed, curiosity and confusion painted across their faces. For me, this
confusion marks a time to stop, as I do not like to disrupt the traditional flow of
society. I watched the confidence in other classmates’ faces, the smiles and joy they
were expressing, and compared this to my anxious demeanor. I envied their
carefree attitude as we danced around in a circle, singing words that have some
significance to us, but hold no meaning to people passing by.
As I watched the waves crash on the shore, I used the last few minutes of the
day to reflect on the moments when I had felt uncomfortable. Patterns of play
emerged as I contemplated the threads of my discomfort. When I was a child, I was
always the one to put on the motherly role, the mature child who did not let loose
and play in the traditional way associated with young children. As we danced on the

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boardwalk I was thrown back to the times I resisted similar types of play as a child,
unable to be carefree about the perceptions of people who pass.
There was a screech as the water splashed on a young boy, drawing me away
from my place of reflection on the beach. I watched these children play in the sand
unaware of the people around them, possessing the qualities I envied in my
classmates. That day allowed me to reflect on the ways in which I wish to live my life
in the future, letting go of social restrictions I feel are hyper reflected due to my
sensitivity to the reactions of people around me. On this adventure throughout
different cultures, I have been able to process the ways I treat the world around me,
and the ways that the world treats me. Just as the waves methodically hit the beach,
the cultures continually change my views of myself and help in the ever-present
process of self-discovery.
Just as the field lab allowed me to analyze situations in which I become
uncomfortable, this paper has forced me to process my desire for perfection. I have
never felt more anxiety while writing a paper, the cause of this I am not sure. Maybe
it is because I want this paper to convey all of the feelings I have experienced over
the course of the voyage, and for me nothing will be properly articulated without the
perfect word to express what I am feeling. I am constantly searching for perfection
as I write each sentence, scrutinizing every word until the sentence no longer feels
like mine. I have done this for years, replaying conversations over and over in my
head before confronting a friend, never wanting anything to come off the wrong way
and offend someone. It is this search for perfection that prevents me from living in
the present, as I am constantly reflecting on memories, both good and bad, from the

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past. The words of Stephen Nachmanovitch replay in my head as I think about my
obsession with the past; “Since we cannot go backward in time, there is no crossing
out, editing, fixing, retouching, or regretting”(Free Play, 52). Maybe this is why I am
struggling so much with writing this paper. The reflection of my time on this
adventure has allowed me to “[cross out, edit, fix, retouch, and regret]” the moments
that hold the most significance to me, ever changing the memories that should be
locked away in the files of my mind for revisiting, not “retouching” (Free Play, 52).
I contemplate the ways in which the future will bring new memories, and
with that many uncertainties. With the future comes a sense of the unknown,
creating a build up of expectations, many of which become unmet, a concept my dad
has taught me. Often, he says, unmet expectations lead to disappointment and
sadness. Nothing is ever perfect, I have heard millions of times since I was a child,
but I have never fully been able to come to terms with this fact.
I am brought back now to the two nights I spent in the Amazon. We boarded
the riverboat full of anticipation about what the next three days would bring,
searching for answers in the schedule we were given when signing up for the trip.
The program promised swimming with pink dolphins, catching Cayman, piranha
fishing, and sleeping in the rainforest. Little did I know this trip would provide me
with much more; it would provide me with the answers to my search for perfection,
and peace to trust in the unknown.
The first night in the Amazon we took little canoes out after the water had
been completely immersed in darkness for a few hours, and searched for Cayman by
flashlight. I sat on the port side of the canoe quietly anticipating the experience in

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which we were about to partake. I sat as the warm wind brushed passed my sun-
kissed cheeks listening to the water splashing against the boat, the sound replicating
the whisper of Rice Krispy’s cereal. As the mutter of the motor propelled us into the
vast darkness, I let go of my fear of the dark and released the reins of control I
previously clung to.
The next night I was faced with another leap of faith as our guide Amand lead
us into the depths of the Amazon. We followed Amand into the middle of the forest
as the sun was setting in the distance, grasping onto the last few minutes of daylight
before being wrapped in a cloak of darkness. With the help of our guides we set up
our hammocks and joined each other around the fire where we would sit until
bedtime. Amand and his two brothers told us stories of their adventures in the
Amazon, stories of terror and discovery, snippets of the past they described as they
worked to unfold the mystery of our surroundings. It was early to bed after the
story telling, all of us seeking comfort in the swaddle of our hammocks.
“What was that, who is it? AHHHH,” I woke to the sheer fear of someone
screaming, immediately responding with the same earth-shattering squeal of terror.
It was three o’clock in the morning and the entire camp was awoken to the screams
of fear and confusion. In this moment I realized the lack of control I had, as I froze in
fear, playing out possible situations in my head. All I could do to protect myself was
cocoon away in my hammock hoping our guides would rescue us from whatever
wild animal was attacking. After what felt like years of screaming, we soon realized
it was just a person up in the middle of the night who got too close to one of the
hammocks and scared someone in their sleep. Although it turned out nothing that

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dramatic had happened, I still felt a sense of safety knowing that our guides leapt
out of their hammocks to run to our safety. I had to rely on the knowledge that we
were safe from the mysteries of the forest that surrounded us, subconsciously
putting my mind at ease in an attempt to be present in the moment, not fearing the
future or hiding in the shadows of my past.
Suddenly this paper that I have dreaded writing has become less of a burden.
I sit again in the fifth floor dining room reflecting on my experience in the Amazon,
and the words seem to flow easily from my fingers. I do not know if it is the distance
I have had from this paper, or the eye-opening adventures I had in the Amazon, but I
no longer am struggling for the perfect words. Instead I am looking back on my time
with joy and pleasure knowing that nothing will take away from the moments I
shared with a group of fifty-five other students. It is as if I am back on that train in
Florence, looking out the window watching the snapshots of that trip in slow
motion, as if time was frozen during my trip to the Amazon.
I stare out the windows in the dinning hall watching the familiar ebb and
flow of the ocean, feeling as if nothing has changed in this view. Thousands of miles
from where we started the water remains ceaseless, propelling the ship from the
past to the future while maintaining its own state in the present. The ocean does not
freeze in the winter nor boil in the summer, but rather continues its methodic
motion 24/7, 365 days a year. The relationship between our ship and the methodic
motion of the ocean serves as an ideal model for how I desire to live, “beat[ing] on,
[as] boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past”(The Great
Gatsby, 180). It is because of this paper I have come to terms with my desire to

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relive millions of memories, and because of this paper that I am able to acknowledge
there will be no perfect in the past, present, or future. It is the peace of
acknowledging the unknown that creates the ability to see through the blur of the
present and appreciate the perfection of imperfection.