Rome Through my Lens

When I first got my camera, someone said to me, “now you will see the world differently”- as if through the lens- my perspective would change. Or at least the tint of the world. After owning the camera for a full three months- and using it a full three times (not my fault…talk to canon), I beg to differ.

Maybe It’s that I always saw the world with a skewed view- or that I have always looked for the strange and beautiful parts of it- ignoring that which my untrained eye deemed dull or undeserving.

Either way- unlike what I was told, my experience thus far- behind the lens of my camera- hasn't changed at all. Don't get me wrong, I still love the world- I still love what I see and enjoy every moment of seeking out the unexpected and unusual bits- and then attempting to capture them. Although I am still an amateur- I’m working on it. I’m finding myself gravitating towards pictures of old cars and antique Vespas. (not exactly sure why.) And if I were to be completely honest with myself and my camera- I would take pictures of pizza and gelato, pizzerias and gelaterias, people eating pizza and gelato, etc… but I guess that wouldn't be as interesting as everyone else as it is to me.

Here’s Sunday:

p.s. this is my fish (the one that survived), who sits and stares at me all day long:

Alcune Foto di Roma

and an exercise in learning how to use my new camera...

A Day in The (Post-MBA) Life

I wrote a number of articles/posts relating to “A Day in the Life of an MBA Student.” With those, I shared my experiences as an American in Europe, as a right-brainer amongst nearly all left-brainers, as an MBA student during the economic crisis, and so on. Of course, my stories were similar to many other stories that can be found in magazines, books...the virtual universe. Stories of MBA students are abundant- if you know the right places to look. On the other hand, stories of post-MBA graduates are fewer and further between. I think this is due to a number of factors. For one, many MBA students go straight back into the workforce after the MBA and are therefore lacking in free time in order to relate their accounts. Or, they feel that once the MBA is over- their stories are not as significant. Or- the masses of MBAs who graduate without jobs (i.e. ME) may- in some sense- not want to write about the "battle of the job search." Whether they see graduating without a job as a failure, or a hiccup, or even a blessing- the numbers of stories that post-MBA grads have seemingly waned as the new rush of current students begin to tell their tales.

Either way, my story continues. As I have previously mentioned, I began writing this blog before the MBA and I plan to continue it until I feel I have nothing more to say. And looking at my life as objectively as I am capable of, I’m not doing so bad for myself. I’m happy, I’m calm, and I still believe that my existence is interesting enough to write about- with or without the 8 a.m. classes and bag weighted down with accounting books.

With that said- I give you “A day in the life of an unemployed post-MBA graduate living in Rome and searching for jobs when not eating pasta, pizza, roaming around taking photographs, pick-nicking in Villa Borghese and drinking Brunello in fine restaurants.”

For the first few weeks, I woke up around noon. I think I was restoring, mending…I guess I needed it after the past two years at ESADE. As well rested as I oftentimes told myself I was, it did take a good number of weeks with 12 hours a night to recharge my batteries. And then- one day- I started waking up at 7:30…just like that. It's like my body told me; “you're better now. Time to get going.”

So I got going.           

I wake up each morning and stumble down to the café across the street. The baristas know me, they know what I want before I order it, and they greet me in the mornings with big smiles and delicious cappuccinos.

In any city, one can visit as a tourist- but they can also live as a tourist- or an impermanent resident. I’ve been an impermanent resident in many cities. And It’s not a bad thing. It’s nice- the transient lifestyle. A bit too nomadic for this age when everyone seems to be having babies, but better than being a backpacker. Either way, I’m finally beginning to feel like a local. I did live in Rome before- about seven years ago…and although my experience was amazing, I was an ex-pat…I mean, a GLARING ex-pat, surrounded by ex-pats, living like an ex-pat. Now, though, due to certain circumstances…Rome is becoming home to me. And my café is one of the first steps.

Once hopped up on enough caffeine to fuel a small vehicle, I do the shopping. Veggies and fruit from the street market where the vendor hands me something to munch on while I pick out the produce. Meat and poultry at the butcher. Everything else at the supermarket, never neglecting to say "buon giorno" to the crazy man who sits outside yelling at tourists in at least five different languges.

 Additionally, after a painstakingly exhaustive internet search, I found a “Bio” (pronounced bee-o  in Italian. Ha) store about 20 minutes from my apartment. The first time I entered was like Christmas...all over again. I found everything I had been dreaming about since I left England- tofu, quorn, veggie sausages, veggie chicken fingers, soy fillets, veggie burgers, seitan, etc… They even had vegetarian mortadella! (I.e. a smoked Italian sausage made of ground pork and beef and cubes of pork fat and pistachios, flavored with wine and spices). Only in Italy…

As I walk home, people have begun to greet to me on the street- people who know me just by sight. It’s my little community- a place that I love. That I have loved for years. A place that I feel very lucky to be able to call home. And to all these people, I may just be the American girl living with the Italian on Via del Babuino,  but to me- I’m living a life that I have always wanted to live. (minus the job, of course.)

Once home with the daily groceries put away, I get ready for the gym.

I found a gym in Rome. Which was a huge part of my shift to Italy. Through my many lives and the many cities I have called home, I have a basic list of things to find in order to conclude the relocation:

1.     Doctor

2.     Gym

3.     Salon

4.     Supermarket

5.     Café

The gym was the last listed item to be crossed off. Therefore, when I finally, after a tiring and generally disappointing search, found a clean and well-located gym- I was ecstatic. My gym has become one of the focal points of my week- and admittedly, the highlight of many days. Actually, the gym isn’t the highlight- but getting there is. The gym is a gym. However, being that I am in Italy, in the center of Roma, the gym is more like a fashion show…where the men show off their muscles in tiny shorts and skimpy tank tops- and each woman is more skeletal than then next. The walk to the gym, on the other hand, is a daily (or every other day) reminder of how lucky I am to be here:

In order to get to the gym, I walk through Piazza del Popolo and then over the Tiber, with views of renaissance church cupolas above the trees. (photos coming soon).

The only problem with the gym in Italy is the number of pizzerias, gelatarias, and arancinerias on the way. I counted. Final numbers: From home to the gym I pass; 10 pizzerias, 4 gelaterias and one “mondo arancina.” If you don't know, arancini are like this little balls of greasy heaven. Or, in real terms, they are “fried rice balls coated with breadcrumbs, originated in Sicily in the 10^th century, usually filled with tomato sauce and mozzarella.” I mean, seriously, can you imagine anything yummier??? 

Anyways- back to my point. I walk to the gym- in the Roman sunshine-weaving between hordes of tourists, chic locals, Fiats, Minis and Vespas- staring incredulously at the tops of the buildings that don the covers of guide books around the world. And I think to myself- this is really my life. And I smile, and then take pictures with my blackberry hoping not to get run-over by a Cinquecento.

Once home, early afternoon, I make myself a small lunch or I meet friends out for a quick meal to discuss gossip and local politics. I’m sorry but there are things that happen in Italy that would not/could not happen in any other modern country. I love these people, I love their motivations, their mentality and their joie de vivre- but come one- GET it together people!!!  Sometimes Italy is more like a circus than a first-world country in the middle of Europe. Oftentimes, I truly believe that Italians should stick to what they know best- food, fashion, and the restructuring of old masterpieces.

After lunch, my “workday” begins and I get on my computer to answer e-mails, contact potential job-leads, and continue the inexhaustible career search.

Then the fun stuff begins. 

I actually spend a few hours a day putting my MBA knowledge to use- and if truth be told, finding it useful. My boyfriend/roommate is an architect. Recently, he has opened his own architectural studio. Which, I must say, I am very proud of. Furthermore, I am learning a lot from the process…as I would with any start-up business, from the financing, structuring and marketing perspective. He found a great space right next to the Spanish Steps (big smile) and is currently knocking down walls, pulling up flooring and reconstructing the entire space. Being that he has a degree in Architecture and masters in Interior Design, he is designing the entire thing and we have been, for the past few weeks, picking everything from the chairs and lighting, to the staplers and paper. 

Being that I am not currently gainfully employed, I have taken on the position of pseudo-office-manager. I figured, well- I do have an MBA now and I suppose keeping the finances in order is in my best interest, so I may as well set everything up before he really gets going. As a result, I have been compiling information on expenditures, receipts, calls, requests, payments, etc…and have thus far, created everything from daily call logs to income statements to cash flow statements and inventories and expense reports. 

I must admit that all the work I did during the MBA with Excel seemed somewhat excessive to me- but now, well now I couldn't live without it. And the most shocking thing of all- beyond the fact that I am actually capable of doing this- is that I am liking it. I’m enjoying the numbers and calculations and data. I even went so far as to create multiple color-coded-pie-charts relating to fixed costs, variables, overhead, etc… 

One evening, proud of what I had accomplished and eager to show my boyfriend how lucky he is to have an (unpaid) MBA as his office manager, I sat him down and took him through about 10 spreadsheets and a number of related data. The first thing he said to me? “Ma Morgan, perche non puoi mettere tutto su una sola foglia? Sembra molto piu facile.” Translation: “But Morgan, why can’t you put all this information on just one sheet. It seems like it would be a lot easier.” My reaction: I closed the computer and walked away. The second thing he said to me: “Ma Morgan, perche non facciamo tutto a mano invece dello computer? Cosi avremo tutto l’informatione fisso e concreto.” Translation: “But Morgan, why cant we just do everything hand-written instead of on the computer? Therefore, we will have all the information in a fixed and concrete manner.” My reaction: “Lascia stare questo lavoro. Trovi un’altra. Forse dalla vecchia scuola.” Translation: “I quit."

Slowly though, he came around- I think a friend talked some sense into him. And a good number of days later, he caved and said that “tuo modo va bene” i.e. “your way is fine." I know he will thank me in the end. At least that's what I keep telling myself…

Once the evening commences and the workforce begins to spill out of offices and on to the streets mixing with the roaming tourists, I take leave from my “office” and begin the “passeggiata” process. I wander around, stopping for a coffee, or a peek in a store along Via Condotti- hoping that one day soon I will be able to afford the many potential purchases I covet on a daily basis. I stroll, maybe meet someone for an aperitivo (pre-dinner drink) sitting outside in a café in one of the many charming piazzas surrounded by exquisite architecture. As the sun sets, I am always surprised by the light in Rome. It astounds me over and over again- on a daily basis.

And then I slowly make my way home. If we don't go out to one of the many phenomenal restaurants in Rome, friends come over for dinner- complete with wine from the boyfriend’s family’s production and numerous dishes full of fresh vegetables, herbs, cheeses and sauces.

I am learning more about this country everyday- and about myself. I knew many Italians in my life, and although I lived in Italy for over two years in the past…I think I finally “get it” now- and I “get” why I have always been drawn to Italy. And I love it. I hate it and I love it. I love to hate it and hate to love it.

Once the evening winds down and our guests leave, I normally make my way over to the couch, computer in lap, and continue whatever it was I was working on. I drink chamomile tea with honey from the family farm in Campania. I read, I write, I think. And in thinking about how much I need a job- I realized that I have been counting the days. And then I noted that these should be the days I am not counting...because these are the days i'll look back on and wish I had more of.

Oh, and I have a fish! There were two but one died last week.

So, excluding the small death in the family-in my opinion, “a day in this post-mba graduate’s life” isn't so bad after-all.

Random Internet Find...

A friend sent this to me. 

Not sure what it is, but I think it's pretty funny...

(click on the screenshot below to go to the page)

see more

xx

m

Non-Reading List

Normally, I create reading lists (posted on the blog or not) of books I have read and liked, books I would like to read, books that have been recommended to me, books I love, and so on and so forth.

As I was clearing out my apartment readying myself for the big move to Italy- I found a number of half read books that seemed to have gathered enough dust to grow their own legs and hide themselves in hidden corners on their own. This discovery, the result of an excavation of all my leftovers from the past year and a half, came as a surprise. Before I began the MBA, I can honestly say that I NEVER began a book and didn't finish it. It was almost as if the compulsion manifested itself into an obsessive-compulsive disorder. I mean- in the past, I would lose sleep if I left a book unfinished. Even if I knew how it ended, if I hated it from page one, or if I had a stack of another 100 books to read just staring at me from my bedside table- I finished every book I had ever opened.

Now, however, there has been a change. I didn't realize the severity of it until I discovered a total graveyard of half read novels.

There have, however, been a number of books I did finish. Therefore, this must mean that I am cured of my OCD and I have learned- through no effort of my own- to save precious time and energy by not wasting it on substandard books- since there are so many novels in the world to be read (and now it seems that with the arrival of the e-reader, I am on a deadline as well).

So here is my non-reading list, for anyone who wants to know what books I would return if I could. This isn’t saying that these aren’t good books- they just didn't peak my interest in the short amount of time I gave them opportunity to…being that I was doing an MBA and all…

1.     Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell. I thought, with both Blink and The Tipping Point, that Malcolm actually got to his point, explored it and finished it within the first 20 pages of both of these books. In Outliers, I didn't even get through ten. I would read the back cover, and leave it at that.

2.     Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Hunter S. Thompson. Just see the movie. Much, MUCH better.

3.     Have a Little Faith, Mitch Albom. LOVED Tuesdays With Morrie. This one though…not so much. Skip it.

4.     Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov. Just couldn't get through it.

5.     Ex-Girlfriends United, Matt Dunn. Just Awful. This purchase (and the following) were due to the limited selection in the “English Section” of the bookstore in Rome. It’s amazon.com from here on out…

6.     True Love and Other Disasters, Rachel Gibson. Mediocre for beach reading.

7.     Any vampire book written and subsequently published in order to capitalize on the success of the Twilight series.

On the other hand, I have recently acquired three novels that I am truly looking forward to reading;

1.     Shantaram, Gregory David Roberts

2.     The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, Stieg Larsson

3.     The Girl Who Played With Fire, Stieg Larsson

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Back to Basics

I could say that in a perfect world, I would be able to talk about my fabulous job, my post-MBA experience where I was taking steps to become who I have always wanted to become-moving forward in the world…maybe an editor of some global business publication, a strategic advisor for high profile luxury brands, a political consultant…

Truth is, even now, I don't know what my dream job is. Throughout the development of the MBA, I kept believing that something would simply drop into my lap- a new passion, the thing I excelled at- my path.

I knew that an MBA would open up the business world to me and at the same time, somewhere deep down, I hoped that in the process, I would discover a new road- or at the very least, an alternate direction. Perhaps banking, some type of consulting, operations…I don't know. And within my two years as a student at ESADE, and the many, MANY courses I took- I did unearth new interests. However- I did not, in fact, find a new vocation.

At the end of the day, when all is said and done and both Barcelona and the MBA are behind me- it is clear that I walked away with two years of great memories, a diploma and advanced knowledge of the Spanish language. Yet the greatest lesson I learned is that maybe I always knew who I was, what I was good at and what I wanted to do. And what I know how to do- with the knowledge I have gained and the few gifts I encompass-  is to try to share the world around me, through these eyes of mine, with my words. And that? Well, that's the best I can do.

During any experience where groups of people are placed together for extended periods of time- whether it be professional, social or educational environments- each individual brings with them their distinct and oftentimes defining characteristics. In my MBA, every student was identified as something that set them apart, we were assigned roles- and whether these roles were truly representative of who we were or not, we were each labeled as something or another amongst our classmates- from the party planning duo, to Mr. consulting, the “operations ant,” the loudmouth, the most opinionated, the most altruistic, the hardest worker, the hardest partier, and so on and so forth…

My MBA identity was the girl with the blog, the girl who was put on the cover of the brochure, the girl who wrote the ESADE piece for BusinessWeek, the girl who worked on loads of cover letters and resumes for her classmates, the girl who edited the papers, the girl who writes. And I love that. Because I love to write. And part of me believes that had I not done an MBA- I wouldn't have been the girl who writes. It's the “big fish, small pond” syndrome.

An MBA program, any MBA- is filled with left brains- numbers people…logical, sharp, sane minds all capable of something distinctive- analytics, calculations, quants, evaluations, etc… Point is- not many writers are found immersed in an MBA. Had I gone in another direction- done something that came naturally to me, i.e. a masters in literary theory, art history, marketing…or whatever, there would have been plenty of people just like me- individuals who are creative, who can write well, who are illogical, messy, disorganized and overly emotional. I don't think I would have stood out the way I did- I would have had a different identity. What that is? I will never know- but that's not something I care to find out either, because I love my MBA identity. I love that I was “the writer.” And in a way- it validated me. It made it ok for me to not be like everyone else. It made it ok for me to be me.

I think what I am trying to say is that the MBA taught me something I never would have thought to expect or hope for. Beyond knowledge, know-how, beyond experience and wisdom- it showed me that I have never been wrong about my passions…it confirmed that what I have always done is what I do best. And it proved to me that I was right all along. 

Chapters

Ok, so I took a little hiatus- but don't get me wrong, just because the MBA is over- “I Bet Elephants Taste Like Mushrooms” lives on. I began the blog before the MBA and although I never aimed to be labeled an “MBA blogger,” my writing took its natural course and I did, in fact, become the ESADE MBA blogger- or one of them at least.

Now, however- and to my own chagrin- I am no longer an ESADE MBA student. I am not a student at all…I am unemployed. It’s quite a fine line, actually, between playing an active role in the academic system and unemployment.

I do have an MBA though- which is more than what I could have said for myself two years ago. And I plan to forge on in the world, as the same person I have always been- with the same goals and the same dreams and desires…only this time with all the knowledge that the MBA has brought me, somewhere in this brain of mine. Not so bad, right?

So as I sit on my couch in my new home in Rome (yes, I moved to Italy…more on that later)- I am sorting through the millions of emotions whirling around in my heart, while my weary head is working on grasping the fact that my life in Barcelona is actually over. The MBA is over. Everything I lived for the last two years is just a memory- but an amazing memory at that.

As for the time between the actual graduation and now- it’s been a frenzied whirlwind. I spent another few days in Barcelona- doing everything I should have done while I lived there but I was too busy “living there,” like visiting the Picasso museum and taking the two-hour trip out to Montserrat. And then I occupied myself doing everything I loved doing when I was living there “just one last time.” This time though, I dragged my sister along with me. We ate Maoz falafel in Plaça Reial, drank Cava Sangria at Cervezeria Catalana, and spent hours window-shopping while sipping Starbucks on Passeig De Grácia.

And in between doing everything either for the first time or the last time, I ended my memberships, closed my accounts and gave back my keys. I made numerous trips out to the recycling bin and disposed of finance books, old exams and term papers that took months to write but only moments to throw away. I packed my life into my dusty suitcases and donated whatever didn't fit to whoever would take it. I went to dinners and goodbye drinks. I sang karaoke once again with the same group that sang karaoke with me in Beijing last summer. I drank my favorite German beer with my favorite Germans and ate my favorite Indian food at the home of the best cook of the MBA, Saurabh.

I ran around for four days saying goodbye to everything and everyone that I have taken for granted over the last year and a half. Then, on my final night in Barcelona, outside of a bar at about 3:00 a.m., I couldn't take it any longer. The realization that the end had come and gone and it was finally time to move on- hit me like a ton of bricks. The knot in my stomach tightened, my throat closed off mid-sentence and my eyes started burning. While saying not “adios,” but “hasta luego” to a number of friends, I suddenly found myself in the middle of a street challenging my tears, in vain, to stay within their ducts. It could have been the alcohol or possibly the emotional exhaustion- or maybe it simply happened to be the moment that life decided to hit me with the truth- but I couldn't bear it any longer. I couldn't take any more pictures pretending to smile; I couldn't give any more hugs without feeling my body heaving with tears. I couldn't look into the eyes of any more familiar faces, not knowing when the next time we are together would be, and say goodbye. I just couldn't. So my sister put me in a taxi, I went home, finished packing and ineffectively attempted to sleep. A few hours later- I turned the lights off, took the Spanish SIM card out of my phone- and left Barcelona for one last time. And that was it.

It was a slightly bitter and exceptionally sweet end to one of the best chapters of my life. And even now- contentedly sitting in my beautiful apartment in Rome- commencing a veritable “vita bella”- I am filled with excitement, a bit of sadness and enough nostalgia to last a lifetime.

 And as I mentally close one chapter, I am realizing, above all else, that I am ready for the next.