Puppy Love

I haven’t written for a while- not on the blog, not for myself and definitely not for anyone else. Not writing, in my world, is something that seldom occurs. Whether on crinkled paper napkins in sidewalk café’s or in any one of my various multicolor Moleskines- I’m always scribbling something or another.

These past few months however, I have found myself not wordless- but “assertionless.” I always have words- oftentimes far too many- but words that I deemed valuable enough to write down were few and far between. This lack of writing was set in motion as I read through past blog posts and began wondering how one goes from writing about being part of an MBA, about the future prospects of big jobs and changing the world- to writing about pumpkins. And it was at that point that I quietly vowed to stop writing- at least until I had something substantial to report.

Yet in my silence, I felt stifled- even gagged. It is writing that brings me clarity; it is writing that brings me peace. Without it, I become overwrought with emotions lacking an outlet- and burdened by the thoughts smothered by my own unwillingness to pick up a pen and attempt to make sense of everything.

I have begun to acknowledge that writing about pumpkins, for instance, isn’t wrong- and it isn’t irrelevant. The minor instances and events in our lives are only as important as we believe, or allow them to be. In lieu of beginning a long-winded philosophical discourse- I would like to say, and learn to believe- that my life is as significant as the next- whether I am making pumpkin casserole in the quiet of my home, studying the mechanics of business in a bustling city or working behind a desk towards something bigger than myself. It is possible that that which is most important is making people around me happy, enjoying, and trying to do as little harm to myself and others as humanly possible.

I also had a recent chat with a friend about the meaning of life- whether its procreation, living in harmony with nature, serving God or any number of God’s, searching for truth, or working towards the good old utilitarian “happiness principle,” I don't know- and I doubt I ever will. Personally, I lean towards the side of existentialism regarding free will, choice and personal responsibility. 

This life of mine- as I see it- is simply a result of the choices I make based on experiences, desires and beliefs. It’s grounded in arbitrary luck, chance and uncertainty. Taking into account all that we are given and all that that happens across in our paths- we have to make the most out of it. Enjoy. Dream- and then do our best to allow those dreams to become realities.  Yet that's a chat for another time…

So our minor accomplishments or experiences are only as important as we consider them to be. And for me, I crossed a major bridge the other day...(no, not blogging about pumpkins). In fact, I got my first puppy. For some, having a dog is a no-brainer- for others, it's a no-no. For me, it has been a fantasy since I was a child and my parents told me that I was too irresponsible to own a dog. Thus, I promised myself that as soon as I was older, and perhaps more responsible, I would get a dog. Then I got older- and with age, came my travelling. I embarked on a somewhat nomadic lifestyle from the time I was 18- where I didn't live in any city for any more than two and a half years. Therefore, owning a dog would have been unfair.

Now, however, I have a dog…my very own puppy. And for me, this is fairly significant. It’s like an unspoken affirmation to myself that I am happy enough where I am to know that I wont be picking up and leaving anytime soon. It’s a promise to myself that we (my puppy and I), are here to stay. Of course, one can never say never- but what I do know is that I am more settled in Rome- and my life in Rome, than I have ever been before.  And my puppy is a testament to that fact. So as unimportant pumpkin soup isn’t or as relevant as dog-ownership is, I know that there is something in my life that is changing- something inside myself that is growing- and that’s bigger than I could have imagined when I moved here six months ago.

It also doesn't hurt that he is the cutest puppy in the world…

Dudy

Rain and Reading...and some other news

My days knocking around Rome have more or less all blurred into one long interlude. The hours pass rather slowly but the weeks are pretty speedy- as if a gust of wind blew through the pages of the calendar and left me with only the spine. I graduated from the MBA three months ago and although I have learned more about life in Italy than I care to admit, news on the job-front is slim.

I was speaking to a friend of mine from ESADE and she as good as summed it up in noting that, “In this economy- the MBA is a curse. We’re overqualified and too expensive to hire.” Not to mention the fact that none of us have any savings left- due to the drainage of our accounts during the pricey MBA.

Now, I’m not speaking about everyone. Some of the fortunate (and perhaps previously a bit more ambitious and focused) ex-classmates of mine have found great jobs. Positions including: Product Manager at J&J in Sao Paolo Brazil, Senior Analyst for Yahoo! in Geneva Switzerland, Airbus engineer in France, a one-year rotational program at Whirlpool in Monterrey Mexico, Operations Manager at Amazon in Glasgow Scotland, consulting for Deloitte in Johannesburg South Africa, business development and finance at a television station in the Philippines, Consulting in London, Finance in New York, rotational program for GSK beginning in Philadelphia,  etc…

I must acknowledge that I’m delighted for my friends- I not only love them all dearly, but I have an immense amount of respect for them as individuals, their capabilities and their talents. I know that wherever they are and whatever they are occupying themselves with- they are making the ESADE name, and all their former classmates, very proud.

Then, there are those of us not as lucky: a few ex-students winding away their days on the beaches of Barcelona between job searches and networking events, while some alumnus returned to their homes- or their wives- waiting for news of that scintillating “post-MBA job.” And others, like myself, are taking each day at a time- while nevertheless enjoying the much needed “down time” that the post-MBA unemployment vacuum provides.

The MBA flew by. Just yesterday- I was 27, flying into Barcelona’s El Prat airport and reading a bus map trying to find ESADE. I blinked and then it was over.

On the other hand- these hours, days, and weeks here in Rome- teetering on the edge between “my big break” and “eternal joblessness” has seemed like a lifetime.

There was a period where it rained for almost a month straight. Therefore, the sparkle of my supposed “Roman Holiday” had faded to grey. Have you noticed that when the weather is dreary, everything seems bleak? Job opportunities morphed into empty promises. My beloved walks to the gym became tedious trudges through unceasing drizzle and darkness. Going anywhere- whether to a store, restaurant or café- rendered me a drowned rat- as opposed to chic Italiana.

Then, one day, the rain stopped. The sun came out, Rome twinkled yet again and “La Dolce Vita” recommenced. This time however, a new desire and motivation was born within me- and I got moving in attempts of putting my education to work. ESADE has been, in part, characterized by its “entrepreneurial spirit.” For that reason, I’ve come to the conclusion that instead of sluggishly waiting to be discovered as a brilliant, capable and interesting MBA graduate by some successful company with multiple future opportunities and a huge salary- it is in my best interest to invent something on my own. That is, of course, if I plan to remain in Italy.

So I’ve been networking, devising, creating, brainstorming, establishing, generating, and fashioning an ideal job for myself. And in my downtime…I’ve been discovering more about the Italian mentality, about Italy and about Italians. I am confident in announcing that in my findings, my original assumptions have been confirmed- Italy is one of the most backwards countries in the world- Italians are some of the most indolent and oftentimes insincere individuals I have ever met…but they sure know how to have a good time! And amongst the masses, there are of course- the gems. A good Italian is a rare find- but if you happen to encounter one- it’s worth its weight in Bvlgari Diamonds.

I’ve also been reading. (thank you amazon.co.uk)

I read the Stieg Larsson Series: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played With Fire, and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest.  Entertaining but maybe a bit disappointing considering the hype. I prefer surprises.

I also read a Marion Keyes series- three books centered around three sisters and their early adulthood experiences: Angels, Rachel’s Holiday and Watermelon. The first two were great. Quintessential chick-lit but a good escape. Beach reading. The last book, Watermelon, is a waste of space on my expanding bookshelf.

And then I read a book on Kabbalah and was all in-tune with my spiritual self for a few days. I, at that point, believed that I had found the link between myself and my religion- Mysticism. But then, a few days later when I began reading another work of chick-lit fiction I thought suited me, Shoe Addicts Anonymous, I forgot most of what I read and Kabbalah became a distant memory.  Besides, it was a book entitled God Wears Lipstick, so how much was I supposed to remember anyway?

And finally, I read Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts. I have to say that this book is without a doubt, one of the most incredible, engaging and inspiring novels I have read in my entire life. It reminded me what I love about literature. It reminded me of the type of writer I have always aspired to become. And most importantly, it transported me to another place in another time but by the last page- the characters were as close to my heart as my best friends and Bombay could have been “my city.” It was one of those books that for a week straight, I stayed at home reading on the couch instead of going out. It was one of those books that made me laugh so hard that my stomach hurt and at points, made me wail with tears- I couldn't wait to get back to the book during the days and at night, it invaded my dreams. It was one of those books that inexplicably connects me to everyone else in the world who has ever read it.

Shantaram warmed my soul and filled me- as a traveler, explorer and writer- a powerful desire to “do more.”

Moral of the story: read Shantaram.

Until next time….

Xx

Morgan

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.

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. 

So...

I Bet Elephants Taste Like Mushrooms....AND I HAVE AN MBA!!!!!

La Última Clase

At this very moment- I am sitting in my last MBA class, about to give my last-ever presentation with the help of my new best friend, “PowerPoint.” (Yes, I should be paying attention- but I have this knot in my stomach that won’t seem to go away- and the best way I know how to get rid of it is to write about it…)

I thought that this class, the last class, would never come. I did plenty of complaining about the duration of the process- but I think a small part of me was hoping to complain forever.  I may have spoken about the end- but it never felt like it was actually going to happen- like it was just part of a plan that would never conclude. The end of the MBA was a far-off concept and the future- just a hypothesis.

Now- it’s here and as I sit in this familiar classroom with my MBA colleagues who were complete strangers a little less than two years ago- I feel nothing but sadness, a bit of regret that I’ve run out of time- and fear- of the unknown.

I don't want to repeat the sentiments I keep referring to…but what I suspected up until this point is true- that the nostalgia would kick in as the end approached. I have no unexpected emotions or thoughts to reveal. Although I do thrive on change and I genuinely believe that the “next step” will be great, I am overwhelmed by my own completely startling sadness.

My classmates have, against all odds, become my family- some sort of dysfunctional, bizarre family- but I love them- and I never thought I would say that. We have shared what seems like a lifetime together- the good, the bad, the highs and the lows. They may be sitting around me at this very moment but already- I miss them. I don't want to say goodbye.

And ESADE- the immense, arresting pink building, the classrooms, the ubiquitous blue chairs, the glass walls, the never-ending internet problems, terrible food, weak coffee- they have all become the elements of my home- the fixtures.  

I was pulling up to school this morning and as I walked up to the doors with the big ESADE “E,” I remembered three years ago, when I drove up for my entrance interview and they were like the doors to a whole other world- the world of Business Education….a world that I was just thinking about entering. Now, those doors are as familiar to me as the doors to the house I grew up in- ESADE is a place I belong…where I can walk in and I can navigate the halls and the floors and the offices and rooms. I know where all the bathrooms are and I know how to work the light/sound systems for each projector. I know where the comfortable couches are should I need an afternoon catnap and I know where to hide when I don't want to be found.

Today is my last day as a student in this school and when I walk out of this building, I will be leaving behind another home- I will be leaving a home that I have grown to love very much. And that scares me…it makes me sad.

I think the point is, I may be ready for this to be over- I may have learned all I can learn from ESADE- but I don't want it to end…not yet.

Pseudo-Twittering

If I had a twitter account….

I would be on it all day. My readers would see how disorderly and arbitrary my thoughts really are. I would probably alienate a number of people. I would be totally unproductive in class. And if I had a twitter account…this is what I would say right now:

“Graduation in three days…What. The. Fuck.”

However, I don't have a twitter account. Although I occasionally think twitter would be useful. Not that my “140 characters or less” thoughts are that brilliant, but at least I would actually get to my point- as opposed to my run-on sentences full of metaphors and oftentimes overly descriptive explanations. Furthermore, I seem to feel the need to preface EVERTHING- and in the end, draw some kind of conclusion. It gets old- even for me.

In this sense, twitter would be useful.

Additionally, I write between 5 and 20 notes to myself in my blackberry daily- generally just random thoughts- but material that could potentially become blog stuff.

I was reading through today's list on the way home from school and in light of my exceedingly limited time and the impending end of the MBA…I’m not going to drone on today- as I would usually do.

Instead, I’m going to pseudo-tweet...Straight from my blackberry’s “MemoPad.”:

• I love that in Spain, women refer to each other as “reina,” i.e. “queen.” I’m going to make everyone refer to me as “reina” from now on.

• Paraphernalia should not be spelled like that.

• I think I want an iPad. What’s the deal with those?

• Google may shut down its China operations. Sad.

• For our MBA Awards, I was voted “most likely to become famous.” It’s flattering although I don't think that's what I was really going for when I decided to do an MBA.

• I don't really think it’s that devastating to be a mismatched sock. I was having a bad day.
  

Wait…is twitter with or without spaces?

To be continued…

Springtime in BCN

It is my experience that when something is ending- whether it be a relationship, or a job, a vacation- the whole thing seems to reach a climax. It’s this illusion of a high point that only makes it difficult to accept that it’s over- and the departure becomes even harder. When something is ending, expectations may or may not have been met- but without fail- nostalgia sets in and the prickly fear of leaving something remarkable behind settles deep in the stomachs of those off to a new beginning. I have found that the greater portion of the people around me have begun to view everything, even the negative, under a rosy glow; the Barcelona sky appears bluer, the same old classes are seemingly more interesting, the nightlife gives the impression of being unparalleled, the food is tastier, our apartments are homier, our relationships are better and the air is cleaner. Basically, in the end, everything always gives the impression of being better than it is. I expected to reach this point and see Barcelona as some sort of utopia- and the life of a student as a kind of paradise.

Instead, unexpectedly- the little things around me seem to be falling apart…it’s as if the universe is telling me that this chapter is over- letting me know that it’s time to move on:

I came home from a trip on Monday, ready for the Barcelona weather to welcome me into its sunny and warm embrace. Instead, the plane landed and I had to check my boarding pass twice to make sure I had gotten onto the correct flight. The ground was covered in snow, the sky was black and enormous flakes were falling from the thundering sky.  By the time I left classes that same day, public transportation had stopped, ESADE closed the building, and I was forced to walk 30 minutes in a blizzard. Photos below.

The following day, my hot water disappeared. There is nothing wrong with the pipes, the heater, the neighbors’ water…the landlord told me to tell the doorman and the doorman sends me back to the landlord. I’ve been showering in the gym for the past week.

Not 24 hours after that, the internet went…and as I went to check out the situation, I saw bugs crawling in and out of the router as the “alarma” light was flashing. Essentially, bugs ate my internet.

I thought that this would be the period of sheer pleasure and joy. I believed that I would begin to feel my comfy roots being violently pulled from the ground. I was enthusiastically anticipating that “rosy glow.” Instead, it seems as though Barcelona is ready to get rid of me and I’m not exactly sure how to take it.

Springtime in bcn...

Almost done...

16 days till graduation.

Still no job...

No real idea of where I am going...

Very little desire to start over once again...

Although, I'm actually OK with it.

Snow Daze

This past weekend was the annual ESADE “Snow Daze” ski trip to Andorra.

Andorra is, in fact, a small country located in the Pyrenees between Spain and France, and about a three-hour drive from the center of Barcelona- which makes it quite convenient in terms of logistics. As for the country itself: its tiny- with great skiing- and a tax haven. As far as I can tell, that's about it.

Last year, I missed out on the ski trip due to the fact that it was planned over Valentine’s Day weekend- and as much as I love my fellow classmates, the ski trip debauchery wasn't my ideal way to spend V-Day. Luckily this year, I had the occasion to enjoy both- Seperately.

It was my first (and probably my last) Business School trip with over 100 students to a location outside of Spain. It began with two busses leaving from school Friday afternoon and ended with the same busses dropping us off at about 10 p.m. on Sunday evening. We left fresh faced and bushy tailed and came back sore, sick and hung-over. It was perfect.

The two days in Andorra were passed on the slopes, getting to know the students we have not yet bonded with, and of course- getting drunk. Within the madness, were mixed a few inspiring conversations about future plans to make a real difference in the world. It was in these exchanges that I took note of the fact that I was not just amongst a random group of 20-somethings on a weekend vacation…but I was on vacation with amidst my MBA classmates – a group of individuals comprised of great minds and future leaders- who know how to drink.

After speaking with a number of students, I have decided to highlight the highlights of the Snow Daze experience and share a few photos.

The weekend, of course, demonstrates one of the best parts of being an MBA student. That is- comprising part of a group of people who have been through life-altering experiences together and in the end, can all go on holiday and truly enjoy each passing moment. It was as if ESADE took over the mountain. Every lift line had a representative in it- every run had an MBA skier- and at the end of the day- the bar was filled with students from every race, religion, professional background, educational background, culture, and age- the one thing we had in common was the ESADE name on our CV’s.

My personal favorite moments, and the things I will probably never get to experience again are:

-A two-o-clock- a.m. Michael Jackson dance-off followed by a group of 50 MBAs swinging their arms and curled fingers to “Thriller” in the middle of the dance floor. (I think my biggest regret in the past two years, thus far, is not filming it. But I was too busy dancing…)

-Sunday’s blizzard where all of a sudden- each student stumbled into the mid-mountain café frozen and exhausted…too cold to get back on the slopes and too ambitious to call it a day. Therefore, about 30 of us sat staring at each other- red nosed and short of breath, drinking mulled wine and hot chocolate. It was so cold, even the Swiss and Germans had to turn back.

-Bus ride card games- specifically: noting that no matter where we went to university- on what continent, we all new how to play “asshole.” The only problem: the rules were different. For everyone. You can imagine how that turned out.

-20 guys in bathing caps crammed into the tiny jacuzzi in the hotel’s spa. Admittedly, I did have intentions to partake in the spa situation: until I walked in (flip flops, bathing cap and bikini in tow), and felt more like a lamb in a lions den than anything else.

-Learning that (unsurprisingly) Spanish law states that the bus driver had to take a 45-minute break after 2 hours of driving. Only in Spain… It was then that I was told the lifts would close for two hours for “siesta” in the middle of the day…and I believed it.

-The 4 a.m. poker tournament in the hotel's hallways between myself, three students and our "Andorra" guide.

-Amidst racing down one slope or another, après-ski celebrations, sweating in line in the ski rental shop and stuffing our faces at the hotel’s breakfast and dinner buffets- sitting down at the bar, speaking to a student I have never met, and realizing that he has intentions to change the world (in the good sense)…and moreover, I think he will.

-And of course, “King Bong Carlos” made an appearance. Bong Carlos is our resident beer-bong-and the cause of a bit of upheaval, but I won’t get into that. Nevertheless, I just have to share the information I received from the roommates of King Bong’s owner the morning after he made his appearance. Apparently, this student (who shall remain unnamed for everyone’s sake), made it back to his room- quite inebriated- and although he failed to change his clothes, brush his teeth, or wash his face- he DID thoroughly wash, rinse and delicately hang the beer bong up to dry over the shower rod in the bathroom. Now that’s love. (and a testament to the fact that this individual will one day, make a great father…)

-Below are a few pics…enjoy:

Tomorrow

In life, it seems as though we are always planning for what comes next. We are taught to prepare for tomorrow- to organize, practice and ready ourselves for what is approaching- or the idea of what is approaching- because in the end, life never ends up the way we planned.

I’ve slowly begun to notice that everything around me is pointing me in the direction of the future- it’s preparing me- warning me- pushing me towards something that doesn't even exist yet. This utter exhaustion, born from relentlessly staring straight past what is right in front of me, struck me this morning when I realized that even the fashion industry is forgetting today and thrusting tomorrow upon its followers. Fashion, to me, has always been about immediate gratification- living the NOW aspect of things. i.e. spending money I don't have for a quick adrenaline rush- only to later find whatever it is I bought lying dusty and underused somewhere in the back of my closet. Fashion never had anything to do with the future- until I had the startling realization that as soon as I finally splurged on “this winter’s hottest boots,” I received an email from a fashion magazine advising me to, “get the top 10 must haves for Spring.” Screw the spring. It’s still cold out. Night continues to fall far too early and I still have yet to plan my winter ski trip. I’m not done with winter. I’m not ready for the future…not ready for it in so many ways.

Nevertheless, we work our asses off to save up in hopes of one day enjoying our overloaded bank accounts and at the very least, our 401k’s and pension plans. We hire lawyers and write out our wills so that should that day never come- and we can’t spend all that hard earned money- it’s left to make someone else’s future better. We cut butter out of our diets, eat less chocolate and drag ourselves to running clubs or gyms so that we can improve our chances of ageing gracefully- and living longer.

This whole MBA thing was about the future from the very beginning. I was working in New York, perfectly happy with my life and job- and then I began to muse about my own future. It was over four years ago when I decided that, one day, I may want to do an MBA. So I bought an MBA guide, hired a Kaplan tutor, and took the GMATs. Later, I changed careers and put the MBA guide back on the shelf- saving it “for the future.” Two long years after that, I figured that maybe I was ready to become a student again…so I started applying and was accepted. And in the time in between the moment I chose to come to ESADE and the moment I got here, I was preparing to be a business school student- even though, in retrospect, I really had no idea about what that implied.

I arrived- and from the very first day, we were told that we had to start planning, yet again, for the future. We weren’t given any time to just bask in the whole “I’m a student and nothing more” aspect of being once again a part of the academic system. We had to choose between industries and potential career paths from the first week. We have been bombarded with career fairs, internship searches, interviews, CV writing, interview workshops, career counseling, applications, and the like…I could go on forever.

Now, at the end of the day- at the end of the MBA, I find myself where I was when I began- not 100% sure about what I should do with my future- with about a million options- and a year and a half gone, filled with a bunch more planning that honestly- didn't really change the outcome of anything. I would probably be sitting in the same chair, in the same class, with the same job opportunities and the same disorderly thoughts and grave reservations- than if I had spent the last year and a half NOT planning- and just learning. But then again, I will never know that, will I?

So here I am, still unsure of where I will be going the day after graduation- with a blurry path ahead of me- and of course, still wearing last season’s boots.

"'cause every little thing, gonna be alright"

Two months until graduation and apart from abundant weekend festivities and lunchtime banter, there’s an unsettling frenzy descending upon the student body of the graduating class. Several different sentiments are suspended in the air above our heads. It’s like a current- an electrical charge that we are each carrying with us manifesting itself as fear, desire, apprehension and even some sadness. A few people are doing their best to party as hard as they can every chance that they get, because they know that this is it. For this particular crowd, school has taken a backseat to everything else- but to no detriment- as classes are generally light in both time and work-load.

Other people have been hiding out, due to job search anxiety- and the reflections in their eyes consist only of career search websites and cover letter drafts on their overused laptop screens. I get these people- I see why they feel the way they do and occassionaly, I can commiserate. But at the same time, I’m not one of them- not yet. I’m still working on finding my balance.

Of course, I have my freakout moments. Of course, my CV is perpetually in an open window on my laptop. And of course, my wheels are always turning, visualizing, scheming and thinking about what I will be doing after the MBA.

Monday and Tuesday of this week was “Winter MBA Career Fair.” Around 30 companies came to ESADE, generally industry-focused. Presentations ranged from L’Oreal and Nestle to Roche and Pepsico. I never actually expect to find a job at a career fair, and to be honest- my time is probably better spent working on my resume. At the same time, one never knows when the best opportunities may pop up.  And at this point in the MBA game- with graduation looming at less than a two month distance, skipping any networking occasion would be careless.

The fact of the matter is, I’m not sure about anything other than the fact that I am not sure. And that the day after graduation- I’m not going to just disappear if I don't have a job. I’m not going to discintegrate into thin air. Something will happen. Something will come up. Time will push forward, I will move on, and one day- hopefully sooner rather than later- I will end up doing something that I can say with some sort of conviction; “I was meant to end up here.”

In other news, ESADE fell to numner 19 in the FT MBA rankings. As long as it stays in top 10 in Europe and top 20 in the world, I wont ask for my money back.

And as a side note, I beat all the boys in their weekly poker game the other day. I think that's the MBA’s numbers/probablility/statistics working… And then as an homage to all the CSR courses and seminars, I donated my winnings to Haiti.

Here’s the Red Cross link, should anyone else desire to give a little back: http://arc3.convio.net/site/PageServer?pagename=ntld_main&s_src=RSG000000000&s_subsrc=RCO_BigRedButton

The funny thing is though, except for the brief moments in the middle of the night when I wake up sweating, imagining nothing but a dark abyss after the MBA…and the all-too-often converstions I have with those “super motivated” students wondering how many CVs I have sent out and how many networking events I have attended, Im really not that stressed. I’ve always said, excuse my language but, “shit just has a way of working itself out.”

So as much as I do sympathize with my fellow classmates who cry themselves to sleep at night, experience has taught me that- above all else- I will be just fine…probably better than fine.

And recently, while revising the 1000th version of my CV and his 50^th job application, my classmate gently declared, “I hate you because when its all over, you are going to walk away from this MBA with the dream job I will never be able to get.”

God, I hope he’s right.

"Of our elaborate plans, the end."

OK, so it’s been a while since I last wrote and for that I apologize. If I had a valid excuse, I would probably mention it. Truth is, I don’t. Whether it was the fact that “Christmas Break” was three weeks long and I did nothing but eat, drink and be merry- or the fact that I decline to admit to myself that the MBA is reaching its end and therefore am refusing to acknowledge anything of the sort- I have barely opened my laptop since finals.

Now, after an idyllic Christmas in Rome, an absolutely perfect New Year’s in Cortina and many long and lazy days eating my way through Italy- I find myself back in my sub-zero Barcelona apartment- complete with a new family of roaches who seemed to have made a home of my kitchen cabinet. Nonetheless, we are two days into the final term and I’m already short on sleep. This deficiency, however, is no longer due to absurd amounts of work and early classes. Instead, I am now losing sleep as a result of the knowledge that in less than 10 weeks, I will be graduating.

School commenced as it always seems to do after any sort of break…classes began as seamlessly as they ended, we welcomed the new faces here on exchange, said hi to our old friends, dusted off our computers and dug the course books out of our mailboxes. I’m not worried anymore about making it through- If I’m still on the roster after the first year, I am confident that I will be a permanent fixture in ESADE until I am handed my degree.  What I’m worried about is the imminent end. On March 26^th, we will be official MBA’s. That’s exciting. What’s not-so-exciting is March 27^th. “The Morning After.” I will wake up…and then what?

Of my classmates, I think only between 5%-10% have post-grad job offers. And of the remaining 90% of us, there are a good number who are still unsure of what they want to do and where. Although I do wish the best for my schoolmates and their futures, it makes me feel much better that I am not agonizing alone in this quiet disorientation.

It seems that throughout the last four years of my life, I’m continuously heading towards the end of something and the beginning of another.

I’ve heard, read and described the life of an MBA student in countless ways. From “incredible whirlwind,” to “bizarre ride,” MBA students around the globe assume a broad array of emotions throughout their programs. To me, its like I’ve lived an entire miniature life in this finite period of time. In the all-too-short 18 months, I’ve experienced more than my fair share. But the part I’ve loved most about it- is all the many little beginnings and endings wedged in between the margins of the one big beginning and end- the day we began to the day we finish. It’s almost as if- in this one imposing pink building on this one quiet street in this one European city, we have all lived a whole life together, complete with a dawn, a period of growth, a dusk, and a new family that we probably would not have chosen but have grown to love. Now that we are approaching the ultimate end of this part of our lives- all the slightly inconsequential beginnings and endings begin to take on more significance and I have found myself trying to cram as much as I can into the next two and a half months. I’m already starting to miss parts of my life here in Barcelona.

My best friend said to me as we were discussing job searches on the way to school today, “Our little party has come to an abrupt end.”

I couldn't have put it better myself.

Cover Girl

The new ESADE MBA brochures came out last week. I knew they were due to materialize around this time- as they do every year. For that reason, I walked into school one morning and there, on the wall, was a stack of brochures- with my very own face smiling back at me.

I have to admit, I was moderately surprised. I knew I was in the brochure but I didn't know I was on it. Of course, its fun to view oneself on any type of media- its like that “15 minutes of fame” thing. I’m not sure why humans get a kick out of visible recognition, but we do- from the reality TV craze to any type of artistic endeavor. As a writer, seeing my name in print is one of my greatest joys. For anyone in the film industry, I’m sure that seeing their names as the credits role brings an immense amount of satisfaction. For an artist, seeing one’s own works hanging on display in a public arena must bring with it indescribable joy. Therefore, when I saw the brochure, I couldn't help but smile.

My MBA class is comprised of over 100 students the face on the pamphlet could have easily been any one of us. I’m beyond certain that there is nothing more that I bring to the business school than any one of my other classmates- we are all comprised of individual strengths and diverse weaknesses- we have each faced various struggles within the MBA and we have each attained distinct goals. I know that there is no more reason for my image to be on display than anyone else’s. Because of this, it’s not an ego-thing. Instead, after grabbing a few copies (for posterity’s sake)- I leafed through the brochure and put it away.

Yet….it doesn't end there. Later in the day, as I was sorting through my bag for tomorrow’s classes and I caught a glimpse of the brochure, I finally realized how much the recognition means to me.

I was brought back to a moment nearly three years ago when I had an informational meeting with an ESADE representative in London. It was before I had finished my applications and before I was completely sure where I would go or if I would actually end up doing an MBA. Sitting in the Hyatt Regency in London’s Portman Square, resume in hand and a massive knot in my stomach- I introduced myself to the first person I had ever met from ESADE and she handed me a neat little information packet. It was then that the MBA became a reality. For the next few months before my trip to Spain for my interview, I took the “ESADE Full Time MBA” brochure with me everywhere. I flipped through it on my commutes and before I went to bed, I looked at the faces of the then-current students.

I was never one of those people with a path from the very beginning- in that, I didn't know when I was an undergraduate student that I would one day be an MBA. I had no idea what I would be. Therefore, when I flipped through the brochure and saw all these professional looking students in big blue classrooms, studious and determined, I wondered if I would ever make it there. I know that back then, I seriously doubted whether I would actually fit in- if I would ever belong.

Then, a few months later, I finally made it to ESADE where I was introduced to the school and a number of students and met with career services for my official interview. On the way out, I grabbed another brochure- the newest version. And again, I was fearful of the fact that these individuals, these students, would ever fit into my world. Rather, I in theirs.

And then the MBA began. The brochures still lined the walls we walk by everyday and every so often, I would pick one up and browse the photos of the faces I see around the halls, the profiles, the descriptions and the ideals I have come to know so well.

The MBA began so quickly and as I am sure any current student will note- we are thrown so aggressively into it that we stop wondering whether we will fit, whether we will make it, and if we belong.

I know I stopped wondering and simply started doing.

And amidst all this DOING, I’ve nearly reached the end…

And then the brochures came out today and there I was on the cover. I realized that I AM that person- the face that will represent the ESADE MBA for thousands more students who are considering an MBA, wondering where they will fit in, speculating as to whether they will make the cut, and basically- in the middle of some of the decisions that will change the course of their lives forever. Moreover, I looked at my face with a huge geeky grin smiling back at me and although I cant believe I am admitting this, I kind of got all choked up! I thought about that day, the first time I held an ESADE pamphlet in my hands, and had serious misgivings about my place in the whole MBA sphere. And here I am, today, representing at least a small part of the domain.

Of course, next year there will be a new brochure and although there will be plenty of uncirculated copies collecting dust- I will have my copy. And no, its not a degree, a medal of honor or a prestigious award- and I’m not attempting to make it into anything greater than it is. But what it does represent to me- is that I am an MBA student. I did an MBA. I did well enough, and gave enough of myself for the staff to acknowledge me and to allow my face to grace the cover of their brochure. And that's enough for me. For now at least.

O! Say Can You See...

A year ago, I may have lamented about being stuck in Spain during Thanksgiving- with a 7:30 wake up call, classes all day and not so much as a suggestion of a cornucopia.  What makes it harder though, is the thought of my fellow Americans at home with their four-day weekends, the company of their entire families and a table full of enough food to feed a small country. Today, however, during my second Thanksgiving in Spain as an ESADE student- I'm surprised to find myself with only a shy hint of homesickness. Instead of longing for traditions of the past, I have a new tradition in which to partake.

After class, I will be picking up the ingredients for the creamed spinach I plan to cook for 40 students at our second annual Thanksgiving feast. Being that the MBA lasts only 18 months, it’s infrequent that we have the opportunity to create traditions. This year, we're not starting something new- we're not trying something out that hasn’t been done before. This year, our Thanksgiving celebration will bring with it a familiar quality- Manu with his famous Sangria, Felix busily basting (or whatever it is you do with poultry) the turkey and Vicky with her fabulous all-American apple pie. Thanksgiving in b-school is a new tradition, but a tradition nonetheless. And for that reason, I welcome it into my repertoire of unforgettable pastimes- into my MBA memory bank.

When I was little, after sitting around the Thanksgiving dinner table with my family for hours- full bellied and nearly ready for our early evening naps, we were all acutely aware of the fact that there was something to be done to signify the conclusion of the feast. Every individual- from Nana Annie to eccentric aunt Liss, would stand up on their chairs, place their hands over their hearts- and sing “The Star Spangled Banner” at the tops of their lungs. Being that the only person in the room that could actually carry a tune was my sister, it wasn't a pretty sight. However, our feigned patriotism stands out for me as the symbol of Thanksgiving in my home.

The Witkin clan chorus is family tradition that began at some point with my grandpa’s odd outburst of song, and will continue throughout the generations to come (on my part, at least).

As I got older and didn't live at home anymore- my mom never failed to fly me in for the Thanksgiving festivities. And each year, we continued the singing ritual. In later years, my parents divorced and although our Thanksgiving dinners took place in two different locations, at two different times- we still sang “The Star Spangled Banner” with gusto. And although, as the years have passed, we have suffered the loss of loved ones and welcomed new additions to the family, the custom holds strong and the neighbors can still hear our wailing from down the street.

At some point in the last decade, in addition to our singing, we somehow managed to add another tradition to the mix. I don’t remember exactly when it began or from whom we adapted it- but it is still maintained among family members on Thanksgiving regardless of how far apart we may be.

Now, after all the food and the subsequent singing, we go around the table and ,one-by-one, give thanks for everything good in our lives- everything we appreciate, everything we recognize as a blessing. We were never necessarily patriots, nor are we religious- but I was brought up to "Carpe Diem"- and to appreciate all that I have. Maybe this tradition began because amongst the wine, turkey, tofurky, the chatter, the airport runs, the days and days of shopping and cooking and preparation- Thanksgiving loses its meaning- that is: the day of thanks- the secular type.

I was thinking...if I stand up on my chair at dinner and attempt to hit the high notes shrieking “…and the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air…”, my classmates might finally consider me certifiably crazy. Therefore, I am simply going to stick with giving thanks.

We have about four months left in the MBA, so it seems that now is as good a time as any to define what I am grateful for. Last year, when our first Thanksgiving together came upon us- each friend filled the voids left by family members back home carving the turkey and mashing the potatoes. At that time, this year’s Thanksgiving felt like a lifetime away. Now it’s here and is most probably the last thanksgiving I will ever spend in Spain. That said, I know I have plenty to give thanks for:

I am thankful to Ray, my GMAT tutor, without whom I never would have rocked the math section and therefore, probably wouldn't be doing an MBA.

I am thankful to Mary, the career services dynamo who interviewed me 2 years ago. Not only did meeting her make me hands-down choose ESADE, but she let me in. She had faith that this artsy, creative non-business person would actually be able to succeed in an MBA.

I am thankful to my mom and stepdad Peter, who have given me all the opportunities in the world. They are the ones who pushed me to do an MBA and they are the ones who pay my credit card bill when I realize I have no money left in my Caja Madrid account because the stupid Euro has skyrocked.

I’m thankful to all my friends here at school, who made the MBA what it is- who made the tough parts bearable and the good parts even better. These are the people whose faces I see every morning on the bus when the sun has not yet risen and the faces looking at me from across the room with the same tired eyes or knowing grins.

I am thankful to Papa Louie who began the singing tradition, and who I miss more and more each year.

Most of all, I have to give one more shout-out to my mom who worked her ass off to  make every thanksgiving of my childhood and early adulthood extraordinary. We should all be lucky enough to have a mom like mine.