Sandpaper Syndrome During Study Abroad

The past week or so I’ve been having what I am now going to call sandpaper syndrome. Part of studying abroad is choosing this sandpaper-ness—that is, choosing to go somewhere where you have to exist in a more abrasive way. But it’s hard, and I knew it would be, but I didn’t know how. I am trying to find comfort in this, knowing that it is part of my experience and whether it feels good or not it will contribute to my development as a person. That being said, I have tried to seek out spaces of comfort here while still challenging myself to be in new places with new people. These occasionally contradictory desires have coincided and I now find myself riding the bus for 25 minutes 3-4 days a week to a lovely place called V11 Escalada. 

I’ve been a runner for most of my life, and running has gifted me many things. Athleticism, resilience, competitiveness, drive, calf problems, and a permanent watch tan. Because I’ve run for teams most of that time, I find that I often associate running with obligation. As in, I have to, not for me but for my commitment to the sport and to these other people. It’s hard to motivate myself to run when I don’t have the structure of a team, so sometimes it’s a frustrating sport to be tied to. When I started climbing my freshman year of college, I found a different kind of peace in it, something that felt like my very own. A hobby cultivated by me and for me, partly because I had a crush on the guy who worked at the climbing wall, but mostly just for me. In that, I found another kind of collaboration and teamwork. It’s not like a track race where you run alongside your teammates or cheer them on from the sidelines, and it’s not like a relay where you rely on one another to complete a task. I began to see climbing as a communal social space where I could move my body and mind in a new way and also meet some really cool people while I did it. 

My climbing gym in Buenos Aires is my safe haven. There’s a cafe and a work space and two floors of climbing walls. As someone whose mind tends to feel full of fast-moving, fleeting thoughts, it can be hard to find places and activities that bring me mental clarity. That’s one similarity I’ve found between climbing and running, though. Whether I’m running through the trails in North Carolina or figuring out a move on the wall here, I feel peaceful. I feel smooth, aligned, and sandpaper-less, and like I’m just another person trying to feel the endorphins. There’s not really a wrong way to finish a route, and as I sit alongside the other climbers, I feel like we’re a part of the same community. We communicate with hand motions and toe hooks and crimps and yelling “suave, suave!” when someone is close to finishing a climb. It allows me to settle into my skin and remember the reason why studying abroad is so good in the first place. We are all there for the same reason and that reason transcends cultures and languages because it’s all about physical movement and focus. Kind of beautiful, isn’t it?

So although this is a specific activity, I feel like it’s applicable to anyone in a new place. It’s so easy to stay in your comfort zone and sometimes that’s not even a bad thing. It’s easy to wish you were somewhere else, and it’s even easier to wish you were someone else. Before I decided to study abroad, I asked a group of friends what they thought. I was considering not going for an entire semester because, to make this thing full circle, I was worried about missing out on my track training for the preseason. I was tied to the track, tied to my team, and I felt comfortable navigating within that circle. A friend of mine said to me: “In five years, are you going to remember your preseason of track training or living in another country? In five years, you’re going to be able to go outside and run whenever you want. But you won’t be able to live in another country so easily.” It was like someone poured a bucket of water on my head. The answer was obvious. When I feel stuck here, or when I feel like my head is heavy and I want to give in, I remember that conversation. I push my chair back from my desk and I sling my chalk bag over my shoulder and where do I go? You could probably guess—the climbing gym. Because V11 Escalada won’t be there when I get home, but the track sure will. I tell myself, this is my liveable moment, and I can’t live it anywhere else but here.