Burren Light

The semester is officially ending, and with all the stress and anxiety of wrapping up multiple paintings, and trying to pin down a solid direction to take for next semester, I've had very little time to step back and reflect on the collective moments that have made up these last several months, and the lasting effect they will have on me.

Ballyvaughan is a place of contrasts: a place of extreme beauty and barrenness. It is stark and rugged, but surprisingly hospitable to diverse species of plants and animals. It's an ancient place of dark and tragic history that has been shaped into beautiful songs and poems by the county's inhabitants. The people here are warm, complex, reserved, welcoming and a little dark. There is a very distinct sense of humor, that I think has seeped into all of our personalities. 

There are five pubs in Ballyvaughan. Five. To put this in perspective, there is one church in town, one place to buy groceries, one coffee(ish) shop, one children's school with two teachers only, and FIVE places to get drunk. Not that I'm complaining...

These are a few things I've noticed about this place compared to other places that I've lived:

It's impossible to be materialistic here. 

It's hard to narrow down which of all of the mental changes that have occurred since moving here is the most healthy, but I think the change in how I view and acquire "things" may be the most significant shift for me. 

   There are 3 open stores in Ballyvaughan at the moment. There is a magic shop, a touristy gift shop that seems to be closed during the hours that school isn't in session, and SPAR, which is where we buy groceries. If you get paint on your last pair of pants here, there's nowhere to go to buy a new pair (unless you have a car). There's no Target or Wal-Mart or mall to wander through out of boredom. The idea of buying something I don't need is becoming more and more foreign to me, and I love it. I appreciate small things like lined notebooks, a single candle, a coffee mug, a jar of jam so much more than before. They are like tiny treasures that bring glimmers of pleasure to the day each time I use them.

I find myself browsing pinterest, seeing pair after pair of leather shoes, quirky sweaters, fox-shaped salt-shakers, etc. that strangers pin as a placeholder for things they one day hope to buy, and I feel nothing. The idea of "personalizing" kitchen appliances, or wearing a fisherman sweater out of nostalgia rather than function no longer makes sense to me. 

Fashion barely exists here. We (at least us students) wear what's clean and weather-appropriate. We don't judge each other on minute details of hair style or how pieces of an outfit goes together. Warm and waterproof are the functions of our clothes. We judge each other based on inward qualities of kindness, cooperation, support, generosity, sense of humor, and respect. I prefer things this way.

I feel fortunate to be in such a beautiful place, free to walk to school and absorb the natural beauty of the ancient hills around me. I even feel fortunate on some level for the creepy walks home in the pitch dark night (the nights here swallow any and all light. I've never seen anything like it). I kind of love the superstitions that I'm beginning to buy into, and the way they shape and stretch the imagination. Overall, I feel blessed to have comfortable walking shoes, a kettle to boil water with, vegetables, a computer and (nearly) daily access to hot showers. 

All of this is fairly new for me, although I've always liked the idea of living simply, I haven't been forced into this level of simplicity for this long before. I'm so grateful for the clutter that Ballyvaughan has stripped away from my life, and for the basic needs of warmth, shelter, nutrition, spirituality and relationships that make up a full life that I've been forced to fall back on and embrace.

I am so grateful to my family for allowing me to come here and grow in this way. Sometimes I can't even fathom how fortunate I am. It's incredibly humbling.

Another striking thing about this place is:

the stark emptiness. The Burren forces you to come to terms with who you are at your core, because every other "cushion" seems to be pulled away one way or another. There are no distractions. If you have a bad day, or a bad critique, there's no escape from the bad feelings (unless you count one of the 5 pubs in town). But in all seriousness, this place forces you to look inward for strength and endurance. There are no movie theaters, coffee shops (there's sort of an attempt at one, but it's closed for winter), frozen yogurt places, or any other hangouts that I'm used to associating with mindlessly blowing off steam. The internet doesn't even function well enough to drown yourself in online TV shows. The effect this has on one's personality is very strong. I've noticed myself slowly becoming more resourceful, more creative, less anxious, less dependent on praise, more sure of who I am as a person, and oddly (in spite of the frequent critiques of my art), more confident.

That being said, I'm so incredibly excited to be coming home for Christmas. I've missed my family and friends more than I even expected (although I had the expectation that they would be greatly missed). I can't wait to have a massive coffee from Wegmans (and rum bun), watch Arrested Development, quote Clue, and just exist with Elizabeth. I can't wait to see how much Emma has grown and hear her extensive vocabulary. I can't wait to drink and eat Cuban sandwiches with Miriam and hear about her new life in Alexandria. I can't wait to hug my mom and dad and snuggle with Scout first thing in the morning by the wood stove. I can't wait to watch Seinfeld with Robert and hear what he thinks about living in a dorm for the first time. I can't wait to drive again, and to have a reliable heater. But I know that the entire time I'm at my home in the US, I'll be pining for my home in Clare. Missing the way the light breaks through the clouds and scatters across the bleak hills, illuminating the famine walls and scars of a tragic history. I'll miss the Saturday morning walks to SPAR for a scone and cup of coffee. I'll miss the late night digestive eating at the studio, and the undergraduate friends I've made who won't be coming back after break. I feel like I have two places to call home at this point, and I feel so full of gratitude because of this.