Ok, I admit it; my academic experience up until this point anything but typical. But then again, I’m anything but typical as well. An American, studying in Canada, and applying to graduate studies programs in Milan obviously requires some explanation.
I remember applying to university programs when I was 17; one morning I triumphantly announced to my parents that, besides wanting desperately to live in a city, I would also be pursuing higher education opportunities outside the United States. I wanted to study in Europe. Their response was simple and concise,
NO.
Looking back I was probably overly ambitious to think that I could deal with both a change of lifestyle, as I would be moving out of my parents house for the first time, but also a complete change of country, language and culture. I’ve always been ambitious.
I’ve always wanted to do more. I’ve always wanted to blaze my own path. Luckily, after studying for four years at one of Canada’s finest universities, McGill, I believe I am prepared to again tackle my dream of studying in Europe.
I’m ready for Milan and here’s why…
My academic program at McGill has been rigorous and fulfilling, and my major specializations have provided me with a unique skill set that I believe is requisite for any urban planner to create dynamic and successful but also liveable spaces. The courses I have pursued in Urban Systems Geography have provided me with firm research skills based fundamentally on the analysis of human geographic systems through census data, statistical outputs and the synthesis of information sets in Geographic Information Systems. While having a strong scientific based rooted in quantitative analysis, I also had the opportunity within the Urban Systems Geography program to take both Architecture and Urban Planning courses. These courses, such as History of Housing and Site Usage, have fundamentally focused on visual aesthetic and the creation of comfortable and human spaces. I am proud of my work both in terms of quantitative and qualitative analysis, as well as the creative skills and understandings of visual aesthetic that I have acquired during the pursuit of my Urban Systems Geography program. I strongly feel as though I am ready for the next step by pursuing a career in urban planning.
My interest in learning foreign languages has not wavered since primary school and I view my ability to openly communicate and understand different cultures through linguistic expression as one of my greatest personal strengths. Studying and majoring also in Italian Language and Literature at McGill University allowed me to grow in terms of linguistic expression in Italian, which has in turn improved my written expression in English. Through critical and creative thinking in the analysis of both ancient and modern Italian texts, I have come to appreciate and understand the complex realities of Italian life and astutely read the cultural environment and expression. Most recently I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to study at the Università di Bologna on a student exchange organized through McGill. Nothing short of life changing, studying in Bologna presented me with a unique opportunity to live and learn from my surroundings daily.
Living and working in Italian, feeling and experiencing a new city, meeting and learning from amazing people; this was in all actuality an experience I shouldn’t have had, as my exchange was through the Università di Bologna in Forlì instead of actually in Bologna. Arriving in Italy I realized that, from time to time, bending the rules is a necessary fact of life. I took a risk that I ultimately grew from. Change was only natural and resiliency in the face of trials, indispensable; I have already learned from Italy once and am looking to see what more time there will bring me.
Empirical analysis. In depth research. Attention to aesthetic. Creative but critical thinking. Adapting to and understanding new environments; these are the skills and thought processes required of an urban planner.
Consequently, this is also how I think and strive to understand the world around me.
Now, I’m ready for the next step.
Snow, peanut butter and Thanksgiving
I’ve been saying to a lot of people lately that I feel pretty scatterbrained; and it’s partially true. I really have no idea where to put my thoughts at the moment.
You see, it happens that I often find myself in the predicament of being caught in somewhere between now and later (sometimes referred to as the present and future).
I’ll give you an example, any given hour I go between thinking about: the papers I have due that accrue at an inhuman rate, grad schools, how quickly the year is passing checking facebook (before the news), looking at maps on Google maps, playing around with translating all of this in French or Italian, and generally pondering about people I miss/want to see/have to write to/want to call…not to mention the assorted daily comings and goings of eating, going to class, shopping (if need be…for stuff like salt now that I think about it for our suicide steps that have become somewhat icy and convex since the first snow fall), and… if everything is going right, maybe a drink later on in the evening.
Coffee deserves an honourable mention and can be interspersed with or in between any of the above mentioned thoughts and actions. I drink it like most people drink water.
Needless to say, mentally I’m anywhere but where I am physically…sometimes I wish I could just STOP thinking.
I guess this is good place to start stopping?
Just to briefly sidetrack for a moment, I literally just received notice that my transfer credits from Bologna finally went through; it’s done. 13 credits from McGill (which is considerably more than I expected considering it was the exchange that wasn’t supposed to happen…well at least the way it did). Wow. It worked?
So anyway, I asked a friend today if it was rational to make a life decision based on my odd attachment to snow and peanut butter (yes, I am going to talk about peanut butter again). Let me explain.
Lately I have been wrestling with the idea of going to grad school in Europe; although this may not be my only opportunity to go live in Europe for awhile, studying urban planning there seems like a pretty good continuation of a dream that has now been four years in the making (since I unsuccessfully announced to my parents that I wanted to go to university in Europe…when I was 17) Yeah…you imagined pretty correctly their response.
So… now seems like the time right; graduating, finding a grad school program, picking up and going… it all seems so simple. Maybe it is just too simple.
Hold on…let’s just back up for a sec.
You see, this whole vision was all well and good until I looked at the weather forecast the other day; 15-20 cm of snow.
For some reason, I have an fond and slightly odd attachment to winter weather and specifically snow…and I still can’t quite grasp why. In short, I get giddy…really giddy. I was thinking that maybe it was because I always associate it with snow days and freedom from school back home, and up here, probably some of the greatest times of my life were spent in sub zero temperatures, but there’s something more. It’s so ephemeral, so calming. I love slapping on a audaciously heavy pair of LL Bean boots and just motoring off through the slush and everything else winter has to offer. Just. Because. I. Can. I’m convinced, on top of all of this, Montreal is a city meant to look good in the winter.
It really feels magical but like I said, I can’t really put my finger on it. One thing is for sure, I’ve been running around like a maniac these past couple days taking photos and spending significant amounts of time procrastinating while looking out the window.
And so help me God, if global warming begins to affect Montreal winters, I may have to pick up and move off to Chibougamau in northern Québec.
Bref, this is a non-negotiable. I need winter; as crazy as it sounds, I need snow.
This brings me to peanut butter…now, if you’ve been following this blog, you know while I was in Italy my parents spent about 25$ American shipping some Skippy off to their poor son who was living it up in Europe’s culinary capital, Bologna.
My friend really said it right, it’s not the peanut so much as it’s symbolic value: the comfort of being home. Peanut butter is what the being in the fetal position, for me at least, would taste like.
All the comfort of home packed into one little jar, how could you go wrong.
Being cut off from it in Europe was pretty tragic for me and let’s just say I made a habit of frequenting the first supermarket establishment I found that sold it, because this was clearly an indicator of a guy who had everything…even though his prices were a little high.
Bref, another non-negotiable.
Finally, American Thanksgiving. All my family was home over Thanksgiving, and in hein sight, I probably should’ve been there too. For all those non-Americans in the audience, Thanksgiving in the States is really so much more than carving a turkey. Leaving behind the discussion of food (which I seem to always come back to…curious, eh?) Thanksgiving is a time to be around the people you love.
Family’s important, ‘nuff said.
I find it kind of ironic that I was taking an institutional French test on the very same day that we celebrate the values of family, love and just generally enjoying time together, but whatever, c’est la vie.
I do have to say though, celebrating up here with close friends, with a box of pizza, some beer and watching a football game was really quite amazing as well. I guess it’s the spirit of the holiday that gets me more than the food that comes with it.
Special people, spending time together; that’s what counts in the end. My Thanksgiving was like a Charlie Brown Christmas tree.
Oh, by the way, on that note, it’s officially the start of the holiday season, you are now allowed to discuss Christmas.
My point is, I guess my pendulum has swung, or rather, I’m rediscovering why I fell in love with Montreal, why there was really no other option in my mind once I got accepted to McGill.
It really fits like a glove.
French and English. Bureaucracy in a timely manner. Tams Tams in the summer and an audaciously brutal but beautiful winter. French cheese next to peanut butter at the supermarket. Canadian AND American Thanksgiving.
Is it the compromise that I’ve been looking for all along? Is this place me?
You see, it happens that I often find myself in the predicament of being caught in somewhere between now and later (sometimes referred to as the present and future).
I’ll give you an example, any given hour I go between thinking about: the papers I have due that accrue at an inhuman rate, grad schools, how quickly the year is passing checking facebook (before the news), looking at maps on Google maps, playing around with translating all of this in French or Italian, and generally pondering about people I miss/want to see/have to write to/want to call…not to mention the assorted daily comings and goings of eating, going to class, shopping (if need be…for stuff like salt now that I think about it for our suicide steps that have become somewhat icy and convex since the first snow fall), and… if everything is going right, maybe a drink later on in the evening.
Coffee deserves an honourable mention and can be interspersed with or in between any of the above mentioned thoughts and actions. I drink it like most people drink water.
Needless to say, mentally I’m anywhere but where I am physically…sometimes I wish I could just STOP thinking.
I guess this is good place to start stopping?
Just to briefly sidetrack for a moment, I literally just received notice that my transfer credits from Bologna finally went through; it’s done. 13 credits from McGill (which is considerably more than I expected considering it was the exchange that wasn’t supposed to happen…well at least the way it did). Wow. It worked?
So anyway, I asked a friend today if it was rational to make a life decision based on my odd attachment to snow and peanut butter (yes, I am going to talk about peanut butter again). Let me explain.
Lately I have been wrestling with the idea of going to grad school in Europe; although this may not be my only opportunity to go live in Europe for awhile, studying urban planning there seems like a pretty good continuation of a dream that has now been four years in the making (since I unsuccessfully announced to my parents that I wanted to go to university in Europe…when I was 17) Yeah…you imagined pretty correctly their response.
So… now seems like the time right; graduating, finding a grad school program, picking up and going… it all seems so simple. Maybe it is just too simple.
Hold on…let’s just back up for a sec.
You see, this whole vision was all well and good until I looked at the weather forecast the other day; 15-20 cm of snow.
For some reason, I have an fond and slightly odd attachment to winter weather and specifically snow…and I still can’t quite grasp why. In short, I get giddy…really giddy. I was thinking that maybe it was because I always associate it with snow days and freedom from school back home, and up here, probably some of the greatest times of my life were spent in sub zero temperatures, but there’s something more. It’s so ephemeral, so calming. I love slapping on a audaciously heavy pair of LL Bean boots and just motoring off through the slush and everything else winter has to offer. Just. Because. I. Can. I’m convinced, on top of all of this, Montreal is a city meant to look good in the winter.
It really feels magical but like I said, I can’t really put my finger on it. One thing is for sure, I’ve been running around like a maniac these past couple days taking photos and spending significant amounts of time procrastinating while looking out the window.
And so help me God, if global warming begins to affect Montreal winters, I may have to pick up and move off to Chibougamau in northern Québec.
Bref, this is a non-negotiable. I need winter; as crazy as it sounds, I need snow.
This brings me to peanut butter…now, if you’ve been following this blog, you know while I was in Italy my parents spent about 25$ American shipping some Skippy off to their poor son who was living it up in Europe’s culinary capital, Bologna.
My friend really said it right, it’s not the peanut so much as it’s symbolic value: the comfort of being home. Peanut butter is what the being in the fetal position, for me at least, would taste like.
All the comfort of home packed into one little jar, how could you go wrong.
Being cut off from it in Europe was pretty tragic for me and let’s just say I made a habit of frequenting the first supermarket establishment I found that sold it, because this was clearly an indicator of a guy who had everything…even though his prices were a little high.
Bref, another non-negotiable.
Finally, American Thanksgiving. All my family was home over Thanksgiving, and in hein sight, I probably should’ve been there too. For all those non-Americans in the audience, Thanksgiving in the States is really so much more than carving a turkey. Leaving behind the discussion of food (which I seem to always come back to…curious, eh?) Thanksgiving is a time to be around the people you love.
Family’s important, ‘nuff said.
I find it kind of ironic that I was taking an institutional French test on the very same day that we celebrate the values of family, love and just generally enjoying time together, but whatever, c’est la vie.
I do have to say though, celebrating up here with close friends, with a box of pizza, some beer and watching a football game was really quite amazing as well. I guess it’s the spirit of the holiday that gets me more than the food that comes with it.
Special people, spending time together; that’s what counts in the end. My Thanksgiving was like a Charlie Brown Christmas tree.
Oh, by the way, on that note, it’s officially the start of the holiday season, you are now allowed to discuss Christmas.
My point is, I guess my pendulum has swung, or rather, I’m rediscovering why I fell in love with Montreal, why there was really no other option in my mind once I got accepted to McGill.
It really fits like a glove.
French and English. Bureaucracy in a timely manner. Tams Tams in the summer and an audaciously brutal but beautiful winter. French cheese next to peanut butter at the supermarket. Canadian AND American Thanksgiving.
Is it the compromise that I’ve been looking for all along? Is this place me?
Forlì coming back to haunt me...
Coming back from Italy, my exchange was only technically half over as I still had to deal with….::dum, dum, dum::
McGill Bureaucracy.
For those of you who haven’t been filled in on my European escapades, let’s just say that from the get go, one of the most crucial plot points was the willing suspension of all previously conceived notions of reality and a certain disposition to bend the rules…You see, from the time I stepped foot in Italy, I knew things where not going to fall easily in stride with the regimented and sometimes overly stiff North American order and pace of life.
In short, of course I was supposed to be doing an exchange in Italy, but what most people don’t know is that I shouldn’t have been at Bologna. McGill’s Italian department…technically…has an exchange program set up with the University of Bologna, of course, but at one of the satellite campuses about an hour outside the city…in a town called Forlì.
Talking to people who had already done the exchange last fall, there was an overwhelming consensus to NOT go there… and rather take courses at Bologna.
Needless to say, the only time I ever technically “made it” to Forlì was only in passing on the way to the beach at Rimini.
In my defense, I did make an effort… I shopped for courses at Forlì, chose my apartment based on proximity and accessibility to the train station for commuting purposes AND even wrote a numerous emails to my advisor there… who, of course, managed to respond only after courses at started. But, in short, hitting the ground running in Italy, nothing panned out the way it was supposed to.
That was really the first time I took measures into my own hands. I’m a real stickler for the rules, and I have plenty a tragic to story to support my strong convictions as I always seem to get caught… this wasn’t an exception…really.
Bologna’s stance on the matter was very much laissez faire… and I’m pretty sure I could’ve taken courses in astrophysics… provided that I didn’t care to get any credits coming back to McGill.
So, you read about the great times already…now fast forward, to, I’d say about a month ago, when I was hunting down professors in the Italian department to sign off on my exchange.
Coming back to McGill, I diligently and thoughtfully wrote an email to the head of the Italian department here, who, 6 months earlier, had given me the green light to take courses at Bologna (after, of course, I thoroughly investigated the matter in Italy).
This was all well and good… but she retired May of last year.
Pardon me?
Fortunately piccolo crisi number one was averted because it turns out the prof who would be signing off on my exchange would be teaching my contemporary Italian prose course….
Perrrrrfeccccccccct.
After having a brief meeting and a significant shock and awe campaign of course syllabi and materials and a hefty list of books I read in Italy, I’d say we were on the same page.
BUT, of course, he wasn’t the guy to go to, as I would have to speak to the department head.
Now, the problem with the department head is that I dropped her course like a bad habit the beginning of this semester after attending one class…let’s just say she was bound to recognize me. ON TOP of that, I needed to check and double check the documents I submitted her, as I apparently handed into the wrong sheet to be filled out.
Situational awareness is an invaluable skill, and I envy those blessed with such a keen understanding for the people and world around them...
All and all, it wasn’t looking good.
Then, the moment of the truth a few weeks later… the meeting.
I was in top form sporting the famous gold shoes with documents in hand, ready for the worst...
-So… how was Forlì?
-Hmmmm… funny enough, I didn’t spend to much time in Forlì… most of the time I was there I spent in Bologna.
-But.. you..took courses at Forlì didn’t you…?
-Well kind of… you see ONE of the courses I took was offered at Forlì as well…BUT once I arrived, I figured out that the courses that would best transfer for my major were ::gulp:: in Bologna…See, look, here, I ended up making a big mistake and taking three masters level courses.
-::Silence::…Did you speak to professor Andrea Cristiani?
-::me not knowing whether Andrea was masculine or feminine:: Eh..by email…I contacted the professor (grappling for a gender neutral word).
And so my game of aversion and trying to come off as vague as possible ensued.
-Were there other McGill students there?
-Oh yeah.. Rocco, we pretty much saw each other every day.
-And how come I haven’t heard from him yet? (Rocco, when I last left you, decided to fully enjoy his sojourn, and, let’s just say pursued other interests outside the academic realm).
-Errrr…. I think he arrived and just decided he needed some time off.
-So, let me get this straight, you went over there and took courses at Bologna instead of Forlì (with the old department heads permission, I added.) You found that to be better…?
At this point I saw the light at the end of the tunnel… this was no witch hunt really, there was going to be no punishment from the new department head. Everything looked to be in the clear.
After about an hour of tap dancing around a pretty obvious point the course credit approval sheets were signed and soon to be handed to McGill administration the day after…It was a done deal.
I’m still waiting to see the results; I'll keep you posted.
McGill Bureaucracy.
For those of you who haven’t been filled in on my European escapades, let’s just say that from the get go, one of the most crucial plot points was the willing suspension of all previously conceived notions of reality and a certain disposition to bend the rules…You see, from the time I stepped foot in Italy, I knew things where not going to fall easily in stride with the regimented and sometimes overly stiff North American order and pace of life.
In short, of course I was supposed to be doing an exchange in Italy, but what most people don’t know is that I shouldn’t have been at Bologna. McGill’s Italian department…technically…has an exchange program set up with the University of Bologna, of course, but at one of the satellite campuses about an hour outside the city…in a town called Forlì.
Talking to people who had already done the exchange last fall, there was an overwhelming consensus to NOT go there… and rather take courses at Bologna.
Needless to say, the only time I ever technically “made it” to Forlì was only in passing on the way to the beach at Rimini.
In my defense, I did make an effort… I shopped for courses at Forlì, chose my apartment based on proximity and accessibility to the train station for commuting purposes AND even wrote a numerous emails to my advisor there… who, of course, managed to respond only after courses at started. But, in short, hitting the ground running in Italy, nothing panned out the way it was supposed to.
That was really the first time I took measures into my own hands. I’m a real stickler for the rules, and I have plenty a tragic to story to support my strong convictions as I always seem to get caught… this wasn’t an exception…really.
Bologna’s stance on the matter was very much laissez faire… and I’m pretty sure I could’ve taken courses in astrophysics… provided that I didn’t care to get any credits coming back to McGill.
So, you read about the great times already…now fast forward, to, I’d say about a month ago, when I was hunting down professors in the Italian department to sign off on my exchange.
Coming back to McGill, I diligently and thoughtfully wrote an email to the head of the Italian department here, who, 6 months earlier, had given me the green light to take courses at Bologna (after, of course, I thoroughly investigated the matter in Italy).
This was all well and good… but she retired May of last year.
Pardon me?
Fortunately piccolo crisi number one was averted because it turns out the prof who would be signing off on my exchange would be teaching my contemporary Italian prose course….
Perrrrrfeccccccccct.
After having a brief meeting and a significant shock and awe campaign of course syllabi and materials and a hefty list of books I read in Italy, I’d say we were on the same page.
BUT, of course, he wasn’t the guy to go to, as I would have to speak to the department head.
Now, the problem with the department head is that I dropped her course like a bad habit the beginning of this semester after attending one class…let’s just say she was bound to recognize me. ON TOP of that, I needed to check and double check the documents I submitted her, as I apparently handed into the wrong sheet to be filled out.
Situational awareness is an invaluable skill, and I envy those blessed with such a keen understanding for the people and world around them...
All and all, it wasn’t looking good.
Then, the moment of the truth a few weeks later… the meeting.
I was in top form sporting the famous gold shoes with documents in hand, ready for the worst...
-So… how was Forlì?
-Hmmmm… funny enough, I didn’t spend to much time in Forlì… most of the time I was there I spent in Bologna.
-But.. you..took courses at Forlì didn’t you…?
-Well kind of… you see ONE of the courses I took was offered at Forlì as well…BUT once I arrived, I figured out that the courses that would best transfer for my major were ::gulp:: in Bologna…See, look, here, I ended up making a big mistake and taking three masters level courses.
-::Silence::…Did you speak to professor Andrea Cristiani?
-::me not knowing whether Andrea was masculine or feminine:: Eh..by email…I contacted the professor (grappling for a gender neutral word).
And so my game of aversion and trying to come off as vague as possible ensued.
-Were there other McGill students there?
-Oh yeah.. Rocco, we pretty much saw each other every day.
-And how come I haven’t heard from him yet? (Rocco, when I last left you, decided to fully enjoy his sojourn, and, let’s just say pursued other interests outside the academic realm).
-Errrr…. I think he arrived and just decided he needed some time off.
-So, let me get this straight, you went over there and took courses at Bologna instead of Forlì (with the old department heads permission, I added.) You found that to be better…?
At this point I saw the light at the end of the tunnel… this was no witch hunt really, there was going to be no punishment from the new department head. Everything looked to be in the clear.
After about an hour of tap dancing around a pretty obvious point the course credit approval sheets were signed and soon to be handed to McGill administration the day after…It was a done deal.
I’m still waiting to see the results; I'll keep you posted.
Sprituality (written for McGill Daily)
So in sixth grade, I was confirmed in the Catholic church. You have to understand that Confirmation is not just the beginning of new, adult religious life in the Church, but also the time when your parents can NO longer force you get out of bed for Mass.
I was free. I could finally stop forcing myself to sleep in past 9 to go to Mass (which in retrospect didn’t really matter because there were others at 10, 11, and 5… obviously I wasn’t winning this battle).
Then, of course, my mom presented me with an ultimatum, as I was obviously not going to be falling through the spiritual woodwork…
Altar boy or youth group.
Phoebs (my mom) was not having any of this spiritual slacking and to her credit did give me a certain degree of freedom within the context of her somewhat imperious gesture to keep me going to church. That’s where it all started for me…
So what?
I can say that I’ve read the Bible, the Dhammapada, the Upanishads, Tao Te Ching…and although that doesn’t necessarily make me an expert in religious studies, especially when I was reading these holy books at 12 years old, I always found it fascinating the, not interchangeable, but shocking similarities in divine order across the board. This is by no means to suggest that every religion is exactly same but instead to say that I think we can learn a lot from ourselves by comparing and discussing what we believe with others.
We can learn a lot from what other people have to say, especially when we take a moment to listen with an open heart.
Here’s the thing, when asked now whether or not I believe in God, I always say that life is too short and too much of a miracle to not give way or not be ruled by some higher order…the people we meet, that natural beauty and the suffering we endure in this world all go hand in hand and must point to something more.
Believe; believe in something, and when you do, put it into action. If you don’t believe, take action, and from this you will find some deeper meaning. I find it incredibly shocking that small acts of kindness and generosity are thrown by the wayside in an effort to be bigger, better and more giving. This is not a criticism, but just to say that we forget sometimes to start small.
The little things always make the biggest difference. Smile.
It’s easy to get lost in dogma too; I was born and raised Catholic, believe me, I get it. I have at times been incredibly torn between my religious beliefs and personal convictions. I dissent at times, but also realize that dissenting does not mean giving up, rather, seeking more to truly understand. The more we learn, the less we realize we actually know. Delving deeper, old words, that some take as cliché, come to new life:
Fraternity. Peace. Compassion. Love.
That’s it, take it or leave it this is what life and God on whatever level you choose to conceive him, is all about.
Matt Arancio
U3 Urban Systems Geography, Italian and Economics
I was free. I could finally stop forcing myself to sleep in past 9 to go to Mass (which in retrospect didn’t really matter because there were others at 10, 11, and 5… obviously I wasn’t winning this battle).
Then, of course, my mom presented me with an ultimatum, as I was obviously not going to be falling through the spiritual woodwork…
Altar boy or youth group.
Phoebs (my mom) was not having any of this spiritual slacking and to her credit did give me a certain degree of freedom within the context of her somewhat imperious gesture to keep me going to church. That’s where it all started for me…
So what?
I can say that I’ve read the Bible, the Dhammapada, the Upanishads, Tao Te Ching…and although that doesn’t necessarily make me an expert in religious studies, especially when I was reading these holy books at 12 years old, I always found it fascinating the, not interchangeable, but shocking similarities in divine order across the board. This is by no means to suggest that every religion is exactly same but instead to say that I think we can learn a lot from ourselves by comparing and discussing what we believe with others.
We can learn a lot from what other people have to say, especially when we take a moment to listen with an open heart.
Here’s the thing, when asked now whether or not I believe in God, I always say that life is too short and too much of a miracle to not give way or not be ruled by some higher order…the people we meet, that natural beauty and the suffering we endure in this world all go hand in hand and must point to something more.
Believe; believe in something, and when you do, put it into action. If you don’t believe, take action, and from this you will find some deeper meaning. I find it incredibly shocking that small acts of kindness and generosity are thrown by the wayside in an effort to be bigger, better and more giving. This is not a criticism, but just to say that we forget sometimes to start small.
The little things always make the biggest difference. Smile.
It’s easy to get lost in dogma too; I was born and raised Catholic, believe me, I get it. I have at times been incredibly torn between my religious beliefs and personal convictions. I dissent at times, but also realize that dissenting does not mean giving up, rather, seeking more to truly understand. The more we learn, the less we realize we actually know. Delving deeper, old words, that some take as cliché, come to new life:
Fraternity. Peace. Compassion. Love.
That’s it, take it or leave it this is what life and God on whatever level you choose to conceive him, is all about.
Matt Arancio
U3 Urban Systems Geography, Italian and Economics
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