During my junior summer in Gainesville, I started feeling a thirst for something other than college life.
It could have been the unforgiving landlocked climate, but as I hit the melting asphalt in August 2011 with all my belongings packed into my car, I knew I had to quench that thirst eventually.
The illogical but gorgeous postcard of a city that is Rio de Janeiro was my first calling.
I spent six months in Brazil’s samba and crime capital wearing several hats — including the traditional straw fedora I lost to the Atlantic Ocean among millions of other offerings to the sea gods to bring in the new year.
As a foreigner in this chaotic metropolis, I was fair game for any “malandragem,” loosely translated to “mischief.”
Really, this was what Rio embodied: a sense that being anything less than a rascal meant being a sitting duck for the other rogues out there.
When my grant from the federal university was “delayed” because of a two-month national strike, I started working as an English teacher at an engineering firm downtown.
I peddled my language skills, the only thing my 19-year-old self could truly offer in a free market.
I had to get by in a country I didn’t understand.
I was glad for the messiness of the “real world,” but even chaos has some order.
I remember walking into an abandoned factory in Northern Rio de Janeiro, where the “slum” community had created a semi-functional city within its dilapidated walls.
Sheets and tin panels divided space, and sharing a pot of rice and beans was their way of networking.
I left Rio and returned to Gainesville. Naturally, that summer, I headed south again: this time, to my hometown.
Miami echoed Rio in some ways — beautiful and terrifying.
I learned about the city by writing headlines and briefs about sunny Miami’s shadowy characters and darkest corners.
Miami bid me “a bientot” last August.
I knew I was stretching out my time away from school, but I decided to go to Paris to continue working in the journalism industry as an intern.
I worked in a corporate office in La Defense, a futuristic financial district of Paris.
My group of friends were from all corners of the globe, but we saw no cultural barriers as soon as we shared a cheap bottle of merlot and a baguette on a surprisingly cold night in August.
With some time back in the states now, I’ve started to try to put my experiences together like puzzle pieces I picked up along the way.
I’m unsure if they will even create a recognizable image in the end, but these memories, lessons and experiences I’ve collected outside of school have made me a better student.
I value what I’m learning here even more now and I’m happy to be back, if even for a short semester.
The wanderlust has been satiated — at least until the next adventure.
Bottom line: If you’re thinking about going hiking for a few months in the Appalachians, or working as an English teacher in South Korea, or just going back home to spend some time helping with the family business, don’t think it’s a setback — it might just take you to exactly where you want to be.
Daniela Guzman is a UF journalism senior. Her column runs on Mondays. A version of this column ran on page 6 on 10/1/2013 under the headline "Being abroad can open students’ eyes"
