Mitchell Scholar Blogs

The role of a Director on a film set is more than just dictating the feel and look of the shots. It’s also about bringing the team together, making everyone believe in the common idea, connecting with the characters in your film and developing life long impacts on everyone involved.

With documentary filmmaking your story also follows a similar journey as in cinema – the heroes journey of triumph, defeat and overcoming obstacles, only in documentaries there is little you can predict in advance. Sure, you can create a script and force your narration in the direction you want, but for me, the beauty of documentaries is the unpredictability of the plot, of uncovering a puzzle piece to to an investigation, exposing the corrupt system with a smart question during an interview, and also giving a platform to speak for those who need it most.

Documentaries always leave you guessing where it will go next. That is why it is often hard for directors to determine the end point of the film – is there more to the story, is it a good enough ending, does it connect and intrigue the audience well enough?

My creative projects this year were filled with excitement and community around me. I got to be the director and cinematographer on all of my films and creative outings:

Inside Lisa’s projects

First ever project in Dublin – a profile story on my Master’s colleague from Nepal, Aashish. We were tasked to tell stories of each other – assigned randomly on the first week, we spend the whole semester understanding each other’s life stories and deciding how to portrait it in a film. I wanted to show Aashish as a musician, photographer and just a man in love, with his heart divided between two countries.

“Inside the Artist’s studios in Dublin,” a sneak peak into artists lives behind closed doors. I followed 15 artists from 10 different studios in Dublin to share their stories through film and video:

To watch the first short film:

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DKPq_xno8Ct/?igsh=Zjlrd3U1dXYxMDd1: Lights, Camera, Action!

Street photography inspired by Philip-Lorca diCorcia street photography. Capturing Dublin streets with a Speedflash 430ex 3-rt and CanonR6 Mark2:

Behind the scenes- my favorite spot right next to the camera!

For my photography class I had to take photographs that represent main principles of photography (rule of thirds, lights and shadows etc) Mine turned out into postcards from Ireland series. My 10hour hike and a small Kodak camera with a theme for the day- imagine you only have 20 shots to take, what moment would you consider worth photographing?

How our final Documentary projects are going for my Masters in Documentary Practice:

Behind the Scenes of our practice drone shots for our upcoming documentary “The Cost of Asylum”

To watch the BTS video and more, check out my instagram:

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DJ7Q8EnI6mt/?igsh=MXg3YmJlanZnZjRpaw==: Lights, Camera, Action!

I got to photograph and film a promo for a gallery opening in Dublin city center – Graphics Studio Gallery:

Check out how the video turned out:

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DJmEIbdOIwJ/?igsh=MWU3aHZsdnhtMmd5ZA==: Lights, Camera, Action!

A trip to Galway and stunning Ireland:

My love is food and film, I have been cooking so much recently and it brings me true joy when I get to host people for dinners:

What can I say? Ireland is my third home now, after Moscow, Russia and Norman, Oklahoma. I am forever grateful for Trina Vargo and the Mitchell Scholarship for giving me the opportunity to live in this gorgeous country and become the filmmaker that I am today.

Please come to our Documentary Screening in Dublin in July and watch out for our films at IFI!

And finally, I want to share a documentary that was made about me by my course’s colleague, Claudia that did a profile piece on me:

Re-reading my prior blog posts in preparation for this one, one key detail stuck out to me: they’ve almost all, in some way or another, been focused on this idea of endings. The irony would be of course that this, the final blog post, would be the one to sum up my time in Ireland and give some sweeping declaration of who I was, who I am now, and who I will continue to be – but, if I’m being entirely honest, they’re all sort of done that. I’ve been told by numerous professors over the years that I have a bit of a habit of being… overly verbose, shall we say. So I’ve decided instead of making this a final, concluding blog post with all of the gravitas such a work collects to make this my “casual” one – basically what the others ostensibly should have looked like. Nothing like a little subversion to close out the year. Step away ye seeking profundity and a nicely wrapped ribbon, as all you shall find in the ensuing paragraphs are a list of some of my favorite moments through the year.

The time Isabella and I said we would take a 10-minute break from the reading room and ended up talking on the steps for well over three hours as we watched the sun set over the Campanile. Made us both feel like we were back in college for the first time in years.

The fact that I cooked one (1) meal in our small but well-loved shared kitchen over the course of an entire year and the one time I did everyone was so nice about it. How I have survived 28 years with truly no cooking ability continues to marvel and amaze. I loved our Sunday night dinners though, even if I didn’t do a good job contributing to them. Long live Club Clinic.

When Owen and I did like 4 loops of Trinity while I was fully in my pajamas, and he asked me to go outside to get food with him and I just looked at my sweatpants and said no. That and our exposure therapy to Dark Horse and Billy Eilish.

Anna and I buying Asahi that we never drank that proceeded to sit in the fridge for months/talking about YA novels for the better part of an hour and a half on the way to Belfast.

When Ciara and I wrote a full song called “Soup on my Jeans” instead of paying attention in advanced quantitative methods and then she tried rapping it at a club that weekend and everyone loved it. And then we got McDonalds at Grafton and watched a girl next to us fall asleep at her table.

When Emma, Lily, Hampton, Rachel and I had a sleepover in Rathfarnham and watched hotel for dogs even though no one actually wanted to. And then everyone else fell asleep but I stayed awake and finished it out of principle (2/5 stars).

When I practically bullied Isabel into becoming a doctor, but I only did it because of how much I love her and how amazing of a physician she’s going to be. That and reminiscing about our favorite place in the world – Bryn Mawr College.

St. Patty’s Day where I wore a neon green helmet out so that I wouldn’t accidentally get another concussion (it worked).

When Camilia and I went to the Book of Kells experience and both hated the beach ball globe they had installed with a fiery passion. Got a great sweater though.

The night we went out for dinner in Belfast with the entire group and all got deeply, deeply silly. Watch out for glass in your food, kids. Also music concert in Vienna, which was deeply moving.

Pub quiz at McSorley’s every Thursday. We even came in 5^th once!

I have a tremendous number of other memories I could include but if I did so this list would genuinely become endless. And, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t have a little refrain at the end where I tried to pontificate on some piece of greater self-understanding or insight. So, without further ado – I am both sad and ready for this year to be over. I am sad because I never expected to love the people I met in Ireland the way I did (and do), whether it was my course mates or my fellow Mitchells. You all have become integral and invaluable to me and the best way to show that is simply to state in plainly. But also ready because it’s time to become a doctor – yet, I do think that Ireland has prepared me well for this next step. Whether it was navigating the unknown, learning to trust others more, or simply learning when to breath and let go, I’m taking more away from this year than I even know how to express (well, succinctly at least). What a wild, whimsical, worrisome, wonderful year – I’m grateful for every second of it. May this sincerely not be the last blog post to grace the Mitchell WordPress site. See ya next time!

It’s hard to believe that an opportunity I once wished for so intensely, to the point that I attempted to manifest it through texts and writings on white boards, actually came to fruition in the fall of 2023, and has now come to a close just a week ago.

When I first learned about the Mitchell Scholarship during my final year of nursing school, it seemed too good to be true. A fully funded master’s degree was just the tip of the iceberg. Trinity College offered an Addiction Recovery program that was the only one of its kind in the world, and Ireland was preparing to open its first medically supervised injection facility (MSIF) just minutes from campus. I stopped looking for nursing jobs. The more I read about the Mitchell, especially through scholar bios and blog posts, the more I wanted it. 

When I received the call in November 2023 that I’d been selected, I cried. I called my closest friends and family and cried again, then went out to celebrate with my partner (I had spent the entire day holed up in my apartment, a bundle of nerves). And when I left Ireland at the end of May 2025, I cried once more, this time for everything I was leaving behind: the clients and friends I had grown close to, the routines I had come to love, and the experience of getting to know eleven brilliant students, each passionate about something incredibly unique. Lastly, I cried out of gratitude.

When I returned to Baltimore, I noticed that my whiteboard still bore my 2023 to-do list: “finalize Mitchell recommenders,” “study current Irish news,” and, at the top, a phrase I’d written and stared at countless times: “the future I want is manifesting now.” It feels surreal to be on the other side of that dream.

Thank you Trinity College and Merchants Quay Ireland for the invaluable learning opportunities, and the Mitchell Scholars for your kindness and friendship. And of course, thank you Trina Vargo, for creating and granting me this special opportunity.

As a child, I always loved the book Goodnight Moon. The simple illustrations, the rabbit protagonist, and the thoughtful ritual of saying goodnight to everything, from “goodnight mouse” to “goodnight air,” and even “goodnight nobody,” making the ordinary feel sacred. My twin sister, Christina, once told me that when she leaves a place, she doesn’t say “goodbye,” she says “goodnight,” naming each thing as she goes. I’ve started doing the same.

Unlike “goodbye,” goodnight doesn’t feel final. In Goodnight Moon, we trust that everything will still be there the next day. Goodbye holds more uncertainty. Having departed Ireland a week ago, I wanted to bid farewell to all the people and things that played a role in my life there, and whom I hope, with certainty, to see again. 

Goodnight view from my Trinity dorm room 

Goodnight Howth cliff walk flowers in bloom 

Goodnight swans and St. Stephen’s Green 

Goodnight cows, sheep, and everything in-between 

Goodnight friends who traveled from far away

Goodnight Dublin, Wicklow, Limerick, and Galway

Goodnight orange, red, green and blue

Goodnight dream come true

On Sunday, May 25th, 2025, I said goodbye to my fellow Mitchell Scholars in Galway.

Tearful hugs were exchanged, and I reluctantly boarded the train back to Dublin.

That’s it. That’s my blog post. The End.

kidding!

Now for the epilogue…

Three days after returning from Galway (May 28th), I went backpacking in the Wicklow Mountains with my family: thirty-five miles in three days, starting at Marlay Park in South Dublin, and ending at the ancient monastic settlement in Glendalough.

It was a bittersweet journey- and while I relished this brief moment with those most dear to me (my mother and brother), I was acutely aware of the absence of another group of loved ones- eleven of them, to be exact.

Trudging through the windy moors gave me plenty of time to think.

It’s not like I was in the habit of talking to all of the Mitchell Scholars all of the time- but even in words unspoken, and texts un-sent, I could feel a new (preventative) sense of distance. Most folks had returned to the States, but I’d be here all summer. Time-zone differences make conversations difficult to sustain, and smiles difficult to picture. The Atlantic Ocean suddenly felt like a morass of molasses. “An ugly transmutation”, I thought- some perverse reminiscence of Christ’s first miracle.

^Was that over-the-top? I’ve been getting more adventurous with my prose. I’m probably reading too much Joyce. Anyway…

On the second day of our hike in the Wicklow Mountains, we summited Djouce– a 725 meter peak notable for its views of the greater Dublin area. Irish mountains have a curious combination of qualities- they are mostly bare and devoid of trees, so it’s easy to catch a good view. However, they are also quite short: so when you’re standing at the top of an Irish mountain, you aren’t all that far from the things you’re looking at. When I stand atop Pikes Peak in Colorado (14,107 ft, 4,300m, and ultra-prominent), I can see much further than I can from the summit of little Djouce. But on Pikes Peak, I am so far up that many details of the Rocky Mountain wilds below are indiscernible. A far view isn’t necessarily a good view. The Wicklow Mountains, being both barren and diminutive, make for great views. On a clear day on Djouce, you can see as far east as Wales, and as far south as Wexford. But nearer at hand, you can also see Dublin and all its suburbs in keen detail. Wales, and individual sheep in someone’s backyard, all in one view. It almost feels like dream logic, like reading an I Spy book.

Sitting on top of Djouce, my back against a stone slab, staring out over the coast, I saw something I recognized- an almost-imperceptibly-small white rectangle, nestled in a peninsula jutting into the sea near Bray. Humor me to backtrack in time, and I’ll explain…

Sept. 2024

The white building in this photo is the Sorrento Terrace, a row of townhouses famed for their picturesque situation on the coast near Dalkey Island. The photo above shows a view of Sorrento Terrace from Killiney Hill, a park overlooking the coast between Dun Laoghaire and Bray.

Designed by the 29th Provost of Trinity College, Richard MacDonnell, and built in the 1840s¹, the Sorrento Terrace has since become an iconic subject for local photographers and landscape painters. This fame has bestowed upon these townhouses a mythic status that has made them Ireland’s most expensive properties- dubbed “Millionaire Row” by locals². It is also one of my favorite views in Ireland. I took the picture above during our first Mitchell gathering of the year in Dublin.

Now fast forward eight months, to a footpath on the Wicklow Way….

June 2025

Do you see it?

That white speck in the distance is Sorrento Terrace- this time, in a photo I took last week in the slopes of Djouce.

Sitting on the side of that mountain, looking down at the Sorrento Terrace from a new point of view, I had an “a-ha” moment. My perspective and disposition suddenly shifted.

I recalled the word “epiphany”, brought into popular vernacular by James Joyce in his Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man³ ca. 1916. In this book, Joyce introduces his definition of epiphany as “a sudden spiritual manifestation” induced by a “triviality”- a moment of revelation where the “spiritual eye” of the beholder comes into focus with an object, and in that moment, the object’s “whatness”, its “radiance”- in the original Greek, its “epiphania“- is revealed.⁴

This moment on the mountainside was my epiphany. Staring down at the Sorrento Terrace, I saw the “whatness” of my extraordinary year laid out before me. Isolation, regret, and impatience were replaced with wonder and gratitude. Scanning left across the horizon, I could see every landmark of my life in Dublin in one view:

Dun Laoghaire, where I’d swam at Forty Foot,

Blackrock, where I’d studied with Chloe on rainy days in cafes by the sea,

Howth, where I’d sat on the docks with Isabel and watched the seals beg politely for food,

The Poolbeg Chimneys, a perpetual waypoint in the landscape of my daydreams, as I stared out the window towards the docks during mind-numbing Psychoacoustics lectures,

And beyond the chimneys- the glittering lights of Dublin. Contained within the filaments of the bulbs of the millions of lights in that city are far too many memories to recount. I won’t bore you with the details.

I saw all of these things and more: the sum of a year of life, in landmarks.

arranged for the first time together

all within my field of view

like miniatures

inside of a snow globe.

I pick it up and shake it. When the snow settles, I’ll be gone.

Appendix: Photos from the Wicklow Way

[35mm, color, Kodak UltraMax 400, Canon AE-1, shite photographer (me)]

The End.

I’ll be in Dublin until August 31st, enjoying my epilogue and working on my thesis- adapting the Epiphanies of James Joyce into song and interactive animation. If you’d like to connect and hear more about my work (or just grab a coffee), feel free to reach out:

owenemerson4@gmail.com

(083)-166-9456

Owen

1. Richard MacDonnell (scholar) – Wikipedia (no date). Available at: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_MacDonnell_(scholar) (Accessed: 7 June 2025).
   ↩︎
2. Quinlan, R. (no date) Landmark Dalkey home sold for €10.65m in off-market deal, The Irish Times. Available at: https://www.irishtimes.com/life-and-style/homes-and-property/landmark-dalkey-home-sold-for-10-65m-in-off-market-deal-1.4655810 (Accessed: 7 June 2025).
   
   ↩︎
3. This is an oversimplification. Joyce’s notion of Epiphany is actually propounded in his work Stephen Hero, an unpublished variation of “Portrait of the Artist” written several years earlier. ↩︎
4. Joyce, J. (1944) Stephen hero : a part of the first draft of A portrait of the artist as a young man /. New Directions,.
   MacDuff, S., McFadzean, A. and Beja, M. (eds) (2024) Collected Epiphanies of James Joyce: A Critical Edition. University Press of Florida. Available at: https://doi.org/10.5744/9780813070674.
   
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In a few short weeks, many of my fellow Mitchells will return home to the US to continue on their incredible paths, and I’ll be staying here. While I’m so excited to begin my next chapter in Belfast, this last year will always hold a special place in my heart. The beginning! As I reflect on the last few weeks, so many of my favorite memories were spent with Trina and my Mitchell cohort, so this blog is an ode to them.

Early May, a few of us went to a the monastery at Glenstal Abbey for a day trip. Three monks took on three separate tours, highlighting their favorite places on the grounds. My favorite tour was the first one, with Brother Antony, who led us through the forest and told us beautiful stories about the trees. He explained that when early Christian missionaries landed on Irish shores to teach the word of Jesus Christ, the Irish replied, “Sure, Christ, we know him well. Is he not the singing of the birds? Or the swaying of the trees?”

As we walked through the woods he told sort of parabilic stories about the trees, focusing on their natural processes – how they grow, how they communicate – and the rest of us kinda just listened and looked at each other, not having anything to possibly follow up with.

Later, we all gathered for tea and Owen and I played songs on their guitars. It was a really intimate and peaceful day – beyond I think what any of us were expecting.

Back in Dublin, Lisa and I hung out for hours waiting for my bus to arrive. After two skipped buses and a sprint down N Wall Quay, we ended up with a funny story and plans to make a short film together.

Two short weeks later, we all met up in Galway for our end of the year trip. Despite the (mostly) terrible weather, we had a really nice time traveling around, eating, drinking at pubs, and signing Trina’s thank you card. We met up with Mitchell alum Ali Watkins, a reminder of our tight-knit Mitchell fam, and took time to sign photographs for each other.

The Mitchell Scholarship has been a deeply unique experience – for so many reasons! But one of the reasons that I think the Mitchell is so unique is because of the bonds that form within each cohort and the alumni network at large. I hope we’re not the last Mitchell class, but if we are, I feel so lucky to be apart of it and excited to stay involved for years to come.

With my final blog as a Mitchell scholar, I struggled to come up with a witty story that perfectly encapsulated all the experiences I’ve had and the people I’ve met. If you prefer, you can stop reading now and imagine that I have done so. For those of you with poor imaginations, I’ll continue my rambling.

It feels like I just moved into my apartment, yet, as I look around, it’s clear to me that the life that has piled up around me doesn’t fit in the two suitcases I brought with me. The 10 months I’ve spent here have gone by so quickly, yet they feel so full. I’ll stay in Ireland for another two months to finish my thesis, but even now I can’t help but shake the looming notion that the end is near! As I’ve begun the purge of my belongings, I’ve had the opportunity to ponder the idea of what we take with us when we move from place to place.

When we uproot our lives, what do we choose to take with us, and what do we leave behind? Or, perhaps more concerningly, what can’t we take with us? Not only have I gained belongings, but I’ve also gained Irish friends, favorite memories, and an appreciation of the culture (I’ll have to savor the Beamish while I can still get it). My Irish friends will stay in Ireland, working at their jobs, making their families, and living their lives—I will once again move to a place I’ve never been, and once again start the process of creating a life for myself.

Souvenirs are great, but there is a limit to what I can carry with me. Over a lifetime, objects accumulate and there is a limit to the burden you can carry. Pictures are easy, but they too can be cumbersome in their own way—they eventually become mountains of data that are increasingly difficult to summit. Livingroom throw pillows might tell you that memories are all that matter, but, admittedly, all but the strongest memories eventually fade, and the best stories eventually start to feel like only stories after so many retellings.

Our relationships with the people we meet are especially tricky. It is all too easy to lose touch, or, if people change, relationships may not serve you anymore. Still, if relationships persist, if people put in the work, they can be maintained, but they too are not immune to the growth and change inherent to life. These relationships are therefore lost in a way, the relationships we once had become a memory, although they are hopefully replaced by the form your new relationship takes.

I think that the only things we carry with us forever, are the things that cause us to change as people. The people we meet and the places we live not only can affect us but almost inevitably affect us. The world around us finds ways to seep through the cracks in our armor no matter how tightly we attempt to insulate ourselves. If we let it, the places we live and the people we surround ourselves with can fully colonize us.

I don’t think I ever really appreciated the profound way in which growing up in the Midwest affected who I am. It is difficult to appreciate when it is all that you have ever known, but growing up in that kind of environment radically shapes how you view the world. Now, I loved growing up in Nebraska, but I can’t deny that a way in which my life there affected me was a sense of isolation by distance. I don’t mean that I grew up on a farm with my nearest neighbor 10 miles down the road, I’m sure people live like that, but I didn’t. I mean a sense of isolation by distance from the rest of the world. If you were driving west from the city where I grew up, it would take you longer to find a city of over 100,000 people than it would for you to drive the entire length of Ireland. More, oceans and mountains seem like lifetimes away, and yet are so commonplace as to be mundane for huge swaths of the population. I can’t help but feel awestruck any time I see a mountain peak touching the clouds or the endless horizon of the sea. No matter how many times I see oceans, mountains, or big cities, this feeling never fades.

The parts of Ireland that will stay with me long after I leave are the parts that invaded me and left me altered as a result. Ireland will stay with me in little mannerisms, and bits of lingo I’ve subconsciously adopted. The way I view the world as a result of having been here has changed irrevocably, the interactions I have with nature and the people around me have changed in numerous ways, some subtle, some less subtle. Even the way I view myself, and what I see myself as being capable of, has changed over my time here in Ireland. Most profoundly, for the first time in my life, I feel connected to the larger world rather than isolated from it. Even if I leave and never return—which would be an outstanding tragedy—the imprint that Ireland has left on me will never fade.

Now, as I prepare once again to move into uncharted territories, I’ll be armed with the same two suitcases (and maybe I’ll ship a box, who knows), but it’ll be a different person carrying them.

It’s hard to believe the Mitchell year is at an end. Since arriving here in September, I’ve come to know a new city and culture intimately, learned from scholars I otherwise might never have had a chance to meet, visited parts of Ireland and the rest of Europe I’ve long wanted to see, and, above all, made some sure-to-be-lifelong friends. As seems to be something of a tradition for the final blog, then, I figured that, rather than focus on some narrow aspect of my experience, I would share a memory or two from each month along the way.

September

October

November

December

January

February

March

April

May

It’s with a heavy heart that I sign off for now! I’m so incredibly grateful for this opportunity.

For much of my time in college and high school, life unfolded as a series of rungs to climb. In high school, there were AP tests and college admissions essays to complete; at university, there were prestigious internships to recruit for, clubs to lead, and jobs applications to fill out. Like many of my peers, I derived validation from the success I accumulated and found meaning from the ways in which I crammed my time with productive activities.

But during the last few months of the spring semester of my Mitchell year, I found myself in a surprising position. For the first time in a while, I didn’t have something in the immediate future to prepare for, since I had already received a job offer for the fall. As my classes wound down and I completed my final assignments, I also found myself gifted with an unusual amount of leisure time. In that limbo period between finishing up my time in Ireland and returning to the U.S., it felt, for a brief moment, like there were no more rungs to climb.

This situation was both uncomfortable and refreshing — uncomfortable because I am so accustomed to being constantly busy with tasks, and refreshing because I realized how much I needed time and space without the pressure to achieve or perform.

It’s not that ambition or achievement are harmful. I’m grateful for my ability to work hard and to accomplish my goals, and yet I also have seen in myself a tendency to pursue accomplishments at the expense of other, important values, like family, faith, community and service.

My final few months in Ireland have allowed me to simply be, apart from striving and accomplishing. This meant ample time to reflect on who I am, who I want to become, and what true success means to me. It also meant walking along the path behind my apartment that snakes along the Shannon river, admiring a sunset on an unusually clear evening, or making pesto pizza with my roommate. It meant going on a pub crawl in the town of Dingle with a fellow hostel guest I had just met, wandering the streets of Copenhagen with two other Mitchells, or clambering up Diamond Hill in Connemara with my brother and seeing the windswept plains stretch out before us, and the towns like small black blotches, and beyond them, the sea.

These moments have reminded me of a lesson I keep relearning: that meaning isn’t just found in the academic or professional success we earn, but also — even more so — in our everyday encounters with beauty, in laughter and friendship and giving of ourselves, and in the ways in which we show love and attention to the people placed in our lives.

I am keenly aware of just how privileged I am to have had this unstructured time, without the financial pressure of needing to pay for my housing or work for a living — abundant time to simply greet the world with wonder without needing to extract something from it. Such an experience is a gift — but also a responsibility. As I leave Ireland, I am still ambitious about what I want to accomplish and the impact I want to make, but spending this extended time without the pressure to succeed in a professional context has given me a renewed clarity about what is most important to me.

At the end of the day, I most want to succeed not by being on the front page of The Wall Street Journal, or winning a Pulitzer (though such things would be thrilling!), but by living every day with honesty and integrity; caring deeply for my family, friends and other loved ones; and orienting my life so that I uplift those who are voiceless and powerless around the world. I realize now, more than ever, that scaling the ladder still matters — but only to the extent that my own climb enables others to reach new heights.

For my last blog, I want to write about the end-of-year gathering of Mitchells in Galway. I especially want to focus on the last day of the trip when Anna and I ran a 10km race as part of the Lough Cutra Castle Race Series. The weekend from start to finish was amazing, and I rode back on the bus to Belfast overwhelmed with joy and gratitude.

Deireadh seachtaine álainn (A beautiful weekend)

First, let’s recap the end-of-year gathering in Galway. The weekend was full of tasty meals, great conversation, and space for reflection on the year. The highlight for me was our visit to the Cliffs of Moher. Along the way, we stopped for lunch in Doolin, and in the brief interval before hopping back on the bus, we walked into a nearby used bookstore. It had such a phenomenal selection of works of Irish history, literature, and poetry. I bought a few books written by Irish rebels inside prison that I intend to use in my dissertation comparatively analyzing the American Prison Movement and Irish Republican Prison Struggles between 1968 and 1983. We arrived at the Cliffs right before a wave of fog moved in to cover the view. We were able to get some nice photos before the view was obstructed and then spent the rest of the time checking out the museum and walking around the grounds.

Ta an rás… i nGort? (The race is… in Gort?)

At the Mitchell trip to Belfast in February, Anna and I discussed the idea of signing up for long-distance races in Ireland in the spring as the weather improved. A few weeks later, we planned out some possible races. We knew we would be in Galway for the Mitchell gathering at the end of May, so we identified a 10km race in County Galway – the Lough Cutra Castle Race. Perfect, we said at the time. Anna and I could complete the race at the end of the Galway trip before heading back to Dublin and Belfast, respectively. Fast forward to the Galway trip, and we realized that the race location near Gort on the grounds of Lough Cutra Castle was on the outskirts of County Galway near County Clare – some 50km outside of Galway city.

So, come race day, we set out to take the bus from Galway at 9:00am to arrive in Gort by 9:45am. We figured we would be able to call a taxi to take us the remaining 7-8km to Lough Cutra Castle before the race start at 11:00am…. Oh, were we wrong! We arrived in Gort (a village of about 3,000 people), and there were no taxis available. We asked the garda who was directing traffic through the town how we could get to the race start, and he said we would certainly not be able to get a taxi to go up to the castle even if we found one. He offered to try and ask someone to give us a lift if he saw a familiar driver coming through the town. After about 45 minutes of waiting, he hadn’t found someone to give us a lift, and we started to give up hope of making the race in time. With only 30 minutes to go until race start, Anna and I began to walk towards the castle along the country roads, while we attempted to find someone who would drive us by hitchhiking. After a series of people ignored our hitchhike attempts, a car finally pulled over alongside the road.

The driver offered to take us the rest of the way. As we got into the car, we met his wife and young daughter who were also in the car with him. We thanked them profusely for offering to drive us. On the way, we learned that the couple had immigrated to Gort from Brazil over twenty years ago. Little did we know but Gort was considered Little Brazil in Ireland with over a third of town residents being Brazilian. As they dropped us at the carpark outside the race start, we thanked them again and hustled to the start area.

We had arrived to the race 15 minutes late, but the organizers were very accommodating and still let us run the course and had our finish times retroactively adjusted to account for our late start. The course was beautiful with great views of the castle grounds and lough. After finishing, Anna and I walked around the finisher village before asking for a lift back to Gort from some other runners. We then grabbed lunch at a restaurant in Sullivan’s Hotel in Gort before taking the bus back to Galway. We had a few hours to kill before the train back to Dublin, so we visited a café and bookstore and enjoyed the nice weather by walking around Galway.

It would not be fitting of the day we had if there wasn’t a final obstacle to getting home. As we boarded the 5:00pm train, we were told that two train cars (E and F) had been removed because of maintenance problems, so the seat in Car E that I had reserved no longer existed. For the first 30 minutes of the train ride, I hopped from seat to seat before finally settling in a seat next to Anna that was no longer reserved. We talked and recapped the day before soon arriving back in Dublin, where we parted and I headed toward the bus back to Belfast.

On the bus ride back, as the sun set over the Irish hills of County Down, I put on headphones and listened to the Fields of Athenry by the Dubliners. I thought about the kindness and generosity of the Brazilian couple who drove us from Gort to the race start, and I considered how their own immigrant experience and the support they must have received from others in acclimating to a new culture and environment in Ireland might have influenced their decision to help two stranded people along the country road in Gort. I felt especially grateful and inspired. Especially in a time of rising xenophobia and hostility towards immigrants in the Western world, I figured we could all learn a lesson from this couple.

There’s a saying in Irish: Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine. It roughly translates in English to: the people survive in each other’s shadows/shelter. In other words, we shield each other from the elements. I felt the meaning of this saying on the bus ride back to Belfast. Although I don’t remember their names, I remember their generosity. Go raibh míle maith agaibh, a chairde.

The other day, I plugged in my software-defined radio (a radio that uses software to process signals instead of physical circuits) and started scrolling through frequencies. After searching through a sea of static, I found Cork’s 96FM station, which showed up as a fluctuating peak, like a flickering flame, in my frequency spectrum display. I tuned in just as an Irish woman started delivering a bit of local news. It reminded me of how much has changed since I first arrived in Ireland.

Back in September, I remember listening to local amateur radio operators chatting amongst themselves over the repeater in Cork city (a station that receives weak amateur radio signals and retransmits them at a higher power so that they can cover greater distances). At the time, I had just arrived in Ireland and the Cork accents crackling through the speakers of my handheld radio were almost indecipherable to me. I was excited to be here, but I felt so disconnected from this place and its people. And nothing was going as expected.

In the months leading up to the start of my Mitchell year, I daydreamed constantly about what my life in Ireland would be like. I fantasized about surfing in frigid Irish waters under grey skies, joining a scuba diving club, playing Irish trad music in pubs on my viola, and maybe even connecting with a local amateur radio club.

Unfortunately, none of these dreams actually materialized. The surfing club was overcrowded and overbooked, and I quickly lost out on spots for surf trips. My snorkel has remained untouched in the back of my closet. And, although I did reach out to local radio clubs and take a visit to Carrigtwohill to check one club’s station, they were intensely focused on contesting and their membership consisted entirely of older Irish men. It was a far cry from the casual, student-run amateur radio club I had been a part of back in the States.

During college, I used to enjoy bringing equipment out to parks with my club members and calling CQ for hours. In amateur radio, when an operator transmits “CQ,” it’s an open invitation for any other station listening in on that frequency to respond and start a conversation. It’s like calling out, “Hello, is anyone out there?” Sometimes, I would have so many responses, all the voices would overlap and drown each other out. Other times, it felt more like screaming into an empty void. I’d also spend a lot of time just spinning the tuning dial back and forth, hoping to hear a voice within the noise.

My first few months abroad felt a bit like that—scanning endlessly through static, unsure of what I’d pick up, or if I’d find anything at all. Admittedly, I struggled to make Irish friends, join clubs, understand the local slang, and relate to my classmates.

Still, over the course of this year, I’ve tried to tune in as much as possible—to Irish culture and the world in general. While living and traveling through Europe, I’ve learned more about people, new cultures, and relationships than ever before. And I’m starting to pay attention to topics and entire fields of study (global politics, biology, history, etc.) that I’ve neglected or never properly been exposed to until now. Conversations with Mitchells, taxi drivers, and the researchers I’ve been working with at UCC/MaREI have reshaped the way I see the world.

Although I didn’t get to surf or dive, I also found adventure and joy in so many unexpected places. I assisted with shark surgeries aboard a boat in the Irish Sea. I hiked the Camino de Santiago and swam in the Arctic circle. I formed some incredible relationships and found opportunities to get involved in exciting marine research. I had music jam sessions with friends. I’ve also increased the number of stamps in my passport from 2 to 36!! The world feels smaller and less daunting now.

So, as I listened to the Cork 96FM radio station—no longer thrown off by the accent or the local slang—I was reminded of how wonderful it is to be living here, in this place that used to seem so foreign but now feels charming and familiar. Living in Ireland hasn’t just been a fun travel experience. It also helped me learn how to listen a little more closely—to people from different backgrounds and fields of study, to my surroundings, and to myself.

Now, as I prepare to start over again in an entirely new city for my PhD, I feel a buzz of anticipation. The dial is spinning again. I’m not sure exactly what I’ll land on, but I’m excited to tune in and find out.

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As a side note, my research project (an instrument that can measure and log the strength and direction of underwater magnetic fields generated by subsea power cables) is about to be deployed in Cork Harbor for the first time this week! I’m very excited 🙂

Something they do not tell you when you move abroad–although, you’d be smart to anticipate it–is that you might feel a little lonely. Far away from family and friends, living abroad requires you to build community anew, a daunting task.

As this year’s only Mitchell Scholar at University College Dublin, I lived south of the city center, away from the other scholars. My degree, an MSc in Digital Policy, was offered virtually and online, making it hard to meet people within my program. As a result, I spent many of my days and nights solo, occupying myself with work and FaceTime calls to friends and family back home.

Unsatisfied with my routine, I eventually began to venture into the city. Hoping to make new friends, I took classes in Pilates, dance, and guitar. I made weekly pilgrimages to new coffee shops for my usual, an iced americano. On occasion, I’d meet a kind stranger whose conversation would fuel me for the rest of the day. Once I met a mother whose daughter was working abroad in Korea–she made me miss my mom.

This process–of loneliness and discovery–was new to me. Before moving to Ireland, I lived at university, an environment where community is created for you and activities to occupy your time are abundant. But isolation pushed me to discover both myself and Dublin, teaching me to appreciate what was around me and to understand what truly makes me happy. I began to search for Dublin’s beauty in nooks and crannies across the city. I rediscovered my love of reading and spending time outdoors, with friends. In the absence of the love you are used to, you learn to see it everywhere, and value it more.

To commemorate my time there, I want to share some of my favorite bits of Dublin. I will deeply miss these places and hope to return one day.

1. Blackrock Market

On Saturdays (or really any day where the sun was out) you’d likely find me in Blackrock, a quaint seaside town south of Dublin’s city center. Next to the DART station, you can sit by the sea with a view of the Poolbeg Chimneys, Howth, and Dún Laoghaire, depending on which way you look. Below your feet, mossy stones covered in what look like mussel shells and sand dollars descend into the water. I would often come here to admire the coast’s beauty and enjoy the sound of lapping water. When the tide was low, people would walk along the sand, throwing frisbees for their dogs. If it was high, they might take a dip in the bay with their friends.

Walking back into the neighborhood, you could find Blackrock Market tucked past an alleyway on the main street. Here you can find any number of hand-made, knitted goods; vintage clothes; Korean foods; and essential oils. But my favorite shop was a small stand filled to the brim with antiques–books, records, knick knacks, and the like. There, I found a 1922 edition of a book called Ireland and the Making of Britain by Benedict Fitzpatrick. After buying it and a few other books for friends, the charming shop owner allowed me to select three bookmarks, each with a quote about books. My favorite:

“Books don’t require us to be conventionally good or typical. They can reflect the true oddity and wonder of being human. As with an ideal lover, their honest distinctiveness means we can be usefully weird around them.”

In other words, they make us feel seen. 

2. Herbert Park Farmer’s Market

After my Saturday ventures to Blackrock, I’d visit the Herbert Park farmer’s market on Sunday. Here, you could find fresh vegetables, pastries, a woman who was very enthusiastic about chai, and a number of ethnic food stands. I liked the kimchi I bought from a man who excitedly shared that he learned the method for making kimchi from his wife. If I was hungry, I’d order the chickpea dotted queen arepa from the Venezuelan food truck, no cheese. The Greek bakery had an amazing salted caramel brownie. It was a hodgepodge of people and things.

I loved Herbert Park because, even on days with horrible weather, it was always brimming with people. Couples and families–followed by a small, trotting dachshund or curious golden retriever–spent the morning slowly, enjoying a coffee and the lush park. You’d find people playing soccer (football, really) and a small children running around the park. This was one of my favorite spots to share with friends.

3. Hodges Figgis – 2nd Floor Biography and Memoir Section

After spending a lot of time alone–and way too much time on my phone–I decided to try to pass more time reading. Luckily, Dublin is home to a number of independent book stores whose selection seems never ending. One of my favorites is Hodges Figgis, Ireland’s oldest bookshop. Located right by the bus stop I’d take to visit my friends at Trinity College, I couldn’t help but pop in every once in a while.

My favorite section in Hodges Figgis quickly became the Biography and Memoir section in the back of the second floor, past the fiction books. Although I typically love a nonfiction book about technology and society, I have recently been reading about womanhood, relationships, and love. In this section I’ve found some of my favorite works by authors like Joan Didion, Annie Ernaux, and bell hooks. Just before it, I found Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar in the fiction section. Each book, carefully curated and placed, offers an opportunity to learn about another person’s experiences. I’ve found books to be a nice antidote to loneliness.

4. The Quays, Dublin

Although the first three places on this list I typically frequented alone, I must admit that some of my favorite memories were still made with friends and family. Whenever I had visitors from the US, I would take them to Temple Bar (pricey, but they’re tourists!), and we would go to Quays. Small enough to feel like a true Irish pub, this bar always had live music that even my grandmother enjoyed. This was one of the first pubs I ever went into with my family when I moved to Dublin, and also one of the last I visited when my grandmother came to Ireland on her first trip to Europe. It will be a place I go to any time I am back in the city

5. A couple of kitchens across the city

Although I spent significant time alone, there was still nothing I valued more than time with the new friends I made in the city. My favorite memories with the Mitchell scholars and other friends often involved cooking and breaking bread together at their apartments. I am grateful that the time I spent alone made me learn to appreciate my friends more deeply, and I will miss them greatly. I will always be thankful that I crossed paths with these brilliant, inspiring, and caring people who helped me traverse a challenging period in my life. Plus, we made yummy food–always a benefit : )

Bye, Dublin!