Part personal musings, part photo gallery, and part travel guide, Nerding Abroad is a community for professionals, students, interns, wanderlusts, book lovers, curious wanderers, introverts, global health workers, political science junkies, history addicts, and all those who recognize that the world is infinitely large and wonderful.



When I was eight

two boys walked into their high school and killed twelve students one teacher and themselves

injured twenty-four

destroyed childhoods around the country.

Columbine became a whispered curse, trench coats a warning, we projected our fears of an unsafe world onto a small town in Colorado

memorialized it

kept a watchful eye on video game ratings

and assumed that was tragic,

but aberrant.


When I was fifteen

a man parked his pickup at an Amish schoolhouse and killed five little girls

injured three little girls

killed himself.

I had no way to comprehend this and buried it in my mind and eventually they tore down that schoolhouse and I sifted the memory away like rubble.


When I was sixteen

and starting to think about college a boy who had once thought about college like me came to campus killed thirty-two people

injured twenty-one people

killed himself.

Tech was a six hour drive away but my high school alternated between lock-down and high-alert for the next two weeks, every day a new rumor that this would be the day for a copy-cat shooting.

We were teenagers so we pretended not to notice but in sex ed one day someone dropped a textbook

a hard thick useless textbook

 and we instinctively cowered to our desktops

 and covered our heads to ward off inevitable bullets.

Our teacher yelled at us to focus on the outdated documentary he was showing us, about how not to get AIDS,

because AIDS was scary and we should be worried about it.

 The following week someone vandalized the music hall and slashed the school bus tires and the air in the dingy florescent halls felt angry.  My peers now noted mass homicide alongside in-state tuition and air-conditioned dorms on their college pro and con lists.


(While writing this poem I double-checked my facts, made sure I had my dates correct, I am a student by nature. Turns out there were a dozen-odd mass shootings in my lifetime that I don’t even remember, probably because if you’re black or brown or poor or trans or we’ve stolen your land we care just a bit less about your death

and since I’m white and middle-class I have the luxury of ignoring much of that.)


When I was twenty-one

a man my age killed his mother

drove to an elementary school

 killed twenty babies

killed six adults

killed himself.

I was working part-time as a teacher and we started practicing active shooter drills at staff meetings. We learned the most perverse rules of hide-and-seek,

how to keep fifteen scared five-year-olds quiet, how many second-graders plus a teacher could fit in the first floor bathroom, how to shut and lock the classroom door immediately if an alarm were raised

even if a child were left outside that door

even if they knocked

 and cried

and screamed

at that door

to be let in

even if they were shot

outside that door

because after all we teachers now had to become dispensers of life as well as knowledge,

weighing the worth of a classroom full of hushed hiding children against that of one child with poor timing

and after all the knocking could just be a ruse.

Our weary-eyed boss begged us to follow these rules because there is no perfect way to protect your children while also protecting the people who would die to protect your children and so we all nodded at each other in agreement, silently understanding that in actuality none of us could do this thing we were being asked to do and still live with ourselves afterwards.


That same year twelve people were killed at a movie premiere

And I spent the day phone in hand

Accounting for family and friends

Counting and recounting fingers and toes

Over and over

Adding up my loved ones against seventy injured.


When I was twenty-three

a man drove around campus killed six people

injured fourteen people

killed himself

because women wouldn’t go out with him and I had known that being a woman made me more vulnerable in this world but I now also learned I could become a victim of men I didn’t date as well as men I did date and I could just be a silly girl

but that seems like a no-win situation.


I graduated college but the threat seemed to follow.

When I was twenty-four

 a man much older than me killed two patients

killed one police officer

injured nine people

in a clinic waiting room

turned that waiting room into a warning,

a warzone,

a morgue.

Later that year

 a man younger than me walked into a church and easy as the Lord’s Prayer killed nine people he hated simply for the sake of hating.

 I was working overseas at the time and my British supervisor asked me why us Americans couldn’t seem to stop killing each other and I didn’t have a good answer so I asked him to review my latest report instead.

And when I was twenty-five

a man killed forty-nine people

injured fifty-three people

People who were just dancing just enjoying life and now a night out is never just a night out and between schools, universities, shopping malls, movie theatres, doctor’s offices, Army bases, Navy Yards, churches, and clubs I’m running out of places I’m allowed to go


Add concerts to that list because

when I was twenty-six

a man in a window killed fifty-eight people

injured five hundred forty six people

killed himself and much like the shooting in that little Amish schoolhouse I again couldn’t comprehend it and my mind shut down,


except now I am an adult and then I was a child and now I am supposed to be able to do something.


This isn’t the only death I’ve known.

When I was ten

two towers in New York crumbled and my grandfather slipped away and a boy in my class died in a car crash and  since then I’ve lost friends and family yearly and I thought I knew death but I never thought it would come to me.

Now I know nothing about death except that it lives everywhere.

I know that the chances may be one in a thousand and there are thousands of schools and hundreds of days that go by with no violence or threat

but I’m twenty-six and I could fill a yearbook with faces

with victims of shootings

with tragedies tangentially related

six degrees or so away and

last week

seventeen students were killed at a Florida high school.

I can handle my memories. I can’t handle the reality of

another generation of scared students in school

like I once was

feeling grateful and feeling guilty that my life has not killed me.

Beautiful Bern

Beautiful Bern

Exploring Seneca Quarry

Exploring Seneca Quarry