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It's the beginning of my senior year at college. Orientation week has began. It's an ample time for the saying "college is the best four years of your life" to gain meaning. And I'm... ...on a 4-hour bus trip, heading to Washington D.C., to film a soccer game I couldn't care less about. I was the videographer of our men's soccer team, who had not had a winning season in 3+ years. Fun. The bus lands at the hotel, the team and I throw our things in our rooms, hop back on, and head to dinner. I haven't spoken a single word to any of these guys at this point, as we make our way up to a reserved dining room, and everyone takes their seats. As musical chairs die down, I realize I'm (unfortunately) eating with the coaches. After meagerly picking at my food, I eventually look up at the rest of the table, and to my greatest fear, lock eyes with the head coach. F*ck. I'm going to have to talk now. So I just start rambling. Game of Thrones (before it sucked). Where everyone was from. How long they'd coached soccer. Turns out, they weren't so bad. And they learned the same about me. But while that was nice, I had my eyes on something else. As a native New Jerseyan who rarely traveled, I longed for adventure. So, at roughly 9:00 P.M., I decided I wasn't going to abide by the team curfew. I snuck out of the hotel, bought a bottle of wine and a Big Gulp cup from the local 7-Eleven, and set off on my journey to The Mall. A short metro ride later, I was in downtown D.C. With no compass or real direction, I set off for the first thing that caught my eye--the Monument. The thing about D.C. is that it's a massively spread out city. It makes it hard to get around in by foot. But, as a poor college kid, that wasn't going to stop me. I approached the monument, gazing up at its glowing reflection, towering into a cloudy night sky to the point where I couldn't make out the top. I took a few photos, a slurp of my "Big Gulp", and continued on. Not far from that, the WW2 Memorial sat. I knew I didn't really have all night--I'd have to work in the morning--but I wanted that dose of spiritual warmth that travel brings us. So I wandered over. There's a fountain in the middle that makes the tranquility of the place feel so moving, and as a Jew, WW2 means a little more to me. I walked along the totems, each representing the state that the brave men who fought originated from. The buzz still wasn't there yet. Luckily, in sight was the Lincoln Memorial. My feet were aching. I was approaching the most steps I'd ever walked in a day. And it was 12:00. So, of course, I said f*ck it. The cool thing about the Lincoln Memorial is just how many things there are to look at. It's a beautifully designed building, with his four score speech on one of the inside walls, pillars similar to ones you'd find at the Pantheon guarding the entrance. And, Old Abe, of course. I took a seat on the steps, finishing off my "Big Gulp", feeling the warmth that I had longed to feel for longer than just the day, week, or year I was in. After a few moments, I picked myself up, wandering roughly an hour plus back to the metro, shuttling me out of the Mecca, and back to the hotel, where I passed out soon after, ending my sabbatical. The next morning, we defeated American 4-1, and soon after, we made our way home. I lied earlier--some of the warmth was from that wine I was slurping--but as I sat on the steps of that iconic figure, in his iconic temple, in the capital of the country I'd lived in all my life, I realized that it wasn't me who should be jealous of the sloppy house parties. Because I'd remember this moment for the rest of my life.