I’m the type of girl who has to go looking for trouble. It doesn’t find me, because I’m good at dodging it. I ask more questions than I answer. I love arguing, but hate strong opinion. I have a crazy side, but I won’t reveal it until I can trust you. In other words, I’m that quirky, slightly reserved, little goody two shoes, know-it-all brunette you secretly hate.

Rest assured, my understated snobbery didn’t come naturally. I’ve clocked two decades of trying to do nothing wrong. Until recently, I’ve had an unnecessary obsession with achievement. And don’t even get me started on moral conduct. Instead of sneaking out, getting drunk and raising hell during the prototypically rebellious teenage years, I tried to be perfect. To this day, I have never had a drink, never tried any sort of drug, never had promiscuous sex, never crowd surfed, never vandalized . for God’s sake, I’ve never even T.P.ed a house. Although I did coerce my little brother into stealing a roll of Bubble Tape when I was 8.

Anyway, this column was intended to convey experiences from abroad, not to stand as a public confessional. So let’s get down to business. My name is Sarah Hale. I am 20 years old. I will be studying in Heidelberg, Germany, during the fall 2007 semester, and I just had one of the most edifying weeks of my entire life in Tullamore, County Offaly, Ireland.

This year, the town of Tullamore-right in the middle of Ireland, halfway between Donegal and Cork-hosted the Fleadh Cheoil na hEireann, or Irish music world championships. I play and teach Irish music, so Tullamore was my first travel destination. But this year, I didn’t give a damn about the competition. This year, I just wanted to have fun. I wanted to meet people, play music and-fresh out of a three-and-a-half-year relationship-make out with a different Irish boy every night. Talk about foreign affairs.

So, with a group from St. Louis, I spent the first week of my sojourn in Skibbereen, nearly the southernmost town in Cork. There, I made friends and played music with Skibb’s youngsters. Objectives one and two: check.

But then, the third clause-for that, I would have to risk rejection and embarrassment in a way I hadn’t since before Facebook was invented. I would have to play the game. I would have to go looking for trouble.

I’d heard that confidence is key in snagging a snogging companion, so I spent a few days walking around town, practicing said confidence-lifting my ribcage, breathing in the chill, flinging flirtatious glances from my eyeballs like red-hot, skittering coals. And you know what? It was fun! I mean, I wasn’t robbing banks, selling guns, kicking babies or leading an insurrection, but it was a beginning.

Then, one Wednesday, a funny thing happened en route to a session. I was flirting with the idea of actually flirting, when the trouble I was searching for found me first. Out of nowhere, a plucky young fella’ carrying a fiddle rushed by, stopped, turned and asked, “Looking for some chunes?” I followed him-an insightful, over-confident, ginger-haired fiddler and voracious flirt from Donegal-into Loughrey’s Pub.

After a week of adventures in music and Tullamore’s side streets, I’d successfully rebelled, rebounded and learned more about people than in all of my earlier years combined.

A flaming phoenix adorns Tullamore’s crest. I’ll take that symbol to the bank and consider this the start of my life as an adult. Not because I met hundreds of charming people-and one particularly charming young punk-in the best place in the world, but because I’ve finally gotten over myself and started to make independent decisions. And from now on, I’ll have a healthy appreciation for a little bit of trouble.