Sunday, January 18, 2015


Thanks to Lena Dunham's recent collection of essays, Not That Kind of Girl, and my insistence on "letting my body do its thing," I am awake at 5:28 in the morning. I'm not sure why it's called "jet lag." Jet jumps, or jet whenever-the-hell-my-body-feels-like-sleeping are more accurate terms. I'm not bothered--I feel wide awake and am enjoying the extra time I get to read and listen to Walk The Moon's Talking Is Hard album. (SPOTIFY IS AMAZING!) I'm sure I'll feel differently in a few hours.

I just wanted to touch base. Basically, I've decided to be better. To try harder. To say, "Yes, please!" enthusiastically with a wild grin slapped on my face. Because, if I'm being honest, I was a sourpuss last semester. I relied too heavily on embellished introversion--the idea that I have to spend time alone in order to find some magical equilibrium where I feel wholesome and healthy. I definitely need to crash after spending too much time around people, especially if I'm meeting people and have to stick to that get-to-know-ya banter. But I didn't have to be alone as much as I was during the fall.

It's easy to get stuck. To wind up in a place you didn't expect to be and have no idea how you got there. Or how to get the hell out. Sometimes you need your mother to yell at you to realize you're being stupid and stubborn and, frankly, a prick. She technically didn't yell at me. We didn't get in a fight or anything, but she was clearly frustrated with me for not taking advantage of my opportunity. For not being grateful. For not seizing life by the balls, etc.

There's a difference between knowing something conceptually and then living out that knowledge. So, all last fall I knew to get involved, to participate, say "yes" would be the best way to live up my experience in Nice. I'd already learned this shit. You can look back to my dramatic Traversing Paris blog posts. The whole dealing with homesickness and culture shock thing. It's all there.

But I stayed in my room one too many times. I missed home, okay? Also, I'd just graduated college. I'd had to shed a life I'd had for the past four years! Didn't anyone understand? And I still think this to a degree. I think the transition between college and adulthood is underrated.

Going home was the best thing I could've done. It reminded me that I won't change overnight--that I don't need to clutch at my past self like it's a ghost slipping through my fingers. It reminded me that everyone is going through the same shit as I am, regardless of where they are in their journey. Going back to Oneonta showed me that home isn't going to leave me behind--that I can always come back, and even if it looks different, that will be okay. I was reminded that some people love me, despite that partition known as the Atlantic Ocean, and that some people don't. Plus, I ate a bunch of terrible, delicious food, and watched approximately 5 seasons of The Office.

And of course, talking to my mom reminded me to take myself less seriously and have fun. To relax. Practice speaking French, for crying out loud! Yes, Mom.

I resolve to say, "YES!" more. (For more information on this topic, read Amy Poehler's Yes Please).