The two most beautiful truths of my young life right now are having found a great love and the infinite possibilities of what I can do and where I can go next. Ironically, the most challenging reality that I face is trying to find a balance between both.

On a more Christmas-oriented topic... I've officially approached the point in my life where airports plague my holidays and I am far too unprepared. I don't really mind airports so long as I'm not waiting inside one. However, the goodbyes to my boyfriend in June, November, and now December I do mind a bit. Cosmic Holiday Gods, thank you for at least giving me New Years.

The only line that is true is the line you're from

One of my greatest bits of happiness in life comes on mornings when the sky lets the sun break through to give light on a new day without the dreariness of gray overcast. It happens nearly every day in the summer, but clear skies are few and far between during winters in the Northwest. If you've ever had a window aligned with the sun's rising path, you can't deny your understanding of what I'm trying to explain. When I wake up on these mornings I feel inspired and remarkably capable, usually with the itch to travel. I came across a word which I think encompasses my current, and regular, state-
Wanderlust: a strong desire or urge to travel or wander

As much as I want to experience a new culture in a new realm of the world, I keep thinking about New York. Places always linger in the back of my mind ( Paris, Rome, the coasts of Greece, Quebec, Morocco, sometimes just San Diego) like distractions and motivations both at once, but New York is certainly the one I'm most often guilty of letting sneak into the foreground and pull me during my day. Maybe because everyone else is talking about San Francisco. Or most likely because I bought my tickets this time last year. The reason isn't what matters, it's presence does. I'm ready to go.

There is a design, an alignment, a cry

Even before I first left home, I was well aware that once I did, I would never be able to go back. How we talk about homes and what "home" really means to us are two different things and I've written before about how home as an emotional place is lost the moment that we leave. However, that's not where I'm going with this, it's simply what I'm going off of because I recently realized the last time that although home may not be a place that we can ever get back to, it is within our abilities to create.

These things are off your mind

There are two clear and present problems with working at a coffee shop that have already become realities in my life.
1) Early hours. Working early hours isn't a problem. In fact, it tends more often to be a blessing for a number of reasons. It's the Sunday mornings when I don't need to be up for anything, yet I can't sleep past 7:30 that leave me lying in bed with nothing but thoughts. It's almost a form of torture to let someone be awake before anyone else in their world-their friends, family, or boyfriend-with nothing to do but lay in their mind. I think the most ridiculous and obscene thoughts a mind can form are before 10 am.
2) The sad realization that maybe coffee is the best companion because when you uncontrollably wake up at an unreasonable hour, coffee is there. Your boyfriend didn't sleep next to you because he actually enjoys the collegiate lifestyle, or whatever...Your roommates are asleep in their own rooms, and furthermore the only one you could consider waking up, has gone home for the weekend. Which brings you to your family, who live somewhere else (if you're lucky) and in my case that means parents with the behavioral patterns mirroring the collegiate lifestyle and a brother with a daily routine mirroring some lifestyle crossed between the elderly and those fighting to success on Wall Street.

So here I sit, one run, shower, and unnecessary mind collision later with my over-sized, under-filled mug of coffee managing to make it all seem better.

Swear Not to Settle

My senior year of high school, I swore never to settle. There wasn't any particular reason that sparked it other than a realization of how common it was around me that lead to an immense fear that someday I would succumb to it. Tonight, while talking to two of my most admirably ambitious friends, I admitted to them and myself that I had already settled. It was easily a chart climber in top depressing conversations of my life and I think they would agree because sadly, I wasn't the only one who had settled.

In reflecting upon what I've learned during my first year at college, I noted the numerous things that I hadn't-academic challenges, character challenges, development of goals. The only thing that I could even list that I'd learned was how to live more simply. How to slow down, take days by days, needs by needs and maintain self love in the life I've settled for. I don't know what's more heartbreaking, breaking a lifelong promise to myself in 12 months or settling for a life I didn't dream of so young. Furthermore, one of my friends said that she thinks it's a necessary skill to gain, the ability to settle, because we are all let down. I wanted so badly to believe that it wasn't true, but reflecting back on it I do wonder how right she was.

Here I am, 19 years old and moderately dissatisfied with where I am, but I can't seem to walk away. See, I've gone and done the worst thing a young girl who never meant to settle can do, and that's that I've filled my life with a few amazing people that I can't bare the thought of not having near. There are many imperfections in my life that I complain about, as well as many different people I pass with dislike. However, I happen to have best friends and a boyfriend so worthy of my heart that I couldn't be without them. So, I'm still not too sure where that leaves me now, maybe somewhere between tragic and grateful. My hope is that not just me, but all of us, can begin to find our dreams again and ourselves enough to un-settle what we've already settled for.

Swedish Decor

Today I went to IKEA, the Swedish home furnishing store adored by majority of Americans. Aside from my typical suspicion that homes in Sweden aren't actually made up of much resembling the model rooms showcased by Ikea, I also became suspicious of why Americans adore Ikea. It's not even just Americans, it's most of Western civilization that seems to be completely unaware of the mediocre (but ever so affordable) quality of their products. I presume that it has something to do with the organization and arguable practicality of all that is on display seeing as that is exactly what pulls me in every time. I used to think the model rooms were fun to walk through. In fact, I even thought that while I was there. Who doesn't enjoy moving from one perfect living room to another and finding a series of perfect kitchens on the other side of a door frame? No one, right? Wrong. Aaron doesn't. He informed me today that he thinks the showrooms are freaky. I disagreed until I imagined looking down on Ikea from an aerial view. Person after couple after family follows arrows through various physical displays of furniture and decor arrangements in hopes that the materialistic maze they have entered will serve its sole purpose of presenting to them materials to purchase. It's a little bizarre, maybe a little freaky.

Anyway, I succumbed to my consumer desires and let my mother buy me a desk. I reassured myself that it's okay because "I need it" and it makes me feel like Carrie Bradshaw, which are easily two of the best reasons that a girl can give for buying anything.

It's not a love song

I would like to share something with you. This is something simple and if you have any close relation to me then you probably appreciate this same thing. It is: people who are blunt. That's not very specific, but if you are slow to understanding what type of person I really mean, then let me refer you to Jerry Hsu, Robert Pattinson and comedians in general. These people never use more words than necessary to convey the exact point that they wish. In interviews they say things like, "people started telling me that I should take some time off. So I took some time off." Simple. What's not to enjoy?

My appreciation of such a characteristic is probably closely tied to my self-indulgent behavior of always talking and writing about the thoughts that I have. But in my defense, I really am working on that.

Since I talked about something that I like very much, I feel compelled to vent about something that I dislike greatly--airports. Largely, I tend to resent airports for their intense air conditioning when I travel to warm locations. ie my current wait situation coming out of Las Vegas wearing shorts, because there's no real fucking way to get to the airport in anything but shorts in Las Vegas. Also, there is their proneness to layovers. ie my current wait situation between flights that has been extended an additional hour and a half because a pilot was late to work today. Most frustrating of all, the real killer of airports, is the carpeting. ie the current carpet under my feet that was clearly a pattern from the 1990's. I don't feel that I need to show a picture of this carpet for your understanding because I can promise your home airport has the same bizarre distribution of abstract shapes in foul colors all over the floor.

Somewhere among having to say goodbye to Aaron for potentially over five weeks, landing a layover, and having a mother who refuses to pick me up from the airport, I have found myself in a bitter mood.

The fact that I adore you is just one of my truths

The beginning of summer seems to be the longest beginning of any set time. Sasquatch, finals, packing, and goodbyes all followed by hellos, unpacking, job searches, and the feeling of impending weeks ahead to fill before what we've anticipated so dearly is over. This year, unlike any summer before, I experienced the "coming home" phenomenon. Surely you've heard of it before. It's written about in books, talked about in movies, and anticipated by any mildly sophisticated and sincere group of friends. The way I always understood it was that we, as products of our parents and the 21st century, leave home after high school and sooner or later we must return, at which time an emotional avalanche rushes over us. I assumed that my avalanche would involve a feeling of emptiness and disappointment as all that I associated with the idea of "home" would be changed or gone. I wasn't right, but I wasn't wrong. My first week living in Eugene and missing home, I realized that "home" to me had nothing to do with my parents' house. It wasn't my bed or my couch, nor my candles or CD collection. "Home" was Portland. It is Portland. It is the lines leading to street carts along city-size sidewalks. It is the white lights glistening behind trees' branches along 23rd after dark. It is the Pearl room of Powell's where I sift through books after spending my last bit of cash at Jackpot on used albums out of dusty racks. It is Moses two rows in front of me on TriMet, wearing the only suit I've known him to own in the last three years. And it's always been bowls of ice cream in Kristin's basement with Taylor and Super Mario Bro's 3. Proudly, I can say that my home remains as I left it.

Yesterday I experienced another first. After spending the weekend in Portland with the boy that I adore, I had to kiss him goodbye at the airport. The whole time knowing that the five days until I see him again are going to drag, and drag, and drag on with missing him, feeling more like a month than a week.

While the seasons will undo your soul

Mother Nature has taken spring showers to an extreme that is less than enjoyable. However, Eugene brings its own joys in April. On Saturday Melissa and I went out to brunch at Glenwood (it was bomb) and then took the EmEx near the the market center. I spent more money than might be responsible at the Saturday market and felt terribly teased by the fresh produce at the farmers market. If you want to see all of the charming residents of Eugene with nose rings and long hair, they can be found weaving sweaters around 8th and Oak.

I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that I broke my Portland mug. The good news is that I put spring flowers in it.
Here's hoping I can keep this little one alive for the next few weeks here.

How will you meet your end?

If you only had two years left to live, what would you do? I'm not trying to be inspiration and I'm not trying to seem sadistic. I'm honestly asking the question. This isn't about the people that you would tell you love them or final wishes, it's simply a question of where you would choose to be and with whom. I only ask because when I think about it myself, sitting in a dorm room in Eugene while the day comes to an end could not possibly be anywhere on the list.

It seems so terribly depressing to me that we live in the routines that we do. I would hate to be so cliche as to wake up each morning thinking of Gandhi's words "live as if you were to die tomorrow..."but I would also hate to die tomorrow having lived this as my last day.

Today, I serve no greater purpose. I attended classes. I love learning, I love lectures in particular, but the classes I attended today are the two classes that I'm taking simply because they are good transfer credits to have. My day today was such a small piece in "my plan," but I didn't bring happiness to myself or anyone else.

My point is that what I want to do isn't what I'm doing. I don't know which is worse, the thought that it's true or the idea that I'm only one of many it's true for.

Maybe, just maybe, you'd like to spend the summer in Montreal or Paris with me?
We could rent month to month using something like http://www.lodgis.com/ and somehow, SOMEHOW obtain work visas. That just seems like the most pleasant thing to do. Work all morning in a cute little bakery or cafe and spend the day walking and reading under the sun. If we can't get visas, maybe we could just go to New York? I don't know, those seem like the best options I could think up if we're going to talk about living the lives we actually desire to wake up living.

It Rolls Right On

I'm not the most devoted blogger and for that I apologize.

Eugene is just as I left it. The food lines are long, the sidewalks are full, and it rains during every hour that I'm awake. It is beyond gloomy. Not to mention that it's the beginning of the term and therefore great sums of payments are due for tuition, housing, and books.

I would hate to be so foolish as to generalize all anthropology professors, but I would like to share my observation that the two I have this term are both terribly awkward. They look awkward, they move their hands in awkward ways, and their intonations can even be awkward. When I say awkward I'm talking about an-almost-middle-part in long, straight, blond hair on a tall man who uses his hands in different gestures while continuously repeating himself. However, despite all awkwardness in regular conversation, they both lecture just fine about interesting topics so I couldn't care less.

I have this funny thing I do where I forget to take the time to write out my thoughts when I'm stressed and anxious, but when I finally make time to write it's because I've calmed myself down and pushed the excess ideas out of mind. So yesterday morning when I woke up at 6:30 am and couldn't fall back asleep, I had a million thoughts about the places I wanted to be going to and the schools I'd rather be taking classes at, the people that I miss terribly everyday, the relationships that are beginning to naturally slip away, the jobs to apply for this summer, the advisers to meet with about "my plan", etc. It's not healthy to run around all day thinking about such things while trying to listen to lectures and prepare for the week ahead. So I sedate myself. I watch Gossip Girl or cut down on coffee or nap until all of those thoughts pass. I just feel so guilty for ignoring myself like that.

Good Morning, Manhattan

After just four days in New York, I'm afraid that in Portland I'll feel as though the world around me shrank. There's something almost comforting about having such tall buildings always standing beside me. I'm a sucker for cities though.

FRIDAYAfter Kalie retrieved me from Grand Central Station and we dropped my bags off at her apartment, we walked around the corner to eat New York pizza in New York. We took the subway to Midtown where we wandered the wide streets, bought desert, and sat at Times Square letting the lights blind us. We went into Bubba Gumps because it makes Kalie happy before making our way to Central Park. We followed the beats of loud techno music till we found the skating rink throwing down a friday night free skate. The music was terrible and we walked home shortly after finding the rink.

SATURDAY
I battled with the dead lock for two hours since Kalie had left for work hours before I even woke up. Once I made my way past the front door, navigation in New York wasn't too terrible. I met Brianne around Union Square, bought myself a blueberry muffin at the market, and just happened to run into On The Rocks. Because apparently in New York, there really are so many people on such a small island that you can run into your own friends. (WHAT? CRAZY!)
Moving on, Brianne and I went to the Brooklyn Flea Market, a well-over-priced establishment of New York 12 weeks of the year. We looked for Betty Bakery to see Olivia's sister which was an epic fail that resulted in a subway ride to SoHo where we walked along Bleecker Street until eventually splitting ways. Kalie met me after work and wandered more, leisurely making our way to the subway. By leisurely, I do mean it literally. We washed our hands in an upscale salon and stopped in boutiques before catching the 6 to Uptown. We ate PinkBerry and went home for a Saturday night with Serendipity.

SUNDAY
Kalie has Sunday and Monday off so we slept in and ate breakfast at Le Pain Quotidien. Have you heard of it? It's this cafe with a rural European feel and organic, delicious food. After breakfast, we stopped at the street vendors on our way to Central Park before finally entering. We found Alice in Wonderland and Strawberry Fields, because I couldn't leave without seeing them.
Then we proceeded to the bottom of Manhattan to ride the ferry to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, because I am a tourist. We took pictures and looked up our ancestors like good tourists and then made our way uptown, stopping in Little Italy for dinner.

MONDAY
With a bulk of the tourists stops over, we had Monday to act like New Yorkers. We slept in and both vetoed showering due to our new mouse friend that caught itself in the tub. We got lunch at Alice's Tea Cup, the cutest restaurant with the theme of an Unbirthday tea party in Wonderland right among the static life of the Upper East Side. Two pots of hot tea, six glasses of water, two sandwiches, and too many fries later we walked to Dean and Deluca for good coffee. In the spirit of the day we went to see Alice in Wonderland in 3D. After, in the spirit of tradition, we ate spaghettios, ran errands, and passed out watching Lost.

Which all brings me to TUESDAY
It's late enough in the day that I guess I will shower and start on my walk to the West side through Central Park. I have every intention to take the subway down to the Village to drink coffee near the NYU campus and get a glimpse of college life in this city. Sorry if my synopsis of this adventure was a big of a bore.

New

A new blog.
Free of the confusion and melodramas of middle school, the further confusion and infidelity of high school. Simply college, sweet sweet college.
So here goes.