words

I wish I had something profound to say here. Someone once called me poetic and now it seems like I've become speechless (rare, right?).

I think it's the cumbersome position of making big decisions. I think it's the trying to let go and grow up. I think it's trying to claw to what's important hoping whatever is on the other end is holding on just as hard.

Being twenty something can be the pits. Every day seems to present itself with its own mountain to climb. Every victory appears to need a parade or musical number.

It's hard.
It's exhausting.
It's everything.

Being young is a once in a lifetime opportunity. And I don't intend on wasting it.

(That was a lot for someone who is supposedly speechless. )

PS--Tales of my spring break are coming! I have pictures to upload and memories to share! It was great and I blame my absence here on the blog on vacation totally and completely.

time

One time in eighth grade my writing teacher, a genius of a woman, asked each of us to define time. It seemed like an easy enough topic, but as I sat there watching my cursor blink on and on I realized the only thing about time that was certain was no one could rightfully define it.

These days when the topic of time comes up it relates to the fact that there is never enough of it—we always need more hours in a day, more time to sleep, more time on vacation, more time in bed, more time snuggled against the one we love.

But really, when you look at time, when you think of it as measured in seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, years and then lifetimes, there is so very much of it. Lives are led in within the boundaries of time. Dreams come to fruition, love flourishes; knowledge is gained, all with these within benchmarks of time.

I have started to think of my life in compartments. There are all these blocks of time: high school and then college and then gap year home followed by one year abroad in Mali ending with me sitting here at this dorm desk in northern Michigan. It all seems to fit nicely, to start and end in a timely fashion and give me diversity in any resume.

And yet.

The funny thing with time is that it leaves memories. That today becomes something you think about in just a short twenty-four hours. That you become molded by your experiences and each moment reshapes and forms you into a different person. You evolve, you move forward. You follow time.

March 9, 2012.

The day I came home.

The day I got off a plane from Atlanta that came from Paris that came from Bamako. I landed in San Diego tired and sore and in half an African outfit.

It’s funny to think about it now, but I remember it all. I remember giving my parents the wrong landing date and freaking out they wouldn’t be there. I remember being haunted by leaving and yet so excited about the possibility of family and laughter and English I was about ready to bust. I was apprehensive about coming back. But it felt safe. And it felt comfortable. And it felt like for the first time in months, I was going to be ok.

In the three hundred and sixty five days since that moment I have become a combination of my pre and post Peace Corps selves. Sure, I love expensive clothes and online shopping and make up, but I still consider showers and shaved legs a luxury. Even though I have residence hall washer and dryer I love them dearly because washboards are not for wimps.

It’s an amazing thing to watch an experience shift your life, change your behavior, and alter your thinking. That’s what happened to me. That’s what continues. It’s in all the stories I tell, it’s in what I read, and how I communicate.

At the end of the day, time is limitless and boundless.

You want to change the world. Do it.

You want to snuggle for five more minutes. Go for it.

You want the peace. Find it.

So…what are you going to do today?

image of Musee D'Orsay Clock
to read my post a year ago

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I’m having one of those days where I’m just over it. I’m over it all. Over the rut I’ve gotten myself in, over the drowning of frustrations in ice cream and giant cookies, tired of overthinking those small conversations, tired of holding back, tired of hiding.

I find myself stuck in the middle of the road and I’m the only one there. It’s that scene from Sleepless in Seattle where Meg Ryan sees Tom Hanks across the highway and freezes. I wish I could tell you how I got here. It was somewhere after the stomach flu I think.

As of right now, I’m resolving to put all of that to an end.  There will be no more.

Maybe that means I have to hide for a couple of days in order to resituate. Maybe that means I push through until break begins and I can really escape. Maybe that means tomorrow’s run will be that much better because I’ll get the chance to literally run away from my problems.

I will not waste time, or wallow, or fear action.

Somehow, we will all figure this out. 

image via pinterest

for my girls

my girls have the notion that i have no talent because i don't play an instrument, or sing, or act, or all of the above. the truth is, i've been struggling with the idea of having talent or not having talent since i was a teen. i mean, how was i to compete for miss america without a talent! (shattered dreams my friends, shattered dreams.) 

but the truth of the matter is that i don't perform. that's my sister's department. and i don't play a sport. that would be my brother. what i am and who i am isn't divided into tangible talent that can be displayed through trophies and team jerseys (even though i wish it could and i find all that to be totally awesome). who i am is different. and it's taken me a long time to come to gripes with all that. 

i'm an academic. a good listener. a fabulous stylist and designer. i am a pop culture fiend and lover of all things modern. i feel indebted to the world and will spend the rest of my life repaying it all. when i love i do so with everything i am. 

i tell my girls that my job here is to make them good people. they have instructors to make them good artists. to be a good person is a life skill, and a whole other art form. 

i may not be able to perform in any pageant. but the skills i have will last forever.  

image

on the verge

it's been one of those kinds of weeks. the kind where what's happening around you seems out of your control. it's like watching it all fall through your fingers like sand, and you stand there paralyzed wondering how you let it all get that far ahead of you. 

i feel like i'm embarking on the time when letting the sand go will be my goal. it's time to shift gears. time to let go of all the excess baggage whether that be in the shape of people, friendships, opinions, thoughts, preconceived notions, and former dreams. i'm not the same person i was a year ago. i'm not broken (i'd like to say i wasn't broken then...but maybe i was...), damaged, or low. i'm a combination of everything that has happened to me. i'm different. i'm not who i once was. i am closer to who i am supposed to be. 

in two months i'll be 25. it's time to start thinking fresher. 

but now, today, it's almost the weekend. it's time to be young, to be present, to dress up and wear lipstick because it makes me feel good and expensive. for a little bit i'm going to remember that who i am right this second should be enough. 

and if there happens to be some dancing on tables so be it. after all, you're only twenty something once. 

image via erin ever after and pinterest

what we need

what we need is a vacation. literally we need to vacate the daily routine our lives have become and the guilt that comes when our to do lists need a word document and not just a small list of things on our hand. throw them out. let them go. 

vacation. that thing we dream about. and while we may think of the european glamour that vacations can be. those days filled with museums and fashion and red lipstick. 

but right now, that's not the medicine we are looking for. 

instead, let's pack on old car. one that looks like it won't take us very far, but we love anyway. let's let our hair air dry and paint our nails bright red. let's wear cut off shorts and cute sandals. we'll throw in our swanky new swimsuits and head east. to the land of the atlantic. maybe we will end up south to the coast of north carolina and joke about the differences between the two sides and their oceans. maybe we will head up north and end up looking around at the lush landscape of vermont or the rocky coast of maine. 

let's run away and eat only food we can find at gas stations until we find some spot to settle and we make it look like our home and cook lovely food we find on a general store from main street. we'll joke at how un-chic it is and how much we love it. we'll laugh and try to build fires and i'll convince you we must make s'mores. 

what we need is a road trip. hours of music and car dancing, of putting our feet on the dash and hands out the window, of taking pictures, and having spotty cell reception. 

so, you ready to go?

image

new obsession

in two weeks it will be exactly two years ago that my dear friend barrie took me from shoulder length hair to total pixie cut. and in june it will be two years that it was shaved.

looking back i don't regret a single thing about cutting off all my hair. it was great. i couldn't hide behind it or obsess about it. there was no need to do anything but kind of shampoo it. i knew that it was daring and certainly wasn't something many women do or consider doing. but i loved it.

now, i have hair. and everyday i feel differently about it. sometimes i am so close to taking scissors to it i start thinking about outfits i have that would fit that hairstyle again. then there are moments when it just feels right trying to grow it all out. (i know right. totally first world problems.)

luckily, in the phases of growing out your hair, i've reached shoulder length, that somewhat obnoxious length of it flipping out at the ends making me look like a fifties housewife. on the plus side, with the layers getting longer, and me somehow finding the willpower to not chop bangs (something i do regularly), i have a real life-not-just-a-nub ponytail that has recently evolved in a middle school-esque bun on top of my head. it's part Bambam, part (i hope) kind of cool. nonetheless, it keeps the hair tamed when i piled on scarves and turtlenecks in the still vengeful northern michigan winter.

as spring threatens and summer looms, i'm trying to remain patient with my hair. hopeful for it to grow--i haven't had long hair in ten years--and wonderlust at what the future looks like, in all sorts of ways.

ps--nothing will make you less attached to your hair then chopping it off. now i have no idea what my friends mean when they talk about not wanting to take risks with their hair. it's hair people. it will grow back. just like how your friends will still be friends with you whether or not you lose those extra 10 pounds, no one will stop talking to you if your hair ends up five inches shorter than you expected.

things from around

words:
I want you to miss me. I want you to recognise me in your morning cereal and the voice of your favourite singer. I want you to wonder where I am when your fingers are stretched beneath your waistband, when you’re lighting up, when you’re tripping up that uneven step on your basement stairs. I want you to think of me when you look into your teacup and your rear-view mirror. I want you.

Camryn Pulaski  

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image:

what people think boarding school is like-

umm...not so much...

(both via TKoW/ words/image)