My New-Found Loves

1. Quills and ink
2. www.statravel.com
3. Shiraz, Malbec, and Rioja wines
4. Private beaches at the lake
5. Days spent in bed
6. Teas flavored like flowers
7. Golf courses at night
8. 5:00 am Waffle House trips
9. Postcards
10. Ghost towns
11. Guinness beer
12. Milan Kundera
13. Heirlooms
14. My mother's art
15. The Olympics
16. Peach Italian cream sodas
17. My new hair color
18. Life.

La Dolce Vita

At times, it is hard to remember that these are the moments that I live for because at times, these moments can feel too few and far between.

Right here, right now...this is exactly what it means to be young. These are the days I'll long for.

I am not sure if I am ready to give up the late nights and the serenades and the cocktails and the friends and the country and the stability and the sheer contentment just yet. I have not had so much to smile about in a long time. It begs the question, is this all happening because I am leaving or is this all happening in spite of the fact that I'm leaving?

But right now, I won't ask questions. Life is far too sweet to be soured by doubt and regrets.

The Beauty in the Breakdown

Tonight I found myself laying in the parking lot of a 24-hour breakfast place at 1:00 AM, looking at the stars with one of the few people I have ever selflessly cared about. I dropped everything--work, sleep, sanity-- for a late night angst-fest with someone who needed it more than ever. So we stuffed ourselves on greasy waffles and bad coffee with nowhere to go afterwards but the parking lot. So we laid there and stared and talked and stared some more. We were perhaps, for that moment, the most cynical people in the world. We watched each other break down, we marveled at how all things fall apart, we felt the pieces of the sky fall down around us. And then we laughed at our own hopelessness, if only because there is not much else to do at such a time.

I have spent a lot of time wondering what life would have been like had I never gone to Norway. I would not have become the person that I am, I would not have had to do some of the things I've done, life might not have hurt so much, I might have been happier with all of my naivety. But tonight I realized that the whole thought process is useless. I am the person I am now for a reason. I had to leave for a reason. And even if the only reason was so that one of the most important relationships of my life could turn into one of the most important friendships of my life, even if the only reason was so that I could find myself laying down in that parking lot tonight... then it was all worth it.

Black

The inner self. It is strange to think that maybe one is an entirely different person inside than they are outside. It is not necessarily because one is fake or because one tries to be something that they are not, it is just that the selective view of the self that others see is not the full picture of the true self, the self that only the individual can know.

It is interesting to realize that the outer self that is perceived by others is so far from the truth. Many of us pretend to be happy, many of us pretend like we occupy our time thinking about saving the world or the latest gossip or the paper that we have to write for our next class or whatever other socially acceptable topic you can think of. We all pretend like that is what our self is, that those things are all that occupy our time and thought. And it is funny because in reality, those things likely occupy about 10% of our true thought and the other 90% of our thoughts are about things that hardly any other person will ever know about.

It is like we all walk around pretending to be these well-adjusted people, entirely in control of our emotions. We act as though nothing affects us, as though we have gotten over past events or actions in a reasonable way and as though the future does not cause us any anxiety. Even when we do discuss our problems, we do so according to social etiquette. We carefully choose the right things to complain about or cry about but make sure we only scratch the surface of what is real.

We are all so afraid of being vulnerable, of being touched, of caring, of being judged, that we hide so much away. Perhaps we are even so afraid of ourselves that rather than articulate our own inner darkness, our own shadows and nuances, we simply push these things away from language, away from physical embodiment. As a defense mechanism, we only confront our demons in abstract and opaque ways, never defining them or bringing them to light.

These truths, these more full pictures of ourselves, are hidden so deeply inside of us that they are often even hidden from ourselves. But every once in awhile, something will remind us of them. Something will force us to wrestle with them once again. And the ironic thing is that rather than truly face them, rather than voice our emotions and fears and frighteningly complicated inner dialectics, we wrestle our personal truths back underneath the surface. We push them so far in hopes that we will never have to see them again.

So we sit in silence. We smile. We pretend. We become so good at pretending that we fool ourselves into thinking that we are truly happy, that all of the pieces of our self are good, that we have moved on from the past and that the future looks bright. We fool ourselves. But it becomes exceedingly difficult to do so and eventually we learn that no one can pretend forever.

Eventually, we remember. Always.

Musings On Bartending

Semi-drunken men of the world: Why do you all find it acceptable to ask out your bartender? Using the "semi-drunk" part of your label as an excuse does not work. It is more than that. Are women your own age really that terrible? Are you really that lonely? Do you really think that your completely sober bartender will take the time to give you her number while she's working? Has the line "This martini tastes as good as you look" ever worked on any female bartender (if so, please give me this woman's number as she needs to have some sense knocked into her)? Do you honestly believe that ANY woman wants to date a man who orders a pomegranate martini/cosmopolitan/wine spritzer/margarita?

And now to all men of the world, why do you think it is okay to continually ask a girl out? I feel there are a few things that should automatically end your quest for a date with a girl. Number one, if the girl in question tells you she has a boyfriend, you should give up immediately. I do not understand why you think that a girl who has a boyfriend will STILL go out with you, or at least randomly hook up with you. Do you think we are all cheating sluts? Honestly. Number two, if you know for certain that a girl is 10+ years younger than you, you should immediately move on and start working on someone your own age. Pedophilia never has been and never will be attractive. Number three, if a girl has turned you down once already. You may be desperate and unable to control your libido, but a girl is not going to turn you down one week and change her mind the next. Unlike you, a girl can wait longer than a week for sex and does not need the constant self-esteem boost of a relationship. Therefore, she will not simply surprise you by suddenly saying yes the second, third, or even fourth time you ask her out.

But then again, if you happen to be one of the rare attractive/talented/intelligent men that walk into my bar, then most of the above questioning does not apply to you and so yes, you can buy me a drink. Thanks.

Agape, Falling Short of.

If two years in that insulated snow globe taught me anything, it is appreciation. I cannot explain how much more deeply I savor life after that place. I enjoy the simple pleasure of being able to get any kind of food I want in minutes. I live for the times when I'm alone in my car listening to whatever music I feel like with the windows down. I love having a coffee alone just for the chance to sit down on the sidewalk with the sun in my face and people streaming by. I feel accomplished in a way I never did before when I now truly work at something and succeed at it (I've learned to be a kickass bartender this summer). I relish every moment I get to sit in my beautiful garden and write a few pages of whatever I feel like writing. I listen closely to the stories of others and fall in love with the connections we all share. I covet a stolen minute to read another page of a book I am reading for its intrinsic value rather than the grade I'll get on the essay about it. Life is magnified, detailed, enormous, and most importantly, just so alive.

I wonder if it is sad that I needed Norway to tell me all of these things. Or maybe it is not sad, only natural. Or maybe it is not natural but amazing and wonderful. I am not sure. I do know that I wholeheartedly believe that there was no where else I could have learned more about humanity than at that school. And universally loving humanity, agape, is the highest love of all, according to the most passionate romantics in history, the ancient Greeks. I do not know if anyone can truly universally love all of humanity, but beginning to understand a bit about all of it and what the word "humanity" even means must be a good start to loving all of it. To love, to appreciate, one must understand. I have begun to understand and for the first time, I can finally begin to truly, deeply appreciate.

On a side note, if you have not already, go read "Socrates in Love: Philosophy for a Passionate Heart", "Zorba the Greek", and "La Sombra del Viento". In any language, in any way, it doesn't matter. Just read them. Now.

"I endeavored to lead a different type of life, to interest myself in practical work, to know and love the human material which had fallen into my hands, to feel the long-wished-for joy of no longer having to deal with words but with living men."-Zorba

A Breath

They always say that life doesn't stop for anyone, a fact that is certainly making itself apparent at the moment. But that's alright. I've found it's often good that most of us never get the chance to just curl up in a dark room somewhere and pretend like the world will be a better place when you finally leave again. If life stopped for anyone, ever, then how could you have a reason to get out of bed in the morning?

Life is a lot better when I stop defining happiness by numbers. If this summer has taught me anything, it is that shit happens. And that a whole lot of shit is likely to happen all at once. That is just the way it is. So whether it is money or time or family or a lack of a Parisian place to live or an intense and growing hatred of the French or interpersonal relationships, it doesn't matter. Because it is all shit that has to be sorted out and will be sorted out and there's no way around it. You pay what you have to, you do what you have to, you say what you have to because that is what life asks of you. And life doesn't ask these things of you politely, life demands these things. In return, you get to breathe for a couple more moments. And that's fine by me.