on making grown-up decisions

Here's a cheesy selfie because...

Yesterday I accepted a full time job offer.

It's an editor position at a small town newspaper; exciting but not necessarily my plan for myself. Yesterday was a whirlwind.

And today I quit my current job and set up a student loan repayment plan and made a budget and bought myself a winter coat and made an expensive coffee purchase and created a grocery list. When we become 'adults,' why does everything exciting in life suddenly switch from amusement parks and toys and candy to purchasing frying pans and curtains?

But on the other hand, when you're a kid, everything exciting in life involves growing up. And now here we are, just kids in adult bodies, wishing simultaneously for our own apartment and our mom's home cooking; for our own paychecks and a day off at the playground; for a giant step forward into independence and a giant step backward into nostalgia.

This is what taking a "real job" feels like: excitement and terror, pride and uncertainty, independence and don't-leave-me-alone-I-can't-cook-or-do-anything.

Updates to follow.

In favor of leaving your phone at home

This photo is unrelated, but sort of related; this is a story about how not using technology can make your life better. Here it is:

Last week one night I had an insatiable craving for Chinese food. So, naturally, I closed my computer and left my unfinished work for the next day. Technology could wait; I had a date with a folded white paper box and a pair of chopsticks.

(That's a lie, I don't know how to use chopsticks. I always grab some at the restaurant and lose motivation to learn a new skill by the time I'm home and my belly is rumbling.)

Anyway I forgot my phone at home, but there was no time to turn back. I had my mind set on food and, for God's sake, I could go 10 minutes without it. And I had no problem with that. There was plenty of people watching and potsticker smelling to do.

Those who shared my inconveniently-timed mega cravings for Kung Pao chicken included a stylish man who was probably in his 30s, and a mother with her teenaged daughter. I walked in and realized I was speed-walking to the counter; I slowed my pace from "chicken-get-in-my-belly" to "casually-stopping-by-after-work-cause-it's-on-my-way-i-guess." But it was okay, they didn't notice.

The young woman behind the counter said "We're making more chicken right now, it will be about five or ten minutes. Is that okay?" Of course it was, I came all the way here for chicken, I'm about to get it! I could happily wait.

She then turned around and walked back to the kitchen. I could see through the window that she was walking back to talk to the young man making the chicken, who was standing over the simmering food with a spatula in hand. She stood next to him with her hand on one hip, smiling and giggling, and they pushed each other playfully a couple times. They were totally flirting.

Then the young man turned his attention away from the sizzling chicken to look at her, leaned really close to her face and smiled really big, and just turned back to the chicken. She shrugged and giggled sheepishly and walked away.

Ah! I turned to see if my fellow Kung Pao Chicken enthusiasts in the restaurant had noticed too, because this was so darn cute. But they hadn't; they were all on their phones.

I hadn't even really noticed that the other three waiting on the chicken were dead silent. They all had their faces buried in their emails, texts, games, Instagrams and Snapchats. I looked from the 30-year-old stylish man to the mother and daughter several times in astonishment, to see if they even noticed me looking at them in astonishment. Nope.

Eventually the young woman walked out to the front of the restaurant with a large plate full of chicken. I walked excitedly towards her to get my share; it took the other three a few moments to notice that their food was ready. I wanted to say something about the adorable interaction I had just witnessed, but I just smiled and walked away with my food.

I don't tell this story to paint myself as some kind of saint for not being on my phone. For one, I didn't even have it with me, so I had no option. I am not exempt from being technology obsessed. But I simply noticed it with full force in this one instance. We are so obsessed with fake realities on the computer or phone screen that we don't notice the small moments of beautiful realities around us. I had the privilege of noticing these two strangers sharing an adorable moment, and I count that a win.

Anyway, from now on when I have a sudden urge to go get Chinese food, I will casually forget my phone and rely on those around me for temporary entertainment. Like I even need it.

Settled

Things have been crazy lately. But also, somehow, not at all.

Here's the thing: I finished working full time at the restaurant two weekends ago. I picked up shifts here and there to clean as they were getting ready to close last week, but I was pretty much done. That's about 50 hours a week, gone.

Anyway, basically I'm in a transition phase right now. Trying to find other work somewhere else, going to several interviews a week, applying for a couple new jobs a day. It seems like my job prospects shift each new day with one phone call, one set of email exchanges, one rejection, one application. I've applied to upwards of... 50 jobs in the past month? And heard back from maybe about 10? And denied one offer, didn't get one offer, and still waiting on the others. Some, more promising than others. All with the purpose of making enough to move out.

I wrote at the beginning of the summer about purging my life and packing it up, ready to go. And this entire summer, I've been waiting for an opportunity to go. To move out of my parent's house, to have my life figured out, and to unpack and settle somewhere more permanent.

As it turns out, my parent's house has been my living place for the past five months. I never thought I'd still be here, and this whole waiting to leave thing is getting really exhausting. Having my life packed up and ready to go, like I was a guest in their house waiting to go to my real home, dragged on too long.

No matter how much longer I'l be here, I just need to settle. I need to unpack and to accept that this is my home now, even if that may change in a matter of weeks. I need to really be where I am (don't mind my cliches).

This attitude of packing all my belongings into the closet inadvertently gave me the mindset that I didn't belong, that this room wasn't really mine, that I was restless for a space that was really mine, later on. Maybe it's this instinctual fall nesting thing? Is that real? Apparently.

Anyway. I've unpacked. I've settled.

Still waiting for an opportunity to leave though. But now it will feel like moving from one home to another, instead of leaving vacation that dragged on to long. For this week at least. One day at at time.

Posing your life vs. Living your life

[[some thoughts while scrolling through Instagram this morning]]

How long did it take you to pose that photo? Did you just buy that coffee to get that picture? Do you even like coffee if you really think about it? 

How many people did you ask about your caption before you posted it? Are you really that witty all on your own? 

Did you really know that quote or did you google "inspirational quotes" for that caption? What does that even have to do with your picture? 

What are you even trying to say about yourself? Is it even true? 

[[seriously though]]

     - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Now that I'm back on Instagram, I've been trying really hard to avoid posing my life. I've been trying to post photos that are minimally edited, that actually happened the way they look, and where the caption actually tells the truth. It's hard to do. And I'm realizing how much easier it is to make my life look perfect.

Yesterday, if I were to pose my life on Instagram, I would have taken this picture:

Photo from above of my feet (although I would have to go put on my cute wool socks for the right effect) in bed with my cozy blankets (but I would have gone to get the cuter ones, I had my ugly tie blanket) with a book (even though I was definitely watching Friends on Netflix and for sure not reading) and my hand holding a coffee cup (although I forgot about my coffee and it was cold). Instagram caption:

"Enjoying a book and coffee on this rainy afternoon #cozy #blessed"

Real life caption:

"Nobody bother me today I woke up at 10:45 and put off all my projects to watch Netflix in my ugliest pajamas then I ate too much chocolate and felt bloated until bedtime"

Today's posed photo would look something like this:

Again, and aerial photo of this table, my Mac computer and my latte-art coffee. Instagram caption:

"Finally getting things done, latte in hand at my favorite coffee shop #productive"

Real life caption:

"I ordered this latte but I don't really like it, because the milk is making me feel gross and it's way too sugary, and why did I order a drink with milk it in when I'm lactose intolerant?? Also I am not being productive, I'm on Facebook and Pinterest and took a break from that to stand on this chair to take this stupid picture, and I'm about ready to leave. Coffee shops might be overrated??"

In an attempt at honesty, I'm going to post #RealTalk Instagram captions here more often. So. Something to look forward to.

Thanks for reading.

Anatomy of a road trip

This one time I went on a 2 week camping trip with my friend Kel. We drank coffee and hiked mountains and laughed over camp-stove meals and took hammock naps and pretended we aren't adults. It was some kind of therapy.

I posted about our itinerary previously, which had all but changed after the first day. The updated itinerary looked like this:

Minneapolis, MN --> Black Hills and Mount Rushmore, SD --> Beartooth Pass, MT/WY --> Yellowstone National Park, WY --> Bozeman, MT --> Missoula, MT --> Flathead Lake, MT --> Glacier National Park, MT --> Seattle, WA --> Olympic National Park, WA --> Seattle, again --> Billings, MT (for a night) --> home.

Here's the part where I list all my favorite things we did on the trip:

Favorite hike: Grinnell Glacier, Glacier National Park
About 11.5 miles total, out and back. The views were incredible the whole way, like straight out of National Geographic. The greeeeeen trees were just patiently waiting on the mountain side to be admired, and admired they were. There were little trickles of water on the trail from the mountain, and the GLACIER AT THE TOP holy cow. It was the most blue thing I've ever seen in my life. There was a lake down below nestled between the trees and mountains and that scene it just about killed me.

Favorite campsite: Shoshone National Forest, Beartooth Loop
We were lucky enough to score a free place to sleep right by a mountain and lake in Shoshone National Forest, with no one around and BONUS even a fire pit and picnic table right there. Our tent fit right in this little baby clearing right by the shore of this unreal lake. Our neighbors were the mountains, the fresh smell of pine and the sound of the waves gently hitting the rocks.

Favorite camp meal: JAMBALAYA
We had packed this jambalaya that was unmatched. I don't even know what brand, which is entirely unhelpful. But after a killer hike day and the best hammock nap of my life, it tasted like plain gold.

Favorite park: Olympic National Park, WA
Okay, this one is really a toss-up. I loved Glacier equally as much, but I thought it only fair that I used Glacier already for a favorite hike. This place also had hikes and campsites that were very close seconds. Deer Park campsite was straight up on-top-of-a-mountain, in-the-clouds kind of camping, and our longest hike the next day was the best views I've ever experienced. It snowed on us during out hike (bonus), and got below freezing overnight on the top of that mountain. But hey, no cold no awesome views amiright???

Favorite wildlife spotting: That one time I saw a mountain lion in the wild/a neighborhood
YES. It's true. We saw a real life mountain lion, in a town near where we were camping. Needless to say I slept not at all that night.

Favorite thing ever: My road trip partner. For making life an adventure.

Surprised by Beauty

Hello from a coffee shop in Bozeman, MT.  So far this rough and tumble crew of the two of us couldn't be loving life more than right now. This is how we have a good time: 

. Arrive at one place we planned on seeing. Stay for about 17 minutes, decide it's boring and we can take a few more hours in the car. Abandon campsite and, onward. 

. Speed past Mount Rushmore in the car a few times to adequately see it, rather than pay $11 to park and look longer. 

. Pull over at a lake to make dinner. Camp stove for the win.

. Hammock along a lake with a killer mountain view, try to read but can't stop staring at nature.

. Buy a bottle of wine and talk about feelings loudly, because there's nobody to hear us but the birds and the bears. 

. Wake up one morning and decide, let's go to Yellowstone.

. Deal with the sore and stiff back, because sleeping on the ground is worth the nature we get to see. 

. Feel accomplished because we managed 3 nights in a row with below freezing temperatures. 

. Get really excited each night to sleep in the sleeping bag because ITS SO FLUFFY.

. Stop at every flippin' information center in each park. Are the campgrounds closed? Is this a good one? Where are the best hikes? Are you sure??

. Snag the very last campsite in Yellowstone FOR THE WIN. 

. Chat with old ladies in the campground bathroom. Will the bears smell my lotion? Well, you'll know in the middle of the night if you hear screams. 

. Attend the campfire circle at the campground, where Ranger Bill told us about pikas and wolverines. 

. Hike that straight-uphill trail to Lava Lake outside of Bozeman. Cry internally the whole time, its hard. 

. Cry for real when we reach the top, because that view just made us forget the whole hike. 

. Loudly declare that I'm peeing in this lake, dangit, despite the fisherman lingering nearby staring. 

. Say hello to some guys on horses going up the trail. What? We have to walk this sucker on our own.

. Arrive at an AirBnB in Bozeman, expecting rip-roarin' fun. Maybe a game night? Beer? 

. Shower for the first time in 4 days, dress up fancy (jeans and a tshirt), go out to dinner in Bozeman. 

. Have our AirBnB host tell us that yes, you really do need bear spray if you're going on a long hike this time of year. You idiots. 

. Wander around Bozeman, pretending to be locals. Wonder if we should move here? But first, we need ice cream. 

. Be surprised by beauty. 

. Come to a coffee shop the next morning to write the whole thing down.  

Itinerary

On Saturday, I left for a two and a half weeks of road tripping and camping. Here is our itinerary:

Minneapolis --> Badlands, South Dakota --> Beartooth Highway and Campground, Montana --> Bozeman, Montana --> Flathead Lake, Montana --> Glacier National Park, Montana --> Lake Coeur D'Alene, Idaho --> Seattle, Washington --> San Juan Islands, Washington --> somehow we'll drive back ..??

We've booked a couple AirBNBs, reserved some campgrounds, and have a rough outline of where we're going. But there are some days in there that we decided to "just wing it," or "see how we feel when we get there," or say "if we want to stay longer, we can. If not, we can leave."

This flexibility. My whole life so far hasn't allowed for this kind of flexibility. School, break, school, work, school.. etc. This is the first September in 16 years where I haven't had to be anywhere specific at any time.

But there's a trade-off. Here's my itinerary for when I return:

Live with my parents? Work at the same restaurant? Maybe freelance write a little? Eventually go to Europe? --> . . .

For this portion, I don't have a plan. Not in the slightest. There is flexibility, but within no boundaries. When people ask, "So.. what's the PLAN??" The only thing I can say for sure is: "I have no clue." Which, as it turns out, is a really good way to kill a conversation. It's kinda fun.

I feel like this should be freaking me out a little more? But somehow it's not. For now, I'm off to enjoy my first adventure within the boundaries of having no plan. Don't even try to bother me with what comes next, I'm not thinking nearly that far ahead.

This is summer.

Freezing cold 6 a.m. runs around lakes, before the melting heat starts.

Juggling phone calls and emails, all trying to contact me to be in a story.

Kayaking from Calhoun to Isles to Cedar Lake and back again.

Getting restless in the office and walking down the alley to the coffee shop to work.

Biking eight miles into Downtown, and changing for work in the office bathroom while wiping sweat from.. everywhere.

Working all day at two different jobs, only to go home and do some freelance work.

Having a few days off (finally) and using them all up driving far distances to be in weddings or relax at cabins.

Working on my summer Chaco tan, and getting instead a nice shorts tan.

Not having the money, or the time, to go shopping for clothes, despite needing some upgrades.

Putting off hobbies like reading or painting, because, who has time?

Writing, constantly. Stories for the magazines, blogging, freelancing online. Always writing.

Making to-do lists, losing them, and forgetting everything.

Using my bike as my car; from Northeast to Uptown to Downtown and everywhere in between. Seriously considering biking distances vastly too far, just to avoid using gas.

Saving every penny from waitressing in a big mug, counting down the days and the dollars until my next adventure.

Writing it all down here.

On hammocking in the city

Today I had the most wonderful day.

I woke up bright and early, which normally wouldn't have me super jazzed, but it's actually pretty nice to be up and at em before most of the world.

I got ready this morning at my friend's apartment (where I slept the night before) and took the bus into the city. The entire time I just kept thinking to myself we're ADULTS, dangit. We are on the bus and there are other people here and look there's a tall building! And here's our stop! Okay, meet you when work's over. Like a true grown up.

I had a meeting with my editor today where we talked about grown-up things, like freelance writing and potential job openings and would you like to keep working here the rest of this year? To which the answer was, sadly, no unless you pay me more than nothing. I mean. I went to college.

After my long and grueling day of work ended at noon, I went for a run along the river, across the Stone Arch bridge and along St. Anthony main, which, as it turns out, is really cute. How many commas can I fit into one sentence?

I then promptly decided that I love city life. It was always a wavering thought, but now it has been solidified. I love living and working in the midst of crowds of people bustling, trains, busses, tall buildings, construction workers eating sandwiches on the curb, people biking and running and brunching, or simply soaking it all in like me. I love the busyness of it all. It makes me feel like I'm a part of something, the living breathing city has an energy to it, and I contribute to that energy.

By now this blog post has gone on long enough without a mention whatsoever of the title. Which, you would suppose, would be the subject of the post. But here it comes!

Within my extreme heart-swelling happiness of belonging to a living breathing city, I realized I was pooped from my run and wanted to take a nap. Well. Where ever can I take a nap in the middle of the city?

So I have this thing called a hammock, from ENO (found here) that I adore. Best gift I've ever received. I strung up my hammock right along the river, downtown next to the Guthrie. There were tons of people around. Lots of noise and chatter, you know. But I was in a completely different world once I slipped inside that thing.

Despite dogs barking, construction drills and the bustle of city life that I love, it all seems to go away once you're in a hammock. You sink in and the sides go up around you and its like you're down in a quiet countryside all of a sudden. Nothing gets in or out. No noise, no obligations, no noisy city people.

My obsession with city life has often left me burnt out, in need of rest. I forget to take breaks, to slow down and take a nap for the love of God. Rest is an integral part of life, necessary to get anything done and be productive, and completely worth it. Rest is incredibly spiritual too, rejuvenating and refilling us in more ways that one.

The majority of American culture is anti-rest. Obviously we all know this. Fill every day with stuff, do things always, make something, complete something, or else you're worthless.

This is why I love that hammocking is breaking onto the scene among people my age. Its a very counter-cultural cultural movement, this hammocking thing. It's telling you to stop, take a nap, hang out, get nothing done, learn nothing except what the birds and water sound like.

This non-activity is so necessary. Take a break. Take a nap. Lose track of time. Learn what the birds and the wind and other people sound like. Learn what your own breathing sounds like. Learn what your thoughts are without crowding them with other things.

That's what I learned today on my most wonderful day. You'll find me taking naps in hammocks in the middle of cities wherever I go, from now on.

Hole in the Wall: A History

I wish I could say this post commemorated some kind of blogiversary of mine, but it doesn't. Just been thinking a log about what my future looks like, and looking back for some answers. This is the story of my (short-lived) adult life as a blogger.

So far, I have been blogging since 2010. I started a blog in high school and wrote things sporadically. They were mostly for me. I didn't ever share the link, and hardly anyone knew I even had one. Which was probably a good thing.

The summer before freshman year of college I tried to maintain my blog a little more often. I shared the link with people on social media and some people started to follow it. Why they would read it, I have no clue. It's cringe worthy, which is why I will never again share the link and will let it die slowly.

This blog you're reading now was created in 2013, and started out as a class project in multimedia news writing. I would visit local small restaurants and coffee shops and write things about them. Hence, the name Hole in the Wall.

Once that class ended, I decided to keep writing here over the summer since my big goals for my old blog had since died out. I wrote things sometimes, and shared my thoughts but never very consistently or seriously. Again, it was mostly for me.

The spring of 2014 brought an opportunity to actually document something consistently. I was in a class that demanded a hefty project: create art daily for an hour and a half. Since this took up a significant part of my life that semester, I decided to blog my process each day.

After that, it was senior year. This year was unique because 1. I was thinking a lot about career goals, what kind of job I wanted, how seriously blogging could be considered as a job and the fact that potential employers wanted to read my blog (?) so I wanted to post more consistently and 2. simultaneously, I was living with freshman, who were on the other end of the career/jobs/hire me/help me spectrum.

I blogged about being an art major and what it had taught me, I blogged about being an RA and living in a small room among freshman, and I blogged about life in college and searching for my passions.

What's next? I hope to blog much more consistently, redesign my site, add some more regular series posts, and maybe even turn this into a real gig. Wishful thinking.

What I learned from 6 months off Instagram

Back in January I made some new years resolutions, as you do.

One of those resolutions was to delete all kinds of social media off my phone, and reduce my social media use drastically. For me, this particular goal meant deleting Instagram and Snapchat completely and only going on Facebook once or twice a week.

I had noticed the ridiculous amount of time I spent on social media, and it was getting out of hand. You know when you're doing something that you're so engrossed in that you forget where you are and what time it is? That would happen to me when I was on social media... and that scared me.

Instagram was a particular vice for me. I haven't used Instagram for 6 months now, and after paying attention to my changing habits, I have some thoughts.

I'm actually not that interesting 

Maybe it's just me.. but me sitting outside reading with lemonade isn't that interesting. Why is it worth a picture? And why would you take five extra minutes to arrange the things on your desk for a particular aerial shot?

It's so time consuming

It's like a part time job! Here's another thing.. how do you know what to hashtag? How are we supposed to keep up with all these trending tags? It's so overwhelming. And it takes so much time to go back and look at people who have liked your picture, to scroll through everyone else's pictures and like them and to watch videos. Then it just sucks you in, ya know? Before you know it you're Insta-stalking someone's sister's boyfriend's dad and you're like, who even is this?

It all just seems so fake

Maybe this is just the kind of people I follow. But I can't tell you how many of the exact same kind of picture I see:

Someone's feet, their hand holding a drink peaking in the side, with an interesting or tropical background. #weekend.

An aerial shot of a surface or a desk, with a Mac computer, iPhone, notebooks and pencils, and a plant. #Mondayview.

A selfie in a car, with a seatbelt on, big lips, sunglasses. #SelfieSunday.

etc etc. You've all seen them before.

Even still, I compare myself 

It's so easy to fall into that trap. Even though she completely posed that picture, even though that was the only good shot from the whole weekend, even though she forced that person to pose with her... her life is so much more interesting than mine! Well, not true. It's easier to convince yourself of that when there aren't any photos to look at.

I'm better at words than pictures

In general, I always have been. Give me any old subject and I could write a thousand words about it. But ask me to take a picture that sums up my day, and it gets much harder.

Maybe I'm just out of practice after the 6 month break, but maybe I like it that way.

Biking to work

Today I biked to work.

This is not the first time this has happened. In fact, the past three years I've been biking to work. I work at a restaurant in Minneapolis, and parking in the city is ridiculous and never available and expensive when it is available. So therefore, bike to work, get some exercise, don't pay for gas or parking, save the environment!! etc. etc.

This job (unpaid internship) I currently have is Downtown, and is 5 miles further away then my other job, but I decided on biking there too (for all the same reasons). Obviously, I discovered several benefits to biking to work.

Most recently, I have discovered how awesome Minneapolis is. Didn't I know this already? Apparently not.

There is a bike trail that goes all the way from Hopkins straight through St. Louis Park, across Highway 55 along the light rail line and into the city like the string of a balloon. The bike path itself is nestled down beneath the city, unnoticed by the cars and busses crossing bridges overhead. There is a whole other community down there.

Along the trail there are murals, gardens, and little biker-friendly pit stops, even a bike shop with an entrance right along the trail. There are stop signs, little street signs and lane markers, benches and graffiti, groups of people playing guitars or smoking, picking up trash, waiting for the train. This whole little atmosphere I didn't even know about until I became a trail biker.

Biking this trail from the south side of Lake Calhoun into Downtown Minneapolis is like getting the grand tour of the city, from the poorer parts to the richest. Every few minutes, I feel myself entering a new part of town as I cruise by on wheels.

Uptown: hipster, coffee-shops, clothing stores, bars.

Lynn-Lake and Phillips: eat street, foreign foods/businesses, rich culture and rich smells.

Cedar-Riverside: Apartments, murals on every wall, warehouses emitting smoke, lots of people walking in work clothes.

Mill District and Downtown: where I get off the path. Construction, Metrodome, business suits, fast walkers, food trucks, etc etc

This city plays host to all types. This small but powerful cultural hub is bursting at the seams with uniqueness, I feel lucky to get to see it all from the "tourbus" I ride to work every day.

Upheval

Almost four weeks ago I graduated from college, moved out of my dorm and back into my parents house in a flurry of emotion and trash bags full of crap. That weekend was so overwhelming. I think dumped all my stuff on the floor in my room, had some ice cream and wine and fell asleep at 8pm.

The week that followed was when it all sunk in. I'm back in my old room full of old stuff from my childhood, most of which I didn't bring to college with me for four years. Every year I seemed to bring less and less stuff, and every year I would bring a bunch of bags home early of stuff I hadn't used.

I had so much crap I didn't need.

That week I went into full purge mode. I ended up throwing away four trash bags full of stuff from my closet and donating 10 bags to Goodwill. I put all my stuff I didn't need now, but thought I might need one day (pots and pans, bowls, microwave, you know) and put a small box in my closet. I emptied all my drawers, shelves, boxes and bags and edited my closet down to two boxes, my guitar and ukelele and a small pile of shoes.

That was phase one. I was throwing away boxes from high school, middle school and elementary school, full of stuff I didn't even remember or had no idea why I was saving. I was giving away clothes I hadn't worn in years or had forgotten about. It was the "I don't even know what this is I'm getting rid of it" phase.

Then there was phase two. That happened earlier this week.

This was the real thinker. It involved true pondering about the future: what do I really need, what are the essentials to living if I'm moving out soon? Do I really want to take this with me when I leave?

This was the clothes and shoes I was only keeping cause I felt like I should wear them, but never really did. This was the posters and books that I was mostly keeping for show. This was the fifth unnecessary mason jar or the box of tea bags I've had for four years that I felt like I should drink. Getting rid of these things was surprisingly liberating.

Once I got rid of clothes that I never truly liked, I realized I had so much to wear. Everything in my closet is something I have worn a million times, and liked. All my shoes are awesome. All my books and posters are pretty to look at or stimulating to read. And none of this is to keep for show, it's for me. It's mine.

Everything I own and will take with me when I (eventually) move out of my parents house is in my closet right now. It all fits into a small space. This is incredibly liberating: I can just leave, whenever I want. And I bet you all my clothes fit into one or two trash bags now, instead of seven.

The next phase I'm anticipating is the object-by-object analysis. While going about my life, I will notice more and more things that are unnecessary. I will ponder this bag for a week and maybe get rid of it, I will test out these shorts for a few days and actually decide how I feel about them. If I'm not completely taken, things will go. Steadily, one by one. Not in huge chunks like they have been so far.

Geez will this post ever end???

In conclusion, getting rid of crap feels good. I am now completely aware of everything I own, which has never happened before. I emptied and analyzed and I really own everything in my space. And one day when I have my own space, there won't be that random box of crap I don't recognize. It will all be mine.

It's also a metaphor, I decided. Getting rid of physical things from past lives feels like letting the past lives go, and the inevitable leaving of a physical space where I've lived for so long feels like releasing everything built up about that space and that life and that time. Not that I want to forget. I just want to leave the space in peace, bringing all my roots with me.

Empty rooms, empty heads, amiright? Former packrat turned minimalist, out.

That one time I lived in a freshman dorm (as a senior)

This post was inspired by this post, in the style of Natalie Holbrook, one of my favorites. 

I loved living in a freshman dorm. Let me repeat.

I LOVED LIVING IN A FRESHMAN DORM. 

Now that it's over, it's time to reflect. There are countless reasons a senior would never choose to live in a freshman dorm: it's smaller, it's much louder, the rooms are smaller, the hallways are crowded, the entire building shares one kitchen, there are only a couple common spaces, everyone is younger and rowdier, freshman hill is crazy at night... etc. You get the picture.

These are all the reasons I LOVED it:

I loved the crowded hallways. I loved walking about 6 inches to my left or right and being in someone else's room. Or a few steps down the hall. I loved popping in on people in living spaces right next door to me. 

I loved sharing a bathroom. I loved watching people put on makeup or brush their teeth all together. I loved showering and talking to people next to me who were showering. I loved that the water turned super hot whenever someone flushed the toilet. I loved talking to people while they were pooping. 

I loved having a teeny tiny room. I loved hitting my head on the ceiling almost every morning, I loved getting into my lofted bed and having to go pee and get all the way down, I loved crowding people on one couch to watch a movie on a laptop, I loved sitting on the floor to eat cereal because there's no room for a table. 

I loved sharing a kitchen!!!! I loved making mac and cheese while someone else was warming up hot chocolate while someone else was making brownies for a friend's birthday while a million other people were out in the lobby going "wow that smells good, can I have some?" 

I loved the freakin lobbies. I loved playing ping pong, getting bored and inventing another game (face pong, hand pong, basically anything else other than paddles used as paddles. Gold, I tell ya.) I loved the broken pool table and the ripped pockets where pool balls would fall to the floor every few minutes. I loved sitting in shack, being on duty and creeping on couples on the couch. I loved hearing the laundry machines shaking the ceiling and the screaming from upstairs. Someone's doing laundry! Someone else is fighting upstairs with their roommate! Someone else just fell out of bed!

I loved hearing everyone's footsteps and the sounds from upstairs. I loved getting a text from my neighbor above me saying "lets go" and then hearing her feet hit the floor above my head and walk down the hallway. I loved when the girls above us had a trampoline in their room and we heard every single bounce. I loved when the girls above us would run down the hallway and we would wonder what they were doing. What on earth were they doing?! 

I even loved when people would drive around in the middle of the night yelling GO TO BED FRESHMAN!! Because how ironic is that?! You're just waking us all up! We were sleeping peacefully. This was hilarious. 

I loved the community. I loved that you recognized everyone that lived in the building, waved at them in the hallway even if you didn't know their name, and got close to people simply because of proximity. I loved late night hallway conversations and falling on the floor laughing in someone's room and screaming a cheer outside and yelling at people through windows. 

This morning I woke up and I was in a house, in a room with no neighbors. My next door neighbors currently are a hall closet and a bathroom. How boring is that. The kitchen is only shared with 4 people, and the community spaces are too big for all of us. You know, this can be nice. But it's not what I'm used to. 

I loved getting to know a floor of girls. I loved getting to live life next to a team of other RAs. These people have a special place in my heart. 

But now, getting used to living in a home is something else entirely. Another phase of life. I do hope that in another phase of my life I get to live in a dinky building that holds 150 people that are just as excited about all of this as I am. 

Here's to knowing what you want in life!

What my art major has taught me about life

Life is like art.

I've already rambled about how important my art major is to me. How it's not a waste of a major, though I understand I may not make as much money as a business major. 

But. As we speak (if you were reading this as I'm writing it, which you're not so. okay.) I am sitting at a coffee shop that's attached to the gallery space where 10 of my pieces are hung for the weekend, waiting for perspective buyers and appreciators to come and network with me as an artist. And maybe buy my work. BUY IT. Like, that's a thing that could happen. But it's never been about that for me. It's been about learning about life and the pursuit of what I love.

These are the things I learned about life during my time as an art major: 

- Make stuff until your hands fall off

Life is like a long studio session. You come in, not necessarily in the mood to do what you're there to do. You putz around a while, avoiding making things, when finally you have to sit down and work. At first when you get going, you're struggling. But then you start to lose track of time. Before you know it, you've knocked out several things. They look good. You come back energized next time.  Some days are struggles, but at the end of the day, you kept going and trying every day, you put in your hours, and that's what counts. 

- Everyone is on your side

Life is like a giant critique. You put up all your hard work, that thing you've labored over and perfected, that thing you're most proud of. Then students and professors pick it all apart, identifying all the negatives and maybe just brushing over the positives. They pull out things that don't work, things that you didn't even know were flaws. It's easy to take this personally. But this is a good thing. This will make you better. They are on your side: they want you to succeed. 

- Don't be too precious

Life is like studio cleaning day. You've made some stuff this year, some of which you're proud of, and some of which is crap. You have to decide what you want to keep and what goes. Throw away the crap. And consider throwing away the gems too. Sure, they represent memories you've made in the studio, and they're a manifestation of the artist you were at that time. But they can hold you back. Think about all the directions you could go if you started over every day instead of feeling trapped to make the same kinds of things forever and ever. Start fresh. Never look back. 

- There's nothing wrong with beauty

Life is like the art world. It makes you feel bad for not having a reason, a purpose. It tells you that you need direction, you need intention. You can't just do things just because you want to. But this is not true. You are allowed to make something just because you think it's beautiful. You can like someone's work simply because you love the colors. You are allowed a simple interpretation, with no deeper meaning other than beauty. Your aesthetic is a part of what makes your inner artist, and you need to pay attention to what you find beautiful. Simple beauty is all the explanation you need. 

**Update: One of my pieces got purchased this weekend (!!) serving as a reminder that I have come a long way, and though I still have a lot to learn, I have done great work so far. 

10 things I learned from living in a tiny space

This year I live in a closet, almost quite literally. My parents' walk-in closet is bigger than my room. I measured. 

In all honesty though, I was really excited to live in a small space. Each year of college I think I've brought less and less stuff, and this year involved a drastic edit in lifestyle to live in a space that was less than half the size of my smallest room to date. Pairing down is good sometimes, you know?

Anyway. These are the 10 things I learned from this year of patience and love in less than 90 square feet of space.

1 - Pairing down is ultimately liberating not limiting

Going through this summer and thinking seriously about what I really need to survive was really good. Pots and pans? Nah. Forks and spoons? Maybe like 2. One cup. One jacket. One pair of boots. One blanket. You know, just the essentials. I mean, do you really need a straightener and a curling iron? Just go natural. Do I really need a dehumidifier? Open the window. Do I really need all those paint brushes? See what you can make with just one. Challenging, but ultimately, really freeing.

2 - Having less makes you value more

I don't have a guitar in my room. There just isn't the space for it. But I do have a ukulele! And this has been wonderful. I like to sit underneath my lofted bed in my hammock and play my ukulele and pretend I am so very hippie-like, you know? I value my uke, dang it. I love every little thing in my room, because there isn't room (physically or emotionally) for things I don't value or care for.

3 - Keep the floor clean

When the couch and the ottoman and the bed and the hammock and the desk are all taken up by people sitting, the very last resort is the floor. And you want more people to be crammed in your room obviously. And who wants a clump of hair or a leaf or spare crumbs stuck to their behind when they leave your room? Not I, said everybody ever. Make your space inviting and clean, vacuum the floor. On the plus side, it takes about 1.64 minutes, because your room is tiny.

4 - Privacy is overrated

When your room is this small, people are all up in your business. I'm an extrovert, and I love this usually. But when I don't, I can shut my door and still hear everything that's going on around me. It turns out that this season of life means living in community with people and having everyone in close quarters, and what a great season of life it is. 

5 - "Let it be useful, but above all, let it be beautiful" - Natalie Holbrook

This could not be more true. Things in my room have to have a purpose, and even better if they serve a dual purpose. But if their dual purpose is to be useful and ugly, then it must go. Things in my room need to be beautiful, because I see them everyday and I can't avoid them. End of story.

6 - You use what you have, you don't use what you don't have

This is simply the truth. I don't use a crock pot or a desk chair or a hair diffuser or a TV because I don't have one. Makes my life easier. Plus, if you are reeeeeally die-hard in need of these things, odds are you have friends who have them. And when you borrow things from people, you talk to them. And when you talk to them, you become better friends. Life is cool that way. 

7 - Clutter begets clutter: likewise cleanliness begets cleanliness

When I leave my desk surface to it's own defenses, it gathers crap. The more crap there is, the more crap seems to pile up. Doing a simple clean sweep of my desk makes my room feel so much more inviting. The less space there is, the less it takes to make it feel clean. However, beware the alternative: the less space there is, the less it takes to make it feel dirty. 

8 - Opening doors and windows makes extra space

Open doors make happy floors. Open windows make for interesting conversations with passersby. And neither requires someone to actually be in your room, making your space feel that much bigger. I'm telling you, the power of screaming conversations down the hall is gold. 

9 - Ditch the chair, buy a couch. 

Why would I sit at my desk on a chair when I could sit on a couch? Hello. Couch all the way. When I found myself sitting on my couch to eat, do homework, read, watch movies, and literally everything else that requires my bottom to be planted, I realized that I don't need a chair. Bonus: I could store my small fridge in the gaping hole left under my desk! And more people can sit on a comfy couch than a small wooden chair. Friendship. 

10 - The things that make your space feel like home are not really things

I realized that all the comfort and love I felt came from people, and not from being surrounded by a large space full of things. I knew this, but I really know it now. It takes a small space and a minimalistic attitude to bring it out. I love the people I have surrounded myself with in this space, and I wouldn't trade them for the luxury of a larger room. Ever. 

Good posts from my favorite bloggers

This is a photo of a poster I found around the art department. What a gem. Made me smile. Anyways.

Hi internet! I have a treat for you today.

I read a lot of other people's writing, and I follow a lot of blogs. Some of them are for fun, some of them are really deep and meaningful, and some of these people, I just feel, really get me. They write and it's like they're in my head, you know?

So I thought I would share some of my favorite posts that they've ever written, or some good things they've produced lately.

Hey Natalie Jean is my all time favorite. This post is my freakin all time favorite. I recently bought her book and this essay is in there too and... oh boy I died. She is such a beautiful writer. I hope to be her one day. The end.

Reading my Tea Leaves by Erin Boyle is another great one.  Her blog is wonderfully minimalistic, and this post is a recent one that I like, resonate with, and want to strive for in life. #minimal

Sydney Poulton at the Daybook Blog is another long-time favorite. She is spunky, deep and adorable. She rocks. This post is my favorite of hers, but doesn't even do her beautiful writing justice so you should really read more but start with this one because. really.

WhitSpeaks is a powerhouse of a woman. She's a recent college grad who I've been incredibly inspired by, and this post is one that has really got me thinking, being an almost-post-grad myself.

Design for Mankind is another deep-thinker blog that just gets me giddy with happy. Erin is freakin' adorable and such a beautiful writer herself, and this post made me smile, like girl, you and me. One in the same.

Finally. Humans of New York is a classic, I'm sure most people have heard of it. It's full of daily thoughts and interesting nuggets, but I still remember reading something on there that gave me chills and slammed me in the gut and made me start crying in line for coffee one morning. This post right here, people. It's still my favorite of all time.

Happy blog perusing. Happy hump day!

Ode to a community bathroom

When I really sat down and thought about my fondest memories of late, at least in this past year/season of my life, the first thing that came to mind was the bathroom.

At first this seemed strange. I wasn't really sure why this was the first thing that came to mind, but then after I thought about it, I couldn't think of a better answer. This space has contributed significantly to my sense of beauty and place and belonging. 

Okay let me explain. 

The bathroom itself is nothing special; the cracking yellow tile from the 70s on one side, running onto the white tiled walls and rusty mirrors on the others, mirrors that reflect the four yellow bathroom stalls, and me when I come out of those stalls early in the morning with a squinty face and a grumpy disposition.

The other people reflected in those rusty mirrors in the morning are the freshman that I am in charge of loving for the year, girls who will spend anywhere from 5 minutes to two hours in front of those rusty mirrors every day.

Blow-dryers, hair straighteners, washcloths, mascara, eye shadow and toothpaste litter the countertops every morning, while other sleepy faces emerge from the stalls to begin their regimen for the day. Girls transform themselves from puffy-faced, tired and vulnerable freshmen to confident, made-up and fresh-faced women ready to take on the world. These same women come back later, tired from long hours of conquering and strutting their way through their day in confidence, to take all that make-up off and shake out their hair, their newly tired eyes now glowing from the adventure of a day just past.

I have a personal belief that the way a girl gets ready in the morning is like a micro-anthropological study, and is a fascinating way to get to know who someone really is. 

I get to watch these micro-studies every morning and evening. Girls whip out this or that product, brush their hair in this or that way, or not at all, brush their teeth spitting every few seconds or every minute, and go about their habits they are so used to without realizing how interesting it is to observe.

One girl may shower in the mornings, blow-dry and straighten her hair while brushing it, put on foundation first, then eyeliner, then shadow, then mascara, then go get changed and come back for a final check and a teeth-brushing. Another girl may have showered the night before, do nothing with her hair and only put on a small amount of mascara after getting dressed first, then brush her teeth when she comes back after lunch. These girls have been doing their routines for their whole lives, and never take much notice to each other’s quirks and special rituals.

At night, when the make-up comes off and the sweatpants come out, the girls open up and empty themselves of all the vulnerable thoughts they had been thinking all day, but couldn’t let out through the mask of make-up and nice clothes they’ve donned to seem perfect. I do love seeing them this way; is so much more special. The most honest conversations happen immediately after these facades come off, when they are tired from a long day and bearing their honest selves, outside and inside. Some of my favorite conversations have happened barefoot in front of the mirror with mouths full of toothpaste.

It is so unique to get to know someone in this way. Even though these girls may never be best friends with everyone on our floor, they will know one another in a way that no one else can know them. Living alongside someone and seeing them in all facets of their life, not just during the day when they are at their best, is a privilege and has been taken for granted for most of the year so far. This is one of the most unique experiences, getting to know someone like this, and is something that I will cherish for a long time.

When I first came to college, on of my biggest fears was using a community bathroom with 25 other girls. I was afraid that I would never be able to get a shower or a sink, that everyone would be too in-my-business, and that I wouldn’t get any privacy. 

Now as a senior, I consider this time living and using a community bathroom with 25 other girls to be one of the most formative experiences of my life. I will never get to share this space with this many people ever again, and it turns out privacy is overrated. 

As much as I desire to be known in this way and accepted by other girls, they want this just as much. It is a privilege to get to love them in this way and in this space, and I will be thankful for this forever.

In defense of honesty

via

"  We know that labels are for jars, and we know that we are not jars.  "

Hey, ain't that the truth. That's something that has been laid on my heart lately, so to speak.

Life is about living in the midst of contradictions. A friend of mine recently listed out several of life's contradictions nicely: 

. Be humble, but not too self-depricating

. Be confident, but not too prideful

. Be authentic about your struggles, but don't complain too much

. Be always striving, but be okay with not having it all together

. Be fierce about holding yourself to standards, but don't feel like a failure when you fall short

The list goes on. Life is full of contradictions, and there are several ways to live in the midst of that pretty well. 

Likewise, we ourselves are full of contradictions. We present ourselves one way, and maybe it's even authentic, but we are entirely different in the vulnerable and lonely moments. Here's me for example: 

I'm an extrovert...

  ... but sometimes I need a lot of alone time.

I'm very illogical and spontaneous, and let my life be run entirely by my emotions...

  ... but I can rationalize and logically analyze my way out of having a crush on any guy. 

I'm an art major...

  ... but today I went to the studio harshly bent on procrastinating my way out of making anything.

In some of my more honest and vulnerable moments, when no one is watching, I have: 

. winked and blown kisses to myself in the mirror

. talked out loud to myself about what I'm going to eat for breakfast

. cried at car commercials

. tried to lick my elbow, cross my eyes and move them apart, put my feet behind my ears

. attempted really high and out-of-range singing, ending with vicious squeaks

. done some really ugly dancing

. sprawled on the floor laughing at myself for falling over nothing

. sat cross-legged on top of my desk, eating a bowl of cereal and conducting a symphony of violinists with my spoon. 

No one sees those things. They only see 145 characters of my best-presented self, a sliver of my best moment from the day, presented as much more enjoyable then it actually was, my most staged photos of my food, a rendition of my "favorite quote" that I definitely found on the Internet seconds before. 

We live in a society that makes it so easy to see selectively. 

But we are so much more complex than that.

We are the A+ students who go to see Indie concerts by themselves on the weekends, we are the jocks who play Monopoly with their parents, we are the broken and beautiful people who are still deeply capable of loving because we all have flaws and honest moments. 

We can take our labels off and put them back on our jars, if we are type A (my type B friends, throw them away and relish the hodgepodge of jars you've collected). 

We can be one thing and also something totally else, and we can let people see that. We have permission to be flawed, because those people are way more interesting. 

On running with a knee injury

Something is wrong with my knee.

I don't know what it is, and I don't even really remember how it started. It could have been this past October, the fall of my senior year of college, when I ran my first half marathon. Or it could have been 8 years ago in the spring of my freshman year of high school, during my first season of track and field, when I got a stress fracture. Somehow this was caused by uneven hips, or by cheap running shoes. Nevertheless, I ran on the same shoes, and the same hips, all four years.

Now, I change my running shoes every 7-9 months, maybe because I'm a shoe snob? Or maybe because the swelling in my knee and in my heart from running are growing stronger. I don't care about small shooting pains. I'm addicted to running.

When I'm having a bad knee day, I can usually sense it during the first mile. A small pain shoots under my knee cap, and a sigh and eye roll prepare themselves for the next one.

The worst of it is, after it gets unbearable and I have to stop and walk, it gets better. But the second I start to run again, I'm a collapsed mess on the ground in the fetal position. The little stinker strikes again, and I'm left to walk again. But I keep trying again every day, maybe because I'm an idiot? or because I'm addicted to running.

For the past eight years that I've been running for pleasure, I've really only actually enjoyed it for three of them. In high school, it was only bearable with other people by my side. Then freshman year of college rolled around and I thought I was invincible, and I didn't think I needed running. Whenever I tried, it only ended with me thinking to myself "okay, half mile, good to go."

Whenever I went far, though, I felt it the rest of the day. There's just no beating that feeling of your lungs opening with a joyful chorus, your smile forcing itself wider on your face and the sweat falling off your body making you feel 100 pounds lighter. It's an indescribable feeling of being emptied and purged, nothing negative remaining. But, you know, I was an ignorant freshman. What did I know about happiness?

Sophomore year brought the shedding of my freshman 15 and the secret love affair with 8 miles of road. Junior year my running buddy and I did crunches post-runs and talked about half marathons. Senior year brought me through the longest I've ever run, and the most unbearable and most wonderful I've ever felt. My legs were sore for a week and my heart was happy for a month.

Here I am, several months later, bearing the brunt of my obsession. Shifting from road to treadmill and back again is always the worst transition. This is when my knee tends to act up the most, when it's confused about the surface we're running on. Wait, there are contours in the path now? Oh, there are hills? We haven't trained for this. Get thee to a weight room and an elliptical, commands my knee after about a mile on the freshly melted snow on the road. Really, get over yourself. Outside is much better than inside, I say in return.

Once my knee and my lungs acclimate themselves to the outdoors again, who knows what's next for me. Full marathon? Triathlon? We'll see what my knee is up for. I can usually convince him.