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.