Exhaustion

Grabbing life, entwining bodies sway, uncontrollable in the rush of excitement. Sip life, live life, love life. Lose control moving. Push the envelope. Alter the persona. Dream to be. Be your dream. Dare to chance. Dare to change. Dare.

Sentimental

Caroline is visiting this weekend and I find myself more sentimental than normal so up go my London pics. They may not be Glasgow but they're close! So I'm posting pictures as we eat Scottish shortbread and watch Amelie (yet again, not Glaswegian, but can anyone really name a fantastically amazing Glaswegian film?)

Normal is Overrated

Growing up I longed to be popular, to be well coiffed, to be put together and self-assured. Dealing with a former friend in a particular situation that is better left forgotten, I was constantly told, "you're kind of awkward, right?"

Well, if I've learned one thing about myself recently, it's that I am. I am awkward and I embrace it. Our eccentricities, our imperfections, are what make us interesting, appealing, desirable. No one wants someone perfect. The flaws make us endearing. For what reason other than her peculiarities, do people love Amelie? It is because of her quirks that this movie gained a following.

The same applies for music. It is the strange and different music that appeals to me now. I still love acoustic rock and I will forever be a fan of most anything indie but in general I crave something unique. Add a trombone, a tuba, a trumpet, an accordion perhaps, and I am all yours.

So how is it in a world in which we are taught to conform I have come to the conclusion the most interesting, most beautiful things are those that don't?

If Home is Where Your Heart Is, Where Exactly is My Heart?

Before leaving for London, I decided to explore NYC.

I fell in love.

And then I left and forgot.

Now I'm back and searching.

At times I ponder if I will always be so fickle, if all my life I will wonder if I am in the right city, if I will ever feel at home.


I think back and try to remember what made me so exquisitely happy with NYC that weekend. The images help to remind me, but that deep-seeded love still alludes me. Perhaps this weekend I will remember. For now, there are only the pictures of the past.

Where I was, where I am, where I will be

Time, ever present and ever changing, has made its presence known in my life this week. Prior to the collapse of the financial world, Zephyr Management arranged for the company-wide meeting to be held in London. Friday I walked through the security check I'd stumbled through, blind from lack of sleep and dizzy from excitement, two and a half years ago. Going through the same gate and boarding the same airlines, I felt lost in a time warp. But this time, instead of continuing my travels to Scotland, I disembarked in Heathrow. My brief stay flew by, drowning in rain and company gatherings. What little time I found for myself involved an incredible amount of alcohol (welcome back to the UK!), walks in the rain, and short naps. It was only on my final day that I was able to find a decent amount of time to myself as well as sunny weather. It was then I fell in love. London is not Edinburgh and, thank goodness, it is no New York. The immense sense of history while walking around London is what I miss in New York. Just some sense of history is what I seek. New England is wrought with history while Oregon, be it a new state, promotes the Oregon Trail at every bend.

Once returned to New York, I realized I really do not enjoy my living situation in the least bit. Combined with a CEO in a bad mood, which manages to put the rest of the office on edge, circumstances had me dreaming of leaving and finding something new. Spurred on by irritation, I checked craigslist for jobs in San Francisco and the first job I saw made me stop looking. It is the perfect job. Actually, they are the perfect jobs. Summer Search has two positions open in San Francisco: events coordinator and grants writer. I would kill to have either. And I have connections to Summer Search. Although I'm not sure that they will help. My boss, the crabby CEO one, is on the board of directors. Fabulous! Not exactly the "in" I would like. But at least I attended a fund raiser for Summer Search this fall. That may help?

Who knows what the future may hold, I certainly know what my past held, and I am quickly learning I'm not quite sure I like what my present holds. I suppose it's time to "flush my crabbies down the toilet" as my mom would say, and get up and move on. If it's not what I want, it's time to make it...easy enough, right? Now I only have to discover what it is I want.

History in the Making

At 11:03 PM the city erupted with shrieks, fireworks, cowbells, and tears as the first American black president was elected to office. 4 years ago I sat in my dorm room, my optimism fading as the reality that Kerry would not win crashed down upon me. Perhaps it was a need, perhaps it was naivete or selfishness or optimism, but there was no other option this year. Obama would win. He would conquer racism, prejudice, and Republicans.

Obama, a master of the English language who wields words with ease and might, won me over four years ago at the Democratic convention. Hearing him describe the America he believed in, the America he knew existed, I felt a desire to be part of it. Except for as a young child, I have never felt a connection to being an American. While studying abroad I claimed to be a Canadian at times. One time, when admitting to my scarlet letter, I was told, "You wouldn't like me; I don't like your president or your country" by a French boy. But I felt just like him. I didn't like my president and I didn't respect a country that could elect someone with so little intelligence. To hear Obama describe a united, strong, dedicated America, I yearned for it to be.

Tonight it was. Tonight New York City united in a celebration of the victory of America.

Around the world newspapers commented on the U.S. presidential election but an article on Nikkei Net, a Japanese paper, is what stands out to me. The U.S. adapts. We adapted, we joined, we fought, we won. I have never been so proud to be an American.

Forever Young

I had forgotten the joys of a euphoric high after a good concert. I had forgotten and I was reminded.

At the last minute, I received an email from Ari saying I got the concert I wanted, so last night I rushed home to shove a fake-burger down my throat, toss on a dress, and grab Jenn before I headed to the Bowery Ballroom. Arriving a half an hour early, I was surprised to hear music already. Turns out I was not quite as up-to-date about the time of the show as I'd thought. Missing a mere 5 minutes, Jenn and I dashed up the stairs and straight to the stage (o read more about this concert you'll have to visit www.mel.opho.be).

What struck me while listening to Matt White, despite the fact that he lacked the old school crooning persona I expected, was that his songs were all about sweet love, hopeful love, romantic love. There was nothing realist about his lyrics. There was no real underlying doubt. He sang as if his heart had never been broken. It made me think. How much of what he sings about does he believe? How much of what he sings about does he merely hope exists? How much does he sing because he knows it's what women, his audience, want to hear? Am I cynical to question the nature of his music? Perhaps, but in this day in age it's difficult to accept someone believes in love at first sight.

But it also makes me wonder at myself. I swoon. I melt. I yearn for truth in his words. Ever the cynical optimist, my cynicism developed in an attempt to protect my romantic, optimistic hidden self. On the way to the performance Jenn and I chatted about emotions and the notion that those that have really high highs have really low lows. We debated if it was better to live without the highs and the lows or to have the ups with the downs. Without thinking I answered the highs and the lows are what make life worth living. So why, if I believe this is true, am I shielding myself from the highs and lows created by the opposite sex? Should I rethink things? It was a thought provoking evening and, if nothing else, it reminded me that I am too young to know the answers to these questions. Forever young, forever naive, forever innocent. Will the answers come before it is too late?

23 going on 70?

How is it that at 23 I am a grumpy old maid? The Planter's commercial comes to mind: "sometimes I feel like a nut, sometimes I don't". Sometimes I feel like a grumpy old woman and sometimes I feel like an energetic, enthusiastic girl my age. One year ago I didn't have this issue. One year ago I was happy and carefree. Today I am weighed down by work, by responsibilities, by debts, and more. Today the resentment I feel on a day to day basis for doing a job I don't enjoy in an environment I don't enjoy, pulls me into an abyss of crankiness despite my best efforts to resist.

Growing up, everyone said to follow your bliss. What is my bliss? Is it like chasing a rainbow for the pot of goal? Is bliss ever attainable? Many of my friends are certain of their life goals. They know exactly what job will make them happy. I've lived my life without a clear goal in mind regarding my job. My plans floated from veterinarian, to writer, to publisher, to public relations specialist, to communications coordinator.

I think the first step to recapturing my youth is to find my bliss. For this reason, I am planning my departure from NYC and relocation, but to where? The first question is what to do. The second question is where to do it. That being said, in order to achieve this, step one is to get out of debt. I am now officially on the "cheap food and no shopping" diet. With luck, I just might find the 23 year old me a few weeks before I turn 24.