To Boston. Love, Me.

Dear Boston,

This is my letter to you, after living here for four months. To most people it’s not that long, but for me, it was the longest I’d ever been away from home.

I came to you with few expectations. What I wanted most was to change and experience new things. I did that.

I let myself be swallowed by your crowds: the endless tourists, the harried business-people, the high society and the homeless. I immersed myself in the artists and hipsters, the dreamers and the doers, the lovers and the fighters, the academics and the bums. I loved how you are filled different opinions from all corners of the city. Opinions that have to be shouted to be heard.

Boston, I loved you from the moment I stepped off the plane. Your bitter winds and cold people didn’t scare me too badly. I was ready for whatever you threw at me, and boy, did you have some alternately nasty and amazing tricks up your sleeve. I can honestly say I went through my highest highs and lowest lows while in your city.

But you showed me that I’m stronger than I thought possible. In the depth of my fright I wanted nothing more than to run home to Mom and Dad and safety, but simply being here made that impossible. For the first time in my life you forced me to rely completely on myself. You reinforced my belief that I had to get away from what I knew in order to find myself and love me.

You challenged me, Boston. You showed me when I should be wary and when I should show compassion. You let me befriend a homeless man. You made me try new things. I danced in a seedy jazz club in New York City. I ate sushi. I walked and explored every inch of you, Boston. I danced without caring and played and laughed and cried. I listened to new music and went to art shows. I worked jobs I’d never before considered. I tried yoga and stopped being afraid to go places by myself.

You broke my heart and then fixed it for me, Boston. You made me fall apart, but then you put me back together for the better. I found qualities I never knew I had. I learned the satisfaction of working hard at a job and how good an honest day’s work feels. 

You charmed me. Boston, you may not have the speed and pace that New York has, but God, you have your perks. New York is dull and rushed and dirty, but you shine. You have clean sidewalks, the Red Sox, and all types of people. No place compares to you and the way that you sparkle on a sunny day. There is history woven into every fiber of this city. And pride. Oh, Boston, you have your pride.

You gave me places to go to when I needed comfort. I fell in love with you here.

 

I contemplated life here.

 

I enjoyed my lunch breaks on sunny days here.

 

Boston, you gave me something to strive for when I had no idea what I wanted to do after graduation.

At my job you gave me people to talk to and learn from. The best part about my job was recognizing people on a daily basis, people who fascinated me and broke my heart. There was Steve, the man who brought me coffee each and every morning–even though he was homeless and had probably 20 bucks to his name. There was the Latino hairdresser who worked on Newbury Street, and even though she is what we would call “fabulous,” she always went out of her way to compliment me on the hard work I put into that display. There was the sweet, soft-spoken gay man who came by each week to buy pansies for his flower boxes and always wished me a good day. You gave me new friends who enriched my life and challenged me and forced me out of my shell.

You let me be the girl who stood out and shone to those back home—something I’d never felt before. You let others believe in me and encourage me when I had trouble believing in myself.

You let me be me, Boston. You held no expectations of me. You just asked that I tried to be myself. That was enough for you. 

You showed me that happiness truly is a choice. My mom had always said it, but I thought once I got to a new place happiness would be easy. No. It’s definitely a choice. Thank you also for showing me that happiness is less about place, and more about the people with whom I choose to surround myself.

Thank you for saving me. When I came to your city I was a shy girl who apologized incessantly for existing. You showed me it’s OK to be in the way at times. You taught me to be bold and be noticed.

You took me in and let me stay awhile, filling me up with new sights, sounds, smells, people and experiences.

People fall in love, but in the last four months, I fell in love with you. As much as I wished otherwise there was no room in my heart for anyone or anything but you and learning your intricacies. I knew this experience would change my life, but I didn’t realize that so much of the change would be internal.

I didn’t know how long this experience would last, but I knew I was ready to stick it out, as long as I needed to. And now, it’s time to move on. Though I hope it does, Boston, life may not bring me back to you. But because of you, I’m not afraid of where I end up. I pray I continue the changes you began. 

 So, Boston, I’ll see you later. Thanks for the memories. I’m on to better things.

Love,

Me.

Rubblebucket.

Last night was what will most likely be my last night out in Boston.

It. Was. Effing. Amazing.

I met a friend at this bar called Church which is in the Fenway area. Neither my friend nor I had been there before, so we thought we were going to a quiet little bar where we could sit, grab a drink, chat and say good-bye.

Boy, were we wrong.

We walked in the door only to be slammed with a $12 cover. Friend and I looked at each other, shrugged and decided, “What the heck ? Let’s do it.” We figured there would be something interesting going on and thought it might be worth staying around for.

And, oh my goodness. I’m normally not into funky music, but this was one of the coolest bands I’ve ever heard. They were called Rubblebucket, and were a 9-piece psychedelic rock band. It was amazing.

The band was made up of a drummer, saxophone, trombone, trumpet, keyboard, guitar and bass guitar. And maybe something I can’t recognize.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I saw all those instruments on the stage, and was a little dubious as to what the overall effect would be, but wow. Just…WOW.

They blasted the music and beat their instruments  and blew with such fervor.

It was captivating. I love music events like that; there’s nothing else but the music. Nothing.

I love how it filled up each and every part of me, forcing me to dance and jump and just feel the music. I know I sound like a hippie drone, but come on…so incredible.

The last song was the best. The band members who were playing the horns (trumpet, trombone and sax) leapt off the stage and wove throughout the crowd.

People. Went. Nuts. It was the most intense moment ever.

I’m going back tonight. I want and need to dance it out some more.

These are the types of things that make me want to stay forever in Boston. I can’t see this group coming to Boston.

Just one wish today.

Today I woke up with one prayer on my heart: “Lord, please give me the strength to get through today. Just today.”

That’s all I could ask for.

I’ve been having a hard time lately. Working an average of 60 hours a week and not having a chance to actually go out and meet people is beginning to take its toll on me.

This prayer stayed on my heart as I slugged through my morning routine. It pounded through my head as I showered, dried my hair, dressed and put on the little bit of make-up my sleep-deprived eyes could handle.

I repeated it as I sat on the bus on the way to Copley at 7:30 a.m. with the rest of the morning drones. The drones who were probably cursing their lives as much as I was mine at that moment.

I said it to myself after getting humiliated by a stupid rich b**** who literally curled her lip at me when she saw the dirt until my nails and the callouses on my fingertips.

I said it again after that same woman made me blow up three helium balloons for her until she was satisfied with one, then sat through the next five minutes when she came back three times to order me to refill it because it was “deflating.” I said it once more for good measure when she came back for a FOURTH time and demanded a refund because I had done a subpar job of filling her damn balloon, and “it just wasn’t working for her.”

And then I tied that balloon to the stool in the store to prove to myself that I was, in fact, NOT an incompetent idiot who lacked the ability to fill up a stupid, worthless “Happy Birthday” balloon.

Stupid, stupid, stupid balloon. For the record, I filled it just fine. It didn’t deflate. That journalism degree is being put to good use, let me just tell you.

That brings me to my next point: my degree.

I understand that the economy sucks right now. I understand that this means it’s not guaranteed that I will immediately get a job upon graduating, because obviously, that didn’t happen. I get that sometimes you have to work jobs you don’t expect in order to pay the bills.

But I do not appreciate being made to feel like I am stupid by my employers or the people who come in to the shop because I’m still learning about flowers.

I have a degree, Mr. and Mrs. Employer. Yes, my degree is journalism, and I know that this means you think that I bring absolutely nothing to the table. But here’s what I bring.

I listen to you when you speak, even if secretly I think you’re just blowing out steam. I’ll still listen, and I will make every effort to understand.

If I don’t understand I will ask intelligent, pertinent questions.

I can handle tough customers. I may sigh and complain about them after they leave but you’ll never see me let go of my emotions in front of them. Never.

I am observant. I notice it when people are acting funny and am not afraid to point it out to you.

I’m resourceful. I’m always ready for the unexpected and if things do not go as planned I will do my best to right the wrong or go with whatever is happening.

So, please, Mr. and Mrs. Employer, although I am not perfect at this job, please keep in mind I’m trying. I pride myself on being a hard worker and trust me, I don’t want to let you down.  Keep in mind I’ve worked no less than 50 hours a week for you since the day that I started more than a month ago. Realize that I’m getting tired. Please realize that I have another job outside of this one. And that when I open the shop before 8 a.m. each morning, I get extremely pissed off if I am not allowed a break until 4 p.m. Legally, that’s unacceptable.

Please, Mr. and Mrs. Employer, understand that I get frustrated when I am told different things by each of you. And understand that I hate following one set of directions and then completely changing everything to comply with a separate set of instructions.

Figure out what you want. Not only will you make my life easier, but it’ll make your life easier as well. I’ll follow your directions. I’m a stickler for directions. That’s why I get so frustrated.

I don’t like feeling like I’m doing a less than acceptable job. And that’s the only way I’ve felt for the last week and a half. I can’t stand it when bosses nit-pick and criticize every single, itty-bitty, teeny-tiny thing. Especially in front of customers. Don’t make me look bad just because you are the boss.

Employees do better with encouragement. That’s all I’m saying.

So that was the prayer that was on my heart.

To be honest, Boston is wearing me out. It’s exhausting. Between all the work and the walking and the people and the writing it’s a shock to my poor little Texas system. I’m still living in a “slow” state of mind and I’m trying to get used to this fast-paced world I’ve thrust myself in.

I realize that my last few posts, including this one, have been extremely discouraging and I am sorry for that. I know it makes me sound sad. I know it makes me sound ungrateful for this job and this beautiful life I’m living. I just need a small break. A trip home would be the perfect breath of fresh air for my heart.

I’m craving Texas. I want a bear hug from my Papa and I want Sunday dinner with my family. I want a wine night with Chris and I want to go shopping with Wendy. I want to fight with my sister over the space in our bathroom back home. I want to see my mom and dad.

As I write this I’m terrified that admitting these things is admitting defeat.

Does feeling this way mean that on some level I’ve failed completely on this move?

I don’t want to go back to Texas for good. I just want a visit. I’m entranced with Boston. It makes me smile. Most of the time. Especially when it looks like this. 🙂

Or this:

I just need a break. I’ve never been homesick like this before. I’ve never craved so much familiarity.  

I realize that my last few posts, including this one, have been extremely discouraging and I am sorry for that.

I know it makes me sound sad. I know it makes me sound ungrateful for this job and this beautiful life I’m living.

I just need a small break. A trip home would be the perfect breath of fresh air for my heart.

I’m craving Texas. I want a bear hug from my Papa and I want Sunday dinner with my family. I want a wine night with Chris and I want to go shopping with Wendy. I want to fight with my sister over the space in our bathroom back home. I want to see my mom and dad.

As I write this I’m terrified that admitting these things is admitting defeat.

Does feeling this way mean that on some level I’ve failed completely on this move? I’d like to believe that I’m allowed this time. Can this still be my transition period, a time for me to adjust to this place that is so unbelievably, radically different from what I grew up in?

I don’t want to go back to Texas for good. I just want a visit. I’m entranced with Boston. It makes me smile. Most of the time.

I just need a break. I’ve never been homesick like this before. I’ve never craved so much familiarity. 

So, my dears, this is what my heavy heart has to say to you today. 

I’m sorry it’s such a downer. Hopefully my next post will be more upbeat.

Waxing poetic about the subway…hm.

My last few posts have been scarce and rushed and melancholy.

I hate that because I don’t like to think that I am using this blog simply as a place to moan about my sad feelings.

This blog is more than that to me, I assure you all. It’s a place to write. Obviously. What I mean is, it’s a place where I just write about anything and nothing and everything in between. Writing novels or poetry isn’t for me, at least not right now. (As much as I wish I had the talent to write a novel.) I just like to give commentary on my mediocre life, and try to make it sparkle a bit more.

Today I managed to move past my lonely feelings for the time being.

I have been homesick like crazy lately. I think it’s the fact that Boston is SO different from Texas and that I’ve never been away from home for this long before. It’s starting to all get to me, and although I love living here more than anything, I am extremely ready for my  trip home in May.

I can’t wait to see my best friends and my family. I’m ready to visit my old haunts, and, if someone lets me borrow a car, drive around for a bit. I want to sit in the hot, dry, West Texas sun and feel the wind blow past my face. A dust storm would be lovely. I’m looking forward to that familiar drive between Midland and Lubbock and watching how the land spreads away from the highway in a most lovely fashion. It’s going to be a great trip.

And although I sound like I miss everything about home and like I’m drowning in nostalgia, really, I am not. I know Boston is where I should be right now.

I know this because simple little things make me positive I’m doing the right thing. Ijust have to keep looking for reminders when I forget for a little while.

Take yesterday, for instance. It was my day off and after spending the morning at Barnes an Noble reading I decided  I needed to be outside and around people. I decided that hopping on the train to Cambridge was exactly what I needed. There’s always something interesting happening in Harvard Square.

So here’s where it happened. As I waited for the red line train to Alewife to arrive I looked out across the tracks and saw the same guy who always is there playing his guitar and singing a soulful song. It was so cliche to see a musician in the subway that I couldn’t help but smile. Then the train arrived.

Keep in mind I have never had to use public transportation before I moved here. It’s still a novelty.

The train rushed passed me, causing everything on the other side of it to blur. The noise of it drowned out the musician. The rush of air pulled at my hair, whipping it into my eyes. I closed my eyes for a moment and took it all in: the noise, the wind, the feeling of having somewhere to be and the ability to get there quickly. It’s small moments like that that jolt me into remembering how much of a city I am: the fact that I wax poetic about catching a train proves this.

I don’t know why I’ve been so lonely lately.  I don’t know why I find it so hard some days and other days it’s nothing to me.

But I do know that deep down I love this city. And I know that for now I love my flower shop job and my writing job. The people I come in contact with each day make this worth it.

And that will be my mantra each time I start to feel lonely or homesick.

Loneliness will keep you company if you let it.

I am prefacing this post with a few statements.

I am not writing this to garner sympathy.

I am not looking for an influx of calls, e-mails or texts from well-meaning people back home. I DO NOT want to talk about it.

I just want to write and hope that I begin to feel better.

Because right now I feel lost. I feel alone.

Like I’ve said in previous posts, I need to start meeting more people. I have fun with everyone I work with, and I enjoy spending time with my roommates. But something’s got to give.

At work it’s so easy to talk to people. When girls my age come in to the shop I have a reason to chat with them: I’m helping them pick out flowers for their mom or best friend. I can put myself into their situation and help them find something pretty. I’m allowed to ask about the occasion and find out more. But there’s that safety of having a reason to start a conversation; a wall between us: I work there. To them, all I am is the girl in the flower shop. But to me, as creepy as it sounds, those short conversations are gems that I hold on to. I miss my best girl friends at home, and those encounters are something important to me.

At Tech I had a group. I had people who achored me. By moving here I cut the cord and now I’m terrified that maybe I made the wrong decision. I second-guess myself so much. Even though I love my flower job and even though I miraculously found a small writing job I ask myself at night sometimes if it’s worth it.

When will I find my place here? It seems like it’d be so easy to disappear.

Being lonely sucks.

I hope you all know how much I love you.