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Dream bigger, please. Make magic.

December 31, 2010 3 comments

2010. You little bastard.

2010 was the weirdest year of my life. 2010 was the hardest year of my life. It was the most stretching, the most difficult, the most heartbreaking.

And yet, it also was the most triumphant year of my life. In 2010 I feel as though I changed into a different — a person that I’m beginning to be ok with. I like the way I’ve changed — for the most part. There’s always things to work on.

There was no big romantic love this year. That was a big difference. I think it was because my heart is still a little torn up about Boston. I gave so much of myself to that endeavor — I spent months planning, dreaming, imagining. I spent months searching for an apartment, visualizing myself taking the T, walking through the snowy streets of that new city. There was no room for anyone or anything else in my heart. And right now, there’s still not. I think I’m not happy unless I’m planning my next big escape, and putting my heart and soul into that.

That’s ok, right?

Leaving Boston was heartbreaking. It broke me for a little while. But anyway.

So here’s my year-in-review. 2010: What a year.

January.

My dream.

Well, of course, I up and moved to Boston. Jan. 10, 2010. I remember not being as scared as I should have been. I didn’t realize the implications of my move, or how hard it could be. What I remember most is the satisfaction of saying I would do something and actually following through with it. It was a good feeling.

It was a great feeling. January was a good month. I explored, I walked, I observed new people. I found a wall by Mass Art that had the gem of a quote that’s the title of this post. I worked for sweet Betsy. It was a magical month. I loved Boston: The snow covering the Common, riding the T. The frozen Charles river. Eerything.

February.

Oh, February. We didn’t get along so well. I can honestly say it was the hardest month this year. But I survived it. And it was the month that sparked my writing nearly every day, which I love.

I went to New York City by myself for Valentine’s Day, and it was incredible.

Freedom.

In February I fell. I thought I had a job and then I didn’t. And that’s OK.

Life isn’t always daisies and roses and freakin’ rainbows. People suck sometimes. But that’s OK. We’re all human.

So February. I fell and it took me a while to get back on my feet. But I did, finally, and I was all the better for it.

March.

Spring. Life. Flowers. March was when I got my job in the flower shop. And truly: I loved it. The job made me happier than every job I’ve held so far. The people I interacted with were (for the most part) pretty amazing. I worked harder than I’ve ever worked before, and for a while, I was happier than I’d ever been.

Love.

Love.

I met some truly incredible people: People I still remember today. The pansies man, and Steve. The guy who wanted the rose. The other guywho ays needed a beautiful bouquet for his girlfriend — and always made a point to talk to me and start a conversation, and find out why I moved out to Boston. He was kind, and I appreciated it. There was Cena, the man who worked in the shop next to the flower shop. He was kind — and always gave me an apple. 🙂 There was also the eccentric hair dresser: She was fabulous, and always stopped to tell me the display looked, “Fabulous, love, just fabulous.” She made my days happy.

I also met some amazing people outside of work. Being me though, I screwed it up, royally. And I still wish it had worked out differently.

April.

A hard month. My employers left for a trip to NYC for two weeks, and I was pretty much in charge of the shop in Back Bay. I worked for two weeks straight and it was hard. Little did I know, it was the beginning of the end. I worked double shifts from 7:30 a.m. to 9 or 10 at night. It. Was. Brutal. Apparently I have a hard time saying no when people ask me to work.

May.

I left Boston.

My Boston.

I left Boston in the hopes that I’d get the job I have now. My best friend got married, and her wedding was beautiful. But it was hard being home. I was resentful and missing Boston and frustrated with myself for giving up. It was a hard month. I remember writing one night that it already felt like someone else’s life. And it did. It felt like I’d never left, and I hated that.

But it was also nice getting reacquainted with my friends, my family, and more importantly: Texas. I realized while in Boston I dearly love this state: The people, the atmosphere, the rolling, flat landscape. It’s beautiful in its own way, and I can appreciate it now. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stay here forever. Hell no. There’s too much of that great, big, beautiful, amazing and ever-changing world to see. I can’t wait.

June.

My birthday month. The month I started my first job at a newspaper. I made some stupid mistakes, I sat by the pool drinking beers with my best friend and I settled into my new job.

I tried to end my blog, but that didn’t last. Even though I don’t write as much as I used to, this blog is important to me. I like knowing it’s here; that I can use it as an outlet for my joys, my struggles, my angst and thoughts.

A trip to Barnes and Noble one morning sparked a new love: Travel. Exploring the world. It was at that point I started thinking about some new opportunities within the next few years.

July.

Hmm. July. I stopped writing. It was like my words dried up for a little while. I was still learning to settle down in Lubbock. And learning about the job. But once I got into a rhythm, it wasn’t so bad. But in the back of my head,  Iwas still dreaming. Always dreaming. I’m never not dreaming.

August.

I don’t even know. I was reading a lot and working a lot and missing Boston. To be honest, it all blends together. It was an unremarkable month, much like most of my months and days lately.

September.

Oh, this was a good month. My good friend from Germany came to visit, and it was so good to see him and catch up after nearly six years of not seeing each other. It was definitely interesting and a little bit unexpected. Hmmm…I think that’s all I’ll say on here.

This month I also realized how to accept where I am. I made a conscious effort to stop regretting my choices, and learn to be where I am. Does that make sense? I’m trying, really I am.

I also came to the realization that no matter where I am in my life, there’s always going to be things back home I’ll miss. So, to counteract that, I’ve gotta be somewhere awesome so it’s not so bad.

Oh, and I also went skydiving. It was amazing. incredible. Liberating. I LOVED IT.

Liberation.

October.

October, October…hmm. October I realized I had to start being happy. I had to stop reliving my time in Boston, because it wasn’t coming back. And that was ok. I have other things to look forward to. Bigger things. Better things.

October was hard. I was working six days a week and it. was. rough. I felt like I never left work, but I did save an ass-load of money. That’s nice.

November.

November I missed my first holiday with my family: Thanksgiving. It was hard, then again, what’s not hard these days?

And December.

The last month of the year. Christmas. The holidays. Cheer and thanksgiving and peace.

I worked Christmas too. And now I’m here, on the same couch I was on in 2009, ringing in the new year the same way. And yet, I’m different, so that’s OK. I don’t mind it.

This year is over. As I’m writing this, there are 2 hours and 5 minutes left in the year.

I’m ready, 2011. I thought I was ready for 2010, but as it turns out, I think 2011 will be my year.

I still have hope. I still have dreams. I’m going to make magic.

2011 will be amazing. I’m determined to make it so, and you all know I’m a girl with some serious determination.

So here are my resolutions:

I’m going to be brave. I’m going to take on the world.

 I want to stay in shape: Running has been working wonders for me.

I want to find peace. I want to remember that this is my one chance in life, and if I want to do something, I’m going to do it.

But more importantly, I want to continue dreaming. The thing I believe in most is a person’s capacityto dream. Without that, we’re a little lost.

I dream big dreams.

It’s what got me to Boston. It’s what has (and is) getting me through living in Lubbock again.

Dreams are going to carry me around the world, and I can’t wait to see where I land first.

2011 will be my year of adventure, my year of excitement: My year of unexpectedness. It will be. I can’t handle it not being otherwise.

So get ready, people: 2011 is upon us.

Make some magic.

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Categories: Thoughts Tags: , , , , , , ,

The dreamer’s disease.

October 21, 2010 2 comments

It’s time to write a kick ass post, because it’s been far, far too long since I wrote a good one. You know what I’m talking about? I need a post that almost brings me to tears when I re-read it. One that fills me up heart and soul and leaves me spent and nearly empty because I poured my whole self into these words I’m letting you all read.

One of those.

So hopefully, here I go.

I’ve been on “vacation” the last couple of days. When I say vacation I mean I’ve got five mandatory days off work and I’m in Midland at my parent’s house. Which is nice. Ish. I definitely needed the days off work. I’m beyond exhausted.

Needless to say however, I’ve had a bit of time on my hands. Today was spent in my pajamas, laying on the couch and watching freakin’ Jersey Shore reruns. Ew. I feel like I need a shower after watching their antics.

But I’ve also spent much of the day reading blogs. Travel blogs, specifically. I follow a few, but today I took the time to look at who they follow.

And whoa.

It was a goldmine, an absolute gold mine of goodness. Here, look. And here. And just for good measure, go look here too.

I’m not jealous of these people. I’m admiring of the way they faced into the wind and the unknown and took that terrifying leap.

Earl’s Syria post resonated with me the most.

He talks about how there were some moments in Syria where he felt nothing but “unrestricted happiness.” It’s a beautiful post. It filled me with longing because I’ve felt that before.

I’ve felt that beautiful feeling of absolute rightness. That feeling of peace, of love for anyone and everyone in your path. It’s a beautiful thing. I felt it when I breathlessly hopped on the trains in Boston with just seconds to spare before it left the station. Or when my regular customers recongnized me and I them. I felt it when I trotted up and down the streets of New York City, letting the energy revitalize me and remind me just how very alive I am.

I almost think it’s that feeling those bloggers have that I’m searching for. Their posts have embedded in my mind the idea of going to these countries that I’d never before considered.

Albania. Syria. Turkey. Morocco. Egypt. South Africa. Czech Republic. Cambodia. India. Peru. Argentina. Thailand. China. Tibet. (I HAVE to see Everest — whether it’s from the Tibet or Nepal side; I don’t really care.)  So many more places. The far-flung corners of the globe.

I say this all the time, that I can’t wait to travel and see the world, but maybe it’s time to start thinking more seriously about it. At the very least maybe I should start making a list of where I want to go and what all I want to see and experience.

Maybe it’s time to start dreaming again.

After all, isn’s that the momentum that got me all the way to Boston? Aren’t the wild and crazy dreams and ideas and the belief it can happen what makes me me?

I feel like it’s the part of me that’s been missing for six months now. And I feel like it’s the part of me that I need to get back. Right now. ( I almost typed right meow.)

Glory days.

August 29, 2010 1 comment

Last night I needed a night out more than anything. I needed to nurse a cold beer; I needed loud music to drown out my ever-thinking mind; I needed to be around good friends.

But an hour into being at the bar, I was disgusted. Not by my friends by any means, but by the crowds in the place. The town I live in, like I’ve said before, is filled with people who are essentially cut from the same cloth. It’s a college town; there’s sorority girls and frat daddies all over the place. And I cannot stand it.

I left last night because I got sick of having to deal with this.

Lately I’ve been reading travelogues, which are amazing books. One of my favorite things about these books is the chance to see the world through someone else’s eyes. I love learning about new types of people, new cultures, new traditions.

It makes me hunger for something different.

I want real people in my life. I need to, at some point, get away from the college lifestyle and move in a path that will bring me toward interacting with people who have had actual life experiences.

I know in a lot of ways I’m categorizing everyone I saw at the bar last night, and that’s not fair. But in some ways what I’m saying is true, so I’m not going to feel too bad.

Last night also made me miss Boston. (Whoa, what? Like I never say that.) What I loved most about that place (Let’s say, in the top 5 of things I loved.), was the fact that new people were around every single corner. Whether it was a quick conversation on the subway with a med student, or stopping to listen to a street performer, or an artist who became my closest friend, I was always hungering for that next encounter.  I love different perspectives and opinions and lifestyles.

Some people want to eat their way around the world. Others want to participate in adrenaline-filled activities or see how far they can travel by land rather than by air. I, on the other hand, when I travel, want to glean as much as I can from whichever culture I choose.

One of my favorite books I read this summer was “Tales of a Female Nomad,” by Rita Gelman Goldman. After a divorce, and in her mid-40s (I think), she moved to Mexico where she lived in a Zapotec village for a number of months. From there she’s spent the last 10 years or so moving around the world, and making sure that she connects with the people she lives with in every part of the world she visits. She lived with a royal family in Bali, and hiked in the highlands of Indonesia where she lived in a teeny-tiny village. Rather than getting the quick, “postcard view” of the places she visits, she stays long enough to get an idea of how they live: what activities their days are made up of, or how they grieve, how they celebrate, how they play.

It’s a beautiful thing, and I loved her book. And although I don’t really want to take it as far as she did and be a “present-day nomad,” I do want to learn from people the way she did. That’s why I want to travel.

Boston let me get a taste of that feeling. The city gave me the chance to, like I said earlier, meet tons of different types of people. I miss that.

And that, right there, brings me to my next thought: The glory days.

Since I started my new job, I’ve had lots and lots of time to read gazillions (OK, slight exaggeration) of travel blogs. There are people out there my age traveling around and around the world, and I love reading their blogs.

One blogger–I can’t remember who it is, but I’ll link it as soon as I find it again–wrote a post about the glory days. He likened this to that old man who always talked about “that one football game, back in 1950 where he made the winning touchdown.” And this man never moves past this point: He spends the rest of forever telling this story, and that’s essentially the highlight of his life.

What I loved about this post was that it made me realize how moving to Boston was my glory moment, and it made me sick because I am so much like that old man. In my life right now that move to Boston is the biggest thing I’ve done.

I miss it. You all know this. And I insert it into every conversation with new people: I make sure they know I moved there, that I was scared, but that I did it. Those days I spent living in Boston were my glory days.

The blogger also touched on the importance of not letting that one experience become the only moment worth being glorious in your life.

And I get it. It infused me with determination. Determination to move past a situation, a decision I made I’m unhappy with. It’s made me start planning and thinking about concrete steps I can take to ensure I have more moments and experiences I can classify as my glory days–instead of just one four-month block.

I want enough experiences to fill a book. You all know that when I get in a new place I can write and write and write. My blog took off in Boston, and I’m searching for the next place I can let my words explode. It’ll be wonderful.

So, here’s to the glory days. And here’s to real people. I’m coming for those times.

Thanks for reading. I haven’t written this long of a post since I moved, and I have to tell you, it feels amazing.

The times, they are a changin’.

Hair-raising success.

March 29, 2010 6 comments

Hello, everyone. Say hello to me, Boston’s newest freelance writer.

Hmm? What’s that? How did this happen, you ask? I’d be happy to explain. It goes way back. Settle in; it’s a good story. And it begins with my hair.

I’ve had issues with my hair a long, long, very long time.

It’s curly. It makes me look like a fourth grader. I switch products weekly because nothing ever seems to work well at controlling the curl. Or keeping it straight. A couple years ago I finally took the plunge and chopped it short, which I loved.

When I moved to Boston I decided a new life meant a new haircut. New place, new me. That was the idea. Because I was trying to save money at every turn I held my breath and went to this place called Blaine Beauty School. Basically the place gives cheap haircuts and highlights because the students are the ones who are the stylists. They are watched over by their instructors, but still, it’s a little nerve-wracking.

My experience was great though. This guy named Jason cut my hair, and he was the sweetest man ever. We hit it off and talked about everything while he painstakingly cut and highlighted my hair. Three and a half hours later he was finished. And he told me wanted to give me a haircut that made me more distinctive. He said my haircut would help prospective employers take notice of me and notice me more.

Two months later this is exactly what happened.

Last Sunday I was working in the flower shop when this woman came in. She wanted to buy flowers for her mother-in-law, and she didn’t care what she got. In her words she “despised the woman.” Haha. While I was wrapping her flowers for her, she commented on my haircut and how much she liked it. She asked me where I got it cut and from there we just started chatting. One thing led to another and I mentioned how I recently moved to Boston from Texas, then I told her I’d just graduated from college.

She asked me what I’d studied and when I told her journalism her eyes lit up.

“Journalism? So you write then?”

Yes. I write. Not well. But I try.

But I didn’t tell her that. I told her that yes, I write and I love it. I told her I’ve been looking for any sort of job that would give me more experience.

She whipped out a piece of paper and started talking again, telling me about what she does and that I should e-mail her. She told me she knew people at the Weekly Dig and at Stuff and at the Boston Phoenix. She told me she was looking for someone to work on writing projects for her. This woman moves very quickly and before I knew it she was out the door, leaving me with her e-mail address in hand and a fluttering heart. I was wondering if it was some sort of a joke.

A couple days later I decided to shoot her an e-mail to see what whould happen. I kept it quiet from everyone because I didn’t want to be embarrassed like I was with that other job. But after receiving a positive response from her I started to feel better. We set up a meeting for my next day off, which was today, to talk about getting started on some writing projects.

Basically, this woman is an event planner for JP Centre/South Main Streets. It’s an organization in Jamaica Plain that’s focused on keeping the community a part of the big cities. It focuses on shopping locally and drawing tourists into areas of the city that are off the beaten path, so to speak.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I went in today. I was afraid to hope. I didn’t want to be disappointed again.

But, my readers, I was anything but disappointed. 

I met with the woman and she started reeling off story ideas for me to begin working on immediately.

She wants me write about First Thursdays, an art event in JP. She wants me to do profiles over interesting people in Jamaica Plain, one of whom is the former personal assistant to Steven Tyler. Yes, the Steven Tyler. She wants me come up with my own ideas and be creative. I have a bit of free rein with this project, I was excited to learn.

After picking my jaw up off the floor I started furiously writing everything down. She threw names and numbers of contacts at me so quickly I could barely get it all down. She suggested I write a story a week. She told me she wanted me to write a few press releases for her events; press releases that will possibly be in the Weekly Dig and the Phoenix, and if she can swing it, the Boston Herald and the Globe. The Boston Globe. Yes, the Globe. Me. In the Globe. It’s a slim possibility, but it’s a possibility nonetheless. (And in case you forgot, possiblity is my favorite word.)

She set me up with a more professional e-mail address and is getting me in touch with a designer to get business cards. She wants me to be able to hand out my cards as a freelance writer at events, because apparently, I get to attend them with her.

She wants to help me because by writing these stories for her I’m helping her out.

Why do I deserve this? I feel so blessed. Three months ago I was at home in Midland and had graduated 10 days prior. Now I’m in Boston, working at a flower shop and acting as a freelance writer.

What if I had never done this? That thought scares me even more than actually moving here scared me. What if I had never moved here, had never gone to that beauty school on that one night that Jason was there? What if I’d never started working at the flower shop and never met this woman?

What if I’d listened to the professors and advisers at school who told me not to move to Boston?

I have to wonder what I’d be doing right now. 

I know this isn’t a “forever” job. I know that it’s not permanent and I know that it sucks to not get paid for my work.

BUT.

But it’s something to put on my resume. It’s more experience and it’s a way to get my name out there in Boston. I am a writer in Boston. How supremely awesome is that?

I’ve always been told how difficult it is to get “in” in Boston; that it’s an extremely closed community to outsiders. This is how I picture it. Boston is a closed door. But I shoved my foot in the miniscule crack and I’m forcing my way in and won’t stop until I make it. I’ve got my foot in the door.

So tomorrow, I get to start working on my first story. And that makes me so unbelievably happy. I feel like I’m about to burst out of my skin with joy.

It’s days like today where I’m going to be so happy I smile widely at strangers. This is when I feel less skeptical and cynical about the world. This is the type of day where I’m able to believe in magic and in hope and in the power of dreaming.

Because look where dreaming big got me.

Plant your own garden.

March 10, 2010 Leave a comment

Like I said yesterday, it’s been two months to the day since I moved to Boston. (Assuming I finish this post before midnight. It’s 10:45 p.m.)

I started a new job this morning. Don’t get too excited; it’s just a part-time job in addition to some other things I’m going to be doing. The job is at a small, family-run, hole-in-the-wall shop in between the South End and Back Bay.

I love it. I absolutely, 100% adore the job.

I interviewed for it yesterday after randomly applying for the position without even really thinking about it. The owner e-mailed me on Monday asking me to discuss the position and after speaking on the phone with him for about 20 minutes that afternoon he invited me in to talk in person and fill out application. When I went in I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’d never ever considered working in a flower shop. I always thought it’d be such an idyllic job, but I never thought it would happen.

The owner spent more than an hour yesterday talking to me about the job. It was great. I could tell how much he loved his job and that in turn made me want to work hard and prove myself. He explained to me all the things that the job entails, which includes setting up the (beautiful, gorgeous, breathtaking) display of flowers outside the shop, making bouquets, helping customers and just taking care of the flowers and plant. I know I’m going to love this job because there’s always something to do or someone to help. There’s no standing around, twiddling my thumbs and tryng to look busy. Love it.

After hearing what all the job was about I was a little overwhelmed but determined to prove myself. I wanted to try something new. This job appealed to me because it’s going to be so interesting to learn about flowers and arrangements and how to take care of flowers for optimal lifespan and stuff. And come on. Flowers are happy. So how can working in a flower shop not be enjoyable?

The owner told me he’d call me later that afternoon to set up a time for me to come in and shadow an employee, just to make sure I’d be a good fit at the job.

That’s what I did today.

And woah. He told me to be at the store by 8 a.m. That’s not bad at all. Normally.

Except for the fact i haven’t been doing squat with my life the last few weeks. And have gotten on a truly terrible sleep schedule. Which meant that just because I got in bed at 11 p.m. (like a good, responsible adult I’m trying to be) did not mean I got plenty of sleep. Oh, no. It meant I laid in my bed sadly watching the time click by on my phone. Midnight, 1 a.m., 2 a.m., 3 a.m. Finally, I fell asleep, only to be rudely woken by my alarm at 5:30 a.m. And then my sweet best friend sent me an encouraging text message exactly one minute later. Thanks for being happy for me.

5:30 a.m. I didn’t know how long it’d take me to get to the shop this morning. I thought that I would have to leave my apartment super early in order to get over to Copley on time. I thought the trains would be jammed with weary people making their ways to work.

Nope. Took me about 15 minutes to get there. So I got up ridiculously early for no reason.

But I’m glad I did. I’m so glad. Because I love the early morning. It’s quiet and peaceful and still. It allows me to get ready without feeling too rushed. I can shower leisurely (because who else is going to be up at that godforsaken hour?) and drink my coffee in silence. I loved it.

When I left my apartment at 6:55 a.m. I walked down the street with a smile on my face and a spring in my step. It’s not possible to not feel cheerful when the day is so beautiful. The air was crisp. The sun was shining and glinting brightly off the buildings. The city was waking up and I got to witness it. (Unlike New York, Boston sleeps.) Cars were honking and almost getting in wrecks. School buses were dropping kids off and picking them up. People were gripping coffee mugs like life-preservers and rushing to work.

And the best part is that I was awake to see it. I had a purpose. I had to get breakfast, catch the T and get to where I needed to be. In the big, impersonal city of Boston someone, somewhere was counting on me and expecting me to be somewhere. 

It was one of the best feelings ever. And I felt it fitting that this occurred two months to do the day that I moved. It just felt right.

And the actual job was perfect. It’s not easy work. There’s lots of toting arrangements and making sure everything looks uniform and appealing.

But I love it because this is a store that is established in the neighborhood. They have regulars. People come each week to get flowers for their desks and to brighten up otherwise dreary offices. Women come to get a gift, just for themselves. (I’ve always wanted to do that.) And I love it because I felt like I was contributing, in some small, mundane, probably truly unimportant way to someone’s happiness.

When the man who came in and bought a bouquet of lilies and irises for his wife and spent 15 minutes writing a heartfelt note to her I felt so excited for the smile that I knew would cross her face when her husband came home. Then there was the guy with the suitcases and travel-weary smile and rumpled clothes who asked me pick out a single, perfect rose. And I knew that somewhere in Boston someone (I make no assumptions) would feel the care that went into picking out the perfect rose.

It’s satisfying. It’s gratifying. It makes me feel good. It makes me feel like not only am I making people happy in a small way I’m also being given another outlet with which to express myself. In some way it’s art. I have to make things look pretty. It’s a new muscle to learn to flex and explore and I can’t wait to learn more. 

No, it’s not the perfect corporate job I was hoping for. But again, that’s part of the adventure. This will be great for some period of time. It’s something unexpected and that’s exactly what I was hoping for when I moved here.

Two months ago.

Way back Texas.

March 8, 2010 Leave a comment

Today I took back my Monday morning and, in a way, my apartment.

You all know that when I moved to Boston I moved into an apartment in which one girl moved out and I took over her lease until September. So it’s taken me a while to feel completely comfortable here, mostly because I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes since I am the “new girl.” But I finally decided it’s time to nudge my way in and claim a bigger spot than I’ve been taking up. So I bought myself coffee and creamer and decided to start my usual ritual of drinking coffee in the morning. Every morning. For such a small act it certainly feels good. Getting ready for the day just wasn’t the same unless I had a warm, rich cup of coffee in my hand. Maybe now I can cut back on spending all that money on coffee drinks during the day.

So there’s my little rant on coffee.

Lately I’ve been thinking about this blog a lot and what I could do with it. It’s always been a place for me to sort through my thoughts and figure out if what I’m feeling is rational or not. (More often than not I find that I’m being ridiculous.) It’s a good outlet for me to vent and think and talk and say the things I’m never brave enough to say in real life.

But since I moved it’s become more than that. It’s become something that I feel the need to do almost every day. I’m beginning to love writing in a way that I never have before. When I go wandering around each day I take note of things that I wouldn’t normally notice in the hopes that I can find something interesting to blog about later. And the streets of Boston inspire me. All the new things to look at and experience fill me up inside, and I walk down the streets composing my next post in my head. It’s new for me to be this inspired with writing, and I absolutely love it. For right now I no longer have that weird loss for words that I used to experience. Before now, whenever I tried to write, I would stare at a blank page or screen and just sit there. I’d wonder what to put down on that page and if my words even mattered to anyone. But now, I just let it flow. It’s like I’ve let one part of my mind go, and I just write and feel and I don’t think so much about it.

I think part of it is that I’m in a new place. There’s new things to write about, of course. But more than that, I’ve been searching out new blogs to read and am trying to explore ordinary people’s writing styles. And it’s interesting to me that there are so many out there. They talk about anything and everything under the sun. It’s made me realize that it doesn’t always matter if what I have to say is interesting or not; what matter’s is that it’s important to me. It’s important (I hope) to the people who love me and are interested in what I have to say.

My new project is to work on this blog. I’m trying to write each day and make each post count. My desire is to be funny, entertaining and insightful–something people enjoy reading. And yet, I want it to be less about making it good for other people and more about making it something that I am proud of. It’s a very complicated desire.

I got a note from my aunt and uncle last week, and they suggested that I spend at least one hour a day writing. It’s a great idea, and I think I’m going to go for it. I know one girl who’s doing a blog for her photography, and she’s working on a project called “365 days of photography,” where she posts one picture a day. Maybe I should take up some variation of that. 365 days of Katie’s thoughts. I like it.

This post took an interesting direction today. I wasn’t exactly going to write about this. I was actually going to write about this.

Yesterday I found this site. I was watching some random TV show online and this was one of those 30-second commericials. I went to the Web site and it’s so cool! You should look at it.

It made me think about what I posted yesterday, about people being kind to those who are less fortunate. To what extent are we responsible for helping people? To what extent are we responsible for helping anyone? This site made me want to try something. I want to try going out of my way to do one nice thing for someone a week. Just one. That’s not too much, is it? I feel like I need to work on being compassionate to others. I need to work on stepping up and doing the right thing when it’s called for.

I know, I know. I’ll be careful. I won’t do anything that will put me in any sort of danger up here in “big, bad Boston.” I’m talking about simple things: running to open the door for the couple trying to manuever their kid’s stroller through the busy streets, giving up my seat to someone on the T, stuff like that. Little things that seem like they don’t matter, but really? They do matter. And every time I’ve done something like that I can’t help but always feel better about everything. So it shouldn’t be too hard to work on this. I’m going to make it a point to start on this. I want to be a better person.

I just got off the phone with my dad a few minutes ago. I’ve been planning my trip home for my best friend’s wedding in May. 😀 I’m so excited to go back  to Texas for a few days. My friend asked me the other day if I thought that going back home would make me want to move back there. After considering it for a moment, I decided that no, I’m doing good here. And truly, I am. As hard as it is, as expensive as it is, and as lonely as it can be at times, I have to keep in mind that I’m still settling in to this new place. And making it in the city is still my “true love,” if you will. What I mean is that right now nothing else is as important to me as succeeding here–whether it’s Boston or New York or any other city up here. I want to succeed on my own terms and my own time. This time right now is for me to be selfish and go after what I want. So slowly but surely I will do that. Regardless of the things I’m missing out on (weddings, weekends home with the family, time with my best friends), this is my priority right now.

But anyway. I think going home in May is exactly what I need. I can’t wait to see the family and my best friends. I can’t wait to sleep in my teeny twin bed in my old room. I’m excited to get on that plane and see the flat expanse of west Texas from the air. I’ll probably cry when I see it, like I did when that plane took off when I moved to Boston. Leaving Texas made me love it. Maybe I’m just idealizing it my head since I’m away from it, but my goodness. I miss sunsets and stars, and cowboys, and country music and the wind. I miss the flat wide open plains and the sheer nothingness that surrounds Midland and Lubbock.

Just 2 months and 5 days until I’m home again. Not that I’m counting or anything.

But trust me guys, I’m enjoying my time here. More than I could have imagined.

what a beautiful day.

March 6, 2010 Leave a comment

Today was a glorious day in Boston.

Today, for the first time since January, I did not have to wear my winter coat.

The temperature hit 50 degrees today. Beautiful. And the sun was shining and the wind was not blowing. It could not have been much better.

There’s a yoga class I go to on occasion. It’s $5 a class (amazing) and it over by the Boston Public Garden. I walked all the way there today, and relished every second of the walk. I tilted my face to the sun and took pleasure in the rays that hit my face. It felt like my body was waking up and coming alive again after having spent the last two months bundled and covered. I had this image of myself walking down the street, and parts of me were cracking off and falling to the ground, revealng a brighter me underneath. Yes, that’s disgusting, but my God winter is brutal. Everyone was in such a good mood on the streets. There were so many people out! The city actually felt crowded. And according to weather.com, the next few days are going to be great as well. I couldn’t be happier about that.

Ah, Boston. I just soaked it up today.

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