Love, like Caprese Salad.

I’ve always been a firm believer in easy. Not that the way that would make parents and teachers feel like I have no ambition, but that some things shouldn’t be difficult. Success isn’t necessarily easy. Wearing down a publisher won't be easy. The actual process by which I will succeed won't be easy. But the writing was always easy. Writing always came naturally to me. In the rawest form of the bigger concept, the root was easy.

But when it came to relationships, to falling in love, I always believed the entirety should be easy. I feel like they shouldn’t be complicated. If you ever decided to fall in love, it should make sense. I never was a game player. I have no patience for playing hard to get or any of the other infuriating ways that we piss each other off. I believed that when you like someone, you let them know. And if they liked you back, you dated. Simple.

I don’t think that they should be byzantine. If you love each other, things shouldn’t be knotty. You shouldn’t make each other have to worry. You should be comfortable and secure with the other person. You don’t have to worry about what they’re thinking or read too much into their actions. You don’t have to worry if they’re attracted to you. Your communication is constant, but not taxing. Not that problems don’t happen, but you are calm enough to discuss them. You know and accept the other person so that when trouble happens, you get through it together. Simple, like Caprese salad.

I always rolled my eyes at couples that had too many problems. The evenings when my friends would fret over cold drinks about this or that, ensuring that they were going to need Botox before they hit 25, I never told them that the best relationships that I’ve seen aren’t complicated. And I don’t think they should be.

Despite my admiration for Shakespeare, we can choose to disagree about this. I think that the course of true love should always run smoothly. 

So why is it that while my brain knows this, I still find myself overthinking relationships? Is there always going to be one person in your life that you're going to break all your rules for?

I really enjoy being smart. That sounds conceited but it’s the truth. I’ll never be a great beauty or the fastest runner or be mistaken to have any kind of patience. However, I know I'm smart. And usually that’s enough for me.

But then there are those few times when my heart gets sick of being the less used organ and goes rogue. It’s out in the world without its only defense, the boss- the brain. The world is no place for a heart on its own. It makes uninformed decisions and then when it comes back, tail between its legs, your brain has to work overtime to forget all your heart saw when it was gone.

Is it ever possible that the right relationship isn’t always the easiest one? That it ever is the one with all the back and forth and mind changing and heart-wrenching hurt and forgiveness and ambivalence, holding in your emotions, an upheaval of emotions, not even knowing what your emotions are half the time? That you should have to deal with aspects of yourself that drive you crazy on any other person?

I’ve lived my life through what makes sense. I observe and draw conclusions, but don’t always live them. Sometimes that doesn’t matter, but in something like this, can you ever really know without experiencing it? Or is that just self-indulgent? Is that just an excuse to do what you want despite reason?

I so desperately want to be like Thoreau or Paul or Spock- smart intellectuals who don’t desire a relationship. And when my brain is in control, I'm almost there. Logically, I don’t think relationships make sense. But that doesn’t keep my heart from peeking out every once in a while, wondering, just maybe, if the boss had it wrong all along. 

The World Is Calling.

It’s finally happened.

The culmination of all of my restless wandering syndrome had manifested in an offer from the Peace Corps to serve in Sierra Leone, West Africa for 2 years starting in a mere 138 days.

While I have some pretty proud parents, and that’s always a comforting thing, really I'm astounded with this responsibility that the government has entrusted me with. I get a classroom of 50 wide-eyed girls who have so much to offer the world, and I get to be a person who helps them get there.

There’s something sort of magical about teaching anyway, but it gets too bogged down here with standards and lesson plans and grading and bitchy parents or absentee parents. There are too many politics and you forget why you loved it to begin with.

But when I finally stopped reading the exponential amounts of paper that the Peace Corps sent me about everything from Malaria medication to menstrual cups (what in the name of God is that anyway? Besides revolting…) I finally let it all sink in. In the quiet that I so rarely let enfold me, I realized at the core of what it is that I get to do.

It’s so different living here than living somewhere like the tribal village in Africa that I’m headed. I always knew there was a world that I wanted to see. But these girls don’t know that. They know their tribe and maybe the surrounding ones. They know that they get married at 15 and then have babies. 1 in 6 of them will die in childbirth. Their lives are decided for them before they even have a chance.

But if they can read, if I can teach them how to open a book and make sense of the words on a page, they have a fighting chance. The written word is the great shining hope of the world. Even if for now they’re in the village, I want them to know that there’s a whole world out there to see, if they choose to.

I want them to go to Hogwarts with Harry, Ron and Hermione. I want them to head through the phone booth with Milo. I want them to paddle down the river with Huck and Jim. I want them to ponder in solitude with Thoreau. I want them to think the thoughts that could lead them to recognizing their dreams.

I want them to want more. And they’re going to teach me to want less.  

Harvard should take some notes, there’s a lot of learning to be done here.

I can’t wait. 

17 Again

All of a sudden I’m 17 again.

And not really in a refreshing all of a sudden I’m hot like Zac Efron and the basketball captain again kind of way, but more like I’m back in my freshman year of college.  It’s the most confusing kind of senioritis, the one that takes you back 4 years and firmly digs its heels in, refusing to let you realize that graduation is imminent.

All of my friends I came in with have graduated, married, had kids, moved away, became missionaries or cosmetologists and left me here alone. I’ve bonded hard and fast with this year’s crop of freshman, all of us proud to be North Park Vikings and not held down with engagement rings or student loans yet. It’s easy enough to forget that I’m old when I'm in my sheep’s clothing amongst these new recruits.

But then I leave Albany Park and am immediately swarmed with questions about what I'm doing after graduation, where I’m living, what I’m doing, if I’m excited, if I’m scared, what my parents are saying, have I got my graduation tickets yet? And all I want to do is retreat back into the dorms, drink coffee and pretend that I just started college and that these questions have nothing to do with me. 

The weird thing is, I know what I'm doing.

 I don’t have that post graduation uncertainty lingering over me. I'm going to whatever country requests me and serving in the Peace Corps for 2 years. It’s a fully respectable position, doesn’t require a lot of explanation, is impressive enough that my parents can say it over their respective operating tables and not feel the need to avert their eyes in shame.

If anyone should feel okay it about graduating, it should be me.

But I don’t.

The idea of leaving Chicago, or more directly leaving North Park is enough to send me into a blind panic. North Park is my home. I grew up here. I became a woman here. I met my best friends here. I found my voice here. North Park was always waiting for me to come back from New York or Disney and the thought of leaving it for good gives me the Chipotle brick in my stomach, but in a much less satisfying way.

I’m 22 and clinging to the idea of re-living my freshman year again. One last semester of being in my safe place before I have to move to a third world country, become financially independent and start being a grown up.

Is that such a bad thing?

I have 5 months until graduation. 5 months to be in love with North Park for one last time. 5 months to get ready for the world that I’ve been dying to see. I’ll get there, whether or not I can see it now.

I just hope the world is ready for me. 

One for the Boys.

On my trip home from Detroit this weekend, my friend and I exchanged a lot of “Why do women do this?” and “Yeah, well why do guys do this?” I’m not sure if he is any clearer on why girls do things, despite my efforts. And he was very patient with my most likely inappropriately probing questions.

 

I’m still lost.

 

You really can’t know what it’s like to be a girl unless you are one. If it helps you at all, sometimes we don’t really understand what our problem is half the time. But be assured, it probably has something to do with you boys.

 

When he turned to me and asked me a question, I could hear the exasperation in his voice. Like he’s been trying all his life to be a nice guy and he still comes off like an asshole.

 

Even though I don’t fully understand what I feel some of the time,  here’s some of what I do know.

 

Lesson 1: Girls never forget their first loves.

 

This is the first time that a girl experiences the complex emotions of holding a boy’s hand and the first time that you really understand a love song. Since you’re usually 15 or something, they never work.

 

(If you’re one of the 6 people who married their high school sweetheart, you don’t count. But you don’t count for a lot of things anyway, so this shouldn’t be new.)

 

Guys, if you feel like they bring them up a lot, it’s because they had a lasting impact. It doesn’t mean that they care about you any less. They’re just always going to be there in some capacity. Buy them a beer or something.

 

Lesson 2: If they’ve had their heart broken, it’s going to take you a bit longer

 

This cock-blocks a lot of guys. They like a girl, but all she can talk about is how her last guy told her that since she wasn’t attractive enough to hold his attention, he would probably cheat on her and it wouldn’t work out between them. Or something like that.

 

This should have nothing to do with the next guy, but without fail, it’s going to. Any one who’s ever seen the wake of a hurricane or watched a documentary on Pearl Harbor knows the devastation of tragedy. While it seems petty to compare your problems to these massive ones, to a girl, having her heart broken is going to rank up there with these.

 

If you really care about her, you need to be willing to push past these things. You’re going to need to put a bit of work into this one.

 

Lesson 3: Don’t be fast and loose with the word ‘Beautiful’

 

That there are so many words to objectify a woman, but really only one that will make them feel good about themselves. Beautiful.

 

But here’s a secret: women know when you mean it and when you really don’t.

 

When someone says that you’re beautiful right after you tell them something devastating that happened to you, it always sounds insincere. Like they just want to make you feel better.

 

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice thing to say. But when you say it, it seems like what you’re really saying is “You have a beautiful soul.” or “You’re a really great friend to me.” Something like that. When I’m of the opinion that the only real difference between love and friendship is physical attraction, this kind of ‘beautiful’ is a death sentence.

 

Lesson 4: Listen to what we mean, not what we say

 

I know this is the most frustrating one.

 

Sometimes, even the most outspoken of us (ahem) have a hard time saying what we want to say. Read our body language, read our blogs, try to understand us more than you listen to us.

 

Lesson 5: All girls have a secret Princess Complex

 

This one is embarrassing for any feminist to admit, but we like the notion of being saved. Let me explain though.

 

We don’t mean that our lives aren’t complete without a man to tell us we’re pretty, but that when you fall in love, it really should enhance your life. We want to be rescuing the guy as much as they’re rescuing us. I hypothesize that men think the same thing, but don’t really have a label for it or know what they’re feeling exactly, but you guys have a Princess Complex too. We should be rescuing each other.

 

 

 

There’s thousands more, but that’s all I’ve got for you boys today. The bottom line is- just love us, okay? At the end of the day, that’s all we can really ask of you.

Never Say Goodbye

Goodbyes are not something anyone is good at. And if you are, you should write a book and jack up the price of publication because the world wants to know.

I am many things, spontaneous and flighty being two of them. It’s both a blessing and a curse. It’s a little hard when I can almost hear my parents sigh when they answer their phones, knowing that I probably have something new that I think I might want to do. Sometimes I think they’ve given up hope that I’ll ever find one thing to stick with.

They never know what I’m going to tell them next.

I usually don’t either.

It’s really great for people that know what they want to do and they go out and do it. They get the grades and then become surgeons. Or they see a burning bush that tells them to go help people. They have something that guides them to an end.

But to me, that idea makes me squirm. I don’t like the idea of an ending, and that’s all anyone seems to get. They know where they want to get. I’m more interested in how to get there.

Despite never having a steady answer to the question “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I don’t mind being a wanderer, struck with a bad case of the SOTHS (Somewhere Other Than Here Syndrome. Don’t ask, it itches). Too many wonderful people have become part of my life because of wandering. I’ve seen things and I’ve been in love, and there were good and bad times in both. I can’t say my last breakup or anytime I’ve spent in Canada was the high point of my life, but living at Disney world and having more best friends than any one person needs seems to balance it out for me.

I have had to say goodbye many times. But I’ve been the luckiest person to always have Hellos again when I’m supposed to. I think that’s all a wanderer can really ask of the world.

“Never say goodbye. Because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.”

 ~Peter Pan