Paris

This month last year I was traveling Europe.

For me, Paris was step 1 on the adventure. The month-long journey to which I'd just embarked. The night before leaving home was the first moment a gut-wrenching solitude I was so eagerly awaiting rushed over me, an instant realization that this carefree time alone, well, it might be, kinda... lonely.

Still, I felt on fire with the determination to return in thirty days time redefined- not by the community to which I'd been dropped- but by me. By the experience I alone created. By the people I alone made the decision to befriend. I needed to kick-start what made me tick. A mission of self-acceptance, introspection, and fun, damnit.

Soon enough, wheels up, wheels down, and Paris 'here I come' became Paris 'I'm here'. I'd been twice before, those times with family, and as a follower. Here I was now, at the same Presidential Airport, in quite a dissimilar situation. I was leading. The only problem- I didn't have the slightest idea where to...

A hop skip and a jump and I'd checked in, freshened up, and cruised through the faintly familiar hustle & bustle of Parisian life on a sunny summer Sunday, alongside 30 equally-as-eager hooligans also staying at St. C's Inn in the 19th arrondissement.

How does one begin to speak on the incomparable energy that defines the allure of pristine Parisian sidewalks? I only spent one night in Paris, but in one night, Paris opened itself to me, offering its spirit in the form of 9 Russians, 8 cranberry vodkas, 7 pubs, 6 blisters, 5 hours talking in a hostel stairwell, 4 hours dancing, 3 hours walking home, 2 new girlfriends, and 1 night I can't believe I remember.

Wakey wakey at 9am, to yonder (southern) sea I sought. Now how do you say 'Cannes' correctly? Oh there's two you say.....glad I knew that before I got on this train.

Chalk Talk

Chalkboards. Such a nostalgic mess. My roommates and I sparked an obsession whilst skimming Crate & Barrel magazines over evening rounds of cheesy television, and before we knew it, it was agreed, a dire need born. Upon what you ask? Well that the perfect chalkboard accent piece for our barely-there-soon-to-be-divine dining room was a MUST, to be found immediately (and for cheap!!). This adorable way of communicating, designed for the whimsical, inspirationally-inclined, or just plain forgetful, is exactly what us (described above), and our dining room (described above above) desperately seek. The hunt is on!

Miss Mila

After this weekend's sexual chemistry overload in Friends with Benefits featuring Justin Timberlake's sexy back and Mila Kunis' puppy dog eyes, I could barely control my urge to stalk. There's simply something about Miss Mila that is so effortlessly girl-next-door-chic it drives me wild with envy. Her locks, those lips, that button nose, and COME ON, who gets blessed with such delicious chocolatey almond eyes?? With a girlish physique and an attitude that says don't mess, Kunis has done a brilliant job convincing me there's no face I'd rather snag.

Monday Precautions

Nobody loves Mondays. Some claim to like them, but get real, nobody loves them. It's the end. The end of a few days where in the rare chance your alarm fills the room with Hells Bells 'round 730, you can violently snooze guilt-free and return to dreamland until your eyelids admit defeat.

The Workweek Mentality
Tuesday- At least it's not Monday.
Wednesday- Half way, weekend planning begins.
Thursday- Thank god tomorrow's Friday.
Friday- TGIF. TGIFF. TGIMF'inF.

In order to meet Monday in the middle, hoping to sacrifice my own bitterness in acceptance of the rare chance this Monday'll be different- not full of resentment, but full, brimming in fact, with possibilities unknown, I try to take Monday Precautions- Clean my room the night before in avoidance of the dreaded what-to-wear dance. Up early to remind myself there are hours in the day which belong only to me, devoted not to the routine. A little coffee/journal date with my pen and patio to warm the thinktank up top, the usual.

On days where the general mood is predicted to be overcast at best, building your own wall of positive deflection can help. I like to think it helps me to postpone succumbing to the dreary by actively pursuing my own happiness- feeling the most connected with myself as possible before opening the doors to the daily battle- a fight to remain uninfluenced by the Monday Moods of others, and to maintain positivity throughout whatever mess of a Monday is made.

My Crazy Quartette

This week, with my family together at the cabin sans moi, a ting of jealousy lodged itself in my gut, making clear its intentions with flashes of crackling fireside laughter- blinding reminders of stories being shared, unadvised upon by a crucial member of the family five-some. This harbored jealousy festered itself in my thoughts- complete with the false aroma of a nearby chef at work in his element, the forged warmth of sunlight taking the windows by ransom each afternoon- beaming down through mossy, budding branches- the dinner discussions lasting long after last-bite, and the ring of coffee grinding faintly in the background of dreams as we lie waking in the loft. These are the times to which I feel we are most a family, sharing food-made with love, and wine- the lessons of its breadth an essential element to every proper cabin evening. These are the times I cherish, the times I believe contributed to who I am as an individual on such a truly massive scale.

Although I love my family dearly, as we all do, I've never been one to feel that intense anxiety some do while wandering the world, far away from the tangible comforts to which we become so dependently accustomed. Recalling as far back as my memory allows, I've craved independence- the chance to meet new people from different places, whose lives are complied of layer upon layer of experiences I've never known. It fascinates me immensely- where people come from, where they wish they were, where they hope to go- where they ultimately land. Terrifyingly exciting the direction our lives take us- so totally unpredictable, so utterly out of our control.

Maybe the fear outweighs the benefit of such experiences in the minds of some- maybe when they say they don't care to travel, care to move away, care to create something for themselves in thus undiscovered territory, well, maybe they mean it. For me, there was never any other option. I had to go- a desire fueled by a fearful knowledge I'd enjoy my life there all too much, and that I'd never again encounter the opportunity, nor the courage, to make the move my heart told me I'd never forgive myself if I left simmering, ignored.

So, although thoughts of familial belly laughter, too-loud-for-the-woods Shakira pulsing through knotty pine, and the waft of sizzling saucepans afire upon the stove make my heart a little droopy and my smile slightly bitter, truly I'm just grateful I have a family such as mine to miss at all- a crazy quartette of characters, who continually encourage and support my every whim,
and I theirs.