How to Be Alone (or maybe not)

Yes, it's been awhile. I got bored with writing this thing, but now I'm back (maybe)...

Sorry about that. Now for some content!

I made a playlist of all my favourite songs from when I was 18 and did the South Bank walk for probably the hundredth time with all of the tourists, but instead of fulfilling my purported goal of really appreciating the fact that I live in London, I got caught up in remembering a largely uneventful weekend in October of 2008. It was fall break, and my roommate had gone to visit her boyfriend and at that point I didn’t have any other friends in Ann Arbor. There was literally no one to talk to, and according to my calculations, I went 72 hours without any human contact.

That Friday I had downloaded Bon Iver’s “For Emma, Forever Ago,” which, although I hadn’t know it at the time, had been recorded in an isolated cabin in the woods of Wisconsin. In other words, it was the perfect soundtrack to loneliness, and I spent what I would later come to view as the loneliest weekend of my life listening to it on repeat, pacing around my dorm room, falling in love with some guy I had met at a party. I never saw him again.  

And now, for the first time in four years, I’ve again started listening to “For Emma, Forever Ago."

It makes sense, in a way: I’m about a month and a half into living in a new place – the point at which I feel like I really should have established more in the way of connections with other people than I actually have. My undergraduate experience taught me to be very good at having long conversations about nothing and to be able to pull out a reference to zombies or something at any given time. It seems, however, that those skills aren’t transferrable to the real world. In reality you have to be prepared for your social engagements to involve more than watching random youtube videos (not that I haven't had fun doing that). It isn't enough to be vaguely sarcastic and to express enthusiasm for random, strange things. You have to consistently prove that you're intelligent and funny and interesting and generally worth spending time with. I spend a lot of time worrying that I'm failing. 

I suppose I had to come all the way to London to realise that my love of sarcasm and disinclination to admit that anything really matters to me were really nothing more than devices to avoid getting hurt. See, I like the things I like, and I know why I like them, but a critical word from someone, anyone else, and I’m questioning basically everything about myself. I wish I were exaggerating, but I’m really not. There are so many things I could talk about, so many things I want to say, so many conversations I've imagined having, but then when the moment to say these things actually comes, I can't do it. I pretend to be too tired to really discuss anything. I pretend to be concerned with something else. I pretend I don't care. 

I wish I could be braver.

And Kim? Tag! You’re it! (I haven’t forgotten your promise.)

Looks like I'm in London

Well. So. Um. Hmm.... What am I supposed to say?

Hi again, blog. I've missed you. (Actually, that's a lie. I've been mostly too busy to remember that I even have a blog.)

Anyway, this is the obligatory "I'm in London!" post. To put it succinctly, it's great here. If I were good at this blogging thing, I would give a thoroughly entertaining, blow-by-blow account of the important things that have happened since my arrival. The thing is, everything has been too much of a blur for me to really remember exactly what I've been doing.

I can, however, say a few things:

1. There has been quite a lot of wandering around, and I can now say that I am pretty well acquainted with at least a small portion of central/southeast London. What this means is that I know the names of at least nine streets, and I could give a detailed account of which coffee shops have a decent wifi connection. Which brings me to my next point...

2. I love my flat, despite the fact that I have no internet yet and - for the time being - no flatmates. This mostly doesn't matter, but the nights do tend to get a bit boring and lonely. I keep telling myself that a slightly disorienting adjustment time accompanies every move, and I just happen to be experiencing the one associated with this move. Soon, though, I will have friends and internet and (hopefully) purpose.

3. But wait. I will actually make friends, right? I ask myself this question at about 8 o'clock every night, and the answer is always the same: Probably, as long as people can see past the fact that their first 2-3 conversations with me will be pretty awkward. 

4. I haven't felt this uncertain about what tomorrow will look like in quite a long time, and that is a good thing. In the past, I thought that I was terrified of uncertainty, but I realize now that I actually seek it out. When I'm feeling unsure of things, you see, I always have a project to work on. I love a good project.

Thoughts Before Leaving

I apologize in advance for a relatively disjointed post, but I suppose I am leaving for London. Would you really expect anything else?

This is what the morning of departure looks like: apprehensive, with just a hint of the crazy eyes. 

The main thought as I begin the final few days before leaving for London is that I'm not sure they've arrived yet. The thoughts, I mean. I'm supposed to be having thoughts of the London variety, but actually I hardly ever think about London at all.

Or maybe that isn't necessarily true.

Maybe I do think about it, but not in the way that I used to. The phase of speculating about how my life will be seems to be over, as does the phase of idealizing the way things will be. I'm done imagining scenarios in which I get off the plane and first person I meet ends up being my future best friend or something. I no longer fantasize about meeting my favorite British celebrities. I also now understand that my academic life won't actually consist of a movie-esque "studying" montage, ending with me receiving an award for Year's Most Brilliant Master's Thesis. No, these thoughts don't really turn up much anymore.

Now when I think about London, it takes the form of thoughts like: what bank should I choose? Are these shoes actually worth packing? Can I afford this? (No.) Do I have any idea how to get to my flat? (Again, no.) Is this a good idea? (I certainly hope so.)

Another common thought: I would like to be a college freshman again. Then I remind myself that - apart from being older and having better hair and immediate plans to move to another country - I'm in essentially the same position as I was four years ago. I'm starting over, just as I was then, and everything that now brings forth these feeling of nostalgia was, at that point, a total unknown. All the people I was about to meet, all the things I was about to do - I couldn't even conceive of them as we drove the hour and a half from my hometown to Ann Arbor, and I cried the whole time.

So far I haven't cried once about the impending London trip, and I'm not even feeling particularly nervous. If there's going to be fear, it generally sets in late at night and is always accompanied by these images of me wandering lost around London with more luggage than I can handle. Then I force myself to think about something else.

UPDATE (on the morning of departure): Well, I cried, but then I got through the part where I had to say goodbye to my family and remembered that I still have a working knowledge of how to be a self-sufficient grown-up. I mean, sort of. There is still a 50/50 chance that I will have a breakdown at the airport (sadly, this had happened before). Possible breakdown aside, I think I'm fine.

There's a long day of waiting ahead of me, followed by a long night of flying, followed by London.

I'm pretty sure this is a good idea.

Two Weeks To Go!

I guess this is a post to commemorate my survival of four months and two days of doing essentially nothing with my life, waiting for that moving to London thing to happen. So now if I ever wonder, "What was I doing in the final few weeks before the most monumental move of my life?", I will have an answer. And, knowing myself, I will ask this question someday.

And, because I need a break from thinking about serious things, here's some fluff:

1. I finally watched the final episode of the second series of Sherlock yesterday, then paced around my living room and explained to my dog why it was so good. More than any other episode, this one addressed the relationship between Sherlock and Moriarty, and I found myself absolute transfixed by the action on the computer screen. This is rare - normally when I'm watching TV on the computer, I jump around a lot from tab to tab, listening to everything, but actually seeing only about 75% of any given episode. In this case, though, Sherlock is just so intensely serious - and Moriarty so intensely insane - that I don't really have any choice but to watch. Maybe this clip will show you what I mean:

(spoilers ahead)

I also have to say that I really, really love Moriarty and would be really, really upset if he is actually dead. I know, I know, he's evil, but he's also fascinatingly eccentric, and my, my does he have style. Seriously, what other villain would break into the Tower of London not to steal the crown jewels but to wear them?

 I feel like this is turning into a Moriarty fan page. I'm going to stop.

2. I want to make pesto and Thai iced tea - not necessarily for simultaneous consumption. In other food news, I thought my dreaming mind invented peanut butter cookie cake, but it turns out that lots of people have already thought of it. I think I may never be a great innovator in the kitchen.

3. Today I stood on the precipice of creating a tumblr account, but when I looked down into the chasm of potentially wasted time, I decided not to jump.

Update: Never mind. I jumped. oskdagrunu.tumblr.com. Whatever. I can restrain myself. Maybe I won't even use it at all. Yeah, right. I know myself and addictions to websites, and it's bad.

4. Today I dressed up like a hipster (meaning I wore normal clothes but felt glaringly weird in this small, fashion-backward town) and shot footage of things that make me think of home. This way, when I'm far away, I'll hopefully have something to stave off the homesickness, or possibly something to make me more homesick. I don't really know how this will turn out.

5. I really should get back to researching possible thesis topics and European nonprofits. These things could be important to me someday, although I have to admit that I'd much rather waste time on this tumblr thing. At the moment I'm asking myself whether I have any self-control at all. Probably not.

What Do I Have To Offer?

A metaphor, perhaps? I don't know. But I like the picture.

When I was in high school, if there was something you could read about in a book, there was probably a time when I considered it my thing. You know, my thing: my calling in life, my passion, my fate. I pictured myself as a doctor, a medical researcher, a novelist, a journalist, (for a couple of hours one afternoon) a poet, a professor of literature, a political activist, and, from the vantage point of a high school senior, all of these futures appeared equally possible.

Then I started college, and I stopped believing in fate. Just because I memorized all the paths of blood flow in the human heart and my best friend once said she could see me being a surgeon, I wasn't necessarily meant to cut people open and fix broken things inside of them. Likewise, just because I was reading Dickens and the Brontë sisters and Dumas at 14, my future didn't necessarily lie in dissecting these texts and passing judgement on what the writers were trying to say. I can't pinpoint the moment it came to me, but sometime during my freshman year of college, I realized that I could do whatever I wanted; I could change the way things work out just by changing my mind. It was liberating, and it was disorienting. For the first time in my life, I couldn't picture my entire future stretched out in front of me because I knew, in all likelihood, I would spend the rest of my life changing my mind, always searching for some better option than the one that currently holds my attention.

Had I majored in biology or creative writing (neither of which I actually majored in, both of which I very seriously considered), I probably would still have reached my current impasse. I would still be debating whether it's possible to do something that's romantic and creative and idealistic while working toward practical solutions of at least one of the world's problems and making at least enough money to survive. My instincts say that there's no real reason for this to be impossible, but, like everything worth doing, it'll take a fair amount of planning and a fair amount of luck, not to mention a bit of spontaneity. I may have to take jobs that don't come with the perk of a guaranteed successful career trajectory. Someday I may take a job at a nonprofit that doesn't necessarily work in a field of personal interest, but this type of work would nonetheless give me a sense of what it actually means to work for a nonprofit organization. I may live in quite a few cities before I find one that's a good fit.

I have to start seeing every experience as valuable. I have to stop believing that there will be a point in life where I make one decision that cements the future conditions and circumstances of my life. Maybe the real world isn't the all-or-nothing, black-and-white place I once assumed it to be. Maybe there's room for mistakes and changing your mind. Maybe everything won't always work out according to plan, and when it doesn't, I'll have to learn to make the most of what opportunities are available. I think it's a lesson worth learning.

Instant Inspiration!

If my previous posts give any indication, I've been having a bit of trouble with motivating myself to do anything that isn't watching funny youtube videos and reading lifestyle blogs. With this in mind, I decided to compile a list of things that generally inspire me to think of life more as an adventure and less as a series of mostly uneventful days.

1. Make something. Or in my case, force yourself to make something. Maybe the process will be slightly frustrating, but I promise that the end result will give you a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction. For details on the do-it-yourselfing project, see my post on repurposing a box to make it more practical for storing jewelry.

2. Go to the library and check out on a book on a subject that interests you but that you've never examined in any detail. If nothing else, you'll learn something. For me, this was young adult literature, namely the collected works of John Green. I haven't read anything in this genre since I was about 12, so I decided to give it another try, just for fun. And, oh my, has it been fun. I read Paper Towns in one night, completely absorbed in the suspense, humor, and commentary on the nature of human relationships. I look forward to tackling the rest of my books-to-read stack. Right now it's An Abundance of Katherines. Thoroughly enjoyable.

3. Read some newspaper articles to remind yourself that there is lots of stuff going on in the world. There are things that need fixing. This isn't to say that you're going to change the world all at once, but I find it inspiring just to think about one person's potential to fix some societal problem. And, hey, maybe eventually I will devise a plan of action to change something for the better.

4. Listen to this song: "Young Lovers Go Pop!" by This Many Boyfriends. Something about the chorus makes me feel like things are possible. And that is important in the motivation/inspiration game.

5. Caffeine. Lots of it. I had four cups of Irish breakfast tea while writing this post, and, sure, my hands are shaking a bit, but that just makes me type faster. 

6. And if you must watch youtube videos, at least choose something When I watch this type of video, I generally end up thinking, "Look at this guy. He's my age, and he's making artistic, insightful videos on a weekly basis. What am I doing with my life?" Then I go attempt to do something productive. 

1 Carry On, 1 Personal Item, 1 Checked Bag: Under 50 Pounds... GO!

Sometimes I do this thing I call over-anticipating, which basically consists of preparing for things far earlier than is reasonable. This is why I began packing for London a few days ago and also why my room is going to be cluttered with half-packed suitcases for the next month or so.

All I can really say about the process of packing for a year (or possibly forever) abroad is that it's not going especially well. The problems are as follows:

1. London is not known for being warm, which means that I have to pack heavy things like coats and sweaters and boots. Don't get me wrong, I love all of these types of clothing, but their weight does make it a bit difficult to stay under the 50-pound limit for a checked bag.

2. I want to bring everything I own. This is not possible.

3. But how am I supposed to make my room look warm and welcoming if I can't bring all 12 of my candles?

4. Also, how am I supposed to dress well if I don't have all of my clothes? And won't the clothes I leave behind miss me? Of course they will. Of course.

5. The internet has failed in providing me with a comprehensive guide to packing for a move to a major European city. I concede that packing guides for moving abroad do exist, but they seem to fall into two not-very-helpful categories, namely (a) packing guides for grown-ups with that elusive thing called disposable income and (b) packing guides for study abroad students with a definite return date. The former is unhelpful because I can't afford to bring five checked bags (one for books alone!), and the latter is unhelpful because I will probably never move back home. This means that in not taking something with me, I could very well be forever relinquishing my claim on it.

So the question remains: How does a 22-year-old recent college graduate pack for a move to London, where she would like to dress stylishly and have a well-decorated bedroom? Let us furthermore stipulate that buying replacements for everything that was left behind is not an option.

I guess I'll just have to write the comprehensive guide myself. Fine, then. Fine.

Reality Check

I think part of me really wanted to believe that the world is just one big hedonistic playground, and my undergraduate days didn't help in dispelling my belief that this might, in fact, be true. By some miracle of financial aid, I managed to get my Bachelor's degree without any debt. What's more, my grant money allowed me to eat out and study in coffee shops basically whenever I wanted, and when I got a job, it was more the result of wanting work experience than financial necessity. I studied hard, sure, and sometimes stressed out to a considerable extent, but mostly I dabbled a lot in subjects I thought might be interesting without taking on the responsibility of focusing too heavily on one thing.

Now, though, I feel reality hitting, and it's hitting me hard.

The main thing I'm learning is that Money Is Real, and it doesn't just magically materialize in your bank account because the financial aid gods have decreed that it will be so. Moreover, evil extortionists (I'm looking at you, apartment company) will try their hardest to milk you for all you're worth. I mean, I don't have $100 to pay a fine for a parking tag that certainly never existed. Why wouldn't I have a parking tag? Well, because I DON'T HAVE A CAR. I don't even want a car. Shocker, I know. What kind of American am I?

Partly because I have absolutely no income and lots of things to pay for, partly because of the complete lack of action on the moving-to-London front, partly because I'm back to playing dozens of games of solitaire everyday, I can't shake the feeling that I'm not much good at real life. I remember the days when I used to consider myself a competent adult. I always showed up on time for work and class; I cooked my own food, did my own laundry, cleaned my apartment, worked out every day. And I know that I stopped being that person because summer happened and I moved home and I didn't have to be fully accountable for myself anymore.

Then I remind myself that some people have real problems, and I am not one of those people. I remind myself that everyone probably gets this life-isn't-a-game reality check at some point. Maybe mine just came so late that I was lulled into the delusion that it never would, that I could go on forever spending and spending and spending and having fun and never having to deal with any consequences and never having to take any real responsibility for my actions.

It's time, I suppose, to enter into actual reality - not the glamorous pseudo-reality of doing whatever I want whenever I want, not the teenager's version of what it means to be grown up - no, the reality of determining what you really want out of life and going for it, of doing things that are difficult and frustrating without complaint, of sucking it up and not acting like a child about every little setback. Yeah, I'm well overdue on that one.

I Become a Do-It-Yourselfer

The Do-It-Yourselfer is a member of the species Homo interneticus. Among their defining features is a propensity to write about craft projects on their blogs.

Oh, science.

In terms of field observation, the Do-It-Yourselfer is one of the most compelling specimens of Homo interneticus, and I consider them second only to the Youtuber in their ability to provide hours of procrastina.... ahem, entertainment. In my career as an internet voyeur, my interaction with Do-It-Yourselfers has been limited to reading their tutorial posts and feeling deeply impressed. Then the adorableness of their lives starts to annoy me, and I lay on my bed, feeling uncool and dejected.

Today, however, I broke through some mental barrier and took my first step to becoming one of those people.

It all began with a trip to Bed, Bath & Beyond. As often happens, going to that store triggered an impulse to buy everything, you know, just to be a well-organized and fully competent adult. Since I'm moving to London in about a month, however, and already want to bring more things than I can possibly fit in my suitcase, buying things is out of the question. The problem was, I really, really wanted a jewelry organizer, since my previous storage schemes have never given my jewelry the attention it deserves. Back at home, I was regretting the fact that I hadn't purchased the jewelry organizer when I realized that I could easily make one myself. With things I had laying around my room! What luck!

First, I found a box that had just been sitting in my room, looking pretty but not fulfilling any real purpose.

I decided to glue some mesh fabric to the inside top of the box so that I could hang my earrings. The bottom section will hold bracelets and things. 

So I measured and cut and hot glued. And it looked like crap. 

The hot glue had made a mess, and I needed to cover it up if I wanted to salvage this project. So I found some ribbon and made a border around the netting. Better, but still a bit like a kindergartner's art project. 

Then, out of nowhere, came one of my rare strokes of creative brilliance. I was contemplating solutions to the problem of the hot glue bleeding through the ribbon, when I thought, "Why don't I cover the splotchy parts with nail polish?" 

So I did, and it ended up looking pretty great, if I do say so myself. 

Not to mention that the box is lightweight and can be filled with stuff during the packing process, making it a totally reasonable thing to include in my fairly pathetic collection of things I'm taking to London. 

Time Stands Still

In one month, I will be either in London or in the midst of my final preparations for the move, so it doesn't seem like nothing should be happening on the moving-to-London front, but somehow that seems to be the case. I think I'm caught in some sort of time loop in which I keep living the same day over and over, and nothing ever happens to bring me closer to the future. My life has devolved into a fairly pleasant cycle of breakfast/reading, running, lunch, wasting time on the internet or other miscellaneous afternoon activities, dinner, TV, and sleep. Repeat as needed.

Oh, summer. 

Relaxing (boring?) though this lifestyle may be, it's lulling me into a stupor. I can't say what would happen if I didn't wake up at about 9:30 in the morning, have a bowl of cereal and two cups of coffee while reading, then get ready to go for a run, but I suspect that it would be physically and emotionally jarring. I vaguely remember a time when I had a job. And classes. And I had to wake up before the sun had fully risen. I cooked my own food. I did my own laundry. I tried (sometimes in vain) to keep my apartment clean. Then I graduated and became a little kid again. Makes sense.

I'm absolutely certain that there are things that need doing - Projects of Great Importance - like deciding what I'm going to pack, opening a UK bank account, and buying a plane ticket. Every time I try to start one of these projects, however, their full complexity become clear, and I decide to put them off for another few days. Deep down, I think I assume that if I procrastinate for long enough, someone else will do everything for me. Except that's not how real life works. Some previous incarnation of myself understood that if I want things done, in most cases I'm going to have to do them myself. I don't think I completely understand this anymore.

Pardon the rambling.

A List of Uncertainties

1. Where specifically I will be living next year. In theory, I should be receiving pictures of potential flats so that I can give feedback, but this has not happened yet. These days I compulsively check my email, thinking each time that there will be something significant waiting in my inbox. Instead I find myself constantly sifting through (figurative) piles of spam.

2. Whether I can find a job in London. Seriously, I'll do anything just to have a source of income again. Wait, maybe not anything. Almost anything? No, that sounds dangerous, too. As a point of reference, though, a job in a coffee shop is currently my dream.

3. The extent to which I will have to decimate my beloved clothing collection when the time comes to fit everything into a surprisingly not-big-enough suitcase. You see, when I ask myself what I want to pack, my default answer is, "Everything." And then I remember that everything really isn't an option.

4. When exactly I will be leaving. Whether I can find a reasonably-priced plane ticket. What city I will be flying out of. Whether I will have any layovers (hopefully not - rushing through airports, filled with the nagging dread that I will miss my next flight absolutely terrifies me).

5. Whether I'll be happy in London. Whether I'll make friends easily. How intense the homesickness will be.
Whether I'll have an acceptable internet connection
What size my bed will be.
Where I'll do my grocery shopping.
Whether I'll be able to sustain my habit of eating excess Mexican food.

This is getting ridiculous. I'm going to stop worrying. Right now.

Wait, maybe now...

No, now. For real this time.

The Crookes - Hold Fast: Album Review

It's time for a confession: I often have a hard time listening to albums all the way through. Either I get so caught on one song that it becomes the only one I ever listen to, or I get bored about three songs in and give up on the album entirely.

The Crookes, however, have accomplished an unprecedented feat. They have recorded not one, but two albums that I love all the way through. Now, I could probably talk at length about their first album, Chasing After Ghosts, but for the time being, I'll just say that it captured exactly how I feel about my life at this particular point. Listening to this album,

The merits of Chasing After Ghosts aside, Hold Fast (released on July 9th) has already become such an integral part of my life that I can't imagine a day when I don't listen to this album in its entirety. 10 days in, and I'm not even close to getting bored. Unprecedented.

I'm not going to do a song-by-song breakdown of the album. I'm not going to throw around music reviewer terms, because I'm not a music reviewer. This is one of the few illusions I don't have about myself. So, instead of using traditional music jargon and showing off my advanced (and non-existent) knowledge of musical history, I'm going to steal a reviewing strategy I overheard two hipsters discussing during my college orientation. I am going to describe how this album makes me feel.

From beginning to end, this album makes me at once want to get up and dance and fall into serious reminiscence. And when I say reminiscence, I mean all the best memories of my college days and my probably faulty conception of what the '60s must have been like. In other words, it combines unrelenting energy, strong melodies, and a vintage sound (sorry, I sound so pretentious right now) with lyrics that are somehow both relatable and vague. That's exactly how I like to take my lyrics, because it makes it easier to self-centeredly imagine that the songs were written with my experiences in mind. Anything that helps me perpetuate my delusions is fine by me. Please note that I'm only writing semi-seriously here. Maybe vague, poetic lyrics actually just make it easier to imagine that someone out there has experienced some of the same things as me, that they could relate to some of my less-than-positive emotions. Yeah, that makes me sound nicer, but also like an angsty teenager. I just can't win. 

Sarcasm aside, this album is seriously worth a listen or, you know, hundreds of listens. I may never listen to anything else again. 

Be a Better... Runner

Another experiment in self-improvement... And, yes, I realize that my scientific method is a bit shaky.


The Project: Get to a point where you can run for two miles without stopping. 


Introduction: Running is one of those things I've always wanted to be good at, but every time I go for a run, I invariably end up choking on air, stumbling over my own feet, wondering if anyone would judge me if I took a break and laid down in the shade.

Hypothesis: The only way to become a better runner is through consistent practice. No more of that running intensely for one or two days, then giving up on it for about a week, claiming that I don't want to over-exert myself.

Materials: Running shoes, I would assume. Good music. Interesting places to run.

My favorite trail. 

Methods: Run only every other day, but exercise daily.

Data: Day 1: "Ran" for almost an hour - more accurately, tried to do equal amounts of walking and running.

Day 2: Did a weird combination workout. Spent about 15 minutes running up and down the hill next to my house, then did sit ups with the balance ball for about 10 minutes.

Day 3: Went for an hour-long bike ride. Originally I thought of my bike riding plan as a cop-out, but I found some hilly trails, and it ended up being quite a strenuous workout. Also, I hula-hooped for an hour and was surprised to discover that my abs were sore the next day.

Day 4: Okay. So I know I'm cheating on the whole run-every-other-day thing, but it's extremely hot, and I didn't wake up early enough to run when the temperature was still somewhat reasonable. Excuses, excuses. Instead of torturing myself by running in this skin-melting heat, I went for another bike ride.

Day 5: Standard run around town. Managed to go almost a mile without stopping. Not bad. Needs improvement.

Day 6: Nothing notable - some hula-hooping (apparently this is a regular thing for me now) and some sit-ups with the balance ball. The self-loathing

Day 7: Went for a run - and a pretty decent one at that. Sure, I didn't run two miles, but I almost did it.

Results/Conclusion: Sometimes the most unexpected things can constitute good exercise. Take hula-hooping as an example. I never would have guessed that this would bring on more next-day soreness than sit-ups, but it did.

My greatest discovery, though, is that running doesn't have to be boring, and the secret to staving off boredom lies in music selection. Some songs just don't work for running. There was a time in my life when I didn't believe this, but I am now convinced that proper music choices can do wonders for motivation. My current running playlist includes lots of Motown and britpop, mixed with assorted indie rock, top 40 stuff and early 2000s pop punk. It's almost terrifyingly eclectic, but it does its job. Sometimes it even makes me forget that I'm running.

Thrifting with Sarah and Kimberly

About two years ago, I went through a phase during which I bought most of my clothes at thrift stores. This wasn't because I was broke or particularly liked what the thrift stores had to offer, but rather because I thought I would be very cool to have a skirt last owned by somebody's grandmother. Of course when I actually wore these thrift store "finds," I would invariably realize that they were not only outdated, but also unflattering and fairly ugly. After a summer of dressing this way, I ventured back into the mall, rediscovered the joys of H&M and began to dress like a normal person again.

Until yesterday afternoon, the urge to go thrifting had lain dormant for about a year and a half, but then, for some inexplicable reason, I decided that it would be fun to check out the new Volunteers of America Thrift Store. The fun didn't manifest itself immediately, and as I stared blankly at the racks organized by color and ran my hands over the synthetic fabrics, I considered how some past version of myself would have probably bought that floor-length, button-down, rose-printed monstrosity of a skirt, full of honorable intentions to cut it shorter for improved cuteness. Current me, though, was looking for usability and practicality.

I got relatively quickly back into the rhythm of thrifting - working through the racks; giving each item a quick glance; assessing for color, pattern, cut; subjecting anything that passes on the three previous counts a closer inspection - and within 10 minutes I had picked out a handful of potentially wearable skirts to try on. In the dressing room I remembered the first rule of thrifting, namely try everything on.  In the case of thrift-store clothing, it's impossible to know whether the size listed on the tag (if there is one) corresponds to current standard sizes, so I always - absolutely always - make that often frustrating trip to the dressing room.

After much debate, I ended up buying two floral print skirts and a red vintage purse.

I wanted to end this post by saying something really discerning about how my decision to buy usable clothing at a thrift store marks some profound change in the way I view myself, or how buying cheaper used clothing means that I've become more financially responsible. Really, though, I don't think either of these things are strictly true. What is true is that I've been reading too many of those Thought Catalog essays, and they're filling me with this desire to make every minor detail of my life sound much more significant than it actually is. Sometimes a skirt is just a skirt, and even if you only paid a dollar for it, owning it doesn't mean that you've grown up. It just means you have to find another skirt hanger.

My Trendy Hipster Hobby: I don't have one

I was flipping through a magazine the other day, and I came across this tampon ad featuring a girl who writes a blog about knitting. Immediately I think: "I'm not as cool as her." Given my history with knitting, this thought is fairly surprising.

I first considered the craft when I was probably about 10 years old, and I bought some knitting needles and yarn with the intention of making really amazing things. Except the fate of the knitting needles was to be props in my make-believe games, specifically in those that required me to impersonate an old lady. Just go with it - my childhood pretend games were pretty convoluted.

Maybe four years later, Kim (my sister - she writes here sometimes) decided to learn to knit for real, and she tried to convince me to do the same. I, however, adopted the knitting-is-for-old-ladies-and-spinsters attitude. I had realized neither that spinsters no longer exist, nor that all properly cool girls these days must behave and dress like old ladies from time to time. In addition to being oblivious to cultural trends, I failed to acknowledge how cool it would be to knit my own scarves. Seriously, if I could knit, I would knit scarves by the thousands.

In many ways, my relationship with knitting resembles my relationships with all other hobbies. This means that I pretended to do a lot of things as a child, became too cool to even consider doing these things as a teenager, and then really wished I could do them as a young adult. Hypothetically, I know that it's never too late to take up a hobby, but every time I try, the experience is somewhat akin to dying my hair, in that it seems exciting at first, but I eventually decide that the upkeep requires more effort than it's worth. At least this has been my experience with my forays into photography, sewing, drawing, and writing poetry.

Don't take this to mean that I spend all of my time doing nothing. I cook things from time to time and do what I like to call food-ography:

Occasionally I acquire random new skills, like sailing:

I read things, I write things, I listen to music, but I don't really make anything by hand. Sometimes this troubles me, because I really like the idea of coming up with a concept and then creating this thing from raw(ish) materials. The fact that I read a lot of blogs by very creative people only compounds the problem. They're like, "Oh, look, I woke up today and decided to hand paint a rug" And I'm like, "Cool. I painted my toenails last week." 

I think the secret to having creative hobbies is having creative ideas, and maybe this is where my major failing lies. Or maybe I'm just lazy. Maybe I don't make anything because every time I think, "I'd really like a new shirt," I never consider making my own or repurposing one from a thrift store. Usually I just go to Forever 21. 

Could it be to my advantage, though, to begin making more things as I take on my grad school debt? Quite possibly. Maybe the desire to look really cool won't inspire me to be creative, but maybe financial necessity will...

Maybe learning to knit wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. 

Move On Already!

My bed was like a taco in the sense that I was sleeping on nothing but a brown sheet folded in half like a taco shell. The problem with the taco was that, unlike actual tacos, it wasn't warm inside. Too much air conditioning. My body, I suppose was of normal temperature, but try as I might to radiate heat, I couldn't warm that sheet up. I missed my duvet like you wouldn't believe. Any bit of heat I managed to squeeze out my duvet would capture and hold prisoner for the rest of the night. It was a clever one, that duvet, but now I've relegated it to a shelf in my closet in my parents' house.

My Ann Arbor bedroom used to be a warm and welcoming place. Now it's the blank-walled, bare-bedded, empty-closeted shell of its former self. The rest of the apartment has likewise suffered from the lack of my ridiculous amounts of stuff. It is no longer the place of freshly baked scones...

And comically-named bottles of wine...

And walls covered with possibly too many pictures. 

No, it's not my apartment anymore. It's okay. Really. I haven't (yet) had even one emotional breakdown about this development. I just have to keep telling myself that I don't have to spend the rest of my life in this post-graduation, pre-grad school limbo.

In its infinite wisdom, my sister's college guide magazine says, "life changes. keep up with it." But what about those times when life keeps promising to change but then decides to take forever to get around to it? What about those times when life says, "Sure, you get to go to grad school in London, but you can only earn this privilege by spending four months in purgatory. If you don't lose your mind, you'll have the chance to do something cool. But, knowing you, you'll probably lose your mind."? What about those times?

What about the times when you hang out with your friends and realize that you really may not see some of them ever again?

What about the times when you don't even care that your bathroom counter is covered with makeup residue and hair and wet dust (seriously, gross) because it's not really your bathroom anymore?

What are you supposed to do when in all of your dreams you're on planes and trains, and when you pick up your phone to call your family or a friend, it shatters into tiny pieces?

What about those times?

What are we supposed to do?

My advice: don't emulate me and get all angsty. Teenage-esque angst is never the answer - at least not at the age of 22. But what if I've reverted to the age of 14 in terms of maturity? Because there's a distinct possibility that this has happened, probably because I moved back home after college. I think I need to work on re-growing up.

Nice to meetcha... what are you doin' in my waters?

Well, hi. My name is Kimberly, and I'm Sarah's sister. In fact, teachers throughout the years have referred to me as such "Oh, so you're Sarah's sister?". Sometimes even going to the extreme of forgetting my name and calling me Sarah.

Aside from that, I am 16, and a rising high school senior. I enjoy singing and theater, ice skating, pretending I can speak foreign languages, and pretending that I like to run (obviously I love playing games of pretend). I also like cake. And reading. And watching television. Normal stuff, I guess.

This is me doing magic. Am I Sabrina the Teenage Witch? Probably.

In my blogging, I will probably cover subjects such as applying to college, the traveling that I do, books, and whatever strikes my fancy. I suppose now I will insert a photo that makes me smile in attempts to make my reader smile. Cheers. Well, bye then.

Love.

My Statement of Purpose Example

For those of you who aren't interested in grad school, sorry for all the grad school posts. Since I wrote my "How to Write a Statement of Purpose" post, though, I thought it might be helpful to include my actual statement of purpose. So here it is!

            Someone had told me that the predominantly Turkish sections of Berlin were dangerous, that these were places where I, a twenty-year-old American from the Midwest, wouldn’t want to go alone. Yet I’ve never been one to heed these kinds of warnings, and it was with a combination of anticipation, nervous excitement, and determination that I entered the Neukölln section of Berlin, on my way to help in tutoring children of Turkish immigrants. As the afternoon progressed and I toured Neukölln with two students and their tutor, I found myself searching for ways to prolong my time there. Maybe it was something in the energy of the place, in the collision of gentrification and immigrant-run shops and ornate 19^th century buildings. Maybe it was the enthusiasm of the tutor with whom I worked and his drive to help his students enjoy learning. Maybe it was the stories of the immigrant children and their experience of growing up between two cultures. In all likelihood it was a combination of these factors that led me to realize that someday, somehow, I would like to work in this environment. From that point on it was a matter of figuring out how this could be accomplished.

What I learned is that, even when you don’t approach life with a clearly defined goal, when you follow your intuition it seems that you are bound to discover your passion. In many ways, this process of following my instincts has characterized my undergraduate education. I began studying German not because I intended it to be my major, but because I wanted to learn a new language, a language that my ancestors had spoken, a language bound together with a tumultuous history, but also a language of many of the world’s great philosophers, scientists, and artists. Above all, I wanted to learn something that was completely new to me.

Throughout my undergraduate education, there was never a shortage of new things to learn, and when I look back on my course of studies, I find that the topics of my chosen classes have many commonalities. I have focused largely on the experiences of disadvantaged groups throughout history and the dynamics of social change by enrolling in a course that investigated the experience of migrants to Germany through the lens of theater, one that explored the role of language in determining a person’s social status, and one that investigates the feasibility of health care reform in the United States, among many others.

In pursuing a Master’s in European Studies, I hope to further explore the origins and outcomes of tension and conflict between social groups. I am particularly interested in the experiences of migrant populations and look forward to an opportunity to investigate their reasons for migration, as well as the struggles and victories associated with establishing themselves in a new home country. Additionally, I am excited to study regional variations within the European Union and the effects of these variations on disadvantaged populations.

The primary appeal of the European Studies program at University College London is its interdisciplinary approach to understanding European identity, with an emphasis on the arts as a means of analyzing European integration and society. My previous coursework in creative writing, literature, and art history has sparked an interest in the arts as a means of addressing social issues, and I look forward to a chance to further explore this interest while focusing on modern Europe.

            I bring to this program not only an educational background in European culture and politics, but also knowledge of research methods in the social sciences. For the past year and a half, I have been employed with a study that investigates scientific literacy among Americans aged 35-40. This work has allowed me to develop a thorough understanding of the methods of survey research, as well as the effects of academic study on public policy. I hope to ultimately work in a field in which I can also work to bridge the gap between academics and policy, and I believe this program will bring me closer to achieving this goal. 

Writing a Statement of Purpose

Quite a few months have passed since I wrote my statement of purpose for my grad school applications, and for basically the entire time, I've been meaning to tell the internet what I learned. 

Writing a statement of purpose takes a lot of motivation. I like to take my motivation in the form of coffee and tea - sometimes at the same time. 

As I was writing my statement of purpose, I devised a formula of sorts, and I was extremely pleased with the result. Here it is: 

1. Talk about an experience that is in some way related to your graduate study. I chose the time I helped to tutor children of Turkish immigrants in Berlin, and how this got me interested in European social issues. This makes your statement of purpose more personal.  

2. Relate the previously described experience to your university studies. If you have an unconventional major, explain it here. 

3. Talk about specific college courses or experiences that sparked an interest in the course of study you're now pursuing. This is where you specify your academic interests. For example, I like to focus on the experiences of disadvantaged populations, and I explained the roots of this interest here. 

4. Propose a topic you would like to focus on in grad school. Of course you can change your mind after applying, but I think admissions people like to see some specific 

5. Explain why you selected the school and program you're applying to. You can mention courses you might want to take, the city you would be living in, and so on - really, whatever appeals to you. 

6. I call this the miscellaneous section. This is where I talked about other, non-academic experiences that are relevant to my graduate program, specifically my social research job. 

General Tip: Although you will mention things you did in the past, remember to consistently relate these experiences to what you want to do in the future. 

General Tip #2: Write a lot of drafts of your statement. I think I wrote a new one every week for about five weeks. Were there time when I wanted to give up on all the editing and just submit the thing already? Oh yeah. Am I glad I took the time to get my statement to a point where I was really happy with it? Absolutely. 

I hope this information is helpful, and I will soon be posting an example of my statement of purpose! How exciting. 

Be a Better... Conversationalist

Part of the reason I started this blog was to motivate myself to do more interesting things, because when I write about the things I do, I'm more likely to, you know, do things. I know this sounds like circular logic, but it really does make sense in the context of my life. You see, I was spending the summer doing absolutely nothing - no classes, no job - and hence encountered some difficulty in motivating myself to ever leave the house. By committing to writing a blog, however, I signed on to making a more interesting person of myself. This should prove to be a great challenge.

With this in mind, I'm starting a series of posts in which I basically pick some personal failing and try to fix it. And because I used to take a lot of science classes, I'm going to write these loosely in the form of lab reports. It just makes sense to me.

The Project: Get better at talking to people. (Actually, I've kind of been working on this one for the past few years, but I made some definite breakthroughs about three weeks ago.)

Introduction: I went to London a few weeks ago to meet with potential future flatmates and hopefully find someone to live with next year. It was absolutely necessary that I did this and did it well, but I knew that I'm not necessarily one to be normal and fun and interesting during a first meeting. It's not that I'm boring (at least I hope I'm not). No, it's just that sometimes, when I'm in an unfamiliar social situation, I forget everything about myself, everything I'm interested in, and everything I've ever thought about.

Travel: So much fun, so much potential for awkwardness.

Hypothesis: I need to stop overthinking every social interaction. In other words, people are not nearly as judgmental as I imagine them to be.

Materials: Probably just the internet. Oh, and other people.

Methods: About a week before going to London, I started looking at myself in the mirror and just talking, rehearsing entertaining stories and just giving basic information about myself without sounding too awkward. Yes, I really did this, and yes, it was slightly humiliating.

Additionally, I thought about all the progress I made in the art of socializing during my college years and realized that my discovery of self-deprecating humor marked the end of my complete social failure. See, when you employ it during a conversation with someone you don't know very well, it makes answering the awkward small talk questions so much less awkward. People would often ask me about my major, for example, and my standard answer was something along the lines of, "It's German. Mostly pointless, but I like learning languages, and, who knows, maybe I'll find a job someday that'll let me use it." With this answer, not only do I give information about myself, but I let the other person know that they don't have to take me too seriously. In fact, I much prefer teasing and banter to earnestness. I still have trouble with sincerity in casual conversation with relative strangers. I mean, I don't mind when other people are sincere; I just have trouble expressing it myself. Somehow it always feels artificial, even if it isn't.

Finally, I compiled a list of questions I could ask in the event of an awkward silence. These included: Where are you from? (Naturally); Do you have any siblings? (Family tends to be a topic that people can discuss at length); What do/did you study? (this can lead to a discussion of general interests). I tried to stay away from the "What's your favorite...? questions because I personally hate them and generally don't have adequate answers. (What my favorite band? Um, well, I like lots of different bands a lot and I don't think I could choose one and maybe I could pick a genre?.... No, I like lots of different genres too.... Cue loss of interest.)

Results/Conclusion: My meetings went quite well, really. I managed to find flatmates, and I think they liked me! And the thing was, I didn't even have to use any of my practiced methods (except maybe the self-deprecation). In the end, all I did was answer questions, talk about my life, ask about theirs, laugh at their jokes, and hope they liked mine. I didn't think too much about what I was saying before I said it. No, instead I just went into a conversational autopilot of sorts, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I made friends after just one meeting.

The lesson? Don't overthink; just talk.

Hometown Touristing

Sometimes I wonder if my use of the word "hometown" to describe Ann Arbor is a misnomer. I was born here but didn't grow up here; I attended college here but moved back into my parents' house directly following graduation. I suppose this is really an issue of not quite knowing where I live anymore. Is my home where I'm living at the moment? The "permanent address" I list on official forms? The place I'm moving to in about two months? Honestly, I think the answer is none of these - not entirely anyway. This is the summer of self-imposed rootlessness. You see, I could have a place that I fully consider my home, but I'm choosing not to, mainly for fear of becoming too attached to something I have to leave. 

This is getting too sad. 

Regardless, I'm back in Ann Arbor for a few days, and I'm just now realizing how much I missed this place. I missed being surrounded by people my own age; I missed the abundance of coffee shops, the student-oriented restaurants, the campus buildings - practically all of which I can point to and say, "I had a class in there once." The benefit of being back here without any real purpose is that I can finally do all the things I was too busy for while still a student. It's going to be Tourist Day, Part 2. What is Tourist Day? Well, allow me to explain.

A Brief History of the Original Tourist Day: this is a holiday that my friend and I celebrated when we had officially completed all of our college classes. Basically it consisted of walking around, taking pictures of everything even slightly meaningful, eating in a restaurant we both love but never really go to, and trying a new coffee shop. The logic behind it is kind of obvious: we wanted to do the fun things in this town before leaving it forever. Not that we didn't have any fun during four years of college...

As the shirt above may have informed you, Ann Arbor is not entirely real. This doesn't mean that it's a cardboard city they disassemble every night (although I'm convinced that those exist - some towns are just too perfect), it just means that Ann Arbor doesn't have things like bad neighborhoods - at least not that I've seen - and the city's general population tends to be fairly young and well-educated. It's something of an anomaly. And, yes, sometimes I do feel like I spent my college years living in a fantasy world. Not that I'm complaining. 

I must say that a fantasy world appears more fantastical when you are free of all responsibility, and during those first few minutes of Tourist Day sightseeing, Ann Arbor looked ridiculously beautiful.

This is Nickels Arcade. I once heard that there aren't many of these left in the world, although I can't seem to find confirmation on the internet. Oh, internet, why do you fail me just when I need you most? Kidding, kidding. 

Most of Tourist Day consisted of wandering around, since there turned out to be very little actual sightseeing to be done in a city where I had lived for four years. Still, we did hit some tourist sites: the Arcade, the Cube (see below), the graffiti alley (likewise). 

The Cube. It spins. 

The Graffiti Alley

For me, though, the highlight of Tourist Day was, of course, the food. We went to Fritas Batidos, which is one of my favorite Ann Arbor restaurants. My roommates and I call it "The Cuban Place," although it apparently isn't a Cuban restaurant - just Cuban-inspired - and I sometimes call it "That White Place" because it's very white inside. Have a look:

In the interest of full disclosure, I should say that I have only ever ordered one thing here: the black bean frita with muenster cheese. I don't need to try anything else on the menu because this meal is perfect. It's basically a black bean burger served on a brioche roll with fries on the inside. Yes, the fries are part of the sandwich. And I know that this sounds like a fairly ordinary meal, but just trust me, there's something about it. Something addictive. Something that will keep you awake the night before a trip to Fritas Batidos thinking about it. Sadly, during this trip to Ann Arbor, I don't expect to make a return trip there. I can't afford such luxuries as restaurant food. I guess these are the trials of recent graduate/future grad student life. 

Don't pay too much attention to me. I'm just being melodramatic. 

San Francisco Day 4

Imagine you get on a city bus in America and you get off in America. Well, yeah, obviously. Then imagine that you go inside a fairly ordinary-looking shopping center, and suddenly you're in Japan. Or at least you're in some version of Japan - perhaps a Japanese mall with a heavy American influence. And everything is adorable. Seriously, they even sell a brand of sponges called "Colorfulness."

Welcome to Daiso. This was my first stop in Japantown, and I went into major must-acquire-all-the-cute-things mode. Strawberry-printed travel fork-and-spoon set? Yes, please. Checkered lunch boxes? Kitchen sponges shaped like slices of cake? Never before had I realized just how wonderful Japanese things are. And the best part? Almost everything was only $1.50! I was incredibly satisfied with my purchase of a heart-shaped ladle and a panda laundry hanger. 

I think this captures my enthusiasm for the Japan Center. 

An interior shot. Note the cherry trees. 

When we left the Japan Center, however, we quickly realized that there is actually a relatively limited Japanese influence in Japantown. Lots of trendy boutiques? Yes. Japanese shops and restaurants? Not so much. I didn't mind and was just happy to explore another neighborhood, but my sister, who's something of a Japan enthusiast, was disappointed.

Since trendy boutiques tend to be somewhat out of our price range, we decided to take a bus over to Ocean Beach and have lunch at a restaurant overlooking the water. The Beach Chalet had a beautiful ocean view, delicious food (I had the seasonal vegetable risotto), and excellent brewed-on-location beer. I absolutely loved my chocolate porter. 

The ocean view

After lunch we stopped by Haight-Ashbury, and I learned that hippie must have turned into hipster sometime in the past 40-ish years. If I remember correctly, there were approximately two vintage clothing stores per block, a few record stores, quite a few coffee shops, and lots and lots of tourists. Something tells me that the area has changed a bit since the Summer of Love.

Now I could give you a play-by-play of the events of our final night in San Francisco, but since it consists mostly of dinner and a hunt for dessert, I'll spare you the details. What I will say, though, is that I saw a lot of San Francisco in only three-and-a-half days. Of course my knowledge of this city isn't on the level of a local's knowledge, but I can navigate the public transportation system; I know a few good restaurants; I know a few neighborhoods that I find fun/interesting/aesthetically pleasing. And, really, don't we travel to learn about new places? I think I succeeded. 

San Francisco Day 3

Midway through the bus ride to the Marin Headlands, my hands started sweating, which signified our rather close proximity to some very dramatic hills, and with dramatic hills come steep drop-offs, and with steep drop-offs comes the assumption that the bus will drive off the cliff. This is just how my mind works. And, yes, I know that I must have looked terrified when the bus was winding through the hairpin curves. And, yes, I know that other people noticed my obvious fear and were probably silently mocking me. Don't worry, I'm used to silent mocking. Still, this was the most spectacular public bus ride I have ever taken, and despite my transportation anxiety, I'm sure it was actually quite safe.

You don't get views like this on just any bus ride.

San Francisco transportation tip (in case you'd like to see how scary this bus ride is for yourself): the San Francisco Municipal Railway sells passports, which allow unlimited rides on busses and the very popular cable cars for $7 per day. Considering the fact that a single cable car ride normally costs $6, the passport is an incredibly good deal. All you have to do is show it to the driver when you get on a bus/cable car. 

After the bus ride, we took a ferry to Sausalito, and on the way saw excellent views of San Francisco.

SF from the ferry. Also, a sailboat!

The first thing you should know about Sausalito is that its main street is primarily a place for tourists to eat and shop, and, as is common in resort towns, nearly every restaurant seems to have a menu offering everything from pasta to burritos. Since my mid-afternoon hunger was setting in, I was grateful for this variety. So many choices! So many food smells! I talked a lot about food smells during this trip. I don't know why.

Anyway, we decided to get lunch at the Bridgeway Cafe, and I had a bean burrito. This was good because I hadn't had a bean burrito in days, and I was about to start experiencing withdrawal symptoms. I eat a lot of bean burritos, and this one was among the best because it was made with avocado. Avocado! In a bean burrito! Unprecedented.

After lunch, we did a bit of shopping, and thus concludes our relatively brief interlude in Sausalito. My impressions: very pretty, good food, very touristy, with quite an impressive selection of tourist shirts. I even ended up buying one - something I don't think I've done in 8 years. Side note: the entire time I was in Sausalito, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was actually in Saugatuck, Michigan. Regional variation is possibly dead.

Now, onward with this fairly disjointed post!

Since our third day in San Francisco was the Fourth of July, naturally we went to see American Idiot at the Orpheum Theater. Naturally. And it was... interesting. I liked the music, the energy, the set design (lots of TV screens - I thought it made a strong statement about the influence of the media in our culture). I appreciated the attempt to portray the challenges of growing up, of trying to do something new or different or important and finding that nothing is ever as straightforward as originally planned. However, I really, really wanted to see more character development. All of the main characters could have been much more complex, but it seemed like I never saw anything beyond the most superficial traits. It's not that I disliked any of the characters; I just thought they needed more depth. If you like Green Day's music, though, and you don't mind a non-traditional play, you will probably like American Idiot. And, seriously, there was no better way to spend the night of the Fourth of July than seeing American Idiot.

And, yes, while watching the play, I did acknowledge that I am fortunate to live in a country where I can watch a fairly anti-American play on Independence Day. But I prefer to laugh at the irony. What a hipster.