update

It has been almost three years since I graduated from college and looking back I don't think I was ever more satisfied personally. Isn't that the case for most of us? After who knows how many years (it took me 5), the studying, the papers, the nonsense, the price of parking, the stress was going to be over. All of those people who asked those terrifying questions leading up to graduation like: what were you going to do, what was the plan, how are you going to use your degree, do you have a job lined up? They didn't exist. It was all smiles and relief. What mattered was that you were done. And the summer. But remember summers are heart breaking more often than not because they always end. This satisfaction wasn't going to last. 

For those of you who had a plan after graduation I applaud you because I didn't and didn't care that I didn't. And in some ways I think I didn't need one. For so long, there was the itinerary of high school, junior college (for me), college, work throughout, pay your bills, make friends, day dream, things will work out after. No one tells you that school is the easy part. What do you do with a Sociology degree when you're too anxious to be a social worker and too bored of statistics to be a researcher? I guess you don't use it. 

It took me a year after I graduated to quit my job. I worked at a restaurant for seven years. 7! My first job. I was making too much money for such mind numbing, and socially crippling work. I hated the public, in some ways still do. I don't know why I stayed. There wasn't much else? I had a cushy schedule, time off when I wanted, bosses who respected me, friends to talk shit with, weekend plans. Why leave? Because after a while you realize you must do something. The crushes on boys who would never like you back wasn't ending, the schedule was stagnant, the atmosphere too comfortable, too familiar. The experiences that seemed so fresh and exciting when you were 20 don't have the same impact when your 23. After I quit, I didn't have a plan either. I was unemployed, uninspired, asking myself what did I want to do, who did I want to be? 

I'm 26 now and recently I've been asking myself those same questions again and again. 

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The last time I even attempted to write a blog post was at a coffee shop on Franklin Ave in Brooklyn last summer. That was 8 months ago. It's not as if I haven't thought about writing since, I have. All of the time. Life gets in the way. Actually, I got in my own way. A few friends encouraged me to continue. Ideas swirled around in my head about blog topics, and San Diego photo diaries, and stories about my life here, but I didn't write. I couldn't. And in all honesty I don't know why. Maybe laziness is the easiest answer. Being lazy is so easy, all you have to do is sit back and watch, instead of get up and do. And let me tell you, a lot changes when you get up and do. 

When I got the opportunity to go stay in New York city for the summer I jumped on it and looking back I can't believe how fearless I was. It's as if nothing else mattered but me being in New York. I was to experience the city and everything that it had to offer. It was a personal dream come true. I didn't have a plan while I was there, a common theme in my life apparently. I didn't even have this blog. When I began writing my first post I was in the living room of my Brooklyn apartment, jet lagged, and terrified. There was a Great Dane staring at me, and I still remember the sweat dripping from my forehead, wondering when I could take a shower. One roommate was busy working on and remixing a record, the other filming a YouTube video. What was I doing there? What could I do? I've always wanted to write, this was the time. So I did. 

And through this blog I was able to share memories and experiences and photos with those who wanted to follow. But more than that it was a way for me to focus my energy on something creative and fulfilling, something I could be proud of. It was for me. Most of us, I would hope all of us, want to be proud of what we do. But what if what you want to do is out of reach, a challenge, not financially stable, scary? Do you do it anyway? Do you push through what's hard and pray for the best? I guess you can say that for the past 8 months I haven't tried hard enough. I tried so hard in New York for 10 weeks straight with nothing to distract me, it seemed to sap me of all creative energy. I'm still trying to get it back. 

In the past few months, I've watched friends get married, quit jobs, graduate, pursue their goals, demand raises and move away. My friends do everything, they keep me going. There have been fleeting moments of inspiration and many days of distress. Nights of no sleep, and sometimes near constant worry. It hasn't been easy. It almost never is. Watching my friends do the balancing act of life, some with relationships (don't get me started) and jobs, some with creative pursuits and school, I'm amazed at how they can just do it. Life appears so easy. They know what they want to be, they know HOW they want to be. They make decisions. I decided to make some decisions too. I moved out of my parents for the third time. Third times a charm eh? I asked for and got a raise. Not a good one but one nonetheless, one that could actually support me. But something else was missing. If you never write anything down, can you still call yourself a writer? 

It's all too easy to say I WANT to be a writer. It's a whole different story to say you ARE one. I haven't been published (my high school paper and this blog notwithstanding). No byline, no job experiences in any writing field. But I have ideas, and stories to tell, a point of view that is my own. I just have to tell them. Some days it is so clear to me what I want to do, I honestly cannot imagine myself in another profession. But others remain a little more hazy. Recently, it's the hazy days that outweigh the clear ones. Trust me, I'm working on that. As for right now though, as I type this in my childhood bedroom, parents snoozing mere feet away from me, I can say two things for sure: I am 26, and I'm doing my best. That's all there is. 

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On Wednesday morning I'm leaving on a whirlwind road trip with my oldest friend. Not actually oldest, I've just known her the longest. In middle school we had an inside joke about Strawberry Milk, and those weird ads that had the pink cows. I don't know, we laugh so much together. We've cried so much together. She's moving to Illinois, for the second time. It's what she wants to do, so she's doing it. She's a rockstar. I'm can already picture our sun chapped faces, the windows rolled down, Mid-Western air gushing through the car, Pandora on full blast, her dog Cooper lounging in the back seat. I've never done a road trip before, and it's kind of exciting when you think about the romantic idea of road trips and coming of age, and being in your mid twenties and going somewhere you've never been. You might even say it's something to write about. Stay tuned...