A Metropolitan Affair

For as long as I can remember I’ve been having a love affair with the city. I’ve been surrounded by the countryside and suburbia for all my life, but when I close my eyes I think of those long, lingering looks.

It’s not what most people assume. I don’t imagine the skyscrapers or have big, Broadway dreams. I fell in love with the side streets, the 24-hour coffee shops, and the opportunities.

A city is an enormous, breathing industry sucking up our money and positive emotions. However, after a long night in a jazz club, I forget that I’m broke and missed the last T. Instead, I’m smiling because the starry night fills the negative space of the skyline.

When I look into those urban eyes I see my future self. The commute to work that I’ll learn to loathe, or the street where that guy accidentally touched by boob while he was texting and walking at the same time. In the city, I see the drunken nights at my favorite bar where the bartender knows my name and shamelessly offers to take me home every Friday. I cannot wait until I laugh with my friends about the time one of us accidentally took home a college senior.

I want the small loft, the tight corners, and shitty roommates. The kind of roommates that have loud sex at 4 a.m., after I’ve announced I have to open the store at 5:30.

I crave a new perspective. All my  trips to the city consisted of backseat views and dinners at restaurants I cannot afford. I’ve walked around downtown and stayed at a friends apartment, but I’ve never had that experience of being able to call an overpriced residence my own.

Of course, the most vital concept is the interaction.The workplace buddies and crushes. The fellow commuters I see after work at Kendall Square. The small conversations that happen while waiting for my scone. As someone who studies how communication shapes our world, I view the city as the ultimate social web. I just want to find my place among the spiders.

This summer I strive to find my side streets, to discover how long it takes to get across town, and find the group of friends who want to catch a late night movie. This summer is about starting my future. This summer is the start to a big adventure.

I feel like every liberated woman at the end of an  indie romcom. But instead of having some realization that the man I’ve been sleeping with for 8 years will never leave his wife, I’m running into his arms as we finally put a deposit on that adorable 2 bedroom in Cambridge.

Graduation Blues

The other afternoon I officially applied to walk during Slippery Rock University’s commencement ceremony. As of yesterday, I  became a soon-to-be college graduate. The idea is scaring me shitless. Well, maybe that’s just the new habit of morning coffee.

What’s scary isn’t the ‘real world’ or the independent life that presents itself; it’s the anxiety directly rooted in uncertainty. Uncertainty in what I want to do and in what I’m going to be able to do

Recently, my degree and aspirations have been gradually growing distant. The fact that I may be preparing for a life that will make me unhappy is becoming a pressing issue for my bowel movements.

After a few performances and a new connection to the theater department, I’ve been thinking more and more about becoming a performer and writer. I’ve been spending my free time thinking of blog posts or personal essay topics. I make time to read other authors critically and perfect my ukulele chords.

I value my education and believe learning about communication has made me a better person and offered a chance to mature. I’ve grown from a sad, awkward teenager to a potential adult, slowly making a path in life. But I believe I won’t be satisfied until I’ve exhausted all of the options

The most damaging aspect is the internal conflict. I was raised by smart, hardworking, republican families who stressed the importance of security and a strong work ethic. The voice of my father is in my head reminding me to find a good job and start a savings account, but I still find the need to move to a big city and try to become a jazz singer. Every time I think about just picking up and going, I hear his voice and instantly feel a rush of guilt all over. I blame my tenacious fear of authority figures and need to follow the rules.

On the other hand, our mainstream culture is piling up with women who worked hard and found a way to create a profit from self-expression. I have rooted my motivation to keep it together (said in the manner of Kit Ramsey) in idolizing relatively successful feminist who put it all out there. Mindy Kaling, Lena Dunham, and Carrie Bradshaw prototypes all get me up in the morning. So if I don’t attempt to walk in their footsteps, what kind of woman would I be?

I guess I should take my own advice. Whenever my friends express that feeling of uncertainty, the “what should I do” moment, I always tell them that most people already know their solution. Most people know what they need to do, what they should do, and what they want to do. They just ask others to confirm that it’s the right choice. So in my head I know what I should do. But I’m just looking for that confirmation.

Cheers,

Chloe

Breakdown breakdown

NOTE: This is an older piece, so this hell isn’t my life anymore, but it’s still relevant. 

In an attempt to graduate on time, I have taken on a full course load of 18 credits. Bad idea.

Seriously, if anyone tells you, “Just do it. You’ll be thankful in the end”, don’t believe them. It’s a lie.

So far in this semester, I’ve had, count them, three breakdowns. Just lying in my bed, eating mass amounts of chocolate and sobbing for about an hour.

Like I said, anyone that tells you it is going to be okay is not your friend.

To give some more insight on how you will feel, I’ll break down the steps of the senior-year-18-credit-breakdown.

1. Your emotions are triggered. This usually comes by remembering a project you didn’t do or being given two semester projects worth 400 points in the same week. During this stage your heart rate increases, but you hold it in and make jokes with your friends.
2. The anger begins. Look out world, because you’ll be on a rampage! The next person who eats the last of your ice cream or cuts you off in the student parking is going to regret it.
3. Sobbing, lots of sobbing. After you get angry, you’ll pace around the room talking to yourself like an insane person. Suddenly, you stub your tow on that corner you’re always running into and immediately the water works begin!
4. I can’t do it! A midst the tears, you’ll make a mental list of everything you’ll possibly have to do. “I can’t write a research paper, create a newsletter, study for a cumulative final, and do my laundry!”
5. The guilt settles in. After 20 minutes of crying, you start to remember that you are a middle class, white American who can attend college, while others are starving. Cue more tears.
6. “…And I’m single!” Finally, you start to feel better at the 45-minute mark. Then you remind yourself you are crying, alone in your room on a Tuesday afternoon. Oh yeah, and that guy whom you’ve been ‘talking to’ for the last month hasn’t returned your text in two days. TEARS.
7. Sleep, sleep, and more sleep. The hour has passed; you are lying in your bed worn out. You sleep the rest of the afternoon. I mean, you did have a rough day, right?
8. Repeat.