perfect places

We have officially been in New York for a month and I'm already trying my best to carve out my "places." I had a lot of places in Portland, and the city got smaller each time I found a new one. Of course New York City is much larger than Portland, but in some ways, it feels smaller, since I can walk everywhere and don't have to cross bridges or residential areas to get to different neighborhoods. West Village, East Village, Soho, Chelsea--it's all within walking distance, and so much to see, do, and eat. Emphasis on the eat part.

A few routines have been put in place since we've arrived and gotten settled in.

Last Thursday Pierre and I walked with Ted to get coffee at Think (our go-to) and to bring him to class. After he went inside, I finished my coffee on a bench in the courtyard and watched everyone trickle into the building. It was nice to see the smiles Pierre brought to their faces! Afterwards, I brought Pierre to the dog park across the street at Washington Square Park, where Pierre was a lil' wallflower of a pup. He had a few spurts of energy, but mostly kept close to momma. I vowed to make this dog mom/son date at least a weekly occurrence, since Ted has this early class Tuesdays and Thursdays and I don't have to be at work until 11.

Oh yeah! I have a job now! I work at a very cute dog boutique in the East Village that I get to walk to from home. It's a pretty sweet deal. I'm already planning Pierre's Fall wardrobe.

Another Tuesday/Thursday routine: the GYM! I know, it's hard to believe, but I'm really trying. The fact that the gym is literally nextdoor is very helpful. And by trying I mean totally bribing myself. I literally give myself a sticker for every five minutes I work out so that I can "earn" money to go shopping for new clothes. I have to treat myself like a toddler to get myself to do things I hate... It's a struggle. But hey--I AM getting better at doing the dishes. So ya know...I'm getting there.

Also: Thirsty Plant Thursdays. We have plants! They are all still alive (so far).

Another thing that needs to become routine: getting cocktails at this place.

nyc: first impressions

We out here! New York City is now our home, somehow. It seems a bit hasty, committing myself to a city as high-maintenance as the Big Apple after one whirlwind of a five-day trip. It kind of feels like marrying someone I had a fun, but stressful date with two years ago. Against all odds, I think it's going to work out.

We really hit the jackpot when it comes to neighborhoods. We are smack in the middle of the Village, which is home to dozens of restaurants, coffee shops, bars, and shops. It's enough to keep us busy for the next three years! Washington Park is only a couple of blocks away, paving the perfect morning walk for me and Pierre. I'm absolutely smitten.

I've ventured out on my own a few times now, and have survived! It feels very impressive, although I know that it's not that big a deal to the countless strangers and pups I've passed. It's been sunny and humid most days (although right now it's raining), so I've been hiding behind my sunglasses, quietly ogling at every new part of my daily life: the beautiful buildings, the expensive menus outside restaurants, the chic outfits of passerby, the heaps of garbage on the side of the street, the adorable dogs...

A few NYC firsts:

Pierre's first New York pup pee (outside Think Coffee, where I bought my first NYC nitro cold brew because you can take a girl outta Portland...).

Our first family walk through Washington Square Park, where I acquired major heart eyes for our new neighborhood.

My inaugural black and white cookie from Sweets by Chloe, where I realized vegan sweets can be just as tasty as non-vegan sweets.

My first rat spotting and my first public urination spotting. Enough said.

Here's to many more firsts! XOXO Gossip Girl

gotta start somewhere

found

"Comparison is the thief of joy." "The worst enemy to creativity is self doubt."

Easier pinned than practiced, am I right?

I'm trying to fix that. I've been known to beat myself up for not being creative enough. It's hard when the thing you identify most with (for me, being crafty) is something that takes work. Time. Patience. Kindness to yourself. People start to expect things of you--that everything you wear must be handmade or something. It hurts to say, "No..." Because to be honest, I rarely have the time and courage to take on a big sewing project. I know I am capable of making cool things. I made a duffle bag for Ted last holiday season, for goodness sake! And I'm incredibly proud of that. However, the things I find the most joy in making are smaller, more frivolous items. Things that aren't necessary for anything other than to make someone smile or perhaps giggle. Like an avocado brooch.

Sometimes a bad joke flits across my mind when I'm feeling particularly inadequate: "Crafts are just crappy art."

It's hard to look at a beautiful minimalist charcoal drawing framed pristinely and not think my work is worthless. The truth is that COMPARISON IS THE THIEF OF JOY, PEOPLE! So you have to keep on trucking along, making your felt bits and bobs, and share your light because it's your own, and not anyone else's.

One of the reasons I started an Etsy recently was to start thinking more business-like. One day I hope to open a craft store that will house beautiful odds and ends that will inspire others to MAKE. I want them to find treasures, cozy up into a couch, and sip some tea while they dream up their next project. I want them to have a thirst for new knowledge that can only be learned with their hands. I want someone who has spent their whole life saying "I could never do that" to DO THAT. Because creating something with your own hands builds confidence. It's tangible evidence that you have learned a valuable new skill. And whether that value is as a piece of artwork or a pillowcase, it's all valuable. And hey, YOU made it. So that's cool.

I guess what I'm trying to get at is that you GOTTA START SOMEWHERE. If it's with avocado brooches and dog banners, so be it. It's a step in the right direction.

inspiration // baby blue

Hey, I'm back. To show ya some pretty pictures of baby blue things. Because why not? There's something so peaceful and calm about blue. Probably because the sky and the ocean and stuff, right? Makes sense. That's how I've been feeling lately: peaceful and calm. Happy, even. It's a wonderful thing! I'm looking forward to this new season in my life, where I feel so content. These pictures kind of sum it up for me, I guess.

 

late night pep talk

This Labor Day Weekend was not one of my finest, for a handful of reasons (things really do all come crashing down at once; how cruel is that?).  Everything felt like it was falling apart, and even the things that felt like they were about to build up started to crumble shortly after.  One would say that I learned a lot of "lessons" this past weekend.  Aren't lessons the worst?  But really they are the best, because they knock you down, they make you cry, they remind you how great baths are, and in the midst of learning and writing down notes onto your heart, they eventually help you become a stronger version of yourself.  They remind you that you have homework.  The hard kind.  The kind you have to assign to yourself, and make yourself do.

My first piece of advice: Take a bath. Soak in all your misery and/or confusion about life and its curve balls and how you don't even really know exactly what a curve ball is in baseball. I mean, you can guess.  But you don't really know.  Then shower it all off.

My second piece of advice: Talk to a best friend face-to-face, wherever she/he is. YAY INTERNET! Tell them everything, down to your bath history.  Laugh about crying, talk about important things like sunglasses. Remember how lucky you are to have even one kindred spirit in your lifetime. Know that there are probably more out there, and once they're all done binge-watching 30 Rock and New Girl too, they'll find you. You'll make crafts and rejoice (or whatever).

My third piece of advice: Feel overwhelmed by your goals.  That means they're good. Know that every move you make professionally will lead you to them.  Some might be detours.  Some might be short cuts, if you're lucky. Some might make you disappointed, confused, or both.  Trust that it will all work out.

Sending my love and endless amounts of virtual cups of comforting tea to my fellow humans out there just trying to live the dream.  We'll get there!

wander: why i travel

I was sixteen when I discovered my love of travel.  I had saved up for an entire year from babysitting so I could go to Europe with my middle school French teacher's group.  I would bring an empty travel journal in my bag with me to each babysitting gig, and look at it when I’d had enough of those pesky kids.  I touched it to remind myself why I was spending my free time working and not re-reading Harry Potter, or writing bad poetry, or some other extremely important thing. I looked at it longingly. It was empty, and I was ready to fill its pages with stories.

With the help of some generous family members, I handed over my hard-earned cash for a spot on the trip.  I remember the night before leaving I felt so scared.  I feared that something terrible would go wrong, and this would be the last time I cuddled on the couch with my family to watch a bad Disney Channel Original Movie.  The next morning I brushed those irrational feelings off and focused on the adventure ahead.  

It was an unlikely moment during the trip that I discovered how truly special traveling is.  Since we were a large group of around 20 people, we traveled around on a huge bus, touring Ireland, Scotland, England, and France.  As I’m prone to do in large groups, I nestled myself into a window seat for some alone time.  I listened to my iPod and looked out the window at the rainy Scottish countryside.  I randomly thought about my summer plans after this grand adventure--yearbook camp, hanging out with family and friends, and all of the other really normal, mundane things that make up my stateside life--and all at once, it hit me that I was in a new land, far, far away from anything familiar or comfortable and I looked at my life in Arizona in a way that I never had before.  It looked good.  Like, really, really good.  Taking a step away from my life had an impact on me.  It made me realize how grateful I truly was to be in such a magical place and yet also how lucky I was to be able to return to an even more magical life.  It made me excited for the future--one that would definitely include going back to Europe to study abroad.

 

January 2014, I left for a semester in London studying music, art, and theatre (and yes, it was as awesome as it sounds).  I went from Portland, a city of 600,000 to London, a city of over 8 MILLION.  I was afraid and worried that I would hate it, because I thought myself to be a small city type who goes to brunch and the occasional movie with a couple of close friends, but usually prefers to stay in.  During my time in London, I let go of my homebody tendencies (which usually keeps me in my bed making crafts and watching Netflix) and allowed myself to be picked up by the busy city tide -- relaxing into its ebb and flow.  At times I was intimidated by the bustling crowds of overwhelmingly attractive and fashionable Londoners flocking to the oncoming Piccadilly Line, but with the help of my boyfriend Ted, and my fabulous roommate Eva, I managed to stay afloat.  For four months, I tested my limits.  I forced myself to seize opportunity and to spend more time with people (an introvert’s nightmare realized).  I said Yes more than No.  

This is what I would like to call the Traveling Effect.  When I travel, I feel the need to soak up as much as possible.  I cannot afford to be brittle and dry and still.  I must be flexible, moving, breathing, and absorbing as much as possible. I must take advantage of my limited time.  There is no time to waste (except when you really, really need the downtime--sometimes you just need to be boring for a day or two so you can go on and keep doing exciting things).  You must see, do, eat, be.

Saying goodbye to London was much worse than any breakup I’ve ever experienced, and I’m not just saying that for dramatic effect--it’s a fact.  I said goodbye to a lifestyle I never imagined I would have, and a Kaylie I never imagined I could be.  I still get a little pang in chest when I think about London too much, but I had to make room for more adventures--a week-long road trip across England with my grandparents, and a month-long backpacking trip around Europe with Ted.  I stifled down the tears (that would surely be able to water all of Hyde Park or possibly flood the Thames) and focused on the next adventure.

While backpacking Europe, I did things I never dreamt of doing--spontaneously seeing a Mozart opera in Salzburg (NOT a touristy one), hanging out in the Austrian Alps casually walking through clouds, taking a 17-hour ferry to Greece… Oh and did I mention that one time over spring break that we almost got stuck in Monaco for a night?  The list goes on.  Traveling to a different country basically each week was an experience I could never possibly forget.  I know this because I worried as I made my way home that I would forget every detail, good and bad.  This is my greatest fear.  I want to remember.  Then, something wonderful happened.

I was making another journey--up the coast from Phoenix to Portland--with two of my best friends.  We had stopped in the Bay Area for a couple of days because we had a friend to stay with and I didn’t get a good look at San Francisco last time I drove through, so why not spend a day in the city? The moment we started walking around, a million little details of the previous five months abroad started to crop up.  Everything reminded me of something else. It was when I spotted a quote on a journal in a cute little boutique that it finally clicked.

“They should tell you when you are born: Have a suitcase heart, be ready to travel. -Gabrielle Zevin”

Of course!  How could I be so silly?  I didn't need to worry about forgetting.  I will carry all of those fantastic, spastic, annoying, boring, exciting, random memories with me every new place I travel. In my heart.  Yep, I went there.  I'm that cheesy, guys.  Layer on the cheese, as I always say. The great thing about the heart is that when in the right place, it can expand to immeasurable distances--it will not run out of room.  It’s like the Mary Poppins carpet bag of love and feeling and memory.  I will not forget, and I will continue to fill my heart up with more adventures (and layer the cheese on everything and every dish I ever consume).

you'll get there

This is my current desktop wallpaper (found via designlovefest of course).  It calms me.  Ever since graduating, I've been a little hard on myself.  You should be in this place in your life.  You should be creative every minute of everyday.  You should know how to budget better.  Your instagram should be better.  You don't blog enough.  You should have the perfect apartment.  You should have the cutest wardrobe.  You should be living your dream already, dammit! You should, you should, you should...

It's not fair, and I know it.  It doesn't stop me from having these thoughts though.  I know I'll get there eventually.  I know that everyone is on their own path.  My path is completely different than anyone else's.  Mine just happens to be riddled with heaps of self-doubt.  It makes it hard to even want to take a step in any direction some days.  When something good does happen, I almost immediately focus on a small detail that might go wrong, or try to convince myself that I'm undeserving of the opportunity. I'm way too hard on myself.  The funny thing is, I've gotten sooooooo much better the past few years.  But the feelings still crop up sometimes, in more muted versions.  It might not be as bad, but it's still hard.

I know I'm not the only one, but when self-doubt hits, it feels so isolating. Everyone around you looks like they have it all together, or at least enough to handle an off day and bounce back. One thing that always cheers me up is a little treat from a cafe. But now that my wallet is a little malnourished, that just can't be the answer. It can maybe once a week, but not every time I hit a bump in my week.

Last night I had a brilliant idea. I thought--I can bake some muffins! Treats for a week! Yay!! Then I turned on the oven to bake them and consequently heated up the entire apartment in the already 100 degree weather. OY. Sometimes I don't think things through. It's a problem, especially when I'm not feeling my best. The little mistakes then make me feel worse. It's a tedious cycle. I'm trying to be more mindful and remember that it's only human to make mistakes.

Hopefully this post hasn't been too self-indulgent and can be a reminder to those who might also be feeling self-doubt, that you are certainly not alone! Sending my love from the oven currently masquerading as the city of Portland.

gaining insight, and other things

Graduation happened.  Almost-full-time at work happened.  Realizing that my metabolism isn't what it used to be happened.  You know, all that grown-up stuff.  Since graduation, I've done a lot of things: started working around 35 hours a week, landed a small business mentorship once a week, signed up for a business class for later this summer, joined a gym (that I have yet to go to, I must admit), and given up my favorite things to eat for a month (cheese, bread, and sugar namely). It's all that stereotypical "trying to take control of my life and be a productive human being" stuff, but I'm trying to embrace it. The thing I'm most ready to embrace is decorating my apartment with Ted, but they have yet to give us a move-in date!  Woo hoo!  My super-adult butt is currently camping out in an empty bedroom while the rest of my stuff is in boxes downstairs, in my car, and in Ted's old place.  We got a rug, guys!  But nowhere to put it at the moment, so it's living at FedEx.  Sigh.

One thing about being out of college:  My feet hurt.  I'm tired.  Barely any of my clothes still fit me (thanks, college). I'm eager.  I'm sad.  I'm excited.  I'm ready for adventures.  I'm ready for having a place to call my own.  I'm anxious to plan cocktail parties and craft hangouts.  I'm happy.  I'm still tired.  I know this is just the beginning, and this is life.  It's a strange, scary, but beautiful thing.  I have so much more growing to do, it doesn't seem fair to say I graduated from anything.

I guess what I'm trying to say is: "It is enlightening, albeit intimidating, to think how much control we have over our own lives." --Leandra Medine.

That gets to the crux of it all.  Life is about taking control, making your own choices, and creating your own happiness.  What a task!  I'm certainly intimidated, but ready for the challenge.

scary stuff

found

Four weeks from today, it will be three days before my college graduation.  It just set in this week, how scary this is.  Sure, I've joked around about "Ahhhh the future, ahhhh college ending, ahhhh what is real life" but man, it's really happening.  

A part of me will miss the community of college, the "we're all in this together, ew this paper sucks, gross we have a test, yay I got a A on my paper, wow my friends are talented actors, musicians, artists and I get to see them do stuff regularly for free!"

A part of me is ready to be out there, making stuff happen, learning how to do this life thing, making crafts for my apartment and planning my goals and pursuing them.

And then there is this dark, scary corner of me that fears that I will never accomplish these goals.  A part of me is terrified that I'll get lazy, or busy, or distracted, or something and I'll never find the motivation to make my dreams a reality.

BUT.  Just because I'm leaving college, and school as a institution, doesn't mean I'm "fully cooked" as they say.  Okay, they don't actually say that.  What I mean to say is that I have SO MUCH MORE GROWING TO DO.  College certainly helped me in 942394823984 ways, but there are so many more things that I have ahead of me.  So so soooooooo many more lessons to be learned and things to fail at and things to succeed at.  What I'm saying is I think it'll be okay.  I think.

life lately

Wowza, life is comin' at me fast right now.  My birthday is a week from tomorrow or something?  The show I designed costumes for is opening a week from this Friday?  I have my first real short story due and an exam for a class I've been neglecting in lieu of thesis work on the very same day? I have a big presentation on my thesis work two weeks from now?  What?   Really...what?  How do I do?  How do I do things?  What is March? What?  What is graduation? What is finding an apartment?  What is this thing?  This life thing?  Someone please explain.

In all honesty though, how on earth did this happen?  I was just applying for college five minutes ago.  Sophomore year was two minutes ago.  I made Exit the King jokes two seconds ago.

Working on an absurd play is obviously getting to me....

ANYWAY, I have a lot of things to look forward to in March like:

The satisfaction of surviving designing my first show.
My birthday.
The satisfaction of surviving surviving my first long research presentation and even if it sucked...
MY FRIENDS ARE VISITING ME THE WEEKEND AFTER MY BIRTHDAY.  BEST PRESENT EVER.

This is officially the worst post I've ever written.  I probably shouldn't post it, but it's a pretty accurate view of my mind right now, so I will share it with the world in all its confusing honesty.

being scared is a good thing

I want to be good for something.  Don't we all?  I know, I know, it's enough just to love and be loved.  I realize that.  But as a creative person, I feel this deep desire to be good for something more.  I'm realizing that the possibilities are endless when it comes to leading a creative life these days.  It seems like every other second someone is deciding to sell their cute hand-lettered stationary or retro-inspired tea towels...or whatever!  You get my idea.  The accessibility is overwhelming, and I know I have some of the tools to put this sort of work out there into the world.  But then, why don't I?  I've been trying to convince myself.  Kaylie.  You're a creative, poor college student.  Get your ass to your sewing machine and make some damn tea towels with quirky embroidery.  Do something.

And I say No. It's not a hard answer to deliver--I feel repulsed by the very idea of putting something like that out into the world.  It was just now that I realized why. It's not because I'm scared of "putting myself out there" or "I'm not good enough."  Making a collection of tea towels or stationary or whatever does not inspire me.  I love tea towels as much if not more than the average twenty-something blogger, but I don't have a burning passion to make them for others.  Simple as that.

Which leads me to my point. If you're not scared, it's probably because you're not challenging your best creative self.  If your gut doesn't say, "Wait, wait, wait, hold on, I don't know about this, this is too scary" then it's probably because you're taking the easy way out. We spoke in my thesis class last week about "stakes" and how they are important to making good art.  I guess I agree with that.  Making something good is scary and hard and it's not easy and formulaic.

What exactly am I trying to say right now?  You tell me, because frankly, I'm getting lost too.  But my point is that I'm going to start paying attention to the things that scare me, because those are the things that obviously mean a lot to me and that I should be paying closer attention to and chasing after, as terrifying as that may seem.

what i'm doing right now

What I'm doing right now: Watching Girls, eating heart-shaped Reese's, and freaking out about this last-semester-of-school-ever thing.  

Like, what?  What even is this thing that is happening to me right now?  After 17 years of being of school, it seems unfathomable to think I will be done with the whole thing in less than four months.  Just like that.  

Well, I mean, there are a few things to do before being done.  A lot of things, actually.  But four months?  A relatively short amount of time. 

The reality of everything is finally hitting me, and I don't think I have enough chocolate to sustain the anxiety that is brewing. Don't let me forget to hit up those after-Valentine's Day sales at the grocery store.  

transition

I'm looking forward to the new year.  It will be an opportunity to start fresh--that is something I always love, but this year… I need it.  I'm in this weird transitional phase in my life where at the same time I'm as happy and confident as I have ever been, yet I have absolutely no idea what I want in life, much less what I want to wear.  It seems trivial, but for someone who loves clothes/costume so much, it's quite a disorienting feeling not knowing what this new and improved Kaylie should wear.  Have any of you experienced this phenomenon?  I literally stand in front of my closet for minutes and minutes and then end up wearing one of the three outfits I feel comfortable in.  This is not usual Kaylie behavior--I usually spend many minutes devising a fun, slightly weird, but coordinating outfit.  Maybe it's because I spent five months with a limited wardrobe, but I am reaching for much simpler outfits these days (with some spunk--like the number above back in Greenwich, sigh).

A part of me feels sad, like I've lost something, but another part of me is like, Well, you didn't expect to dress the same way your entire life, did you?  I've changed, for the better.  Why shouldn't my taste?  The best part of this is realizing how much I love some of the pieces I already own that I took for granted. Like that pink loose-knit sweater I got on sale at Target a couple of summers ago for a costume (aka it wasn't my "style")? I'm planning on wearing it tomorrow, for the 924278th time this fall.  I just can't stop pairing it with my light blue short-sleeved button-up and black Kate Spade bow necklace, okay?!  It makes me feel like a classy creative professional and I love it…Is that weird?

The clothes are just a small part of it.  What do I want?  Someone just tell me already.  Thanks.

let the future unfold

Something weird is happening. 

I'm going into my final year of college tomorrow.

When I was a senior in high school, I wrote a post about "the whole awkward, heartbreaking, completely embarrassing business" of high school.  Now, nearly four years later, I am here to face my final year of school, probably ever (because lord knows my student loans don't need any more friends than they already have). 

And let me just say, it's not just high school that is awkward, heartbreaking, and embarrassing. In fact, the business of life is all of those things, and more. When I moved to Portland three years ago to start this adventure, I didn't know how it would unfold--how it would become a complicated, wrinkled, but ultimately beautiful mess of an experience.  I can say with all my guts that college has been the hardest stage of my young life.  I know that life just gets messier from here on out, but coming to terms with this fact--and my so-called "adulthood"--is tough.  College has brought me to my lowest and highest points.  Yet I'm equally grateful for both, because now I know myself more fully, and the person I wish to become.  Despite the unexpected wrinkles, I know that on this first day of September, I am closer to being that person than I have ever been before.  

I am so incredibly proud of myself for doing everything in my power to come to this point and as I start this last year of school, I want to hold onto this pride of being able to do what's best for me and actively pursue my goals.  College has been a growing experience for me, and I feel lucky everyday that I chose Portland as my damp, fertile ground to do so.  The growing pains hurt, the rain gets muddy, but the lush green always makes it worth it.

big city girl

Waiting for the tube.  Tube strike woes.  Tight-turning double-deckers.  The world is my oyster card.  Feeling clammy in the packed Picadilly Line.  Walking in the rain.  Wind.  Too much wind.  Bumping into strangers.  Saying "sorry!" to strangers. Eating out too much. 

South Kensington.  Home. Scoop.  Red couch.  Little Waitrose.   School.  Three days of classes.  3 hour classes.  Spending too much.  Shopping at TopShop.  Wide-eyed at Harrods.  Pure bliss at Liberty.  Going to the theatre.  The symphony.  The opera.

I started writing this post months ago in London.  Maybe I decided it sounded a bit too pretentious and stopped?  Or perhaps I had somewhere to get to, as so-called "city girls" tend to do, leaving this in my drafts forgotten?  Either way, my London life seems so far away right now.  I miss it every single day, and I know little memories will make their way on this blog more than I would like to admit because I seriously have so many and don't want to forget even the most mundane (like the time I got overly excited about 3 chocolate bars for £1.20 at Tesco or the multiple after-theatre pub outings with Philip & co where I awkwardly sat and said nothing and maybe ordered my favorite cider, Magners).  All of it was magical, even the boring parts.  Expect more tidbits in the future.

future talk and folk music

Tonight is one of those nights.  The kind where the future is at once terrifying and exciting; when my dreams seem too big and my bank account too small.  As my last year of college and the "future" comes hurling fast towards me much like an unwieldy basketball during elementary PE that I really don't feel like I'm capable of catching, but somehow can and must, even if it hits me in the gut and makes me cry a little...well, I start to freak out and make long sports metaphors even though I haven't played a sport in years.

It's one of those nights when even catching up on Mad Men seems daunting, much less preparing for the future.

It's one of those nights when no amount of googling will tell me how to achieve my obscure life goals.

It's one of those nights when moody folk music seems like the only anecdote to restless thoughts and a messy room (or should I say, messy thoughts and a restless room).

It's one of those nights when I feel like I must be taking things too seriously, or not seriously enough.

It's one of those nights when instead of getting answers, you get more questions, but maybe an episode of Gilmore Girls will make everything seem a bit more doable.

jetlag

I'm finally home after five months (I have literally so much to catch up on this blog, it's not even funny) and it's 5:50 am.  I've been up since around 4:38am.  I may have had some hope of going back to sleep, but I started thinking about London.

Guys, this is like deciding to think about a recent breakup when you're at your most vulnerable.  That's exactly how I felt when my program ended--like I was breaking up with London.  I didn't blame London though, I blamed myself.  I thought of all the things I should've have done, the things I should've said, the things I should've blogged about so I never forgot them.  And then I have to remind myself three things:

1) I did more in London than I have ever done in my life.  I not only saw more theatre, art, and music than I had everything before combined, I pushed myself to be more than I ever had before.  I forced myself to not be the homebody I usually resort to and became a city girl for a semester.  This is something I never thought possible.  I became a version of myself that I didn't know I had in me or would even like.  Although I definitely had my moments of "This place is absolutely bonkers, I'm exhausted, Are we really going out for the third night in a row to a show that starts at 8pm somewhere over a thirty-minute tube ride away?, Can I just be boring for a second?".... These moments were surprisingly few, and they were washed away the moment we did whatever amazing thing we were about to do, and let me say, there were countless.  When I think to myself in these dark hours of regret (although the light is seeping into my room as I write this), I have to remind myself that OF COURSE I did not do everything there was to do in London.  That would take a lifetime.

What I did do was embrace each day.  I never holed up and choose not to be in London.  I abandoned a lot of my Kaylieisms, like blogging and online TV, and when I did have the spare time I opted to work on my travel journal or talk to my roommate Eva across the room, who became a very close friend in a matter of weeks.  The only time I didn't make an effort to get out were the few days I was sick in bed, and even then, one night I pulled myself out of bed to attend a show at the Barbican all by myself (I had tickets the night before the rest of the group because of my internship) and another night I journeyed with my roommates to the best pho we could find in London.  There were multiple times when Ted asked me if I wanted to go to Flat 15 to hang out with everyone and I went against my homebody spirit and told myself, "Why not?"  I pushed myself so hard.  I spent my own stipend money on shows we didn't see as a group, I explored far-off neighborhoods and found favorite spots, and I tried new foods, new ideas, and, okay, new clothes on.  I even ventured off on my own a number of times, which is saying a lot, because I always get lost without fail.  I always managed to get home though, however many hours later it sometimes became.

There was a particular night the last week of the program that I ended up in Trafalgar Square, feeling very lost, confused, and alone. I sat on the steps under the National Gallery and looked at the now familiar Big Ben in the distance.  I cried out of happiness and sadness about my time in London, remembering the first time I was on the same steps my very first night in London with most of the group.  Now back in that same familiar spot alone, I felt a sense of closure.  Sure, I still had no sense of direction, but I had gained so much during my time in London.  As cliched as it sounds, it changed me for the better, and this is why I know I shouldn't feel a shred of regret.  London is big; I am small.  I did a fine job getting to know the magic it offers, and getting to know myself in new ways.

2)  I said more in London than I ever thought I could.  And by this, I mean that self-concious, introverted Kaylie actually managed to become friends with almost everyone on the trip, despite her record of staying home from parties and other situations where I might actually make friends (the thought of it!).  Living with people is definitely my preferred method of getting close to people because I am forced to be around them over an extended amount of time, which is very good, because I tend to prefer solitude.  Most of the residents of Flat 12 were people I never would have thought I could be friends with had we been at school, if I ever even crossed paths with them.  I was pleasantly surprised to get along with all of them, and realize the things we had in common.  However, I not only got to know my fellow flatmates, but I also made the effort to knock on the door of Flat 15 every day (where Ted lived) and patiently (or not so patiently) wait for someone to answer.   As much as I was annoyed at first that Ted and I weren't in the same flat, it became a blessing, because it forced me to be present in both flats, which was actually something very few people on my program managed to do.

While Flat 12 was mellow and opted to watch artsy horror films most nights (which I never really felt inclined to join in on, especially when I had already missed the beginning) and get to bed at a reasonable hour, Flat 15 liked to hang out, talk, watch movies, drink, and go to bed at an unreasonable hour.  Although this also wasn't really my thing, I religiously went over to Flat 15 to see Ted, and usually ended up staying in their spacious lounge to watch whatever movie they invited me to or be amused by their drunk antics.  Although Ted and I weren't really interested in drinking more than a cider or two occasionally, it was fun to be a part of something I usually avoid like the plague at school (and probably still will, unless I'm in a similarly small group of about 12 people I know and love). I definitely went home from Flat 15 when I needed to though, because pushing myself too much would be lethal.  I need some sort of balance in my life, even if I'm going out of my comfort zone.  I would come home to a dark room, take a beloved shower to unwind from my day, crawl into bed exhausted, and routinely knock over my glass of water each time I reached over my nightstand to set my alarm for the morning.  Thankfully I had an adorable tea towel to absorb my frequent spills, because without fail, I spilled something each day and tripped over my feet walking the streets of London.  Sure, I became more adventurous over the semester, but definitely no less clumsy.)

I'm proud of myself for pushing myself pretty far out of my comfort zone to actually enjoy people's company instead of always choosing to stay in my bedroom.  Although obviously, sometimes Kaylie time was definitely and 100% needed, so retreating to my sacred bed to read blogs or watch the latest Emma Approved on Youtube was definitely crucial to my sanity.  I don't think I'll ever know how Flat 15 stayed up so late every night without going absolutely crazy.  I certainly couldn't have done it!  What I did do, was go further out of my comfort zone than I have done in the past, while still knowing my limits. I am very proud of that.

3)  Okay, so blogging went to the backburner.  So did all of my favorite TV shows.  I simply did not have the time or energy to do the things that usually help me blow off steam each day.  When I did have the energy, I used it to work on my travel journal, which was also neglected for large quantities of time.  Or I used the energy to do something else, like go to a spontaneous show with Ted.  I have to remind myself that the reason I didn't blog this past semester was that I was too busy doing what I described in 1 and 2--I was making the most of my time in London.  Thank goodness for Instagram, numerous photos uploaded to Facebook, and my jam-packed travel journal full of ticket stubs and assorted hoarded paper (all lovingly adhered with cute paper tape, stickers, and a trusty gluestick).  I look forward to the day I'm able to finish it off with the last bits of London and my entire European adventures.

Leaving London was one of the tougher things I have ever done. I'm so thankful that I had five more weeks of traveling before I had to come home, because by that point, I was completely ready to be done being so darn adventurous every day.  It's tiring, and thankfully I'm actually getting tired again, so hopefully I can clock in a couple more hours of sleep before getting up again.  Or not.

homesick inception

Right now I am on the train home

to London--where I am experiencing more art and freedom than I ever have. 

Before we went to Scotland, I was getting homesick

for Portland--where I learn, work, and have my favorite brunch place. 

When I am in Portland, I get homesick 

for Mesa, where my family knows all of my quirks, my dog curls into a ball at the foot of my bed as I fall asleep, and my best friends are, or return to.

Home is so many places at this time in my life.  Very rarely do these worlds overlap, so I am excited for family to visit. I am also aware how lucky I am to have Ted here, in Portland, and even in Mesa when he's feeling like he can handle the desert heat.

For now I will just sit back and enjoy the train ride home to London, thinking about how happy I am to have found a third home.

  

stonehenge, bath, and a bus ride revelation

  A few days ago, something in the wind (and boy, has there been a lot of wind lately) was ruffling my feathers, and making it hard to walk without having to push against little annoyances.  Many other people have been expressing their frustrations as well.  It seems like the honeymoon stage is over, and we all need some alone time, which is virtually impossible when you live in a flat with a dozen other people and share rooms.  The only way to escape the crowd is to take a walk around the city, but the city is full of people every which way.  At times it can be comforting (as in, I'm alone, but I'm not alone), but sometimes it's overwhelming.  There is no real personal space, and I have been valuing my shower time even more than usual.
The group had an extremely busy past week of fun shows, concerts, and museums like usual, but this week it just wore us all out.  Even too much of a good thing can take its toll.  You can imagine we were all exhausted.  And then we were put on a bus to Stonehenge and Bath at 8am on Friday.  We were tired, but we did it happily and had a nice, touristy time roaming around the ancient ruins.  I was especially excited about the Roman Baths in Bath.  It was so incredible to be where the Romans once hung out a couple thousand years ago.  I mean, can you even comprehend how long ago that was?  That was so long ago.  I was fascinated.  And tired.  A few of us ended the day, only a little grumpily, at Sally Lunn's with some tea and buttery buns.

On the bus trip home from Bath, something strange happened.  I was listening to my music and leaning my head against the giant window when I remembered the last time I was passing pretty green countryside on a big bus with other students.  It was when I was touring Europe in a group led by my junior high French teacher.  I remember my excitement on the bus one particular day, thinking about the prospect of studying abroad.  I thought of that moment and very suddenly got incredibly sad.  Because as much as we're all annoying each other at the moment, once this trip is over, we will miss these times so much more than we ever were annoyed with eachother.  I almost burst into tears at the thought, which I will blame entirely on my lack of sleep and not on my life as the most sentimental and overly reflective person alive.

It's one month in, and time needs to slow down a bit.

finding the one

Today marked my first day back in Portland.  Last night I got in, smiled a lot driving around in the sun, and enjoyed a burger and truffle fries at my beloved Little Big Burger.

Guys... I think I'm in love.  I've been many places this summer (like, geez, it's been a crazy summer) and I've found some serious space in my heart for Colorado and Texas, but boy.  Once you've met the one, you've met the one.  As stressful and emotional it can be living away from home for college, I'm so happy I chose to come to Oregon.  Maybe it's the fact that I grew up in the desert and Portland is the complete opposite, a lush, green wonderland, or the fact that everyone here is a character, from the enthusiastic food cart owners, multitude of dog owners, and tea goers with not only a sloth in baby girl clothes, but also an entire sloth colony, to the couple in front of me at the Fred Meyer deli today interrogating the poor workers about nitrates and all-natural meat.

I love how much people care here, even if it sometimes verges on ridiculousness.   I love that people take pride in doing things themselves.  I love how close and accessible everything is by public transit.  I love that we have an entire block devoted to an independent bookstore.  I love that food and drink is an art form here, as it should be, and attracts Disneyland-worthly lines out the door.  I love how southern food (arguably my favor type of food) is a thing here, for no apparent reason (other than, duh, it's delicious).  I love that having a chicken coop is totally normal.  I love that there is more pressure to be weirder than to be more normal.  I love that there are beards and bizarre facial hair everywhere, as embarrassingly self-aware it sometimes may be.  Speaking of hair, I love that if I forget to shave my legs, girls won't notice or care.  Gee, they might give me a high five exposing their own wildly hairy armpits (For the record, I'm less okay with this).  I love how worked up people get when it gets over 80 degrees, and how the sun's rare appearance makes people dress like summer when it's still in the mid 50s.  I love that someone near my school owns a peacock named Honk that likes to visit campus.  I love that my school is walking distance from a state park and community farm.  I love the cherry blossoms in the spring and the blackberries outside the house right now.  I love that city and nature are intertwined seamlessly here.  And even though I'm often intimidated by how outdoorsy everyone is in comparison to me, I love that it inspires me to be more adventurous and push myself to do more than just enjoy nature from the sidelines reading or knitting under a tree (although this will always be my first instinct and first love).

Or maybe it's just all these Christmas trees, constantly reminding me of my favorite time of the year.

In all seriousness though, I couldn't be happier with a city.  I feel very lucky to live here part time, even when right now it's with three guys in a rickety old Frankenhouse that we call The Burrow but creaks enough to be called the Shrieking Shack.  I already miss my family, friends, Izzy, and Ted, but it's good to be back.