I work at an international boarding school. One where I fight to get a good walk in with my dog some days, and others I spend in my fancy floral robe, drinking wine, and re-watching the first season of Grey’s Anatomy. Currently, I am doing the later with a good deal emphasis on the cupcake wine. It is days like this that I stop and assume that this can’t be what I expected 25 to be. Which is kind of ironic, because I thought the same thing about 24 and even then there were those God-awful 20 something articles that were full of preparation of what my middle twenties would feel like. Each year takes me deeper into the intricacies of becoming older: a full-time job, owning an actual living breathing thing that isn’t a fish, and relying on more than one outfit that isn’t from Target or Forever 21. (JK, I still frequent Target clearance every chance I get.) My college vision of 25 never led me here. I remember in the not so distant past believing that if I wasn’t married and pregnant yet, I would get artificially inseminated. God forbid, I ever think that again. There are so many things that adulthood brings with them, whether it be rationality that this girl does not want to raise anything else by herself ( the 75 lb bear is enough), OKCupid is not the path you are ready to walk down, or the sense that community is detrimental to the ever present growing that never really stops.
I miss the writing community. I miss the community I surrounded myself with from home, I miss home. I think it took a long time for me to come to this conclusion. Home was a stable group of friends outside of work, my family as my support system, a constant buddy for Netflix-AKA my brother, and a blog that described the hopes of getting out of my small town. For so long, I thought that admitting this was admitting defeat. I was supposed to have this amazing life up here and be consumed with What Instagram and Buzzfeed led us to believe about the city that never sleeps. I once read a book called MWF Seeking a BFF and if that doesn’t describe my life at this point, I don’t know what does. Before I moved here I was writing once or twice a week and had blogger friends (Here’s lookin at you Jenn and Kelly) and I was reading and writing on the reg.
So this is me attempting a change. Maybe it is my delayed New Years resolution. Maybe it is me trying to grapple with the thing on the tip of my tongue that is making me so restless here. It will most likely be my rants of boarding school life, random excursions in search of something outside of EF (My OkCupid account atrocities), or maybe even moments of creativity. All I know is that it takes the homesick out and makes me zero in on what is really important. It makes me find my voice again, the real one.