Miss. Whoever-You-Are

Holly Golightly

You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-You-Are?  You're chicken, you've got no guts.  You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, "Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness."  You call yourself a free spirit, a wild thing, and you're terrified somebody's going to stick you in a cage.  Well, baby, you're already in that cage.  You built it yourself.  And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somaliland.  It's wherever you go.  Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.  

~From the movie Breakfast at Tiffany's, 1961,

Twenty-four hours.

If you're one of those people that always think, "Wow, where did those years go?" Or "It seems like just yesterday." Then this post is for you... especially. 

I don't understand why people always complain about the weekdays. In my opinion weekdays are great, any day is great. Simply for the fact that it's another entire 24-hours you get to experience. I know everyone has heard this before, and it's true... time goes by fast. Often, time goes by a little too fast. Subconsciously, our minds begin to adapt to how fast time goes. This happens to be different for everyone depending on demographics. I'm sure a person with a very fast-paced lifestyle and packed schedule tends to experience time moving quicker than someone without a job or hobby.

Breathe

As graduation creeps up, I'm beginning to hear many students question their next steps. Living in Manhattan, New York definitely plays a role on the way a 20-something year old thinks compared to a 20-something year old living anywhere else. Eight out of ten people living in New York City are highly ambitious with overpacked schedules. Frequently, their resume is impressive to others outside the city, and they deserve the kudos. They deserve kudos because twenty years from now there maybe a chance of regret, such as; staying up all night studying while all their friends were out, being absent from photos, overworking to beat the competition, or missing out on brunch because the lack of energy brought on by the exhausting work week. Nevertheless, it will be remembered that it made them happy somehow. I 100% believe it made them happy because no one will continue to do something without incentives, and all incentives have a degree of happiness.

At the end of it all, I guess what we're searching for in time is to be happy. Sometimes being happy can mean staying busy, or doing absolutely nothing. 

The point is, since time does go by fast... it's ok to stop and breathe for a moment. Collect yourself and don't fall into the trap by moving at the pace of the clock, but instead move according to your soul's desire. Really try to pause and notice life. The different people, new smells, the feeling of the weather against your skin, and surrounding sounds. You will get another 24-hours tomorrow, but it won't be the same 24-hours as today, and eventually the 24-hours won't come anymore. 

Embrace each day.

Life according to a 9-year old.

A Moment turned into a Memory.

How does a moment turn into a memory? Is it the never forgotten rush of energy moving through your body after experiencing something for the first time? Can it be the visuals remembered after receiving good news?  Everyone encounters delightful and heartbreaking moments, whether delightful or heartbreaking they all turn into special memories. These specific moments remembered, are special for simply the reason of being remembered in the first place. The moment doesn't have to be something dramatic, it can be something minor that occurred. Maybe it's unknown why that specific memory even exists.

The Moment.

During my freshmen year of college a man decided to ask me to the movies. Being 18 years old, somewhat innocent and naive, I didn't understand that he expected more than just company at the movies. I remember him texting me from Bushwick, Brooklyn while I was watching Wizards of Waverly Place and laying on my bed in the dorm room Co-ed, 27th street. I replied right away telling him to come over, mostly because I was bored. I had no interest in this man, but somehow my actions or kind words lead him to believe I did. He arrived to my dorm about an hour after I told him to come over. As I went down the elevator to sign him in, I slowly began regretting the decision of agreeing to see a movie with him.

It was lightly raining that night. He stood outside waiting for me in a damp heather gray hoodie. At that moment for some reason I began to hate him. I have no idea why I dislike him, perhaps it was how I remembered the way he would look at me. Like he loved me, like we were going to become something more. Or maybe he looked at me that way because he was hoping to get lucky. Either way that was the night I started to dislike him.

He hailed a taxi on the corner of 27th and 7th. The six block taxi ride was extremely quiet, he tried to make conversation but I disliked him so much I stayed short. A part of me actually felt sorry for him. It wasn't his fault, it was mine. He paid for the taxi, our movie tickets, the popcorn (oh goodness), and drinks. The worst part of this entire experience, is the moment of myself getting popcorn from the bag and him intentionally rubbing his finger slowly against my pinky. I quickly pulled my hand back and did a fake giggle, I think he got the idea. It's unknown why I remember this so vividly, but it's not pleasant.

After the movie ended we got a taxi and headed back to my dorm. When we got there he leaned up against the building and lit up a cigarette. He insisted on coming up to my room even though I was yawning and complaining about how tired I was several times that night. I eventually ended up letting him because I felt bad. He sat on my bed, and everything was just really awkward. Finally he ended up making a move to leave and go back to Bushwick. I signed him out and thanked him, as if the entire night wasn't miserable for me.


The point is that if I didn't experience that awful pinky popcorn moment, this would've never became a memory. It would be lodged in the back of my mind with all the other pointless bs. Today, three years later, we are friends. I still somewhat dislike him, and I know it's because we rubbed pinky fingers in the popcorn bag. Boredom can be toxic.