london, in words

I’m sitting in Heathrow airport as I write this, waiting to find out the gate of the flight I might or might not make. I’m not ready to go back to New York. If missing my flight meant I could spend a few more days in London, I would. Going back to London after two years was like a surreal case of deja vu. (Surreal, but nice. I’ve watched Notting Hill twice in one week; couldn’t help myself with that reference.)  In so many ways, it felt like going home. It was a trip of new experiences, and revisiting old haunts. It was a trip I needed. 

Walking through the streets of Bloomsbury, past #6 Bedford Square, resurfaced both concrete memories and intangible feelings. I wasn’t able to define everything I was feeling but it was like I was both back, two years ago, and viewing that time from my present situation. 

Those four months abroad were formative for me. I still consider the decision to study abroad, to travel to a country with no friends, one of the best I’ve made in my life. It pushed me out of my comfort zone, grew my confidence, and opened my eyes to the simple truth that there is so much to life. Sometimes it’s easy to live in a bubble, even in a large city like New York. It was a priviledge for me to leave, and experience other cultures outside of my own. I will forever be grateful. It also showed me that, in a way, I could always start over. Distance gave some well-needed perspective. 

Sometimes it was difficult: I missed my friends dearly, I missed my small, loud, but charming room in New York, and I missed the boy that I still so clearly loved. I got homesick, and heartsick, and so stressed about gaining weight I adopted some unhealthy eating habits for a time. But often those things in life that are worth it aren’t easy. Some of the friends I made are life-long; some were fleeting but fun over just those months. Some days were the best days of my life; some days I cried becuase I wanted to be back in New York. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. Even when something shitty happened, there was always something, oftentimes better, to look forward to. I always say that I grew up in New York; I think I grew into myself in London. 

This trip came at the perfect time, reminding me of just how much is out there, and that at this point in my life, it’s ok if I prioritize myself and what makes me happy right now. Not so long ago, I wrote a post on taking time for myself. Older, wiser friends have told me this is the best time in my life to be a little selfish. This trip reminded me I should keep doing just that.  

I had the most wonderful trip with my friend Eva. (Pics coming soon!) We met in class, my last semester at NYU, and bonded over our love of Glossier. (True story.) It was strange at first, for me, to find myself getting so close to someone not on the swim team, only because that is who I spent all my time with at that point. Now, I could not be more thankful for our friendship. And, we were basically London soulmates on this trip. We wanted to do the same things — high tea, picnics in parks, and a cheeky bit of shopping — and above all else, we loved spending time in one of our favorite cities.  

So, no. I’m not ready to leave. But I know I can’t continually use London as a bandaid for those sources of stress in NYC, and I wouldn’t want that feeling of avoidance to sour a city that has come to feel like home. (Besides, the trip acted as its own kind of salve, healing those stress points so a bandaid is no longer needed).

Two years ago, when I came back from London, a lot had changed in all the ways I could have hoped for: internally, I had grown; externally, that boy and I were finally on the same page, and had a blissful summer. Coming back this time, after only five days, of course nothing external has changed. If I let it, this fact could send me into a spiral of stress and sadness. Except it hasn’t. I’m reinvigorated with the confidence I found in that city so long ago. Once again, distance has given perspective.

It might seem like I’m placing far too much pressure on this one place; but that’s the thing — I’m not, really. London isn’t some magical place, some fairytale castle with my prince charming, without problems. But it has been there for me when I needed it, and visiting will always feel like going home. 

why i loved atomic blonde when i saw it, & why i love it now

Last night, I rewatched Atomic Blonde. It's been about a year since the film came out, and I still remember how much I loved it when I saw it last August. When I walked out of the theater then, I had a smile on my face. I was buzzing — feeling the similar rush that Wonder Woman also left me with, but on an even grander scale. 

I was curious if, upon rewatching it, I would feel the same. (Some people are staunchly against rewatching movies or rereading books; I actually enjoy it — but that's a blog post for another time). And once again, I loved the film.

The story is intriguing (albeit slightly confusing); the action is intense; the 80s soundtrack is so much fun (seriously. so good.); the outfits are fantastic; and, above all, Charlize Theron's character, Lorraine, is one of the strongest female leads I've seen in a long time.

Theron did the vast majority of her own stunts, including the insane fighting sequences. It's easy to see that she is talented — and also that she is strong. It was her strength that struck me above so much else. There’s a scene early on in the movie where the camera pans over Theron’s naked, bruised back in an ice bath. She didn’t have the narrow shoulders ubiquitous of so many slender actresses today; she had the strong shoulders and broad back of an athlete. Seeing those traits on someone else, someone portrayed as both feminine and strong and well, sexy, as opposed to seeing them on myself — I finally saw them as beautiful.

As someone that spent 17 years as a competitive swimmer, equally hating the broad back and strong arms I didn’t find feminine, and also loving them for what they let me do in the water, I never realized how empowering it would be to finally see a similar body to mine reflected on such a large stage. Seeing Theron as both feminine and strong was something I never knew I needed.

The paradoxical thing is, I always loved feeling strong; there was just a disconnect in my brain when I saw the actual physical manifestation of that strength in my back and shoulders. It feels cheesy to admit all of this. And slightly disappointing, that something external to myself helped me finally overcome the disjoint between pride of the strength I had worked for, and the wish that I could be skinny rather than athletic. (A wish I finally no longer feel).

It would be silly to say that a movie miraculously fixed something I've struggled with for some time. (Try fitting into a blazer as a female athlete and you’ll understand the frustration). But Atomic Blonde was, and is, the perfect reminder that just as I'm proud to feel strong, I should be proud to look it, too. 

a reading checkpoint

While I was on track to break that goal back in March (I believe I was 16 books in at that point), I fell off a bit from reading the past few months. But summer is the perfect time to lounge around with a book and I fully intend to take advantage of that. I've listed the books I've read (with some faves italicized), and those I plan to read in the rest of 2018. 

What I have read so far this year: 

1. In The Woods by Tana French

2. Human Acts by Han Kang

3. Manhattan Beach by Jennifer Egan

4. My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry by Fredrik Backman

5. Drown by Junot Diaz

6. If You Come Softly by Jacqueline Woodson

7. Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng

8. White Tears by Hari Kunzru

9. Exit West by Mohsin Hamid

10. Salt to the Sea by Ruta Sepetys

11. The Truth About the Harry Quebert Affair by Joel Dicker

12. Dark Matter by Blake Crouch

13. The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas

14. Turtles All the Way Down by John Green

15. Conversations with Friends by Sally Rooney

16. The Power by Naomi Alderman

17. Spark Joy by Marie Kondo

18. The Heart's Invisible Furies by John Boyne

19. Like Life by Lorrie Moore

20. Swimming Lessons by Claire Fuller

21. Bluets by Maggie Nelson

22. New American Best Friend by Olivia Gatwood

23. Marlena by Naomi Alderman

24. Black Swans by Eve Babitz

What I still want to read: 

1. The Witches of New York by Ami McKay

2. Pisces by Melissa Broder

3. My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante

4. The Story of a New Name by Elena Ferrante

5. Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay by Elena Ferrante

6. The Story of the Lost Child by Elena Ferrante

7. Female Persuasion by Meg Wolitzer

8. Call Me By Your Name by Andre Aciman

9. My Absolute Darling by Gabriel Tallent

10. Tin Man by Sarah Winman

11. A Little Too Bright by Samuel Miller

12. Wrecked by Maria Padian

13. Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders

14. Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn

15. Florida by Lauren Groff

16. Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain

17. Bad Blood by John Carreyrou

18. There There by Tommy Orange

19. Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro

20. Trying not to Try by Edward Slingerland

a weekend with friends

This weekend, my friend Gaby visited for a quick trip to the city. We grew up together and I'll always feel lucky we have the kind of friendship that can survive long distance, that can be picked up in a heartbeat as if we haven't spent months apart. This weekend was no different: it was two days that felt much longer than such, full of eating, surviving the heat, and enjoying each other's company.

It was a quick weekend with Gaby and her friend Sarah, who she went to college with and also lives in New York. (And who, by virtue of also being close with Gaby is now one of my friends.) We did a lot of walking, and a fair amount of exploring, but ultimately it was pretty relaxed — even if the sun sapped our energy quite quickly. 

Some highlights from this weekend: 

brunch at the penrose // visiting the guggenheim // exploring dumbo // drinks at the broken shaker // drinks and dancing downtown // ...more drinks and spontaneity downtown // brunch at lafayette // kombucha (and other healthy things) at broken coconut // shopping in soho // seeking refuge in air conditioning // ordering pasta in and watching a movie

As someone that plans trips sometimes to the point of over-planning, it was odd to go into the weekend with not even a vague idea of what we were going to do. And it was exactly what I needed, to have a few days with no agenda and no expectations. Gaby, unlike me, has always been spontaneous, a trait I've always tried to emulate more of. Sarah has a similar disposition. We talked about this when we were out to drinks on Saturday, and Sarah said that hadn't always been the case. When I asked her what changed she shrugged and said something like, "I don't know. I just woke up one morning and realized I didn't give a fuck anymore." And how do they both keep from getting embarrassed? "Realizing it just doesn't matter." 

It was a fun weekend. I will always be thankful to have Gaby in my life. (Fun fact: we realized we have almost completely opposite meyers briggs personality types. Yet somehow we work). And I'm thankful for new friends like Sarah, and fun memories like this weekend, and the reminder that some things just don't matter. 

And finally, a few more pics from the weekend...

what i'm looking forward to this summer

early morning sunlight,

long summer evenings,

and the dawn that always shows up too soon.

☀️

weekends of plans that pass quickly,

weekends without plans that trickle by, 

and watching the sun sink behind the city's rooftops.

☀️

days reading books,

nights watching movies,

and wandering streets with nowhere to go.

☀️

trying new places,

revisiting old favorites.

and spontaneous weeknights that bleed into weekends. 

☀️

decisions that are both good and bad,

decisions that end as stories only growing better with time,

and decisions that turn into memories bright as the pictures they're captured in.

looking back on my first year out of college

As I spent a few minutes scrolling through Instagram Saturday morning (a habit I should probably break), I noticed the posts were overwhelmingly split between two things: the royal wedding, and graduation. Bright, oversized robes turned into a purple blur as I pushed them out of sight, occasionally pausing for a like. It’s not that I wasn’t happy for my friends, or that I didn’t want to say congrats and like every picture — but the posts struck a note in me I wasn’t expecting. They surfaced an undeniable fact that I hadn’t fully acknowledged: it had been a year since I’d worn those same violet robes.

I would be lying if I said I don't miss parts of college. There was something timeless about it — something both endless and ephemeral, in the way that formative periods of time often are.

But even as I write that last sentence, I want to add an asterisk: a disclaimer that I don’t wish to over-romanticize college, as some do. It would be a disservice to forget the difficulties in a fit of nostalgia, and even more so to pretend that all college is only made up of good memories.

I’ve tried to write on this topic once before, last August. It was just a few months after graduation, and something reminded me of how a few British students that I met abroad imagined American college (an exaggerated, but not altogether inaccurate idea). I wrote,

“Ever since I graduated in May, I can’t dispel the feeling that I missed out on something, a something so perpetuated in tv shows, movies, and culture at large that it has become almost mythical.”

When I looked back on the draft this past week, curious to see if my thoughts had changed since then, I kept returning to the conclusion I wrote at the time. The last sentence was unfinished. 

I graduated from college in May, taking an accelerated three year track as opposed to the traditional four. The class I came in with are now no longer my class. I’m already mentally preparing for September, when my friends will go back and I won’t be joining them.

As I’ve struggled to adjust this summer to work days and a quieter apartment, I wonder if I should’ve done the full four years. I ask myself: did I do college wrong? The ghost of the fourth year I never had has been tugging at me; somehow I’ve embedded all the memories I could’ve had into the year I never did. In this year I would’ve had more nights of carefree memories, less time worrying about the future; more flirtations and romantic dalliances, less commitment; But in all of these imaginings I seem to be forgetting what I got in exchange: XX.

The X’s stand out like little black marks of uncertainty — but also hope. I didn't know what to write, because I didn't know how I felt. I wrote the piece before I was ready, when I was still in the thick of complicated feelings, as a way to work through those emotions. I wrote it with the intent that, sometime soon afterwards, I would figure out the answers. And time has lent a level of acceptance. College is college; it is great and fun and difficult, but it is meant to stay within its own time frame.

While I don't believe that the academic world is not the real world, as some people say, I can't deny that college and post-college are incredibly different. Consequences often feel weightier in the latter. The rules are not the same. And yet, through all of that, there is a freedom I wasn’t expecting. My life at NYU had a relatively rigid schedule, but post-grad life doesn’t have those same constraints. My job blocks off the traditional office hours during the week, but I’ve learnt not to have such starkly separated weekends and weekdays. It’s ok to have a spontaneous night out on a Wednesday; it’s ok to stay in on a Saturday. This small shift in mindset, as simple and obvious as it seems, has been one of the more important lessons I've learned this past year.

For so long, I thought that college was where I grew up. I showed up to NYC a naive, shy to the point of fearful, 18-year old. And while I wouldn't call myself fearless now, I no longer possess that same timidity. College was indeed formative. I owe a lot to my experience at NYU; most of all becoming a person that continues to grow and learn, even outside of its halls, even when — particularly when — I’m uncomfortable. I've learned how to stand up for myself, how to take a risk, how to let go — but most of that I’ve learned in the past year, after graduating, after letting myself come into the person college had begun to uncover.

I'll admit to occasionally entertaining nostalgia and sentimentality; it's the writer in me. And so it would be easy to romanticize my college experience as the “best years of my life” simply because of an unwillingness to acknowledge the discomfort of uncertainty. I’ve realized that mindset is the same as staying in a bad relationship because, even through all the shitty times, it remains comfortable; because you’re stuck on what once was instead of seeing what it has become. But there’s only so long you can use comfort as the excuse before it becomes clear why you are holding on to something you should let go of: fear, and, to an extent, complacency.

Part of me still finds it hard to believe that an entire year has passed. But when I think about all that has happened in that time — a year of changes, firsts, and plenty of uncertainty — I can see how an enormity of life was fit into those 365 days.

I moved. (Twice.) I lost friends, and made friends, and rewrote my own definition of friendship. I started a full-time job. 

And, I experienced heartbreak for the first time. Through that particular, painful end, I’ve seen a new beginning. It's been a transition that I realized is serendipitously parallel to graduation. It is easy to look back and only remember the good, easy to look back and wish it were once more like then; it is harder to look to what’s to come and acknowledge that a significant period in life has come to an end — and that it’s time to move forward.

While it has been the most poignant kind of bittersweet, watching "my" class graduate this past week, it also feels like I’ve let out a breath I’ve been holding since last year. I can finally, fully, let go of my life from then, and enjoy where I am now. And even though in the moment this year’s class walked across that stage I lost the ability to call myself a recent grad, I’ve realized this absence leaves room: room to grow, room to become someone other than an NYU swimmer, and room to experience a new period of life that, at some point, I’ll look back on with the same mix of bittersweet feelings.