City of Lights

Let's go ahead and get this over with... I suck.  I know, I know.  If it weren't for the complete harassment I've been receiving who knows when this would have appeared.  I do want to say that prior to this I started two different entries but then talked myself out of posting them because I was afraid I'd somehow alienate someone.  I've been feeling a bit opinionated lately, clearly.

But let's let bygones be bygones, shall we?  Here goes... I started thinking a few days ago as I watched Jane Eyre that I was born in the wrong era. Displaced, somehow.  As I watched Jane and the children play Badminton I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to just cry... and I longed desperately to live in an age where an afternoon round of Badminton was a priority in my life.  Where I didn't check my phone every 3 minutes to make sure something monumental (read: minute and soul-killing) hadn't taken place.  Where I didn't sludge through traffic for 45 minutes two times a day simply to get to my place of employment...

I told my dear roommate about this strange longing I was having and she suggested that I watch "Midnight in Paris" to help me identify with my problem.  So off to the Redbox I went... And two hours of complete charm and a sleepless night later, here I am to tell you all about it.

First of all, this film is gorgeous and quirky and charming and travel-desire-inducing, so go in knowing that.  I don't want to give anything away, so I'll try to skirt the edges here, but all I can think about today is sidewalk cafes, glistening streets, new places and people, French wine and pastries. Lots and lots of pastries. (That's not part of the movie, it's just nearing the end of lent and I'm desperate for sugar.)

I've been having these kinds of daydreams about New York City as well lately, probably because in all of my 23 years, I've never set foot in the Northeast, which is just really depressing to me.  And I've been watching SMASH like it's my job and I envision the entirely of New York to run like a Broadway show.  And I have a slight obsession with subways.  There is something completely fascinating to me about walking down stairs in one part of the city and emerging from the darkness into a totally new part...  Rose colored glasses, perhaps?  Don't kill me dreams, please.

So anyway, I think I need to get out of La La Land.  I don't see this as a real possibility in any form or fashion, but it does have me thinking.  I live in a sort of dreamland myself, and yet my thoughts have been consumed with new, different, better.  Am I becoming jaded by my circumstance?  Have I been here long enough to be weary of the surprises this city has to offer?  Am I turning into the sort of person who constantly has to have more more more?

This is all very alarming to me for many reasons.  First of all, I live an incredibly blessed, idealistic life.  I am a recent college graduate living in a new, exciting city with wonderful friends and a job I enjoy coming to each day.  I work for a person who is incredibly successful, admired and fully Google-able.  I get to attend events that I could have only dreamed of a year ago.  I get to see my family often.  At the very most basic level, I have food in the pantry, clothes on my back and a relationship with a Savior who walks with me through all my insanity.  So why the longing?

Here is my theory:  I think I am overstimulated by the industry, age and level at which I work.  I look at my computer screen for no less than 6 hours a day, answering emails, researching this that or the other, planning trips, work schedules, flights, organizing data, etc. etc. etc. In the meantime, I check my phone to be sure I am abreast of all industry news (new project with Jennifer Lawrence? How can we get in on that one?) social news and occasionally news news.  Oh look! Someone Instagramed (can I verb that?) a pic of their lunch. Wait! Group text alert! We now have plans tonight! And the list goes on.  I fully relax my body for approximately 2 15 minutes segments each week during Shavasana at yoga, but the second I am allowed to stand, I jet out of there to try and beat the traffic home, where I will sit with my shoulders tensed up and jumping eyes for the next 45 minutes.  Catch a couple hours of shut eye, and then I'm at it again, checking, checking, checking. Calling, planing, stressing.  It makes the soul long for days before cell phones existed.  To be completely unreachable the second you left the house, to be free for hours on end simply because you didn't know what all the options were... Isn't there is something infinitely appealing about this?

Am I having an existential crisis here?  If so, please ignore.  I'll be back to normal soon.

So, in my head, the solution to this whole charade is Paris.  I know. Make fun.  I picture wandering the streets in a sundress and espadrilles, (what else would you wear?) having dinner at an outdoor picnic table where I would undoubtedly make new friends and stay out late talking and laughing. Wandering into a store and buying a bottle of Guerlain perfume just because that's what you do in Paris.  Reading classic literature beside a deserted pond with lilies.. Okay woah.  I'm getting melodramatic here, even for me.

I think what I'm trying to say is, watch "Midnight in Paris."  And study abroad and learn about yourself.  And then remind me of how I was crazy last year and cried while repeatedly watching the last scene of "Pocahontas." And tell me that it will all be okay, and to take a deep breath and get a massage. And do some more yoga.  And drink more water. And blog more.  Yeah, that too.

Thanks for sticking with me.