observation

1. It is a waste of time to worry what others think of you. A head held high can do wonders in situations when you’re feeling uncertain or self-conscious.

2. Kindness always, always beats trying to be cool. Do something nice — refrain from gossiping about someone, ask somebody how their day went, smile even when it feels ridiculous and goofy — and you’ll be surprised how happy you feel.

3. Being quiet is not a fault. It’s not your duty to one day become outgoing and loud, and you never have to apologize for not being an extrovert. You do not have to change yourself.

4. People don’t judge as much as you think they do. Trust me. Look to yourself — if you see someone with the price tag still on their clothes, do you silently dub them a loser and remember this piece of information indefinitely in order to hold it against them? Of course not. And they’re not doing it to you. They already forgot.

5. Selflessness and modesty are some of the most attractive qualities a person can have. Bragging makes you sound like a seven year old. Cut down on using “I” and just see how you feel and what happens. Look around you and actually listen to what other people are saying.

6. As obvious as it sounds, don’t judge a book by its cover. You hear this phrase so often you don’t think about what it means. Don’t decide the character of a girl based on how low her shirt is cut. Don’t determine someone’s kindness based on their facial expression when they’re walking alone. And do not label people as weird because of something they did once. High school is over.

Three months from now I'll have already gone to Paris by myself. That's right. You didn't mishear me. I'm traveling over 3,000 miles completely alone. Which sounds kind of terrifying.

I decided that this year, I wanted to do something amazing. Something I was a little scared to do, maybe a little unsure. Because some of the best advice I've ever heard is to think of the thing you fear and do it. 

It's not like I'm doing something incredibly brave. The trip was brought to my attention through my college. It just so happens that I'm the only one who signed up, and since I'll be 19 by the time I go, there's no requirement for me to go with anyone.

Once in Paris, I'll (hopefully...) be met with my Parisian family, whom I do not get to talk to until one week before the trip, and my roommate, another girl who will most likely not be American. 

This trip is something I want to remember and learn from as much as possible, and so I decided to use this quiet little blog to record the experience. 

I honestly have no idea what it's going to be like. Or even what to expect. Parisian life is very different from life in Jersey, I hear. And I'm not sure what to think of that. 

The slightly musty smell of scented pine cone in your nose, wafting off the old pair of woolen socks brought out from storage during warmer days. It makes you remember, remember the things you felt and saw when you had fewer years to your name, the simplicity of life before you knew. You can picture the way the tree looked in front of the big window on cold December mornings, the bright white light of winter making it green and stark and blurring out the clusters of ornaments. 

Slip on the socks, one by one, and sink into the memory.

My grandmother's ring. It's old, it's gold, it's crazy tiny. I wonder where she wore it, who saw it, who wanted it, who felt its cold metal when holding her younger hand.

1. the sky changes color a lot

2. mint tea smells really good 

3. dogs see us from our worst angle and still love us

4. libraries = free books

5. you can have as many favorite songs as you want

6. bubble baths

7. baby bunnies are a thing

8. every day is different and separate

9. somebody loves you

I wasn't always curly. When I was younger my hair was so fine and straight it wouldn't hold a hair clip. That changed, as things so often do, when I was around thirteen. It was like I stuck my finger into an electrical socket one night and from then on, I had springy corkscrews glued all over my little head. People don't usually believe me, but it doesn't really matter. The point is, I now have pretty wild hair. 

For such a long time I truly believed I could only be beautiful with straight hair. This is not an exaggeration -- I literally thought when my hair was smooth my face looked a little different, prettier somehow. So I ironed it every time I washed. After a while, people forgot I was a curly girl and were shocked when I reminded them. 

Really what led me to stop trying to tame my hair was the sheer amount of stuff I've had to do the past few months. I've been so busy that I just let my hair loose, free to take whatever shape it wanted. I tried not to let its hugeness and unpredictability bother me. And after a while, I began to like it. I decided it gave me character, interest. The longer I let it do its thing, the nicer it began to look because of the lack of heat.

I'm not saying I never straighten it; I do sometimes. I still like how it looks when it's been ironed, it's just such a relief to know I can be comfortable without the straightener. It sounds kind of ridiculous and maybe even narcissistic, but I've been happier with myself now that I've realized I don't look like an ugly ball of frizz all the time. 

To the other curly girls out there -- learning to accept your curls might take a while. It took me about 5 years. There wasn't really one event that led me to unplug the iron. I think it was just time and growing up (and the chaos of life). If you like straightening your hair, I think you should! If it makes you happy, do it. 

Embracing the curl (sometimes wave, sometimes weird cross between the two) was not easy for me. At all. I used to wish for long, sleek, hair every day. But now I like the mass of coils that covers my head. It might not be straight from a magazine, but it's me. So very, very me. 

I don't drink black coffee. I don't life weights at the gym. I don't have a nose ring, I can't skateboard, I'm not in a rock band, I can't paint. I'm not coordinated enough to play sports or brave enough to be a pro sky-diver. I've never gone scuba-diving. My hair is a natural color. I don't have a pet iguana and the walls of my room, disappointingly, are mostly white. 

But I do own a pair of combat boots. They were from K-Mart and they were around $10. These boots are close to my heart and I'm not entirely sure why. Yes, they're cute and comfortable, but so are my riding boots. I got to thinking before about what was so damn cool about them and then I realized it was just that -- they're cool. They're edgy. I'm about the least edgy person you will ever meet. I wear sweaters and paper bag skirts and tan raincoats and the only lip color I'll ever wear is pink a shade lighter or darker than my natural color. I'm not a party animal, I'm terrified of spiders, and I've been to more tea parties than I really want to say. 

The point is that maybe I wear my boots as a little bit of proof to myself that I can. Combat boots are just that -- boots worn by soldiers during combat. They're practical and comfortable, good for running and keeping your feet warm. I wonder if, in some corner of my consciousness, I wear them to prove I'm capable of badassery, as minor as it may be. Wearing my combat boots makes me hold my head a little higher. Call me crazy, but I think they do. Fashion can do that to you -- what we wear affects us in more ways than we think. Try having the best day ever when you hate your outfit. It's going to be hard. Clothes are an extension of ourselves, and it's not completely ridiculous to try and analyze what one is wearing. 

I've always wanted to write. When I was younger, it was always "I'm going to be an author." I had this vision in my mind of instant, easy fame and recognition. As I grew older, I never lost my obsession with finding the perfect way to phrase things, with searching for the right way to construct a sentence -- but I realized writing is not always easy, and being a paid author would be even less easy. I found myself going entire months without writing (except for school, of course) and having no interest whatsoever to do so. This sudden lack of enthusiasm for something I loved so dearly for so many years concerned me, but I let it go. 

Recently I started college at a small liberal arts school. Honestly, I expected it to be a lot harder. In high school I was crazy about my grades and, frankly, stressed myself out way more than necessary. I think that's why when I got to college, I was pleasantly surprised by the fact that I didn't really have to work that hard. Anyway, one of my classes is basically a writing class for which we write papers about once a week. I'm pretty embarrassed to admit that I completely enjoy this. Last week, my professor handed me back my most recent essay with a little note on the back: "Please go into writing as a career." I think the fact that a respected woman with a doctorate in writing had made such a comment was really the motivation for this part of my blog. I've decided not to give up on writing after all. I've come to realize I like writing about real things, real life, rather than made-up stories. I don't know, maybe I'm not creative enough, or maybe it's just that the true things in this world are more alluring. Either way, I'm glad to be back. And even if no one reads this, which I doubt anybody will, at least I'll be writing again.