If you feel like happiness is the truth

I'm not happy all the time, but I'm happy most of the time. .

I've had a couple nanny gigs lined up this week that have both fallen through, my bank account is on the brink of extinction, and the landlord has taken forever to send over the lease, so I can't do laundry and my clothing options are becoming questionable. But honestly that's really all I have to complain about.

My new roommates are wonderful--we make a splendid little trio, going to church and FHE and other various ward activities together like we've been best friends forever. It's nice to have that unity. This past week we've totally revamped the apartment, and even though our window curtains are (literally) hanging off a cardboard tube and we have to sit on a rug on the floor to eat, the apartment is coming together quite nicely. We've got fresh flowers on the piano and a vanilla-scented candle on our coffee table. Sitting in the front room all day "applying for jobs" is much less depressing than it was last week.

On Saturday Becky and I volunteered at a local elementary school to help clean and garden and whatnot to get ready for the new school year. As I stood at the booth signing people in, I was smacked with the realization that I love volunteering. I love it. I don't know why I didn't do more of it in high school and college.

On Sunday we happily kept up the volunteering streak and helped serve food at a women's shelter in Anacostia. If you don't know DC, Anacostia is the ghetto where all the crime happens and everybody dies. It was the middle of the day, but even walking one block I was afraid we were going to get shot. I'd love to keep volunteering at that shelter, but unfortunately the experience didn't generate quite enough love for me to risk my life every day trying to get there. After saying goodbye we drove into the city and peered at the White House through an iron railing, sat atop some stone monument and once again, reveled in the fact that we actually live here.

And yesterday. Yesterday I was so productive. I woke up, made my bed for once, applied for two jobs at USAID, did some yoga, went for a 3-mile run, and then did some more yoga. There is no such thing as too much yoga. Then I spent fifteen minutes trying to coax our printer into functioning so I could print out my resume, but our printer is sneaky and stubborn. It makes all sorts of printery noises, tricking you into believing that something is actually happening in there, then it spits out a blank piece of paper! But I wasn't going to let the printer get the best of me, so I hopped on a bus and hoped it would take me to somewhere with a printer.

The bus took me to Barnes and Noble, which unfortunately is not equipped with a public printer but is equipped with an abundance of public printed material. After browsing around for awhile, I found a quiet spot upstairs next to a big bright window, pulled "The Opposite of Loneliness" off the shelf, and read the beautiful words of the late Marina Keegan in quiet contentment for a few hours.

 What I'm really trying to say is, unemployment isn't all that bad.

I was going to take the bus back home, but decided to walk since it's really only a few miles and it was a nice 75 degrees outside. So walk I did. I chatted with my mama and admired the green beauty of this place I live in called Maryland. At home I rendezvoused with my roomies and we walked over to FHE, which consisted of a Mormon message, a confusing game of Munchkin with the missionaries, and a beautiful view of the sunset from a 14th-floor apartment. The blinds were closed, but I shamelessly walked over and opened them because there's no way social propriety is going to stop me from seeing a sunset, especially one as good as this!

After FHE we went to the grocery store and I bought baked beans because I was craving them and Not-Your-Mother's Beach Babe Texturizing Hair Cream (that's a thing) because I'm not that poor yet and my hair is finally getting long enough to wear down (I know I've been saying that for months, but I actually mean it this time!).

After we unloaded our groceries, some girls who live up the road stopped by and we chatted in our cozy, candle-lit living room and then Melanie asked me to dump a bucket of ice water on her head.

I stayed up late and went to bed happy. Woke up happy, too. 

A Few More Friends

There was a short period of time in which I thought I was ready and able to forge ahead alone. I would (and admittedly still do) pump independence into my veins by listening to Paramore's "Ain't It Fun" more times than is probably advisable. That song makes me want to buck up and be an adult, because if the real world really is about being all alone, I should pretty darn well get used to it.

Then I realized that I need people. I really really need people and I am not ashamed to admit it, Paramore.

"Don't leave me alone," I plead in a silent prayer offered up (to God, not to Paramore) atop a humble brown futon. "Please send me friends who will understand me. Please send me more good people."

Oh, I have been so blessed. Last Friday, a few lingering Barlow friends and I had a final hoorah of sorts--we explored Arlington Cemetery, peered out the tiny windows at the tippy top of the Washington Monument, and then we walked to Ollie's Trolley and finally to China Town to see a movie. But by the time the movie got out it was midnight and I (being me) was worried about taking the metro home alone at that hour.

Lucky for me, one of the guys with us, Michael, whom I had somehow neglected to notice all night, popped onto my radar when I learned that he lived where I live and would therefore be taking the same metro line to the same metro stop. My fears were assuaged in a matter of seconds and I quite literally shouted for joy. The two of us had a good little chat as the train screamed northward and then he walked me right to my front door, that darling boy.

The next day I joined a river adventure with a bunch of people from the ward. Michael was there too, and once again he indulged me in my paranoia and lashed his tube to mine as we (and by we, I mean he) navigated the rocky waters of the Potomac on our unreliable rafts of inflated plastic. By some miracle, the only scars  we ended up with from that aqua battle were sunburnt backs and scraped shins--absolutely worth the trade for a new good friend and the opportunity to bask in the beauty of West Virginia whilst paddling/floating/crashing down a river.

On the drive home, Michael invited me to his farewell event, since this was to be his last weekend in DC and all. I showered and changed and packed into another car that whizzed back up the way we'd just come, to a small clearing in the middle of the forest. I shared a blanket with a lovely lady named Alyson, and Michael's astrophysicist roommate used a green laser to point out the constellations (no wonder I haven't seen Orion around for awhile--he only comes out in the winter!). Alyson and I swung swiftly from strangers to friends as we gazed up at the stars and, in sharing our hopes for and fears of the future, realized that we're pretty much in the same boat. "Sorry," I said,  "but I'm going to force you to be my friend." She laughed and replied, "I'm okay with that."

On Monday we spent the day at the beach. On Tuesday we spent the afternoon watching Harry Potter 4, eating mac n cheese, and perusing Target and Trader Joe's. On Wednesday we spent a few hours at Starbucks, laughing and chatting and pretending to apply for jobs. We made a list of all the things to do in this current state of living called unemployment; we planned a trip to Vermont in the fall.

A few days ago, I didn't even know she existed.

"Don't leave me alone," I plead in a silent prayer offered up atop a humble brown futon. "Please send me friends who will understand me. Please send me more good people."

I can see the Lord's hand in my life so clearly. Making friends has never been so easy.

Tuesday Reflections on Wednesday's Watch

Yesterday I rode the bus from work to FedEx in Georgetown so that I could print, bind, and mail my internship portfolio back to BYU. Hello graduation! For real this time!

I had time to kill (because, you know, I have no friends anymore and stuff), so I wandered through Rose Park, a place I'd never really explored before, even though the Barlow is basically across the street.

It was 6 p.m. Old park bench, tall elm trees, brick sidewalks. The sun was slanting through the trees, making everything look ethereal as it tends to do in those whimsical evening hours. I was reminded of the movie "Tree of Life." A lot of things around here remind me of that movie, for some reason.

I stopped by Trader Joe's on the way to the metro. I've come to realize that I cannot live without Trader Joe's. We went to a regular grocery store the other day and I hated it. I've been forever converted.

I told Aaron, the friendly man at the cash register, that I'd moved up to Bethesda and he said, "So you're going to carry this all the way to Dupont?"

I balked at the thought. "Dupont with all these groceries?! No, I'll go to Foggy Bottom and switch lines."

So I walked to Foggy Bottom, intending to switch lines.

Except there was a major train delay, so my plan failed. I can only stand in a dark tunnel with a giant bag of groceries, a heavy lap-top bag, and a rumbling stomach, waiting for a train to come, for so long before I start to crave the fresh air of the outside world.

So I slipped out of a broken fare gate and walked the mile to Dupont to catch the red line.

As I walked, hugging my bag of groceries to my stomach, I thought about how I could/should be having a meltdown right now, but for some reason I wasn't. I thought about how I should be frustrated, impatient, and irritated, but for some reason I wasn't.

I thought about how the soft, scared parts of me are turning to stone. I know the city well enough now that I can improvise when things go wrong, but not so well that I don't get a measure of satisfaction out of solving my own simple problems. Yay! I can carry my big bag of groceries and my heavy lap-top bag a mile across the city to the next metro station without getting lost or having a meltdown!

I'm grateful to have hardened enough to overcome my fears of the city, but I hope the hardening doesn't hit my heart. I hope I always appreciate the sunsets through the city scape, the friendly people at FedEx and in the metro tunnel, and the opportunity for impromptu walks. I hope I never get annoyed when people ask me for directions. I hope I never think I'm too good for a dinner of granola bars and pita chips. I hope I always smile and wave to the babies on the metro. I hope I will always be positive and friendly even after a long day and a sore back. I hope the city doesn't run me down, like it seems to have done to so many others here.

It'll break your heart

Right now I'm sitting in my new apartment. All alone. In the real world.

In the past couple days I've said goodbye to all my friends and then this afternoon I packed up and headed out myself--hauling my luggage over the red brick sidewalks, down the station escalator, and onto the metro.

I can't even begin to describe the tear in my heart, saying goodbye to this experience. Leaving my room for the last time, turning in my key, pushing open the front door, and walking away knowing that next time I come back, a new crew of kids will be living in the Barlow and they'll know nothing of us Summer 2014 Barlows.

The final few walking the circle.

The last supper. Except it was breakfast.

I feel like it should have lasted forever. I would have loved for it to last forever.

It's strange, staying here. I've never been left behind before--I've always been the one leaving. It really is heartbreaking to watch everyone go. There's a literal pain in my chest and I don't know what to do to fix it. I just can't believe it's over. I think I'm in shock.

I live in the suburbs now. The city sights and sounds and smells are gone and I realize now how much I have come to love the hustle and bustle of the city. In the beginning I was not so keen on living right downtown--I told people, "If I stay here, I think I'll move to the suburbs where it's a little quieter." But over the course of the summer, the city shaped me and I've come to love it. I'm sitting here in this empty apartment thinking, "Maybe I'm a city girl after all."

Agh, my heart can hardly handle this change. There is so much to miss. And it's not like I have a clear next step. I have absolutely NO NEXT STEP, which is terrifying because I'm a planner. I need a plan.

I have no plan.

But I'm holding onto that happiness I felt before when I decided to move here. I will stay and give it a shot. If it doesn't work, I don't know what will come next, but I guess I should probably start getting used to the ambiguity of life.

It just really sucks saying goodbye and starting over. It really really sucks.

Like warm air from my lungs

*That's "To Be Young" by Tall Heights, btw. One of my favorite songs these days.

Empty metro cars mean you can be loud and take pictures.

I can't hold on to my time here--the days slip through my fingers like dry sand.

So indulge me in my nostalgia for a second and let me tell you what I'll miss about this experience:

-Soccer in the muggy evenings at Jake Berlin Memorial Park--with the fireflies blitzing on the sidelines and the dark figures wondering around on the other side of the fence
-Automatic friends. Want to do something? Text five people and you'll be on your way in ten minutes
-Pillow-talk with Robbie
-Vanilla almond oat cereal, Greek yogurt, nectarines, and pomegranate limeade from Trader Joe's
-Trader Joe's. Right across the street
-Our awesome handicap-size shower
-The little clicking sound of the Barlow Center front door unlocking
-Walking from an air-conditioned building out into the hug of humidity
-Running up and around Georgetown University. And to Arlington. And around the Lincoln.
-Georgetown Scoops' cinnamon-chocolate-chip-oatmeal-cookie-dough ice cream! Yes! That is a thing!
-Also lavender icecream. Also a thing.
-Endless games of Harry Potter werewolf
-The smell of cement in the metro tunnel. Possibly the only thing I like about the metro.
-Running through rainstorms
-Wearing nice (ish) clothes 6/7 days of the week
-Coming home from work, kicking off my shoes, throwing my stuff on the ground, and just sitting on my bed 
-Robert's smile, Reed's winks, Robbie's quirkiness, Trent's leadership lessons, Brody's fist bumps, Anna's sass, Rebecca's listening ear, Sam's enthusiasm, Becca's friendship, Shunta's excitement, Margarette's chillness, Jace's wit...the list goes on. I love everyone.
-Kathleen's Bostonian attitude at work
-3:48 High-Low-Jack at work
-Ashoka's happy atmosphere
-Catching the circulator bus to and from work every day--saying "good morning" and "thank you" whenever I get on or off
-Following the red-brick sidewalks all around the city
-The monuments. Duh. Especially at night
-Little pockets of park
-Jay's 99-cent day-old cookies!

Granted, I'll still be able to experience some of these things since I'll be staying in the area, but it won't be the same. The whole Barlow-Ashoka-BYU combination is not replicable. I can't even explain how much I love it here. This experience has slid right inside my soul and settled in like it was always meant to be. I needed this place and these people to help me recalibrate--I think I'm ready to face the real world now, but that doesn't mean my heart won't ache when everything changes.

Stay with me

I've learned not to trust the thoughts that come to me when the sun is gone.

In the evenings, the fear creeps in, just like it did in the weeks and days before I came out here.

"I can't do it. I'm going to fail."

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night in panic. And in the pitch blackness of my bedroom I second-guess my decision to stay here. I use old tactics to help me fall back asleep--it's not real it's not real it's not real, I say. These feelings are not valid. But there's always a residue of fear in the morning. I roll out of bed anyway and chant to myself, "Don't take counsel from your fears."

During the day I'm fine--I settle back into the rhythm of this city life and remind myself that I'm comfortable here. But as I draw closer to the move-out date, my fears stack up in slick little layers and every night I have to carefully peel them away to get back to the truth.

I can do this. Everything has been fine and it will continue to be fine. I have nothing to be afraid of--really, it's just the anticipation. It's always the anticipation.

I'm frantically grasping at people, trying to gather everyone I can in around me--buffers for this next transition. Although 90 percent of the Barlows are leaving, I'll still have Robert and Lydia and Kate. Rebecca and Sam will be around for a whole extra week! Robbie and Stephanie might be coming back in January! See? Everything will be fine!

There is no cap on the number of good people or the number of good experiences that I can have in my life. There is no quota, no "limit 5 per customer." I have to keep reminding myself that there are millions of good people out there that I haven't even met yet, thousands of good experiences I haven't had yet. And that's something to be excited about, right? Everything will be fine.