The Art of Texting

I have never been a big fan of texting.
When I was younger and texting first started becoming more popular, I hated it because I didn't have people to text. As I got a little older I thought it was boring. Then I was just too lazy to type out everything I wanted to say. Now I hate texting for the simple reason that it will never be good as a real life conversation. Texting doesn't truly convey my meaning or personality. For example, in real life I can get away with saying dark, sarcastic stuff, because I do it with a laugh. I come across as bitchy during a text conversation.
I think I've become a little better about texting, mostly by becoming more self-aware. Recently I was seeing this guy who really loved carrying on long, meaningful conversations over text. I have learned how to text my peers, using the right emojis and the correct lingo. But I am always nervous to text someone new, especially if I don't know them well.

Emma and I on the town this week!

I am especially worried about this now. This week I have sent in New Jersey and last night I went out to hit the bars in Philadelphia. While at a bar called the Tattooed Mom, I met this guy and we just really hit it off. To be honest, we hit it off so well that if we lived in the same state... nevermind, let's focus on reality. The point is we don't. And so if this friendship will continue in any capacity, it is going to have to be through the use of 21st century technology. And since it's 2018 and not 2000, it's going to start with online messaging, not a call.
Since he reached out to me first by adding me on Facebook, I feel that it is my turn to reciprocate by messaging him first. However, there are several factors that I am extremely worried about:
1. While we hit it off, and I honestly know a lot about him, I don't know him well enough to feel like I know exactly what and how to text him. This one if pretty minor since I have this problem with everyone.
2. The only way we would ever see each other again is if we so incredibly hit it off via text that we agree to meet up. Other than that, there is no chance we're just going to run into each other. Therefore, if I mess it up over text, there's no easy way to make up for it in person. Refer back to my come off as a bitch over text, even though I have a pretty cute personality in real life if I do say so myself.
3. There's a pretty significant age difference. What if guys his age hate emojis and I use too many? Will he see me as juvenile and just decide it's easier to forget about me?
I don't know why this feels so important, but it does. Here is just the perfect example of when a technological advancement that should be making my life easier just stresses me out all the more.

Romanticism

"We are... disappointed romantics, scraping the hearts from our sleeves." -Passenger

     This past Monday I had my first counseling appointment of the semester. We talked about a lot during this session, but I got very annoyed that my counselor seemed fixated on discussing my romantic life. Normally I would talk about how I have nothing to share. I told him how I am sort of seeing someone, but it's very casual. I wanted to move on. Talk about something else. He didn't.
     Part of me didn't want to talk about it because I felt like we could be talking about something more important and pressing. The more I think about it, he might have been onto something. Because while one part of me said, "Let's not talk about it because it's not a big deal." the other part of me was screaming, "Let's not talk about it because it's not a big deal even though I want it to be."
     I had this realization when driving to school today and I was listening to Passenger's song, Fairytales & Firesides. I have always loved and related to this song. However he came to the line where he says, "We are coffee house cynics too righteous, too rigid to believe. Disappointed romantics, scraping the hearts from our sleeves." And I had to rewind it and listen again. I've heard that line hundreds of times. But this morning it particularly spoke to me.

     Today's culture praises people who can keep their emotions in check. It praises people who can go out with others, hookup, and not "catch feelings". People walk around saying "I don't want anything serious" as if wanting something serious is wrong. But what is serious? And what is the opposite of serious?
     I told myself I didn't want anything serious. I told myself I just want to have fun. But that's not me. I have watched too many Disney movies, read too much Victor Hugo, and recited too many Shakespearean sonnets. I ache for beautiful love. To love and be loved in return. "Just having fun" isn't fun for me. It gives me anxiety. It makes me fidgety for something better. It makes me want to kick that "fun" person to the side, or hold on too tight. But hanging on loosely by a thread, reeling him in every once in a while, that's not fun for me. It may be fun for others, but I must accept that that's not me.
     I don't want anything serious. I'm not looking to commit for long term. I'm not trying to get married in the next  years. I don't know where I'll be living in the next few years.
     But I want something serious. I want to have meaningful conversations. I want to have a love that makes me happy. I want someone to go to sleep thinking about me. I want to have someone I can call when I don't want to be alone. Someone who is more than a friend. Someone who gives me more than benefits.
     I don't know if I am in the wrong time or place for this. Maybe I'm too young or I'm dating people who are to young to think like this. But I must accept who I am and what I want, or I'll end up stuck in what I don't want.

Sappiness Alert

I have kept my heart locked away
For so long it has grown colder.
So I thought I could withstand you
But doors burned down from your fire.

Now you walk out leaving me
Cleaning up the ashes alone.
I am intact despite my heart
Which crumbles as I've never known.

Still I marvel at your talents,
Such as the triumph on your part,
How it was you could ignite flames
That reached my hidden lonely heart

Since yours is so frigid and cold
I'm left shivering from your hold.
Unable to hide, seen by all
Just how pathetic was my fall.

Who should lead?

This week I turned 22 years old. The day of my birthday was also Rosh Hashannah. With being officially another year older and the mark of a new year in the Jewish tradition, it got me thinking a lot about my life and the direction in which it's going. I essentially came to the conclusion that I have reached a specific period of my life of equal freedom and independence. While I am young enough to be free of many responsibilities I will have to face in the future, I am still old enough to make "big girl" decisions.
While this may be obvious to many, this conclusion was important for me this week as I face an incident with my closest friends. Without going into specifics, I am doing something that my friends do not approve of. There are many problems with this and how they are judging me. For one, what I am doing is something they have done time and time again, without any regret. They have never understood why before now, I haven't acted like this. But apart from all this, because of this argument, I've been pondering what role the advice of friends plays in my life.

I have always been one to give advice to friends. Even on things I didn't know much about, I thought I would be doing a disservice not to try and help them by sharing my thoughts.  Because of this, I gladly welcome my friends' advice and thoughts. I want to know that they care about what is going on in my life, they have thoughts about it and made conclusions, and they share those with me.
However, I have never expected them to follow my advice to the letter. Perhaps I am hurt when I think I gave great advice and they completely disregard it, but I am often not surprised and I don't take it too personally.

My friends are not only upset with me that I am not following their advice, but they are angry at me. They are avoiding me. It makes me feel like our friendship was built on my being little miss perfect and now that they don't approve of what I am doing, they don't approve of me. I know everyone wants and often seeks approval, but I have a particular problem with needing approval, especially from family and my closest friends. I am torn between craving approval and want to make decisions for what I feel is best in my life.

But more than that, where is the line between listening to your friends and listening to your heart? There is always the cliché of "listen to your friends, they often know what's best for you!" which I agree with to a certain extent. Yes, it is always great to get a third party perspective. Yes, they often have great insights you may have overlooked. And sometime it feels like they know you better than you know yourself. However, when should I listen to my own instincts? What about what I want?

I ended up having to turn to my grandma for advice. Besides my closest friends, I haven't told the whole story to a lot of people out of fear of judgement. But with my grandma, I know she loves me unconditionally, and she is naturally inclined not to pass judgment, especially in regards to the type of situation I am currently in. Her conclusion was that I should do what feels best for me and my friends should support me. This whole thing may end with me needing a shoulder to cry on, and my friends should be there if/when that happens.

I am still hopeful that this will all blow over, but I am waiting anxiously until that happens.

Paris Holds the Key to My Heart

Most of us probably share a similar problem: not being able to enjoy good things because it has built up so much in your mind. This was my biggest fear about going to Paris. Going to Paris is the only dream that has remained a constant throughout my entire life. I wanted to go  before I even knew it was a real place. When I was kid I wanted to be a doctor who went to Paris. As a teenager I wanted to be a professor who went to Paris. In college, I wanted to be a person with a job, no debt, and a healthy diet who went to Paris. As other dreams fell away, changed, or appeared, Paris became even more important. As it aged like a French red wine, my heart ached to finally open the bottle.
When I saw Notre Dame, my hope shattered and it felt irreparable. I was tired. It wasn’t as big as I had imagined. I was standing before the cathedral which inspired one of the greatest works of my favorite author, but my life wasn’t immediately changed. I began lamenting having allowed my expectations to surpass reality.

Note the disappointment in my eyes in front of Notre Dame

But this feeling of despair flew out the window when I saw the Eiffel Tower. It was more beautiful than I could have imagined. It blew my expectations out of the water. Words cannot describe the feeling of pure joy that began pouring out of my heart and flowed through my veins when I saw its magnificent structure towering above me.
Paris turned out to be everything I could imagine.
I could go on an on about the places I saw in Paris. The small moments that add up to such great love and admiration. Who knew it was possible to feel that way about a city? Paris had always been a beautiful idea, but it turned out to be an even more powerful reality. Crying in Victor Hugo’s house. Seeing the protesters in the Place de la Revolution. Stumbling upon the small plaque which marks the place of  Louis XVI’s execution.
With each visit, each day, each moment in Paris, my love grew. On my last day in Paris, I was left wandering the city all alone. I was tired and anxious about my long journey home. I tried to decide what I should do as my last activity in Paris and in Europe. I thought about returning to the Eiffel Tower though I had seen it several times since my first encounter with it. I seemed too cheesy, too cliché. But when I tried to think of the next time I could possibly get to see it again in person, I found myself hopping on the metro, heading for Trocadéro.
When I arrived, the place was a mess. I had forgotten about the fan zone for the Eurocup in the Champs Mars. Everywhere that one could usually sit and marvel at the structure was now fenced off for security purposes. It was overrun with families and drunk Irish football fans. There was a small revolt in the street over some outcome of a game earlier that day (I must admit I never found out exactly the purpose of this march). My feet hurt, I was tired, and I just wanted to have a beautiful moment as I saw the Eiffel Tower for the last time for a long time. But it was looking like this idealized final moment wasn’t in the cards.
I made my way to the opposite side of the tower and sat on the sidewalk. I was next to a large group of Irish fans and attempted to make conversation. I wished that my good Irish friend I had made that semester was with me as every fan gave me a cold shoulder. I looked around and thought about my time in Paris.
So many people think being in Paris means great adventures. I loved Paris. But I had to admit my time there was void of  any romantic gestures or suspense. I wondered if I had done something wrong. Was I missing out on something amazing? Or was this just a silly schoolgirl fantasy that was ruining my last day in my favorite city?
Suddenly it began to rain. Perfect.
Thankfully I had lugged around an umbrella all day. People began running for cover wherever they could find it. For most, it was under the trees along the walkway next to the tower. I began walking towards the bus stop in order to go back to my AirBnB. I cursed the weather and my ridiculous high expectations. I felt like I was missing some key piece to my adventure in Europe. I was going to go back to America without some terribly romantic tale.
And then there was a person under my umbrella. I assumed he came from the group of Irishmen I had just passed. Every moment of silence seemed like an eternity.
Try to miss a puddle. He ducks a little lower under my short umbrella. My soaked shoes begin making weird noises. He coughs. I steal a glance at him.
“Um hello…” I finally say.
“Hi there. How are you?”
“Fine. You?”
“Oh I’m alright. Terribly wet though.”
“So Northern Ireland or Republic Ireland?”
“Well I was born in Republic of Ireland but I’ve lived in the north for a while. I don’t have much of an alliance to either.”
“Cool.”
Silence.
“Where are you from?”
“The United States.”
“Oh you’re American! Good. I was afraid I was being rude for not speaking French. Which state?”
I laughed. “No I definitely speak English. I’m from Oklahoma.” I prepared to say my usual spiel when the European doesn’t recognize my state: It’s in the south, just north of Texas.
“Wow you’re from Oklahoma?  The Thunder  did pretty well in the playoffs. Too bad about Golden State.”
We walked along the length of the Eiffel Tower. It always seemed like such a long walk, but this time it felt too short. I couldn’t tell you what all we talked about. I remember laughing. I remember feeling proud because he laughed even more. He offered to hold the umbrella and he tried to make sure it covered more of me than him.
We made it to the end and were nearing the street.
“Well, I better get back to my friends. It was so nice to meet you, Jillian. You were lovely to share your umbrella with a stranger.”
I mumbled something about it being nice to meet him, too. But it was hard to think because he was kissing my cheek.
When he pulled away, he didn’t turn to walk back to his group. He was talking. I must have said something clever because he was laughing again.
“Alright. I would love to stay, but I need to go find my friends before the match.”
He was leaning down again and my cheek awaited its kiss. But instead, he was kissing me on my mouth. I could feel my face burning and I hoped he wouldn’t notice how red it was. He looked at me a moment and walked away.
I made my way to the bus stop. The rain was pouring even harder now. My light jacket was soaked and I was shivering as I waited for the bus which was delayed for 30 minutes due to Eurocup traffic. Only to find out that it would be another 30 minute wait and I began the trek to the metro.
But none of it bothered me. I was smiling as if I was walking through a sunny garden, smelling the roses.
It wasn’t a long passionate kiss. We didn’t exchange information besides our first names. I never spoke to him after or had any hope of doing so. I’ve now forgotten everything about how he looked other than that he was quite taller than me. I couldn’t pick him out of a line up if my life depended on it. And yet this moment changed my life. I’ve forgotten almost every detail of this encounter, but I could never forget the feeling it gave me.
I’ll forever be grateful to Irish guy at the Eiffel Tower on June 12. This short meeting gave me such hope. There are times  you think your life is simple, boring, or even unworthy of anything spectacular. Then. Then is when you see the great beauty of the world around you. You’re worthy of everything lovely and magical.
I went to the Eiffel Tower to say good-bye. Sure it was cheesy and maybe stupid. But that was where my heart was pulling me. I allowed some random guy to share my umbrella. Any parent would be horrified (as perhaps they should be), but I prioritized being open to the possibilities around me, for good or bad.
Beautiful moments are waiting for you, you just have to be ready for them. You might just end up getting kissed by a handsome stranger below the Eiffel Tower.

The always beautiful Eiffel Tower.
Can you see the ball for the Eurocup in the middle
and the big screen in the distance for the Fan Zone?

But Daddy I Love Him!

           Do me a favor and listen to “The Color of Your Eyes” from the musical Daddy Long Legs. I’ll give you some time…

Now tell me that’s not a beautiful song. Tell me that you weren’t just filled with so much beautiful imagery of strolling through Manhattan in spring. Or fall. Or whatever the most romantic season is to you.

Daddy Long Legs was a musical that played Off-Broadway until this June. It was the first show to live stream so that peasants like me in Oklahoma could watch New York City theatre without the plane ticket or hotels. It starred Megan McGinnis, who I’ve loved since the musical Little Women, and her husband. They are the only two people in the show as it’s a show of Megan’s character sending letters to her benefactor (played by her husband).

Cute little Jerusha, writing her letters.
daddylonglegsmusical.com

This show is full of hits, but also a lot of misses. I watched the live stream back in December, listened to the album, then stopped. I’ve rediscovered my love for the music this summer. However, every time I listen, often within the same song, I may be shouting “Yaaaasss!” in my car followed immediately by a disappointed “ohhh…”.

Many of the misses can be attributed to the story on which it is based. It was written a century ago and is fairly outdated. It exists in a time when women were at the mercy of men and ending up with a man twice your age was common if not encouraged. They work around this pretty well in the show, but I haven’t brought myself to watch the movie starring a young Leslie Caron and an aging Fred Astaire…

Unfortunately, it’s not just the story that is weak. There are amazing songs like the one suggested earlier, “Graduation Day” and “I Couldn’t Know Someone Less”. But these are accompanied with the opening number (that is so awkward..), “The Secret of Happiness” (which is supposed to be the big song of Jerusha, but is boring and falls flat for me), and “What Does She Mean by Love” (dude, chill out and stop being such a hermit). Along with this, even in some of the good songs, there are such unforgettable cringey moments. For example: in the song “I’m a Beast”, Jerusha says “Daddy I’m no good at being bad”. What? What kind of line is that?!?

But Daddy Long Legs will remain my guilty pleasure. Megan McGinnis is too delightful, the good songs are amazing, and it hits me right in the, often suppressed, Rom-Com part of my heart. Yeah the romance is weird, but it’s like a Maury episode you can’t look away from and I love it!

This post is an honest love letter to the show I’m currently obsessing with. If you join me in this obsession, let me know!