Snow Day

Matching beanies

Savannah Restaurant Week

Tiny icicles

Ice galore

This whole week has felt sort of special. Last Friday was a huge critique day for my Senior project (I swear I'm going to explain my concept on here at some point before I graduate) that went smoothly enough for reason to reward myself with a bit of a break in the constant work schedule this weekend. 

Then, odd weather has put a bit of a chill in the Savannah air and, as previously mentioned, school was cancelled for the day which allowed me to be the 7 year old kid from a snowy city that I never got to be  growing up in Southern California (read: today, I am letting myself be a total spaz with absolutely no apologies). 

Yesterday as prep for this day of frozen bliss, Claire, Spencer and I all invested in matching beanies--  because we weren't obnoxious enough best friends already. Last night we went to a fancy shmancy dinner at Alligator Soul to take advantage of Savannah Restaurant Week and then played games way past my Tuesday night bedtime. My iPhone weather app promised me snow at 6:00 sharp this morning so when I woke up uncharacteristically late at 8:30, I jumped out of bed worried that I missed the big show. My fears were calmed when I saw the thinnest, most delicate layer of dusty, white frost coating my back port and the tips of the palm fronds in our backyard. Not quite snow, but enough weather for me to sink my teeth into and get to wear the gloves and parka I bought freshman year when I thought that moving to the East Coast meant freezing temperatures (I didn't quite do enough research of Southern heat patterns). I've heard the naysayers and I know that this 31 degree weather is child's play in comparison to the frozen tundra of northern states, but I'm simply thrilled about it all. 

Today has been filled with loungey conversation, movies in the middle of the day, bundled walks in the late afternoon, and now, gearing up for a homemade dinner of mostly carbs. I can say, with a heart of joy and rosy cheeks, that I have had the most perfect first and last snow day that I could've ever asked for. 

On top of all of this, it should be noted that I'm having a great hair day. 

Something funky is going down...

SNOW DAY. IN GEORGIA.

For the record, it was 64 degrees outside today, but there is a threat of snow flurries overnight on Tuesday, so school is cancelled on Wednesday.

Color me confused. Aren't snow days supposed to be meant for places with mountains and mountains of actual snow? Either way, I am happy. And frantically planning what I want to spend my very first and very last snow day doing. I'm in a panic that I am going to squander my time and regret it forever. Can you imagine? So far all of my ideas include food. Which, like, I don't hate, but I feel like there is great potential here.

Or maybe I should just go with all of my food ideas? And just eat for an entire day. And use the snow as an excuse?

Things I'm thinking about right now:

1. Hair regret
2. Savannah restaurant week
3. That thing when someone is a good person but a terrible teacher
4. The sound of a juicing machine
5. The sound a rice cake makes when you're eating it
6. Televised weddings

Haig

Before I Christmas break ended, Kaitlin and her other very adult, very mature, post-graduate friends told me to never pass anything up at the end of college because of homework. So far, I'm really taking that principle and running with it. This weekend, Claire, Spencer, Oli and I went to Haig point for a quick 36 hour "One Week Down, 9 More to Go" celebration vacation. It was spur the moment, it was rainy, it was unplanned, it was quiet and it was perfect. 

The ferry ride from Hilton Head to the island was honestly nearly enough for me and we could have just turned around and gone straight home right then. It is so peaceful and somehow we always luck out and take it right during sunset. Oh the glory of it all. 

We packed a bunch of food and spent Friday night cooking, drinking cheap wine and talking. Quite romantic, really. (Or, as my mom would say, 'rotic,' which means 'romantic' without the 'man.') I always wonder when the day will come when we will all run out of things to talk about, but it hasn't come yet. Then again, I never really seem to run of things to say anyway, I suppose. 

On Saturday, we took a golf cart ride around the island. It was super misty and kind of icy feeling and it felt like we were the only people on the whole island. We found a dock on the very tip of the island that had an abandoned (we think) blue sailboat. If there's one thing I've learned in college, it's how to take full advantage of the self-timer app on my camera phone. 

We all packed just one change of clothes for the whole weekend and didn't bring any makeup so some of the pictures were a little rough looking, but I already treasure them so much. 

Right as we were ready to leave the beach and head back to the house, the sun broke through the clouds and left the sky with this warm, pink glow for the rest of the evening. 

This will not be the last of Haig Point, if I have anything to say about it. 

WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?

It seems like so far, every single day of this year has proven to hold with it a huge revelation. Something every day that makes me feel like it's a new chapter. Or at least proving to me that the pages of the end of this college chapter are packing a huge punch. It's helping me see that this time in my life isn't a complete ending. I'm not dying. No one is getting killed off, but actually, I'm just still in the middle of it all. I really hope that makes sense.

These moments are weird. And sometimes totally out of left field. But often really obvious.

For example, yesterday, Frances and I decided to start reading the entire Lord of the Rings Series. This was a left field one.

Last week, like truck out of no where, I started thinking about the possibility of staying in Savannah for the summer and finishing my writing minor. Because, as I realized even more clearly today through a completely different and completely separate revelation all of its own, I love writing. But I only sometimes love fashion design. But I definitely always really like them both. As the idea of this really began to sink in, it was like someone tossed a handful of salt into the pot of soup that is the discussion of my future career. Which is something else I've realized: there are going to be no answers to any of this anytime soon-- this whole job thing. It is basically the definition of a work in progress.

Today, I met with my career advisor and she told me I should be a writer. I didn't bring it up and she didn't even read any of my writing. But she saw the words "Writing Minor" on my resume and totally casually was all like "Yeah, I mean, it sounds like you want to be a writer." Huh. And in my head, I thought, "Yeah. I do."


***


It seems more every day that I'm going to end up being one of those people who, in ten years, you're at a dinner party with and you're in between dessert and the end of the dinner party-- the part where you start pressing your finger onto the tablecloth over crumbs and roll them around between your thumb and your index-- the part where inevitably people stop really listening to what everyone is actually saying because they're pretty tired and just thinking of when the right moment to lead into the idea of leaving is-- and the conversation turns to college somehow and someone asks, "What was your major, Julia?"
I'd say, "Actually, I was a fashion design major."
"No way!"
"Yeah. I know. So crazy to think about."
"Wow! I had no idea you did that."
"Yeah."
"So do you know how to sew and everything like that?"
"Yeah, I do, actually."
"Oh my gosh- can you please make me something? I would totally pay you to make me something."
"Sure!"

Sometimes that's what it feels like now, when I'm in class or something-- Like I'm learning and perfecting a skill that will soon be completely obsolete in my life. I never thought I'd be one of those people but, today, it really feels like I will be.

Time Capsule

For historical archiving purposes I just wanna say:

At this point in my life, I'm eating more spaghetti than I ever have before.

More specifically, in a yellow bowl.

Future Julia, do you remember this? Think hard. But don't be sad if you can't. It doesn't mean that all of the memories of your fruitful youth are yet lost.

*After uploading this post, I texted this to my roommates: "My blog is becoming less about me doing cool things and more about me being bored." And frankly, I've never been more right.

I mean, the fact that I just made a gif for the first time ever on this blog just says a lot-- a gif of myself eating spaghetti, no less.  

Other things about my life: I'm listening to a lot of podcasts lately. Does this make me a middle aged woman who's discovering technology for the first time. Sort of like a sexual revolution, but with no sex.

Oy. I don't know.

A Bluesy Portfolio Story

Coming off of one of those nights of sleep that is less sleep and more just night. 

School is making me think a lot about my future. And more than ever, making me realize how not prepared I am for it. I'm in a class this quarter called Portfolio, that is just that-- a class where we make our portfolios to represent ourselves as an artist/designer/young professional in the near future. The professor and the work load are nothing I can't handle, but so far, our first project (making a collection for a company you see yourself working for) is forcing me to ask some questions of myself and think, for the first time, truly unhypothetically (not a word) about my future. 

These very realistic, very healthy, very answer-worthy questions are creating a train of thought a little like this: 

uncertainty --> panic --> insecurity --> defensiveness --> avoidance

Am I any good at fashion? 

If I am, do I even like it? 

Where would I want to work? (That's a big one for me.)

How do I get hired there? 

Am I competitive enough?

Am I driven enough?  

Am I creative enough?

What can I offer to my dream companies that they don't already have?

What else could I do if not fashion?

Would I be happy?

Would I feel like a failure? 

Should I be a writer? 

Am I any good at writing? 

Why do my two main interests in life lead to careers notorious for leading a life of unemployment? 

Would I be miserable if I like, seriously, lived in New York?
Can I afford New York?
Is living in New York, even when you can afford it, fiscally irresponsible as a human being?
Am I morally ok with the idea of living in New York City?

Did I eat more ice cream last night than I should've?

Is it possible to eat too much ice cream? 

These questions are old, and stale and frankly, I'm bored with them. I've been thinking about them for years now. Unfortunately for me (and you for having to read about it since my first day of college), I have yet to come up with answers to these questions that are satisfying enough for me to move on from them. 

What I'm realizing is that I do know most of what I want out of life. 

I want a job that I don't dread going to everyday. 

I want a job that provides the means for me to consistently and easily pay my bills every month. 

I want a job that doesn't leave me too tired to do other things that make me very happy. 

I want to feel competent. 

I want to feel appreciated. 

I want to regard my coworkers on a scale of 1-10 (1 being the worst humans ever) at at least a 5. 

To me, those goals seem attainable. None of those "requests" seem high maintenance or untimely or outlandish. (Are they? Seriously. Tell me what you think.) but when I look at the opportunities in front of me, I feel small. I feel under-qualified, I feel like a face in a sea of thousands (yes, sometimes thousands) of other applicants, I feel like a contestant on a game show who is there and eager and knows the answer but just isn't pushing the buzzer fast enough. I feel defeated before I even start. 

Sleep deprivation and a sore upper abdomen area (thanks, mom, for the yoga gift card) are making everything seem a little worse right now. And I'm sorry to say that I can't end this post by wrapping everything up in a ribbon and a rejuvenating 10 mile jog around Savannah, but I'm happy that I got to say it and thank you for listening to me, Mr. Mystery Reader of The Dark and Wonderfully Starry Internet Skies. 

I'm working on mentally, physically, emotionally and vocally acknowledging and admitting that I am in absolutely no control of this and to repeatedly surrender. 

Looking at my hands, turning my palms over to the sky, looking at them, realizing that they carry nothing and being grateful for that.
Over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. 

Christmas Memories

5:45/Breakfast Burritos/Dad

LA/Coffee Table/Ginger/Rug/Chairs

Burgers/Kaitlin/Kristin

Karaoke/Islands in the Stream/Beer/Pineapple Hill

Dionna/Scout/Chickens/Backyard

Apples/Pie/Salted Caramel/Patton Christmas

Dionna/Kaitlin/Sarah/Laughing/Laughing/Laughing/Talking/Laughing

Gigi/Orchids/Tea/Furniture Bribes

A nearly perfect 4 weeks. And then back to Savannah we go where, this morning, I ate a biscuit composed of 10 parts butter and 1 part flour which equals 11 reasons why I like living here so much.

First/Second to Last

I'm going to type more this year.

Even if it's short and in incomplete sentences.

Today is my first day of class. This is probably the last push of the last hill in my career as a professional student.

This is the 27th first day of class I've ever had and I feel good at it. I've mastered the art of the first day outfit. I know where I like to sit in a classroom. And I know how to ride the waves of a silent classroom in the 10 minutes before the teacher shows up.

I don't want this to be the second to last time I do this. I want it to go on. Because I think that I'm pretty good at first days of school. And at this point in my life, I'm clinging to the things I'm good at. Tightly.

NYE

New Years Eve is terribly unoriginal, don't you think? The whole world's traditions are essentially the same and with every January 1st that rolls around, I find myself in the same delightful funk of confusion. Yeah, I'm excited about the New Year, and the unpredictability that comes with 12 new months is about as exciting as a packet of new Sharpies, but then there's the other side of the coin that bites me in my pale, arguably out of shape butt every time. The panic part. The reminiscent part. The how did that year just happen so quickly part. The I'm twenty freaking two and I'm certainly confused about everything part. The five…. four…. three…. two…. one…. HELP! part. 

Maybe that's why I love it. It gives people like me (your friendly neighborhood downer) a day to just consider everything-- the past, present and future all in one night where we're allowed to ask friends and family annoying questions like "what are your biggest fears about this coming year" and "if you could change one thing about this past year, what would it be?" without being kicked out the room. 

There were changes in the format of my usual New Years Eve this year. I've lost track of how many years running I've spent the night with my sister and my best friend, Casey, and our respective parents but this was definitely the first in a long while that our entire families haven't rung in the New Year together, clanging pots and pans in the street at midnight and making fun of Dick Clark's post-stroke speech impediments. Kaitlin, Casey and I (with an added bonus of one Kristin Larson) still managed to grab dinner before heading all of our separate ways, but somewhere between accidentally shaving only one leg in the shower getting ready for the evening and then after dinner, wishing Casey well on the rest of her evening with her boyfriend as we all loaded into separate cars, I felt a nudge of change in the beginning of a year that is about to blow the roof off of what I even think the word 'change' is capable of. 

Spending the rest of the night at a glittery party, in a room full of mostly strangers and a glass of red wine in my hand, some would argue that this was my first adult New Years. The party, much like the year that it was anticipating, felt uncomfortable in an appropriate way. Unfamiliar and new. Uncharted and forced. Like it was the next step in a progression of who I should be or something. The tradition, the conveniency and the pots and pans weren't completely thrown away, but this year, they were all put on a shelf like a memory or a snapshot in a picture frame, replaced with me wearing a little bit too much eyeliner and being the girl at the party that no one really knew. 

I can't help but think that there will be more of this soon. I'm graduating. And I don't even know what that really means yet, but it's happening soon and it's happening this year.

2014

graduate
say goodbye

blog more
read more
yoga
run…

job job job job

more red lipstick
dancing harder
caring a little less
stability

date
dates
kiss a boy
make goals
meet goals
date goalie

surprises, given and received

more fat, less sugar

a rent check

less sarcasm
take less offense

redefine expectations
embrace uncertainty

take more pictures with clicks instead of taps

allow emotion
allow disappointment

paint a wall
skinny dip
cry in public
dinner parties, one for old friends, one for new friends



(In case you were curious about last year.)