Teeth, Love, and Growing Up

10 days until I leave Seattle Last night I spent a few hours sorting through the belongings in my room in preparation for moving out of my current house by the end of this month.. As I packed I realized I own things that I don't wear or use much anymore, and was forced to confront the scarcity mindset I lived with as a kid: "I can still wear/use/keep this", or "What a waste to throw it away." I've kept clothes, notebooks, birthday cards, long past their useful date. They move with me from place to place, dead weight, memories I forget when I don't look at them but feel too sentimental to get rid of when I remember. I'm trying to harden my heart a little. To be okay with throwing something away, even though I or someone else could still use it. Remind myself that keeping things I don't use is more detrimental to me than it is beneficial to our planet. But it's a slow process, one I'm glad I'm getting a head start on. I'll be workin...

I'm bracing for the heat wave that starts tomorrow. I hate sweating. I hate when my ears ring after I've been running to catch the bus because of how out of shape I am. I hate being blinded by the sun the second I step out of my building after work. I actually miss the dark evenings in winter when, even with my gloved hands shoved deep in my pockets, I could barely feel my fingers. I wish I'd known it would be my last New England winter at the time. Law school starts in two months and I don't want to think about it. I feel so ridiculously underprepared. I probably knew more about the U.S. justice system when I was in 11th grade studying for the APUSH exam than I do now. Why do I always throw myself into situations for which I'm clearly not set up to succeed? It reminds me of my junior year of college when I took a graduate-level neurobiology seminar (that I was for some reason allowed to enroll in because it was cross-listed with psych) without ever having taken col...

I’m writing on the train, with brief interludes of glancing out the window to watch the cottonwood fly over the marshland. I’m traveling alone, yet I feel at ease with my Starbucks latte cradled between my knees as the train hums north, away from Boston. I’ll be living in the city for at least another year. Renewing my lease felt like the right decision; I’ve grown to appreciate living alone, learning which podcasts to flip on when my apartment is too quiet as I chop vegetables or scrub the tiles in my shower. To my relief, I’ve encountered only a few bugs in my home, allowing myself to feel a tinge of self-pity that disappears as quickly as the swish of the tissue I use to squish the unwelcome guests. I’ve grown something valuable in the process of being on my own: self-trust. Another year in Boston felt right. My friends are here, my job is here. But where will I be one year from now? I have a creeping concern that Boston has given me all that it can give, that it will soon be time f...