Inspiration

I bought my first piece of signed art today. My fam was walking around Downtown Naples and happened upon the annual art fair. Most of the art was bad but the artists weren't talentless; they just made boring, insipid art. I guess one has to consider the audience - a bunch of wealthy old people probably don't want anything revolutionary hanging on their wall. Anyway, seeing all that stuff reminded me how much I like to make art and how I could make better art than a lot of that; art that people still might want to own.

This all tied in with this week's conversations between my brother and me. Rick's pretty knowledgeable on economics and unabashedly libertarian. He says the economic situation will force people to stop consuming and start conserving. Instead of throwing away a torn shirt you'll take it to a seamstress for example. He also thinks people will become entrepreneurs again. They'll lose their jobs and be forced to create products or services that fill a need. I've had some good ideas that I thought would make money before. But those ideas have never come to fruition because the risk required to realize them was too great. I wonder if getting pushed out of comfortable jobs will force people to wager what they wouldn't before. Perhaps the results will be innovative and fantastic.

Which brings me back to art. It's something I couldn't risk before and the pressure of it made me hate doing it. Now that I'm away from it, I realize I might have some talent, and I might have some good ideas. I bought that picture because it was the first one of the artist's that caught my eye. Michael Bryant is his name. He does the double exposures all in camera, so he's got no idea how they'll come out until he develops the film. I guess it just reminds me that life operates in strange cycles. Sometimes you think you're just going around the same circle all the time and nothing's going anywhere. Then all of a sudden you're someone new, and you're in some new place, and your whole life is different. But at the same time, whatever it is that makes you you is unchanged and you can't escape from it. Nor would you want to.

"plus ça change, plus c'est la meme chose"

Hi everyone,

I don't have a transcendent topic for today so I'll just update you.  

1.  I think I won my bout with insomnia.  Two days in a row I've been able to sleep! Hurray.  It might be too soon to call it, but I'm pretty sure it's school/stress related.

2.  I'm going to Abu Dhabi for studio next semester.  Yep I'm pretty psyched.

3.  I don't know what I'm doing with my life. 

4.  I have a gay husband via common law.

5.  My family is getting together in Florida for Christmas and my bro is coming sans gf.  Word.

6. The future, and how my present choices are impacting that future, and how the future does or doesn't influence my present choices, scare me.

Making lists is illuminating.

Sorry for being euphemistic. 

<3 

krayon

Favorite things

Fat squirrels

Smiles to/from strangers

Artists with angelic voices (Alison Krauss, The Wailin' Jennys, Sarah MacLaughlin) 

Staying in bed too long when it's cold

Slow, quiet, late breakfast with coffee and the paper

Finding lost things

Losing found things?

Flannel pajamas

Phillies Win.

So for those of you who've been living under a rock for the last weekend, the Phillies won the World Series!  I'm still a loyal Cubs fan of course, but it was never-the-less exciting to be here for this historic victory.  My post may be trite but as it speaks to both city planning and Philadelphia issues, I'll continue.

Sports bring people together.  At first it sounds like a shallow connection: I like the Phillies and so do you, what's your point?  However, this weekend's post-victory events revealed some of sports' deeper virtues.  

The love of a team transcends demographics.  On Wednesday night after the Phillies win, my two friends and I sprinted from a bar in West Phila. to catch the first cab or bus that would take us downtown.  Plenty of others had the same idea, and as we stood at the corner every single car that passed honked its horn.  People hung out of car windows to slap hands with those outside.  We jumped up and down and yelled and cheered with each other "Go Phils!"  White kids, black kids, young kids, old kids, women, men, everyone, all of us, the whole city was so excited that nothing else mattered.  James and Matt and I couldn't wait any longer so we just started running down the street.  We ran about 6 blocks before we caught a bus to take us to Broad street.  The street was filled.  Packed.  Everyone was chanting and laughing and giving each other five.  Nothing mattered except for a mutual victory.  It wasn't just for a team, but for a city, and for everyone rooting for the Phillies everywhere. 

Now economic planning often shows that building a new stadium isn't worth the city's investment.  I'm inclined to agree.  But I think the value of having a professional sports team runs deeper than mere economic analysis.  Economically speaking, sports bring people into the city and therefore people spend money in the city on dinner and drinks and on transit (where transit exists).  Culturally speaking, sports create a realm of inclusion in which everyone can participate.  They give us something to cheer for together.  

The beauty is this: it doesn't take much to be a sports fan.  Sure, there are people who know everything about every game and every player and every rule; but just by virtue of living in a place you can call yourself a fan of their teams.  My grandmother's first question to my dad after he told her about meeting my mother was "Is she a Cubs fan?"  Grandma Vi didn't know that much about baseball but she knew it was a family value.  You don't have to have money or education to appreciate a walk-off home run or a full count, two outs, bottom of the ninth strike out.  When your team loses you're devasted.  When they lose for a season (or 28 seasons in the Phillies' case, or 100 seasons in the Cubs case) it hurts.  The whole city mourns.  But when you win the whole city rejoices.  A collection of people is united in devotion to a game.  How simple.  How elegant.  The stakes feel so high at the moment, but even if they lose it's not like losing a war.  Sports offer a break from daily life.  They create a melange of sensory experiences - peanut shells underfoot, hot summer day, sitting still, drinking a beer.  They also bridge gaps between generations.  I love that I cheer for the same teams as my father and grandfather.  I love that all I know of baseball I learned from them, incrementally, over the course of 23 years' worth of baseball games.  

I could keep espousing the personal value of sport but I'll let the events speak for themselves.  The Phillies' victory parade on Friday brought over 2 million people to downtown Philadelphia on Friday.  That's about 500,000 more people than the city's official population.  Even if you think sports are trite, the ability of a game to bring so many people together to celebrate a single event is undeniably astonishing.

Believing in things

When P and I were in Chicago we went to the Jeff Koons exhibit at the Museum of Contemporary Art.  I definitely liked some of his stuff (see picture).  His statement talked about reintroducing a feeling of childlike wonderment.  These sculptures are huge and the force you to see all the little wrinkles and such as if it was a real balloon.  You also see yourself in the reflection.  The scale makes you feel small again.  The material makes you curious - what is that stuff?  How does it work?  How did he make this?  All of those questions are things kids ask all the time but we informed adults usually glaze over.  

Some of his other stuff was less cool and less effective.  We saw a little group getting lectured by the docent and talked b/tw ourselves about whether the artist intended everything the docent was saying or whether art critics just read into it all, whether post-conceptualization and serendipity and process make the product just as much as the initial concept does.  I said without thinking: "Art is something you have to believe in."  And it is.  It requires faith like believing in God or religion.  You have to make a jump because if you never buy into it then you'll never benefit from it.  

I think love is the same way.  You have to believe in it.  You have to believe it's true or that it can be true.  The world you live in is the one you choose to see.  If you don't believe love can be real then it will never be.  If you don't believe it's worth the investment of time and effort and emotion then it won't be.  

Sometimes I scoff at people with more faith than mine.  They believe in things I once did and I think they're foolish for doing so.  That's pretty arrogant and lame on my part.  I just realized that I also scoff at people in love sometimes.  And that's even worse.  I think they can't possibly be that happy, they're way too young to know what they're doing, or they just don't know what they're in for.  Above all things I want to believe in love.  I mean, I've seen it work and it looks like a good deal: my grandparents were married for 64 years.  That's the most beautiful thing I can think of in the whole world.  And my parents have been married 33 years.  They all got married really young and they made it.  

I think my generation's fears about marriage are permeating my idealistic Christian culture picture.  But if it comes down to believing in something hopefully and being in love idealistically, or fearing something and never believing in it enough to let it happen, I'm gonna go with the former.  It's not a question of believing in a happy lie or facing a sad truth.  The difference is that the belief creates the reality.  If you believe it can be good and special and real it will be, and if you believe it will be crappy and terrible and disappointing it'll be that.  In reality, love is both the good and the bad but the picture one paints determines which side triumphs.

My hungover thoughts on a Saturday "morning".

<3

K

First Impressions

I'm writing from my new apartment in New Orleans. There's much to say about this town and I don't quite know where to begin. I wrote a few thoughts in my sketchbook yesterday so I'll start there:

This city is more beautiful than any other I've ever encountered. The trees are majestic and magical, the houses are unique and hospitable. The city emanates a charm which is sincere and unpretentious. Life ambles amiably - not concerned or even aware of the pace at which the rest of the world travels. 'Folks' smile when you pass on the street and make conversation when you sit next to them on the streetcar. Nola is an anomaly. It engages and delights all of your senses without overwhelming them (like a Wes Anderson movie compared to Baz Luhrman). Surely heaven must feel a bit like this place.

But beneath this surface so lovely (and legitimately so) lurks a deep well of sorrow and fear. NO's history seems to divide into two eras: before the storm and after the storm. (One food writer for the Times-Picayune dated his article June 10, A.D. 3 - After the Deluge). It's difficult to even reference the city without placing it in one of these two contexts. I wonder if people get tired of talking about it. I wonder if they just want to forget the disaster that so thoroughly destroyed (and continues to destroy) this place. But the levees still aren't rebuilt properly and a new hurricane season has arrived. Friends who left BS have yet to return. Lives and homes and businesses were lost and never regained. So much devastation - the equivalent of which this country has rarely seen - takes far more than three years to repair.

I read the newspaper today and the main three articles all pertained to Katrina. A to-do list for planning for your family's evacuation took up a whole page. The Army Corps of Engineers remain the bad guys as the levees they're currently building leak. The Corps assures the people that it's fine, but that's what they said last time... There's little trust in the government. Even after three years, the mayor doesn't have a citywide evacuation plan. He says everyone should have their own evacuation plan. Well that should've been the case last time too, but if people are poor and don't have cars they're out of luck. How hard is it to plan to mobilize a mass bus fleet? A few friends and I discussed this yesterday and realized the three of us could probably comprise a feasible plan in a few hours. Bureaucracy is ridiculous.

It would be hard to rebuild a life here if you're not sure it won't just be destroyed again.

But all this sad stuff is balanced by the good that's going on. People are empowered here. They attend neighborhood meetings, they want to know what the city government is doing, and they want to hold the city accountable. Before the storm, folks didn't know they could have a say. Now they're saying it. It's astounding how many efforts bubble up from grassroots. New Orleanians are truly indomitable. They fight for rebirth because there is so much to save here.

My one regret is this: Despite the genuine hospitality and kindness of New Orleanians, an outsider can never become one. Perhaps after many years you can work your way in, but people will always ask "Where you from?" Obviously I don't expect to call myself a local after only a week. But if I did move here for the long run, I wonder if I'd ever be fully accepted. I don't begrudge the locals for it - being "from here" is a point of pride that I wouldn't like to share with outsiders either.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Regarding my life, I work about a mile from home. I walk or ride my bike to work. There's a lovely park right near my house - Audubon Park - where I go for runs and bike rides. (I biked 8 miles today and ran 5.6 Woo hoo!) There are a bunch of cafe's and shops and a Whole Foods on Magazine Street which is also close by. When I want to go downtown I ride the streetcar on St. Charles Street. My apartment is on the second floor of a house in Uptown. It has high ceilings and I have two roommates. The girl goes to Loyola for jazz saxophone and has a puppy. The boy is an mba student from Duke who's interning with a hospital. There's plenty of space for visitors :) It's hot down here but I haven't melted yet. July may be a different story. The food here is amazing. You would love it.

I miss you. Come see me.

-k

Are you ever just swept away by everything?

Summer or the advent of summer does that to me. Trees that were sticks pop into flowers and then green - green everywhere. Blue skies, sunlight that's golden instead of white, breezes that carry some scent of the season, birds that make noise (too much noise), construction sounds, traffic and bustle, and people are out to enjoy it. I didn't know there were so many people. Three weeks ago campus had a smattering of bench-sitters and small crowds outside for smoke breaks. Now people are everywhere - laying on the lawn, crowding the benches, sitting on steps. We all want to be part of this recently-awakened buzz.

But more than that - what is it? I get sentimental this time of year. I'm reflective of the past year that's gone by, I anticipate the surprises and adventures that summer holds in store. I romantically envision some version of perfection that will surely be my next three months. So much is in store, so much is going on now, all of it's happening too fast to take it in or assess it or even understand and before I know it it'll all be lost. I hate missing out on everything-at-once moments. Spring is the best time to catch them and the easiest time to miss them b/c I'm always so busy with school.

Alas.

Forgive the disjointedness of my brief break from schoolwork.

Snow Day

The first significant snowfall since Christmas settled upon my lovely Philadelphia this morning. On the plus side, my only class of the day was canceled. On the downside, so was my flight. So now I'm fixin' to fly out for Detroit at 6:15 am tomorrow morning. This throws a wrench into plans for today and for the weekend, and I'll surely be unable to see everyone I had hoped to in my now two-day excursion to the Motor City.

Alas. The snow isn't all bad; in fact I quite like it. It changes the pace of the city. Somehow it's simultaneously slower yet frenzied. I walked through Rittenhouse Square on my way here (Capriccio on 17th and Locust), and as always, found it to be the most magical place in the world. A couple sipped steaming coffee while laughing on a park bench. People played with their dogs who were so excited about this strange stuff covering the ground. A dad threw snowballs with his three daughters. A bunch of kids in sweatshirts and snowpants were playing football. People are rushing to get outside and enjoy their lives. I love this city. I love slushing around in my snow boots. I love the way my right sock always works its way off my foot in my snow boots. Wait. I hate that. Why only my right sock? It's too funny to be annoying. But I digress.

So an intended travel day becomes a blessed free day? (<----attempt at optimism). I'm here at the cafe to get my sketch on. I feel like I've been working my booty off these last couple weeks and accomplishing little. The workpile is increasing exponentially and I'm barely making a dent. On top of it all I'm supposed to be applying for internships. On Wednesday night I was freaking out about them. Today I'm feeling better. It seems that most firms who do urban design are looking for people with hand drawing skills. Hurray! That's me. Who knew an art major would ever be useful for something?

Strangely enough I'm sketching more than ever lately. It's like now that I don't have to be artistic and don't have to keep a sketchbook, I want to. I'm not afraid of sucking anymore. I mean, I might suck, but at least I'm not afraid of it, and I guess that's what counts. People here are easily impressed and that gives me the shallow confidence to keep drawing. Actually, I just want to draw. It feels good. It keeps me psychologically warmed up for anything requiring creativity. I'm also writing with my left hand a lot - even more than I did in college. I actually like that handwriting better now. And I like my left-handed drawings better. Weird.

I'm leading a double-life. Two cities. Two handwritings. Two faiths (or one faith and a lack thereof). Two sets of friends. It's fractured. It was disconcerting. I think I'm used to it now. The being used to it is disconcerting.

I realize I should put some pictures on here. I'll get on that.

Just wanted to update you.

hearts,
-k

Unoriginal thoughts on names.

I have much to do as always but am procrastinating to write this blog. I already began one about Brian's visit but was too tired to finish it last night. I'll be sure to complete and post it soon. In the meantime you can look at the pictures on my google pictures website.

At the moment a few thoughts are swirling in my head. Research shows that everyone's favorite word is their own name. Interesting. You never notice how infrequently your name is said until someone says it. Usually, people just great each other with "Hey, how are you doing?", or initiate questions and conversation by making eye contact rather than saying the person's name. But when your name is said, especially by someone you're close to or intersted in, notice your visceral pleasure at the sound.

Names are an interesting phenomenon. I love hearing Julie and Rick call me "Kris" because they have for my whole life and it implies a unique closeness between us. However, if anyone else calls me that (besides my parents maybe) it's weird. Receiving nicknames from friends or bestowing them upon friends establishes some new identity and bond between you. By the same token, I associate some nicknames (Kray) with a specific group of people and a specific time in my life. It's sometimes disconcerting when I'm referred to like that now.
Hearing someone call to herself or others call someone by a nickname you gave is strangely satisfying.

As CB pointed out, I introduced him to my friends as "Crazy Brian", which was almost a self-fulfilling prophesy. I hope I didn't put too much pressure on him to live up to his name.

That's all for now. Back to work.

satisfyingly mundane

I need to stay busier than this. I need to close it off. Token indie instrumental music, cash register drawer, change jingles, people talk, receipts print, giant blue mug sits on yellow saucer, lilac folder crowds table, i'm reading, aesthetics sights sounds can't think feel too much he's not coming. that's all.

La Vita è bella

Sometimes life is too beautiful to comprehend. Maybe it always is, but only on occasion does the gravity of everything, the weight of existence, the overwhelming barrage of sights and sounds to be perceived break through...Sometimes it makes me so happy that I hurt. Or so sorry that I can't possibly deserve to live. Sometimes I fear I wouldn't trade earth for heaven.

The combination of sunshine and city permeates my self-protecting tunnel vision and I can't help but be hit by everything around me. I love the sound of the cars outside my window, the wind whipping through the row houses, the bite of cold as I run from home to ballet and back. Yesterday the sky was palest blue with chalk dust sprinkled on top and I swear I've never seen sunlight so white. It made the city look clean. It made me want to be clean.

I bought sandwich supplies for a homeless guy the other day. In my quest to find God or religion or faith I figured I could start with what I know: Jesus was cool and he loved everyone. It's pretty simple. Love is never hard to give. Or it shouldn't be. I was walking home and he asked me for food. So we went to Wawa and he picked liverwurst and rolls and american cheese. He told me about getting kicked out and how he was supposed to go to a shelter...none of it made much sense but sandwiches make sense. Afterward he wanted money for tokens. He smelled like alcohol. I gave him some change and told him God loved him. He said he knew. His name was Mark. I wish him well.

I guess Jesus would probably have brought Mark home with him until he got back on his feet. I'm not quite there yet. Actually, who knows what Jesus would've done? I'm kind of frustrated with the people who presume they know what God wants, so I guess I shouldn't do the same.

This weekend was the calm before the storm. I relaxed and had fun and cooked and cleaned and made some art. I thought a bit about life and love, but not too much. My dilemma at the moment is this: which is worse, the action of doing something wrong, or the fact that you can justify it to yourself afterward?

For auld lang syne

The events of the past month were far too varied, extensive, and influential for me to adequately summarize here. Suffice it to say it was a good month. I freaked out for a week in the beginning, lived in an alternate universe for a while, stopped trying to figure things out, saw a lot of movies, slept in, played cards with the parents, traveled to five different states, and somehow ended up in a peaceful, rejuvenated state of mind. Most importantly, I spent time with pretty much all of the people closest to me, and became even closer to most of them. I think I realized which people are the friends I've kept for a long time and will keep forever. Ultimately I feel lucky to have such amazing people in my life. I can't express how refreshing and comforting it was to connect with people who I get and who get me, especially after feeling significantly disconnected over the past semester.

On the plane(s) from Chicago back to Philly I attempted to sleep but I think my subconscious mind was trying to sort out the comprehensive range of emotions I've experienced from the last week in Detroit through this weekend in Chicago. Fatefully I woke up toward the last 20 minutes of the flight and ended up talking to the guy next to me. He was going to Pittsburgh to meet up with some people with whom he works on Harley's. He was one of those outgoing, simple-speaking people who, with little prompting, explained to me his philosophies on life. "You see, the thing about it is...," he said: "...the glass is half full", "...you can't control what happens but you can control your attitude," "...stress doesn't help anything," "...if you've got a lot to do just assess the situation, prioritize what you have to do and do it," and "if you're doing something that you'd be ashamed to tell other people about then you know it's wrong and you shouldn't do it. You should never do anything you're ashamed of." All these tidbits seem like cliches but sometimes the simplest lessons are the ones of which you need to be reminded the most. Twas a lovely, serendipitous, dare-I-say God-influenced encounter.

So now I'm back. I got home late-ish last night after they lost one of my suitcases. Oh well. Upon walking in the door, I was surprised at how good it felt to be back. Even though I'm sometimes lonely here, the converse benefit is that this life feels very much my own -- my apartment and my food and my schedule and my time. I don't have to wait for anyone else to call or make sure I spend adequate time with everyone or let anyone know where and when I'm going. I woke up late today and ate oatmeal before walking around the city, with certain goals in mind but ultimately accomplishing none of them. I had coffee with Clint and Christy and decided to take ballet twice a week. I'll probably go to the gym before I make dinner and go to bed. I didn't do my homework.

It's a new year. It feels like a new year. I feel more certain of who I love and comforted by who loves me. I finally stopped trying to find myself and my beliefs and my God and it seems like they're now finding me -- thanks to some good friends. Life is so much to deal with, too much to really process everything. The moral: I'm privileged to share life with the people I do.

It's a hideous day and I couldn't be happier

Dearest friends,
It is done. The week of madness has come to an end.

I've learned a few lessons this week, but it seems they were simmering under the surface while my cognitive mind was too busy to synthesize them. First of all, I am capable of working ahead, and I must work ahead even more now than ever before. Second, working on a project with plenty of time can be a pleasureable experience. I can actually enjoy what I'm learning rather than feeling stressed and hurried. Internalizing my work should be my goal, not just completing the assignment as quickly as possible. Third, and this is much to my chagrin, I don't have the time to be a perfectionist. There's seriously too much to be done to do things as perfectly as I'd like to. I'm not used to this. Perhaps my desire for perfection will force me to work more efficiently so I can churn out the best possible products in an allotted time. Fourth, this week feels like a rite of passage. I've gone through the fire, and regardless of the outcomes, I have succeeded at least a little.

Fifth, it is cold and cloudy today and I love it. LOVE IT. Why is this? Just finishing the test didn't cause my happiness. I was content after the test, and then I went to the computer lab and worked on a few things. But I was not ecstatic til on my bike ride home my nose got cold and my fingers got clammy on the handle bars. I was flooded with joy. But why? I think I finally feel settled. All summer long I was partially here and partially at home. I kept relating the warmth and the summer to what I was missing. I think I subconsiously knew summer was ephemeral and that was hanging over me, like uncertainty and change were just around the corner and they were going to take me by surprise. The advent of the cold feels like I'm settled. I'm here. I belong here. Friendships are getting a bit more settled. Patterns are becoming established.

Mmm...yes, that's an important realization of the day. I'm forming habits. I'm learning how to organize time, learning when to socialize with friends, alloting time for relaxation. Habits feel good. Habits make me feel permanent rather than transient. My perceptions of self, time, space, friends, work and their interrelations are all changing. College for me was forming complex relationships with friends and learning about myself in the process. I internalized my school learning through informal conversations with my friends. Grad school for me is forming complex relationships with different kinds of work and in the process adapting myself to the material and the time constraints. I'm learning my limits and challenging my capacities. It feels very individualistic. I don't know how I feel about that.

Wow. Writing certainly helps one to sort thoughts, no? I hope this is somewhat sensical as my brain is kinda fried. In any case, for your prayers, thoughts, and pump-up songs this week, I thank and love you all.

-Kristin

Falling

Studying at a café. Today is the first chilly day so far. The air is noticeably crisp, my blue hooded sweatshirt is comfortable, and my flip-flopped toes are cold. I’m trying to figure out why fall’s advent invariably makes me sad. And lonely. Lonely is the best description of it. Everyone else loves it. It scares me to death. Natalie talks about a "sense of impending doom" that she gets from time to time. The first bite of a fall breeze invariably floods me with that feeling.

I'll try to deconstruct my feelings by looking to my past. I think back to high school when fall meant marching band, football games, Tom. All of those things were anxiety-ridden to say the least. Before that I remember starting middle school and not knowing who my friends would be that year or how my classes would be, being scared in sports and scared of teachers. After that, college meant coming back to the stress of the art program and friends and Vijay. Over the summer Grand Rapids looked so comfortable and home-like on the horizon. But upon arrival, I was always thrown off by even the smallest changes in dynamics between me and my friends' relationships, how much time we spent together, where we hung out.

Maybe that's what it boils down to. Fall is change for me. In my cognitive calender Fall feels like the real beginning of the new year. Fall is the transition into whatever I'm beginning. I should become Jewish so I can celebrate Rosh Hashanah. (I wonder if when I’m finally done with school, fall will mean something different?)

I think I'm pretty sensitive to my environment in general - any changes in light, color, temperature, breeze. I notice these things can literally take me from a soaringly good mood to a sad one instantly. Fall varies pretty extremely from Indian summers in September to shivering stick trees and snow storms in November. It also has to do with directionality. I love spring because it's taking me out of winter and into summer. It's a change in a good direction. Fall is taking me away from summer (which I think is my best season) and into winter, which is easily my worst. (What's my problem? Who has seasons? I'm ridiculous.)

Additionally, I want to be in love in fall. It’s chilly and I want to hold hands with someone. I want to huddle under a blanket at a football game or share a steamy cup of coffee in the park. Cities are the most romantic places to me and I want to be in love in this one. And well...the current laws governing speed, time and distance make that a bit impossible at the moment. (Missing people is so pointless. The only benefit is it confirms/reiterates how much you care for someone. But after that it just hurts. The best thing is to not think of it.)

I also miss my family like I never have before. Well, no. I always miss Chicago because it always feels like home. But that feeling is rather intense at the moment. I really can’t wait to see my sister and my grandma and my aunts and cousins. Thanksgiving is an exciting thing on the horizon. I just have to get through all the school between now and then.

In any case I’m ok. I’m consistently running again which feels good. I am enjoying my classes and my friends. I feel a lot of things. But I feel good. I’m excited about life. Excited enough. A bit worried about money. A bit worried about finding a church. But things are ok and I’m ok and I’m going to be ok.