Defining A Happy Place

Amidst the various aromas of chain food, the brightly colored menus and the families with loads of loot from a day well spent at the mall, my mother and I discuss happiness. 

It is no secret that my mother has changed. A piece of her died when her parents passed. Her closeness to her mother was something to admire. They talked everyday on the phone. Every morning in a three way conversation with my aunt. 

6:30am on the dot. That was their ritual. For years. 

That was my mother's happy place. Those long distance phone calls. Her morning conference call was the equivalent to most folks' morning caffeine. 

I must say that my grandmother was and will always be remembered as a remarkable woman. Someone who loved everyone. Blind. Literally and figuratively. She passed no judgement and was the most selfless person I've ever known. Her name was Shirley. Also commonly referred to as Shirl Girl.  

My mother was close to Shirley. And since a cold November day in 2010, my mother hasn't been the same. 

And as life would have it, tragedy struck again when my mother's father passed an exact 2 years and 2 weeks after her mother. 

Since November 2012, my mother has had to cope with the loss of her best friend, her parents, and her happy place. 

No longer does my mom feel the need to visit her childhood home. What's left is not the same, and most of the family has up and moved away. 

My mother has lost that twinkle in her eye. That spark that made her so loving and joyful. 

She knows it. 

I know it. 

I assume that others have caught on. 

...And thus I cannot relate. 

But I can empathize. 

For I have my parents. I haven't (fortunately) lost anyone that mattered that much to me as her parents did her. 

I want to help her. I want to shake her and sprinkle the joy back into her bones. I want to trade places and let her see what it's like to be a young adult again. For I know that I am lucky to have my entire future in front of me.

But that's where we were. 

Two lost souls in the middle of a food court. Pondering life over our picked-at rice meals.

What is happiness?

I proclaimed that it was really just a facade that people hide behind and pretend to be happy. For are people really "happy?" What does that even mean. 

My mother decided it meant to be okay and content with your life and your passions. 

But I don't think that's right. I don't think happiness should be complacent or something you settle for. 

For as long as I can remember when people (or countless scholarship essays )would ask me to define what I wanted to be when I got older, I would always want to be happy. I used to define the pleasures of happiness were equivalent to those of succeeding. And each person defines it a different way. 

I do not believe I have a "happy place." I think my memories and dreams are what make me happy.

Moments in time that I can find stashed away in my mind. Times where I'd smile to myself, where I'd cry tears of joy. Moments when I'd be singing at the top of my lungs, when I achieved something off my bucket list. Those are the times that create happiness for me. 

But I cannot tell you if I am happy in the now. 

I feel like I'm still floating, wading, rather in a pool. It feels shallow at times, but as soon as I stick my hand in the water, my heart races knowing that I could sink or swim. 

And that's life. 

I think. 

I am no pro. Yet. 

There are people and things and moments and places that help to remind you of happiness. But I don't know if you can define being happy as a current emotion. Let's take graduating... I wasn't "happy" in the moment. Everything was happening so fast. I was trying to digest what was going on around me. It was surreal. And now, I can look back on the photos and judging by my candid, cackling-smile photos, I know that I was achieving something. And that makes me happy, I think?

I had no mood ring to confirm if I was happy. 

Life doesn't come complete with a mood ring. Or directions for that matter. Life: accessories not included. 

Are people really happy? Or are they pretending? Do we try way too hard pretending to be something that we're not in order to present ourselves in a fashion in which we think will make society happy? Is that happiness? 

These are the the thoughts that I have. Late at night. Having an existential crisis from the comfort of my twin size bed. Or the table at the mall food court eating steak and rice with my mother. 

I think happiness is an option, not a priority. Or a necessity. Living is. And I'll just continue to move forward. 

Post Grad: The Veil Of Uncertainty

Up until now I've taken everything for granted. Time mostly. But kind of just life in general. 

I think the feeling of a chapter ending has really struck me. 

It only took about two months, endless hours of Netflix, and a few dozen over-thinking nights to get here. 

It's as though I've been given a new pair of sunglasses in which the tint has changed everything from rose to a more golden hue (maybe it's grey) but the point is that everything seems to be changing hues in front of my eyes. 

I know that I've found myself in slumps before. Moments of sheer terror where I have no incline or idea of what my future holds. I've experienced those times where I've rethought the relationships around me. I've thought about boarding a plane, backpacking through the mountains, and embarking on a real Into The Wild experience. 

But this time, this time I think something is different. 

No longer do I have the safety of college. Classes with textbooks to read (or not read).  Lectures to take notes from. Friends to conveniently grab coffee with or catch up over a slice of pizza in the Student Union. 

No, this isn't my life anymore. 

I have no circle of sisters to meet with every Sunday. No homework that's due in a month, that I will start the night before. Okay, maybe the week before. No longer will I instagram the wondrous colors of Griffin Hall. No more student ID. No more campus events. 

Reality, at this point, is that I am forced to grow up now. And while yes, I know that I am an old soul, and I am meant to experience all that life has to offer -- I also am uncertain of the future. 

So uncertain in fact that I think I'm hiding from it. 

Thus far, in my life, I've had things planned out. School was a necessity from kindergarten to high school graduation. From there, college was a choice. Seeing as I am a first generation college student/grad/you know what I mean, college was the plan. Four years seemed like an adequate amount of time to find a degree, learn what I'm passionate about and set forth on my life before me. 

Boy, am I naive. 

Countless people had warned me about life post-grad, but I am a firm believer in taking advice into consideration, following my heart and going with the flow. I'm a type B kinda gal in that sense. Let the chips fall where they may, and work for what you love. 

Let's reflect on my two months of "real life." 

After graduation, I let on like everything was normal. Attending concerts per usual, working my same job, hanging out with new and old friends… all felt comfortable. Typical. I was on summer vacation. Let's add the element of my one of my best friends leaving for his dream job for the summer only a mere weeks after my graduating, leaving me in Northern Kentucky without my adventure buddy. I felt stuck.

Then I became ill with a disgustingly painful cyst on my tailbone. I won't go into detail. But it hurt A LOT, forcing me to get some surgery and be cooped up in bed for days upon weeks, turning into almost a month of lack of socialization with the outside world. 

During this time, when I wasn't almost paralyzed with pain, I found an escape through literature and film. I'd put myself in the shoes of the characters I was reading or watching. (Let's just say I understand The Graduate a little more, minus the whole affair idea.)  I delved into Netflix television series and began to become one with the characters on the screen. These were my friends during my time of pain, they didn't judge me for not being able to shower or care that I was a recent graduate of college just going with the flow.

As I began to take baby steps back into the light of day, I ran into friendly faces. People who wanted to know my plans for the future. How's post grad life? Where are you working? Are you going to grad school?  

Cue the tears.

Okay, maybe a little more of a spinning head. Some self-doubt and anxious moods.

All of a sudden, everyone wanted to know what I'd be doing with the rest of my life. And all along, I thought at this point I'd have an answer. 

But I don't. 

At this point, I've considered creating a shirt that says "I graduated college and I'm just trying to enjoy the free time, I'll let you know when I've figured out the rest." But perhaps that would be too abrasive, and we all know that I'm not one for confrontation. 

I hadn't been around people in weeks, I was happy to stand again, I hadn't really thought about where I'd be applying next. 

And perhaps that's where the problem lies. I hadn't put enough thought into my future endeavors. For up until this point, things were calculated for me or I had a plan and went with the flow to make it all happen. 

This should be no different. 

But it is. 

And that terrifies me. 

What if I don't find a "big girl job?" OR what if I find a job and I don't like it? OR what if I'm bad at it? 

What if everything that I thought I was passionate about/thought I was good at has been a complete misunderstanding. What if I'm a failure. 

This is where I find myself a lot these days. Thinking. Asking myself about life. And in all honesty, I just want to enjoy some free time. I would love a job, I'd love to be practicing my degree, but I also know that I have time for all that.

And thus, here I am. Typing away on my MacBook in the dark of my bedroom at midnight. Snapchatting my best friend while he stares out the window of his New York City digs. 

Envious doesn't even begin to explain it. 

I want adventure. I want love. I want to experience life. I want happiness. 

Perhaps I'm selfish. Perhaps I should have experienced more while in college. Perhaps I should suck it up, stop being picky, and just get a job.

I've had some time to explore my interests. Making plenty of lists. I can safely say that the job hunting process is tiring. It can be cruel. But it can also be a great way to do some soul searching. I'll keep trying to figure out what's happening and where I'll go from here…. but for now, the tshirt is still an option. 

And now that I have successfully survived the most painful thing I've had to date (that dang cyst was paralyzing), I think that I'll be able to survive the summer and embark on a new journey of self discovery and post-grad life choices. 

Come August, when everyone is going back to school, I hope that this veil of foggy tomorrows and rainy what ifs will go away. I'll be able to focus again and get back to living. 

Until then, I digress. 

Different.

And that's when I realized that my family was different. 

As I scrolled through the countless images of families dressed in pastels. Baskets in hand. Bonnets on heads. 

I realized what I wanted. 

I wanted to feel love. 

It all makes sense. 

My family, we love each other. But we don't express it as others do.  

We don't go on family vacations. No family dinners. No trips to the lake, like we used to. 

I want that. 

I want an extended family. In-laws. Cousins. Nieces. Nephews. 

I wanted to share and experience in love. 

Every holiday comes and goes, we'll get gifts for a split second, revel in each others company over a meal, and then it's off our separate ways. To the living room for television. Escaping to the internet to see what others were doing. And yard work or dishes for the parentals. 

Maybe this is why I'm so hesitant to love, but so eager at the same time. 

I know what I want, but I've never had the chance to partake. 

And that's the scary part. 

What happens when I do? 

Will I leach on. Run away. Or just play it coy, like I always do. 

I love love. I just can't bring myself to say it out loud.

Yes, I'm a hopeless romantic. I dream of the day that someone will feel for me the way that I feel for them. 

It may not be a sparks fly moment, like they show in movies, but a girl can dream. 

I just want to feel. 

Ya know?

Life passes us by. Day by day.

We're constantly drudging along, floating by, looking forward to the future. But what about the present?

My family doesn't understand why I'm so hellbent on the idea of one day falling in love. 

But the truth is -- I've never fallen in love. With a human being. 

Therefore, I don't know what I'm missing out on. 

It's terrifying. Knowing there's a feeling that pretty much the entire world has felt at some point in their lives, sometimes multiple times.

And I have not. 

I fall in love with characters. These ideas and concepts of people in books, movies, shows, songs, and more. And maybe that's why I dream up the characters of my ideal mate. 

He'll understand my love for music, my nervous habit of licking my teeth, the way that I'd rather spend hours at concerts or coffee shops than at the mall. How Momma Autumn is my best friend. And how I've been collecting postcards for the majority of my life, but I cannot honestly tell you where most of them are stashed around my house. 

He'll get that. 

And I'll get him. 

But I don't get to experience that. Not right now. 

And that's seriously okay. It's just heartbreaking sometimes. 

Especially around holidays. 

As friends and their families take photos and partake in their traditions. 

I sit. 

In my room. 

Benge watching television shows and romantic comedies. 

That's my life. 

I'm living it. 

But I'm also praying and hoping for an ever loving future. 

And remember, it's okay to be different. This is what life is all about. 

I just can't wait to admit my love. 

Moving

Change. Not the loose kind. The life kind. 

After a little over 7 years being stationary in one home, twenty two years of my life gets placed into boxes, bags and bins. The time has come. 

To move.

As we riffle through our belongings, this is my time to reflect. To reminisce. To pilfer over the items that have had significant meaning to me over the years. Now, they all get tossed into piles. Piles to be moved into a new home. 

I've already had the hard move. Moving in the middle of your Freshman year of high school is difficult. Spending my early years in the walls of a mold-infested farm home with acres of land out in the country to sing, dance, and explore; then moving to the swoop-roofed home "in-town." The difference was a lot to handle at the time. 

And now, we move yet again. Here, only a few hundred feet away from the last. A home built in the late 1880's, with the charm and potential of a home my family had been seeking for years. 

As I sit here, I see our belongings in piles, crowded around me, enclosing my workspace that has turned into the couch. Boxes of curtains, old toys, books, musical instruments and more. These items that have a history, stories, and those that are new and are waiting to experience life with us. 

With exposed brick and hardwood floors, I feel at home. Yes, the vibes here are nice. A lot of history, a ton of character, and space that will make this house a home. 

The move has taken its toll -- a change in moods, stress levels at an all time high, and disorganization -- we're adjusting. 

Some more than others. 

I enjoy the change. I feel like we have a breath of fresh air in the family now. The dynamics different, but stronger. I feel matured? Wiser? No. Just better. Different.

As time went on in our latest home, more and more things began to disappear. Into the abyss of boxes and bags. Labels made their ways onto the piles. But the feeling was unshakeable. 

Every time I walked into my house, something different was missing. It began to feel empty.  

As we embarked on this change, I could feel the cold walls becoming barren.  No memories left.  No love to spare.  

Perhaps this was how we were all beginning to feel. Cold, barren, empty, and ready to move on. Because as we all know, everything is a metaphor anyhow. We were becoming the house, and the house we. 

No longer were we able to hide in our rooms with our gadgets, we spent time together in the empty rooms of what once were our living room, sun room, and dining room. Toward the end of the move, we had become squatters in our home. 

Air mattresses lined the interior of the first floor of the house. Coolers sat around for drinks and "refrigeration" of food. Pop cans scattered throughout with wrappers and fry boxes a wry. 

Our home was beginning to revert back to a house. Just some house that we were crashing in for a few nights until we got settled into the new place. The walls were stripped of their charm and family photos. No more music to fill the air, and no more food to disperse aromas throughout the house. 

The change was different. A little weird. Especially at this time in my life. 

I'm graduating in a little over a month from college. This means the time is nearing for me to find a "big girl" job, get a "big girl" apartment, and start my "big girl" life. No longer can I escape from the real world madness, and hide in the surroundings of campus. But I'm ready for it. 

I've been in this awkward limbo where I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.  I know my future is awaiting me, but I also want to make sure that I enjoy every last moment that I have with the Norse as an undergrad. Attending games, fraternity parties, events, having lunch on-campus, staying up late writing papers, and enjoying the scenery of our campus. But, I also am ready to focus on more intimate details of my life. 

For years, I have had to spread myself thin between school, homework, work, organizations A-Z, meetings, family time, internships, free time, and sleep.  I'm ready for the days where I can work during the day, enjoy lunch breaks with coworkers and friends, focus on my job and its projects, then focus on myself and my hobbies. Making time for family and friends, and really strategizing my time as a young adult. 

This will be amazing, and maybe I have no concept of what life actually is like, but that's okay. I'm ready to find out. That's the adventure.

So until then, I'll continue to write little ramblings on my Mac in coffee shops, take notes of fantasies in the note section of my iPhone, tweet about my favorite moments, and continue to live my life as a college Senior. I'll need to start working on a plan for how I'll decorate my cap, and pick out what dress to wear. I'll need a plan for a grad party, and prepare myself for the summer of weddings and baby showers. Summer is right around the bin, and I cannot wait for the sun and fun of life. Until then, here's this ramble. Change is a good thing. #NKUnextstep 

A Tale of 'Never Been Kissed'

I've had the privilege of being published in my school's paper, check it out! 

The Northerner: A tale of 'never been kissed'

(p.s. it was in honor of Valentine's Day nearing, and as most of you know, this is real). 

A Love Poem (of Sorts).

 

He sees her from across the room.

His eyes light up.
Her heart

stops.


Time stands   

still.



The room is full.
Yet, there is no one else.

     Just he.
     Just her.


It's all a blur.


When their eyes meet, his smile widens.

Never has he seen such a girl,
a dreams-come-true kind of gal.

She in her unique ways.
He in his mysterious manner.

Together. 
What a pair.
 

A Farewell Letter Of Sorts...

And now this is goodbye. 

With every word I type, I can't help but think how simply cliche this is. We've known each other for almost a year now, and yet, it's already time to say goodbye. We must move our separate ways. You will mature and so will I. We will reminisce about the good times we shared. But for now, we must prepare our farewells. 

We had a good run. You and I. 

Sorority dinners and dances. Concerts every other week. Movies on the lawn. Road trips to Nashville. Debates about music and film. Late night fireside chats. Time spent in the city. Social media escapades. And so much more. 

We spent everyday together. You walked me to class, you held my hand as I applied for my last semester of college. We bonded over our love for music. You helped me land those internships. You even helped keep me sane during those days where it felt like EVERYONE was engaged. (This is still a problem for me). 

You get me. Really, you do. When I needed that Thought Catalog article, you had me covered. When I was waiting for that cute boy to talk to me, you were there. With a little push in the right direction and a splendid shade of lip stain, you always had my back. 

From party dresses, to leather coats, to pink bandanas: you were there. With that wink in my direction -- letting me know that things were about to get better. With a lyric that helped me get through the day. Helping me clean the dust off my vinyl collection.  Maintaining patience when I insist upon being completely sarcastic. I applaud you and your perseverance to be with me through the good and the bad. 

Thank you. Without your support and guidance along the way, I wouldn't be here writing this letter to you. 

You know who you are. You were there for me wherever I needed you. You didn't ditch me on those Friday nights. And you were pleased to watch (500) Days of Summer with me for the 600th time. Because, I mean, seriously. It's the best soundtrack. 

Better yet, you were there for so many of my friends and family. Yes, lives were celebrated. And love was lost. But that's life. You were there, and that's all that matters. 

I know you and I made a great team. But I must move on. I've got another one of you to move on to. Hopefully they'll get me as much as you did. 

Here's to you, my friend. It's been one heck of a year, 2013. As Fall Out Boy would say, Thnks Fr Th Mmrs. 

It's been great getting to know you 2013, growing another year older with you. Attempting to drive. Yea, hopefully 2014 will treat me even better. 

Cheers to an even more rad year, 2014. Catch you on the flip side, 2013. 

Live it, love it, caress it.

-Coco