Sep
03
The difference between Ponys, Bangs and Fringe (and other things I've learned over the past 12 months)I don't want to live in New York City. According to Facebook, approximately 85% of my social circle has made a break for it. It's a fascinating city. It's huge, a mammoth metropolis pulsating with creativity and cheap ethnic food. And it has Central Park and the Met. But it is an expensive city to inhabit, and I have no intention of overexerting myself so that I can afford a small apartment an hour's commute away from my workplace and then struggle to make time for my personal projects. I love cities, but what is about them that I love? I expect a good city to have a large selection of restaurants. Dining out is perhaps my favorite pastime. I want cheap food, fresh food, foreign food and the option of elaborate 5-course dinners. I want bakeries, specialty coffee shops and at least one hip bar with a dance floor. I need nature, whether it be found in a nearby ocean, mountain range or hidden arboretum. I like public transport, and I like being able to ride my bicycle wherever I go. Fair weather and flat landscapes don't hurt. I can't live in a city that clogs my skin and soils my shoes with pollution. I need personal space; studio apartments don't cut it, and I should be able to sunbathe in public parks without being harassed. Sure, I could find both an apartment and a job in one neighborhood, Brooklyn, for example. But if I don't leave my neighborhood, then why don't I just live in a smaller city? Having made more professional contacts over the internet than at bars, gallery openings or conferences, I don't buy into the argument that NYC is where it all happens.
When my back was turned, Technology excused itself and slipped out the bathroom window. For someone who went straight from dabbling in fingerpaint to pulling all-nighters tapping the keys on her family's PC, it's painfully embarrassing to admit. But that just goes to prove it could happen to anyone (and will happen to everyone, at some point). While I was plucking vegetables from the ground, my peers were becoming new media specialists and information designers. I'm sorry, what? Gone are the days when a firm understanding of Microsoft Office, Adobe Photoshop and Pagemaker, and a basic knowledge of HTML make the cut. In an effort to catch up, I have enrolled in a couple of online courses that start later this month. (Sign up for the free online courses put on by CreativeTechs in Seattle!) And over the next month or two, I will be working to develop a website and online portfolio for some of my creative work.
More of a reminder than a new revelation, but the world is constructed to crush hope. I hate to sound cynical, but the truth is that many people enjoy preventing others from achieving their aspirations. Insecurity coaxes them out of pursuing their own dreams and selfishness persuades them to interfere with yours. To put it less negatively, most people are naturally risk-aversive. And what sounds fun to you sounds to them like a terrible risk that they (and you, likewise) cannot afford to take. Compromising your desires for the sake of others is an open invitation for regret.
Setting aside all the information I absorbed during those two unforgettable months farming in France (like how to milk a goat), I have learned much in the realm of practical skills necessary for everyday living. I have learned to patch and replace the tubes on a bicycle. I have learned to successfully operate an old-fashioned, all-metal can opener (it's much more difficult for lefties). Out of fear of early arthritis and osteoporosis, I have overcome the terrible habit of cracking my neck excessively. It probably helps that I have a desk to work at, compared with my old routine of curling up on my bed against the wall with my computer set on my thighs.
I am through with working in retail.
If left to my own devices, I am susceptible to shopping addictions. Fortunately, my anti-capitalist boyfriend, tiny bank account and love of Berlin's aesthetic anarchy keep me in check. That said, when I shop for clothes, I dress to impress. But the sole target of my efforts, the object of my affection, couldn't care less how I dress (so long as it doesn't bring him unwanted attention). I should be falling to my knees in gratitude. He doesn't want me in heels! He doesn't like make-up! I can use the money on things that matter, on things I really care about -- on food! But it doesn't work that way. Instead I try twice as hard, committed to changing his perception of fashion and to show him all a woman can be.
Though I care only for his opinion, it's a grand shame that no one else was there to witness the farmer version of myself. Bearing a golden farmer's tan and a body overworked by manual labor suits me well. I discovered a new muscle in my arms (perhaps an appendage of the triceps), which unfortunately develops only after hours of lifting hoes and swinging sieves. I suspect it to be that muscle that forces bodybuilders to walk with their arms lifted from their sides. The sensation is akin to putting a little pillow underneath your armpit.
For myself, I have always been fond of one-length, blunt haircuts, short or long. Layers are associated with Jennifer Aniston and teenagers at the mall. But after being pestered for having just so much hair, I decided to give them a try. As it turns out, layers create movement, add volume and free my curls. Who knew. I went to a salon in Prenzlauerberg (Schlumilu), negotiated with the stylist and in the end lost more hair than I originally wanted. But when I walked out of the salon, I felt fantastic, young and sexy. I didn't take a picture and most likely won't be able to style it that well on my own. But I felt more chic then than I have in a long, long time, and that feeling will stick with me for awhile.
My second beauty discovery was another surprise. The secret to shiny, healthy hair is to not shampoo it. I tried the "no 'poo" method before with mixed results. Now I realize that I have to sweat. On the farms, I would sweat through most of the afternoon and couldn't shower every day (one must conserve the resources most precious to us, fudge excepted). I wash my hair with both shampoo and conditioner approximately once a week. I can't brush my hair much in the morning, otherwise it will fall flat. But if I brush it after I'm done sweating (either from yardwork or exercise) and before I go to bed, it keeps its body and most of the waves. In the past my hair was too fine and oily for this method to work. Now that I have more texture (and more hair), there seems to be no problem. The only downside is that it sometimes starts to smell like bedhead.
Moving in with a boyfriend is not as difficult as they make it out to be. When Matt and I first began thinking about WWOOFing and moving abroad, we discussed what it meant in terms of sharing a living space. It was proposed that we could either stay in the States and try living together, or to move abroad -- but that we shouldn't try living together while taking our first international trip together, that the strain it would put on our relationship would likely be much too great. But as it turns out, we are good friends and compatible living partners. We have not been separated (defined by a distance of 30 feet or more) for more than a total of 15 hours since the end of April. That is a lot of together-time. There are times we both get moody, but the experience has absolutely brought us closer together. Within our experience as a couple is an entire treasure trove gleaming with gems of self-discovery.
Once again, this is not a lesson recently learned, but of which I have been gently reminded. And that is just how much my family means to me.
Your family really loves you. This is from your Grandma that loves you!!! Looking forward to seeing you soon.