Taken from Meggy’s blog at Fashionforwriters.com. Credit your sources, yo!
Imagine that you are going to lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture an alarm to the things you want to remember most from 2010.
At the risk of sounding like a broken record, the first thing I thought of was 32 North, the brown-turned-gray-painted house on North street, that slightly uphill street were we could wave to our neighbors. I will remember the smelly dishes always piled up in the sink, the mugs I would avoid using, the television in the fireplace. My only other idea of home is my bedroom in my father’s house on Long Island, which I love and hate for different reasons, where I spend most of my time alone. I want to know that there will be homes like 32 North again, where you can wake up by other people’s footsteps on the creaky floors and giggle together and dance so hard the front windows fog up. I spent a lot of 2010 lamenting the fact that I lacked a great love, but in honesty, I had many people to love. Six of them shared my address. That is a gift.
I want to remember the first time it felt to read a poem in front of a microphone. And then memorize better poems and spit those in front of crowds, in front of legs-folded college poets who had heard poetry all day long and wanted more. That feeling of being outside of myself, forgetting that I hate my voice and my stomach is probably too large and my hair too awkwardly triangular for flattering photographs, was beautiful. Is beautiful.
The long car ride down to South Carolina with my friends from my neighborhood who have always been a part of my life. Saving one Justin Bieber song for every state. Turning down the wrong road in Turkey, North Carolina. Tearing up when Liz and her father danced together. Twisting my ankle on the locked pool fence, another sign that I will never be very good at defying authority. Seeing everyone again this Christmas. Feeling like we haven’t spent a day apart.
Forcing myself into New York on a weekly basis even after that botched interview, because I was still thinking of Blazer, because I knew the city had more for me yet. Calling people about furniture donations, making karaoke plans with the other employees in the downtime. Walking around by myself in the village, debating subway routes with my father. Getting the internship a month after my bad interview. Doing a good job. Getting free bagels.
I impermanently moved, something I’ve been getting good at since I started at Geneseo, only this time it was overseas. I want to remember that weird first week that felt like months, waking up in Cassandra’s apartment at 2p.m. with jet lag wishing I was in my father’s basement watching Project Runway, desperate for something that felt normal. Walking around the Notre Dame at night, buying a crepe and briefly feeling like I could do it. Going to Evreux. Meeting everyone. Realizing I was not going to have a horrible time. Riding bikes home in the rain. Riding trains with new friends. Knowing anyone could be a new friend. Everything that felt terrible and difficult in the present tense that feels small, unnoticeable, now. Everything that felt impossible, now crossed off.
I tend to downgrade anything that I love or I’m proud of with a negative caveat – Oh, it wasn’t perfect, my life is good but its not that exciting – which I hate, but after all the above, I’ll allow this: 2010 was hard. There were questions, churning, uncertainty, too much thinking about how other people saw me. That’s for another day, another journal. Here’s to 2011, a year in which I promise to write more, hug more, and stop telling myself I don’t deserve better.