Les Aventures

An apology to you, my blog, and myself.

I found myself sifting through my past blog posts today during downtime at work. I was humiliated to realize that it has been almost a year since I last wrote about anything. First, I'm not sure how August of 2014 suddenly became June of 2015. Second, my leave of absence stems from a combination of an utter lack of inspiration and a huge bout of writer's block. Those might be the same thing, but I'll classify them as two different things in this case.

Inspiration left me high and dry in about October. By then I was already living and going to school in New York, the one place I was excited to write about. New York is an exciting and inspirational city, writers have been going on about its better and worst qualities since its conception. After I arrived, I had once again left my comfort zone and thrust myself into something new and exciting, and if anyone knows me at all, you'll know that I thrive in places that are fast paced, different, and initially uncomfortable. Something about my new environment sucked the inspiration and passion for writing that I once held so dear right out of my life. I would sit down and try to and write something, anything, Nothing came to me. My routine went something like this: think about a topic, sit down, start typing, become disgusted with my work, deem myself unable to continue, and shut the laptop. It was a cycle, nothing I wrote felt right. Everything seemed fake and unrealistic. Needless to say, to feel like I lost my talent was to feel like I lost a dear friend. I gave up on it, going as far as to allow my blog's account to become disabled. I didn't even flinch when I received the email, the departure of my writer's inspiration had plunged me into indifference. jklkj

I'll blame passion's departure on a few factors; The main entities include stress, school, and lack of time. Stress and school naturally go hand in hand though they also act independently. New York City is stressful as hell. You are always rushing, always around people, always trying to get somewhere, and always trying to do something. Got a late start to where you're going? Stress. Train isn't running? Stress. It's raining? Stress. Can't get a cab? Stress. A million slow-walking people in your way? Stress. The city never sits still, therefore neither do its inhabitants. As someone who really relishes in their downtime, the adjustment was a difficult one. That doesn't go to say that I haven't adapted, I absolutely adore my new home and have never felt more comfortable than I do here. Aside from the basic stresses of city life, school really messed with my writing and brainstorming processes. While I love to write, school writing is usually purely academic. Unfortunately for me, my major and core curriculum don't often allow me the opportunity to write creatively. To go from wide open writing spaces to a structured and specific style really effected the way I looked at writing. Because I was expected to write in such a specific way, I became accustomed to formal academic writing and wasn't able to focus on my own style. Also, college is hard and when do you really have time to sit down and do something for yourself once and a while? Never.

Now that I've somewhat explained my leave of absence, I can now explain my life in its present state:

I am - at least I think I am - thriving. I ended school in early May with some bad-ass grades. I mean, they weren't straight A's but they were waaay up from first semester. I'm spending my summer in New York working as a receptionist full time. I recently went home for a short time and felt a strange and unexpected longing for the city. I came to the realization that New York is where I feel most like myself, therefore allowing me to call New York my home. I pay rent to live here, and I call it "home" now even when I'm back at my parent's house. For most people my age, home still is their parents house. Having the parent's house as home is something I moved on from long ago, it was a blunt reminder of how I no longer feel comfortable where I was raised.

Even though I'm enjoying work and making some money that I can save to travel, I feel like it might slightly be sucking my soul out of my body. It pays well and it's something to do, I find that I'm having a rough time getting used to some of the people as they get used to me. I think it will get better. It's still only my first week on the job and I have to allow myself some time to adjust. On the topic of adjustment, I have not felt the effects of depression in months. As far as I can tell, I'm free of that painful, icy, gripping feeling that once described so often in my entries. It feels good to be a normal, happy person again. There are on and off days, of course, but the sensation that I once feared has not bothered me in a long time, and if it has, it has been fleeting.

Not that every single person needs an update on my life, but it gives me great pleasure to share recent happenings with those who have been checking back to see if anything has happened here. I see you - I can check the traffic to this page, and it touches me that people actually take an interest in my musings. I'd like to make this post a formal apology to not only those who actually read my entries, but also an apology to my blog (I promised that I would keep it updated) and myself (I swore that I would write at least once a week for my own sanity). Today I turn over a new leaf and make a real promise to get back to what I once loved the most: writing. 

Late night pessimism.

I can't really say I've been happy since I've been home. I flip back through the time between my arrival from France and now a lot. There are only a few times that I have been genuinely happy, and the times are days between. I guess I shouldn't expect to be happy every day of my life, even though that would be really nice. I'm just kind of dead feeling. I'm upset that home wasn't all it was cracked up to be, I'm upset that some things are the way they are, and I'm upset that people are the way they are. That's a lot to be upset about, isn't it? Upset that things just can't and won't live up to expectations. I didn't realize how much I'd been making excuses for what's around me. For me, it really does suck here. Remember when I thought about this a year ago, right before I was about to go away to France? Yeah, well. Here I am again. The novelty of home has worn off right along with my temporary optimism. 

Don't get me wrong. I love my home in my own way, I love my good friends dearly. I love my mother so so so much. I love quite a few things about my little world. But there are a lot of things that I don't like. And I'm ready to let them go again and move on. I can only take this in small doses, and I'd say summer was a heaping spoon full. I know I'm ready to go because the shit-hole, heart gripping, icy blanket, drowning feeling is no longer occasional. It is now almost constant. I'm back in a box after wide open space. 

Isn't it weird how much a place can weigh you down? Wouldn't you think that your home would boost you up and fill you to the brim? Don't you think that you should feel content and reluctant to leave the place that raised you? Well instead of feeling whole hearted and full of happy things, I feel sick and oppressed. I am no longer nurtured or inspired by this place. I am no longer gazing upon my home with affection. I'm ready to go. 

I told my mom this today after another disappointing day. "Dani," she said in response, "don't go before your time." Is my time not now? To be fair, most of the people that matter to me are packing up right along side me to live in New York. What else is going to be left if I leave right now? Empty "I miss you" texts, overpriced but delicious mexican food, my cat, and the beach. Those are things that I can live without... I did it once, and I'll do it a thousand more times. (But this time the cat's coming with me.)

Giving & Getting

I have always given my heart away freely to whomever has asked for it. I’ve even given it away to people who haven’t. Not always in that “love” sense - I’ll give my heart to friends and family. I’ll even give my heart to strangers if they really want it. I’m willing to share my thoughts, fears, dreams, hopes, and everything that can make you happy, sad, mad, or crazy. In a way, it’s kind of a curse. I’ve got an open-book syndrome that allows people to know way too many things about me in a too-short amount of time. It’s my way of getting to know and forming connections with people. Oddly enough, I think people seem to like it. I guess when you’re real about yourself with other people, they’ll be real with you.

Sometimes though, being emotionally open can really suck. Throw being an idealist into the mix and it really gets frustrating. When you’re as open as I am, you can’t help but hope people will reciprocate whatever you’re giving… And by “hope”, I really mean expect. But that is how it works, right? You get what you give? You share & I share? What goes around comes around? Not always.

I went through this phase in November where I was constantly disappointed by so many of the people and things that were going on around me. It seemed like no one gave a shit about me. And, quite frankly, it could have been true. Who would give a shit about another person when everyone else is stressing out about 1. (where I was) being in France 2. school or 3. life? Me, being idealistic and not understanding why so many things just sucked, turned to my therapist for an explanation.

“Dani,” she told me, “you’ve really got to lower your expectations of people.” As an idealist, this sort of made me feel offended for the entire human population. I was supposed to lower my expectations of all people? That seemed kind of mean. Then she explained why. Some people just aren’t on the same level. One person could be here, and another there… Someone could be growing and focusing only on themselves, others could be grabbing everyone they can to help, drag down, love, whatever. The main point is: people’s capabilities are limited, and not everyone can be on the same level as you might be. So then, I asked… How can I stop feeling like shit all the time? It seems like no one cares about me, I always feel let down. The answer was to stop expecting things. Stop assuming that people are going to do this, feel that, be here, or go there. Expect the bare minimum, then you can’t be disappointed.

Not to sound annoying or anything, but I see the glass half full. It’s kind of ironic that I’m an optimist because I’m also pretty cynical. I fail to see a lot of good in humanity, yet I expect great things from it. Doesn’t make much sense, but we’re not discussing my logic today. Anyway, because I’m pretty optimistic, I tend to expect the best. Always expecting the best and then suddenly having to expect the bare minimum is a real wake up call. It’s a habit that you have to get into, and if you don’t practice it, you revert into being an optimist and expecting really great things all the time. Kind of screwed up, isn’t it?

So here I am. I’m back to how I was feeling in November. I give what I can, and I get what I get. I’m brought back to preschool when I’d get a handful of goldfish, would want more, and would get taunted by this annoying girl who used to say “you get what you get and you don’t throw a fit.” I always wanted to knock her goldfish out of her hands, but she was right. What can I do? Be upset because people are on their own levels? Be frustrated because not everyone can reciprocate exactly what I give? I can’t put any of this on one person, thing, or event. I'm not trying to discriminate someone or something specific, nor am I trying to offend and say that I'm disappointed in YOU... I feel a little weird that I have to put a disclaimer on my own blog. It just seems to be a part of life, and I can’t be the only one who feels this way. In fact, I know I’m not. Situations vary, I guess, and so do people.

 

In the meantime : Needing/Getting by OK Go http://youtu.be/MejbOFk7H6c

 

The Black Sheep

I can't say that I've ever been the life of the party, or that girl who knows everyone, or even the best person to hit up a conversation with. I'm kind of an introvert. And when I say kind of, I mean a real staying-at-home-alone-in-quiet-dont-talk-to-me-you-give-me-anxiety kind of way. 

So I went to France - if you didn't know that already - and found this confidence I'd never had before. I could talk to people, I could mingle, I could start conversations. I felt in control of my social life and the social situation. I knew how to handle anything that came at me, and make a good time out of it. I didn't feel as  introvert-y. In fact, I started internally classifying myself as a temporary extrovert with introvert-like qualities. It was something I thought would never ever happen in my life. But it did.

So I've been home for about 2 1/2 weeks. I've reintregrated myself back into the "social scene". I've made many appearances, jaded by it all and longing for my life back in the motherland - France. I still had my confidence a week ago... Hell, maybe even a few hours ago, but it seems to have slipped away within the past few hours.

I went to a party... I guess I didn't know many people. I knew faces but not names. I had met most people in passing, or not at all. It was that kind of group, aside from two people I really knew. I felt invivisible, awkward, and introverted as hell for the first time in 6 months. It was like I was a new person. Quiet, invisible, wallflowery, awkward, standing-there-while-you-talk-and-not-being-talked-to Dani. It was a mystery I couldn't understand as I stared at all the people laughing around me. Why wasn't I having fun? Why was I feeling so out of place? 

I ended up feeling sort of gross after a drink... And I have something early tomorrow morning, so I called an Uber and ran out of the house. As fun as it all seemed, and I knew for a fact it was fun, I had to leave and go be where I couldn't be a black sheep. My room... With my journal and my TV and my laptop. 

All in all, the party was fun. Had I not been feeling so out of place, I would have had an amazing time. Instead, my confidence has been lost. I'm not quite sure where it went or what happened to it. Maybe the situation of the evening scared it away, or maybe I've been holding my head so high for the past two weeks that I can't make myself feel extroverted anymore... Either way, I hope my confidence isn't gone forever. I really enjoyed being a pretend extrovert. 

Gestation period.

9 months ago (264 days ago. to be exact) I hopped on a plane and found myself in Rennes, France. It's sort of a frightening place to wind up if you've lived your entire life undictated by weather, the bus, and a language barrier... I got here and I clearly had no idea why I had made the decision to live abroad. It's a shock to your everything.

I think we all thought that this would last forever. We got so used to imagining that France was never ending that we stopped counting the days and started counting moments. I didn't want to be bothered with the three diget number that told me how far away home was. We got together and did crazy things. We did what we could to pass what felt like an eternity, especially when the grey heavens opened up on you twice a day. We resigned to the permanence and forgot the date only to have May 28th sneak up on us without a warning.  We only started counting when the days became too few, and even then we didn't want to look because that solitary number was getting smaller far too quickly.

To reflect fully, I don't think I remember feeling truly happy in France until New Years. It wasn't until Aimee and Flora welcomed me into their Bastille apartment that I felt happy about my decision to move abroad. Moving to another country does funny things to your expectations, hopes, perceptions, and fears. The highs are the highest highs you will ever have, but the lows are crushingly low. So we set out as a group to help eachother out and feel the happiest we possibly could. We did what we wanted and let the liberation make us happy. Once we were liberated from the first three months, everything changed. We shed our old selves, old habits, and old ideas and became the people that we were designed to be. 

That's when everything changed for the better, I'd say. The liberation made me happy. I became deliriously and genuinely happy. I had beautiful friends and a beautiful life. I ate, I drank, I smoked, I laughed, I smiled, I lived. Sometimes it felt like none of it was real, which was really scary. Life became such a blur of school, travel, and friends that time seemed to rocket past us. Moments of success popped up and added to the experience. I hit the point when I realized that I was bilingual, I was present for a new addition to my host family, I completed a book in French and actually understood it, I visited Nice and relived the summer of 2012, I talked with my host mom until midnight... 

The 9 months, though, were also held together by my friends. I'd never really had more than three good friends at one time... And suddenly I found myself with seven. We became eachother's support system and eachother's family. We did everything together and became inseparable. We helped eachother fight through the rough winter months, forgot things and helped eachother remembered them, planned our weddings, and watched the days blur together into one. We are eight sisters who would do anything for one another, and it's going to be painful to separate from them, even if part of us will be together sooner than later. I think that's the worst part of leaving... Leaving those who went through your journey with you, whether it be friends, host family, or real family. 

I keep trying to think about what I've learned from my 9 months... It's safe to say that I grew and changed more than I thought was possible. I grew into myself and found the real me hidden away in self conciousness and fear... I grew from a teen into an adult (mentally and literally) and became more comfortable with moi-même. My mind expanded beyond limits I could understand. I grew intellectually. I made friendships that will last longer than a lifetime. And now it's over. 

I can't say I really think it's over though. I don't think SYA 2014 will let each other easily forget the year we spent together... The end of a chapter is just the start of a new one. 

 

 

* The idea of the gestation period is the brainchild of Helen and Cleo

 

18 ans, presque.

Every night before I go to bed, I check my countdown app on my iPhone. I know that every day it's going to be one day less than it was the night before, but I can't help myself. It's my nightly habit and I like it. Many of my countdowns have come and gone, but there's a new one that's almost down for the count: my 18th birthday.

Lately, before I've fallen asleep, I have had exestential crises about my age. 17. How am I almost 18? How am I almost a legal adult? Am I gonna vote? Do I want to let go of my 17th year? Am I ready to let go of my 17th year? Will 18 be as good? I don't know if I'm ready, despite the fact that I know that I'm ready. Does that make sense? I don't think so. It has kept me up for two hours each night. Two hours of precious sleep lost to worrying.

All I can think about is how I'm getting older. I know, I know. I shouldn't be worrying about getting older at the age of 18. But do you realize that 10 years ago, I was 8. That is insane. Look at how big I am now! How is it that 1. 10 years has passed in my life in the blink of an eye 2. I've grown in size, intelligence, and maturity. I mean yes, it's 10 years, but to me it does not seem that long ago. My friend Flora calls us all giant babies. We are all giant babies walking around and living our lives. I do somewhat agree with her... There are times that I feel so young, I just don't know how I'm doing or what I'm doing. I also still heavily depend on my mother. Exetential crisis.

So here I am almost a week out and I've been reflecting on my 17th year as a golden year. You know what I accomplished? A ton. You know how I feel about this year? Awesome. I'm proud of this year - being 17 was incredible. I put myself through a lot and made it through with no more than a scratch or two. 

You really don't know what you've got until you leave it... And then come back to it.

I'd first like to apologize for my leave of absence. I have been moving around a lot lately - I've only just realized that I really should start staying in once place.

I got back from the United States yesterday. Before spending 9 days there, I had lived consecutively in France for 6 months. Half of a year. A lot of time. The beginning, as most of you may know, was hard. Home suddenly became ideal. I had forgotten how much I loved it, because it had been so normal and consistent. I longed for home. I missed the sun & the weather that never goes below 50. I missed having my own bathroom & a stand up shower. I missed English My family. My friends. My bed. But eventually, that all changed. This slowly became my normality. France became my life. The images of home and everything that I was used to gradually  ebbed away. The longing for familiarity, if not gone, was completely numb. 

My blessed and lucky life was only just brought to my attention upon my latest visit home. Where I live is incredible, I can't believe I ever took it for granted and let myself forget. My family & friends are amazing, the weather is gorgeous all of the time, the beach is moments away, I have my own bathroom, my bed that I've slept in for years, my cat, my family, my mom, familiarty. Fondness for my home came as soon as I touched down at LAX. Home is beautiful, home is comfort, home is home. Nobody where I am from seems to realize it. I used to want so badly to get out of Laguna Beach, CA and find some "culture". How was I ever so blind that I didn't see Laguna's culture? It may not be what you would picture a culture to be, but it has one. Culture isn't just walking the streets of Rennes with a cigarette in hand. The beach seems to be something you drive by every day when you live there. But it becomes a gem when you haven't seen it in half of a year. I thought the inhabitants were superficial, but getting the chance to have genuine conversations with random people that I'd never met before on the street changed my mind.

My time at home passed too quickly. I felt so happy being in such a familiar place. I honestly felt like I never left - I simply picked up my California life where I had left it. I feel so blessed to be able to call where I live(d) home. I'm lucky that I have an amazing mother (hi mom!) and family... I'm incredibly lucky to have friends who will always be there to welcome me home with open arms. I'm now back in Rennes: jetlagged, unable to sleep, and also pretty content to be in my other home. I still have a little more longing for home as I just left (not to mention that my home is amazing).  But this longing is less than the first time. I think it gets easier every time you leave. That's either terrifying or reassuring... I'm not sure which one.

Time that flies.

At least once a day, I find myself looking at my little countdown application on my phone. I've got all of my important dates there: Days left to the US (14), 18th birthday (43), end of SYA (97), graduation (120). They're my little slivers of hope. They're proof that bad days pass, proof that "it goes on". I always try to have something good on the horizon... It's my way of getting through life. It is so much easier to get through difficult days, projects, classes, and situations when you've got something good in your future. 

Most of the time it seems like time goes by painfully slow. Especially when you stare at the countdowns. For some reason, though I have the days left in my planner and though I checked yesterday, I look at how many days there are until one of my next endavors. Every day. Surprise surprise, the number moved from 15 to 14. What a wonder. I think it's my form of comfort - always something coming. 

Though I am pained by the amount of time it's taking for 14 to get to 1, I'm constantly surprised by how fast the days pass. It's incredible. You get home at 5, and suddenly it's 23:59. I woke up 15 hours ago. I don't even know what I did with those 7 hours. 

I talk about the absurd rate time passes with someone every day. Everyone feels it. "How is it already 8:00 PM???"  How have we suddenly arrived at less than 100 days left here? How is it that I turn 18 in approximately a month and a half? It recently occured to me that the song One, Two Step by Ciara came out when I was in third grade. Third grade. 2004. 10 years ago. I can actually see myself trying to impress the boys in the lunch line with my knowledge of the lyrics. Has that much time really passed? My mind can't comprehend that decade.

Ok. So time feels like it's going a million miles a minute. What does that mean for me? What does that mean for all of us? It's impossible to let ourselves just sit around and not take advantage of the time that's drifting away; unused, unimportant, and forgetable. I'm too guilty of curling up in my bed around 2:00 PM on a Wednesday. I feel like we've got to seize the time we've got - I have always felt this way. Never waste the opportunities you have, you never know when you'll get the chance to do it again. Talk to someone you've never talked to before, say yes to every invitation, go out even if you're tired - we can sleep another time. Try something new, eat whatever you want, say how you feel, follow what your instincts are telling you to do. Do what you want. Right now none of us have time for insecurities and apprehension - only time to experience. 

In short, and in the words of every single person on the planet ever, "carpe diem." But actually.

And here we are: 6 months.

Time passes so incredibly quickly. 6 months ago I got on a plane in Boston and took a leap of faith. I changed my language, friends, family, city... Life... And now I'm here. I've spent a half of a year - a significant amount of time - living in this little country called France.

What have I achieved? I guess I'm willing to say with less reluctance that I'm bilingual. I have my off days, but the words just tumble out now. Half the time I'm not even thinking about what I'm saying, just responding. My bilingual abilities hit me hard in the face when my host brother picked me up from the train station this Sunday. He is young, he talks fast, he talks slang, and - most importantly - he mumbles. I'll have you know that I had a 20 minute conversation with him in the car and I only said "Comment?" twice. And I responded without a beat. Boom, bilingual. I've made fantastic new friends that I know I'll be close with for my entire life. I've discovered a whole new part of an amazing country. I've grown up. 

Today I talked with Kara, my best friend, at lunch. We both feel like we're in a place where we've got nothing but good things ahead of us. This is the best time of our lives... We're young, we're intelligent, we've got a world of opportunities. We've got the world and our bright and shining futures at our feet. 

It takes a lot of guts to take a plunge like this. How many people can say they voluntairely changed their life in a matter of a day? If you've got the itch to change your life and do something totally crazy like move abroad and go to school in a foreign language... Do it. You'll call yourself crazy, but you won't regret it.

 

"New year, new me," said every woman ever.

Why is it that we make January 1st the start of our goals? For me, the first of the year marks last night's hangover and an annoying habit of writing 13 instead of 14 on your papers and checks. It's just another day, except that there's no school, and I sleep in until 4:30 instead of 11:30. Oops. 

I guess, like every ambitious woman on a constant search for self-improvement, I do try to make goals for myself before or on the first of the year. The famed New Year's Resolution(s). "What am I going to do this year that I didn't do last year? A lot. Oh yeah, last year was so lame. I was so lame. Let's pretend last year never happened. This year is going to kick ass." Yeah. Then the first of February hits and the resolution of hitting the gym every day hits the floor as you hit the drive thru at In N Out, or McDonalds for those who are East Coasters. Resolutions are hard. Self control is hard. What makes it so hard to follow our own goals? Temptation, laziness, "I'll do it tomorrow." Everyone is a victim, and everyone is a culprit. Me included; My goal of trying to preserve my poor lactose intolerent body has gone horribly in these first 12 days of the year. Last night for dinner was pizza, today I ate butter, whipped cream, chocolate cake. My excuse? We had guests. Okay, Dani, okay.

Today I sat around with my stomach growling at me (not in the good way) and thought about my resolutions. What do I really need to do to make myself a better human being? I have my tiny little goals, but what are some big things I can do to truly make the most out of my last year as a true growing and developing young, adolescent woman? Then it hit me. New Years Revolution(s). Totally lame and cheesy, probably not original at all, but that's what this new year needs to be about. Revolutionizing my life. 

I guess I started my New Years Revolution back in September. I picked up my life and plopped myself down in Rennes, Bretagne, France. Zip code 35000 or 35700 depending on who you're asking. New language. New country. New friends. New family. New house. New cat. New food. New life. Revolutionary? I like to think so. Seems pretty New Years Revolutionary to me. But now that I am here and have survived more than 4 (what?) months here in Rennes, I think I can handle my own revolution of resolutions. Thus, ladies and gentlemen, the things that I have promised myself and will promise myself to do in this brilliant and huge year of 2014: 

1. Blog more. And here I am! That starts today. I pay for this lovely typepad.com blog each month, and maybe post twice. My goal for each week: at least two posts. 
2. Write in my journal. Actually. My mom calls me a journal whore, and rightfully so. I possess so many journals it's disgusting. My mother would be happy to show you the hundreds (I don't think that's an exaggeration) of journals I have had in my short 17.8 years of life. I have 3 by my bed just here alone. It's a real problem. But, that stopped with the purchase of my last journal. I recently (back in November?) bought a beautiful red Moleskine journal. I'm in love with it. And so far, I've written in it at least three times a week. I guess my other resolution could be stop being a journal whore. You're welcome, mom. 
3. Better relate to others. I guess this resolution started back in October/November as well. As a headstrong Aries, I am automatically inclined to try and shoot down other people's opinions and argue when people are blatantly wrong. I've always been able to accept other people's opinions, justify why both side is right, and respect why they feel that way, but I get this passionate burning anger when someone outright disagrees with me. Especially when it comes to politics. I used to let it show, but recently I've been biting back. Instead of saying, "No, that's not right." I breathe and say, "well why do you feel that way? What is your logic?" Helps that passionate burning really scary anger simmer down. Also makes for some really good conversation. 
4. Be more of myself. I feel like all of us have a huge tendancy to shove our true selves back in the shadows when we're introduced into new situations. Instead of being ourselves and showing our true colors in the best time possible, we put up what we want people to see. I did that when I came here. I was not fully me. When I went to Nice in the summer of 2012, I introduced myself to the group of people. Not a façad, myself. I ended up meeting my very best friend. And she is here with me. If you put yourself out there as yourself, you will attract the people you're meant to have in your life.
5. Be healthier. This does not necessarily mean hitting the gym every single day. This means, be healthier in general. Mental health, bodily health, friendship health, family health. It's important to keep a balanced life. It's really easy to get caught up in one thing more than the other, and really easily, one of the things in your life falls out of balance. I need to start excercising a little more, eating less of the things that makes my body yell at me, drink more water, take more naps, read more, write more, get more manicures, spend a little more time by myself, keep in touch with my American friends more, keep in touch with my distant family more, write handwritten letters, and make new friends. Health is so many things, and when one thing is out of wack, life is out of wack. 

And there we go. My (kind of) brief list to a better 2014. I'll be honest, 2013 was really rough. I saw some hard times. And I'll see hard times in 2014. College, another move, distance of friends & family, no doubt a little bit of struggle with my depression. Life can't always be easy, nor should it be. Nonetheless, I'm hoping that my New Year's Revolution makes the hard times a little less hard, and the good times a hell of a lot better. 

Bonne annee, everyone. May your New Years Resolutions (or Revolution) take you far.