The expiration date.

There's nothing quite like the holiday season. The commercialization of it all urges us to think about Christmas in July and transforms Black Friday into Grey Thursday. There is the stress of whether UPS and FedEx will hold up their promises to deliver your family's gifts on time (but to remember that those drivers have families too). Family dinners and holiday parties with people you haven't seen in years hold the promise of awkward encounters and forced conversations. 

Yet there is something magical about this time of year. I'm sure that will all change once I enter the working world and that thing called "winter break" ceases to exist. There will no longer be as much time to dwell on the most minute details of the holiday season. 

There will no longer be as much time to spend with family and friends. Somehow, I'm not afraid--perhaps the greatest lesson I've learned in the past few years is to cherish the time that you do have. 

I consider myself lucky. I'm so lucky my parents gave me the opportunity to go to school 3,000 miles from home--possibly the furthest I could go away without leaving the country. I'm lucky to have them welcome me back every winter and summer break with arms that have been longing for one more hug. I'm lucky that despite the fact that I spend three-quarters of each year away from home, that it has only made me appreciate it more. 

Some people say that they couldn't ever leave home, that they couldn't ever imagine living farther than a two minute drive away from their boyfriend. 

Yes, the distance is heartbreaking. It tears at every fiber of your being, consumes your every thought until you feel numb. You must summon every last bit of strength you have to turn away and take that first step towards that train or airplane that separates you from the ones you love. 

You feel empty. You feel alone. In that moment, you've never been so alone in your entire life.

Yet there's always the promise of tomorrow. There's so much to look forward to in this great life we lead; there's so much life left to live. 

The distance and the goodbyes it requires may cause some of the worst pain I have ever felt. But it has also granted me the greatest happiness. I can't begin to describe what it feels like to be jerked back into my seat once the plane touches down on the tarmac, how loudly my heart beats as I walk towards the arrivals gate. 

That first embrace, that first kiss after almost four months is the greatest gift I could ever ask for. My holiday season is no longer about comparing Christmas gifts or counting party invitations--it's about cherishing the time that I have with the ones that I love. 

For now, that time does have an expiration date. It must always come to an end. I don't know if that will change once graduation day comes, but one thing is sure--I don't have to know. 

All that I know is that in this moment, I am choosing to live. I am choosing to appreciate this moment in my life for what it is. 

There really is nothing quite like being home for the holidays. 

Reality check.

Sometimes, things happen to us in life that are hard to explain. You hope to make these experiences sound better than what they are, or you hope to tone them down in your retelling of them. 

Yet sometimes, all you can do is say exactly what happened. No embellishments, no editing necessary. Bluntness is often unavoidable if you want to tell the truth. 

Thursday morning, I was hit by a car. 

That's it. That's the very cold, hard truth of the matter. It doesn't make any sense to precede those six words with any other explanation. 

As I was walking to my 8 a.m. class (that I was most likely running late for), I crossed the street in front of my apartment building thinking that all was clear as all the cars at the intersection closest to me were stopped. I had assumed too much, however, when the light changed and I was almost all the way across the road. 

A car had accelerated into its turn, hit me on my left side, and I went flying through the air. I can't tell you what I was thinking in those few moments between hearing the resounding thud of the metal colliding with my body and hitting the asphalt. My mind wandered to places that I hope it never has to wander again, thinking of those closest to me and what this could mean for my future. 

Somehow, I stood up immediately after landing on my left side. Adrenaline was most likely my saving grace, with the help of God. I can't be thankful enough that nothing worse happened than the injuries I suffered, which consisted of soreness, bruising, a few scrapes and road rash. 

I find myself thinking constantly about what could have been, and immediately praying with gratitude for His love. It was so hard to call my parents right after it happened. It was 5 a.m. in California and I woke them up crying, saying I was hit by a car. I'm so thankful nothing worse happened if only for them, as they must have felt so helpless 3,000 miles away. 

This was a striking reminder to me about the fragility of life. We are constantly overwhelmed with reports on the news of murders and injuries at the top of every hour, but we never think that something similar could happen to us. 

We are only human. Life is precious, and it is constantly fleeting. The best moments always are, which is all the more reason that we need to appreciate them. While my accident may have been minor, it has inspired so much more within me. 

Say 'I love you' at the end of every conversation. Call your parents every day. Don't wait to tell someone something because you're worried about what they'll think. Take that extra minute to catch up with a friend. 

Stop, and breathe. Appreciate your surroundings, and where you are in life. We'll never be this young again, and we never know what life may place in front of us. 

//image via Note to Self

Thinking in the long-term.

Going to school 3,000 miles away from home changes your perspective on a lot of things. You begin to think about things that are months, even years away. 

To tell you the truth, I hate thinking far into the future. I have always believed in focusing on the present, and completely immersing yourself in whatever you are working on or needs your attention at this moment. And generally, that has led me to success in the future without specifically planning on that success. 

If you work hard and you are kind, you will go far. 

Yet there are some things about the future that you just can't avoid thinking about or having to plan. Despite the fact that I am only in my third week of school, I am already stressed about trying to switch around my scheduled final exam periods to book a flight home. I'm worried about losing out on deals, or losing the opportunity to fly out at an earlier time because they're sold out. 

These are the things that keep me up at night. 

I think about exactly how many days I will have to spend with my family, my friends and Kyle. I think about when I will have to fly back for spring semester, which is not for another five months. I think about if I will go home for spring break, if I will go on a mission trip, or if someone from home will visit me. 

Just last night, my roommates and I were talking about where we might end up living after college. And that's still two years away. 

I hate thinking in terms of the far-off future, but as the years become shorter, that future doesn't seem as far-off as it once did when I was younger. I'm learning that thinking about what is to come is something that comes with growing older. I may try to fight it, but it's just another experience that I have to face in this weird time in life. 

I may be considered a legal adult, but I still feel like I should be relegated to the elementary school playground. I have matured, but I still have a long way to go. I have to step up and accept the responsibility of thinking about and planning for my future--after all, who else will? 

It's moments like these when I really feel like a twenty-something.  

//image via Lara Casey Media

Skype.

I've grown to be grateful for the simplest of things. Going away to college has certainly humbled me and made me realize what matters most. And after moving into an apartment, I've certainly learned how much I have to be thankful for at home. 

I'm sure that this will only continue as I grow older and experience all of the changes that are to come. 

Perhaps what I am most thankful for, however, is Skype. Modern technology has given us the ability to traverse great distances through a computer screen, or even from the convenience of our smart phones. 

I honestly don't think that I could have stayed in New York without Skype. Of course, I couldn't have stayed in New York for countless reasons--I couldn't have stayed if I didn't meet the friends that I have made, if I didn't feel so comfortable at my campus... the list goes on. 

Of course, Skype isn't the same as seeing someone face-to-face. And I don't think any technology, no matter how sophisticated, will ever replace that kind of contact. Yet Skype is the next best thing. One of my favorite feelings is the one that rushes over me when I see a loved one's face pop up on my screen as my computer starts ringing, begging to be answered. 

It is so comforting to be able to talk to someone from home, and to be reminded of that connection that you hold so dearly. It's easy to get caught up in the stresses of day-to-day life, and forget about what you have that may be far away physically, but is so close in your heart. 

Skype is like a little window to a world that you have left behind, but will one day return to again. It makes life that much more bearable. It's easy to wish away life, to become excited as you get another day closer to going home (or whatever you're looking forward to). 

Yet I hate wishing away these days. I will never be this young again, or in this exact situation again. After all, what other time in life will I be able to live in an apartment just outside New York City with some of my closest friends as my roommates? When will I have the opportunity to work for virtually any media outlet that I want merely because I live within 30 minutes of the media capital of the world? 

I am so blessed, and yet I still find myself wishing away the days. While what I have waiting for me back in California may be worth counting down these days, I also desperately wish to enjoy the present. 

So in the meantime, I am grateful for Skype. I look forward to the future, but I also cling to the present. Thank goodness for technology. 

Sleep (or lack thereof).

For the past few nights, I haven't been able to sleep. I've found myself lying in bed for hours on end, not thinking of anything particularly, but thinking nonetheless. My mind hasn't been able to stop. 

It's interesting, because usually when you go to sleep, you either dream or you have nightmares (or if you're lucky enough, you're so tired you simply pass out). Yet I find myself stuck in some sort of an in-between, a purgatory if you will. Instead of being fully asleep or awake, I am stuck in a haze as the late night turns into morning. 

I'd like to read into it and say that it is because I have become obsessed with turning my dreams into a reality, but I think that's a little too cliche (even for me). My mind has always wandered, over thinking what a conversation could possibly mean or torturing myself over an email response I hope to receive. 

In this haze, my mind doesn't focus on any one particular thought (or also known as: torture device) but it jumps from one to the next, often overlapping. Everything seems interconnected, or seems like it should be. 

It's like finding your Christmas lights in a incomprehensible giant, knotted ball instead of neatly organized in their cardboard container. 

Nothing particularly makes sense, and the only way that it will is to painstakingly sort through it all. Unfortunately, my brain seems to have decided lately that the time to do this is at 3 a.m. But perhaps I simply need to set aside more time to reflect--to reflect and breathe. 

It seems like now is the time to figure it all out, or start to. Life seems to consist of untangling the knots that get in the way, even if that only lasts for a short period of time. Nothing will ever be perfect forever, but hopefully things will start to make a little more sense. 

And hopefully, I'll be able to rest a little easier. 

Alone time.

One thing that I am constantly working on is being alone. In college, it can be easy to fall prey to the worry that if you're not with friends at all times, there's something wrong with you. I've heard stories from my friends (and I must admit, I have done it too) that they would rather stay in their room starving instead of picking up dinner alone. 

At home, it's so much easier for me to feel okay with curling up with a good book and a blanket for the entirety of an afternoon. Yet in college, spending a few hours alone leads to worries that you're missing out. It leads to feelings of uncertainty, and painful pangs of homesickness. 

I fell prey to these feelings all too frequently my freshman year. At my college, students typically live close by, which means that they go home often. I found myself many a weekend with only one or two roommates instead of the usual nine that I had my first year. 

Yet it was this alone time that led me to step outside my comfort zone my freshman year. I got involved with new organizations, and made many more friends. Essentially, finding myself alone led me to find myself surrounded by friends at all times. 

As I've grown older, however, I've also grown to appreciate my alone time. I appreciate having the time and space to simply sit and think. I appreciate stumbling across new places on my past commutes home from New York City--they're like my own secret treasures. 

Being alone doesn't bother me as much as it used to. And I know that it's only going to feel more natural with time. 

Sometimes, all you need is to sit back, take a deep breath and enjoy your own company.

//image via Lara Casey

The learning curve.

This past week, I moved into my first apartment. It feels like it was just yesterday that I was graduating high school and going dorm shopping in preparation for my big move across the country. 

It's definitely been a learning experience, and after this week I know that it's only the beginning. Luckily, my mom flew back with me to assist me in buying all my furniture (since it would be a fortune to attempt shipping things from home). I honestly don't know if I could have done it without her, and I appreciate her so much for helping me take this next step. 

It's very strange, getting older. Naturally, there are more responsibilities that come with age. While we try to resist them, they no longer magically disappear or are simply taken care of by our parents. It's a process of acceptance, like so many other things in life. 

Most of the time, encountering setbacks when living on your own in your own place is like running into a brick wall. Discovering that everything does not always fall into place stings and continues to burn, but you have to move past your frustration in order to accomplish anything. 

You have to jump over the brick wall. 

And sometimes, summoning the energy to jump is difficult. We want to rip our hair out, cry and demand help. Yet taking these little leaps is what allows us to grow. By conquering these little frustrations, we can move on to solve bigger problems and accomplish more lofty goals. 

Growing up is certainly a learning curve--but that's life. We never stop learning, and if we do, I strongly believe that we stop living. Nothing good ever comes easy, which is why we must persevere. 

There are many things in life right now that are frustrating, but I am determined to push through them head first. I am embracing the learning curve, and I am ready to conquer it. 

PS: My room is almost complete, and once it is, I'll share photos on the blog. Happy Monday!

When it's time to say goodbye.

Saying goodbye to someone is one of the strangest, most difficult exchanges one can have as a human being. Of course, I am not one to believe in goodbyes. I will always be the one to correct a friend or loved one: "I'll see you soon. Don't tell me goodbye."

Yet it's difficult to convince yourself that you'll see someone soon, when the logical half of your brain says that four months isn't quite what one would define as "soon." The emotional half attempts to quash theses all too real thoughts--you suppress the inevitable tears and reassure yourself that it is going to be okay. After all, what would you do if it wasn't okay? 

Goodbyes are thought-provoking because you can't dwell on them. You expect such an exchange to be lengthy and emotional. A goodbye should have meaning, it should be memorable. 

But I've learned that you can't force something to be meaningful. Much like New Year's Eve or birthdays as we grow older, goodbyes typically fall short of our expectations. We expect them to be cinematic, with our hair blowing in the wind as our companion launches into a poignant monologue about how much they will miss us. 

We attempt to dismiss these expectations as silly and cliche (that's the logical part of our brains speaking again). Yet as you turn away from the one you're with, you can't help but wonder: is this it? 

This is the part of your story where there should be a climax. You've been thinking about this moment for weeks. You've been trying to spend as much time as possible with those you will soon be leaving, with the thought in the back of your brain that they will be too far away too soon. 

Yet once the time arrives, all that's left to do is say goodbye. You stand there with your arms hanging by your sides, exhaling with a heavy sigh and wonder what else you can do or say. You repeat yourself over and over, trying to console yourself as much as the one you're with. 

Ultimately, you realize that you simply have to let go. Hold on any longer, and you're merely inflicting more pain upon yourself and the one (or many) you love. 

It's like ripping off a band-aid. 

Do it quickly. The pain rushes in, fast and burning. It will linger, but you will not suffer the same numbing pain that comes with a drawn-out goodbye. There is a time to cry. That time is most certainly now. You must not torture yourself. It does not do well to dwell on such a moment; dwell instead on the happy ones. You made those memories for a reason. 

One thing is certain. Goodbyes never get any easier, no matter how many times you say them. Ripping off a band-aid hurts just as much at 63 as it did when you were 3. Yet they do make us stronger; they make us realize what we are leaving behind, what we are so lucky to have and what we will return to. 

I'll see you soon.

//image via Olivia Bee photography. 

Take the time.

Lunch yesterday with my dad at CArtHop.

With every moment that passes, I realize more and more that it's the little things that matter the most. Perhaps my most favorite thing in the world is when I can make someone else smile; it doesn't get any better than that. 

Going to college across the country has been nothing short of a humbling experience. I have grown to learn that the most important thing you spend is not money but time. Even if you can only give someone a few moments of your time, it's automatically better than any present you could buy.

Time is irreplaceable. You can't get it back if you wasted it. You must spend it wisely. 

By giving someone a moment of your time, you're showing that you care. You're showing that they mean something to you. You're spreading love, in its most basic form. And I believe that's the greatest thing that we can do in life, spreading love. 

These days, it seems like its increasingly difficult to manage our time. We believe we never have enough, and yet we still find ourselves spending it on things and people that we could care less about. We become so obsessed with reaching a certain goal, or an ideal life, that we lose sight of what has and continues to support us. 

We look ahead instead of looking around us. 

In my final few days of summer on the west coast, I am trying to spend my time wisely--by spreading love. Family and friends come first. They are my heart, my home. The least I can do is give them a moment of my time. 

August.

A week or so ago, I came across the phrase, "August is to summer what Sundays are to the weekend." Nothing has rung so true for me in quite some time. 

Sundays are one of my favorite days of the week--but the feeling of overwhelming dread is also often inevitable after crawling into bed on a Sunday night. Sundays are meant to be long and lazy--a day of enjoyment and a moment to breathe. Sundays are partnered with homemade pancakes and drives to nowhere. Yet Sundays are also the bittersweet signal that ends the rushed weekend. 

August signals the dog days of summer. Somehow, sunsets seem to take just a little longer to fade. There's a bit of sadness about them, like they're trying to warn you that you won't be able to enjoy many more until next year. The days blur together as they become filled with last-minute lunches and family vacations. Summer's end is on the horizon. 

August has become difficult for me. As I try to soak up the last sun-drenched moments of summer, the thought of my inevitable cross-country venture lurks in the back of my mind. Part of me reminds myself of how much I love autumn in New York, how I can't wait to see all my friends again and move into my first apartment. Yet another part of me wants to run in the opposite direction, determined to reach out for one last California sunset with a certain someone by my side. 

August is bittersweet, like so many other things in life. I think that I've grown to appreciate that bittersweet feeling, however. This summer, more than any other, I've learned from those nearest to me that these feelings shouldn't be repressed. There's a time to be happy, and there's a time to be sad. 

Most importantly, now is still the time to be happy. Now is the time to enjoy moments with those that I love the most. It's time to be here. Now. 

Just keep running.

Everyone has that one something. It's that something that keeps us going day after day, that reminds us to breathe, that settles our racing minds. We need that something to break up our routines to remind us exactly where we are and where we want to be. 

For me, it's running. I've never really considered myself to be a runner, or even to be athletic. While I played tennis all throughout middle school and high school at a competitive level, I just never saw myself as a true 'athlete' (whatever that means anyways). 

However, my college didn't have tennis courts and I quickly got too caught up in getting involved to even think about working out. Last fall, the extent of my athleticism consisted of running from one end of the Times Square subway station to the other as I tried to get to my internship in Chelsea Market on time. 

This past semester my sorority decided to participate in the Bronx Zoo's Run for the Wild 5K to benefit the Wildlife Conservation Society. I decided right away that I wanted to participate, and suddenly I had a goal to work towards. 

I began running almost every day, or at least spending an hour at the gym to get back into shape. I quickly found myself not merely going to run to get it out of the way so I could get closer to being able to complete a 5K in a reasonable amount of time, but to melt away stress from the day. 

Running quickly became my one solace, my time when I didn't have to think about anything except getting in that extra mile. I stopped running because I had to, and started because I wanted to. I loved the feeling of not only being active but the feeling of calmness that came with it. 

I love using running as a means to get away from the daily trivialities of life. It reminds me to strip away excess negativity, and to focus on what matters most to me. I love running because it's so simple, but it can take you so far. I may not yet be a 'runner,' but I do run. 

There's days when I feel like I'm running away from things, and there's days where I want to run towards something as quickly as possible. Life's path may not always be clear, but I'm going to just keep running. 

Summer cleaning

This summer, my parents decided that it was time to replace the carpets in my sister's bedroom and my own. I was also instructed that my childhood furniture would be sold and the bedroom set that belonged to my grandmother would take my place. 

Of course, the opportunity to play with interior design is not one that I am to turn down. But I soon realized that new carpets and new furniture meant one thing: lots and lots of moving. 

College students are quick to associate with this pain; while we may love the lives that we live in those dingy first apartments and prison-like dorm rooms, the two most torturous days of the year are when we move in and out.

Packing up your entire life into boxes is strange enough--but in the case of packing up your childhood room, it's even stranger. You come across things that you have no idea why or how you ever came to possess it. More likely, you come across the smallest of things that trigger the strongest of memories. 

Unpacking was much more difficult than packing things up temporarily, as I was tasked with sorting through my things to decide what was worth keeping. Stuffed animals were bagged to be given away to younger family members, artwork from a class taken freshman year of high school was stashed into folders--yet one box remained that I struggled with. 

The box could not be lifted by one person. It had to be at least 30 pounds. And it contained my magazine collection that was established in early 2007. Six years of Vogue, Teen Vogue, Nylon and a smattering of others had added up without much notice. 

I've always had a love affair with magazines. My father introduced me to their magic at a young age, and I've never looked back. Yet as I looked at these magazines stacked up on my kitchen table like soldiers standing sentry, I wondered what purpose they still held. Yes, they are archives that can be treasured; they are tomes of style that may one day be considered rare and ancient. 

I live in New York for three-quarters of the year. These magazines sit in my childhood room during that time, doing nothing but collecting dust. So what should become of them? 

Eventually, I reached the decision that I would give them away. Subscribing to these magazines is what made me fall in love with fashion and writing, inspiring my desired career path. Yet they are no use to me if they sit untouched 3,000 miles away. It's hard to part with things that have extended meanings; it's hard to part with the pages that have set fire to an unending passion within me. 

But it's time. And now that I will soon be moving into my own apartment, perhaps it's time to start my own collection once more. 

Timing is everything.

The notion of time and the invention of the clock are among the most life-changing technologies that humans have developed throughout our short existence. The clock runs our lives. From the minute we are born, we submit ourselves to its fleeting nature. 

Time is both a soothing and anxiety-inducing concept. Humans are creatures of habit and cling to routine. Yet perhaps what we also fear more than anything is the passage of time; the years fly by and we continue to grow ever older. 

I always feel like I'm fighting a constant battle with time. As a student who goes to college 3,000 miles away from her hometown, significant other and her family, there are many late nights where I find myself staring at the countdown app on my iPhone. 

I spend so much time wishing it away, and then the day I return home (or whichever day I am most looking forward to) arrives in a flash. Breaks from school go by quicker and quicker with each passing year. 

I never want to wish my life away. My parents always told me not to rush growing up. Everyone has heard the countless cliches, but never believes them until some form of reality approaches. "It only gets worse from here." 

I suppose the only answer to this constant battle of looking forward to the future but dreading the speed at which time passes is another cliche: live in the present. It's a phrase that is repeated with ease, but is rarely enacted. Time presses us to constantly look forward or backwards. Even when we try to enjoy a moment fully for what it is, there always tends to be something in the back of our minds that distracts us from doing so. 

As I have been trying to live more in the moment this summer, I've realized that you can't escape the minor impending anxieties. You will always be thinking about your upcoming flight back to school, that major paper you have due in a week or a crucial job interview. Living in the present is less about forgetting about your worries or priorities, and more about acceptance of the passage of time. 

Once I accept that time is passing, and that it is passing quickly, I tend to ask myself: why can't I be happy right now? Deadlines will come and go, but there's nothing you can do about it. Why consume your life with thoughts of the future or the past when you could be happy at this very moment? You can decide to act; you can decide to be happy. 

It's hard to say that anyone can ever completely master the act of living in the present. Yet if we come to terms with the fact that time is passing, and that we can't do anything about it, we realize that we ought to take advantage of it.  

(photo by Jamie Beck of Ann Street Studio)

Summer traditions

There's something to be said about summer. It's more than a season. It's a feeling. Ever since our first summers of elementary school, we begin to get an insatiable itch for freedom in the middle of May. 

Suddenly it is no longer acceptable to simply relax at home on the weekends—summer Fridays beckon us to leave work early to pack our cars and get out of town as soon as possible.

My family has always been one for tradition rather than trying new things. For as long as I can remember, we have spent a week every summer in Aptos (near Santa Cruz in Monterey Bay) at a quiet resort called Seascape.

While some vacation spots tend to grow old after too much time spent there, Seascape simply became a second home. It was a relief every summer to roll down the windows as we arrived at that resort, breathing in the salty sea air. Time was no longer relevant as we whiled away our hours on the beach only to wander back to land when our hunger pains required it.

This year is the first where my family has not made the traditional trek to Aptos for a week. My sister and I are both out of high school, my father has been overwhelmed with work and my mother has been putting our house back together after renovations.

Yet as I type this, I am sitting in a café in downtown Santa Cruz. Instead of traveling with my family, I am with a lovely friend from high school who goes to college here and I am later meeting up with Kyle.

It’s strange breaking tradition. It’s bittersweet. As I grow older and am forced to fend for myself, I have grown more appreciative of family and tradition. Yet I also live for change. I think it’s a sign of the times that I am back in this town—where I have spent countless days with my family—alone.

I can no longer sit on my father’s shoulders as we wait in line for the Ferris wheel on the Boardwalk. My sister and I no longer collect a thousand shells each morning because we are old enough to realize there is no use for them.

It’s sad to let go of these memories, but it’s also exciting to embrace new ones. A part of me will always call Seascape home. A place becomes a home not because of how familiar it is, but because of the people you’re with. I’m sure in the next decade, I will find many more homes in the strangest of places—and I can’t wait.

New York or California?

via New York Magazine

It's always interesting to observe the reactions of people from my hometown, and even my home state (California), when I inform them that I go to college in New York. Naturally, the first thought that crosses their mind is how I manage to live in such a bustling city. And this is where I must make my first correction: my college is in Westchester County, just a 25-minute (ish) Metro North ride away from that city. 

While it is difficult for Californians to understand that the state of New York extends beyond Manhattan, they often manage to move on to make further inquiries. 

Do I like it there? Yes. Yes, I do. 

New York is completely different from California, especially the city. No, this is not because I live five minutes away from the beach where I surf every day (though I would like to learn how to surf). It's more so because of the atmosphere of these states--the feeling that you get when first stepping off an airplane there. 

I could list the differences between New York and California for years, but those differences don't hold enough significance to me to do so. I love the two states, and their respective bustling cities, specifically for their differences. 

Moving across the country for college has been a completely humbling experience. I have learned more than I ever have in a classroom by doing so, and I know I have many more years of learning ahead of me. It's daunting to think about the future, and I often do so only in small doses or large-scale goals in response to that feeling. 

Daunting is also precisely the word that comes to mind when my companions ask the inevitable question: Do you think you'll stay in New York forever? 

I know that this is an innocent attempt to make conversation, yet I also can't help but contemplate the question seriously. It is truly daunting to think of yourself staying in one place forever, especially at this age. I do love New York--I love for so many reasons that I can't articulate into words. But my heart is also in California. It's in San Francisco, Orange County and Los Angeles. 

My heart is in a million places at once. A million different interests, passions and dreams. But isn't every 20-something feeling the same thing? It's hard for us to see a clear outline of the future. At this point in our lives, it's more of a blur or perhaps a hopeful mirage. 

I always give the same answer to this question: "I don't know. I'll have to see where life and my work take me." Unfortunately, the bare-faced truth is that we often choose where we live not because it's our idea of utopia but it is where we can make a living. Yet I also compliment this answer with a smile, knowing that this uncertainty promises excitement and adventure. 

I know that I will be happy wherever I end up after college, and throughout the rest of my life. After all, my mother does always say that, "It's not what you have, but what you make of what you have." 

I will continue to fall in love with places I've never been and people I've never met. I will continue to fall in love with New York City and the city of angels. Cities hold memories and dreams. Perhaps it isn't the place we love, but the changes that we see in ourselves as we adapt to these new locales.

I could get used to these changes.