A new adventure begins...

I used to write a blog entry every single day. To some this might be old news. A lot of people I know watched me compose daily essays for The Songs of Spring and perhaps got so used to it that it lost its luster of ingenuity.

For me, it feels like 2012 to early 2013, the years that I spent blogging every day of my life, were just a dream. A figment of my imagination, perhaps. I was such a different person in those days. Not only because I was younger and my life was quite different, but because I was committed to the daily task of practicing my art. I felt really confident in writing. Even composing these sentences now is scaring me - I don't necessarily feel I have the same skill that I did a year and a half ago.

Today, it occurred to me that it's been a month since I last wrote on this blog. Breaking out of the daily habit has made me a slightly lazier writer. After thinking and working hard every single day for a year, I felt I deserved a break. But that break turned into commitment-phobia. I stopped wanting to write because I was worried I'd get back into those old habits. Who wants to beat a dead horse? This blog, after over 365 entries, felt like a dead horse.

But lately I've had some lovely people remind me why it was I started blogging in the first place:

It made me feel good.

That's why we do anything, isn't it? To create happiness in our lives. Indirectly, sometimes. Other times we take on new experiences just because they bring us joy.

Unfortunately, I would say that blogging daily was, on most days, not a happy experience. It was a stress-inducing commitment that put me under undue mental duress. I didn't want to feel compelled to be thoughtful every evening, but I was forced to. Sometimes I got in a post at the very last minute of the day. Other times I'd post it in the wee hours of the morning and still consider it the previous day's entry. It wasn't so much about getting something out of The Songs of Spring, it was about finishing a goal.

I was lucky in that I did learn something from it - I learned how to share my feelings and let go of the inhibitions that I'd had previously. I learned how to write well and not lose my enthusiasm for constructing worthy narratives. Though I was creating essays each day, writing a truly great entry never became any less exciting. So it made me indirectly happy.

Now what is this all leading up to, you might ask.

I would say nothing, but that's a lie.

Because this is a special blog entry.

It didn't have a meaning initially. I definitely came in thinking I just wanted to write something, anything. It didn't matter what that something was. But after sitting here and tapping out a few paragraphs, I've made a decision.

I'm returning to The Songs of Spring. Not in the same way I did in January of 2012, but in a new way. Instead of writing far too much content, or providing it so sporadically that it loses its way, I'm going to be a regular contributor to my own blog.

From now on, there will be at least weekly entries in The Songs of Spring. And if I forget, then there will be at least two entries the following week. And so on and so forth. From February 27, 2014 to February 27, 2015, I will write at least 52 blogs.

This space exists and it deserves to be used. And once I've gotten back into the groove, perhaps there will be things to say again, and I will feel comfortable at the helm of this ship of words once more.

I hope you'll come along for the ride.

The princess with the long hair

Walking to work this morning I was overcome with the realization of how long my hair has gotten.

When people comment on it, I like to tell them that I haven't cut my hair since 2011. I don't know why this has become a matter of pride for me. It's like I'm basking in the split ends, taking all too much pleasure in the long tresses that, when I'm sitting down, nearly brush against my bottom. People say things like, "Isn't that a lot of trouble to deal with?" The long hair that takes hours to dry certainly does seem a burden.

Yet I still grow it out.

So this morning, as I pondered the hair which has certainly grown far too long, I began posing questions in my head. Does my long hair say anything about me? Does it have any significance in my life? What does it say about the years since 2011? Does it say anything at all?

Then, quite serendipitously, a song went on amidst the shuffle of my iPod.

The lyrics were these:

I've got my mother's love,

I shouldn't ask for more.

I've got so many things

I should be thankful for.

Yes, I have everything

Except, I guess, a door.

Perhaps it's better that I stay in,

But tell me when will my life begin?

I'll save you the time it takes to Google a song lyric by telling you that these words come from the first reprise of "When Will My Life Begin?" in Tangled. The song, which did not appear in the final film, is one of my favorites from the soundtrack for its simultaneous hopefulness and melancholia.

Tangled is an interesting movie in that it follows a new formula for a Disney female protagonist whose primary aim does not involve finding Prince Charming. However, it still fits perfectly into the Disney Princess film canon.

The song itself relates to Rapunzel's (the princess with the long hair) internal conflict over whether she should go out and experience the life outside her tower that she's always wanted, or content herself to stay inside and remain safe from harm (an idea perpetuated by Mother Gothel, the villainous matron who kidnapped and raised Rapunzel).

Well I may not be a princess, nor do I have magical glowing hair with healing powers (as Rapunzel

does in the movie). And I'm most certainly not a captive in a tower in the middle of the woods.

But the lyrics to the song have their own resonance for me.

When you break down the lyrics, the story they tell is very simple. When you have a good thing going, why would you give it up on a dream that you aren't even sure is worth dreaming about? But with that in mind, how can you go on living a half-life when you can see great things on the hazy horizon?

In my case, I've got my father's love, a home in Southern California, a million great experiences in my back pocket and tons to come, I'm sure.

Yes, I have everything. Or so it would appear on paper.

Except, I guess, a door to the kind of future that I want.

And while a future not far off from my present life would be fine and dandy - it wouldn't necessarily be fulfilling. My life is excellent, but I know that there's more to it.

Settling has never been part of my nature. When I applied to universities, I put my name into the running at over 15 schools. I wanted to have the best future - one even better than anything I could dream. And I made it happen.

It wasn't fear that got me there, but perseverance and a lot of painful hours focusing on the task at hand.

What it really took was courage.

I even considered hanging back at home and going to school just 30 minutes' drive from where I grew up. I almost wanted that, thinking that the comfort of my family would make even the most unsatisfying decisions worth trying out. But in the end, I'm glad I didn't.

There's beauty in liberation. Making a choice to force your dreams into reality is so scary. Sometimes you will fail, other times you will succeed just by the skin of your teeth. But if you have a dream, whatever it is, you need to go for it.

2011, the year I stopped cutting my hair, was an important time in my life because it was the beginning of a lot of new things. It was the year that I had my first relationship, the year that I started planning my study abroad time in London, the year that I was finally getting into the groove of college and actually realizing what it was I wanted to do with my life.

Now, in 2014, I've not quite arrived at the end point of the journey that began in 2011. Nothing is satisfied. My hair keeps growing, and so do the possibilities for what the future might hold. But I'm afraid to cut it because it's still a vestige of who I used to be. Like Rapunzel, my hair seems to hold some kind of mythical importance to me. I keep it around because I've had it for so long, and I'm afraid what cutting it might mean.

But there will come a day when, like Rapunzel, I too will cut that hair (or have it cut off by the figurative Flynn Rider). And that will be an even bigger turning point. Because it will signify that I'm finally contented with where I'm at. That's what I'm most looking forward to.

I may not be able to just hop outside a tower and be living my dream that easily, but that doesn't mean that Rapunzel and I are not one in the same.

My dreams are forthcoming, and because I know that I'm ready to embrace them, I believe they will come true. Just like in most every Disney movie. Dreams do come true. As long as I keep my head up, my heart ready and my hair growing, I can do anything.

A Thursday in the life: Take 2

A long long time ago I wrote a blog entitled "A Thursday in the Life." I only composed it because I had no idea what to write that day. At the time I was a month into my 365 day blogging commitment, and I had grown so used to the daily ramblings that I felt compelled to stay true to it even when I felt uninspired.

Well, today I have a different tale to tell. I am inspired, indeed, but I have no commitment. However, I feel compelled just the same to share something within this space. So here it goes. A Thursday in the Life Take 2.

6:00 AM - Alarm goes off for the first time. I know the routine. I've set it to warn myself that in 30 minutes I will have to ascend into wakefulness. But for the next half an hour I can lie in bed and drift off into semi-coherent drowsiness.

6:30 AM - The dreaded alarm goes off its second time. My preferred schedule would have me up at 7:15 at the earliest, but I consent to waking up earlier knowing that the time I have to relax in the morning before heading off to work the day away is absolutely indispensable.

7:05 AM - It hits me, after being up for 30 minutes, that I am actually going to have to get out of my pajamas.

7:35 AM - I'm still in my pajamas, and I wearily leave behind my burrito blanket on the couch, knowing I have no choice but to find an outfit for the day.

7:45 AM - Call dad before I leave for work. One of the few nice parts of my day.

7:55 AM - Exiting the door to my apartment, I notice that - yet again - I haven't worn the appropriate number of layers. It may look like Southern California outside, but this is Northern California. You can count on seeing your breath in the cold morning air.

8:07 AM - Wasn't my train supposed to have arrived by now? I think to myself. Yes, but the Caltrain system seems to have no respect for punctuality or technological innovation, so I'm sat waiting for an extra 2 to 7 minutes.

8:15 AM - How is every seat on this train taken? Should I ask that guy with his backpack on the aisle seat to stop being a cotton-headed ninnymuggins?

8:30 AM - I'm late to work yet again. How about I walk at twice the pace to get to the office more quickly? Only if I want to sprain my calf muscles. Okay, nevermind, late it is.

8:55 AM - Hot chocolate break.

8:58 AM - Burnt my tongue. Ice water break.

9:00 AM - Tongue feels better. Hot chocolate break again.

9:30 AM - I'm a fact-checking intern so I should be on the phone right now. But I can do some internet research before I make the call, right?

11:00 AM - Still avoiding the phone.

12:00 PM - Makes first phone call after doing hours of internet research. Success.

12:30 PM - Wow, those phone calls were easy peasy. Everyone is so nice. I shouldn't fear the phone so much.

12:31 PM - Talks to an angry source who wants nothing to do with me and is pissed off no matter how I phrase questions.

12:32 PM - I'm so done with making phone calls. Email it is.

12:33 PM - Why does no one have an email address with their contact info? Is this 1998?

1:00 PM - Lunch time. Trader Joe's microwaveable meal. It does not get better than this.

1:30 PM - Maybe I can have another hot chocolate break before I go back to my desk?

2:00 PM - Reluctantly pick up the phone again, but then I make a call and am met with kindness. Faith in humanity: restored.

4:00 PM - Time has flown and I finally look at the clock only to realize I have just an hour left of work for the day.

5:00 PM - Goodbye, office! Must catch the next Caltrain at 5:16. Surely, it will be late...

5:15 PM - Approaches Caltrain station: Train leaves before 5:16. FML.

5:24 PM - Train is supposed to be approaching...

5:24:30 PM - Train is 3 minutes late.

5:27 PM - Train is 4 minutes late.

5:28 PM - Train is 7 minutes late.

5:28:30 PM - Train arrives. IDK, don't ask.

5:59 PM - Arrive home, look at clock, decide I have hours before I need to think about reality. Watch YouTube videos.

7:00 PM - I haven't had dinner and I'm still watching YouTube videos. I might find this embarrassing, but YouTube videos are one of the most underrated and valuable forms of entertainment that I believe exist today. They are incredibly creative, often very intelligent and thought-provoking, and always good for an end-of-day-wind-down.

7:30 PM - Resorts to making macaroni and cheese for dinner because I am an adult.

8:00 PM - Falls asleep on couch watching this week's episode of American Horror Story: Coven.

9:00 PM - Wakes up and feels the incredible urge to write a blog even though nothing interesting happens on a typical day of my life right now.

9:30 PM - Can I go to bed yet? No, you're writing a blog.

9:55 PM - Gives Dad a call to say goodnight. Another nice part of the day.

10:00 PM - Goodnight, Moon. See you again, tomorrow. Same time, same place.

So that's it. Unsurprisingly, work life is even less exhilarating than college life (the subject of the last Thursday in the Life blog). Still, it's nice to think that in a few months or years, I can look back on this and remember what it was like to live a day in my life in the beginning of 2014. It may not be the most exciting read, the most exciting day-to-day experience, but it's part of who I am.

We are the sum of our experiences, right? And if this little blip in my timeline is going to take me onto something way greater - and let's face it, there's definitely room for improvement - well then, why shouldn't I document it?

Goodnight, Moon. Goodnight, people. Goodnight until tomorrow.

The update you may or may not be waiting for

Hello people. Hello whoever you are, out there, sitting at your computer, on your phone or on your tablet, staring at this text and letting me enter your life if only for a few minutes.

Before you get started reading this, can I just say thank you? Just for taking any time, even if it just means clicking the link and then clicking away. Thank you. If, on the other hand, you've read a great many of these blogs and taken even more than a minute of time to let them into your mind - I'm forever indebted. I love reading other people's thoughts and that anyone has any interest in mine brings me more joy than you could possibly know.

So anyway, I haven't been updating this writing space. And there's an explanation for that. One that you may or may not have been wondering about.

2013 is now over and I guess I feel safe saying that it was one of the most trying years of my life. A lot of my steps toward the pursuit of a lifetime of happiness have been upended, and though there are many valuable philosophical principles you can learn from having a rough time in your life, that doesn't make the trouble of getting through that time any easier.

I'm sure 20 and 21 are common years for identity crises, but as someone who never had any questions as to what her life was all about, it came on a bit suddenly.

Now I'm sitting here, in an apartment in the South Bay near San Francisco and I just keep thinking Well, this wasn't part of the plan, was it? What is this, then?

But that's life, isn't it? It's all about taking the steps to get somewhere, and along the way discovering new things. I'm discovering a brand new place to live, I'm meeting new people, I'm feeling really scared...about 99.9 percent of the time.

Which leads me to think that even though the space between the end of 2012 and the beginning of 2014 was the hardest I've had to deal with, it's also been the most formative. Feeling scared is better than feeling complacent. So many times in the past I dreamed of the next step and felt contented to know that it was there, but that until it arrived I could live in this in-between time without any firm expectations for the present.

Now it's all about what the next step is. And for once that next step is not part of the conveyor belt, it's not steady and planned out. And that's the scariest thing I can imagine, personally. I feel like I'm walking into a dark room, arms outstretched. Any minute I could bump into a wall, or trip over something hard and land flat on my face.

I think the uncertainty is why I've been afraid to write much lately. I don't feel the stability I once did - and that makes it more difficult to reflect.

I've also started to realize that I barely know myself. And that sometimes even when you think you have a firm grasp of who you are or what you want, you can be incredibly mistaken. Completely off the correct path to understanding. Maybe even on the wrong planet.

I wouldn't say I'm on Neptune or anything, but I've definitely had to reassess what it is I want, need and expect from day-to-day life.

Which brings us back to the "what's the next step?" question that haunts my dreams.

The answer is: I don't know. And it's a common one amongst people my age. For a long time we might've believed that a job or a grad school or a spouse (or whatever) would be there waiting for us when we graduated. The next step would be drawn out for us. For some, maybe it is. For others, it's completely up in the air.

I'm one of the latter. And it's partially by choice.

The update I've been meaning to give is one that I haven't been able to quite figure out yet. Because I don't even know what it is I'm doing, or what I'm thinking, or where I'm going.

And what is the point of writing a personal blog if all you have to say about the life is a long "uhh" accompanied by a shrug?

But what comforts me and inspires me to write this regardless of where I'm at is the realization that people are out there feeling the same things I am. And that the update that I haven't been able to give until now is one that can resonate with other people.

Even people who think they have it all together - my past self included - may not have much of anything figured out. And I like to think that's why we're allowed to make mistakes right now, because even if we feel we have these almighty clairvoyant powers, in an instant we might discover that they're absolutely and undeniably incorrect.

Well I was incorrect for a long time, and this brief span of difficult trail is going to, hopefully, get me back on the right track.

So that's the update you may or may not have been waiting for. If you have been waiting, then I thank you. If you haven't, then thank you anyway. Thank you for caring.

My therapist and me

Have you ever been to therapy? If not, you might not understand this. Not that your previous experience with something should decide whether or not to read about it, but I do think that some things are best experienced in reality rather than in text. Still - because of how I felt today, walking away from my first-ever therapist and thinking about the past few weeks of pouring my heart out - I wanted to write about it. Maybe you'll connect, maybe not.

A few months ago, I wrote a blog called "How I feel before letting it all out." This was a really important blog for me - and even though it was fairly cryptic and didn't say much - it involved one of the biggest changes in my life.

Up until now, I've always felt like a very strong person. I have been able to tackle all my problems by myself, nothing has kept me down. When I was 11, my mom had a stroke. I was able to withstand the unbearable pain. At 15, she passed away. I was heartbroken, but I got through it. I skidded past the horrible years of high school awkwardness, hours of spending too much time on homework, feelings of being an outcast in my little upper middle class suburban society.

Well all those trials of youth couldn't have prepared me for the intense identity crisis that would take place in the past couple of years. It had nothing to do with school, nothing to do with friends, nothing to do with family. Honestly, as trivial as it may seem, it had to do with boys. And it made me feel incredibly ridiculous that I was going around shouldering all the anguish of a troubled life prior, yet a little thing like a break-up could run me over the edge. I was getting anxiety attacks, I was feeling depressed and lonely, I was purposely alienating people I loved.

So I finally decided to seek help. And I had high hopes, I really believed it would change me. Which is why I wrote that blog in October.

And it did.

After two months of sessions, I think I finally know what it means to accept myself.

That isn't to say I have accepted myself. That's an on-going process, and one I'm sure I'll struggle with for the rest of my life. But for the first time, I see that I'm not a bad, stupid or ridiculous person. And that even though falling in love and being broken-hearted could make me feel like less of who I was, I had the power to bring myself out of that.

All of this thanks to once-a-week hour-long sessions that, in the grand scheme of things, might seem like a small blip on my timeline. Yet they were more significant than many other things in my life, even the relationships and break-ups that inspired them.

I don't know if most people have as wonderful an experience as I did with my first therapist. At first I was surprised to end up speaking with her - when I think of going in for psychological help I immediately picture a older man or woman in a white lab coat with a chaise lounge in a dimly lit room. That wasn't how my sessions were at all. My therapist was young, she wore really smart clothing and always looked really pretty too. The sessions themselves were engaging - face to face in upright chairs - requiring me to be present. Not that that's difficult for me anyway. Instead of being intimidated, I felt free to be open. The space in front of me was mine to inhabit and there was someone on the other end listening.

And I was thankful. Because the listener was someone with a calming presence, someone who in my moments of intense emotion could show me that she cared without making me feel like I was expressing too much.

Every Tuesday I'd go in with my list of grievances from the past week. I'd build them up, worry about them and then put them aside, knowing that there was a space to let them go where I could actually make sense of them rather than let them burrow into my heart. It felt good to let even the most detrimental of thoughts turn into something worthwhile and positive.

I would often find myself on the verge of venting to my friends and family, and then stop for a moment and say "this is something I'm going to bring up in therapy." It wasn't a defensive move, though, it was just my way of saying I shouldn't be worried about this. It can be worked out, and I know who can help me.

Moving forward I realize that while my therapist was the person I meant, that person who can help me will eventually have to be me. Even if I continue to go to therapy with another counselor, or talk to friends and family about my problems, it will always come down to how I deal with things.

But leaving behind this chapter in my path toward personal understanding wasn't made any easier knowing that I was being left to my own devices - even though I know I'm capable of handling them better than I ever have been before.

I walked away from that last session with my first-ever therapist feeling really happy that I'd had the luck to be given someone to talk to for a few months who could provide me with just the right perceptiveness, just the right tone and just the right perspective to make me feel safe and actually let the counseling take me somewhere good. And even though I cried to myself and wished that the person I'd spent months detailing my past to could be my best friend and confidante, it was a good kind of crying. Because unlike losing people in the past, this was leaving behind someone whose presence was nothing but good, but whose absence might even empower me to be stronger.

That isn't to say that I'm happy about not getting to meet with my therapist again. In my heart, I do wish that this could continue and I'd never have to stop, just so I could retain the feeling of comfort that I felt after leaving each appointment. And if permitted, I would certainly keep in contact however possible.

The reason, though, that I wrote at the beginning of this blog how this is a feeling some people just might not understand is that it's a really strangely bittersweet experience. I'm leaving behind someone who has made the most positive impact on my life as of late, and the emotions around that are two-fold. They're positive in that I'm glad that I can even say I've had a good experience, and they're negative in that I don't know that I'm fully ready to move on. Losing anyone is something I have and will continue to struggle with for the rest of my life.

So maybe you've felt how I feel, or maybe you haven't, but what anyone can understand is how wonderful it is to know that there's someone you can trust in the world - someone who respects you and listens to you and will give you their honest opinion in a way that never makes you feel trivialized or stupid.

That's what a therapist should be. That's what a friend should be too. And I feel like I had a friend in my therapist, even if it was only for a short time. So this is my thank you to her. Your presence in my life has been indispensable and I'm sad to have to do so now.