Stop Talking

Today, I bought these cards. They are made by a woman named Alison Riley and she is a cousin of my friend Jarrett Hothan. Her cards are simple, clean, and oh so sardonic (and from Brooklyn). Right up my alley! The brand of her cards is Set Editions. I’m not sure of its meaning, but I don’t currr.

As you can see, the cards I bought read “Stop Talking.” I plan on sending them as thank-yous, Hellos, and anything else I need to communicate by writing. The straightforward, blunt command really got me thinking. Stop talking. Stop it. Stop the discourse. Stop the yelling. Stop the diatribe. Stop the whining. Stop the bitching. Stop it all. In the wake of the recent shootings, and the incessant back and forth of political and cultural debates, has left me sad, exhausted, and totally fed up. I hope that in 2011, we can stop talking. And start thinking.

Perspective

This is a post I wrote for our Northwestern MSC blog. It's about how to get yourself out of a crappy mood when life is hard:

Ok ok so I'm beginning to realize that first quarter isn't at all indicative, nor good time-management training, for the following quarters. It's Day Two of the second quarter and already things are heating up--reading, papers, presentations, seminars...I MISS ROLOFF!

Admittedly, I was throwing a bit of a pity-party for myself today. With the two-hundred plus pages I have to read this weekend, on top of two papers due on the same day (in three and a half weeks), plus a savings account to worry about, a job, finding a new roommate, and all the other little life moments that get thrown into the mix, I was stressin'. Yep, it wasn't good, and worse, I was beginning to wonder why I don't just give up.

So let's humor my neuroses for a minute and think about what "giving up" would mean. It would mean not contributing to inspiring classes. It would mean leaving a world-renowned university that offers a program more inclusive and compromising than most. It would mean quitting a job that, although frustrating, has taught me more about the working world than any amount of scholarly reading could do. It would mean leaving an amazing city, chock-full of world-class sports, food, music, art...the list goes on. And most importantly, it would mean letting go of a dream that, less than six months ago, was making me anxiously sick with excitement.

So, when the going gets tough, don't concede. Don't let yourself get going, playing into the fears and paranoia that's so easy to let take over. Put it in perspective. Remind yourself of why you're here. And what you've learned. And what will be in-store for you once it's complete. It's tough now, and my life isn't nearly as busy as those with families, illnesses, births, moves, etc that others are also have to balance. Let's be grateful for the opportunity bestowed on us, that of being able to earn an education. It's one of those great gifts, expensive, rare, and so fantastically un-returnable. It's mine forever.

Paris

Hard to believe that one year ago today I landed in Paris. It was early in the morning when we arrived. The Alice-in-Wonderland-esque Charles de Gaulle airport configuration and lights had me reeling even more than the jet-lag. I had met the world’s “first male Albino supermodel” Shaun Ross whose chauffer gave me a ride to my new home at 29 rue Tholoze. I was tired, I was scared, but my friend Eulalie came from Lyon to stay with me for a night, and having her there made everything a little better.

We explored a little, watched a movie, slept, and soon it was Thursday, time for me to start my internship with Janou Pakter. I felt like a nerd, never looking half as cool as all the girls in Paris, and certainly not any of those in my office. I was constantly stressing about money. The Euro shot to an exchange higher than ever before, and every transaction created a dollar sign in my eyes. I had no idea where anything was, the streets of Paris going round like a spiral. My apartment was freezing. I had a cold. And I was so confused why I had ever come in the first place.

But soon, my friend Martin arrived. And I got a better grasp on the streets. My cold went away and my friends Molly and JP stayed with me for four days. I made friends with the girls at work. We started to go out together, hitting bars in Le Marais, in the 15^th, and wherever else our nights took us. I bought a crepe pan. I got addicted to espressos and Drum. I went to England and fell in love with London, Banksy, curry and fish. Mark came for a week and we had the most amazing week filled with food, laughs, a trip to Germany and a boat party.

And suddenly, the weather changed, the sun shined and the once sultry Paris became warm, inviting and light-hearted. It was a completely different world and I was a completely different person. I was calmer, I better understood my fears, my inability to focus, my love of nature, my need for friends and family around me, my love of fresh food, the amazing ease of the Paris Metro…

I miss it, I miss the arrangement of Paris. It’s size, transportation, the non-skyscrapers, the celebrities, the non-celebrities who were just as fabulous, and the awe you felt standing on a street corner in one of the capitals of Western Civilization. But I know I’ll be back one day. I know that one day, God will make a plan for me to return, be it a week or a decade and it will be the most magical, lesson-giving experience I will have ever experienced…since my last trip to Paris…