“I don’t know what to do!” I gasped.
“What excites you?” she responded, cool like that.
Writing. Lying in bed at night with a head full of phrases and stories and wonderings. Making things make sense in sentences. Or trying. Writing as therapy, comedy, commentary, art.
Music. Discovering, listening, sharing, dancing. Nothing has affected my friendships and free time as much as this still-growing obsession with song – from the strangers I’ve connected with to places I’ve gone for the love of (three nights in a row of Wilco, Bon Iver in the pouring rain in Ireland).
The world. How different and breathtaking it is. From silly conversations overheard at the grocery store to cows silhouetted against Iowa winter sunsets to the summer afternoon crush of people on Roman subways. That everything has its glory and its humor and that we’re here to seeheartouchsmelltaste it.
Learning and diversity of experience. My favorite college classes taught me the rituals of Hinduism and the murkiness of journalistic ethics. I broke matzoh at Passover, stuck my hand in a cow’s stomach and grew sunflowers, changed bike tires and perfected downward-facing dog. I don’t want to lose this curiosity or those opportunities post-grad.
Talking to you (and you and you and you), seeing you, hugging you, making you smile. Love. I don’t know when I started needing these people so much, but my heart breaks without them. I know I could go anywhere. I will. But (in this we are beautifully weak) I don’t want to go alone.