it was ten days, six weeks, two and a half months, and then... over.
during this season, I lived in a constant tension of appreciating and anticipating. counting the days until I was back home with my people, but also loving, thriving, soaking up the opportunity.
at 20 guest street, suite 125...
I jumped head first into a professional sports league I knew nothing about, and came out of it smarter and quicker. It was there, around a conference table, after someone with a lot of authority in the office told me he dismissed everything I ever said because of my Southern accent, that I learned that I like being underestimated, that I'm driven by being an underdog. It made me mad but also made me better. On Intern Row, a glamorous name for an unglamorous clump of desks in the middle of the office, I laughed, studied, wrote, and made incredible friends. Oddly enough, it was sitting at a lunch table there in Brighton Landing that I was reminded how thankful I am to live in SEC Country...
at 279 western avenue, apartment 2...
I realized that I don't like being alone as much as I thought. It's fine for a time, for a night or a week, but it's no way to make a life. I learned how to make pasta from scratch, and I learned that sticking to your convictions even when they're unpopular might be awkward at first, but people ultimately respect it.
on the 86 bus route, somewhere between litchfield and lothrop...
I learned that there are so. many. different. people. and that that's an incredible, interesting, awesome thing. during my five-minute commute, I got a window into so many lives, because a bus ride, I learned, is when people let their guard down and breathe before reaching their destination. life should be more like a bus ride.
at 1288 massachusetts avenue, the panera bread in harvard square...
I realized you can make home anywhere. Every Tuesday morning, I bought a bagel and camped out in the quiet corner of the upstairs seating, working and writing and watching the people of Cambridge outside. Some of my best quiet moments came in that little back booth.
It was a summer unlike any other, but I found so many moments, places, and people that I absolutely love. The Sunday afternoon walks along the river, down Memorial Drive to Trader Joe's. The countless nights sitting on my bed, watching the Rays play and watching the sunset out my open window. The late night packing and unpacking cars after the All-Star Game. The dinners with new friends.
By the last few days, I knew the season was ending. I felt the book closing, and I was okay with it. Sad to leave, but wildly thrilled to be going home. This summer was such an important learning experience, something I'll never be able to replicate or forget. For that, I'm forever thankful.
during this season, I lived in a constant tension of appreciating and anticipating. counting the days until I was back home with my people, but also loving, thriving, soaking up the opportunity.
at 20 guest street, suite 125...
I jumped head first into a professional sports league I knew nothing about, and came out of it smarter and quicker. It was there, around a conference table, after someone with a lot of authority in the office told me he dismissed everything I ever said because of my Southern accent, that I learned that I like being underestimated, that I'm driven by being an underdog. It made me mad but also made me better. On Intern Row, a glamorous name for an unglamorous clump of desks in the middle of the office, I laughed, studied, wrote, and made incredible friends. Oddly enough, it was sitting at a lunch table there in Brighton Landing that I was reminded how thankful I am to live in SEC Country...
at 279 western avenue, apartment 2...
I realized that I don't like being alone as much as I thought. It's fine for a time, for a night or a week, but it's no way to make a life. I learned how to make pasta from scratch, and I learned that sticking to your convictions even when they're unpopular might be awkward at first, but people ultimately respect it.
on the 86 bus route, somewhere between litchfield and lothrop...
I learned that there are so. many. different. people. and that that's an incredible, interesting, awesome thing. during my five-minute commute, I got a window into so many lives, because a bus ride, I learned, is when people let their guard down and breathe before reaching their destination. life should be more like a bus ride.
at 1288 massachusetts avenue, the panera bread in harvard square...
I realized you can make home anywhere. Every Tuesday morning, I bought a bagel and camped out in the quiet corner of the upstairs seating, working and writing and watching the people of Cambridge outside. Some of my best quiet moments came in that little back booth.
It was a summer unlike any other, but I found so many moments, places, and people that I absolutely love. The Sunday afternoon walks along the river, down Memorial Drive to Trader Joe's. The countless nights sitting on my bed, watching the Rays play and watching the sunset out my open window. The late night packing and unpacking cars after the All-Star Game. The dinners with new friends.
By the last few days, I knew the season was ending. I felt the book closing, and I was okay with it. Sad to leave, but wildly thrilled to be going home. This summer was such an important learning experience, something I'll never be able to replicate or forget. For that, I'm forever thankful.