The Good, the Bad, the End

Well, I guess it's nearly the end. I feel like I'm army-crawling over the finish line of this summer, but I made it. I had some awesome times, and got some awesome laughs and pictures out of it, but I'd be lying if I said it was the best.

Many people who know me are aware of my opinions about returning to Stafford every summer, due largely to the fact that the few close friends I had in high school here have moved away, and I've never been able to find a job that didn't make me miserable (except for pet-sitting- I will never stop taking care of my neighbor's big dogs whenever they ask me... and loving it). So to be frank, with some specific exceptions, this summer was lonely, tired, and sometimes downright depressing. There it is. I can't pretend it was anything otherwise. I was forced to reach out to God day by day for strength and joy, and He showed up in cool ways and (as He does) provided me with exactly what I needed, right when I needed it.

But as I'm not Him, I still don't get His methods. I don't understand why every good job opportunity I had before or during this summer fell through or didn't pan out. I don't understand why every single friend I've had here has left at one point or another, leaving only me behind. I know that suffering produces endurance, and character, and hope, and that He knows my way when I don't...but that's about as far as I've got. Maybe that's as far as I'll ever get.

Either way, I'd rather recap some of the good that did happen.

I read the entire Harry Potter series for the first time, as well as a couple other great books.

I visited my family in California, and my older brother-like cousin Anthony took me to see the giant sequoias. It was a day packed full of so many things that I love: big trees, making fun of tourists, low-level hiking, trees, ice cream, reveling in nature, amazing photography opportunities, giant trees, spending time with Anthony, and did I mention the trees?

My dear friend Madison got married, and as a result I was in my first ever wedding. It was the bomb. I met some insanely amazing girls that were easy to befriend in a weekend, and watched Madison and her beloved exchange some seriously beautiful vows at a ceremony that made me cry with joy.

I finally achieved mermaid-length hair, you guys. I did it. It's been a long and tangly road. But we made it. 

I also went to the beach a couple times, and swam in my neighbor's pool enough times to get a decent tan (which I know I will appreciate when every day in London is rainy). Madi swam with me sometimes, and we pretended to play pool basketball and laughed until we almost drowned. Then we'd go to a fair, or a Korean spa, and live it up. She is the best person to be a kid with.

My roommate and I visited a couple times, and it was so, so sweet to get some one-on-one time with her at our respective houses before we both go abroad at separate times this next year. I realized just how much I love being a girl with her, and how wonderful it is that she is so unashamed about wanting to be a couch potato. I need that in my life.

And last and best of all, I hung out with Josh. A lot. We had countless adventures(I learned croquet! We rode 15 roller coasters in one day, all in the front row!), a couple epic road trips(using no GPS, only manual mapping), and awesome, awesome talks. He became my best friend even more than he already was.

I mean, come ON

But more than anything else, the bright spot of this summer was being able to look ahead. And that's what I want to talk about now. I'm studying at the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art this fall semester (I leave in 12 days!), getting my certificate in Classical Acting, and I want to properly document my experiences living in one of the coolest cities in the world. So I'm taking this as my opportunity to officially close the door on this blog, and start a new one based around my travels this fall.

It's bittersweet. This blog has seen me through some of the best and absolute worst times in my life, and it's not exaggerating to say that writing here helped heal me many times. I've cultivated my love of writing, kept myself accountable to growth, measured important milestones, and processed deep sorrows and incredible joys on here. It will always be dear to me. But despite my deep resistance, I'm growing up, and it's time to start a new chapter. (I'm cringing just typing that.) 

If you have been reading this for most or all of these past 5 years, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Being able to hear people say that anything I wrote affected them positively was always such an encouragement, as was the knowledge that I may have been responsible for the genesis of several other blogs out there. I feel confident this little Blogspot is leaving a nice legacy behind. I will never forget the imprint this page, or you few precious readers, had on my life. 

*raises glass*

To the longest diary I ever kept. May its turmoil of emotional, heartwarming, sometimes-genuinely-mortifying ramblings always inspire me to write-and speak- the truth.

Signing off,

The Erdelatz Kid

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you'd like to read my new blog, by all means, do (or don't- I'm never one for self-promotion). Here it is:

https://talesfrompaddenswickroad.wordpress.com 

Summer 2016: Teaser Trailer

Well World... here I am. Again. Feeling very small and lost in the humid, heavy-trafficked purgatory of Stafford County; finally, blissfully free of deadlines and 17-hour days, while realizing that on the other hand, maybe having nothing expected of me whatsoever isn't as satisfying as I thought. I feel like I've finally cut myself free from a boat that contained a snarling tiger (like in Life of Pi) only to realize that the boat was also my only supply of food and water and I am now adrift.

I suppose I'm lucky. I get to be lost. This time in my life will conceivably never appear again, and for the most part I'll always have something expected of me, so I should be glad for this "rest," right? But I could do everything from climb Everest to carbon freeze myself for the next three months and for the most part, it wouldn't matter in the least... and that's a lot of power. Too much, you might say.

Oh, don't worry. I have plans. I mean, I'm not totally aimless. Oh, what are they? Ha. Ha. You'll see.

For instance, I'm going to unpack tomorrow. I'm going to rearrange my room. I'm going to fill out some job applications, get started on my passport renewal and maybe clean my car.

(Should I not say that? What if I don't get around to it? That seems like a big promise to keep. I should be more realistic.)

Tomorrow is unpacking day. There.

I'm trusting. I'm trusting. God can do anything, and while right now I'm desperately hoping that will entail a cool job and a new friend or two, I know it could be anything. But things are coming. I know it. Who knows? Maybe I'll actually be sad when it's time to leave for England. (Yeah right.)

*raises glass* To the last summer of The Erdelatz Kid. May it go out with the bang of a nuke.

(Oh I didn't tell you? We're ending an era, folks. Starting in the fall I'll be starting a new blog detailing my travels abroad. It's time. This one has served me well, and I shall tip my cap with gratefulness when the moment comes to retire it. So know that it's coming.)

The Carry-on Principle

My improv team went over to the house of one of our members (Ryan) for dinner tonight, since he lives five minutes away from campus. His house smelled like the house everyone went for sleepovers as a kid. There were tons of tiny glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling of his bedroom, which contained an alcove window seat (for staring moodily out into the calm, lamplit street), lots of collections of coins and bobbleheads, and various other childhood treasures. There was a treehouse in the backyard, complete with a hand crank for transporting objects from the ground. It was the ideal suburban home.

Seeing his cheerfully cluttered bedroom, so full of memories, made me long for something I felt like I'd never had. A cool room? But I've had some pretty neat ones. What was it that was so bittersweet?

When I got back to my dorm room, it hit me. I finally realized why it feels like I have so much more stuff on my shelves than my roommate. I actually do. It's the same reason my room back home always feels clean in a bad way; too uncluttered and vague.

I don't have any memories there. I take my history with me. Ryan had lots of college stuff in his high school bedroom because he can go back anytime he wants. I've learned to take everything with me to my next dwelling. I have little bits of all the important parts of my life crammed into half of a tiny dorm room, because in my world, you don't go back. You only go forward.

I keep telling myself I'm going to downsize before I go to England in September, and only bring a few essential framed photos and decorative items. But am I just kidding myself? Maybe it's not possible for me to leave too many things behind. I'll fit all my memories into one room, but you won't be able to find them all at first glance- because I'll do my best to make believe that my life is cheerfully cluttered.

It's the same way I pack luggage; small, but dense. I will fit everything into one carry-on suitcase, but that suitcase may just be ten pounds over the weight limit.

Tuesday/Thursdays At 3pm

Yesterday in Playwriting class (our last official one of the semester), we were supposed to spend a good chunk of time reading each other's one-act scripts aloud and giving feedback. What happened instead was much more riveting. I wish I had a video, but I was too drawn in by the moment and didn't want to break the spell.
Our professor, the gently formidable and whimsical Mark Stevick (or just Mark, as he insists we call him), got swept up recounting the time he saw the play that changed the course of his entire life- Orphans, by Samuel French. I've seen this play (on Broadway with Alec Baldwin and Tom Sturrige, no less) , and it's indeed phenomenal. But I've never loved it more than I did yesterday. In some sort of dramatic illustration of the power of throwing your audience right into the middle of the action (or something- I don't fully remember what brought it on, and frankly, who cares?), he launched straight into the first scene of the play:
"'Come on out, Phillip! I ain't in the mood for no games. Where are ya, Phillip?' Phillip's crouched in the corner. 'Don't tag me.' 'I ain't gonna tag you.' 'I'm tired of bein' it, Treat.'" He switched from the growling older brother Treat to the wide-eyed, huddling Phillip in a fraction of a second, spitting out the lines word for word. There was this moment of confusion, then delight between all of us at our desks as we exchanged wondering glances, realizing he knew the script by heart. His entire body language and mannerisms changed instantly from character to character. It seemed of the utmost importance that we grasp the dramatic power of the words. "And then Harold clamps his arm around poor Phillip! *makes a thumping sound of an arm hitting a shoulder* 'Do you feel encouraged?' 'Yeah.' I mean it's-" 
He painted his entire evening in that West End theater, right down to the Coke he drank at intermission and the British accents of the theatergoers around him. "'Whatta ya think?' *British drawl* 'It's quite good, yea.'" When he got to the end, he was crouched down on the floor, acting out the final scene of the weeping brothers. Then he was himself again, miming the tears streaming down the face of his former, theater-going self. "My whole body turned into a clap. 'BRAV-F&*#!-NG-O!'" He lept into the air, clapping with his whole arms. As long as I live, I will never forget Mark Stevick's whole body turning into a clap. My hands were pressed over my mouth, surpassing my joyous giggling. I think I was crying a little. He was, too. He came down from his theatrical high, waxing nostalgia about the power of great theater and what it had meant to him that night, tears in his eyes. It was incredible. We all applauded raucously when he finished.

It's moments like this when I think- how can I leave? How can the year be over? How can I spend an entire fall away from these people, and from English classes? How dare I? Not that Mark Stevick holds it against me. When I responded to his email inviting me into his 400-level Literary Journal class saying that I'd be abroad in London, he was nothing but thrilled for me. "London!" he kept saying in the email. That's how it ended:
"All the best,
Mark

London!"

I can't do justice to him or the class. But I had to at least write it down. Here's a video of him I did manage to take one day. It's horrible, but I was having too much fun to focus the lens of my iPhone camera.

Anyways. Hope that is a partially-fun snapshot of my college career thus far. I'm almost halfway done! (No need to remind me of that, by the way. I'd like to remain in denial.)

On Flying, part 2

(from a note on my phone, penned during my Easter break flight that I've been procrastinating to jot down on here)

The runway always appears just in the nick of time. The closer we get to land, the faster we fly. One minute, Washington is still geometric patterns of light. The next, I can see moving headlights of cars. I can read the lettering of corporations on the sides of skyscrapers. I can count the dotted lines on the highway lanes. I watch the streetlights of a bridge reflected in the rippling water below it. It seems certain that we will crash-land among the crawling cars, tear up the overpasses and neighborhoods and overturn the office buildings. But at the last possible moment, the illuminated runways of Reagan National rush forward to catch us, and we are intercepted, like a queen whose attendants take her cloak as her feet carry her through the door. 

A Grand Irish Metaphor

Here's a funny thing. You can retrace my recent life steps by looking at the places where I've interacted with Ireland. So let's do it. Buckle up, lads and lassies.

Music
So I still work at Chester's (score), and last night while pouring lattes, as the same Sleeping At Last songs and Jukebox the Ghost songs played on repeat for the millionth time, I realized I needed a musical upgrade. And recently I found it in The High Kings. They're folksy and melodic and fun. You've probably heard "Galway Girl," but guys. There's so much more.


(I've selfishly played this one in Chester's a couple times, and when the bagpipes kick in I get really wistful and patriotic without knowing why.)


(In case you haven't heard it, have fun.)

(This one isn't a recent find, but I'm pretty sure this singer is Irish. It's also from one of my favorite shows. It's the best song to listen to on rainy nights. Whenever I listen to it I cry a little. Including while I'm working.)

Chester's is a good segway into Sweaty Tooth (improv troupe) because this past Monday we actually did a free blizzard show during my shift (Is there a word for 100% stressed because there's a line for drinks out the door but 100% amused and joyful because you're simultaneously doing a scene from behind the counter? Because that was me.), so it's kind of a link to improv comedy. We have the College Comedy Festival coming up in a week! Tons of colleges from the greater Boston area bring their teams to compete in different categories and I like to think that it's where the next SNL stars are formed, or something. We've been doing zany drills and different games to prepare for it and build our confidence, and it's super intimidating, but then I go listen to bits of Amy Poehler's audiobook again and remember that just maybe I can do anything. Maybe?

Romance
I saw the movie Brooklyn recently. First of all, wow. Go see it. Second of all, go listen to the film score. Thirdly, I saw it with Josh. (Who's Josh?) For those of you who don't know...

We're dating. I call him lots of things, but one title I'm trying out is boy-o because it sounds (you guessed it) Irish. That's pretty much all you need to know. 

But also, the Brooklyn score is fantastic and beautiful and I listen to it while walking to class in the mornings and trying not to slip on the ice and snow. 

Oh, the snow! Yeah, that's a super awesome thing that I'll probably never tire of. 

I have better boots this year. They make me feel beautiful and powerful. I've made a couple distinct, non-invasive paths across the quad that gets me from my dorm to the library or the arts building, and I step in the same boot-holes every time I use them. I like to think that the reason the rest of the lovely field of snow hasn't been disturbed yet is because others are using my path too (not just that I'm the only dork who wants to trek through the snow).

The U.K. in general

This one's kind of a big deal. I'm thinking about going to London for the fall semester of junior year. (Yikes!) The London Academy of Music and Dramatic Arts (LAMDA for short- Benedict Cumberbatch went there, as did many notable performers) has a classical acting semester program that I'm applying for. There are many wonderful things that doing so might entail (Ireland and Scotland are literally RIGHT THERE, for example, and I'd have my own small apartment in freaking LONDON), but one possible con is that it might mean I can't do a double major in English. 

Because I recently became an English minor! (Whaaaaa-?!) I know, right? It's amazing. For my intro class, we just read poetry and short stories and journal about them. Then we go to class and our professor reads us children's books and we have amazing discussions. I wish I was kidding. (No I don't.) It's too good to be true. 

Meanwhile, I'm updating my acting resume for my application (and Gordon's spring show that I just auditioned for- another life event for you) and staring at pictures of the Cliffs of Moher trying to imagine what it would be like to actually be there.

So there ye have it. Some of it, anyway. I'm still working on figuring out if I have a spirit animal, but if a person can have a spirit culture (is that a thing? and is it offensive?), mine might be the Irish.

To the Cliff-Jumping Wildflower

The shortcomings and inadequacies of the written word are abundantly clear to me this morning, because Sarah Labanc got engaged yesterday. The world has shifted on its axis a full degree, I think.

It finally happened. The blue, brown, freckled wildflower with windy hair and perfect teeth and an afternoon sunbeam spirit found a friend for life. She made it, and that means we're all going to make it in our own way. As she tumbles into the unknown, gazelle-bounds into the grandest adventure she could possibly conjure, leaps off the oceanic cliff of all cliffs, she takes her dreaming, filled-to-the-brim, kaleidoscopic mind with her, and that beautiful gleaming pinpoint of hope will glimmer deep within my consciousness for eternity.

When I saw the small, declaratory rectangle on Facebook, the fuzzy edges of sleep were blasted like lightning from my head, and when my imagination had caught its breath, all I could hear were these words:

http://sarahlabanc.tumblr.com/post/39498753289/dear

http://sarahlabanc.tumblr.com/post/41561090655/dear

http://sarahlabanc.tumblr.com/post/37098669447/dear

http://sarahlabanc.tumblr.com/post/28557215230/dear  (this one.)

I read them and wept without knowing why.
I remembered what she'd wished, and feared, and hoped. I remembered how I'd studied her like a painting and hoped those things too. And suddenly, inexplicably, I was terrified and needlessly protective. I scrutinized his Facebook page, this future Mr. Sarah. I was suspicious and hesitant to give in, like a child that has been given a puppy it didn't get to pick out at the pet store. Two things made me do it. One was a single shot in their roadtrip montage video. They were eating ice cream cones in the car, and he looked over at her impishly, and there was her girlish, whimsical dimple. This told me he too had a child heart, that he knew and loved the girl. The second was the ring. Plain, gold, elegant with a humble white opalescent stone, it embodied her spirit in a way no physical object will probably ever personify. This told me he knew and loved the woman, and in her entirety. I stared at the picture of them together- snow dusting their shoulders, beaming, her left hand curled against his sweater- and I could see their dimpled, blue-eyed children.

So she did it. She found her hand to clasp, her pair of running feet with which to plunge over edges. She has taken that great and magnificent step, and so we all must take our own, whatever they may be.



We can talk smart or just act a fool
...It doesn't matter to me
Because I know that I'll be with you