true grounds

Sitting in one of my favorite little cafe/restaurants in Ball Square across the table from one of my favorite little sandy/blondes on the planet, letting the Pepto Bismol and caffeine sink in (and praying dearly that they become friends-not-foes in their stomachy meeting place), I am reallllly glad I have this blog.  Self-absorbed, self-important, and whiny though it (though I) may be, when inclinations change as fast as my most recent ones have, it’s nice to have some record of where my head’s been in the last couple months.  I am also very happy to have had this weekend in Boston with crisp, sunny fall weather, tasty and dangerous Tufts food, and friends who border on family.

Thursday afternoon, back in New Jersey, I passed a golf course while driving with Harper and thought to myself, Holy shitzkies.  I will never, ever be able to golf in New York City. (Keep in mind that I am the worst golfer in the world.  The only time I went, I only made it to the first hole, where I couldn’t hit the ball off the tee after three tries, then sat in the golf cart and pouted while my dad and Evan did the other 17.)  Just this realization, though– that space is a commodity in New York; that beautiful, glorious, carpet or hardwood or manicured grass SPACE is something I will not have until my most recent EP, Afterglow, goes quadruple-platinum or, alternately, I finally give in and use these C cups to snag a C level**, did me in.

So it seems fitting that the next day, on the bus ride into Boston, I got butterflies as soon as I saw that giant CITGO sign in the sky and immediately latched on to the idea of moving back– Of course!  It’s you Boston, it’s always been you, you handsome little (well, moderate-sized) town of a city.  You are full of beautiful buildings that even girls on budgets like me can afford to live in and around!  You very rarely smell like pee (in contrast to some other cities along the eastern seaboard)!  Just sauntering down your tree-lined streets in my payless flats makes me feel like a young Jackie O.

Then it got cold, and I remembered what Boston is like during the 360 days of the year when the weather SUCKS.

So I guess the point of all of this (although to you, dear reader, it probably doesn’t seem like the point at all– that’s because, like my high school journalism teacher Mrs. K told me once, I have a hard time sticking to points and tend to use too many sidethoughts and parentheticals.  Huh.) is that I have been living my life relative to other peoples’ lives, instead of relative to my own ideals.

In the end, this spontaneous month and a half long trip has just ended where every crappy romantic comedy movie heroine ends up right before the final scene, where the guy comes back and is all ‘aw, shucks, take me back.’  This journey of questions and answers, then more questions and mind changes, and friends and some friends who aren’t as friendly as I thought they were, has just gotten me to the same realization Kate Hudson gets to every time:  You can’t live your life based on other people.  Even if they are really great people, everyone else has their own plans, and at some point growing up means recognizing MY ideal life, and not the ideal life that best fits in with Lucy’s ideal life, or Adam and Harper’s ideal lives, or even with my parents’ ideal lives.

So I made a list of all the things I want in life and changed accordingly.  But that’s another blog post for another time.  For now, it’s off to make some music (you thought I forgot, didn’t you?)

Thanks for reading,
Tara

** If you don’t know me and just happened to stumble upon this blog, please know that I’m joking.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in 23, Boston, golf, Kate Hudson. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s