And So I Write

When I can't understand, I write. I dream. I hypothesize. I hope.

I believe that this world has something greater for me, but I'm not quite sure what that something is. I want it to be somewhere far away. Somewhere that looks like this:

[Unique, New York. Unique, New York.]

[Beautiful Boston.]

[Lovely London.]

[Dreamy Drammen, Norway.]

[Bonita Barcelona.]

I feel privileged and blessed to have been to all of the above places (and yes, I took those pictures) without ever having lived in any one of them. I can't wait to return, though, for it is when I envision my life outside of Utah that I feel truly happy inside.

Compartmentalized

I'm confused as to which compartment I belong. I don't know how to squeeze into a 3x5 box in order to fulfill the requirements for a "good"_______ (anything, really).

I think we all do it. We're always ready to put someone neatly into a social box: the smart ones, the lame ones, the friendly ones, the perfect ones. I don't believe that I fit into any single box, and that's where I become most lost and confused. I feel torn by immediate and unnecessary passions. I can't decide which part of me is more important, the intellectual or the charitable one (because we all know that "scholar" and "philanthropist" are polar opposites). I don't know if I've created a world full of compartments, none of which fit me perfectly. And yet, I can't dig a tunnel between the two; there's nothing connecting me and my interests except for a few friends and random google searches.

Like the New York City skyline, lit up with tiny squares of separate lives, we all live in pin pricks, in holes that only we can fill. We create these worlds for ourselves, and although we're excluded from participating in all of the compartments (for no one can be that smart or that well rounded), we're able to create a light that, in turn becomes part of a beautiful skyline.

I'm Gonna Be Better

I think that two days in a row might be an all-time first for me. Instead of stalking all the usuals before heading off to bed, I decided to create a little somethin' somethin' myself. Let's hope it goes over well and that this is the first consecutive night of many.

Can I say something real quick? (Rhetorical question: it's my blog, and I can say whatever I darn well please.) I love shoes... and bags... and coats... and... and... Today I got my newest pair of dream heels in the mail, and let's just say that my day was a wee bit brighter after I pulled out the cute box with an even cuter pair of shoes inside. Now for the less-pleasant bit (and maybe some other girl readers can help me out with this one):

How can shoes be so cute and so impractical at the same time? This isn't the first time I've been posed with the problem of fashion over function, and it won't likely be the last. I just want to know how in the world I'm supposed to be that poised woman with awesome peep-toe heels (that inevitably make me 6'2") when my feet feel like they're going to fall off. I'm slowly learning that pain equals beauty in every sense of the word, and I can guarantee that you won't find me complaining (except to my dearest friends and family) about the excruciating pain of a new pair of shoes.

That gets me thinking, though, I could really use a new pair of flats...


{These are godliness in the form of heels. I love Christian Louboutin.}