Happy places

It amazes me how much better I feel now that I'm out here.
I don't have anything specific to blog about right now--nothing that could be put here, at least. Life is good, though, and I feel like that needed to be written down. I can't write something that's not true. There's something about bare print that keeps me from lying to even myself. I love that.

I've been working on personalizing my space and externalizing some of the Lauren-ishness onto my room, and I'm doing quite nicely. My bed-area-corner thing makes me happy. My desk-area-collage-thing makes me very happy. I like being here. That's probably something I'll need through this year. The thought of legitimately living here is awesome; not only is it awesome, it's reality.

That's kind of freaking cool.
L

Cambridgeland

I'm at Harvard.
Holy shit.
Ok, so now I'm waiting in an auditorium type thing to take my Latin placement test and blogging. Because that's what I do.
Our suite has four bedrooms and a common room for five girls, and I'm sharing the smallest bedroom, but it doesn't really matter because my roommates are awesome.
And I already have a bunch of friends from the backpacking trip I was on, plus my friends from refresh weekend, plus my new roomiez.
Dance classes are already lined up. Lunch dates are already made. And broken. And I have the second largest library in the country to explore--right next to the door.
Am I totally ok right now? Nahh... But I will be!

L

I don’t care if it’s a sad goodbye or a bad goodbye, but when I leave a place I like to know I’m leaving it.

So that was the end of the great Salinger adventure. [These overly-philosophical sentimental blog posts will henceforth be known as the Holden Caufield Series, and I might look back at them from time to time and relive what happened.]
I was ready to go home, I think, and now I'm here for four more nights, and that'll be it. Then I sort of go home again. It's like retracing my steps to Massachusetts. I miss the accents. 


If I'm supposed to be feeling some huge rush of nostalgia, then I'm missing something. I only feel detached, but I guess I've felt that for a while now.  I think it really is time for me to go. 

So, I have tomorrow and the next day to finish packing, then I'll be on a six-day hiking trip, and after that, something finally starts; I move in. If I can keep my game up and hold on to the fight, I'll breeze through this transition. If I don't keep my momentum going then it will take me a few years to get into the swing of things, just like every other school I've been to.


The only place where I really had a place almost immediately was my dance studio. I surprised myself; tonight was my last class, and I was pretty much ok, maybe because it doesn't feel like I'm leaving, just taking a break. ADA will always be my studio anyways, and I'll always come back while I can. When everything was shit, that place was the only thing that could make it better. I won't forget that. 


I realized too that I might not last forever in Boston. For the next four years, and probably a little while after that, it's going to be perfect. It's a great city and it's the perfect fit for me. But when we were driving back up from the train today, I watched out the car window like I always do, and the sun was at that perfect angle where it skims the tops of the trees and it feels like you're racing after that. Everything was in technicolor. For some reason, those greens were the brightest and most vibrant I've ever seen, and the tips of some of the leaves were turning golden, like the color from the sun had bled onto them and stained. I had a staring contest with the sun while it was behind clouds, following it through the trees, like we were facing each other. That's when I feel the most like myself. I'm never going to stop loving this place, either. I just won't. Maybe I can go sailing tomorrow morning--we'll see.


I think it's amazing that I'm going to be living in the physical manifestation of one of my mental "happy places" and I don't know what to think about it or what to expect or what's going to happen, so I'm just going to have to find out.

Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.

08/15 @ 10:30 PM

I'm not crazy about last days. Penultimate days--now those are the best. You're not too caught up in the finality of things to enjoy it all.
Today was a lot of fun, though. We went for brunch and then walked through this slightly massive street fair. It was over ten blocks of stalls with people selling scarves and sunglasses and knockoff purses. And hats. I got a hat that I'm quite fond of, but I'm still determined to find a Holden Caufield hat. It will come to me when it's ready. After that was obnoxiously good pizza and a disappointing lack of bakeries at which to get a cannoli, and sitting in my room sans internet. (I'll upload this tomorrow on the train.)

The fair ended up near 51st street, where St. Patrick's Cathedral is. We had wanted to go see it anyways, so we headed in. It was amazing. This huge monument had enough detail to make you cry just looking at--have you ever noticed how the most beautiful things have divine inspiration behind them? We sat in the front pew for a few minutes to rest, and I got the chance to pray in this amazing building, and with tourists snapping pictures and people walking past and guards holding ropes across certain passages and a dim buzzing from conversation filing every crevasse of the cathedral, I still felt centralized, right there, almost part of the structure. There were rows and rows of votives lining the walls in tribute to hundreds of dreams and wishes and hopes and I jut looked straight up to the ceilings and stained glass; the glass was amazing. I didn't want to move, just stay there for hours and sink into this church. Most don't have me pegged as a religious person--an irreverent, cynical, sarcastic, somewhat bitter, logical, scientific, argumentative person? Yes, and parts of me are that person, but this is huge. Massive. Bigger than I am. I've never said this out loud, but I would like to say it: everything good, or innovative, or noble you see in me isn't me. You're just seeing through me. I wouldn't have it any other way, either. I get the credit for what I am, but you know, no one really can take credit for most accomplishments. Determination, hard work, resolution, and intricate thought are really all we can contribute to what we are. The rest is out of our hands, whether you think it's God or a god or genetics. That's universal. That's really as far as I'm going to go on religion because it's not something that I need to justify. If you want to know more about how this relates to my world, then just ask (that goes for anything, really, and it's true). The funny thing is that no one ever really has.

Deus et veritias. Deus et veritas per verba? Nothing has changed but now i fight with words. The words are a constant, they are a mystery, they will arrange themselves as needed when the necessary time comes. Deus et veritias et tempus et verba. This was the last day of my Holden Caufield adventure, and I'm going to reread The Catcher in the Rye when I get home. I've only read it twice, and the first time, in sophomore year, I didn't even like it. Well, the words helped. I'm not the first person they picked up and dusted off. I went to the sometimes-skating rink; I've walked 40 blocks through Manhattan, I've sat in a hotel room and realized that I was alone again, I explored Central Park and went to the zoo to see the sea lions. I found the museum where nothing ever changes, except yourself. I watched the carousel--I can honestly say that, because of the life of someone who never lived, that merry-go-round made me inexplicably happy. I let myself have a "thing" where I was decidedly not ok, and now I have a book living in my head. Words can do this. I don't know how Salinger knew how to make that novel, but he did it. Authors do it all the time; they arrange the words so that you can see them too. I'm not sure what happens next. I live, I guess. Well, I can do that. I have the heartbeat down, it's the breathing I need to work on. Damn asthma.

That's what art does. Books and music and dance and paintings and intangibility--that jump between what you're looking at and what you see--make a difference. If you're unwilling to even open a window into that part of your mind, (because your mind needs fresh air, from all directions, always) then you're missing something. That's all I'm going to say about that.

This is what I think. I think that everyone should have a place in their mind this fresh, this alive. I have many, and I can add a new sort of living novel to the collection, the remains of my trip to New York City.

So, yes, I had a good time XD. Now, onward.

L

What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to fall over the cliff

Ancient Rome never gets old.
Hehehe.
There are way too many cool things at the Met--it's almost obscene. They have O'Keefe. They have Manet. They have classical sculpture and pottery and jewelry that's thousands of years old, and they have a temple. Like, a whole Egyptian-style temple. In the museum, reassembled, and it is GORGEOUS. This all happened before I saw their Degas rooms, and that happened before I found Van Gogh.

[The only Holden moment I had today was seeing the fountain in the middle of Central Park; I think that, at one point, he just went in and soaked himself. I could almost see it while I stood there--a teenage boy just walking in and getting drenched, fully dressed, staying in the water for a second like he was acknowledging how strangely right it was. I wanted to go in myself.]

I could have sat in the Greek and Roman room and stared at statues of deities all day, but I sort of took an abridged tour of the whole museum instead. I'm going to come back though, someday, and do exactly that; I'll walk through the entire exhibit, all day, and read every single plaque on every single item. I'll skip lunch and probably dinner too and stare at all these wonderful things, just like their creators stared at them millenia before I existed even as an idea; and for that day, it will be like I am standing side by side with an alien people that walked a different planet, though in the lifetime of that planet we might as well have lived side by side. Then I'll do the same thing in the Medieval Art exhibit, then Van Gogh, and my life will be just a little bit different from that point onward.

I admit it. I'm sort of hopeless, falling in love with all these things all at once (but who could help it, in the end, it's one of the occupational hazards of thinking). Actually, no, I'm incredibly hopeless--crazy, really, partly full of clouds and wind and imagined things while being stuck to real life and spinning the air around to try and make something else. And sometimes I revel in today and sometimes it just makes everything unbalanced, almost, like I have no energy to get up and move my mind and process the things coming at me. I had that spark this past year, up through some of the summer, the signature thing that just sort of made my life awesome. There was breath in it, and a lot of belief. I sort of figured out why I wanted to take this mini-vacation from the world--I wasn't trying to find that spark, I was trying to learn to live without it.

I don't want to learn to live with or without anything. I just want to live.
There now. That sounds like me again.

L
 
PS: I was changing my facebook status and just wrote this, and it sounded true. I believe that the truth needs to be reported, and I wanted to save this for when I need a reminder myself: Don't ever believe it when someone tries to tell you that words don't make a difference. They are the difference.

I felt so damn happy all of a sudden . . .

I love Central Park.
It was a gorgeous morning when we set out today, and we were walking up from Times Square when all of a sudden this glorious patch of green rose up from the grey. We bought scarves from a vendor across the street and then I ran into a stand full of used books and really started to fall for the place. Hard. We kept walking up, parallel to 5th, and literally went straight into the most charming zoo I've ever been in. Phoebe Caufield liked it too. She and Holden watched the sea lions. There was one up on top of the rock in his enclosure, sunning himself, and if you added a mane and some paws then he wouldn't have looked out of place on an African plain somewhere. I saw the lagoon, too--the pond where, in the winter, the fish stay and the ducks leave for whatever haven they have.
I didn't see any graffiti at the Museum of Natural History. There was so much there, and everything was in stasis. The fourth floor was entirely filled with bones: dinosaurs, mammals, mammoth sea turtles, prehistoric fish, everything. They were coming at me from all sides and I had no idea where to look first. I wonder how different their bones are from ours. There was a cross-section of a huge redwood tree almost 2000 years old. I think that should be my next trip; I need to see those trees breathe.

The carousel didn't look like I expected, but there were benches arranged around it and pigeons flying all over the place. It made me smile.

I keep going back and forth on whether or not I like New York. Times Square went from exhilarating to oppressive, but away from the garishness the tall buildings are beautiful. I could live in Manhattan, but I would need to be near the park. Hell, I might live in the park. Lauren Covalucci: future pigeon lady of America.

L

Where do the ducks go when the pond freezes over?

I might have to order a replica Holden Caufield red hunting hat like John Green has, because a fictional character is single-handedly making my trip to NY awesome. If I'm going to have my own little meltdown then I might as well follow the champion of meltdowns. Minus the stripper. That would just be weird.
Today was really busy. We went down to Battery Park and took the ferry over to the Statue of Liberty. It's an incredible piece of artwork. The most famous pieces of art are always so overused that they lose their meaning, but not this statue. She's gorgeous; not in the literal sense because she sort of looks like a drag queen from a certain angle, but anyone who sees this thing can't ignore it. This has meaning. This is powerful. This is the New Colossus, and my favorite part of her is that she's stepping out into the ocean like some sort of crusader for the truth, and the most powerful city in the world follows. It's a universal piece, but there is still so much depth that every person who looks at her sees something different, finds another meaning. That was mine. Her face looks determined--not quite angry, not quite fierce, but completely fixed on her purpose, and she's walking forward and holding that torch out like she's going to be conquering everything that keeps people from seeing themselves as they are, and she's not going to do it gently. Champion of the Truth. I like that.

I took a 30 minute power-nap on Ellis Island. We went by the WTC and I was reminded of how powerful a nation can be. The strength lies in the individuals; it's amazing. When separate people together experience the same thing, the same recurring emotion, the same reaction, they become more than themselves. I remembered something about myself too--I don't get sad, or desperate, or hopeless. When I witness something that goes against our common humanity, I get brilliantly, incandescently angry. I'll be able to use that someday.

The nights here in Times Square are just...waste. There is so much energy when the sun goes down but all of it is disturbingly empty. Something that seems enchanting at first is just sickening papier mache and wires beneath. Central Park is going to fill up my tomorrow, though. If you look inside a tree, it's just a tree, and that's why they're so beautiful.

L

Who needs flowers when you're dead?

08/11 at 11:45 PM

I'm writing this in notepad (or whatever apple calls their version of notepad) because, in this super-swanky hotel in Times Square where dual showerheads, hip modern art, and HD flatscreens reign, we have to pay $15 for 24 hours of internet access. We sort of need computers to, you know, plan this little adventure, so we're getting it for tomorrow, which is probably when this will be posted.

As I was driving out of New Hampshire yesterday, I kept thinking to myself, I need to go out into the woods and lay down on the ground and just breathe and watch the trees. That is exactly what I need.
I'm pretty unfamiliar with the geography of New York City, but the knowledge I've pieced together tells me that it might be the absolute wrong place for my tree-hugging self-medication.

The nature walks will have to wait until next Tuesday and Wednesday; this week, my friends, I am very happy to report that I will be blogging from NYC. If it was good enough for Holden Caufield, it's good enough for me.

L

Mi casa su Blogger

Off of facebook, onto Blogger. I think that was a good transition for now. Besides, everyone who has the Insider's Guide to Lauren knows about these, and anyone who wants to will check them. I love blogs. So yes, I had sort of a thing yesterday, and I don't know if it was a breakdown or a meltdown or if I just snapped (the last one feels the most accurate) but I guess it was a long time coming. Reader, whoever you are, if you're worried at this point, then don't be. It's me. I can honestly say that I am fine, and "ok" is rapidly approaching, and soon we might even be in sight of "good" territory. I like it there. The grass is greener and the awesome is awesome-r.

I'm going to just focus really hard on something until school starts. If you have any suggestions for the something, let me know. It might be writing, it might be art, it might be zucchini. At any rate, welcome to my humble internet abode. I will be living here for a bit. Wipe your feet before you come in.

Olathhaig!
L

This is awesome.

So apparently there's an upside to just completely snapping. (I just completely snapped. I stalked a horsefly and went all Rambo on its ass. Keep up.)
That was interesting. Like, really interesting. It's like when you stretch a muscle so far that it just...releases. That's literally what it does; you can feel all the tension just leave, it's crazy. Well, I think I snapped. It felt good.
Anyways, my upside is this: I found my tattoo. Literally, I just looked in the mirror and pictured it and thought, "That's mine. It's supposed to be on my body, it's just not yet." THAT was really cool. I've been waiting for that moment. I'm really looking forward to getting it--it's a cross, and it just really needs to be inked onto my body soon. It's going to mean something and say something and help, and IT'S MY TATTOO!
I'm excited. And still slightly lightheaded from the snappage.
I should get angry more often.

L

They all cheat at cards and the checkers are lost

And down we go.

Mm. My Chemical Romance. Delicious.

The universe is good at leveling moods.

I found a new favorite place to read.
The ancient pontoon boat is usually the family library of sorts. Each of us goes out there separately during the summer when we have a free afternoon to read, so that's been my standby for years. I sit right at the front of the boat, in the single chair towards the bow, so I can rest my feet on the gate that supposedly keeps you from falling off when we're moving. It was kind of cold today, though, and my normal spot was shady. The jetski, however, was basking in the sun and I got jealous of it so I transferred. It's perfect. There's enough room to lay down if I wanted to and it rocks around with the waves just enough.
The world is a gorgeous place, you know. All you have to do is look.

L

And the prevailing mood today is...

...shit. The only thing that can bring me out of these moods is dance, and I don't have that for another nine days. I need to read. Or do something. Only I don't have any plans to go out so I'm going to be sitting in my house trying to focus on paperwork and essays and packing and things that are sort of immediately necessary that I definitely don't want to deal with right now.
So. Library run. I hate it when this happens.
Also, I hate writing angsty blog posts because, guess what? They don't make me feel better. They do make me look back at myself and say, "This is stupid. Don't be pathetic, pull yourself out and grow a spine."
My angry music, books, and tearing my room down to put in little boxes. That might do the trick.

L

[PS: I just looked. This is my 69th post. "Fuck" is describing things nicely.


Also, turns out I'm going to the library alone. This is an improvement.]

On raincoats. Not really.

I'm going to do something absolutely epic when I reach my 100th post on SAu. I just don't know what that is yet. Or when it will be, of if I'll even reach one hundred posts before the world blows up.
I hope I do. I've had this blog for two years. That's sort of a big deal for me. Not very many things can stay awesome for me past a few months.

It's like water-resistant jackets vs. waterproof raincoats.
Both are anti-water and pro-dry. That's great. Water is lovely, but not when you don't want to be drenched in it.
So, initially, water-resistant seems the same as waterproof. They look about the same, they're having the same effect, until they're put to the test. After a good few hours of downpouring, someone in a water-resistant raincoat might feel a few drops here and there, and soon enough they're wet and have nothing to shield themselves except a thin piece of soaked polyester. If you're wearing a waterproof jacket though, you're going to be watching on and shaking your head--your nice, dry, head.
Temporary, water-resistant awesome things like bad television and, let's face it, most of my long-forgotten "good ideas", can only hold out so long against life's boredom and general Worldsuck.
I remember making this blog on the spur of the moment just to check it out, and now look. It turned out to be waterproof.

L