Last Week #17 | The Overgrowth

 I know, I know. I've already written a blog post on growing recently, but it seems to be the most prevalent thing in my life right now. This week I was faced with the very harsh reality of outgrowing things. Not only did I have to face facts— I haven’t bought summer shorts in about 2 years and, well, most of my things just didn’t fit right anymore. But also, a lot of other things in my life aren’t fitting right anymore. My childhood bedroom, for example. The idea of forced family vacations. My anxiety, although I haven't quite figured out how to shed that one. Lastly, and most surprisingly, my job at the Minoa library.

In order for you to understand how huge that last one is, I have to give you a bit of backstory. I started at the library in January of 2014, just a few months after getting in a car accident that left me hopelessly depressed on our living room couch, not wanting to go anywhere, do anything, or see anyone. I got the job as a means of shutting up the people in my family wondering what the hell I was doing-- why I wasn't actively pursuing school, why I was still "letting" the accident effect me. If I have a job, I thought, they'll shut the hell up. Since then, the library has become something of a security blanket for me. Throughout all the ups and downs of choosing to do or not to do school, it's been there as my backup. I'm working, I said. But somewhere along the line the library became the stable job I did in the off hours of the rest of my life. I started going places, meeting people, and doing things. 

In my time at the library I: 

Wrote, filmed, acted in, and released a short film. 

Wrote, filmed, edited, and acted in a web series about the library, with the help of the most amazing cast and crew.

Met amazing new friends who are the creative squad I've always dreamed of.

Figured out who I am, and how to show that to people.

Officially started classes at a college that defies all my expectations of how nightmarish college is-- a place that appreciates and accommodates the type of student I am, and enables me to learn in whatever way works best for me.

Met a boy, and began my first real relationship.

I'm so sad to leave this library because, as I tried to convey in my web series, so much life has happened there. I was depressed, I was happy, I made friends, I had existential crises and mental breakdowns, I was sweetly and disgustingly in love. But for better or worse, I've outgrown it. It's a security blanket that I know I need to leave in order for anything to change, for anything to move forward in my life. And since I don't want to be the kind of person who just complains about things being bad and never makes the hard decision to change anything, I'm leaving. I start my new job at a bigger library on August 8th, and I'm utterly terrified, but hopeful that it will permit me to move forward.

But outgrowth doesn’t have to mean terrible things. It can be good. Outgrowing your fear, for example. That hasn’t quite happened for me yet, but I’m watching the people I love do it. So instead of calling it "outgrowing" I want to call this period in my life "overgrowing." Meaning I've grown past the expectations, the situations, and the life I’ve lived for so long. I feel like so many of us are overgrowing the lives we are in right now. We’re overgrowing our current situations, like sprawling plants out of their pots. And that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It doesn’t have to be taboo. We can all just be due for new pots- something we can grow into, something we can build a future on. I see and feel this overgrowth in many of my friends right now, and I’m hoping these next few months mark drastic change— where we demand the right sized pot and fresh soil from which to grow larger, stronger, and brighter.

 -Fran

Last Week #16 | Walk Through It

 In the aftermath of the last few weeks, this past week there was almost deafening silence. For four straight days, I had a sort of mental and physical reset. But as nice as that was, I was over it after about 24 hours. And I was even more over it when I realized that this one week was not going to be the end of it. There will likely be many more lonely days and awkward silences in the coming months, until everything changes for good like it needs to. In all honesty, I’ve come to hate those silences. I used to love them, because they served as a reprieve from the chaos in my head. Now, the chaos is much more manageable (or it’s the same and I’ve learned how to manage it better), but the silence invites even more of that chaos. I don’t know about you, but when I get in a quiet room with only myself and my thoughts, I tend to worry. 

This whole week, I’ve had to keep telling myself to stop living in the future. I caught myself going months and months ahead, envisioning what life will be like, envisioning the ways in which it will be disastrous and won’t work out. I kept having to pull myself back and say, “No. Live right here. Deal with that when you get there.” Which is a huge change for me, as ordinarily I would say, “I’m just thinking ahead. Preparing myself.” But that is a complete lie. I’m thinking ahead alright— and worrying. And that does absolutely nothing except instill a self-fulfilling prophecy of negativity and anxiety. This week I had to tell myself: If I’m going to think ahead, it needs to be positive. If I’m going to plan ahead, it needs to be in a way that benefits me, rather than convinces me things won’t work out. 

But try as I might, I returned, a little bit, to a past version of myself this week. I worried what people thought of me, I felt lonely, I binge-watched TV, I was blonde for a quick second, I fretted about my future and how it could possibly work out, and I started thinking up ways to get to a midnight release of a Harry Potter book while I am on vacation. By Friday I had worked myself into an anxious frenzy which culminated in a very loud conversation with Eli. I had started to convince myself that I was the past me, and that things were going to work out for me the way they always had for me before the magical year of 2015— terribly. I felt needy and lonely and I started to envision ways in which he would let me down or abandon me. I sort of pounced on things that weren't there...because I was afraid. And it's understandable...things are scary right now. Change is scary. But I don't have to indulge it, I don't have to let it win, and it doesn't have to change my behavior or keep me from doing things. Something I've always struggled with is that I often let physically uncomfortable sensations control me. I avoid confrontation, bees, strangely textured foods-- anything that makes me feel less than perfect. But fear is one of those sensations, and I can't let it keep me from moving forward in my life. My challenge is and will be to not indulge my fear.

There’s a moment in my vlog this week where Eli says, “We’re going to have to walk through all of this.” I think that’s a good one-sentence summary of my life right now. Things are changing, growing, and evolving. I'm now faced with the task of walking through all of it-- the change, the loneliness, the fear, the guilt, the happiness, and the anxiety. As much as my fear tries to convince me of this-- it isn’t actually 2013. I know what I want to do with my life, I have a general notion of where I'm headed, and I have the most loyal friends by my side. This new chapter is going to be a trek. But we’re going to walk through all of it together.

 -Fran

Last Week #15 | Whiplash (And Not the Fun Kind With J.K. Simmons)

 This week was another difficult one. I felt extremely hopeless, helpless, and desperately sad. And the only thing worse than feeling that way is feeling that way and not knowing how to describe it, or tell loved ones about it. I was crippled by it. Sure, I got out of bed. Sure, I still went to work and did things here and there, but my heart wasn’t completely in it. And people noticed. I didn’t seem like myself, they said. I seemed defeated. I was unproductive, and unmotivated to change. But that wasn’t really necessary, because as it turns out the only solution was to wait it out. Getting through the week, as much as I hate the notion of that, was all I could do. 

Something that Eli said to me a lot this week was, "Things are getting done. Progress is being made. Steps are being taken to get things back on track." But for some reason (well, not some reason...I know the reason. It's because I'm me) I couldn't accept that. "Little steps aren't big enough for me," I said. "I'm a do-it-all-in-one-day kind of girl. I get half done in the morning and the other half done at night." But in the end, he was right. In the middle of the week, those little bits of progress, those picked up and dropped strings of hope didn't feel like enough. They felt half finished, half baked, and entirely infuriating. But now, sitting here on Monday, I'm starting to see how the strings are beginning to weave themselves back together again. It's not a pretty weaving by any means, but at least it's something.

After the switch, however, comes a different issue. How do you go from being so sad to being happy, and hopeful? Like…after these fourteen days of purgatory, I basically have no idea how to be happy again. Things are on the mend, but I don’t know how to adjust to it. After so long of being so sad, I can’t just switch on a dime. I don't have the answer to this problem right now, but rest assured that I am actively pursuing it. Trying everything in every "self care" article I read-- from putting a fresh vase of flowers in my room, to doing yoga, to watching good movies about a guy who gets trapped on Mars but somehow still remains hopeful, and allowing myself to be a ridiculous child again and play Pokemon Go (I hate myself for this). 

Nevertheless, I am, understandably so, feeling a little whiplash from things changing so fast. (And not the fun kind of whiplash with J.K. Simmons where you leave the movie feeling inspired to become a drummer.) Today I have an interview for a new, but not so different, job. Tomorrow, who knows. For the first time in my life I have no idea where I will be living or working three months from now. And that thought is absolutely paralyzing to me. I'm the kind of person who is so terrified of change that I will purposely not put myself in the way of new opportunities and possibilities because I'm afraid they will end badly. I'll be terrible at it, I won't be able to handle it, it will destroy everything. These are all excuses I've made over the years. But you know what, as much as I am terrified, I still always do it. I always sit in that terror and fear and anxiety, drown myself in it, and then go do it anyway. Because (and I'm notorious for this) I don't really listen to what others say to me. "Don't get that haircut." Pssh, did it anyway. "Don't wear that outfit." HA. For better or for worse, I haven't listened to that since the start. "Don't become a liberal arts major, do something practical with your life!" Yeah, I ignored the hell out of that one. So the question I need to ask myself is this-- why, if you don't listen to anyone else who questions your actions, do you listen to the little a**hole in your head spewing self-doubt? How is she any different from the person who criticized you for not going to college at the beginning? Answer- she's not. So ignore her. Drown her out with Leslie Knope complimenting you like you're the world's greatest human woman (because you are) and get over her. 

 -Fran

Swiss Army Man: A Giant Middle Finger to the Indie Movie Industry

 Last week, I saw the buzzed about and completely unprecedented Swiss Army Man, a film starring Paul Dano and Daniel Radcliffe, by the directing duo known as The Daniels. (Which consists of Dan Kwan and Daniel Scheinert.) If you haven't heard about this movie already, it caused quite a stir at its Sundance premier this winter, when a few critics actually walked out of the theater. To understand why, I guess I should tell you the premise. Swiss Army Man is about a young man (Paul Dano) who is trapped on a deserted island and is quite literally at the end of his rope (he is about to commit suicide) when a waterlogged corpse named Manny (Daniel Radcliffe) washes up on shore, and begins farting. If you can believe it, the film only gets weirder, cruder, and crazier from there. 

 The whole time, you’re just kind of sitting there thinking: what the hell does this mean? But by the end, almost reluctantly, you realize: It means nothing. And that’s the point. In my opinion, this film is a giant (admittedly playful) “F*** YOU” to the indie movie genre as a whole. In fact, if you compare it to the other hit indie movies of late, (for instance, Colin Farrel's The Lobster), it is absolutely a satire of it. This genre is known for doing weird things but making it mean something. I’m talking about Her, The Lobster, etc. Weird premises are the norm in this realm, but this one takes the cake. This movie does a lot of weird things, but in the end all of that means nothing. And by meaning nothing, it means something. The meaninglessness of this film, and audience's collective outrage in reaction to it, speaks to our need for every film to have greater meaning, rather than just being an enjoyable ride. 

 Everything has to be cultural commentary nowadays, and even though I personally find that great, it was definitely refreshing to watch a film that was strange and traumatic and crude, and just know that that’s all it was. It was like the 21 Jump Street of indie movies. Weird, hilarious, refreshing, entertaining, and you didn’t have to think too hard about it. Usually at the end of indie movies you’re sitting there with your hypercritical hipster glasses on, drinking your specialty coffee and talking about how ironically great it was. But at the end of this movie, a guy in our theater (which was nearly empty…I counted 7 people, including myself and my boyfriend), burst out laughing and said, “HOLY SH*T.” And that’s it. Swiss Army Man is a "holy sh*t" kind of movie. It makes absolutely no sense, it’s disgusting, it’s hilarious, it’s a little bit weirdly heartfelt, and more than a little bit creepy. And that’s really all you can possibly hope for from Daniel Radcliffe’s most recent foray into this cinematic genre.

All in all, if you're looking for a darkly funny movie that is beautifully shot and features more fart jokes than your uncle at a family gathering, go see Swiss Army Man.

 -Fran

Last Week #14 | Growing Pains

 Last week, as you may know from my mini blog post on Saturday, was rough. Before the weekend was over I drafted this really idiotic blog post in which I avoided the hard stuff and literally at one point said, "It's too much to talk about, so once again I'm going to skirt around the issue." I talked about how change is hard and scary but in the end I make the right choices for me and I need to trust myself more. And that's nice and all, but it's bullshit. I decided a few weeks back that I wasn't going to do that on this blog anymore. And the more I looked at that draft, the more I felt like it was a cop out, and even though writing this realer one is hard, it's more worth it. Because to tell you the truth, I'm uncomfortable and I'm vulnerable and I'm sad and I don't want to explore that sadness. (Who does?!) 

But if I don't, what does that say about me? Furthermore, if I don't explore it, will I regret it? Will I have missed something? An opportunity of some sort? A few weeks ago my mentor and I discussed the idea of dwelling a little more, of lingering in the moments as they happen even if they are difficult or vulnerable or awkward. Although that conversation was in reference to my weekly videos, it applies to this as well, so that’s what I’m going to do here. 

On Monday a very wise three year old said something that didn't quite hit me until this morning, when I was editing my weekly vlog. He said, "we have to have a house." This was the final statement in a very silly conversation we had, which went a little something like this:

Silas: "What if we smushed the house into jelly?!"

Eli: “Oh no! If we smushed it into jelly?!”

Silas: “Yeah! Then we could play in it!”

Eli: "Well then we wouldn't have a house anymore. Where would you sleep?"

Silas: "...in the JELLY!" 

Eli: “I guess that’s true you’d have to…cause that was your house, huh?…You'd get sick of the jelly."

And that, a seven sentence exchange between a 19 year old and a 3 year old, is the best way I have to describe my current situation without getting into all of the gory details. I, for lack of a better term, smushed my house into jelly. And now I'm sleeping in it. And I'm sick of it. 

Right now, I’m trying to navigate the vague and blurry differences between house and home. I guess I have a house, but that house is not my home. I was going to say I don't have a home, but that's not true. I have a home with every person who loves me, who looks out for me, even if they aren't necessarily part of my nuclear family. My house has always been a safe space for me. So much so that I have been afraid I'll never leave. But now, I guess that's not so much of an issue. I do want to leave, because every night I returned I felt something I've never felt before upon returning to my own "home": anxiety.

This week I spent my time at a million different places that aren't my house, but could be called home. Coffee shops, Eli's house, Kelsey's house, gardens and parks and restaurants and family camps. So many different places felt like home, but not all of them were easy to get in and out of. An island in the middle of a lake in the Adirondacks, for example, was no picnic. We had to kayak out there, pull our kayaks in, and climb up, dirtying our feet along the way. We had to scale the only rocks available, sharp jagged ones that I cut my knees on. That’s what young adulthood feels like to me right now. Skinned and bruised knees, difficulty at every sharp turn. I don’t know if that’s just something everyone goes through, if everyone needs to feel this pain in order to be motivated to leave home, or if it's just a particular brand of hell reserved especially for me. 

I usually like to end these posts on a positive note, with a line that makes everyone else feel okay about my not being okay. But that wouldn’t be very truthful of me today. I’m not feeling all that positive. I’m feeling the sharp jagged edges of a home outgrown digging into my skin. I’m feeling the growing pains, and I’m feeling the grief that goes along with it. But I’m grateful for the not-so-nuclear family I have around me, and the fact that they won’t let me give up. 

-Fran

A Pep Talk

 As you may have noticed, I didn't have a blog post for you at the beginning of this week. That's because things have been difficult...like really difficult lately, and I haven't known what to say about it. I sometimes struggle with the pressure of remaining honest and authentic on this platform, while also not making myself too vulnerable. All you need to know is: these past two weeks have been strained. I felt it, Eli and I felt it. The distance between us continuously left its mark, and resulted in tension. The distance between us mirrored distance that hasn’t happened in other places, (i.e. my having never left home) and that too is causing a strain. 

 So what do you do when you have a ton of strain and a lot of sour things being handed your way? There’s really only one option. You channel Beyoncé and you make lemonade. Literally. We did that. But listen, I'm going to be real with you-- the lemonade was good, but I don't feel like my problems are solved in the slightest. I still have an incredible amount of tension and anxiety swirling around in this body of mine, and I think only time will solve it. 

 But instead of dwelling on these things that only overwhelm me, I'm going to share with you a little pep talk I just wrote myself. At the beginning of every month in my monthly calendar, there is a space dedicated to "Monthly Notes." I use this space to write myself a little motivational speech each month. So, here, for your pepping pleasure, is the pep talk I wrote for myself for the month of July.

 "Work. Make great art. Spend every second you have taking every opportunity that comes your way. Don't let anyone shame you for how hard you work. You aren't running from anything. That's bullshit. You're running toward your dreams, because you've waited long enough for them, and you're going after them. Make your life what you want it to be, because it belongs to you. As long as you're not addicted to drugs or living on the street, you aren't doing it wrong. As long as you have love in your life, you're on the right path."

-Fran