Last Week #21 | We Have a Guest Room Now

On the day my sister left for college, I made a few mistakes.

Mistake #1 was putting on makeup. Ironically enough, I'd all but stopped wearing it until this point, because I like how I look without it, it's effort to put on, and I cry too much anyway. 

Mistake #2 was bringing up Gilmore Girls. Why, oh why, did I bring up Gilmore Girls?!

Mistake #3 was thinking that this wasn’t going to be a big deal. Because it freaking was. 

Let me rewind. My sister and I have a complex relationship, as I think most sisters do. We’ve kind of sort of gotten along our entire lives, but have never had that cliche sisterly bond some films tell you you should have. (I'm looking at you, Sisters.) But one thing we’ve always had in common was…Gilmore Girls. When we were younger, we used to bathe together, as most little kids do. We all have those embarrassing pictures of us with our siblings in the bath, hair spiked and bubbles all over everything. So we took showers together, and I can remember singing the theme song at the top of our lungs while she stood at the corner of the shower because I always turned the water way too hot. And granted, if we were young enough to still be taking showers together, chances are we were too young to be watching Gilmore Girls. But I was against censorship from a very young age, and therefore did not give a shit. And she followed my lead. 

We watched it when we spent the summers home alone together, our little brother forced to go to the babysitter. And we watched it, in full, from the very beginning, starting in November 2014 and lasting through to September 2015. We had never watched the show front to back like that before, and I gotta say, it’s one of my favorite memories with my sister. Through some of the hardest years, and hardest moments in our lives up to that point, we always had Gilmore Girls to come back to. I remember spending the day before Thanksgiving in my bed while a snowstorm raged outside, watching episode after episode. Both of us staying up way too late on a school night (for her) because we had to see what happened with Luke and Lorelei and that crazy cliffhanger. Debating who we preferred— Dean, Jess, Logan? (She’s team Jess, I’m team Rory.) My asking, "One more?" even when we had already been watching for four straight hours. Analyzing who was who… I told her she was Paris, because I’m mean, but she’s really Rory and I’m a definite Lorelei. Even though I'm the older sister, much like Rory, she's always been the one in charge here.

So when I went into her room on Thursday morning before leaving for work, I talked about the only thing I could manage— Gilmore Girls. “I’m not saying we should make a pact not to watch it apart…but I think we should wait and watch it together.” I hesitantly said about the new revival season coming to Netflix this fall. (Okay, that sounded like an ad. But I don't even care because everyone should watch this show and I’m not even sorry.) She nodded her head vigorously in response. I asked her when she’d be home, she said she’ll be here for Thanksgiving. And then something crazy started happening. She started to tear up. Now, let me give you some more backstory. I’ve seen my sister cry about real people and real emotion (we aren’t counting stress from school or Fault in Our Stars related tears) about three times. I can legitimately count them. 1) When I got in my car accident in September of 2013, my sister was still at home. My mom was supposed to drive her to school that morning, but didn’t when she got the phone call from me. So when I got home and was just sitting at the kitchen table sobbing, my sister came over, crying too, and hugged me. (That’s also one of the few times she’s ever voluntarily hugged me.) 2) When our childhood babysitter died, and we went to her funeral. I’m pretty sure she cried. 3) Thursday morning. 

I hugged her, and because we aren’t emotional with each other said, “Don’t cry or I’ll throw up on you.” And then, because I’m not a monster, “You’re going to be so fine. I’m not even worried about you, I’m worried about me worrying about you.” 

“I know I’m going to be fine, I don’t know why I’m crying.” Then she cried more, and I cried more, and then I said, “F**k you, I did really good makeup!” And then I realized that if I stuck around any longer it would only get worse, so I said, “I have to walk away from you now," and she nodded and I did. 

We didn't know why we were crying so much, and I still don't. And I know what you’re thinking, it’s fine, chill out, she didn’t die or anything… But I think it has something to do with this: her toothbrush is gone. Like for good. I keep thinking that I hear her in the morning, or will run into her in the bathroom when I'm getting ready for work and she's getting ready for the weight room. The most crippling realization for me has been-- every time she comes home now, it will be to visit. Even though she probably won't think of it that way for a while, each time she comes home it'll feel a little less like home to her. That's what's effing with me most right now. The spaces we inhabit mean nothing until we inhabit them. And after, they mean even less. They're just shells of memory. I think the hardest part for me is remembering the words to that theme song and realizing that this time, I can't follow where she leads. 

 -Fran

H O M E

 For a long time, I was under the impression that I would never be able to leave home like a normal teenager. But the truth is, as I've come to find out, that I was just never going to leave home in the traditional way. I was always going to have to ease into it. This makes sense, looking back on my life so far and knowing the kind of person I am. There was no way I was ever going to do the traditional "leave home and go away to college" thing. But that doesn't mean that I was never going to leave.

 Over the past six months, ever since Peaks Coffee Company officially opened it's doors for business and I started dating Eli, I've noticed that home isn't really the same anymore. As I've spent more and more time out there with Peaks and him, my childhood home seems less like where I hang my hat and more like my crash landing pad where I collapse after a long day of being elsewhere. It's no longer my end destination. It's the place where I'm fueling up for takeoff, on my journey to my home. The home I will make for myself by myself (and let's be honest, probably with Kelsey too).

 So all this is to say: I'm easing into it. I've been noticing that Cazenovia feels more like home now, and I just thought I'd take a moment to ruminate on that new development here. I hope you don't mind.

-Fran

This Week [#4: Coming Together]

 Though not technically the fourth week in this series, it's my fourth week of making this style of blog post. Sometimes the weeks get away from you, which is why I'm trying to make the effort to work on this each day of the week, which ensures the mindfulness I'm after.

 Monday: Treating yourself to a self-love day. Starting the day with a bath, writing some essays, and taking a long walk that takes you both to where you've been and where you are. It's a weird, metaphorical day.

 Tuesday: The day when you breathe a sigh of relief at all of the "FINALLY"'s coming your way. FINALLY finding the perfect Christmas presents for the people in your life who deserve it so much. FINALLY painting again, even if it's something small, after close to a year of not picking up a brush. FINALLY seeing the Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them trailer, after two years of eagerly anticipating the Eddie Redmayne led return to the Wizarding World you've loved your whole life. FINALLY working on that essay you said you'd start all day.  Finally, finally, finally.

 Wednesday: Tackling huge problems that feel like the end of the world, and realizing the people that validate and support you most aren't necessarily the people you'd expect.

 Thursday: Crushing it. Accomplishing all of the things you put off, then having a miniature Star Wars re-watch and deciding you love Han Solo (among others).

 Friday: To grandmother's house we go. Nearly freezing to death taking pictures by a lake you've loved your whole life, with someone who you've just begun to love. Realizing that it doesn't take much to make certain people happy, but what matters is that you choose to do it.

 Saturday: Finally feeling useful and watching your friends' business grow and thrive in front of your eyes. Then watching the person you love geek the hell out over Star Wars, and loving it because of how much you love him.

  Sunday: Having hard conversations, watching an iconic Diane Keaton movie, and correctly guessing the writer of said movie. (Nancy Meyers for the win.)

 It's fascinating to me how easily stressful things can become fun and beautiful when you're with the right people. I used to dread trips to see extended family. But Friday I had the best time I've ever had at my grandparent's house. Maybe it's that I've grown up, and maybe it's because of who I was with, and maybe it's both. Ordinarily, I would be horrified by a movie theater packed with overly excited nerds. Saturday, it wasn't at all scary. It was beautiful and fun and light and full of giddy happiness. This week I realized something I've suspected for a while: people are the difference.

 -Fran

This Week [#2: A Little Out of Focus]

Welcome to my week. It was a little out of focus.

  Mondays: When you get boring, mundane things done and it makes you feel like the king of the world... Like finishing a book you've been reading for a month, finishing season 2 of 30 Rock, cleaning your car, and doing laundry.

 Tuesdays: The great thing about going out to breakfast is that it's one less thing you have to do before you leave when you inevitably get up too late because you were having a dream about Evan Peters.

 Wednesdays: When you surprise yourself by writing essays and then the world gets very exhausting.

Thursdays: When you do yoga, draft essays and then FaceTime a two year old.

 Fridays: When you get a check in the mail that you weren't expecting, which feels like a sign from the universe that you're on the right track, so you decide to go home the long way round and experience some truly gorgeous views.

 Saturdays: When you find yourself scream-singing the new Adele album, both with your best friend in her coffee shop at too early of an hour, and alone in your car at a much later one.

Sundays: When you go to "breakfast" that ends up being both breakfast and lunch, (but not brunch) and then buy too many cozy winter items at Target, and then feel the sweet relief of knowing that your favorite character is okay.

This week, I felt a little out of focus. A little all over the place. I got things done without planning to, and other things cropped up that I didn't plan either. Basically, it was a week of the unexpected, the unplanned, but not unpleasantly so. I felt out of focus, off kilter, but life was still beautiful. I'm excited for the coming week of holidays and being reunited with people I love. Thinking about that as I go into this week. I like this blog format, because it's a place to catch my thoughts as they come. It's usually formal and polished, but it's also natural.

  -Fran

Happy Accidents

 September 24th, 2013.

Two years ago today, I got in a really bad car accident. And for a long time I thought it ruined my life. If you've known me for any amount of time, you'll know that I'm a planner. I’m organized. I’ve always had a path laid out for myself. If people were Parks & Recreation characters, I’d be Leslie Knope. (Or Ben Wyatt. I haven’t decided yet.)

 But looking back on it now, I realize that that car accident didn’t ruin my life. It just took me off a path I was wrong to think I should be on, and down another, more suitable one. I can’t even begin to tell you how significant that is. Even though it’s been two years, I can still remember sitting on the couch with my mom right after it happened, and her saying, “One day you’ll understand why this happened.” I remember that like it was yesterday, and I also remember feeling like there was no way in hell that would ever be true. But she was right. I understand it now. I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.

 I don't believe that everything happens for a reason. I believe that everything just happens. And you can either choose to be strong about it or you can think the universe is out to get you. But it's not. The universe doesn't care. The universe is fucking indifferent. But you know who isn’t indifferent? People. These are the people who got me through. I love you. Whether you gave me a pep talk, drove me to Starbucks, sat with me while I cried, got me to drive again, or helped me make a web series, I love you. 

 And if your life is such right now that you’re faced with an uncertain path, something you really aren’t sure of…go with your gut. Do the right thing for you, even if it’s the hard thing. Because at the end of the day, you have to live with the choices you’ve made, not anyone else. And you get to make those choices. Those choices that will either lead to immense happiness or overwhelming sadness. And that’s a privilege. So don’t you dare let anyone else make your choices for you and say you had none. Because you always have a choice. Two years ago, I wanted to give up. I wanted to die and I wanted to not try and I wanted to stay inside and never do anything again except watch Friends and cry. But I fought. I fucking fought. I wrote through it and I walked through it and I talked through it until I got through it. And then I kept going. I didn’t just stop and smile once I saw that I was "through it." I kept walking, so as to put it as far behind me as possible.

 And now I’m here and yesterday I drove to Rochester for a concert and I tried sushi for the first time and visited cool coffee shops with friends and ate waffles. And that isn’t to say it doesn’t still haunt me. I worry every day about that dark, hopeless feeling sneaking up on me and grabbing me from behind again. But the thing is…I’ve got protection now. I have people who have been through it too, so it almost feels like we’re all standing in a giant circle back to back, protecting each other. (Avengers style) That’s an awesome feeling, and something I’m really proud to be a part of. I’m honored to protect you guys. 

 So…I’m not trying to say I’m happy the accident happened. I'm definitely not. But I accept that it did and I accept that I am here as a result and that here doesn’t suck. It doesn’t suck at all. 

 -Fran

Milestones

 


   Above are some snapshots I took last night, before my final writing class began. The downtown writer's center where I have been taking classes has a really beautiful waiting room, equipped with comfy chairs and lined with bookshelves full of not just books, but literature. Every week I found myself noticing a new title, but it wasn't until last night that I noticed this one. I know they say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but just LOOK AT IT. It's beautiful! Anyway, now to the real point of this blog post.

  I look for signs everywhere. Signs that I’m doing the right thing, signs that I’m not, signs that this is the path I should take over that one. Sometimes, they’re obvious. A beautiful, brightly colored leaf lying on the floor by my seat, where I had been sitting with a friend debating making the trip to Rochester. That was my sign that I should figure out a way to go. But sometimes they’re more subtle than that. For instance, I didn’t really get a clear sign that I should sign up for this writing class downtown. But once I did, I had this amazing, overwhelming feeling that I had chosen right.

  When I arrived on the first night of the 8 week fiction writing course back in January, I didn’t really know what to expect. I am much more sure of myself as a writer than I am as a human being. In group environments, I’m pretty quiet at first, until I figure out the vibe of the group, and then I let my true nature shine through. I knew that we’d be doing fiction writing exercises, and that there would be some critique, but that was about it. What I loved about this class was how it pushed me to look at my story differently. Every time we did an exercise, I came away from it having learned something new about my character, my story, or myself as a writer. Each exercise challenged me, and helped me in some way. 

  So when that class ended and it came time to sign up for the next class, fittingly titled Novel Boot Camp, I did what most people would do. I waited until the last minute. Then, after I learned that the friends I had made during the coarse of the first class were also taking it, signed up at the last possible second and caused myself a ton of anxiety about changing my work schedule. 

  But honestly, all that anxiety was worth it. Last night was the last class of this session, and probably my last class for a while, and I’m so glad that I did it. First and foremost, it got me working on my story again. And not only working on it, but working on it and thinking about it critically. For once, it felt like all my hard work and hours spent writing paid off, because at the end of each week people actually read what I wrote, and had things to say about it. So that was thrilling, terrifying, and rewarding all at once. And you know what? It made me more confident. Every week people would tell me that I have a strong voice, that they love my characters, that this or that is extremely relatable. Someone even wrote, “Your writing style strikes a nice balance between entertaining and thought provoking.” I mean, what more can a girl ask for? But they also pushed me to be better. When something wasn’t working, they didn’t just tear me down. They gave suggestions as to how I could make it really fantastic, which was so helpful and instrumental. 

  So that brings me to the second aspect of this class that I loved: the people. I’ve always wanted to be in a writing group, a book club, or some place where I could have intellectual discussions and really pick apart a piece of writing. And I know some of you may be thinking, "But Fran! School has exactly that! You should go to college!" And while you may be a tiny bit right, because I did love the English course I took in my senior year of high school, I would argue that college really isn’t the best forum for this. So many people are just there for the credit. In and out. No one, not even me, wants to linger in the classroom any longer than they have to. But this little 8 week course was such a great alternative to that, because we all wanted to be there. There was no homework, just the desire to help each other make our work better. And that really showed through. The passion that sometimes erupted in the room when we all got fired up about a certain passage or idea— that’s what I’m after. At the end of these 8 weeks, I really feel like I got to know these people through their work. And I've come to like them. I think they feel the same way as well, because we’re organizing our own little outside get-togethers between now and when the next class starts. That makes me so happy, because this is something I’ve always wanted. I’ve always longed to be a part of a group that really cares about writing. Now that I finally am, I wouldn’t trade it for any degree program out there.

  This class also marks a momentous milestone for me. A year ago, I had no desire to write, no desire to be in the classroom, no desire to interact socially, and no desire to drive. A year ago, there was no way I would have driven myself downtown every week, parked my car on the sketchy streets, and gone into a room full of adults and shared my writing. But now look at me. I did exactly that! For 8 whole weeks, I did that! Through panic attacks and not feeling well; through not being able to find parking and being afraid of people on the streets. Even when my mom said, "It's okay for you to come home," I did it. I faced my fears, and I’m so proud of myself for that right now. I know that my path is different. I’m not your typical 19 year old, (and not in that cliche YA novel protagonist way) but that’s okay. Because I’m figuring it out, one tiny baby step at a time. 

I hope you all have an awesome weekend,

 -Fran