The Summer of Molly

Obertraun, Austria // Hallstätter See

Heyyyy, Molly here. It's been a while, I know. I think I've honestly just been pretty unhappy for a while now, and haven't wanted to bore you with the details. And then a few months ago, someone asked me how I was doing and (totally surprising myself) I answered, "pretty fucking shitty." There it was, plain and simple, no made up hoopla about how amazing things were going for me. I told the truth. And in that moment, I decided to stop being so complacent with the status of my life.

So here we are, May 16, 2017, and I'm sitting on my friend's couch in Prague, having recently quit my job and flown overseas, feeling beyond excited to go home and start a new chapter. Feeling suddenly thankful for everything in my life; for the journey. Thankful for my (almost) 2 year old nephew, who despite his tantrums, constantly brings a smile to my face. For my family, who supports literally everything I do (not sure how I've gotten so lucky). For my circle of friends who span continents and cheer me on... and have been known to make me pee my pants laughing. For sunshine and mountains and croblihas (croissant-donuts). For weird jumpsuits we had to wear to tour salt mines and strangers who smiled at us on the street. For kittens and old dogs and bird whistles. For late night bowling alleys in Austria that serve killer pizza and mini-market Rosé. For fucking everything.

I don't think that this is all because of my new job, but more so because of my new outlook. I'M in the driver's seat. I'M steering the car. I'M choosing my own happiness.

Me, with the shit eating grin. So hey, if you see me smiling, most likely you should join in. Because I'm choosing not to waste my time with things that aren't worth every god damn second of it. So, let's do this together.





Now, it wouldn't be the blog of an overly detail-oriented, perfectionist, kinda lunatic, without a list! So here we go:

3 Month Goals

(Hey, I gotta start small ok?)

1. Learn the names of everyone I work with, staff and members. Learn a little tidbit about each and every one of them, because if Locals taught me one thing, it's that people feel so warm when they're remembered; when they're known.
2. Make a point to do at least one thing every week that's outside of the usual daily grind. Be it an outdoor concert, a road trip, a beach day, or a drag show. Something that wakes me up & helps me see myself/my friends/my community/the world.
3. Stop critiquing my body and start appreciating it for what it is. Since going to the gym a lot more over the past year, I've seen muscles I've never seen before, and definition that was never there. Yet I continually focus on the soft spots. Time to stop and embrace who I am. I'm strong, resilient, scarred/bruised(/really pale), and also, beautiful. Rail thin isn't who I am, who I'll ever be, and who I need to stop pretending I want to be.
4. Find a pupper. Be it a friend's dog I can take temporary custody of, a volunteer gig at a shelter, or better yet, one of my own. I've been wanting a canine companion for SO.MANY.YEARS. Time to make it happen. I'm ready.
5. Go on more than 2 dates with somebody before deciding that I don't want to be with them. No ones perfect, including me, and that isn't a conclusion that should end things for either side. I need to not only give other people a chance, but myself a chance too.
6. Find a language class or program to join into. I've been dying to continue my Spanish practice, and have always been enamored with learning some conversational German. What am I waiting for? Ahora es el tiempo, aquí es el lugar. Das kannst du deiner Oma erzählen.
7. Order dessert more often. It's always so good, and I rarely leave room for it. It's important to save space for life's sweet little endings.
8. Pick up the camera more. Take more photographs. Capture more of how beautiful life is. I never want to take away from a moment, but sacrificing a second of it in order to reminisce on it for hours: totally totally worth it.
9. Forgive everyone who's ever been a piece of sh*t. To me, or anyone else I care about. Holding grudges takes a lot of energy, and ***SHOCKER ALERT*** doesn't change anything about the person who hurt you. 
10. Spend more time in the sun. It cures so much more than we allow ourselves to believe. It cleanses, refreshes, and fills you back up. 

Here goes nothing!

Hallstätt, Austria // UNESCO World Heritage View

Scar Tissue

Every once in a while when I'm walking around I become suddenly aware of my hip... My hip that 3 years ago was fresh out of surgery and deep into physical therapy. I become jolted by how in-evident the trauma that was once so overwhelming is today. The human body's ability to sustain pain, injury, and simply put, hurt, is incredible. My limp is so far gone that I can't remember it existing. My sleepless nights spent twisting and turning in agony seem like a bad dream that I was shaken from as a child. My scar tissue is simply that: scar tissue. I'm different; I'm stronger.

While I was recovering from my (completely wretched, by the way) hip surgery, and then later from a break in my foot, I remember my doctors talking about scar tissue and rebuilt bone. One said, more poignantly than I'll be able to remember, that when part of you breaks, it rebuilds itself so carefully, and with such strength, that another break in the same spot is near impossible. The strength of a scar is astounding.

And, my scars are more than just from broken bones and rebuilt hips, but from something deeper, something more acute. I'm wounded from the boys who didn't like me back, from the friends who didn't care enough, from the strangers who didn't smile back, from the 'thank yous' I didn't get at work, from the interviews and call backs that went unanswered. I'm wounded from the times I've put myself on the line, and been knocked down. I often can't help but wonder if I'd be a different person had I been hurt less, or god forbid, more. Would I see the world differently? Is the way that I see it wrong? Or am I right where I'm meant to be?

Which is right here.

Right now.

Looking at a fork in the road and wondering which way I should go.

Staying where I am, for my own sanity, is no longer an option. And while continuing to search the world for purpose is an option, it doesn't feel like the right one, especially when I have so much purpose right where I am now.

So then theres the crossroads. It's a really lovely crossroads if I think about it too. To have two jobs that I feel passionate about both want ME feels really special. And a lot less wounded. And this sensation is so new that I can't help but lean onto my once-fragile right side and think, 'is that the hip that used to make my eyes water with pain?' 'did my hip get stronger or did I become stronger in order to help it recover?'

My scars, thats who I am. And with each one I became a little but more of who I needed to be, not just so that I would't hurt myself in that way again, but so that it wasn't an option. It's corny and it's said too much, and without enough heart, but, failure isn't an option. My scar tissue carefully wove itself together to make my soft spots invincible. I'm more today than I was yesterday, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Modern Love

Feeling super road blocked in my own writing today (and in this whole, "write everyday til August thing"), so I trolled the internet for some wisdom from someone else.  I stumbled across the modern love college essay contest that NY Times ran in 2008. If you don't have time to read the whole thing, just skim down to the end where I've highlighted a bunch. And yeah, 8 years later its still feeling super relevant. Cheers to you Joel Walkowski, you nailed it.

Let's Not Get to Know Each Other Better

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/08/fashion/08love.html

A FEW months ago I liked a girl — a fairly common occurrence. But being slightly ambitious and drunk, I decided to ask her out on a date.

This was a weird choice, as I’m not sure I know anyone who has ever had a real date. Most elect to hang out, hook up, or Skype long-distance relations. The idea of a date (asking in advance, spending rent money on dinner and dealing with the initial awkwardness) is far too concrete and unnecessary. As the adage goes: Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? Why pay for dinner if you can sit around watching TV? If you stay at home, you hardly even need to stand up, let alone put on a nice shirt.

Despite misgivings, this particular foray felt legitimate, a coming-of-age moment straight out of a John Hughes movie. I had always wanted to go on a real date: flowers, dinner and all that. I thought that maybe in doing so I would feel more like an adult and less like a dumb little boy.

So I called this girl, feeling a little sleazy as I searched for the right words: “Hey, um, this is Joel. Do you want to, like, go out? On a date?”

“O.K.,” she said uncertainly, no doubt suspicious the whole thing was a joke.

Her positive response did nothing to calm my jitters. Give me a party, a front porch gathering, or a random encounter, and I’m comfortable talking to anyone. But this kind of formal planning unnerved me. Riding my bike home, I realized I didn’t even know what a real date was, beyond some vague Hollywood notion.

In my 21 years, I have had my share of trysts and one-night stands. I’ve been in love. I know it was love because I shamelessly clung to her. I have had my share of ups and downs but have no idea if I’m doing the whole love thing right or wrong. We don’t tend to define it that way.

In this age of cyberselves, with hookups just a Craigslist ad away, the game has evolved to the point of no rules. It’s not the ’50s where I can ask some lucky girl to wear my pin and take a ride in daddy’s car. This change probably benefits me in the end, as I’m sure an offer of a ride in my dad’s Sable would be swiftly rejected.

For my generation, friendship often morphs into a sexual encounter and then reverts to friendship the next day. And it’s easy as long as you don’t put yourself on the line or try too hard. Don’t have a prospect? Check Facebook. Afraid to call? Text.

With so many avenues for communication, one might expect an onslaught of romantic soliloquies, but that isn’t the case. Casual is sexy. Caring is creepy. You don’t want to show your hand, and you certainly don’t want to fall in love. At least until you do, and by then it’s too late.

Planned romance is viewed as nothing more than ambition, so it’s important that things be allowed to happen naturally. Sex is great, and so are some relationships, but not to the point that they should be actively pursued.

It’s hard to even flirt with a girl without feeling obvious and embarrassed, since the greatest displays of cheesiness come from the pursuit, making it disgusting: “Oh, you drive a Volvo? What’s that like?” Realizing I’m flirting, I cringe and do my best to restrain myself. An encounter is best when unsullied by intentions, leaving lust or boredom to take over.

The typical sequence goes like this: Friends meet up at some sort of bonfire or impromptu game of night volleyball. Maybe that girl from your history class is there, and you start to talk. Neither of you has expectations. But just hanging out and swapping stories, laughing a little, creates a spark and the attraction builds, eventually leading to the big wet kiss that changes everything and nothing.

This is the perfect hookup, a pressure-free surprise. With a stranger, everything is new and acceptable. Her quirks are automatically endearing. This first encounter is the perfect place, but where does it lead?

In the best case, nowhere at all. The next time you see her in class, you act the same as you did before, and so does she, except for the knowledge you share that what happened last week might happen again.

If it continues, you have an understanding, physical chemistry and great conversations. You meet two or three times a week for no-strings sex and long-winded philosophical talks.

Most importantly, you aren’t lonely. Maybe deep in the recesses of your mind you think about possibly loving this person. What’s the standard response? Nothing. If she asks, “How do you feel about me?” you answer from the heart: “I see you as an unexpected treat from the heavens. I don’t know how I deserve this.”

Photo

CreditChristopher Silas Neal

Your relationship is good. Your relationship is strong. But it isn’t a relationship, and that’s the key. You aren’t hoping she will become your girlfriend, and ideally she is not looking for anything more, either.

A friend of mine, a normal girl who is neither especially social nor aloof, engages in hookups unabashedly — she’s just doing what she wants and doesn’t regret or overthink it. Except for one time when she woke up in some guy’s embrace, got out of bed and noticed his bookshelf.

I’m not sure what it was about the contents that impressed or moved her; maybe the books suggested a gentle soul. All I know is what she told me: “I only felt bad after seeing his books.” The books had made him a real person, I guess, one she liked. Or pitied. Because then it was on to the next.

I might not be a typical youth, and maybe my friends aren’t typical, either, but hardly anyone I know aspires to be “that guy” or “that girl,” those once-dynamic individuals who “found someone” and suddenly weren’t so cool. On some level, we envy the scope of their feelings, but we certainly don’t want to become them.

But staying out of relationships can be just as much work as maintaining one. After hooking up with the same person several times I’m sometimes haunted by the “Relationship Status” question on Facebook, and I’ll linger over the button, wondering whether to make the leap from fun to obligation. I envision holding hands, meeting her parents and getting matching ankle tattoos.

Then I come to my senses and close the window.

Sometimes, though, it’s not up to me. I work at one of the campus libraries, and for some obscure reason my bosses, who are mostly middle-aged and female, decided to hold a Library Prom. I had to take someone, so I asked a girl, one of the truly rare fish worth catching (or being caught by).

That didn’t stop me from introducing her as “my friend.”

Which didn’t stop one of my bosses from asking, “Are you two dating?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“Um, we are?”

“Well, this is a date, isn’t it?”

She had me trapped. I nodded blankly. With one word, she had changed everything. Now I’m asked about her at work, even though she is currently hooking up with a friend of mine.

I wish I could explain this to the librarians. They’re sympathetic to my other complaints: about studying, about having my license suspended, about taking care of my pet chicken, and so on. “I was there once,” they tell me. “You’ll be fine.”

But when it comes to love, all they can say is, “How’s that girlfriend of yours?”

Maybe this disconnect has always existed. As one of my classmates, a genteel 60-year-old, said to me, “Every generation thinks they discovered sex.” Which might be true, but I’m not sure any previous generation has our plethora of options and utter lack of protocol. This may reflect how our media obsession has desensitized and hypersexualized us.

But I think it goes beyond that. Our short attention spans tend to be measured in nanoseconds. We float from room to room watching TV, surfing the Internet, playing Frisbee and finding satisfaction around every corner, if only for a moment.

Out of fear, we shrink ourselves. There have been many times I should have cried but stifled the tears. Instances where I should have said, “I love you” but made a joke instead. Once, a girl dumped me and it nearly ruined me. How bad was it? I ate nothing but Wendy’s for an entire week.

I’m fairly certain I could have saved the entire endeavor with a soul-baring soliloquy of what was true and what mattered to me, but I couldn’t muster the courage. I don’t know many who can.

We’ve grown up in an age of rampant divorce and the accompanying tumult. The idea that two people can be happy together, maturing alongside each other, seems as false as a fairy tale. So when a relationship ends, it isn’t seen as bad. It’s held as evidence that the relationship was never any good to begin with.

MAYBE it’s just that we have learned nothing can compare to the perfect moment of the unexpected hookup — wet lips on the beach, lying in the sand — and so we aim to accumulate as many as possible. Or maybe we’re simply too immature to commit. That has been the rap against guys forever, but now women think the same way. With the world (and the world of sex) at our fingertips, it’s difficult to choose, to settle, to compromise.

But I do occasionally wonder: If we can’t get past ourselves and learn to sacrifice to be with another, then what is in store? A generation of selfish go-getters fueled by nothing more than our own egos, forever seeking that rare dose of self-esteem? An era of loneliness filled with commercial wants and mate selection based on the shallowest of criteria?

As a staunch proponent of my generation, I believe that, despite what it may seem, we appreciate the ways of love and affection but are simply waiting for them to take over. We might dally in the land of easy sex and stilted text-message flirtation, but deep down we crave the warm embrace of all-consuming love.

I do, anyway. What else could have been behind my crazy idea to ask a girl out on a date? Alas, she and I ended up going to Chili’s and never went out again. Welcome to adulthood.

Joel Walkowski, a runner-up in the Modern Love College Essay Contest, is a senior at the University of Southern California.

Weird, Funny, Shy, Hurt, or Excited. It's Mine.

First Dates.

1. College Boyfriend
First Date: Basement of a frat party, while drinking red wine out of a water bottle.  Spotted each other from across the room, instantly recognized one another from our shared dingy dorm building. Spent the "date" dancing shamelessly & making out, never realizing that what we were doing would turn into something meaningful. Ended the date spooning in his Twin XL dorm bed
Duration of Relationship: Better part of 3 1/2 years

2. The In-between-er
First Date: Nice restaurant in Epping, NH. Spent the date talking about favorite types of beer (the only conversation topic I can honestly handle), ended it making out in his 1989 volvo.
Duration of relationship: 1 month (if that?)

3. Mr. Nice Guy
First Date: Surf downtown Portsmouth.  Spent the date talking about our favorite travel destinations (the only other topic I can keep up while being genuinely interested). Barely touched my food because it was the first real date I had been on in a while, and I couldn't figure out how to eat & speak at the same time.  Ended the date with a kiss on the cheek.
Duration: 3-4 dates (without any moves being made…awkwaaaard)
Update: He's set to be married in the next few weeks..

4. The Handsome Coworker
First Date: Made me dinner in his tiny studio apartment.. An interesting and strong smelling"fish fry" (that would later leave me banned from my apartment until I bagged all of my clothes and showered multiple times). Snacked on "fish" and drank beers for hours. Other than the smell, great date.
Duration: Sadly, less than 3 months.

5. The Barely Legal Guy
First Date: Middle of winter house party. Fed me Fruit Loops and Loopy Vodka and listened to me drunk ramble about the ending of my handsome man relationship and who-knows-what-else. Fast forward a month or so and I've discovered that in addition to only being 19 (and being told he was 21), he had a bad habit for drinking too much.
Duration: 1-2 months. Maybe.

6. The Mature Asshole
First Date: Nice dinner at a restaurant in Kittery. Opted for haddock even after my past issues with first date fish. Had amazing convo and ended the night with a charged kiss.
Duration: On and off for almost a year. Each time ending for bogus reasons and often times over text.

7. The Airline Guru
First "date": A bar crawl through Malasaña, Madrid. Delicious gin&tonics in hand, we bonded over both getting scurvy or dysentary during The Oregon Trail game in elementary school.  Likely my male body double, due to disgusting sense of humor, wit, and appetite for puppies & beer.
Duration: Only a month or so due to moving back stateside, picking things back up each time I return. Hopefully more to tell in the future on this one.

8. The Patron
First Date: Met at a wine bar for drinks (after agreeing to said date while waiting on him at the bar). Realized he had a full on lisp immediately, but passed it off as "charm." Continued the night with more drinks elsewhere, dry convo, and a kiss before going home separately. Upon debriefing with friends later, I was told he has a "rapey vibe" and likely "kills small woodland creatures in his free time." Phrases like, "installs hidden cameras in bathrooms," were used too.  Guess I had lost my touch after being too out of practice.
Duration: 1 date. Duh.

9. The Talladega Nights Fan
First Date: I mean, the name should be enough... Loves Will Ferrell, thank goddddd. First date consisted of Ladies Night drinks at State St, followed by a tour of the old digs, and finished with some popcorn, weed, and the discovery of dog shit all over his shoes. Oddly enough, fairly successful first date, even though there was no waiter, fancy clothes, or fish.
Duration: I'll let ya know.