Today I had an epiphany as I was running. You see, sometimes, well let’s be honest, all of the time, I have more feelings inside of me than the average mortal. I feel things on a higher emotional plane than probably about most anyone I’ve ever come across; a bad day is a tragedy, a good day is an ecstasy, the people I love are gods and losing love is like a death. I generally feel like I have so much inside of me that I just might explode, as if it were possible to feel everything at once. My symphonic range of emotions is enough to tire anyone out just listening to me spin...I think once I had a friend describe me as a tasmanian devil, exploding emotions everywhere, which she then tastefully finished off with a spectacular impersonation of me as said tasmanian devil, complete with sound effects. I used to spend a lot of time feeling everything on the inside, trying not to be so loud, trying not to seem so uncool to the other kids who just didn’t have any possible way of understanding me. But what I have come to understand, is rather that I should accept that this is part of what makes me, well me.

I’m an artist, I’m a singer, or was rather, to be exact. I really do think that I was made that way because it’s the only true way I can express everything that I’m feeling inside without seeming like a maniac to the general public. I can dance around on stage and scream, commit suicide when love doesn’t go the right way, stab myself or someone else, only to come back and sing about it for another 20 minutes before I die (I’m an opera singer by the way...in case you didn’t catch on). Now, I don’t really sing anymore so I’ve had to find another outlet...and running became it, it was the only way to do something physical at the same time as feeling the music I was listening to. Often, when I’m running, I listen to the same song on repeat, over and over and over again...I’ve had boyfriends that didn’t understand it, how I couldn’t be bored with the same song over and over again, but it wasn’t the song I was listening to over and over again; I was obsessed with re-living the feeling that came with it, the feeling that I could recreate only when sounds are put to words in unison. I’ve never felt more connected to anyone else, or even to myself rather, then when I’m putting my feelings into music, and drawing off of my real life experiences to emote something through song to an audience. It’s like therapy, the best kind; you use it, you sing it, and then it’s out of you. I’ve never been much of a religious person, I don’t really know what I believe as far as I’m concerned, but I do believe in a divine creator, because I was made this way, because it’s the only way I feel like I can communicate with whatever that is.

I feel like life is magical, it’s just a series of moments that continue to pass us by, and you get out of them what you take. I was listening to this song over and over again today when I was running by one of my favorite artists. It was a song about the way she felt when she was at a music festival, a song about the inner connectivity between people that were strangers with one another, but shared the highest level of emotion by their joint love of music at the same time. She sings, “I am bright as the sun, you are high as a kite, we are daughters, sons, brothers and sisters tonight, at Cochella.” (Cochella being the music festival) She goes on to sing, “I’m a warm bleeding heart, you’re a generous soul and I love you though I’ve never met you before, Cochella.” Anyway, that song just really spoke to me, because of how accurately it expresses the way I feel all of the time.

I believe in love the way some people believe in religion. I believe that I can make a best friend in someone that I just met. I believe in soulmates, I believe in sharing yourself with a partner for life. I believe in loving fully, unconditionally, because it’s only in the giving that you really receive. I know most of this may sound totally fruity and flowery to most of you, but that’s just who I am. I have so much to give and still so much to live...and that’s exactly what I intend on doing.

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I’m sitting in the dark living room of my house, my roommate is away somewhere, I’ve turned all the lights off. There’s nothing to hear but the tick tock of the clock and the rattling inside of our heater. The snow is falling outside. I like when the first snow that sticks is at night, it kind of gives the world a soft glow about it, almost like everything is painted in sepia because of the way the lights reflect off of all the perfect white. The flakes are big and fluffy, like giant balls of cotton falling from the sky, one after the other taking up all the sound so that you can’t hear a thing; the world is silent.

It’s moments like this that always seem to take my breath away, and moments like this that always seem to ache in a strange way that I’m not used to. Whenever I see something so breathtakingly magical like this I always want to have someone to share it with, or sometimes it takes me back to my favorite memories from a life in which I’ve been so blessed to be so showered with happiness.

There’s something so special about the first snow of the season, the way it seems to wipe everything new, and the perfect scene it creates before anyone has had a chance to walk on it. I on the other hand, always feel the need to go out and play and revel in it, because it’s been so long since the last chance I got to see it. I guess I always think it’s so special to, because it’s finally a marker of the beginning of the season when I know I’ll get to see the people I love most in my life. Living so far away from everyone now has put a completely different perspective on things, mostly on all of my relationships. Some of which I’m not surprised to have lasted, others with whom I never expected to be so close.

I've come to realize is just how lucky I am, and I wanted to take a moment to send out my thoughts of thanks to you and to the universe slash divine creator in general. Sometimes, even in Europe, it's easy to get down on ourselves, a lesson I’ve been painfully learning these last few months spent on my own. But when I get down, what’s really gotten me through it is remembering that I have been so blessed by such happy memories and happy people in my life.

When I saw a magnificent scene to revel in like tonight, and the ache came, it surprised when a flood of happy memories instead of a wave of sadness came with it. In fact right now I can't really do much accept sit here with a smile on my face as I reflect back through all I've done, everyone I've been and who I'm becoming.

I think I’ve gotten better at mastering the art of loneliness, because it is an art form. Sometimes when you're trying on new skin and a new place, you need look back on all that you've been; it always brings me back home. Laughter, love and friendship really are the best gifts; and this holiday season I am most thankful for those. I am thankful for my wonderful family, both genetic, old friends, and new found souls in Europe. I am thankful for all the love in my life, and I am thankful to each and every one of you for how you contribute, or have contributed to me in the past. So in the spirit of the season I send to all of you, the very best of what you have given to me, my love, my thoughts, my prayers; sometimes feeling at home has nothing to do with where we are, but who we're with. For all of you that I've ever been able to find a home in, thank you, I love you.

It’s coming down even harder now, so much so that I can barely see the outside but for the snow.

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So I was watching Forrest Gump tonight, missing home a lot, and I thought about the line, “you can tell a lot about people by their shoes...blah blah,” and I thought about this morning.

Last night, well yesterday afternoon really, I found myself with not a lot to do and a beautiful sunny afternoon stretched out before me. So my friend Andy and I were chatting on facebook and I was talking about how pathetic it was that I’d lived in France for over a year and a half and had hardly seen any of it. So we decided to seize the moment, buy ridiculously over priced train tickets and head up to the capital of gastronomy for the evening to have dinner in Lyon.

It was a great spontaneous trip, our train ended up being delayed on the way up, so we just decided to get a hotel and stay the night too. A fortuitous stroke of luck, or happy coincidence while wandering, found us in the oldest part of one of the oldest cities in France in a hotel next to a bar with 50 different kinds of beers (My kind of night man). It was an epic evening, complete with gastronomic delights...and some not so delightful, yummy beer, fun and sometimes interesting people and being mooned by a frenchman...that was definitely a first for me.

Anyhow, this morning as we were walking to the train we popped into a coffee shop for a morning fix and as we sat in silence (completely drained from the night before) I perused our French counterparts in the café and noted their comings and goings. What was a hustling and bustling cafe very quickly dissipated into just me, Andy, the table next to us and their poodle (yes, poodle in the coffee shop, I had to squash the urge to drop kick it...I dislike small dogs, especially small bitchy French ones who eat croissant out of their owners hands and disrupt my morning coffee by barking and hurting my hangover..ha).

I looked up as a group of old men came into the shop together...really old guys, with fantastic beards, canes and hats, dressed like something out of the 1950’s, they were French old-school. I watched as they sat down, exchanged pleasantries with the barmaid and went about their very obviously daily routine. It got me thinking about habits and daily routines and how different we are from country to country...strictly speaking the US and France anyway.

In America, we haul ass to stand in ridiculous lines at Starbucks all the while tolerating the abnormal chipperness of the baristas in anticipation of our much needed caffeine fix. Then we tuck the scone/muffin/fruit cup into our handbag/briefcase/purse/tote bag and hurry off to our train/car/taxi/walk to wherever it is we’re off to on the day. The only pleasantries exchanged are those maybe between us and another cranky customer or the barista.

The French, saunter into a café, sit down, wait their turn for when the barman/maid feels the spirit to look in their general direction, because of course, they have the control; they don’t work for tips, and they don’t care how cranky you get waiting for your fix. But the real French customer doesn’t mind this, they understand it’s about the experience just as much as it’s about the caffeine. They’ll take out their paper/book/iphone, nibble on their freshly bought croissant/pain au chocolat/baguette from the pâtisserie next door, light up their cigarette, blow it inconveniently in your direction and heave a weighty sigh releasing the morning’s clearly obvious tensions. Sometimes they’ll even just gaze off into the distance, pondering the quandaries of their 4 day work week no less, or chat to their friends; the important difference though, is their process.

They’re not in a hurry, they don’t care if they get to work on time, hell, they don’t really care if they get there a half hour late...it’s a nationally understood thing, that there’s always a good reason, and they’re never questioned.

Back to Forrest Gump though, thinking about his shoes got me thinking about my coffee experience and how you can tell just as much about a person by the way they do things. In France we have the saying, “Les américains vivent de travailler, les français travaillent pour vivre,” which means, Americans live to work, French work to live. I’d have to say, that nails it right on the head though. Watching the French go through their coffee routine, I remember one day when I was just trying to be French in the way I drank my coffee. But when I tried to take my time, I was confounded by the order in which to do my actions, cigarette first? Then sugar in the coffee? Then croissant???...damn, instead of lighting my cigarette with the hand stuffing my muffin into my bag while pressing my phone to my shoulder so I can talk while running down the street and trying not to spill my hot coffee in the other hand on myself all at once like usual, I had no idea which order to do things in when I was doing them one at a time.

France has been really good for me in that way, learning how to slow down and take my time. I’m sure I’ve written about it before in one of my earlier chapters.

Right now I find myself having a really hard time finding my balance, finding the right amount of actually “being” here and not already living back at home in the US in anticipation of my re-entry this summer. I’m trying to take my own advice and do things one at a time, but it’s not without difficulty. It’s been a real exercise in thought control, forcing myself to be here, in this moment, right now, instead of 6 months ahead of time in where I think I want my new life to be once I get back. It’s not without effort, this is something that’s always been a constant struggle in my life, and it’s an important battle to conquer I think, because looking back, I regret and see so much that I missed out on in the moment while I was waiting for the future. I don’t want to regret, and I don’t want to look back and wish I’d done things differently. All I really want to do is matter, I want to know that I used my powers for something good and that I made a difference somehow, somewhere, to someone. I guess what I’m trying to say, is I don’t want to die with all my thoughts still inside me, and if you ever need a lesson in trying to matter, the best thing I’ve learned so far is to just sit down and have a coffee:)

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Greetings all from finally back in France after many many massive weekends of traveling!!

Gosh, where to start.

Oktobefest, definitely. This year I decided to make a bucket list of things to do before I leave Europe, and oktoberfest was definitely on there. I bought myself a last minute ticket, for 7am on Saturday morning, which of course meant (because there is no train up to my friendly neighborhood airport that early) that I once again ended up sleeping in the airport. Luckily the Lyon airport is very nice, and has restaurants with booths. So I set up camp for the night, along with several other scragglers in the airport, it was a bit like summer camp, sleeping with backpacks, accept with strangers, and a lot less fun. However, the next morning I arrived to Germany (after having changed into my German outfit, a corset, pumping up my size C's to at least a DD...you should have seen the looks I was getting on the airplane) and promptly changed into the rest of my costume using Max and Jon (the friends I was there with) as a shield in the train station. We headed over to the oktoberfest tents (of course stopping to buy a beer for pre-game on the way there) and rocked our day out.

Oktoberfest, is every bit of the drunken insanity that you think it is, tents full of tables with random strangers dressed in Liederhosen, crazy Italians at the table next to you, crazy Germans at the same table as you, all standing up on the benches, toasting, shouting, singing, dancing, clapping and raising their enormously large glasses of beer. The best part was the waitresses, who are possibly hte strongest human beings on earth, each carrying giant masses of beer. I don't know if any of you have held a mass, but it hurts my hand just to hold up one, let alone carry about 15 of them full of beer at the same time. These chicks were STRONG and pint sized...amazing little pocket Xenas.

After spending the entire day drinking and eating everything in site...we got kicked out of the tents early because we didn't have a table reservation...I on the other hand managed to sneak back in...well not sneak so much as break in. I was standing in line, and I have never had to wee so much in my life, so i decided the way to get into the club was to try, in broken german, to explain to the bouncer that I had a kidney problem, and so that he needed to let me into the tent...I can just imagine how that sounded, "Sir, I have kidney disease, I NEED to get into the beer tent...please." Brilliant on my part. He of course denied me entry, so when he turned his back I made a run for it, bells and whistles started ringing, people yelled, but I just kept on running. Made it to the bathroom and then found my way to Max's friend's table (who were dressed as giant kangaroos by the by). Eventually the boys managed to sneak in, after several failed attempts, and we set off into town in search of currywurst (the best drunk food on the planet) and then headed home and fell asleep watching the Neverending Story on Max's movie projector...pretty much the best day ever.

So the next day was much of the same...accept more painful, because my liver was in serious revolt after the previous day's excursions. At one point in the night we were in a bar that I actually fell asleep in, I have honestly never done that in my life. There was a giant bathtub remade into a booth for a table. I laid down and passed out, and didn't even remember it until the boys reminded me about it the next day. All in all, I'd say O'fest was a smashing success, no wonder they only do it once a year though.

The next weekend, I jolted off to London Town to go stay with my very very good friend Katherine for the weekend. Katy Kat, actually was my former student in Texas when I was a French teacher. She and I kept in touch over the years and eventually, she made her way across the pond to live her dream and I am so proud of her. Six months in, she lives in a beautiful flat, has a great first job and is training to run the Paris Marathon with me in April! The first night I arrived we hugged it out somewhere in the underground and on our way home picked up chicken nuggets and chips at a local resto called the "chicken stop." I just had to eat there out of necessity because the name was just too amazing, like something you'd see in Texas. We stayed up until way too late, catching up and drinking far too much red wine. The next morning I paid for it though as we got up to do a little 6 mile run...little did I know that the first mile of said run was up the biggest freaking hill I've ever seen in my life. However, katie surprised me with a stop in the Hampstead Heath gardens at a little breakfast nook hidden away in an old english style building, it was like something out of pride and prejudice sipping coffee out on the terrace over looking the huge garden...very picturesque.

We spent the rest of the day sight seeing, I wanted to get my hair cut, but had waited to do it until arriving in London, as I wanted to be able to explain what I wanted in English, just in case...and of course my hairdresser ended up being from France, and I did it all in French anyway....figures. Katie and I hit up the national gallery and saw all kinds of paintings by my favourite guys, Sunflowers by Van Gogh, Renoirs, Monets, Manets...it was pretty surreal to be standing about a foot away from each of them able to see the brushstrokes. At one point a children's group came through and we joined in for story time.

The next day was mine and Kate's 10k for cancer in Victoria park. We got up suuuuuuuper early and headed down (sitting on the top of the double decker bus...I was far too excited about this) and arrived at the park thinking we were late, kate was panicking and i was wondering where all the people were since we couldn't find the freaking start. I asked for the map she printed off...only to look at it and see that the race didn't start for another 2 HOURS....oh kate, i could have killed you if your'e reading this:) The race for cancer was amazing, very moving, as everyone wore signs in honor of whom they were running for. Some saying "for my son who passed away last june and was 22," I found myself weeping at several points during the race itself, especially when passing a young man wheeling his father through the course in a wheelchair, and also when passing one woman in particular who was standing on the side of the road furiously clapping, cheering and weeping all at once. I got to the end of the finish line and actually crossed it by doing a cartwheel, sadly I have no pictures of this...but it was epic.

That night I went out and found another old friend from Texas (I swear more and more are coming across the pond now...it's an epidemic). My good friend Michael Georgio, fellow singer now Londoner and I went out for dinner and had a great time catching up over whiskeys and burgers in Covent Garden. Life is so surreal sometimes.

Kate had to work the next day so I headed of for a day of sightseeing on my own. The best part being Shakespeare's globe theater. I headed home that night and in honour of shakespeare I decided to watch Shakespeare in Love and gorge myself on fried chicken and chips from the "chicken spot" again. It was a truly delightful evening. Due to all the wonderful striking going on here in France at the moment (as the french are pissed that the retirement age is moving from 60 to 62...seriously ridiculous, delayed trains, protesters actually on the tracks, closed down unis, cars set on fire, helicopters...I mean really, all over two years) anywho, my trip was cut short a bit and I ended up spending the morning boarded on my flight for 3 hours before take off, after having taken a 35 pound taxi ride to the train station and another 2o pound train to the airport...god my pocket book was so light after being in England.

All in all two amazing trips. Fresh back from the land of Ire yesterday so I'll be sure to update that soon. I'm a little shot for right now.

I love you, I miss you,

Sarah

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Note: It is pronounced Eden "borough" not Edin "burg." This is a mistake I am continually making about every five minutes as I write from my friend Ben (otherwise known as Angel Delight...a lovely British type of sticky sweet pudding) 's sofa as I await the arrival of my other Green Tortoise friends for our reunion party.

If winter in September, a sky that jumps between sunny and depressing and light persistent drizzle tickle your fancy, than by god mate England is the place for you. I took off from Grenoble at about 5.45 in the morning on Thursday...my flight that I had previously purchased the week prior was cancelled at 9.45pm the night before I was supposed to leave on my jaunt to jolly ole' England...and bused it up to the train station where it would be a 3hr TGV ride to Paris, a metro ride across Paris, a Chunnel train over to London, a walk up to Euston station and then another train (that was then delayed, cancelled, changed and then delayed again) and I finally arrived to AD's house in Carlisle England. I really don't think there is anything I can't handle these days.

Ben and I promptly hugged it out at the train station and then headed to the local Curry buffet where there was not only five different kinds of curry to choose from, tandoori wings, vegetarian samosas and a proper pint of beer. Needless to say I was a very happy panda. Ben and I headed off to the local pub and then back home where I had a delightful 11 hour sleep:)

The next morning Ben and I decided the best course for the day would be to head up to Scotland for the afternoon, because, well, because why not? We looked up trains that were all booked, so we hoped into the car and started our jaunt up the highway and many country roads. The green up here and the light, is just simply amazing, I found myself staring across rolling green foothills in patches of different color, shadows casting down from the sun's reflections on the clouds, and wanting to take a stroll up the hill as I was somehow magically transported to the lands of all my favorite period movies and novels. All I needed was a bonnet and horse to complete the scenario. Unfortunately I ran into a bit of trouble because my French bank card had been frozen (due to the massive amounts of spending and money withdraws in the previous days no doubt) and my poor bastard of an American visa didn't seem to be any good because I didn't have an oh so special european microchip in it (this must be what people without the microchip passports feel like when they get denied access to travel these days).

We finally made it up to Edinburgh (note, when mapquesting something in England, just add an automatic hour to the trip, highways in this country suck...however it does make for nice scenic driving with the windows down and the heater blasting...since it's already winter here by the way, I'm freezing...whilst singing loudly to broadway showtunes and the moon casts down on you:) (The showtunes were necessary after the Ghost Tour that we took down in the vaults of Edinburgh under the city where they used to hide the bodies they snatched from graves to give to the medical school...creepy).

Ben and I purveyed our surroundings and decided the best course of action (after I had sent my obligatory postcard to my sweetie pie) was to buy tickets to the Ghost Tour and then eat at the "Baked Potato Shoppe." This being a vegetarian only shop, I opted for a baked potato drowned in English baked beans and shredded cheddar cheese, of course first after having heaped several slices of thick butter onto a golden salted potato. I also opted for a samosa stuffed with Haggis (mmmm) are you salivating yet?

We wandered up to the castle, which was situated on top of the tall mountain, making it look almost as though the mountain had sprouted a castle rather than it having been built there. Dating all the way back to Medieval times, there's just nothing better than walking around the grounds imagining yourself as a medieval soldier being shot at from the towers. The fact that I can reach out and touch things that are damn near a millennium old is a pretty powerful feeling. Staring at the crown jewels, the crown of which is rumored to have been made from the melted gold of Robert the Bruce's crown (dating back to the 1300's), diamonds the size of your head and sword and scepter that were handled by the kings of old as they anointed all the crowned leaders of Scotland over the last several hundred years, it's just, well there's just no words for it, when your'e standing there looking at history. Wow. just wow.

We took part in a lot of the street performances, men dressed as vikings, local bag pipers...I had so many great videos of all of this, but alas my camera ate them all...including my favorite video of me rolling steam roller style down the hill in the princess gardens just outside the castle. It was such a perfect hill for it, I couldn't resist laying down and giggling all the way down the hill, I also felt the urge to yell out "AS YOU WISHHHHHHHHH!!!" It was a truly great day:). Finished off by our Ghost tour of old Edinburgh, which is said to be one the places in the world with the highest level of paranormal activity. We started off at the Mercat Cross, the oldest point in the city where all royal declarations used to be made from, and still are actually, also the site where all public torture was carried out. I naturally volunteered Ben to be made a public example of for the demonstration of public torture, so he was given 39 lashings, nailed to the Mercat Cross by his ears, then deafened by being ripped off the Mercat Cross (leaving said ear still nailed up there) and then later on he was suffocated to death before his body was sold to the local medical school...they got good use out of him:) Heard all kinds of great stories about torture, ghouls and ghosts, and Finally toured the vaults below the city (where I only screamed once:).

Today we're sitting around waiting for the rest of our Green Tortoise friends to join us for our mini reunion (as not everyone can make it this year due to scheduling conflicts) and relaxing under an overcasty sky. Heading back down to France on Monday and my first day of work will be on Wednesday, be thinking good thoughts for me!

I love you, I miss you.

Sarah

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Well, it's been an interesting 24 hours back...

I had amazing summer in New York, so amazing in fact, that I didn't want to come back, I didn't want to come back to France and live in an apartment with a frenchie who speaks no english, with a view that overlooks the Alps at sunset, and teach at a job where I only work 3 days a week and I can have 4 day weekends on a full salary to travel...yup, that's how good my summer was.

But, many many tears later, here I am, in said apartment, with said frenchie, having overlooked the sunset on the Alps, and I found myself talking to God.

The thing about coming back was, the fear of it all, the fear of being alone, the fear of leaving someone I had really fallen in love with back at home and coming back here to do it, on my own, for the first time ever. If I'm being brutally honest, which I am, last year was amazing, but it was a year of the unknown, a year of partying, a year of massive travel and a year of jumping from relationship to relationship, because that's what you do when you only live in a foreign country for a year. This year, is totally different, this year is about learning the language better, training for a marathon, finishing my thesis and deciding what I want my next step into life to be after this. I know these months will fly by (I've already got a trip to England planned next weekend, a trip back to Tours the weekend after, and the possibility of Oktoberfest the weekend after that) and then I'll be into my third week of teaching and it'll be October already, and hopefully I'll have a lot more of my thesis written.

I spent the summer in New York connecting with old friends, getting really in touch with my old creative side, working at a shit job that I hated, eating, drinking and falling back in love. It was amazing, I spent a lot of time on my own, I spent a lot of time learning the city...but I did come to realize that the city will always be there. But what I loved the most about this summer, was how easy everything was. I feel like there isn't anything I can't do, I really do know now, that I am a powerful creator; conversely, we all are, we just have to decide what we want...however deciding is half the battle. I found myself asking so many people this summer, "what should I do..." rather than sitting down and thinking about it myself and deciding what it all "means." Now don't misunderstand me, but no means do I expect to have any idea what even half of it means anytime soon, I just know that I need to do it on my own. I'm going to be really brave now and write the journal article I wrote tonight in my book as I was watching the sun set over the alps and talking to God...

"Day 2, well night 2 in Grenoble; plunging feelings of sadness have lessened and I got exactly what I was longing for...Alone time. I'm sad but only because I miss him so much, so now I'm "home" but not waiting for him to come home, weird. Glad I made plans to go to England and glad I have plans to go to Tours the weekend after that. This is going to turn out to be the experience in self awareness that I needed last year. I think K's book (a friend gave me a great "eat, pray, love"-like book for my birthday) will help. I know I made the right choice because I feel so sad, so I'm afraid, so I know that I am feeling what I know I've been needing to feel for ages...I just can't go running back to NY because it was easier because there were people there. I'll get used to this. Everything will be ok. I find myself staring at the mountains in comfort tonight talking to God; knowing somehow this can't be wrong, because I remember at some point wanting it so much...I want to be comfortable in my own skin again."

Ok, so maybe that doesn't seem like a lot for me to say out loud, but that was hard even to write down.

Things that have made me laugh so far since I've been here:

My roommate picked me up last night and took me straight to a swing dance class in France, where I was a better dancer than he was, and I got a crash course in the fact that I will be speaking WAY more French this year than last year (thank god).

I got my new teaching schedule and I only teach 3 days a week and have lots of time for vacation. My first thought was "awesome I can travel," my second was "fuck, I need some friends, that's a lot of alone time."

I went to the store to buy laundry detergent, and came home with fabric softener and had already done a load of laundry before David pointed this out to me.

I have managed to successfully not cry since I got on the plane...well I did mist up a little bit when I put out all my photos and NY paraphernalia my boyfriend bought me for my birthday.

My french is hella better than it was last year...I could do whatever I needed to do today without much complication or mis comprehension...how in God's name I managed last year is still beyond me.

Grenoble, is already freezing, and all my fall/winter clothes are about 300k north in Tours...good thing I'm going there soon.

I forgot how much I missed starting off the day with a pain-au-chocolat instead of a bagel from the bagel store (not that those aren't amazing either, god I miss jalapeno cheddar bagels with cheddar and bacon cream cheese).

My roommate didn't make me pay for the whole month in this apartment since I wasn't here the whole month, bonus for me!

On the other hand he laughs at my accent at about every other word that I say, so I'm paying for it anyway:)

French trains are awesome, until someone steals your favorite cowboy had you've had since college and the really awesome hat you bought in NY that was sitting underneath it...what does a French person need with my hats...stupid frogs. I'm still pretty sad about that.

I only had one suitcase and one backpack as opposed to last year's two; how I ever managed to get all the way to London to Tours with both those huge bags is beyond me. I wanted to die twice yesterday.

I can officially sleep on public transportation. Not well, but hey it's better than feeling like total crap when I get here.

This university is so much cooler than my last one; far more organized (I have my list of classes and teaching materials a week before classes start), everyone is so nice (I can use the informal greeting with all my colleagues), it's in the freaking Alps. Done and done.

So being back doesn't quite feel like I'm so far away...I mean I feel far away in general because I don't know anyone here, but that will change, as life always has a way of doing. Thanks for sticking with me, thanks for loving me, thanks for all your messages and your support...it means more than you know:)

I love you, I miss you,

Sarah

Grenoble Photos:)

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So lately I've been finding myself really ambivalent about life in general...a little lost, a little confused, leaning on a bunch of all the wrong things for guidance instead of looking where I should be; right in the mirror.

This summer has been a really interesting adventure making re-entry into the united states. I came home to work a little, play a little and spend time a little with some of the people I love the most in the world. Although I've found myself really torn about the idea of going back to France. Being back in the states has been interesting for a variety of reasons, but mostly for seeing the different level of emotional plane I'm on. I've found myself searching, but what for I'm not exactly sure. For so long going to France, living there, traveling yada yada, that was the dream. I spent two years working towards that, and I finally got it, tah-dah! So now the question is, now what? I find myself at a new "older" juncture in my life, a little anxious to start a career maybe? It's hard when you see all the kids around you your age getting married, having babies, settling down...makes you wonder if maybe that's what your supposed to be doing...and if it's not that, then what should I be doing with myself? What SHOULD I BE DOING WITH MY LIFE? Could someone please tell me? I feel like I should be screaming that from the rooftops. Do any of you ever feel like that? How do you combat it? What do you do when sometimes the loneliness is deafening?

I found myself so torn lately, that this morning I actually had the 3rd of a series of interviews for a "grown up" job here in NYC; but I came to a realization last night, that the pain of regretting for the rest of my life the decision not to go back to France and try again, far outweighs the fear I have of how sad I'm going to be if I do. I guess sometimes life...even if you are going back to live in Europe (oh woe is me...I know) is just about survival. For the first time in my life I find myself without a plan of what is next. Yes life in Europe is super exciting, and I can travel at the drop of a hat, but after awhile, it's just life, only on another continent and in a different language...sometimes with gestures. I guess right now I'm just feeling really scared; scared of the unknown, scared of what's next, it's a strange place to be in. But each time I catch myself trying to depend on someone else I (eventually) manage to get it together and focus on where I should be; myself. So I'm starting to consider what it is that I want to take from this next year. What kind of year do I want to make it. As I rapidly approach the beginning of my 26th year and the end of my 25th, I find myself searching for the answer to the question, "now that you've grown up, what do you want?" I finally got a hold of self confidence reigns on my life...I now no longer battle with self doubt the way I used to, I know I can do anything (To that effect a friend made a joke the other night that he could literally, pick me up, throw me at a map, and I'd land, feet first, with a job and 15 friends around me in the first week...I think that nails it to a T no?)

I've started working on my thesis, the last document for school that I intend to write for a long time; I'm still running, and contemplating the idea of training for an honest to god Marathon. I think that might be a great way to manifest some of my time, and what a glorious end to the year than to defend my thesis and run a marathon all in the same month. But now that I've done the massive amounts of traveling, and I can't really settle down (since I know I'll be leaving again in a year) what can I do with myself? I feel like I'm floating a lot lately, with that question constantly bouncing around in my head.

I feel like this was maybe a ridiculous post to put out there, but sometimes writing it all down helps me to sort it all out...not so much this time, but hey, that's life sometimes right?

I love you, I miss you.

Sarah

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