list making
Why do we second guess our decisions days after we make them? Counting pros and cons on our fingertips like first grade math problems. Because so much of life already consists of adjusting and readjusting, assigning and reassigning, faking, forgetting, and starting over from scratch: when these moments occur, I have the urge to act solely in rashness. I want to take my college savings and book the soonest flight to France. Where I imagine I'll roll jet-lagged into the first coffee shop I see, finding myself agreeable to do things I would be normally be extremely uncomfortable with, like posing nude, throwing my arms up in the air proclaiming, "Hell! Why not?!" for some ragged, Bohemian painter. We'd talk extensively about our life goals and outrageous ideals, then l'd leave his studio, never bothering to hear his last name. In France, I'll stroll around parks and write lists of my favorite gelato shops, what I guess might be in these fantastic pastries, or my favorite park benches where I sit and watch the sunset.
Or instead . . . in Walla Walla, I could sit, exhausted on my bed, eating cupcakes Summer made with white fun-fetti frosting, making lists of simple things that make ordinary life still whimsical, worthwhile, and wonderful.
Like:
1) brunch at T Maccarones with Brit
2) drinking cool water from a mason jar on a hot day
3) spending the afternoon in a treehouse, with my feet dangling over the edge
4) haribo gummy bears
5) folk rock
6) calamansi gelato
7) NPR
8) cozy wine bars
9) swimming in the sea
10) ceramics
11) international street food
12) riding my bike
13) mid-afternoon barbecues
14) open mic
15) open markets
16) polaroids
17) used book stores
18) baking
19) creative film
20) Bohemia
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