…perhaps even putting it in the food. I have a placard that says that on my wall in California, a gift from my sixteenth birthday party, which really does not seem that long ago. I’ll have to bring it when I go to London this fall. It’s good to have things that remind you what has changed and what has stayed the same. That’s part of why old friends are so important, and so precious.

Your word of the day is Kintsugi, or the Japanese art of fixing broken pottery with lacquer mixed with gold, platinum, or silver dust. Breakage and repair are treated as the history of the object, rather than something to be hidden. (Thank you, Wikipedia.)

But let us turn to life updates. I have been accepted into the Boston University London Literature program, for which I am grateful and excited. I can’t help but be curious what moving to a new place will be like this time. Coming to college was so stressful, but this time I’ll know people, I’ll know how to settle in, and I’ll know I’ve done it before and done it well. I know my niches, my needs, and I trust my instincts. I’m excited to see how much I’ve grown, and how well I’ll handle another transplant. I wonder how much I’ll have grown by the time I come back.

On the practical side of things, I’m excited to have a real kitchen and to be of legal drinking age. Hello white wine sauces, simmering mushroom sautéd and distributed on crisp sourdough that drips with Swiss, mimosa brunches. I have a budget grocery list all figured out, but I am looking forward to splurging from time to time. I have missed salmon, avocados, artichoke hearts, and dessert. I miss dark chocolate with raspberry, perhaps in one of those candy bars that look like postcards, with the love poems inside. I miss the steam that rises from hot chocolate after you put on the whipped cream.

I did my first interview for my literary magazine earlier this week and just loved it. I have yet to transcribe the forty-five minutes of audio, much of which was spent fangirling over fairy tales and literature with the brilliant, charming Alicia Borinsky. She has loaned me her book Low Blows, which seems to consist of Spanish (and English translations of) short stories, almost like vignettes. I look forward to reading them, and perhaps imitating them later. I plan on following up with Theodora Goss come March, and I’m very much looking forward to that. If you haven’t read any of her work, check it out here. Her website inspired me to make my own, and her poetry, especially her poems on ravens, is just lovely. I recognized a translated version of one of her pieces in a foreign language magazine of some Eastern European variety while interning at Locus over winter break, and was completely astounded to see the name of a professor there. I am only just beginning to realize how talented and hardworking and intelligent the people I am learning from are, and I feel more honored by the day. Which brings us to the shout out section of this blog post, because I am feeling pretty damn grateful to the people in my life. I don’t know if they’ll read this–they probably won’t–but I’ll find a way to let them know, somehow. Should I break down and buy Thank You cards, do you think? It would take some time.

Who I Would Thank, and What For (Non-Comprehensively, Clearly)

• I need to thank Zak Bos, for being so generous with his time, advice, and knowledge.
• Lord Nelson, for giving me B+s on my papers and making me actually arrive at class on time.
• Brendan Pratt, for giving me my first job as a technical writer and inviting my family to Thanksgiving dinner, on top of general life mentor duties. Does he know he’s my life mentor? Probably not, but I feel like he’d be about that.
• Lauren, a writing fellow who has helped me edit half a dozen papers, at least. She doesn’t let me get bullshit past her, and I’m grateful for that.
• Gabrielle Sims, an incredible professor of mine last year who took me out to tapas at a Spanish restaurant tonight and very nearly wrote me a second recommendation letter. She described me as “frankly eloquent” in her last one, and it still makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
• Sir Christopher Ricks, who wrote me a recommendation letter and who I still have to take to tea before the end of the year. I will not forget the time I met him on the street and he stopped me to tell me that I was “formidable,” and asked what I planned on doing with my life.
• Professor Prince, who introduced me to all the best people, and who gave me many B+s for failing at close reading.
• My sister, who has occasionally permitted me to download her brain to my own for my convenience, may soon write “The Gentlewoman’s Guide to Romance,” and who is a spectacular example of all the ways humanity doesn’t suck.
• My mother, for being so unfailingly honest and steadfast. My middle school friends called her “The Most Gracious Queen,” and the title still holds.
• Cristina Rischmoller, who has knitted me socks and gloves for this awful winter and for her unfailing cleverness and welcome. Also that Peruvian dish she made me that one time with potatoes dipped in mayo. It was perfect, and I need to figure out how to make it in my microwave.
• My soulmates, Giselle Boustani and Carlynn Hickenbotham, for no other reason than being themselves. They are both such a blessing. I’m getting my cartilage pierced with Giselle tomorrow, and I get to see Carlynn next week!
• My roommate, Rebecca, who is reasonable, loyal, kind, and generous. She’s my rock.
• Danial, for his messed up sense of humor and strange brand of affection. I’m lucky to have him.
• Kyle, for being so easy-going and wise. Also for this.
• Kamara, for always visiting, even if I’m never here when she does! Visit again soon, Kamara!
• Will Pearson, for that time he told me that instead of staying at my own claustrophobic and overcrowded party, that “Happiness is a choice, and your bedroom is upstairs.” I really hope he uses that line on a woman one day.
• Novruz, my RA, for being so quick to help out when Andrew, a guy on the second floor, got hurt. I’m glad he’s here, and I’m glad he’s good at his job.
• Michelle Webber, for her love.
• K.C., for letting me know that I am loved. Wishing her the best after her surgery.
• Bernice, for her consistence, warmth, and friendship. I’m not sure I deserve it, but I’m damn lucky to have it.
• Violet, for being her lovely, clever self.
• Spencer, one of my sort-of bosses at work, who has been very easy-going in light of some recent mistakes on my part, and who always makes me feel as though I belong.
• Alicia Borinsky and Theodora Goss, for their time and advice.
• Ashley from student health, for her gentle honesty and regard.
• The people at Locus, for letting me contribute to the wonderful product they create.
• All the people who took care of my mom this year–Giussepe Rischmoller, Paymahn, Marcus, Amelie, and Atana, to name a few. I get to be at college because I know she is taken care of, and I am so grateful for that.
• Shawn Felsch, for her hospitality, warmth, and love.
• Julian Goldman, for his unfailing decency.
• Chloe, for her incredible elegance, humor, and friendship.

That was a long list, and if you made it all the way through I am frankly astonished. Goodnight, and thank you all.

This blog post’s word is liminality and dedicated, therefore, to the inestimable Giselle Boustani. The word comes from the Latin word for “threshold,” and is defined by Wikipedia as “the quality of ambiguity or disorientation that occurs in the middle stage of rituals, when participants no longer hold their pre-ritual status but have not yet begun the transition to the status they will hold when the ritual is complete.” A fitting word, since most of this post will be about the space between choosing one thing or another.

Life is a series of choices, and sometimes, that’s a pain in the ass. Do I stay home, with my mother who loves me, or do I go thousands of miles away and see what I become? Do I go abroad and discover new countries, or stay with my wonderful friends? Do I apply to psych grad school, get my masters in teaching, or go to law school? Could I fit an MFA in, on the way? Could I even get in, if I tried?

How many things to do, before the things you do become too much? A cup that runneth too much over is damn hard to drink.

I have been lucky enough to have mostly good choices, and perhaps lucky even to have some closed to me. I go thousands of miles away. I go abroad and discover new countries, or I don’t–they’re getting back to me. Perhaps I will postpone choosing a profession and travel the world instead. But it’s hard to decide what to base your choice upon. Money seems the obvious answer, when it comes to jobs. I want to be a writer, but I’m very well aware that requires a day job. How will I do all the things I want to do if I’m poor for the rest of my life? I’m already half-convinced I’ll be in grad school forever.

I don’t know. People keep telling me it’ll figure itself out, which based on what I know of people just means they’re not really sure how they figured it out themselves (and, if they’re over, say, thirty, that they wish they hadn’t worried so much about it when they were my age? Just a guess.) I was told the other day that I’d end up switching my job either way, that that was what the marketplace was like now. You can always change, essentially. You can always go back, and start all over. It’s a comforting thought, although the idea of the choices that would come with it…

In a world and a country and a time of my life so full of choices, it’s good to take a little time to sit down and think… or rather, cease to think. I’m a big fan of mindfulness meditation, even if I don’t do much of it in practice. So now, instead of thinking about all the choices I need to make, my three meetings tomorrow, or the fact that I don’t have a free evening all week, I’m going to do myself a little favor. Mindfulness starts with noticing what is around you, so let’s start with that.

There is tea in the yellow mug sitting on my desk. It smells like strawberries and currant, and tastes sweet and leafy. I can hear the fridge burbling softly in the corner, and out on the Massachusetts Turnpike, or perhaps Commonwealth, I hear the rev of engines. Music is playing somewhere a few rooms over, and a door somewhere in the house has just fallen shut behind someone. Here, in the room, there is a faint scent of vanilla, probably spillover from the fake vanilla flavoring hiding in the clutter on my desk. I let out a breath, and check the clock. I need to leave in fifteen minutes, get dressed and throw on makeup before then, but for a moment I can just sit, sipping from my yellow mug the tea that smells like strawberries.

I will try to publish a blog post about mindfulness later this week, but no promises. Until then, much love to all of you. Stay warm in the storm if you’re out here in Boston, and try to get on the ark before it leaves if you’re out in CA.