I Desperately Want To Title This Anything Other Than "Little Moments".

Everywhere I look, people keep telling me to show up to write. Every book I read for class, every acquaintance I catch up with in passing, and every thought that flashes through my head. Somewhere between last December, when I first decided to do this on a whim in the foreign yet familiar Panera around the corner from my sister's Boston apartment, and now, I settled on only writing an entry when something momentous happened or when something felt over or learned or gained or gone.

I think this is because I don't know how to write about being happy. I've been waiting and waiting and biding my time until my life shatters, leaving me a million pieces and a lesson to write about. But, and don't get me wrong this is a good thing, the tragedy just doesn't seem like its coming anytime soon.

My life is full of little moments: small milliseconds in time that eventually build up to this person I have slowly and indelibly become. So while the big things, like the semester ending and turning 20 (and it being the best, most ordinary and cherished day of my life), and quitting the Odyssey and The Rival being my savior and all these things that seem like they deserve a post to them self have happened, and honestly probably do deserve attention of their own, I am deciding finally to move away from this life of big things.

After all, it is the tiny things that matter most to me. When I can make an Uber driver smile after his last customer yelled at him for the traffic he simply couldn't control, and when he makes me smile in return by thanking me for being a decent human being. When talking on the phone with my parents through a 3 mile walk in the cold makes everything just fine, including the loss of feeling in my toes, and the shattered computer screen slung over my shoulder. It's when waking up too early reminds me why I love winter mornings and finding the perfect gift for my sister's birthday reminds me what's important.

As much as I try, sometimes I feel like the only thing I'm grounded in is my own unreality. This perfect bubble of friendship and happiness and financial instability that is mostly fake (because I still have a roof over my head and meal swipes to spend) leaves me blissful most days and guilty the rest. And the days when I'm guilty, the voice inside my head urges me to show up to write even more.

My dad sent me an e-mail last semester that hit home pretty hard; so much so that it both urges me on everyday and stalls my thoughts before they have the chance to strike a key. It essentially told me not to waste this thing I have. That holds a lot of weight to me. The inner monologue I keep with myself is apparently a big hit amongst you all, if you've stayed with me this far. Which is fine and great and I sincerely appreciate the support.

So here's the thing that terrifies me. Here's the thing that makes this really hard. I'm still young, and I'm still dreaming. I tell everyone I want to be a book editor, and I seriously do, but I would be lying to myself and everyone else if I didn't say my first dream is to write. And to do so well, and to make an impact, and, optimistically, do it for a living. But what happens when I publish this and expectations are set, and I don't meet them and then to everyone I've ever known I'm just the wannabe who never made it? This isn't the life for me. I don't handle failure well. Even when I am failing, I am succeeding by turning it into a funny story or a story of perseverance at the very least.

One of my fondest memories, and I'm sure you'll all question my sanity once you're done hearing this, it of my 18th birthday when my family made me cry in the middle of my favorite Italian restaurant. The conversation started with the whole 'you're an adult now' celebratory few sentences and ended with 'what are your goals? Plans for the future?'

Those of you who only met me in college have to understand the emotional and vulnerable person I now am grew out of this exact moment. I used to be the angsty high schooler who spent her days on Tumblr. I didn't really talk about my emotions or goals or life. I was just kind of there, living my day to day life. It was in that moment when my parents and sister sat there, staring at me, I burst into tears. Because not only did I feel the pressure of answering them, but how sad it was that the three people closest to me in this world did not know what I dreamed of accomplishing in my time here. That was the moment in which I decided to write, to open myself up not only to my own self, but to be vulnerable for the first time and let the world see what runs through my head.

Born from that moment is, fundamentally, the person I define myself as today. But that person is ever-changing, despite the big moments. They really don't mean that much anymore, those moments, simple markers that indicate time is passing, far too rapidly, and that I need to show up and write about the mundane, the day to day. Because after all, if I show up to live the little moments and write about them later, I think I could possibly keep this fleeting perfect sphere of happiness in my grasp just a little longer.

So take this as my vow. This post, inspired by a little moment. Take this as my vow to show up and write about the little things, the ones that leave me walking the quad with a smile in my heart and glimmer in my eye. Take this sentence as my promise that I will break that vow, but I will do my very very best.  In return, I ask that you answer me this.

Are you content, in this very moment?

I have $16.34 to my name. I have a shattered computer screen, an unbalanced diet, a deep affection for Barefoot Pink Moscato, a slight caffeine dependency. I have an urge to write, something that every parent prays their kid will never realize (in fears of a life spent pursuing art and racking up the credit card bills). But I'm happy. Freshii has had quinoa the past two times I've eaten there and my laundry is a greater percent clean than dirty. It's Birks season! And I've finally mastered the all-nighter formula! I have a best friend who could fill the trope in every bad rom-com that left you envious when you were a kid, good people around me who give nothing but support and love, and the cutest damn cat in the world to go home to.

I have the little moments, and I'm happy with those.