Too many housewife blogs: I can’t stop reading them.
I can’t stop marveling at their lace wedding dresses, their attractive, successful husbands, their anthropologie-inspired home decor and their cherub-looking babies. I hate them and love them at the same time. I feel a chorus of “Part of Your World” playing in the back of my mind each time I log in to read one of them.
I want to make lemon zest cupcakes at 11:00am while my quirky children play with their xylophones in the other room. I want to buy freshly cut flowers on the street below my New York apartment (yeah, I’m looking at you, Naomi Davis: http://www.lovetaza.com).
I think what it really boils down to is simply that I want to grow up.
College has treated me well. It has made me confident and brought me out of my shell, socially. I am no longer hesitant to talk to people that I don’t know, and I no longer worry what people will think if I wear the same red lipstick for the fourth day in a row. However, I am feeling like it’s time to move on. D.C., I think you are partially to blame. The cups of coffee I drank each morning on the balcony of my apartment, the red line at rush hour, the impromptu trips to New York City- They’re all to blame for my current lack of satisfaction. No matter how hard I try, instagramming a picture of my Williamsburg, VA coffee doesn’t have the same feel of adulthood as that in DC, and I’m not ashamed to admit that. Williamsburg nurtured me and helped me to grow, but now it’s pushing me to explore new parts of myself, exactly as a good mentor should.
For now, I am stuck in a beautiful place, somewhere between spice racks and keg stands. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, and I am happy.