two years of fluf

Two years. Pretty insane. I wish that I could think of more to write, but the main thing I've been feeling lately is just overwhelmed. So many great things have happened in the last year - and more in the last two - and I'm thankful for every crazy circumstance.

But I've honestly been feeling a bit burnt out. Just overall exhausted, almost all the time. It's been a time of busy ups and downs - returning from a summer in one of the world's greatest cities. To a senior year that dragged on and disappointed at every turn.

To visiting Los Angeles in the spring, getting in a car wreck while on vacation, and deciding that i wanted to move here anyway. Finally graduating. Suddenly feeling a bit nostalgic about all the things I had been waiting so long to leave behind.

And then, after a short stop in San Francisco, finally making it to LA. Dealing with the stressful hunts for semi-gainful employment and semi-comfortable housing. Amidst the hunt, going through a pretty shitty breakup. But decidedly loving and learning from every frazzled, heartbroken minute I've had in this weird and fascinating city.

Most importantly, I've found a few kind and talented and same-kind-of-crazy individuals whom I love. Determined to MAKE IT WERK and help me do the same. Their support is something I've quickly learned I can't forge on without. It turns the chaos into opportunity, adventure. 

So. It's been a lot and i'm too tired to pretend otherwise. But in true West Coast spirit, I'm using this flufy anniversary to re-up my gratefulness, optimisim, and determination. I'm going to ~manifest~ the life that I want. (Yes, that is a term that people unironically use here. No, i have not yet succumbed to making mood boards full of the pictures of things I want for my future. But I'm close.) 

On that note, today I went to our neighborhood flea market in a spotty red jumpsuit with sleeves that flutter in the wind. I ended up leaving with a bulky cedar chest that two handsome strangers carried across an intersection for me. soon after, Emily and I (obviously) reasserted our feminism, took it from them, and ran (slowly shuffled under the chest's heavy weight) away. So maybe things are looking up? Or looking sweaty. I'll settle on "productive," at the least.

Onto a lucky third year. I won't let it be anything less.



clothes: squaresville vintage
pictures: emily owart and tavis gray
places: paul smith and melrose trading post

sarah crawford1 Comment