Waiting...and waiting...and waiting...

Being forced to slow down in southern France has got me thinking about a lot of things lately, most notably life and what I want it to be. I think up to this point much of my life has been waiting. Waiting to graduate from something. Waiting to hear about a scholarship application, or an application to something (college, study abroad, this assistantship program, Fulbright, etc.), or to figure out what the next step will be. Waiting for the weekend, waiting for the summer, waiting for the next adventure, waiting to see if he really likes you, or not. Waiting to collect enough accolades and qualifications to apply for the next dream job. Waiting waiting waiting. Next next next. But if you're waiting, you're not living. That's one thing France is teaching me. All I've got is right now. Tomorrow might not happen, I might die, so why spend the whole time waiting? Living is the thing to do. It's not about where we're going, it's about where we are. What does it mean to live life to the fullest? Trying not to worry, refusing to be distracted, refusing to dwell, being present. Loving. What is that? Daring to feel? It's time to make things happen for myself, to think about the future but not obsess about it, and to not be in a hurry everywhere I go, but soak up the sun and enjoy what I can see. Youth. Beauty. Freedom. Love. Don't overthink. Don't worry too much about what you accomplish and what you don't. What is a great resume, if it wasn't lived well and loved along the way? When you die, you're dead. That's it, it's over, and what's going to have mattered the most? That you killed yourself to appear successful and amazing, or that you filled your life with contentment, every day along the way? These are the present musings...

My life, soap-opera speed

In the last 2 weeks, my life has exploded with drama. I've been having a lot of firsts, for example:

• my first official 'boyfriend' (the title was more according to him and his friends than to me)
• my first official break-up, from aforementioned 'boyfriend.' On Valentine's Day. I'm a bitch. I feel that's an experience everyone's gotta have once in their life. Barbie and Ken apparently broke up on V-Day in 2004, although I must have been on some other planet (read: college) to not have known that.
• the first time I've ever juggled two boys at once: nice, generous, 'older' gentleman 'boyfriend' with a job v. really hot, same-aged, reggae-listening, musician next-door neighbor (can't argue for convenience)! 'Boyfriend' didn't win that, obviously.
  
• the first time a tutoring client majorly came onto me. Not true. I've been propositioned, well, this'll be the 3rd time. Older single (and married!) French men in this tiny town seem to think that when a young American girl offers "English lessons," she's really looking for a husband, or at the very least offering sex. But I am strapped for cash at the moment...maybe I should have taken that 50 euro/hr offer to pose for a guy who claimed he was a photographer. I think I'll take my dignity this time around, thanks. But I guess this was the first time one of them declared his love for me...ugh. Honestly, all you single ladies, come to a small town in the south of France. Men will be crawling all over you! (my friend in another little town is living through similar stories, so there you go)
• the first time I skipped work (here in France) for reasons other than being sick (a.k.a. I just couldn't get my lazy ass out of bed last Monday). I felt really guilty yesterday when the kids were asking me what I had-the flu? A cold? I got out of it by mumbling in my broken French: "I don't know what it's called in French!" How do you say "a case of the Mondays" in French? Ah, fuck it!

Someday I'll look back on this all and laugh. Hell, I'm laughing now!