Hello

It’s me. I was wondering if after all these years you’d like to meet.

JUST KIDDING!

Hi guys, I know, it’s been a while. I’d like to apologize for my complete neglect of this blog. Life has just been pretty busy. I think if anything, my lack of writing post-Paris just goes to show how incredibly hectic NYC living compared to easy breezy Paris. Anyway, I’d like to update you on a few things before I get back to posting more regularly (fingers crossed).

Updates: I’m back in New York (yay). I am currently interning for Delish.com  and loving every second of it because food is life. I am still single (hey boys ;)). I am still living in a dorm (boo) although it’s in SoHo (fancy) so I’m not complaining too much. I am back to working at an elementary school so I’m getting my regular dose of kid loving. Oh, also I’m still a student, a second semester junior actually, so that kind of takes up the rest of my time when I’m not working, interning, applying for 1000 things, or going on woefully unsuccessful dates. I also started a second blog for a class on Immigrant Latinas in New York, so that’s pretty fun. Oh also, I cut my hair again.

As you can see, I’m basically busy af. But I have a bunch of blog ideas bouncing around in my head so I will hopefully sit down and knock those out in the next few weeks (if I don’t die of exhaustion first). So stay tuned, I promise to make this a little more interesting.

 

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Smart Phones: The Glue Holding Our Lives Together

So I haven’t really talked about it on this blog but I had a pretty shitty experience when I went to Istanbul. Long story short, I got all my stuff stolen from my room while I was sleeping there. Ok, so not all my stuff, but the thief took my camera, my phone, all my cash, and weirdly, my computer charger-so basically, all my Millennial essentials. Of course, I am grateful that I am alive and my friends and I left Istanbul unharmed. But I’d be a lot more grateful if all my electronics were still safely in my care. Anyway, I know that like many other people of my generation, I am extremely dependent on my smart phone. But it wasn’t until I was plopped down, phoneless, in big ole’ Paris that I realized what an essential tool smart phones are for city conquest. So yeah, this is a post about how great smart phones are because, let’s face it, they are the unsung heroes of our lives.

1. Smart phones help us keep our shit together.

You know those big chunky organizers we learned to use in elementary school so we could learn to organize our lives and be productive adults? Well, we often forget but smart phones are the modern, eco-friendly form of that. I use my smart phone as a planner, an organizer, and a “random thought/actually important things” notebook. Everything important that I should remember is contained in my tiny little phone. My appointments, my class schedule, my rendez vous, the list of restaurants I want to check out- all on my cellphone. When someone wants to hang out I have to check my phone to make sure I’ll be free. I even check my phone to make sure I’m going to the right classroom because I can’t even seem to remember where the hell my classes are located. And honestly, I don’t know how I ever woke up on time before having my smart phone. I need at least three separate alarms, set at 15 minute intervals, to wake me up, and that’s on a good day. With an analog clock or one of those lousy non-phone alarms, you max out at two alarms, so you’re guaranteed to be perpetually late (and I’m already always late as it is). What’s worse is having absolutely no notion of time because what young person actually wears wristwatches in this day and age? I mean, to be fair, lots of people wear wristwatches, but not me of course, because I had the false sense that my phone would always be all I needed. Also, no phone = no handy dandy notebook to take notes in. I’ve had to resort to writing all my little notes on my hands and arms and looking like Guy Pierce in Memento. You would think I would just carry around a little notebook with me or something, but of course, I always forget to and find myself paperless when I most need to note something. It’s kind of ridiculous, but really, city dwellers have busy lives to keep organized, and it’s just so convenient to have it all on a phone.

2. Don’t know the way to that new bar with the chicken and waffle sliders?  Good thing you’ve got a smart phone.

I personally suck at directions. I actually didn’t learn to get to my best friend’s house until last summer, even though she’s lived in the same place since we were both in 5^th grade. New York is a little easier to navigate because, thank God, the whole city is planned on a grid and there are tall buildings that function as markers of north and south (I would die if I were stranded in the woods). But basically anywhere else, Paris especially, I have to be lead around everywhere like a child. So there is not a single day that goes by that I don’t thank the heavens for my iPhone and Google Map .I mean sure, paper maps exist and all , but imagine having to carry those obnoxious things around. I owe my ability to get from point A to point B to the little blue dot on my screen. My dependency on this technology has never been more evident than when I found myself on the verge of tears after spending half an hour searching for Chipotle and not finding it because I didn’t have my iPhone telling me where to go. I decided to just get off at the Metro stop that was in the general area and pray that my Chipotle senses would start tingling and lead me in the right direction, but of course I think I gave my connection to Chipotle a little too much credit.

3. Smart phones actually have decent cameras

So, this one may not be as evident or important to everyone, but as a photographer I highly value the cameras on smart phones. I can’t speak for all smart phones cause I’m Apple and iPhone all the way, but it seems like nowadays most smart phones come equipped with a good camera. I take pictures all day every day and of everything. I’m all about capturing fun moments and taking pictures of pretty things and occasionally snapping a pic of a particularly scrumptious meal (judge me all you want, food is art and it merits recognition). As much as I love my Nikon (or loved, because you know, that’s gone now) it’s kinda bulky and it’s a lot weirder to aim a huge DSLR at a bomb ass salad than it is to discreetly point your iPhone at said deliciousness. It’s just easier to carry an iPhone and more likely that you’ll have a phone on you and not a gargantuan camera. So yeah, phones are convenient for my share-happy generation. They also come in handy when I’m too lazy to write down the name and address of that cute little boutique I want to come back to. Take out a pen and paper and slow down the crowd around me? Nah. I can just snap a pic with my phone and look at it later. Also there are times when my best friend isn’t with me and I need someone’s opinion on what I’m about to buy so what do I do? Take a picture; send it right away, and bam! Instant feedback to satisfy my Millennial anxiety.

4. Phones provide hours and hours of entertainment and procrastination.

It’s really satisfying when you are bored out of your mind and you have the ability to be entertained instantly. I love being on the subway and being able to whip out my phone and catch up on some New York Times articles-no bulky paper copy needed. I can just as easily drown out the noise of the city (or have a private dance party) by just playing some of the music on my phone. Or I can watch some Netflix while I wait for my next class to start. For the less culturally inclined, there are also endless games to choose from- all accessible thanks to our handy dandy phones. You can crush candy, dress Kim Kardashian, make a Doodle jump – the possibilities for mind numbing entertainment are endless. We also can’t forget that smart phone s are convenient (and dangerous) portals to our ever-important social media lives. Instead of playing games, reading, watching videos, or studying you can spend hours on Facebook or Twitter obsessing over how many likes you got on your last selfie. You can check out what your friends are doing on Instagram too and you can find yourself a hot date on Tinder. Honestly, as much as I judge people for constantly being on their phones and perusing social media, I gotta say it felt really off putting not having constant access to my Facebook after my phone got stolen. Not only was I constantly missing out on the latest political war being waged on my Newsfeed but I also missed a lot of relevant messages from people. It’s telling of the decay of our society, but being disconnected from social media actually has a tangible impact on our young lives.

5. The actual reason phones were invented: communication.

Given all the cool things that our smart phones can do now a days, and the many ways we rely on them as more than phones, we often forget the most important thing they do-they connect us to other people. Whether it’s through Facebook messages, FaceTime, texting, or calling (people still do that?) phones allow us to communicate with other people and we take that for granted. With our phones we can call each other for important things, make plans to meet up, or simply say hello. You’d be surprised how hard it is to do any of that without a phone especially when you live in a city. If you’re just planning on catching up with someone whenever you run into them, you’ll likely never hear from them again. After coming back from Istanbul without a phone, I had to plan everything to a T. There was none of, “I’ll text you when I’m on my way”, or “text me the address,” there wasn’t even room for a change of plans unless I knew exactly where to go for those plans. My friends and I had to plan where we were going, when we were meeting, and what we were doing ahead of time because if anything went wrong, we had no way of telling each other. And waiting around for hours at a coffee shop because your friend suddenly got a migraine and didn’t have a way to tell you they couldn’t come is not super fun. Basically, the only way I could talk to someone would be to have them in front of me or to wait until I had access to a computer and when you’re out and about doing your thing it might be a while until either of those things happen. So not having a smart phone (or really just a phone) basically means you accept a life of loneliness. My utmost respect to the generations that came before me and actually had lives before phones-I don’t know how you did it.

Paris, France

A Girl Defends Her City

Tupac and Biggie might have taken it a little far with their coast-y love but I get it. It’s important to represent your turf. It’s not easy living in a city. Living in a huge metropolis is not as simple and glamorous as Gossip Girl and Friends make it seem-it’s expensive, it’s cramped, it’s dirty and oftentimes, as one of thousands of people, you feel anonymous and unimportant. Still there’s a reason cities are so appealing and people from Sinatra to Kendrick sing their praises. People work hard to get the chance to move to big places like LA, New York, Paris, London, etc. (and they work even harder to stay). So when you do live in a dreamy city and you can still love it despite all the crap that comes with it, you can’t help but develop a certain sense of pride for your city.

I am so proud to live in New York. I am all about that concrete jungle where dreams are made of (or wet dream tomatoes, gotta work on that enunciation Alicia). I would wear those gaudy “I ❤ New York” t-shirts 24/7 if they didn’t make me look like a lame tourist. In short, New York is BAE (I hate myself for using that phrase, but it’s true). Now that I am living in Paris, and especially post-November 13^th attacks, I am also extremely proud to live in this city. I have to hold back from doing the t-shirt equivalent and constantly wear a beret. So when my mom came to visit me in Paris this past week, I was stoked to show her just how cool Paris is.

Of course while I planned a brilliant let-me-get-you-to-fall-in-love-with-Paris itinerary I kind of forgot that my mom isn’t a huge city fanatic like I am. In fact, she’s not a city person at all. She doesn’t like museums, she doesn’t care for architecture, she has no interest in history, she is anti-walking fast, and she most definitely is not down with rats (the nerve!). I planned to cram the 6 days my mom would be here with everything pretty and Parisian and she was having none of it. Notre Dame was meh. The top of the Eiffel Tower was too high for her. And the Louvre, oh the Louvre. She didn’t even want to take a picture with the damn pyramid like a normal tourist. She was more interested by the fact that straight men kiss each other on the cheek here than any of the world-famous pieces at the Louvre. I was frankly offended.

First of all I couldn’t believe how little interest my mom showed in any of the activities and places that are so quintessentially Parisian. As someone who loves to travel and see new cultures it baffled me that she didn’t really care to experience anything that makes Paris and its people unique,The world renowned museums that Paris is home to and the history that is contained in its walls meant absolutely nothing to her. The only thing that captivated her attention was shopping, which we did endlessly. What bothered me the most is how little she valued being in Paris. To a lot of people coming to Paris is a dream and to my mom it seemed more like something she just decided to do because, why not?

This isn’t the first time my mom dissed my city, she showed the same level of disinterest (and disgust) when she went to New York. All she did was complain the entire time she was there. Ay Sammy, why do you like to live in such a small room? Sammy it smells like urine everywhere. Sammy I don’t know why you like to ride the subway-it’s so dirty. Sammy why are you walking so fast? You would think I was living in the middle of a dump, not a large cosmopolitan city, from all the comments she made. I was so angry at how she reduced New York to nothing more than a dirty city. I mean she’s right, it does smell like urine everywhere, but it’s NEW YORK, I’ll take a little pee on the sidewalk over not living there any day.

The truth is, I love the cities that I live in and to me they are amazing so it’s always hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that other people don’t like my cities as much as I do. In fact, I can barely understand the concept of people not wanting to live in a city (where else are you supposed to live? The countryside?) I love big cities because they’re fast paced and exhilarating and there is always something to do. But I forget that those are precisely the reasons why people don’t like them. New York especially is a place that I’ve heard many Texans scoff at and dismiss as “somewhere they would never want to live.” It always takes everything in me because to not make some wise ass remark about how they couldn’t handle it anyway, because how dare they not value NYC as a place to live.

But the thing is, even though I love New York and Paris and all their big city pals, even I sometimes find myself thinking I may not want to be a city girl forever. I see articles about how married couples have to get roommates because their combined income just doesn’t cut it for rent. I watch as moms in the subway struggle to awkwardly get their strollers up the endless steps out onto the street. I work with kindergartners who don’t know the joy of running around in their own back yard and have to walk all the way to a local park to get the feel of some grass under their feet. Even worse, I see old people get bumped and pushed around as busy city dwellers fly off to their next appointment. I see all this and even I think sometimes, why would anyone want to live here? So I guess every once in a while I do have to put aside my tremendous pride of big cities and recognize that they aren’t exactly the warm homey places that some people need to live in and they are definitely not for everyone. I have to think that just like some people could never see themselves living in a big city, there is no way in hell I could ever live in a small town. A place where you actually know your neighbors (and they know everything about you)? Fuggedaboutit.

Who knows, maybe some day I’ll get tired of hopping along from big city to big city. Maybe some day I’ll move to a (slightly) smaller city and be ok with not having great museums and bars all over the place. But that’s not gonna happen for a looooonggg time. In the meantime I’ll keep repping the East side (and Paris) and you can be sure to find me at the Louvre.

Paris, France

Vendredi 13/11/15.

 

When you live in a big city, there are certain things that come with it. For one, you should probably be ready to shell out loads of cash constantly for everything from your organic Trader Joe’s groceries to your exorbitant rent that you don’t even know how you afford. You can also kiss that whole big yard with a white picket fence pipe dream goodbye because that crazy rent money will barely be enough to get you a shoebox of an apartment. On the bright side, you can count on some pretty wild public transportation stories to wow your non-city friends (have I told you about the time I saw a dude poop on the subway bench?). But one thing that comes with living in a big place with a concentrated population is the one that most people generally overlook, or like to forget, and that is the potential for terrorism.

Yes, that big T word that makes everyone tremble is very much a real thing when you live in a city. New york is the blatant example, 9/11 happened there and it’s not because it’s a little podunk town in the middle of nowhere. Even Austin experienced its five minutes of fear when North Korea placed it on a list of American cities that should be expecting some major Kim Jong-Un wrath (he must just hate good music and BBQ). I have to admit, when I moved to Paris I was a little worried. I’m not any more exposed to the threat of terrorism in Paris than I am in NYC, but 9/11 was 14 years ago and the attacks on Charlie Hebdo still loomed in the public consciousness. So yeah, I was well aware that Paris being a large city and a hotbed for controversy had that terrorism-target potential, so I was scared. And then, this past Friday, my worst fears came true.

I was luckily not in France; I was in he middle of a solo trip in Poland. But my friends were not. They were right in the middle of all the chaos; some of them even lived within walking distance of the concert venue where a hostage situation took place. Of course Social Media being the monster that it is immediately released a torrent of panic-tinged live coverage by my friends. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that I was miles way, protected by the relative safety of Poland, I was immediately sucked in.

You see, it’s called terrorism for a reason; quite simply acts of terrorism are terrifying. They are not scary, scary things are the potential monsters under your 5-year-old bed. They are not worrisome, worry is something your mother feels when you haven’t texted her to tell her you arrived safely at your destination. They are fucking terrifying. Terror has an awful power that transcends borders and races and ages, in a most cliché way, it knows no bounds.

So this past Friday I was terrorized. Even though I was miles and miles away from what happened I was scared shitless. I could feel the terror transmitted by my friends who were still in Paris. I could feel the terror as I got message after message from endless family and friends asking if I was ok. I could feel the terror emanating from my parents eyes when we had the chance to Facetime and they kept murmuring over and over again how relieved they were that I wasn’t in Paris. I could feel the terror as I wrote this post, trying to hold back tears to save myself some curious polish stares. I can feel the terror as I type this now.

In a way I feel bad for feeling so affected by this attack. Because I wasn’t attacked, I wasn’t there to feel the actual life threatening terror of having a gun pointed at me or a bomb going off near me. I wasn’t even in Paris. But it did affect me, because I could have been there. I live in Paris. I was in Republique just last Wednesday, what if it happened then? I pass by Les Halles every day on my way to and from school. What if it had happened on one of those many occasions? I live in Paris, I am a part of Paris and it could have happened to me. One of my biggest fears about living in a city happened in a city that I lived in, so yes, it did terrorize me.

I cried as I talked to my parents. I cried the next day. I’ve basically been crying non-stop. I wanted out. Out of Poland, out of Paris, out of Europe. I wanted to be back home surrounded by the relative comfort of my parents and my dog Rocket, and Chipotle (of course). But even the idea of home wasn’t completely comforting because Austin is still a city, New York is definitely a city, and this awful thing that happened Friday night could just as easily have happened there. That is the most terrifying thing. I no longer felt safe because this could have happened just about anywhere I live.

Regardless, Austin, though not 100% terror-proof seemed like my best bet and I was about to book a ticket to the states and say au revoir to NYU Paris. I was literally about to give up my amazing study abroad opportunity (and $30,000 worth in tuition) to go crawl into the illusory safety of my cozy Texan bed. Then my dad did the most dad thing he could have possibly done and used my own words against me (good to know you’re listening dad).

“Remember Sama, you are the one who always says scary things happen, but you can’t live all your life in fear. You have to do what you want to do.”

Of course he (but really, me) was right. That is what I always say when my parents are apprehensive about me doing something, and it’s true. This extremely agonizing event is unfortunately not unique to Paris; it can happen anywhere. It can also happen nowhere. The thing is we’ll never know when/where/if anything like this will happen. So we can’t live life in fear that it will happen. Living in a city, especially a large city, arguably increases the chance of being a victim to terrorism. But I love cities, and I can’t give up that love because of something that may or may not happen. Not living in a vibrant, amazing, generally enthralling city out of fear of things that are not in my control is letting the bad guys win, and I’m not about to do that.

Yes, I am scared and no I don’t feel safe and I probably will be hyper vigilant at least for the rest of my time in Europe (I may even break down on the metro, it’s all possible). But now I am back in Paris and eventually I will be back in New York and I hope to eventually feel more at ease and regain the ability to enjoy these cities to their fullest extent. Because yes, cities are major targets for terror but most of the time they’re not terrifying at all- they’re just fucking awesome. These cities are resilient; they have been targeted and suffered time and time again but they always bounce back. Paris, New York, all of these cities stand for creativity, and opportunity, and freedom and rather than cower in fear and give up these important ideals like the terrorists want me to do, I’m going to put my Chucks on with Saint Laurent and live it up in the city.

Krakow, Poland /Paris, France

The Eyes of Paris Are Upon You

When I first came to Paris I expected it to be much like New York, except maybe prettier. I’ve always seen the two cities compared to each other. They’re both large, they both have world-renowned museums, they’ve both been breeding grounds for great artists and revolutionary art movements, they both have incredible shopping, they both have great public transportation… the list goes on and on. In my mind Paris was the prim and proper cosmopolitan city while New York was its gritty boho counterpart. But the longer I’ve been in Paris, the more I’ve realized how different the two cities are.

One of the biggest and perhaps most striking differences is the way people treat each other in Paris. New York has a reputation for being touchy and not entirely friendly, I wouldn’t go as far as to say that people in New York are rude, but they certainly do appreciate their personal space and anonymity. Before I came to Paris I was told that I shouldn’t expect much better from Parisians. Most people said Parisians are snobs and just as unkind to strangers as New Yorkers. But I’ve actually found that this is not true. People in Paris have largely been friendly and welcoming. As soon as they hear me struggle with my French they instantly try to respond in English in an attempt to help me out all the while praising my shitty French and bashing their own shitty English-often justifying it by saying they “speak English like a true Parisian,” (i.e. very poorly).

But what’s even more striking is that people actually acknowledge other people here. My little southern heart glowed the first time I walked into a Parisian café and was instantly greeted with a warm bonjour (in Texas smiling at and greeting strangers is just a sign of good ole’ southern hospitality). It still flutters a little every time this happens, and it does a whole backflip when someone wishes me a good day on my way out. When I run into my neighbors as I’m walking out of my apartment, they always smile kindly at me, even though I’m the weird American girl who always wears too much makeup (by Parisian standards at least). People smile at you on the streets just because and I have to admit, it’s very refreshing.

Even the way people act on the metro is worlds away from the behavior you see on the subway in NYC. Here people actually wait for people to get off the metro before they try to hop on (a concept that is lost on New Yorkers). If you’re trying to get off the subway, good friggin’ luck not getting crushed by the mob of people crowding in that doesn’t give a damn if you have the right of way. And you can fuhgeddabout people caring if they bump into you (even if they actually knock you down, they’re not taking the time out of their day to say something). In the Parisian metro however, if the metro comes to a sudden halt and someone lightly taps you because physics do not cease to apply in Paris, they will turn, look at you, and actually apologize. What’s more, people are courteous; they give up their seats without having to be told (in New York, much to my amusement, there are stickers on the subway describing the situations in which you should give up a seat-because the MTA feels the need to imbue some manners on the lost lambs that are New Yorkers). Men give up their seats to women, young give up their seats to old, friend groups give up their seats to family groups, it’s a big old game of musical chairs-and its fantastic.

The most astonishing thing about Paris is that here, you can look at people. People watching is normal, in fact it seems almost encouraged. There are so many places to do it, parks, wide streets, etc. Parisian cafes seem built for people watching with their sidewalk seating outfitted with strictly street facing chairs. In fact, the waiters always get perplexed if you turn the chairs to look at whomever you’re sitting with. You don’t get attacked with a hostile “whaddayewlookinat?!” when you watch someone go about his or her daily life like you would in New York. You don’t look like a deranged person when your mind wanders off as you look at someone. People don’t mind if you look at them because they’re most likely looking at you-especially if you look particularly touristy. What’s more, people make eye contact in Paris. I never thought I would write about people making eye contact, but the comparison with the little eye contact in New York is so striking, I had to mention it. If you’re looking at someone in the metro, they’ll eventually look at you until you both look at each other’s eyes, and guess what? It’s not awkward. They don’t look at you brows furrowed, lips frowning, wondering what the hell you want from them. They just go on doing their thing.

Sometimes I do find myself reverting to my New York ways and cursing all the friendliness and hellos and watching of me. But as a little short girl who sometimes gets bounced around the metro like a pinball, it’s nice for people to apologize when they’ve almost just elbowed me in the face for a change.

Paris, France

The Burden of Choice

In psychology there’s a field called existential psychology. One of its core beliefs is that our mental experiences are directly affected by our freedom to choose and the choices we do and don’t make. Rollo May, a major researcher in this field, believed our biggest source of anxiety is the fact that there are literally infinite choices we could make and because of this we are afraid that whatever choice we make will be the wrong one, and what’s more, will keep us from making other choices that would have made us happier. In other words, we get freaked out because we are constantly wondering, what if?

As you most likely know, if you are in fact human and not a supercomputer reading my blog, this constant threat of “what if” is very much present in our daily lives. In fact, it is so much a part of being human that my acronym-happy generation has stripped Dr.May’s concept of all dignity and eloquently renamed it FOMO. For those of you not keeping up with the cool kids, this acronym translates to Fear Of Missing Out.

Now I, being human (and a painfully intense over-achiever) have most definitely experienced FOMO. This phenomenon is especially prevalent when you live in big happening cities like New York where there are endless opportunities to experience life and conversely, endless opportunities to miss out. FOMO is such a huge part of my life that it even gives me anxiety attacks when I go grocery shopping. Should I buy the coconut Greek yogurt? But what if it isn’t as good as strawberry? What will my life become if I miss out on that Boston Cream Pie one?!

You see the problem?

But in all seriousness, FOMO is a constant when it comes to me. However, never have I experienced Fear of Missing Out more than now that I am in Europe. This is the most first world problem, (brace yourself) but I have no idea what to do here. I want to travel, but I also want to stay in Paris. I want to know a plethora of different countries but I also want to know every arrondissement in this stinkin’ place. I want to be incessantly aware of how single I am in Cinque Terre, but I also want to party and forget it in Amsterdam. Being here is stressful because I want to do it all, and for once money is not an issue (wow, I’ve never said that before). But of course, I don’t have all the time in the world-especially if I want to do well in my classes and not fail out of my excruciatingly expensive school. So I’m panicking, constantly making travel plans and rearranging them, calling my friends for advice, asking my host parents in my broken French what they would do, etc.

The point is, I feel an enormous amount of pressure to choose the right places and do the most fun things and have the best time. Because who knows when I’ll be in Europe again. Who knows if the euro will increase in value and little poor me will never get the chance to roam the cobbled streets of Italy? It’s daunting to say the least.

There’s comfort in knowing that I’m not the only one who suffers from FOMO. The halls at NYU Paris are teeming with excited whispers of future plans and polite envy conveyed with the usual I wish I had time to do that! Not being alone is good, but of course, pain in numbers does not the pain reduce. It also doesn’t help that Social Media is a thing, quite literally a living-breathing thing that influences our lives wayyyy more than it should (a topic that merits its own blog post). Thanks to Social Media the doubt is always augmented. Will my plans be as fun as theirs? Will I have made the best choice? What if I’m missing out on something?

I could make my FOMO go away. I could just relax, take it day by day and be a little more open to the unknown (this will never happen, I have “no chill”). I could just not care, make a choice and stick with it. But then again, what if?

I’m not gonna end this with some insightful example of how I succeeded at life and overcame my fear of missing out because I have no example to offer. The truth is I’ve committed, I’ve bought tickets and booked hostels and done the whole shebang and I’m still biting my nails over the possibility that I made the wrong choices. But in the end, I’m just a little 5’3” Mexican girl and there’s only so much I can do with my allotted time here-and that’s ok. At least that’s what I tell myself. If anything I’m using my anxiety as inspiration to some day come back and see everything I didn’t see (and surely come up with another FOMO-fueled list of things I have left to do). Let’s face it, the FOMO will never go away, but my time in Europe is fleeting so I may as well cram as much as I can into it and make the most of my time here.

Paris, France