balance

Hello again after my unintentional eleven-month hiatus from this space. The only real excuse I can offer as to why I’ve been absent for so many moons is that I’ve been busy with a capital B. Something tells me this state of busy is something that a) is not unique to me and b) I had better get used to. The to-do list never goes away. It just morphs a bit here and there.

Nonetheless, the busyness is real. I’m nearly halfway through my senior year of college. That sentence is simultaneously exhilarating and distressing, so we’ll just keep moving along. For my final fall semester, I surveyed the courses remaining for my major and thought to myself: oh what the heck, hit me with your best shot, college. And, thus, I proceeded to smash all my hardest classes plus an internship, and a side teaching assistant job (and oh, I don’t know, a social life?) into one cramped and crowded semester. On the record, this is ill advised. 

Enough complaining. It’s highly un-fun and I’m over it. Except for one detail: my life, you see, has felt completely and utterly out of balance as of late. I’m not saying I expect each and every compartment of my life to fit neatly in its place, like my dinner plate when I was younger. (Food touching was the worst kind of crisis, only prevented by proper zoning technique to prevent peas from rolling over into gravy.) While that sounds neat, it is quite unrealistic. One part of life spills over into another and then another and then another. It is the beauty and the chaos all in one. 

A balanced life is elusive. It’s pondered in magazines and books and on talk shows to no end. We make movies and write stories about what happens to the people whose lives fall out of balance. The workaholic who can’t find love. The mother-daughter duo that can’t see eye-to-eye. The family that lets sports/jobs/school trump togetherness. The girl who gets promoted at work and forgets all of her friends.  …The list goes on. It’s a common topic because it’s happening all around and within us every day. The list of obligations grows, knee-jerk choices are made about how to spend time as it slips past fingertips, leaving hands pulling through hair and frown lines embedding between eyebrows.

Personally, I can point to certain indicators when I really know my life is out of whack. The basic sign is an overall state of feeling bruised, like I’m worn out from a battle I’ve been fighting sans weaponry. I’m exhausted. I’m vacant. I’m touchy. I’m less than peachy to be around.

Even the dog can tell.

Realizing the majority of said obligations are not things I can really cut out of my life right now, I’ve been doing a bit of self-investigation in order to solve this predicament. I can’t spend the rest of my semester (much less the rest of my days whenever life gets busy) furiously treading water. The eureka moment came while catching up on my Line-A-Day Book the other day. The fact that I left a whopping four weeks empty recently should have been the first signal that something was amiss.

(Quick aside: For those who don’t know what a Line-A-Day is, allow me to enlighten. It is a little blue book I’ve been using since June of 2011 to chronicle a snippet of every day of my life. One book covers five years and is divided up into 365 pages with five spaces designated to five consecutive years per page.  I have been waving the Line-A-Day banner since my fabulous Aunt Jenny gave me one as a graduation gift.  I call it the journal for the non-journaler. Invest in one and you will not be sorry.)

Back to my research findings. As I fill out a day, I can look back on four years of that same calendar date. It’s pretty rad. Some days bring the hugest nostalgic grin to my face, and other days I would just as quickly scratch out with my pen. Beyond the reminiscing, I’ve noticed certain trends. And this brings me to my hypothesis: there is a distinct positive correlation between “good” days and the presence of specific variables on those days. Yeah, I took statistics.

These “variables,” if you will, are the things that make me feel alive. Unexciting, even stressful days in which one or more of these things was present were documented in my book in a significantly more satisfied light. Looking back on the past few weeks, however, when I’ve felt especially frenzied and frazzled, I see that these activities conspicuously fell through the cracks of a demanding schedule.

My life is out of balance when I don’t feel like myself. No, I’m not having an early onset quarter-life crisis. I have a reasonable grasp on who I am and who I want to be. All of that to say, so far in my twenty-two years of living I have begun to learn the things that make me feel like myself.  The things that make me feel alive. And when they’re not a part of my life, I don’t feel like myself. I feel like the walking dead. And I don’t even like that TV show.

What are the things that make you, Katie Kennedy, feel alive, you say? Oh, I’m so glad you asked. As a communicator by nature, I could talk about these things all the way to Pluto if you’d let me. They give me a sigh of satisfaction. They often involve a process of sorts, to further underscore that feeling of satisfaction. They’re the things that make me feel good about who I am and who I am becoming. And they can be summed up in the following four “-ing” statements: moving, creating, adventuring, and refueling.

I feel alive when I’m moving. I love to exercise because it is a competition between me today and the me I was yesterday. (The competitiveness of organized sports was never really my thing.  I mean, it’s just a game, right? No? Okay.) Exercising is a process. It’s full of variety. It ushers in community. Nothing beats the combination of fun and accountability of a good workout buddy, or the solidarity found in a bunch of strangers breathing through downward dog. And, most importantly, it propels you through even the dullest day by providing a much-needed burst of smile-inducing endorphins. And endorphins make you happy and happy people don’t shoot their husbands. They just don’t.

I feel alive when I’m creating. I am deeply convinced that the act of connecting words together to create meaning is part of the reason I’m on this earth. I look back at my Line-A-Day and see the day I promised myself I would take my writing public through a blog, and I am grateful for the chance to do so. I see the days I have created something with words and can literally feel the excitement just as clearly as I felt it that day. And I don’t just write to share thoughts and stories with others. Nope. In fact if I’m being honest here it’s a bit scary to do this. It takes a healthy dose of bravery. Which is why I write for me. It’s how I process and how I learn. A wise, wise friend of mine compared it to free therapy the other day and man is she spot on. When I get into the groove, the words pour out of me like they’ve been trapped inside for too long. It’s part of what makes me who I am. My need for creating goes beyond writing, to composing outfits or to decorating spaces. Lately (and by lately I mean for way too freaking long but hey I’m indecisive so what can ya do), I’ve been working on compiling the perfect pieces for a gallery wall above my bed. Now that it’s all come together, I am thrilled and satisfied and ready to start another project. Which is why I just ordered five new fancy pens online to practice my hand-lettering skills. I need to create. I just do.

Voila. And yes, obviously J made the wall. Crew forever.

I feel alive when I’m adventuring. Exploring and discovering are two of my favorite things. If you look at my Instagram account, you’ll notice I follow lots of strangers. It’s because they give me ideas of places to visit near and far, products to try, outfits to take for a test drive, foods to taste, and so on. That’s just one little thing that spurs my adventuring spirit. Since I’m not traveling Europe at present, I’ve resorted to other ways to keep the adventurer in me inspired. For example, I have a list on my phone of restaurants, cafes, and coffee shops to test out, because I’m an aspiring foodie. It thrills me to discover fabulous new locations to take part in one of the greatest hobbies known to mankind: eating. You just type an address into your GPS, with full knowledge that this unknown locale could be a total bust or it could be cause for a major happy dance. That’s the adventure part. Lucky for me, I’ve found some other lovely humans who share that desire and we have a grand old time trying new places. If you’re not in a new part of the globe or the country, you simply must explore your own city and discover the millions of hidden gems within. I owe it to the Twin Cities that raised me to leave no stone unturned while I call it home.

Friday night feasting (on grilled cheese, duh) with my lovely roommates.
The Freehouse | North Washington Avenue | Minneapolis 

Testing restaurants on my foodie list for my dear old dad's day of birth.
Burch Steakhouse and Pizza Bar | Colfax Avenue | Minneapolis

I feel alive when I’m refueling. Perhaps the clearest evidence of when life has become horribly hamster-wheelish is when I can’t find it in myself to devote even a few minutes of my day to God. When it’s eight in the morning and I’m either oversleeping or finishing an assignment that’s due at nine (c’est la vie), these precious minutes of stillness are easily the first to go. Even as I type that I know it is absolutely not how it should be. Lately, with the help of this book, I’m learning the practice of eucharisteo. The Greek eucharisteo means deep joy in giving thanks, in identifying God’s graces.  Pausing to count the gifts so graciously poured over me each day infuses joy into even the most blah of days. When I’m not spending that time with the One who made me, I don’t feel like myself anymore. When I’m always hurrying, I don’t feel alive. 

As I said before, this moving, creating, adventuring, and refueling – these are the things that make my days more than just an existence. They are the weapons gifted to me as I fight whatever battles come my way, like a schedule that makes me want to pull my hair out. These activities remind me where I fit and why I matter. And while that is internally focused, I don’t think it’s selfish at all. You need to understand yourself to know why you are here. You need to know and understand the certain things you need in your day in order to be more than just a moderately productive zombie. 

When life feels chaotic, do everything in your power to make time for the things that make you feel like you. Sometimes absolutely everything and the kitchen sink is against you in that endeavor. Don’t let that stop you. Your passions become your saving grace amidst the hustle. They are a healthy vacation from unavoidable routines and a reminder that there are wonderful things to be lived outside your to-do list. Be intentional about them. 

What makes you feel like yourself? What are the things that make you come alive?  The things you’re excited to talk about and share with others? The things that, even when no one’s around, you can do on your own and feel blissfully and exquisitely alive? If you don’t know, a little “self-study” never hurts.

Howard Thurman once said, “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it.  Because what the world needs are people who have come alive.” Right on, Howard. Right on.

cheers, london

So.  I realize that you’re probably supposed to write some sentimental post about your semester abroad within, say, ten days of finishing said semester, but in my case that just didn’t happen.  But this is my blog, so I’m the boss and I make the rules.  Also, I’m choosing to rebel against my habitual rule-following tendencies.  That means that you can look at this post as one that displays an absence of punctuality or the presence of personal growth.  I pick option B.  

It’s been one month.

And here I am in my new house at school, with J-Term in full swing (or as much as you can consider a month as low-key as interim in “swing”) and a new routine taking form.  What once consisted of the rooftops of charming English flats, squished together and stretching for blocks and blocks, the view from my window has since been replaced by a brown and white suburban house that was probably built in the eighties, sitting on a spacious and snow-covered yard.  Quite a swap, huh?

When people ask me about my semester, I sometimes get a bit tongue-tied.  Actually, a lot of times.  I don’t quite know how to put to words what this semester was to me.  (Which is silly, really, considering I am now two hundred words deep in this post.)  It’s not because I don’t have anything to say.  It’s because I have a lot to say.  A million billion thoughts twirling about my brain that sometimes meet difficulty when attempting to exit through my mouth in a single file line.  

Do you miss it?  Of course.  I deeply miss it.  With a worried ache that wonders when I’ll get to go back again.  In fact I might need to swear off all forms of social media for a spell, because with all you other folks hopping on your own study abroad trips, the travel withdrawal is coming in hot.  I’m happy to be back.  I love to be surrounded by the people I love most on this planet.  I miss London and I’m happy to be home.  There’s no “but” between the two.  I am both, inconsequentially and uncompromisingly.  

People also like to ask if I came back with an accent and I must kindly reply with a no.  I wish.  But come to think of it, even as I write this now I’m saying the words in my head in an English accent.  And that’s the truth.

On the flight home, I was determined to find a clever way to sum up my trip in one final London post.  But then Brad Pitt was saving the world from rabies in World War Z and I was officially distracted for the remainder of the flight.  The problem is you can’t exactly “sum up” an experience like this.  It’s a million things all at once.  And since I just can’t get London off my mind, here are a few of those million things.

What London Taught Me.

1. There’s always another train.  Don’t worry so much.  Things work out.  Even if it takes four trains and four hours to get to a place that’s only an hour and a half away… Ask me about our trip to the White Cliffs of Dover the second to last week in London.  Trust me.  You’ll get there when you get there.
2. Seek adventure.  You don’t have to get on a plane to find it (although that certainly helps).  Let an adventurous spirit draw you into the unknown.  
3. You can grow up, but you don’t have to grow old.  In Kensington Gardens, there’s a famous Peter Pan statue that always caught my eye.  As the old familiar days of bedtime stories taught us, Peter forever rebelled against a foe far worse than Captain Hook: growing up.  The real enemy, I think, is growing old.  Losing a youthful spirit.  Because let’s be real, if it weren’t for growing up, my parents wouldn’t have let me set foot on that plane in the first place.  We have to grow up.  And it’s good to grow up.  It means new opportunities and adventures, new battles to conquer and new things to learn.  But we must never grow old.  Because growing old means outgrowing a sense of wonderment that keeps the magic in the world.  After all, “The creative adult is the child that survived.”
4. Mind the Gap.  Between the train and the platform.  Between continents.  Between people’s thinking.  Between ways of living.  Understand that not everyone thinks the way you do, talks the way you do, hopes for what you hope for, cries over what you cry over, or even eats the way you do.  Appreciate and try to understand differences.
5. Keep learning.  One of my favourite parts of London is that it is covered with (nerd alert) museums.  How come museums were a fundamental component of elementary education, but didn’t make the cut anywhere beyond eighth grade?  What a travesty.  Here’s a story for free: Back in the days when Tweety Bird themed birthdays were a thing, my mom used to read me a book by James Mayhew called Katie’s Picture Show.  In the story, a little girl named Katie takes a trip to the National Gallery with her grandmother.  She wanders off and finds herself sucked into multiple paintings throughout the afternoon, in which she proceeds to nonchalantly chat with the characters in the paintings.  In those days I used to introduce myself to every stranger in Cub Foods, so I can only imagine I would do the same given the situation.  Anyways, the book is based off of real paintings that actually hang in the National Gallery.  And I know it’s true because I went and found them all there the last week I was in London.  How cool is that?  Talk about stories come to life.
6. Be a lion.  I wish I could say I always lived by that motto on this trip, but that would be a lie.  In Trafalgar Square there are four massive statues of the king of the jungle.  I realize they are, indeed, motionless slabs of rock, but I’d like to think that they’d hold their ground just as much if they were alive.  I’ve never heard of a lion that would crumble in fear.  Lions don’t back down.  And neither should you or I.
7. Throw yourself to the wolves every now and then.  Get out of your comfort zone, even if it’s terrifying.  Nothing beats the little voice inside your head squealing, “I did it,” when you’ve conquered something that once terrified you, or the aha! moment when you’ve finally got it.  Whatever it is.
8. There is beauty in the most unlikely places.  One of my favourite days all semester long was back in October, when Maddy and I took the tube to Shoreditch to find a vintage shop we saw in a book.  Emerging from the Underground, the area seemed less than promising at first glance.  Industrial.  Lackluster.  Drenched in rain.  Turning a corner and proceeding in the direction of the shop, we ended up finding the absolute cutest shopping area and our new favourite spot to eat.  Keep your eyes open.
9. Understand the value of money.  Appreciate it.  Do not obsess.  Yes, it’s important, but it is simply a commodity.  A weekend in Rome can’t be measured in euros.  An afternoon by the sea spent trekking to cliff tops can’t be assessed in pounds.  Money is simply a means of making memories.  Hold it loosely.  And having lived through a semester of abroad expenses, I join Destiny’s Child in proudly singing, “I’m a survivor.”  Flex on these haters. 
10. Don’t wait around for the perfect opportunity.  (Except el oh el at myself and how long I’ve been waiting around to write this…)  “Let’s just figure it out tomorrow” is the ultimate omen when it comes to booking flights, hostels, and making plans in general.  I’ve come to find that the perfect opportunity does not exist; most of the time you’ve just got to go for it.  So come along now, spit-spot.
11. See the good in the bad bits.  Because there are bad bits.  In the spirit of honesty, I will disclose that there were indeed days when I wished with all my might that I were not in London.  (Absurd, but true.)  So instead of wasting a day living in London (or, you know, a day living) I had to learn to see the goodness.  Because it’s always there, even if it’s hard to see sometimes.
12. Walk like a royal.  Know your worth.  Kate Middleton doesn’t have to wear a crown for everyone to know how fab she is.  It’s quite understood.  This doesn’t mean be snotty.  Carry yourself in a way that shows you know who you are and what you’re capable of.
13. Look at things from different perspectives.  I can tell you that looking at the city from high up in the Eye is quite different from the view from Westminster Bridge, just two minutes’ walk from there.  My dear old dad so wisely reminded me the other day that it’s an incredible gift to be able to truly see things from another’s point of view, yet also very hard to come by.  In this case, trying is what counts.
14. Take a walk.  Be it down the crowded High Street, through the picturesque Hampstead Heath, the all-familiar Hyde Park, or up the White Cliffs of Dover.  A breath of fresh air, with limbs moving and heart beating, cures all.  
15. You can’t read the map to your life.  It’s not like the Tube where after a few weeks you’re a seasoned pro and know exactly where to go.  The sooner you (I) come to this conclusion, the better.
16. Live in possibility.  If spending nearly four months exploring Europe would not lead a person to that resolution, then I don’t know what would.  
17. Erase expectations.  This was the word of advice I received most often in the months leading up to my departure.  This isn’t meant to be cynical advice to set the bar low so you’ll always be pleasantly surprised, but simply a wish to keep an open mind and an open heart.
18. You don’t know the answers.  You probably don’t even know the questions.  See No. 19 for assistance in this predicament.
19. The human soul is not meant to dwell in one place for too long.  This I truly never understood until I moved to Kensington.  I always thought, “I just love Minnesota so much I can’t imagine living anywhere else!”  Well, silly, that’s because you’ve barely ever left the country.  Learning the lay of a different land taps into the resilient nature of the human being.  It moulds an individual to become one who can thrive in unfamiliar realms.  As if that would never come in handy…
20. Don’t be boring.  Just don’t.  This is London’s best quality, in my opinion.  London is exploding with hidden treasures.  You could never run out of things to do there.  And there is always more than meets the eye.

Well, London.  Until we meet again.  Cheers.

{ here's a few snapshots of my last couple weeks across the pond }

The lovely river town of Hampton.

The White Cliffs of Dover.

At Cambridge University.

Covent Garden at Christmastime.

St. Paul's Cathedral.

The National Gallery.

The Eye.

Window display of the lovely J.Crew on Regent Street.

Oxford Circus.

Sunset outside my window. OKAY.

Abbey Road.

The one and only.

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FYI: For those of you who thought this was fun, I’m going to keep this whole blogging thing going and just see what happens.  Because I thought it was fun.  I probably will not continue alerting all of Facebook when I do, though.  So stay tuned here.  And even if no one reads it, I’ll just write into the nothingness and that’s fine by me.