Today I laced up my sneakers and I knew I wouldn’t be watching the time or trying to beat my mile time. I wouldn’t be listening to The Wombats like usual or dance-running to Beyonce. No, instead I turned on the most human version of autopilot and let my legs carry me as my brain worked through the remnants of grief and trauma that pop up in my world every so often. Life after loss is tough, you guys.

Let me back up. Today, I realized that it’s June. June is the month that I lost my best friend and nanny back in 2007. If you’re not familiar with this story, I wrote a piece for Literally, Darling several years back that sums it up pretty well. In fact, I’m publishing this a few days before the 14th anniversary of her passing.

14 years – wow. It feels simultaneously like it was just a moment ago and like it should be 20. Why isn’t it 20 years yet? Is that when it won’t hurt so much? It seems like that amount of time should do the trick.

Today was a grief run, marked with slower songs and less about form. It was conversations with myself and also drinking in all of my surroundings. It was smiles at panting dogs, the watermelon-rind scent of the harbor, and wondering if she would be proud of who I’ve become. I know, I know, most people will tell me yes. I’m not looking for validation as much as I’m genuinely curious. How would she feel about me now? What would she think of my friends? Of Shiv? How often would we see each other? Would she still be living in Michigan? Would we meet up to play gin rummy every time I go home? You know, typical thoughts we have when someone’s life went un-lived.

I sat at the corner of the lakefront path, just north of the skyline, for a long while. I watched the waves push and pull, seemingly chaotic but all part of a bigger plan. My mind wandered to Gigi’s pepper grinder comment – did you know that pepper came in so many different colors? There’s always more to something than we realize. There’s always a deeper story, meaning, purpose. Coincidentally, that one off-hand comment, which was hardly meant to be profound, settled the foundation of my philosophy for life. Never assume you know the whole story; everyone is dealing with something under the surface. It’s sometimes tough to remember – I fail frequently. But it’s a good rule of thumb. At the end of the day, we are all only human.

I’ve never thought that there’s nothing after life on earth. Perhaps that is due to being raised in the Catholic faith. But still, even when I try to picture the idea of “nothing”, my brain rejects it. What do you call a hopeless romantic for heaven? Is that what a person of faith means? I like to picture Gigi up there, hanging out with my grandmas, grandfather, aunts, and friends’ relatives. She’s probably cracking jokes and singing her little songs and dancing to early 2000s 50 Cent. I also often imagine her rolling her eyes at me, giving her a run for her money as an angel. Or whatever currency angels use.

On days like today, I picture her up there, silent and still, waiting. I ask if I’m doing the right thing and don’t get a firm response, obviously. But then a cool breeze picks up and my way home is seamless and I just have to believe that she’s telling me, “of course you’re doing the right thing, I’m pushing you in the right direction!”

I wasn’t a runner until college. Heck, I wouldn’t really classify myself as a runner today, because it’s not about the races or beating my best time (although I do get a little thrill when I come in under my usual 10 minute mile). And I don’t do it consistently enough to be a solid hobby. But it is a chance to get out of my head, move my body, and most importantly, process the grief that I’ve accepted will always live with me. On days like today, it’s about the opportunity to realize what I need in this phase of my life to cope.

So this year, instead of breezing past the anniversary of Gigi’s death like I normally do, I want to recognize and honor it. I want to sit with it – with her – and celebrate everything that she brought to our lives. Catch me by the lakefront on Friday, spending time with the woman who helped raise me.

XO,
Em

The post on running + grief appeared first on em la jolie.

Dear Nairobi,

It’s been 560 days since I was last on your rust-colored soil. It feels weird to write this even – to solidify that time and distance in words. The other day, I stumbled upon a photo of the Shell gas station in front of the Sarit Centre and was stunned at how quickly I both recognized the location and was suddenly transported to that space, with cars and motorbikes (boda bodas) whizzing by, the distinct scent of dust suspended in the air, and a familiar dancehall beat coming from someone’s cell phone nearby.

I can sense the excitement of walking up to The Alchemist Bar, a favorite locale for food, drinks, music, and (for those of you who know me, this will be obvious) the Nairobi Flea Market. I can hear the clack of sandals against cold tile floors, the large birds that caw overhead, the soft crunch of gravel under tires in the driveway. I can feel the glaring heat of the sun on my scalp midday, giving way to cool night air and swarms of mosquitos descending while I’d fiddle with the keys for my front door. As the sun sinks down behind a horizon of trees, there’s a steady calm in you – footsteps petering out as everyone reaches home, pots of water gently boiling for dinner, the neighbor practicing piano a few floors down. You’re unlike large American cities in the most subtle way; you don’t quite sleep, but you slow down.

I’m acutely aware of how these things might be different now, post-COVID; how life didn’t just change outside my own window but outside the windows of people all across the world. And yet, in my memory, you remain untarnished, perfectly full of life and art and lush greenery.

The first time I visited you, I was 22 and wide-eyed. I didn’t know what to expect and my American education had painted a loosely incorrect picture of places other than North America and Europe. I remember being taken aback by the traffic cameras that flash on the streets when my taxi driver wound through the roundabouts to exit the airport – perhaps because it was nighttime when my flight landed and I was operating in a state of jet lag. And then, the following morning, I remember being surprised at the familiarity of chain restaurants, high-rise buildings, and advertisements dotting my commute to the office.

Less than a year later, I was on my third trip to see you and it was a solo venture. I like to think of this time as my “high school circa 2009” – social media existed but wasn’t the center of life and I still had to call someone to get a ride. The pre-Uber days. I had a handful of drivers on speed-dial and spent as much time as I could out with colleagues or adventuring on my own. I also didn’t have data on my international phone plan, so I had to rely heavily on Wifi and my Huawei pre-paid line. Alright, I’m getting carried away. The point is that I had to navigate your daily life without the luxuries that exist now and I am so incredibly grateful for that. I developed friendships with the drivers and a better understanding of time relativity. I memorized maps and paid attention to where I was going (partly survival instincts, I was a single woman traveling alone, after all) and eventually pieced together the puzzle that is you – enough to give precise directions without the help of Google. I made friends and friends-of-friends that slowly widened my circle. I learned about all the newest restaurants, bars, and hangouts, met other makers and brands that I’d return to time and time again, and let myself fall into the rhythm of your daily life.

Before long, I was teaching my colleagues the ins and outs when they traveled with me to visit you, finding the latest hotspot, the newest store, the best food. I think about you as a place where I grew up. From a timid post-graduate entering the workforce to a confident professional learning how to lead.

Now, after 10 trips, some spanning more than a month, you feel like a second home. And so, it feels incredibly weird to have not seen you in over a year.

I miss your morning air, dewy yet crisp, the sound of a mosque’s call to prayer in the distance. I miss the smell of lunch from the kitchen at RefuSHE and getting excited about ugali (a thick cornmeal porridge) day. I miss stopping mid-walk to look at a plant or tree that I’ve never seen before. I miss your Africa Yoga Project studio, with its creaky floors and kind instructors – the feeling of peace in this quiet space tucked at the top of a building downtown. I miss ordering Indian food and knowing that it will be amazing, sitting in your incense-laden garden at Habesha while soaking up Ethiopian food with fluffy injeera, and biting into a freshly-fried cardamom mandazi. I miss your Wilson airport, which made me feel like I was stepping back in time, and taking tiny safari planes that rattle like a rollercoaster. I even miss your bumper-to-bumper traffic; the ambiguity of being in close proximity to so many people, our lives all converging that that one moment like the teacup ride at Disney World when one saucer reaches for another. And little things like my favorite spot at the Java House in Jomo Kenyatta Airport, where I’d go for my ritual of fries and a chocolate milkshake before the long flight home from you. Most of all, I miss your people, who welcomed me despite my blatant American-ness and taught me, among many other things, enough Kiswahili to piece together conversations in the office. I miss the long dinners, the hugs, the dancing, and the fact that you make me the sort of person who cares more about the present than the future.

Nairobi, I miss your brazen beauty and I hope that, when this all clears up, I will find myself returning to you, returning to these rituals and spaces and moments that have brought me so much joy over the past five years.

Sending my love, always.

xo,
Em

The post my love letter to nairobi appeared first on em la jolie.

What does that mean? It means that I’ll be sharing musings from my life, which I hope to lead intentionally, ethically, and to its fullest extent. I spent the first part of my career steeped in the artisan sector, which helped me discover some pretty amazing ethical brands that I want to share with you all. However, if I said that everything I own or use is ethically-sourced, artisan-made, or sustainable, I’d be lying. It’s a personal mission I’m always striving for, but I recognize my own humanness and how that can mean I’ll still probably purchase some things from Amazon and J Crew.

I also really hate to throw out any clothing that I have already that doesn’t fit under this category – just because I definitely underpaid for it and understand the importance of garment workers’ rights, doesn’t mean that I will add to the environmental waste that the clothing industry produces and just toss them. I actually have a Poshmark precisely for this reason, if you’re in the market for any 2010s preppy/college staples (mildly embarrassed to admit I’m a recovering Lilly Pulitzer fan).

I would, however, like to try to create a more sustainable closet, household, and lifestyle with small, intentional changes (there’s that word again!) that real humans can pull off. This isn’t a space for aspirational living or perfect pictures; it will be curated, but one thing is for certain – you will always know what I’m thinking and/or how I feel.

TLDR: it’s part accountability, part goals, part reality, and 100% life!

XO,
Em

The post what is an intentional lifestyle blog? appeared first on em la jolie.

So it only makes sense that my 2020 mantra would stem from his lyrics. I was listening to his album during one of my recent travels and one line jumped out at me (don’t you love when old music becomes new again?).

Everything right on time.

Yes! I repeat these words and my body softens. The edges I’ve drawn for myself grow rounded. It’s the kind of reassurance I’m craving – that the sequence of my life is right. I think it’s often what we need to hear. Much of the world seems to be in disarray right now, and not without good reason. But, without dismissing justice and action, I believe we should also give ourselves some grace and trust in the timing. Everything is happening the way it was meant to, as much as that brings pain and confusion and sadness sometimes. We are, after all, not the center of the universe. And the line also speaks to a certain strength in knowing your timing, despite what other people reflect. Being able to say, “this is right for me” even when it’s different or uncomfortable. I know, those four words are a lot to process.

In a barre class I took recently, the instructor, sizing up the classroom full of New Year’s resolution-setters, brought up a perspective that I found refreshing and desperately necessary. She asked us to look at our goals/resolutions/intentions for the year and see if we could flip them so they’re less about punishing ourselves (stop eating unhealthy foods, exercise X times a week, go to bed earlier, etc.) and more about celebrating ourselves (eat more foods that make you feel good, celebrate your strength and build upon it, give yourself the rest you need, etc.)

I should share that I choose to do mantras for each year instead of resolutions. I tried to resolution thing for many years, and often found that only one of them really stuck with me – usually the one that was most abstract, coincidentally. I also used to do this for my birthday each year, along with some goals. I still enjoy goal-setting on my birthday, but decided to move my mantra up to the new year. There, now you have the full background. So, in the spirit of my barre teacher’s challenge and despite the slight delay, I’ve decided to take my yearly mantra one step further.

Celebrate life’s timing.

Instead of waiting for big milestones, I want to celebrate the little things – the fun curveballs that life throws and how they shape this journey. I want to build trust in my timing and put more of my energy into making a positive change. Ah. I’m so excited for you, 2020!

XO,
Em

The post on life’s timing appeared first on em la jolie.

What changed? Great question! I went to Europe.

OK, OK, that is very cliché and maybe more clickbait than truth. To be fair, it wasn’t actually Europe that did anything in particular. It was being away from my normal routine, having space to think, and also, very fortunately, dedicated time with other professionals in my field to brainstorm on ways to improve our work. Super, super good timing. It’s funny, because I was not looking forward to the trip at all. I knew I needed to go and that it would be important for my organization, so I didn’t pass it up. But beyond my rational side, the rest of me wanted to stay home, cozy up, and throw myself a burnout pity party. (yikes, that stings a bit when I say it out loud…but if I’m not brutally honest with you, then what are we doing here? Just kidding, don’t answer that).

This morning, something compelled me to turn on a TED Radio Hour podcast while I got ready and the latest episode just happened to be about finding your creativity. Bingo! Listening to it felt like a warm hug from that one relative who just gets you on a different level. You know the one. So I slathered on face lotion while Elizabeth Gilbert told me about how creativity and fear are conjoined, how creativity is, at its essence, moving toward uncertainty. If you try to kill your fears, you may also end up killing your creativity. And I think, similarly, if you let your fears get in the way, your creativity can never flourish.

She also reaffirmed that creativity is not a personality trait, it is a feature of being human, like the camera lenses on the new iPhone or an ice-maker in a fridge – it’s always there, whether you choose to use it or not. Creativity is, in fact, a choice.

Everything about this felt like a deep sigh of relief for my soul, in so many ways. One of them being this very space, which I now see as a bit metaphorical. I was so afraid to press “publish” on my last post. I had written it and read it, and re-read it, and decided that maybe it would never see the light of day. And then, after getting out of my routine, taking a trip I was uncertain about, and finally realizing that my creativity wasn’t gone, I just did it. I leaned into the fear that had been paralyzing me for months; not just for this project, but for everything.

It felt pretty darn great, which may explain why I put it on Instagram for you all to read – major bold moment – and was then overwhelmed by the love I received from friends both close and far (you are all amazing).

I probably won’t always feel this bold and that’s fine. There will be days where I’ll press “publish” quietly, just for me. And others where I’ll want you to know every word. Regardless, I know that every time a new post appears, I’m choosing my creativity, and that will be enough.

XO,
Em

The post on creativity + burnout appeared first on em la jolie.

What was I doing? 

I guess that wasn’t where it all started. Earlier that day, I’d gotten coffee with a wonderful lady and fellow creative soul. She’s spunky and bright, with just the right amount of fearlessness to match her ambition. We sat at the coffee shop together and rehashed the latest in our lives. I updated her on my work and listened as she told me about her new grad program. My breath caught as she shared about her upcoming month-long studio course in Europe next year. A month in her own studio, to create whatever she wanted. I tried, but failed, to hide my instant enchantment. Dedicated time and space to just…create? That existed? We said our goodbyes, but I couldn’t shake the idea as I walked home. I fantasized about booking an apartment, a room, really any place, where I could sit and write, or edit photos, or mold clay, or sing, or draw. I don’t even draw and I barely sing, unless I’m cooking and Maggie Rogers is on full volume. Oh, I could cook too! 

Suddenly, the flood of realization washed over me. I am so, so burnt out. 
I create on a daily basis for my job. I love it and I’m good at it, which usually works out well. But lately, I’ve been looking at my projects and feeling tired, passive, stuck, restless…just generally burnt out. As someone who gets energy from people and ideas, this is a bit of a conundrum. 

I should also mention that I’ve been researching burnout for a while now. I’ve read every article available online (if you’re interested, this piece by Anne Helen Peterson changed my life) and have mapped out the symptoms like a Bingo card, where five in row means you win. Well, win at being burnt out, which I suppose is probably the opposite of winning. So you lose when you win. What a strange thought. I’ve even added books on the topic to my Amazon cart, but, as a burnout aficionado might have guessed, I never buy them because it feels like too much work. Ironic. 

I’ve seen burnout play out in so many different ways. A lot of “I quit my job one day” and “I went on vacation and realized I had a different calling”. And not to hate on that method, because I may very well find myself doing some “Eat Pray Love”-style journey in the future, but I mostly just don’t want to reach that point. I suppose that’s why I’m writing this here, in a way that feels equal parts vulnerable and nonsensical, to you, whoever you may be. If you’re burnt out too – welcome to the club! If you’re not, you lucky duck, I hope you can always honor that level of mental space. And if you can’t, that’s OK too. We’ll be here. 

Anyway, I’ve said for years now that I want to start writing again. And a part of me was serious each time. But this time, I’m doing it not just because I want to, but because, as I realized during a phone call with my crazy-supportive boyfriend, I desperately need to create something of my own. Voilà – here we are!

XO,
Em

The post on healthcare plans + burnout appeared first on em la jolie.

I won’t lie to you; Paris isn’t all roses and butterflies. It’s a tough, cold city and it’s not hard to feel like an outsider there. Sure, when you visit for a weekend or a whirlwind vacation, it seems like a beautiful place, filled with history, romance and cute cafés. And maybe it is, but there is so much more to this incredibly confusing, wonderfully stressful part of the world.

Arriving in Paris, I was that starry-eyed study abroad student that you all hear about: entranced by every bakery I passed and ready to cover every inch of the city before my return flight. The first few weeks were golden and I would leave my apartment everyday with that giddy feeling you get when you go on a first date or ace a test. Then, slowly, faced with all the Parisian adversities, it lost its glamour and became a thorn in my side.

First, let’s talk French administration. Or let’s not, because does it even exist? I am so used to having a 24/7 customer service number to call, a person to contact, a place to go to and people that genuinely want to help me out. There, the hours for help are sorely limited and it’s a miracle if you actually get what you came for the first (or second) time around. I have been thoroughly unimpressed with the system, and it is a shame because it ruined part of my time there. But it’s also been a tremendous learning experience. Patience is a virtue, right?

Next, French education. The presentation-centric, toughly-graded system makes classes both desperately mundane and demeaning. Even knowing that French teachers consistently grade low, it still took a toll on my motivation to finish the semester. I was blind-sided with the ambiguity of expectations and the inability for me to truly work up to my potential. I guess I was made for a small, liberal arts school where professors know my name. But it was a crash course in how post-grad life could be for me, and knowing that I made it through – even with saltiness – has made me that much more certain that I won’t fail life.

Lastly, the streets. It is not uncommon to find yourself on a street the width of a bar of chocolate. And do people want to move when they see you coming? No. You must lance yourself onto the pavement and risk collision with oncoming traffic just to get where you’re going. And when it rains? Expect to be splashed like Carrie Bradshaw on the curb (it really did happen to me, and no, I’m not over it). You’ll also get cat-called on a regular basis, which is highly uncomfortable if you happen to be fluent in the language + slang. But it made me tougher. I learned to navigate, to ignore, to scoff and to do the which-way-are-you-going dance like an expert. They may not be skills I can put on a resume, but if I ever get lost in a strange city, I have no doubt I will find my way without anyone bothering me.

There was a long while where I just muddled through the days because I knew I had to. It was stressful and exhausting to deal with. And then, gradually, I began to find little things that I loved. The 10-minute hike uphill to my apartment became a nice time to think about my day. Getting a fresh, warm baguette had the power to change my day from horrid to great. Having an afternoon off from school meant being able to hop on the metro to a different quartier and play tourist. I got to know the handful of people I had met through class, welcome week activities, and my roommates. I may not have been Parisian by the end of my stay, but if there’s one thing I learned from the French, it’s that they don’t even think Parisians are true Parisians!

Sometimes, I look back and wonder what it would have been like had I studied somewhere else, like Turkey, which I knew enough to love but it would have still been foreign. And then I think about how much I take for granted the fact that I can understand everything people say in France (unless they’re speaking a foreign tongue) and also be understood; I can appreciate the culture because I already know it fairly well. Sure, I complain about little things. But on the grand scale? This place is pretty darn cool. And the frustrating, bureaucratic moments seem like little ants on a mound when you stroll along the Seine, wandering into shops that used to be frequented by famous people and uncorking a bottle of 4 euro wine with friends.

It’s like that saying, I came to love it like the way you fall asleep; slowly and then all at once.

The post on falling in love with paris appeared first on em la jolie.

I have been to countless cities and countries, and here is what I have learned from it all…

Many of you know my story, but for those who do not, I’ll give you a brief re-cap:

I grew up traveling with my parents as often as they could take off of work. We drove a lot of places and I saw a good chunk of the United States before I even fully understood the idea of distance. At age 13, I took my first plane by myself and fell in love with solo travel. [Fun fact: Now, I have only ever taken transatlantic flights by myself.] After high school, I packed up my life and moved to Bordeaux, France for a year through foreign exchange. Then I moved to Chicago for college to major in International Studies and travel every opportunity I get. Now, I am in Paris, France for a semester abroad.

1. I travel because it changes my perspective. With each city I find myself in, there’s a different mentality, and it’s hard to not soak that up. Sometimes it’s an earth-shattering, life-changing thing, where I question the education I have been raised on. Other times, it’s a subtle, comfortable change, where everything clicks in the most perfect way. I thrive on hearing others’ opinions and learning about their way of life. There is no knowledge in this world that compares to understanding and appreciating someone from another walk of life.

My summer in Turkey changed my perspective on the value of time.

2. I travel because it never ceases to amaze me. This world is a beautiful place and there is an incredible amount of beauty that I would never know if I stayed within my comfort zone. Sometimes this beauty is in the towering monuments and architecture that we, as inevitable tourists, must cross off our list. But the most wonderful beauty is not in a museum or church or historical landmark – it is the journey itself and the people. My faith in humanity is continually restored because of the people I have met during my times abroad. I may know them for one night or for the rest of my life, but being in a city together gives us some unspoken bond that I can’t (and don’t want to) shake.

These three incredible women (my roommates for the past 3 months) have laughed through all the struggles of living abroad with me and taught me a great deal about making the most of life but also giving yourself downtime every once in a while.

3. I travel because it is a challenge. Every airport I navigate, every language barrier I face, every custom I learn the hard way – it is tough to displace yourself to a new world. They have culture shock down to a science and you can very well pick up a book or two to prepare yourself, but nothing truly primes you for the differences. I have cried, I have laughed, and I have learned that I can endure a whole heck of a lot before my breaking point. It makes me a more durable person and I value life a lot more because of it.

The deer-in-the-headlights look was very common during my first months on exchange in France, but eventually I learned more about their customs, routines, politics and food than I could have ever known from a classroom.

4. I travel because we don’t have a lot of time here. I always struggle with this, because I am a bit of a workaholic and my brain is always a month or two (or a year…) ahead of the present. I have checklists for things I need to do by a certain time and a very organized schedule for them. But then I take a trip somewhere and it hits me that those lists may not all be checked off, and that’s okay. I’m not saying it blinds me from responsibility or forward-thinking, but it helps me make the most of the present, knowing that I may never get the chance to come back. A lot of people postpone travel for when they’re older, but for me that uncertainty is too great of a chance to take – and besides, I don’t know that my body will be able to handle all the walking, climbing and hiking in 40+ years.

View from the top of Diamondhead on Oahu – it was an exhausting hike (and scary at times), but I’m so happy I did it!

5. I travel because it makes me realize how frivolous material things are. Sure, the plane tickets and the lodging can be steep, and I am so fortunate to have parents that support me in all my ventures, but once you get past the logistics, money begins to have much less importance. Especially when in a place with different currency, the value of those bills I keep handing over start to make less and less sense and it becomes more about the exchange, and whether I would trade it back or not for anything. Experience has no pricetag. Maybe this has made me less money-conscious, but when I look back at #4, it just seems worth it.

Bartering at markets in Istanbul definitely altered my idea of a fixed price for an item – I only wish we had these kinds of exchanges back in the United States!

6. I travel because it helps me grow. As an individual, a friend, a sister, a daughter and whatever else I am. I am never quite the same when I return from a place, and not just because I get post-travel blues, but because it has an impact on me in ways I cannot explain. The frustration I have faced has made me more patient, the novelties have made me more appreciative, and the distance has made me realize just how important family is. It is difficult sometimes, because I can’t convey how a certain place made me feel, but I’ve come to terms with it. Traveling has made me a stronger, more independent person, while also teaching me that it is okay to ask questions and to be vulnerable. It makes me a happier person, a better citizen of this world, and, ultimately, it gives me so much more than I can write down in a single blog post.

The post on traveling + growth appeared first on em la jolie.

I have been the luckiest person during the past month. Getting accepted into my dream study abroad program in Paris, passing all my finals, traveling to Berlin and back (safely, I might add), juggling work and my social life, finally finding the perfect jeans (thank you, Gap), some kind soul returning my lost train U-Pass, being able to see my parents, spending the Easter holiday with my best friend, and kicking off spring in good health!

I know I don’t stop to think about how much I have going for me at every moment, but I definitely try to put it into perspective once a day. There is little that is more important to me about my education than keeping my humility through it all. And when I read numerous articles on globalization and the conditions of other countries and my own country’s past, it tends to turn me cynical to a point of no return. So my biggest challenge to myself lately has been reflection – and maybe this is going along with my goal of bringing meditation into my world – on things that I am learning and how I will use them for good. Whether it is the Peace Corps or ESL or even a 9-to-5 job that I’ll have after college, I won’t accept anything less than something that will allow me to lend my knowledge to others.

It amazes me every day how far we’ve all come in the last years. My brother is married, my cousin just had a child, my best friends from home are almost graduated, and I’m living in a big city with the greatest roommates a girl could ask for.

But what’s more, is that it pushes me to go further. A year and a half ago, I wouldn’t have wanted anyone to read my writing – I was so conscious of what people might think and if they would confront me. Now, I love pressing that “share” button so people can read what is running through my head.

And I love thinking of what I’ll say about my former self when another year and a half has passed…even if I will be an almost-graduate then – yikes!

I guess what I’m getting at is that through the materialistic, chronological, stereotypical content I post on here, there should always be the occasional burst of fresh air. And perhaps I just needed a literal one to remind me that I’ve been slacking in that department.

XO,
Em

The post on sleeping with the window open appeared first on em la jolie.

However, the road to this place has been ANYTHING but simple. I wanted to share a few tips with you guys about finding, leasing, and moving into a new apartment, because, especially for those of us who have never dealt with bills – aside from the kind you get at the theatre for a show – it can be a shockingly difficult transition.

1. Look online. There are all sorts of apartment sites out there (Zillow, Hotpads, etc), but the best apartments can be found on the very unsuspecting Craigslist. Most postings are made by management companies, so they’re legitimate. People looking on here mean business though, so you won’t want to wait a few days before calling to set up a walk-through – it’s not uncommon for it to be off the market within 24 hours!
2. Don’t rush the process. If you don’t find a place the first time you look, then congratulations, because you’re normal. Don’t give up when that dream apartment doesn’t have your lease starting date, ends up being too expensive, or just isn’t a feasible option. And don’t settle for much less than you want, either. Good things come to those who wait.
3. Read the lease. Once you’ve found the place, there are going to be a million papers you need to comb through. Bring them on the train, to the doctor’s office, or while you’re taking a study break. Read that thing like it is the latest Harry Potter/Twilight/Hunger Games/whatever people are reading these days. You will thank yourself later when you don’t get fined because you know you have to double-bag your kitty’s litter.
4. Honesty is the best policy. Ask your landlord questions early and often. It’s much better that you ask and the answer is obvious than not asking and being blind-sided later on.
5. Over-plan your move. Wait, that’s not possible. If you have movers, give them a reasonable time frame (and bring them snacks to show your appreciation). If you’re doing it yourself, you will most likely need a couple of days to move in and adjust, even if you are the Hulk and can lift eight boxes at once. You will be tired, hungry, and sore in places you never imagined had muscles. So take off of work or minimize your hours for those days. Take breaks when necessary and eat snacks to show yourself some appreciation – hey, lifting that many boxes isn’t easy, you rock!
6. Slowly but surely wins the race. Unpacking will seem like an insurmountable task – and perhaps you’ll never truly be done – but try, try, try! Three boxes a day, a room a day, one bag a day; make it work for your schedule, and give yourself milestones. It makes you feel that much more accomplished when you sit back with your celebratory “I unpacked the [insert what you unpacked here]” drink.
7. Relax. They call moving a process for a reason – it’s not going to happen overnight. And honestly, would you want it to? Relish in the thousandth trip to Target, dance around the kitchen to that cheesy, new pop song, and love your new place. It is yours, all yours, and it loves you back as long as you live there.

XO,
Em

The post on first apartments appeared first on em la jolie.