Making it through

"All I ever really want to know is how other people are making it through life. Where do they put their body, hour by hour, and how do they cope inside it." 


Miranda July

On Monday morning, while I am walking across campus to my first class of the day, I tell myself that I'm living the dream, and in the freshness of the day, I sometimes believe it. By Monday afternoon, without fail, I am considering dropping out of school all together. Luckily for both my career and for the University of Tulsa's Bursar office, I'm slightly more clear-headed the rest of the week.

On Tuesday I should be thinking about Aristotle's absolute kingship or the roles of stepmothers in Grimm's


 but all that fills my mind is the crackle of fallen leaves and the pink sky. It is November—"the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the seas, passionate wind-songs in the pines"*—yet the air still breathes Indian summer and if you concentrate, you can still smell the warm scent of wildflowers in the sun. There is road construction on Utica and when I close my eyes, the exhaust of the slow-moving cars reminds me of living in Nairobi, the land of eternally balmy Novembers.

*  L.M. Montgomery,

Anne of the Island

On Wednesdays I eat lunch at my desk in the language department, the jumble of Spanish, Russian, German, and French tumbling over me. I'd like to think I can absorb the languages through some sort of magical osmosis, but German is still the only one I can understand. Despite wavering between several different possibilities every week, I'm still a German major. I love the paths it leads me down.

On Thursday a year ago, I woke before dawn and

raced out to the middle of Masai Mara

to catch the sunrise, stumbling across a pride of lions in the process. This Thursday, I also woke before dawn but raced instead to an 8am math class, and later ate lunch during a thunderstorm with my friends Mikayla and Laura and Laura's baby Emma. How things change in a year.

On Friday last week I drove out to a hill thirty miles out of town with my friend Amy and her boyfriend Dylan. It was Amy's birthday and in celebration, the stars and the skyline glowed in the distance. Amy and Dylan are dating long distance too and Amy, familiar with the ache, wrapped me in a long, consoling hug while the night air whipped into a wind.

On Saturdays I've slipped into a soothing routine. The mornings are slow and thoughtful: rising a bit later (Saturday is my only day to sleep in, after all), taking my time making myself a warm latte and some avocado toast before working out. Sometimes the mornings involve a bike ride too, or maybe a visit to the farmer's market when it's open, or sitting quietly in the sun to read a book that isn't assigned for a class, something that doesn't happen often anymore. After lunch, I slip away to a coffee shop to get some homework done. Surrounding myself with a pleasant, studious atmosphere usually tricks me into actually getting something done.

On Sundays I visit my grandmother. She moved to Tulsa last year and after so many years of living apart from so much of my family, it is always a joy to remember that I have a grandmother who now lives close by. At her apartment, I pull out the old photo albums, ranging from the time she was a baby in the 1930s to the time when I was a baby in the 1990s. It makes me want to be more diligent about printing out my own photographs and displaying them. It is usually dusk by the time I drive home and I wonder where the week has gone.