With summer winding down to a close, it’s easy to get behind on important things: chores, paperwork, meeting up with friends/randos-I-met-at-bars-the-weekend-before, going to bed at a reasonable hour, blogging. A lot has happened here in the Bond House. After a familial July full of dinner and drinking, we lost roommates to school, business trips, thesis, Venezuela. This month there are but a paltry four Bondies (though undoubtedly the cream of the crop) in Boston. I’m not coping well. We don’t know what to do with all of the tomatoes.
As many of you know, last year sent me careening into an entirely new mindset and lifestyle. Gone was the overly-prudent-and-homebody Bailey, and in her place was the new cool-sophisticated-ready-for-adventure Bailey. It was the summer affectionately dubbed: The Summer of Yes. It changed everything. Now, many months and adventures later, I find that the Summer of Yes has returned. Hallelujah.
January lingered on for about six months. Now, all of a sudden, we're over halfway through the year. The garden and heat advisories are in bloom, the dogs are eating corn on the cob, people are jetting off on adventures, summer parties are all the rage, crop tops have become necessary wardrobe staples. Life is good, better than it's ever been. My Bond House crew continues to mesmerize me with their generous and fun-loving souls...because, as you know by now, nothing in this house is done in half measures.
Had you asked me a month ago, I would have told you that I had been depressed for a few years. Which, of course, was true. With the occasional reprieve offered by a "good" day or week, depression has been a constant companion. But it's only recently, as I come to strange degree of comfort, do I finally recognize that I have been in an exhausted, joyless shell for more than half a decade. And, for the first time since then, I can honestly say that I feel wide awake.
As a poor, naive Southerner, I thought that we might see spring and put away our snow boots by the end of February. I remember in November when people would laugh at my optimism and I thought they were jerks. March has come and gone here in the Bond House. Snow lingers on the ground, the temperature has barely cracked 50 on most days, and I'm still wearing wool.
One of life's great pleasures is sharing a meal with friends. There's something to be said about a bowl of salad or a plate of fish that reminds me that people have been sitting around and breaking bread since humanity got started. Eating is a great equalizer and, in a house like this one, it is essential to the maintaining of friendships.
When I was in college, I imagined that I would form friendships with a huge group of people, relationships I would effortlessly maintain for years to come. I imagined we would stay up late and complain over comically huge glasses of wine. I imagined we would have dance parties and laugh for hours. I imagined my younger years would be a lot more Sex and the City and a lot less me writing in a library for 9 hours straight and only seeing my three wonderful roommates if it was Plath-related.
I've been in Boston a few months now. I've survived my first real blizzard (I'm talking drifts up to my knees). I've made a slew of new friends and unexpected connections. I continue to fool everyone into thinking that I am young professional with her life together. Things are going great. Oh, and I moved into a house found on Craigslist with an alarming lack of investigation.
We start the year with the best of intentions. But how could we not when we prime ourselves to fall in love with a new year? We throw parties for them. We toast to their good health. We dress up. We make them feel special. For the moment, 2018 is the most beautiful thing to grace your presence since you treated yourself to Chipotle last week. But much like your relationship with that burrito bowl, it's hard to know how long the love will last.
The end of the year is upon us (thank God), and I must admit that it has been the strangest 12 months of my life. I mean, outside of the current political fiasco/hellish nightmare that is our country right now, 2017 was a changeable creature. To go from a pile of dust to a kick-ass, globe trotting, career gal in such a small amount of time is astounding. I'm proud of myself. For the first time in my life I can say, without a doubt, that I am proud of who I am.