A time capsule of a twenty-something's worries, heartaches, and discoveries

My couchsurfer Elizabeth and I bonded over a shared appreciation for the finer parts of French culture

Together, Elizabeth and I savored this chocolate mousse and
vanilla crème brulée filled piece of decadence topped with
a golden macaron outside Papatisserie, 18 rue des Martyrs, 75009 Paris

This weekend I hosted an absolutely lovely, vibrant, and insightful twenty-one year-old couchsurfer from New Zealand. Our long Saturday led us all over the city, beginning with a morning's walk through the Fifteenth Arrondissement to swing by a gourmet pastry shop of the famed Pierre Hermé. Our afternoon took us from Luxembourg to the Pantheon to the Louvre to Place de la Concorde with a stop at the Musée de l'Orangerie for Monet's waterlillies. We walked on the Pont Alexandre and past the Petit and Grand Palais. Abandoning our path along the Seine, we braved the northern half of the city with which I'm less familiar, meandering up to the Gare Saint Lazare and then across through the Eighth and Ninth Arrondissements and up to the Eighteenth for drinks and a lap through Montmartre including the Sacré Coeur Basilica. We concluded our day near my home with a two-course French meal in the heart of the residential Fifteenth by Convention, eating by proper European standards after 9pm and chatting at our table for well over an hour.

We spent a lot of time discussing the wonderment we've both experienced in learning about life as we enter the "real world," if only just standing on the threshold. We were very much on the same wavelength, and it was so refreshing to feel like I'm not alone (even if objectively I know I'm not) on this path of discovery.

Afterward, Elizabeth and I found a shared appreciation for the
delightfully rich whipped cream and fresh hot espresso of
the Chat Noir's Irish coffees in the Eighteenth.

The conversation delved into many topics on which I'd been jotting down my thoughts over the past few months in hopes of turning them into some cohesive whole. My inspiration to write down these musings came from looking back at a few blog entries I'd written while living in Italy about the cultural differences I'd been experiencing, what I'd been learning, and what I most loved in both my new and original home countries. Reading those entries really put me in another place in time. I'd forgotten so many little details, had forgotten just how typically American I'd been and just how new I still was at the life-overseas deal. Most importantly, though, I was made starkly aware of just how my memories of Italy have evolved. My recollections don't exactly see eye-to-eye with my experiences as I recorded them at that time. With that in mind, I suddenly felt the need to capture this moment, how it feels to be in the thick of a PhD, to be twenty-five and single and oftentimes alone, living in a big city so far away from what I'd known for most of my life as "home."

I'd hoped to share these reflections at a particularly meaningful moment, but I missed my quarter-century mark (March 5), followed shortly by my quarter-decade-in-Paris mark (March 23), and I can hardly justify why exactly now I'm finally getting this out, but I guess no moment's ever right, and for so much in life, sometimes you just need to go for it.

~~~

I've learned about that making friends in a big city after undergrad isn't the same as back on campus. Finding friends gets a lot harder after leaving campus, even if you've always been the "friendly type." Friendships don't just happen anymore, at least not in Paris and not when you're living in a lab. You've got to be proactive. Understanding this years earlier would have saved me much heartache. A corollary to this is that the age of your friends will start to matter much less than the stage of life at which you find yourselves. Some of my closest friends today are five to ten years older than me, and we understand each other better than I do some of my undergrad peers who are already comfortably settling into married life.

Image from clipartpal.com

I've learned that I may have closed my blog "What Happens After MIT?" when I finished my Master's, but the question's far from closed. I still feel naked if I accidentally walk out of my apartment without my brass rat (MIT class ring), I'm still organizing my monthly MIT alumni pub nights in Paris, I'm now on the MIT Club de France Board of Directors, and I can't help but constantly think of how much I owe my current place in life to the extraordinary launching pad that is MIT. I still find myself regularly surrounded by MIT alumni in Paris and the alumni network constantly serves to forge me new connections. So I'm facing it: for me, there's no real "after" MIT, because you can take me off campus but MIT will always be a part of me. And though I'd thought for ages that I needed to grow out of this, I've accepted that I don't need to feel bad about it. MIT may always be a huge part of my life.

I've learned about life as a grad student: it's really lonely and a lot of work to become an "expert" on one very specialized topic. And you need more self-motivation than I'd ever imagined. There is no more sense of togetherness in the struggle as you have when muddling through the undergrad years.

Image from cfact.eu

I've learned about life in France, ahem, Paris. The French (or at least the Parisians) still love to say no. The quote from Ever After, "nothing's final until you're dead, and even then I'm sure God negotiates" is entirely applicable. Arguing is a national sport alongside complaining. The French also love ideas that are nice on principle or in theory, and they will go to great efforts to support these ideas in contradiction to what is reasonable or practical. (Example: elections. Sure, it would be great if we could make sure a third-party candidate never swung elections to the opposite extreme, and yes it would be great to know who your president would be when voting for the politicians with whom s/he'll have to work, but is this really worth sending your citizens to the polls on four separate occasions over the span of two months?) The French have much more strongly gender-stereotyped roles than the anglosaxon societies have, which can be infuriating as a woman. But it's not all bad here: the French, for all the ways in which they drive me crazy, sure have gotten some things right. I'm convinced they make the world's most amazing bread and pastries, and that they have perfected the art of taking pleasure out of life.

I've learned that I actually really love food and eating. This might sound like a silly comment because really, doesn't everyone? You have to appreciate that 1. I am a bit of a neurotic health nut, and 2. I am a gung-ho budget traveler for whom dining out, or dining well, rarely makes the cut. Yet the more I travel, the more I find myself getting excited about what sorts of new foods I will find in each different culture I explore. Let's be honest: after you've seen enough awesome old buildings, there's less of a rush with each new architectural gem, but the foods now, those still get me going. Food is such a central component to the human experience, and one of its greatest pleasures. What a luxury it is to be able to live in an era when we can enjoy such varied palates of wholly different yet delightful cuisines from the world over, effectively cashing in on the culinary investments of countless generations of people in more isolated societies who never had such fortune. I'd never appreciated the extent to which food is absolutely something to savor, to share, and to celebrate.

Image from expatyourself.com

I've learned as an expat that there is no such thing as "common knowledge." A better term would be "culturally accepted norms." The "everybody knows that..." logic won't always take you so far once you leave your home turf. Sometimes the "everybody knows" ideas you have are so deeply internalized that you aren't even conscious of them, not to mention the fact that other people might not share these assumptions and attitudes. A point on one of the means through which you gained these "everybody knows" attitudes: your history books were lying to you, or at best they were very biased. If you want to better understand this, try sitting in a circle of people all from different countries and discussing a major international historical event, like World War II. A discovery that not everybody knows your "everybody knows" idea can be quite unnerving. On a related note, sometimes it takes another expat to appreciate all this. I've come to understand (even if it makes me cringe) that you haven't failed as a culturally curious and open-minded expat if you find yourself embracing a primarily expat community instead of integrating with the locals. Once you undergo such eye-opening experiences living abroad, it's very hard to mix with people who haven't lived and grown likewise.

The view from my window. Yes, I am extraordinarily lucky.

I've learned that I am extraordinarily lucky in my freedom to choose how I want to live my life. The fact that I look out my window and have the view I do, that I can hop to different countries on weekends, and that I can spend my days poking neurons with pipettes and playing with laser beams in the quest of knowledge, and somehow I can have all the food I need to eat with a simple trip down the street to a grocery store is extraordinary. I don't need to have any practical survival skills. I do not ever have to marry nor bear children. I can love who I want, pursue the career I want, and live, work, and travel almost anywhere my heart desires. To have been born into this time and place, where my future is not determined by my gender nor the level of society into which I was born is at once remarkable and slightly terrifying. Few people in history have had such freedom and fortune. Of course, this freedom isn't all roses. With the ability to choose comes the obligation to take personal responsibility for choosing not to take certain life paths, rather than just accepting that life didn't offer you those paths. Your woes are transformed from "the grass is always greener on the other side" to "that grass is greener and I could have had that grass, and it's my fault that I ended up on the other side!" So the lesson here may be to relish the ability to choose, but once you've made your choice, accept and embrace it as "the best damned plot of grass there is" even if for no other reason than because it is the one you chose to make your own. But never forget, that ability to choose, no matter how you make your choice, makes you incredibly lucky.

I've learned that the internet is not such a scary way to meet people. Despite initial misgivings, I've hosted over twenty couchsurfers from five different continents and I've surfed in a handful of different countries. I've discovered an entire community of generous, open-minded individuals connected through the internet. I've used meetup to make friends with common interests here in Paris. Though it wasn't for me, I even tried a go at okcupid after I'd heard enough of my friends talking about it. The biggest hurdles to using the internet to make friends were all in my head. It doesn't have to be creepy at all, and it's a remarkable new way to connect people.

Image from activerain.com

I've learned that success is no longer defined on a linear scale. There are no more A/B/C/D/Fs. And one person's version of success (like having the ultimate research project) might be another person's complete failure (if such a project demanded the sacrifice of travels, relationships, personal projects, time exploring one's home town, etc). I have to find a way to be successful enough to continue to advance in my career, but in the end of the day it's me, not my boss, my teacher, my friends, nor society, that gets to define my success.

I've learned that sometimes you should stop worrying about definitions: nothing is ever black and white. Just accept your good fortune should you be lucky enough to have people who love you and bring you joy, who will support you even when they stand little or nothing to gain. Do what you can to respect them and keep special places for them in your life.

I've learned that sometimes you have to let go. In life, nothing is static. A person, even one you once loved and deeply trusted, can become a destructive influence in your life, and in these cases cutting ties can prove the healthiest route, no matter how it hurts.

I've learned that I must define my own self-worth. No one else's opinion of me changes who I am unless I let it, and no one else's opinion should alter how I value myself.

I've learned to stand up for my health and to get over my reluctance to medicate. Though doctors may seem like total authority figures, they're just people, with all the associated strengths and flaws. I've realized that as the patient I am the customer, and if I'm not satisfied I can and should go elsewhere. I've also realized that, though I'd never warmed up to the idea of regularly putting chemicals inside of me that aren't naturally being produced by my body, there is still something (or a lot) to be said for modern medecine (though we can't always explain why the medecines may do the trick!). Even if it takes speaking to multiple doctors when the first won't listen, even if it takes trying one prescription after another, persistence pays off. It's beautiful to live in a world where you don't necessarily need to just grin and bear it when it comes to painful medical conditions.

Though life may not be a race, sack racing still sounds like a good time to me.
Image from picgifs.com

I've learned that life is not a race (even if I still feel like I'm falling behind). I am terrified by the rate at which my friends seem to be pairing off, getting engaged and married, buying houses, and setting up their adult lives while I'm off in a studio alone with my cat and my view of the Eiffel Tower. Everyone has to move at his or her own pace, and just because I'm not where they are yet doesn't mean I'm somehow failing nor that I won't make it there in my own sweet time. (This idea is still devastatingly hard to embrace.)

I've learned about travel planning and event coordinating. At this point, I've been to 23 different countries. I've traveled by myself, with a partner, with family, and in groups. I've gone by bus, by plane, by car, by train, by foot, and by my hitchhiker's thumb. I've ventured in countries where I spoke the language and others where I couldn't guess a word. I've stayed in hostels, hotels, with friends, with new acquaintances, and with friendly and generous couchsurfing hosts. In my hometown, the monthly task of reserving a bar and organizing a pub night for the MIT alumni in Paris has gone from a daunting task to a simple mindless task. I've mastered the art of coordination through doodles and surveymonkey surveys. I've learned how to organize privatized museum tours, guided walking tours, movie nights, and parties to appeal to a variety of groups.

Image from ottawamagazine.com

I've learned about managing money. I might never have exactly as much at the end of the month as I'd hoped I'd have, but there's never a question as to where it went and never a sudden surprise expense that pops up unexpectedly. Apple's Numbers (Excel for Mac with some nice pre-formatted blank files for budget planning) is a total godsend. Furthermore, there doesn't have to be shame in acknowledging your tight budget: telling friends that you'd love to spend an evening with them but just can't afford the plans they're making isn't such a big hurdle to jump. At worst, your friends understand that you weren't just blowing them off, and better yet, if they understand why you hesitate to accept an invitation, they may even change their plans to include you and your budget.

I've learned that you can't ever plan for the most important things in life. Meeting the right person, falling ill, turning down a different corner and discovering a new gem of a patisserie on a charming Parisian street you'd never before seen. (Okay, maybe these events have different degrees of significance... maybe.) Still, as much as I love to schedule, plan, and coordinate, the most important events in life can't always be booked in advance.

I've learned that two people can experience the same events in entirely different ways. The meaning, the inspiration, the motivations, and the discoveries that two people can take away from the same objective event can be completely independent of each other. It can be frightening to realize how much we each live in our own isolated worlds within our minds. No one else can ever fully experience anything precisely as you do. Sometimes I'm amazed that we ever manage to communicate anything, though on the flip side this makes that deep connection and mutual understanding one occasionally experiences in conversation all the more profound.

I've learned that hope is essential, but that expectation is its evil twin. Life is full of surprises. Accept that things will never play out exactly as you anticipate. The more you set your heart on a specific set of expectations, the more you set yourself up for disappointment. Learning to approach life with an open heart and have hope without expectation is a challenge I am still tackling.

I've learned that happiness is my choice. I cannot always control the events around me nor the choices of the people in my life, but I can always decide how I will react. That's easier said than done. Life may sometimes leave you on top of the world. But then at times the best you can manage is to keep on breathing, to know that you're disappointed but to hold a smile, lift your head high, and keep your posture straight and your shoulders back. By forcing yourself through the motions of your normal routine, things will sooner get back on track and eventually you no longer notice the effort. Know that after each low, things tend to look up. (Here the hope without expectation comes in: without knowing how or when, you've just got to have faith.)

Image from vector-images.com

I've learned that staying in touch takes conscious effort. Keeping a special email folder for the correspondences you like to answer every couple of months is not a bad idea. From time to time, starting a new email thread with a dear old friend isn't out of line. Christmas cards are a great annual excuse to poke all your old friends when checking in for address updates to send a snail-mail hello. You never know when someone else is needing a friendly hello from the past, and you never know when a door kept open may develop into a renewed friendship in the mobile, interconnected society in which we live. If nothing else, it's great to have a chance each year to check in on old friends.

I've learned that being alone doesn't have to be lonely. Whether it takes turning on the radio or streaming a television show to give you the background noise you need to keep you company at home, or downloading podcasts that keep your workday from being too silent, in this day and age you should never feel lonely even when you're alone. And if the loneliness gets to you, don't be afraid to contact old friends and to reach out to new acquaintances, to follow-up on meet-ups, to let them know you'd like to meet again, even with their friends. It's okay to admit that you're lonely and that you'd like to change that.

I've learned that sometimes you don't have to think, and sometimes it's even better not to. Sometimes thinking about something won't do anything to change it. Sometimes thinking without just accepting and embracing makes life overcomplicated. Sometimes things can just be simple.

I've learned that I need to be living not only for my future, but also for today. One day, I will die. If I'm lucky, that's still a long way away, but the thing is, nothing's guaranteed. So while I probably shouldn't sell all my belongings and move to Tahiti tomorrow, I am done with my life being one giant investment in my future. I need to make sure that I am leading a life which makes me satisfied, one in which I can come to the end of the day and honestly say that I am content.

I've learned that my parents are extremely lucky and have so much more than money can buy. I've come to admire and respect their relationship. At the end of the day, they've always got each other, and they still have a happy, fun-loving relationship after nearly three decades. I am so lucky to have grown up in such an environment. I've been shocked and saddened as I've grown up to learn how many people can't actually look to their own parents as a model for a happy and healthy relationship. I've realized that marriage is never on the shoulders of just one person: two people have both got to be in it for the long run, have to decide that throwing in the towel simply will not be an option, and have to work harder to communicate than they'd ever imagined. I'm terrified that I won't find someone who buys into the sort of no-outs lifetime commitment like my parents have. (Hopefully I'll be able to look back and shake my head over that worry in a few years.) I hope I might be as lucky as my parents have been.

~~~

In the midst of all this learning, I've yet to find my answers. I don't know what I want to do with my life. At twenty I think I had everything set-- I was going to be a professor, my love life was all in order, I was on track academically and had plenty of connections lined up. My world was neatly boxed. Now I'm twenty-five and I have no clue where I'll be in a year and a half, besides perhaps frantically struggling against unanticipated delays in my thesis write-up. At best I've got some ideas about where I'd like to go next. I'm comforted by a line in one of the best popular songs I've ever heard:
Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your  life…the most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t. 
From "Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen) by Baz Luhrmann
Written for the class of 1999, it's a song I've listened to ever since that summer. I've found that different lines have spoken more poignantly to me over the years, giving this song such power to be an evolving piece of advice in lyrical form. It's worth googling if you don't already know it.

Like a little time capsule, I am writing this to preserve a bit of what my twenty-five year old self is experiencing and learning, where my heart and mind wander, where my concerns, hopes, dreams, fears, and energies are focused. My mother, who patiently listens to all the growing pains that lead to this learning, has comforted me with the knowledge that I remind her so very much of how she'd felt in her mid-twenties. Maybe one day, years from now, if I have a daughter of my own or a mentee with whom I am close, I will be able to assuage her worries by showing her through my writing how timeless these growing pains and life lessons are, how they will make her, as they make me, part of a bigger picture even when she's yet to find her place in that picture.