Balance

The best advice I got before starting 12 was, "Don't kid yourself. You may pay rent somewhere else but if you do 12, you live at work." It's true. This place has been my life for the past 8 months. We always joke about how much we are here and usually that laughter is in self preservation. That may sound extreme but being able to laugh in 12 is what gets you through 3am mockups of a sandwich, critiques with Jim Riswold, and yet another failed relationship.

When we decided to move into the foyer, we were once again laughing at our commitment but with every chuckle we were also questioning it. What the fuck am I doing? For me this move in was more than, "Well if I can't go home, I'll bring home to me." It was to see what would happen to me if I stayed. And to my surprise, I miss my real home. I miss the stupid things like drinking tea on my top balcony, throwing the bag so it catches in the tree branches or the way my wallpaper curls back in the corners of my bathroom. I miss my roommate and his endless optimism. I miss my bed and my the way the logs smell in my wood iron stove.

In these final 3 months of 12, maybe my greatest challenge isn't piling on the hours. Maybe it's finding balance. Getting out of here and finding inspiration in the little things again.