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On being lost.

I am writing this post because I am lost.

I guess I should go back to when this thought first entered my mind, while I was on a second (lunch) date with a nice boy I met on the internet. I've met a lot of nice boys on the internet this summer-- my summer of sexual and romantic awakening, as I've joked about it with my friends-- so this was nothing new for me. I saw him for the first time a few day ago, after a series of nights furiously texting into the wee hours of the morning; me, tucked into bed in my suburban home and him working the third shift as a ramp agent at good ol' Midway Airport. I felt like I could trust him. He felt too good to be true.

I will spare you the gory details of our first in-person meeting for your own sake and for my own reputation of not being a judgmental jerk, but let's just say that he was different than I was anticipating. There's nothing wrong with that, especially when it's for the better or the different or the interesting. But with him, he just felt a little off. We sauntered into more serious conversations and I found myself not trusting the truth of his answers. Maybe I'm paranoid or didn't give him enough credit, but I had never been so dubious of a person on a first date before. But there was nothing wrong with him so a few days later I asked him out for lunch, as that's some of the only time we have overlapping in our weird work schedules.

We had a perfectly fine lunch and made way to his perfectly fine apartment down the street and I joked about napping in his bed. Eventually, we starting fooling around and even more eventually, he stuck his hand down my pants-- and it was like all of my worries about him came rushing to fruition.

My gut reacted immediately, wrenching into a new territory of uncomfortable and "no". I lifted his hand gently out of my underwear, sat up and choked out, "I think I want to go home". Then, suddenly, I was crying in this near strangers house, breaking up with a guy I had been on two dates with. I told him the truth: something with him wasn't clicking for me. And I went home.

As I sat waiting for a train to pass, en route to my house, I thought about something he had said at lunch. He had called me "the whole package", said I was funny and smart and knew what I wanted. But did I know what I wanted?

I used to know what I wanted. I've had the perfect little outline of my twenty something life since I was seventeen. The college I was going to, the timelines to meet for kids and a husband. I had it all figured out, and that little voice of fear was something I pushed faaaar back into my mind. But over the past year in my road to recovery-- er, perhaps my road to just dealing-- with my anxiety and depression, my therapist has encouraged me to let go of these expectations and, well, roll with it. So that's what I've been doing.

Everything that I've ever known has changed this summer. I meet a boy I fell head over heels for, had my first kiss (at the ripe old age of 22) and my first relationship with him. He dumped me (over text!) after a few weeks, in the very last week of my collegiate career (yeah, I know) and I was devastated. I graduated from college (!!!), excited to head into a lifetime of working for my current employer, one that I adored and thrived in, only to be unmotivated and looking for work elsewhere a few weeks later. I then dated a guy who felt about me like I had felt about the first guy, but was I so lost in my swirls of emotion and heartbreak that I, in turn, dumped him (in person though!), and learned so much about relationships and how much they suck in the process.

In August, I took my first solo travel trip to Washington D.C., and realized that maybe I don't like being alone as much as I thought I do; that I do love and need my support system I've built for myself back home. And now, I'm here: wondering what the hell I'm supposed to do with my life. I am, maybe, just a little bit lost. Or a lot lost. Maybe I'm so lost in my lost-ness that I don't even know how lost I am. Maybe I've typed the word lost so much that it doesn't even seem like a word anymore (ha!). Anyways-- because of that, I need to start this project back up again. I need to figure out what I want. I need to write this blog.

I hope you enjoyed reading about my crazy beautiful and educational summer and where I'm at, at this point in time. I hope to share a personal essay, a post on style, design, or beauty, and a collection of things I'm loving on the internet every single week. I hope to have you sticking along for the ride, too.



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Striped Intentions is laying on your bed, soaking in the sunlight. It's the shadows made by the blinds, lined up and down the sheets. It's wearing a striped shirt every day and not giving a damn. It's the constant search for "effortless chic"-- whatever that is-- and taking care of what you present to the world.
Too, Striped Intentions is a place to feel at home. No matter what you look like or feel like or do with your life, it's a space to appreciate life and all it's tiny details. It's having the best intentions with everything-- as striped with flaws as they may be.