I'm On My Fifteen (weeks)

You know, a few weeks ago, I thought I was going to have the most boring summer ever. All I'd be doing is sitting at home, with the occasional jaunt to Anaheim or somewhere else to work on my research and the sporadic social event. I mean, let's be honest, in Orange County you pretty much have to drive to go anywhere, and when you go somewhere you're there. There's no taking the metro to the Rodin museum, then walking over to les Invalides because it's right there, and then walking back through the winding roads of St-Germain with expensive and fine boutiques worth ogling at endlessly. No, once you go to South Coast Plaza or Newport Center you're there, and there's no where to go down the street.

But, you know, despite my initial thoughts, despite all my desires to find some day job to get me out of the house regularly and earn a couple extra bucks, and despite all my thoughts of how boring it would be to sit around the house, I actually am sort of enjoying it. Is it wrong that I actually desire laziness in some part of myself, that my body wasn't wired to work 9 hours straight day-in-day-out with overtime on Wednesday and Friday nights and the occasional Saturday afternoon in the office? I'm sorry, but that's just not me, and if that's what the modern workplace will require of me, well, maybe I'm just not cut out for that. I mean, if the work was mostly doing things I enjoy, like imagining future communities or designing walkable cityscapes, well, I might be OK with it. But data entry, phone answering, and the regular office mini-drama just don't inspire me. I know, I've been there.

Needless to say, I don't think I'm going to be pursuing a position on Wall Street any time soon. Or Madison Avenue. Or Fifth Avenue, even. But no matter what street or avenue (or boulevard or highway or, God forbid, US Route) I find myself on in the oh-so near future, I am content to have had this summer. Call it a summer of soul-searching. Call it a voyage of self-discovery. Call it a return to my roots. Heck, call it my lazy-bum summer. In the end, this summer has been much more appropriate, much more of what I need than any other summer I've ever had. I mean, if summer, time of bright and sunny, excruciatingly hot days is meant for productivity and resume-boosting, well, let's just say something is very backward with our culture. I mean, why do you think Paris is occupied by more tourists than it is by actual locals during the summer? Because the locals don't want to be home working their butts off in hot and humid weather, they'd rather get away while they still can. And, well, the government gives them 6 weeks vacation in order to do that.

So, excuse me for being into relaxation, for treasuring the moments of bliss that occur when you get a steaming hot cup of coffee with a friend and just take a break for conversation. Or the times when you get to sleep until your awakened by the sun breaking through the marine layer at about 11. I mean, I know it's only temporary, I know I'll have to return to stress and work and classes and grades and deadlines and all that come September. But for now, it's nice to have the time to recharge.

And, well, go figure, despite it being summer and a time of relation, I've somehow come to be in the best physical shape in my life. So, I don't know, maybe torturing yourself with endless work for the dollar is not all that important in the end. One way or another I know I'll be comfortable later in life, and that's all I really need. Besides, I can't say that I really need that new CLK 500 more than the homeless vet at the 22 offramp, if his sign is correct, needs a burger or a beer or whatever. Relaxation, contentedness, and satisfaction that I am living a life fulfilled--well, as a MasterCard ad would tell me (somewhere up in those buildings on Madison)..."priceless."