I try to avoid saying I’m from Connecticut at all costs. Growing up in Fairfield County taught me exactly what I didn’t want to be. When asked, I like to say I live in Vermont (and enough real, quality Vermonters have adopted me to make it acceptable). I plan to travel and move around a lot in my life—which confuses a whole score of people, since I hated change in any capacity as a child. I get antsy if I’m in one place too long. My feet get itchy, I get irritable. As much as I love VT, the countdown to leaving was equally a countdown to sanctuary. Maybe that’s why all my plants are in pots. Mobility. But I’ll use Vermont as my home-base, my “great place to be from,” the center of my United States.
More of a cursory introduction, now. I’m 5’4” on a good day, but I’m half an inch taller than my mother, which is all that matters. I’ve been riding and working with horses since I was seven, and there’s nothing I’d rather be doing at 6 AM on a Sunday than barn chores. I rock climb, I do yoga, I love hiking and kayaking and camping. Real camping. I love to cook, but only for other people. I also love dashes and semicolons. I prefer editing to writing, though I’ve recently been spewing poetry like a bashed in fire hydrant. My eyes change color from blue to green to grey. I love smiling at people. You can’t put me near water and expect me to not go in. I want a BIG dog that’ll go running and swimming and hiking with me. And a goat. Speaking of, I’m a Capricorn. And a recovering Catholic. I was raised in Sunday school, never believing a second of it—though that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in something else. Living in a city might damn near kill me, as there aren’t enough trees around, but I’m always looking to push my comfort zone.
I’m making 2010 the year of daring. Literally the first thing I did this year was getting on a plane and moving to Ireland alone, five days before anyone I knew would be in the country. It was the best decision I’ve made so far—and I’m eager to top it. If nothing else, I’ll have something to write about.
I'm studying writing at Champlain College. No, I don't want to write a novel. I don't want to be a journalist. I don't want to be a teacher, either. I want to be an editor. Preferably for a magazine involving yoga/rock climbing/backpacking/horses/etc. I love editing. I love helping authors perfect their work. Much more than I like writing.
And before you yell blaspheme and start petitioning to take away my degree, I do like writing most of the time. I've been having a lot of fun reviewing restaurants with my roommate. Those will likely make their way onto this blog. I've written some poetry that I'm decently fond of, which will also likely show up. And I’d like to dip into travel writing to see if it’s something I’m at all decent at, to see if it’s something I’m at all attracted to. I’d like to use my writing productively as I travel after graduation. I want to spend a year in Ireland, working in a pub, and meeting people. I want to spend a year in China, teaching English. I want to spend a year in Spain, giving guided horseback tours through the mountains. I want to spend a year in Italy, working on a farm or in a vineyard. Maybe I’ll spend a year in Portugal, working in a café. Maybe I’ll find something to do in Argentina. Or Mexico.
See? I have a plan. That's why I could never be a writer. Of course, a year is just a template. I might never leave Ireland.
Leaving out that I have two siblings, my dad was a professional cage fighter, and no, I probably don't know which movie you just quoted, you basically just went through all my first date material. Now comes the part where you decide if you want to keep at it or throw me back.
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