An Ode To Lost Interests

At the tender age of 17, I prided myself in my 'cutting-edge' music taste and how my favourite literature included the beat poets and Lolita. On The Road was my Bible, Alt-J were just so cool. I wrote blogs on thought-provoking topics and worshipped Wes Anderson. I adored American Beauty and the Virgin Suicides and read the classics to expand my cultural knowledge.

Nearly four years later, I no longer have time to read two classics a month, write a blog post a week or take an hour out of my day just to look for great new music. My Netflix consumption consists largely of Disney movies, Gilmore Girls and Stranger Things. I haven't watched a classic movie since god knows when and I've even started listening to old Avril Lavigne again. I'm not afraid to enjoy Little Mix.

I no longer fit in with the kind of crowd who gather at the Philosophy Bar at King's, full of English Literature students in turtle necks, discussing Ulysses over a fag.

But, it's not that I really want to.

I still love Lolita and The Grand Budapest Hotel remains one of my all time favourite movies. I never stopped liking those things. It's just that I never moved on.

There are still so many classic movies I haven't seen, stunning books I haven't read, beautiful music yet to be discovered. I can still be cultured without resorting back to my pretentious idealistic phase.

Whilst I feel that I've sobered up a little, that I'm less afraid to immerse myself in the mainstream, I'm not really embracing all that I can. Have I given up? Have I become too much of a boring adult to enjoy an intellectual book?

If I had the time... that phrase repeated over and over. I, a busy and responsible final year student, do not have time even to read the shortest novel.

This is an ode to all the things I wish I did and hope that in the near future, I will once again embrace.

Confessions of a To Do List Addict

I can't get through a day without checking my to do list several times - or..er...lists plural. I have a list on my phone, a list on a little board in my room, a list in my notebook, a list on my laptop and a list written down on a post-it on my desk. I even bought one of those pretty Paperchase pads that say 'To do' in floral lettering on them.

When I've completed half of my to do list, I start another one so the page looks a little bit tidier and a little bit clearer. I'm not uptight, I'm not a perfectionist. I just have a lot on my plate and I can't relax until I've written it down.

I keep my phone by my bed at night so I can quickly get down what my brain inevitably will remember at midnight rather than during the day.

There's just something kind of soothing about a list. It makes me feel a little more relaxed knowing that, away from them, I can just forget about my responsibilities. When I finally get round to opening up my notebook, they'll all be there to remind me just how much I've been putting off.

I said it was soothing right?

As a thoroughly modern and internet literate woman who will click on any article that claims it can help de-stress or show me "8 Ways You Can Boost Your Productivity", I've seen all the other ways I could write down what needs doing.

"Instead of writing a list that says 'To do' at the top, just write 'I can...'."

I've tried it and trust me, it makes me feel like a middle aged woman running her life on the advice of a trashy self-help book.

Mass to-do lists are most likely one of the most stress-inducing things I could do to myself. But, the humble to list is probably the only way I can keep my life together without relying on the help of a Pinterest board or taking inspiration from a skinny, tanned lifestyle blogger with a secret death-wish claiming that a banana-only diet is the answer to life, the universe and everything.

1. Un-bookmark all those Buzzfeed self-care articles
2. Get your life together
3. Write another list

Part of my problem is this damning need to constantly be productive. I panic when the lists get under 5 points. Where is my life going? Am I doing enough to be successful? I should create more unnecessary tasks to make this list more satisfying. I absolutely need to enter this writing competition. Come to think of it, my room needs a hoover. 

Maybe I should write a list of steps I need to take to achieve this thing? Like a sub to do list. Then I'll have more to tick off. 

My bin is full of post-its with a list of five things from my 'big' to do list that I'm going to complete that day. It's infinite.

I feel guilty about watching Netflix. I procrastinate all day and stop myself from watching a movie in the evening or going out because I haven't done all 5 things, when realistically I've probably done a lot of things that I never even bothered to write down. 

4. Write another blog post

5. Buy more post-its

6. Scrap the last list and write another one

Me? Addicted? Never. 

Displacement

Today, I arrived back home after more than two months away. It's longest I've ever been away from home and I'm only here for one night.

I have realised that home isn't quite where I feel the most comfortable anymore. After all, almost every one of my most loved possessions remain in Southampton. The room I have at university is something which I have made my own and it is full of things that I have bought with my own money.
There is no sign of childhood rag dolls, gifts from distant relatives, certificates from my grade 2 piano. My bedroom walls at home are still adorned with self-painted green spots - a very non-aesthetically pleasing brainwave of my 13 year old self. At 20 years old, it feels childish.

In the right frame of mind, I do enjoy sleeping in my childhood room once again. The nostalgia is warm and welcoming. Yet, I'm at a crucial time of transition from student to employed adult and the lure of full independence renders me giddy with excitement and sometimes nauseous with nerves. My desire to launch myself into a journalism career fills every crevice in my brain and when memories of full dependence gets in the way, I'm irritable.

After all, my university bedroom is where I plan everything for the university paper. It's where I write all my applications, finalise my CV and flick through post-graduate prospectuses. Naturally, I've come to associate it with the place where I can safely look at my future and know that I am heading in the right direction.

Home is where the heart is and my heart is set on something other than a place where there is a power shower and Dad's bolognese.

In addition to that, what was home has changed. Since my brother now lives with my mum during the week, and I live in Southampton, my Dad is usually alone in the house apart from an attention hungry cat and a geeky lodger who works for a rice company. After one cat dies and a lodger moves in, dynamics change. Thus, predictably, it starts to feel less and less like home.

And so, I feel as though I am heading towards displacement. Once I graduate, I highly doubt I'll be renting straight away. I'll probably move back home for a little while and find my feet as an unemployed graduate seeking any kind of grounding.

Father John Misty @ Southampton O2 Guildhall

On 21st May, I saw Father John Misty in Southampton.

The support act from Texas set the scene. Khruangbin, a soulful, funk, guitar band, were smooth and sexy. The frontman and frontwoman were beautiful sights to behold for the typical Father John Misty fan - one very well dressed bearded guitarist and a glittery faced bassist with a black bob and killer lacy culottes, who moved her hips perfectly to the beat. Father John Misty himself even came on for a few songs to play bongos at the back of the stage.

From the very beginning of his set, Father John Misty was mesmerizing to watch. This man is not only a musician and song writer, but a true performer with remarkably fluid hips and a way of moving that is somehow simultaneously camp and ridiculously sexy.

Thrusting and gyrating his groin in every direction, floor to ceiling, left to right, it is not surprising how much sweat this man could produce - distinctly noticeable when, twice, he came into the audience. Father John Misty was a mere two inches from my face. A famous and sexy man no less, I refused to stroke his beard or grab his hand like every other member of the audience felt the need to do. He was a liquid mess, a true rock-star.

During 'True Affection', Father John Misty's silhouette, in a flashing neon pink light, truly danced as though no one was watching with gesticulating arms and a torso that moved like a snake. Such a distinct way of dancing simply takes you away to another place, another dimension, to Father John Misty's world.

Despite a real lack of chatter in between songs, Father John Misty communicated to each and every member of the crowd through his lyrics and through his movement. Most notably during 'Bored in the USA', he sang the lyrics as though he was telling a story. He is an actor as well as an artist. There were laughs and cheers after each lyric he sang, as he paused for effect.

'By this afternoon, I'll live in debt. By tomorrow, be replaced by children'

He sang, with a careless kind of melancholy. We all laughed at the truth behind the words that he sang - despite not being in the USA at all. We all sang along as though we really were bored in the USA.

This artist pulled out all the stops. This is genuinely one of the best gigs I have ever been to. Father John Misty didn't rely on just his music to excite the crowd. He really performed with energy and an electric personality that charmed each and every member of the crowd.

I Don't Know Where I'll be In Ten Years Time, But, I'm Excited.

It's mission impossible to know where I'll be in ten years time, let alone five. In 2021, I will be at the young age of 24 and close to thirty in 2026. I don't know the rest of the story.
My focus is on the near future. In fact, I lead the kind of busy, spontaneous life that means I only really know what the next two weeks hold for me.

I know a few things for sure. From this coming July until next July, I will be the Editor of Wessex Scene magazine. This time next year, I will be reaching the end of my final year at University. In June, I'm celebrating my 20th in Copenhagen. In September I will move in with several new housemates - 3 of which I am already close to.

Spontaneity excites me. Truly, it does. But, the uncertainty of my future is terrifying. It's terrifying to consider a life after university. Despite being constantly bombarded by employability advice, CV workshops and work experience, the prospect of not being in full time education and working in an actual full time job makes me want to crawl into a duvet fort and read Louise Rennison books like I did at 14. I would like to deny the death of the late author. I would like to deny the passing of the Starman himself, David Bowie. Alan Rickman lives on, as does Harper Lee.

Nostalgia really is all that it is made out to be; escapism to a time where the future was certain and your life was in the hands of others. I am no one woman show. Although, I am independent and I suppose that is what should stop me from worrying. I am the architect of my future and whilst I cannot control external factors, at least I can steer myself in any direction I see fit.

The scary parts are all the external factors, the decisions of others or the natural progression of the life cycle. One of my cats died a few weeks ago, reminding me of the fragility of the here and now. Before next Christmas, it's a real possibility that my family home might be sold.

I am determined to constantly remind myself that it's really not all bad. This time last year, I would never have considered that I'd be so close to some of the people that I am now, I had no idea I'd even be running for the position of Editor of Wessex Scene. My brother might get his first girlfriend within a year, I might have a job lined up for when I leave university, I might go travelling. Who knows?

Perhaps, my reason for writing this, is that I am feeling a little lost and a little uncertain. As Tumblr post cheesy as this sounds, I'm simply on a journey.

So, let it all happen and bring it on.