Category: Nicole Antoinette

The Inspiration Well

posted 22nd June 2010    Written by: Nicole Antoinette    CATEGORY: Inspiration, Nicole Antoinette, Season 2

Over the past few years, I’ve built up a small arsenal of go-to sources of inspiration. Things to click on, watch, listen to, read, and re-read when I’m feeling stuck in the hole.

Sometimes I’m in the hole because I’m sad. Sometimes it’s because I’m anxious. Sometimes it’s because I’m overwhelmed, or lacking control, or feeling overly sensitive. And sometimes I just need to stop, push the reset button, and regroup. No matter what pushed me down into the hole though, these are the things I consistently use to get myself out:

The Things That Make Me Think

Do Interesting Things | by Leo Babauta of Zen Habits

How To Be Awesome | by Chris Guillebeau of The Art of Non-Conformity

The sign of a great career is having great opportunities, and saying no | By Penelope Trunk of Brazen Careerist

Quest for Balance | by Carlos Mic of OwlSparks

The Things That Make Me Laugh

Kittens Inspired by Kittens

This photo. And this one.

This is Why I’ll Never be an Adult | by Allie Brosh of Hyperbole and a Half

I’m pretty sure it’s pronounced “Wesley Ann.” | by Jenny Lawson of The Bloggess

Things I Don’t Understand Even When People Explain Them To Me | by Jamie Varon of A Life in Translation

The Things That Tickle My Creative Fancy

Pink Sherbet Photography

Charm City Cakes

Six Sentences

The Things That Spark My Daydreams

Fuck Yeah, Tattoos!

lululemon goaltender

Where The Hell is Matt?

Now, what are some of YOUR favorite sources of smiles and inspiration??

photo credit: Pink Sherbrt Photography

divider

The Permanence of Change

posted 15th June 2010    Written by: Nicole Antoinette    CATEGORY: All Posts, Nicole Antoinette, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 2, What I've Learned

The day my mom told me we were moving to London was the day I decided that I hated her and was, in fact, ready to live on my own. I was 8 years old.

“But WHY,” I yelled in her face, more a tear filled, gurgling statement than a question. “I like New York, how could you do this to me! I can’t move. What about my friends who will I talk to I don’t speak British at all!!” I was more or less hysterical, bites of pizza falling out of my mouth and landing on my lap, on the floor, on my mother.

“Relax Nicole, it’s going to be okay,” she said. “Relax?!” I thought, because telling me to relax is like waving a red button in front of someone while yelling, “Don’t touch this red button!!” It makes me totally crazy and irrational, eyes whirling around inside their sockets. I hated it then as much as I hate it now.

“I don’t need to relax, I am relaxed. I’m FINE I just hate London and I hate you.” Clearly, I was more relaxed than ever.

“I know you’re worried about everything changing, about losing your friends, but please don’t worry sweetheart; just because something changes doesn’t mean it changes for the worse, and it certainly doesn’t mean it’s over.” Yeah right, I thought, how am I going to hold hands with Matt at recess from another continent? She doesn’t know anything.

But, as it often turns out with mothers and their seemingly infinite wisdom, she did. She knew then what I know now, that change, although inevitable and most likely the only constant factor in our lives, doesn’t have to spell disaster. Instead, it can just spell different. Sometimes I get stuck thinking that whenever I’m happy, all of the current factors in my life need to remain exactly the same in order to continue being happy. But, if this were true, how boring would our lives be? Different isn’t bad, different is different. Change is coming, it’s always coming, and people move and flow into and out of places and jobs, into and out of each other’s lives, and that’s okay. The human capacity for adaptation is highly underestimated.

“You’ll make friends quickly, you’ll see, because there’s no such thing as ‘speaking British,’ silly. Everyone in London speaks English, just like you, and all those other 8 year olds over there are just waiting for their spunky, new friend to arrive, they just don’t know it because the change hasn’t happened for them yet.”

“Because of the time difference?” I asked.

My mother laughed. “Sure,” she answered. “It’s because of the time difference.”

photo credit: markhillary

divider

On Being a Real Adult

posted 7th June 2010    Written by: Nicole Antoinette    CATEGORY: Nicole Antoinette, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 2

When I was younger, I used to get so excited about having homework. Back then, homework meant responsibility and responsibility meant I was getting older, getting closer to being a grown up, closer to freedom.

The definition of freedom was frequently changing though, and soon enough homework became something to be despised, something that got in the way of all of the other, cooler, more grown up things I wanted to be doing. Dramatically important things like going to the movies with my friends and gossiping about whether a kiss with no tongue still counted as a real kiss.

Freedom came and went in phases: being allowed to go out with a boy for the first time, driving, having an extended curfew, flying alone, and finally, going away to college. I’ve always been independent, but I never really knew from freedom until I moved to NYC for college.

Once again, the meaning of freedom shifted, because I had all the damn freedom in the world. I was swimming in freedom, diving into it, living it the hell up. I could go to class (or not), I could stay out all night (or not), I could have casual sex (or not) with whoever I wanted (or not), I could keep in touch with my parents (or not), drink shot after shot of bottom shelf vodka (or not), and on and on (or not and not).

At some point though, I think I maxed out on the freedom. Maxed out on the skipping class and pounding shots. Maxed out on the making out with random guys in bars, maxed out on coming home at ridiculous hours. I had ceased to be swimming in freedom; in fact, I was drowning in it. Because the thing with freedom is that it indicates that you’re free from something. For most people, it’s freedom from their parents, from authority, from having to report to anyone else. And being independent is great, being free is great, but I quickly found that with all my new freedoms came the weight of my conscience, the weight of answering to myself.

And while I’ve gotten a few (or more) things past my parents over the years, I’ve learned that it’s pretty hard to pull one over on yourself.

And so, like always, the grass became greener. I started to think longingly of the times when I didn’t have to do my own laundry, the times when I didn’t know how tempting happy hour was, the times when I never had to suffer through an all nighter to write yet another paper that I had procrastinated on.

Now, almost four years out of college, I still sometimes I forget that I’m a grown ass woman, that this is what being an adult actually is, even if it never seems to feel like it. I complain about never having enough time or enough money, as if it’s someone else’s responsibility to teach me how to better manage either one. I eat cookies late at night in a dark kitchen, as if no one seeing me will mean it doesn’t count. I start sentences with “when I grow up,” as if that’s some far away time that’s yet to come. I look in the mirror and wonder what other people are doing and how other people feel, thinking that in comparison I’m probably doing an awfully bad job of pretending to be a Real Adult.

But what is a Real Adult anyway? Where did all this damn pressure come from? And really, can’t we just step away from the spray of pressure hose for a second and define what being an adult means for ourselves and then just go LIVE it?

divider

How Does a Logical Person Define Love?

posted 1st June 2010    Written by: Nicole Antoinette    CATEGORY: Love/Relationships, Nicole Antoinette, Season 2, What I've Learned

Love is what we all have in common. And yet it’s the most impossible thing to describe. More than anything, love is our intangible common denominator.

I’m a logical person, a person who thinks things through, and then over-thinks them, and then thinks about them some more, and some more still – and yet I don’t know that I can define love. And the cliche about love, of course, is that you’ll know it when you’re in it, right?

I used to think it happened explosively. That love was something astronomically powerful that not only swept you off your feet, but knocked you down on your ass and soaked through your skin and became an overarching force that was impossible to ignore. But, what if that’s not it? What if love is quiet and soft? What if love is gradual and delicate? What if love isn’t an explosion, but is instead this calm feeling you get when you wake up one Wednesday morning and realize that there’s no where else you’d rather be than next to this person whose quirks make you laugh until you can’t breathe? What if, more than anything, love isn’t what all the romantic comedies have made us believe it is?

Over the past six years, I’ve thought a lot about love. I’ve defined it, I’ve been in it and out of it, I’ve thought I was in it and then realized that I wasn’t, I’ve wanted it, not wanted, and on and on.

Lately, I think I’ve stopped trying to define it and have started to believe that being in love is about more than just explosive emotion. And yet, it’s also about more than just finding someone to coexist with in the same space at the same time. Love is about finding someone who lights even your tiniest parts on fire, and everyone’s tiny parts are different. It’s about finding someone who makes you more you, who will even surprise you every now and then by knowing you better than you know yourself.

For me, it’s about finding someone who is as enthusiastic about cheese plates as I am, someone who thinks that when it comes to laughter, sex, and alcoholic drinks, the more intense the better. Love, for me, needs to be somewhat spontaneous, I need someone who will just up and take me on a cruise. Someone who won’t tease me because I have to wash things in a specific order in the shower (shampoo, face, conditioner, body), or who won’t laugh (too hard) when I’m hungover and can’t do anything except lay on one side with my eyes closed and ask repeatedly for someone to squeeze my head.

And you know what? Even after all the thought and the over-thought, after all the defining and the re-defining, what I want from love is actually quite simple: I want (as Chelsea said) a safe place to rest my lips. I want someone who will keep me in his heart because that’s where I’ll be warm and safe. I want someone who will look at me when I’m at my messiest and kiss me on the forehead, someone who thinks I’m lovely in the morning, and at night, and during all the in between times. I want someone who isn’t afraid to live, really live, who identifies what he wants from life and then demands it, loudly and without hesitation.

I want someone who won’t tell me that I’m his everything, because he has a full life of things that don’t revolve entirely around me. I want someone who can handle me, who can tame me in a way, simply by running his fingers down my spine and settling his hand on my lower back. Someone who knows how much I like to be whispered to and who isn’t scared off when I’m crying. Someone who can sense when I’m overwhelmed, who just knows when life is too much and who will, in those moments, stand close enough to me to block everything else out.

photo credit: le vent le cri

divider

The “I’ll Be Happy When” Syndrome

posted 25th May 2010    Written by: Nicole Antoinette    CATEGORY: Nicole Antoinette, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 2

I catch myself doing it all the time. “I’ll be happy when I have more money” or, “I’ll be happy when I’ve traveled all around the world,” or, “I’ll be happy when I’m in better shape” or, “I’ll be happy when I publish a book.” When, when, when.

There always seems to be a “when,” doesn’t there? A point in the future that when you pass it, you’ll definitely be happier than happy.

Except what happens when you do get there? What happens when you look around and realize that you have everything you ever thought you wanted, and yet you feel like you still want more? When does ambitious become greedy?

When does chasing a dream turn into chasing a mirage?

Maybe this is what the Quarterlife Crisis is all about: learning how to be happy. Maybe being an adult means learning how to not get stuck in the agonizing cycle of the When Syndrome and appreciate what you have while setting challengingly realistic goals for the future.

I don’t know.

But, what I do know is that getting stuck in the cycle of “when when when” is one of my biggest fears. I’m constantly trying to assess what I want to understand where it fits among the puzzle pieces of everything else that makes up my life, and I’m terrified of wanting so much that I’m constantly doing the “when” thing and am never just wholly satisfied with where I am at any given moment.

Part of the fear, I think, comes from feeling that if I let myself be satisfied with where I am, I’ll get lazy. I worry that, “I’ll be happy when” will turn to, “Oh, I don’t need to pursue anything more because it’s fine the way it is.” And yes, even as I say that I understand how ridiculous it sounds. I get it. I get that like most every situation, there’s a middle ground between the two unwanted extremes; I just can’t seem to get there.

I think, really, that the heart of it is that I don’t know how to just let myself be happy.

I don’t know how to live so that I’m simultaneously content with where I am and proud of what I’ve accomplished while also staying focused on my big dreams. I’m much more comfortable operating at one of two ends of the spectrum, either being deliriously happy with what I have and not needing/wanting more, or being completely dissatisfied and struggling to change.

How is it possible for people to feel a combination of both of those at the same time?

Do people actually feel this way?

photo credit: Pink Sherbet Photography

divider

« Previous Page — Next Page »