I’m spending time in Kempten, Germany––70,000 people big––to chill out a bit. Life has been hectic.
I have the (remote) Rhodes interview in a few days, and I have no idea where I’m going to do it. I’m nervous about performing well but feeling slightly detached; I’m confident graduate school at Oxford isn’t the wrong choice, but I’m certain it isn’t the *only* right one either. I’ve fallen for all the projects I’ve ever worked on––if this doesn’t work out, I’ll open my doors again.
I’ve been reading and walking and talking to myself in this tiny town. I got a cheap suit from the local H&M, a turtleneck for fun and for our social hour, and a pair of socks because it’s been getting colder. (May the Chacos hibernate well.) A quick thought: Considering solely the extremes, the small-town/big-city dichotomy is a bit tricky. Here I feel at home, I feel people will match my energy when I excitedly ask about their means of growing up and old. In big cities there’s an ever-impending need to do; and though I like to do, I’m not sure I like being told to do. Perhaps the D.C.-Richmond post is worth resurfacing.
The I’m-kinda-tired-do-I-drink-an-espresso decision at 9pm has an inconsistent solution. Last night I popped into NOVA (because it was the only place I saw with lights on at 9pm) and asked for a coffee. And before I knew it, Annika offered me her apartment to take my interview, and Peter told me about translating for the UN and about how homey small places get.
So much for prep.