No Longer Grey

The sartorial experiments and ramblings of a girl named Sarah


by Sarah on February 21, 2021, no comments

For some reason, it’s much easier for me to draft up an email if I schedule it to be sent. Done and dusted, but without the existential fear of accidentally using they’re instead of there and showing the world that I have no idea what I’m doing. It also feels like a complete life hack, a way to trick myself into getting something done while still avoiding the part I actually dislike (just send it! Just hit send!)

I’m in Somerville, Massachusetts, around two miles north of where I thought I would be, but also much much closer to that place (Harvard) than I ever thought I would be four? Has it been four years? Ago. I’m living in a beautiful little house with each room painted a different color. The living room is a cozy dark red, the kitchen pale green, bedroom a slate blue. There is, my roommate and I have decided, lots of value to living in a home with different colored rooms.

Oh! I’m still interested in fashion. Womp womp. Moving gave me a chance to pack a new wardrobe, something 15 year old me would have been infinitely jealous about when I was going through a phase of loving capsule wardrobes and coveting the idea of the perfect wardrobe. I brought things I decided I wanted to wear, actively wanted, not passively reached for. The heroes, so far, are platform boots for stomping, a pair of velvet pants in the color “pear” that are like luxe pajamas, and mustard yellow gloves a friend knit for me. Also, reusable shopping bags. The grocery store is several blocks away.

This semester feels to be about newness in older experiences. New roles, projects, and ways of thinking, but all connected to where I’ve been. I’m writing about clogs, reading about the garden, walking streets I’ve never seen before in a city I’ve spent years in. Funny, to be here, everything tinted with the hazy memory of seeing a road, a field, a building, fourteen years ago, or a Covid-year ago, whichever is longer. But now I’m getting to explore as myself, this most recent version, not the final, but a new iteration. 


by Sarah on October 26, 2020, no comments

I’m finally living in the moment! Are you proud of me?

Back in March, most of my plans slowly but surely crept out the window. An on-campus fashion show, then in person classes, living in a dorm, studying abroad, all slunk away in the middle of the night. All things I could completely live without. It feels silly to complain when so many people have lost so much more.

I left for Vermont this fall, to live for a month with friends in the Green Mountains. I was living only a few miles (as the crow flies, because nothing is that direct in Vermont) from the place I’d gone to summer camp for eight years, and the air smelled the same, something I always missed. I went hiking and kayaking. It was a beautiful way to live, a wonderful opportunity to do something I never thought I would do in college.

Then I left for the beach, southern Massachusetts. The air smells vaguely of saltwater, something that I always wished for when I lived on campus. Driving around, through red and orange back roads (moving south gave me a second chance at fall), towards the sunbeamy ocean, and I think how silly it is to ever be anywhere else.

I don’t know what the future will bring, because absolutely nobody does. I packed all my clothes in a single suitcase, and my friends and I fit in a single car. The whole point is to not put down roots. This is not where I thought I would be, this is not where I will be ever again. 

Some days, in that fuzziness of not knowing what tomorrow’s tomorrow will look like, I find excitement, excitement to get to live this strange life that I never thought was an option. Some days all I can find is fear, nervousness, a feeling that I’ll never get to where I want to be, that I don’t even know what I want. Some days, most days, I don’t think about it. It’s a lot easier that way, to go through life without examining too much where I’m going. Everything that came before feels very far away, and everything that will be that someday, after, is impossible to imagine.

So I do my homework. I write in my journal. I cook- pasta sauce, carrot cake, cinnamon rolls from a can because normal cinnamon rolls don’t come with the joy of banging a cardboard tube against the counter. I go on walks around the neighborhood, waving at all the cars. I write email after email, planning things that are fulfilling, but not really. I’m on facetime until midnight, only to wake up the next morning with the phone ringing.

This is the moment. Momentary pause, momentary start.

same same but different

by Sarah on September 13, 2020, no comments

I’m somewhere different now! 

Writing that, I think I should feel more out-there, wild, adventurous, even though I don’t actually feel different. Life feels more normal than it has for months, even though I’m in a new house, taking new, very different classes (I’m an astronomer now), in a new state, with new roommates. But instead of living with the fallout of a sense of interrupted reality, I’ve been so astronomically lucky as to be able to create a different reality, one that includes early morning breakfasts on a porch that feels like a tree house, Friday night stargazing to Fleetwood Mac, long Facetimes curled in bed that feel grounding and safe and loving.

This whole living-off-campus-like-really-off-campus-like-three-hours-off-campus thing has felt more like summer camp than moving or going to school or leaving home. I’m leaning into an older self I half forgot I was, the type who goes on long walks through the green mountains and touches all the jewelweed, the type who packs a trip day lunch, the sort who shares a shower with a spider because it was technically there first and therefore has dibs.

In a few weeks I’ll be (safely) on to the next location. New place, same me. That’s a good thing.

skip and jump

by Sarah on July 19, 2020, no comments

Time keeps jumping around, and I don’t know quite what comes next, life nor writing wise. Not to mention how inappropriate I would have felt creating content this past month that centralized anything other than promoting black voices, learning about racial inequality, and discussing news and necessary legislative changes. I’ve been doing that through other channels, but not here.

A few months ago I bought my first film camera. It cost less than a disposable, even with a three pack of 35mm film added. I shot two rolls of film at school, one at home. The disjointed-ness of it— photos of my college friends, a club-party-faux-prom, Cambridge buildings, with photos of my parents, New Hampshire sunsets, and high school friends a requisite 6 feet apart feel somehow more accurate than the photos I took digitally. Interspersed with screenshots of recipes and graphs and articles, those pixelated photos tell an overly complete story. If time is disjointed, any narrative without that stuttering start and stop falls short of feeling true, even if it captures the whole story.

There’s also the waiting game of film, which I’m learning to like. Not remembering what you shot, no expectations. I bought the camera initially for spring break (ha!), but best-laid plans have a way of going awry, and this was no exception. 

I’ve taken thousands of photos of myself over the years, most of them embarrassingly available for everyone to see. These are just a few more, grainier, more color-warped, less posed than usual, of the place I’ve called home for so long, even when it’s not quite the right word anymore. Photos of “home” are hard not to make self portraits, even with the subject invisible behind the camera.

What Harvard Really Taught Me: Sophomore Year

by Sarah on May 27, 2020, no comments

I just finished 14th grade, which means that I’ve been in school for the same amount of time it would take to grow a reasonably self sufficient person (14 being the age of irrational reason). When I was fourteen, I graduated eighth grade and made my way to high school. Now I’m living at home again and still wearing the same tee shirts and athletic shorts. The biggest change is that I’ve reversed my decision on tie dye: now I think it’s cool.

Last year, freshman year, I had an incredibly cohesive narrative for what I had learned: it takes time to be about time. Which is true! But something I learned this year, 1) is that sometimes you don’t have a narrative. Things just happen and there’s no story arc and a pandemic that probably isn’t sent from some super-villain to destroy the human race probably can’t be stopped with the power of friendship and definitely isn’t a plot device.

2) is that I can regress more than I thought possible! See above tee shirt and shorts uniform for proof. When I first got home, I wasn’t a good student, I wasn’t the best friend, I did a lot of sitting and getting headaches and not a lot of anything else. I don’t blame myself. Because 3) some lessons need to be learned, and re learned, and re learned, until they stick. And 4) sometimes things go wrong. And that’s okay! Not just okay because I’m saying it or that self help book is saying it or that instagram girl is saying it, but okay because literally everyone in the history of ever has said it and felt it. Also, I’m going to keep making mistakes my whole entire life. 5) This growth mindset is easier in the classroom, and much harder when turned onto one’s patterns. Which, conveniently for 6), can be relearned. Patterns don’t have to be forever.

One great pattern I broke brings me to 7) wearing colors is great! And 8) wearing white is great! And don’t be scared about spilling because of 4), and also 9), which is that tie dye is cool again. It’s also cool to create, 10), randomly and sporadically and constantly. Creation doesn’t need to be necessitated. It can be making edgy paintings in your room late at night, just because you can and because they’re beautiful. It can be doing that tie dye project with avocado pits, which, 11), turn things pink.

I can’t remember all of this year. When I try to ponder how I learned (and didn’t learn) my lesson, it’s hard not to focus on the last few months. Though some days are grey monotony, others are technicolored wonders. Which brings me to 12), it’s okay to focus on the good and not the bad days, to reconcile with mistakes and moments. It’s also okay to 13), replay every moment over and over in your head like you’re a stuck VCR. I’ve been lucky enough to be able to think about the past over this insane/ uncertain/ challenging/ life altering time, able to become the little old lady of 21 who sits in her rocking chair on the front porch. My story, whatever that really is, has been such a good one so far. It’s a story that in these increasingly long days, I can be happy to replay, one that I can always find something new to pore over. So 14), when I have the time, this is a reminder to lay down somewhere in the sun, play a nostalgic song, and let myself be.

Thanks to Sophomore year.