Candide: A simple lesson in optimism.

Look ahead-Face forward on the train-See the glass half full-Find sunlight during stormy showers-Smile when it's difficult-Cry when you need to-Sob for joy-Try something new-Find something you love to do-And do it once a day, every day-Write down your dreams, your passions your goals-Envision a positive glow radiating off your face-Stumble and then stand-Fall and get back up-Laugh at things that don't seem funny, but that deserve a giggle-Think about it later-Laugh again-Look in the mirror and compliment yourself-Do it again-Note each positive word you hear during the day-Make a collage of the words later- Turn off the light and still imagine a brightness-Imagine distant success-Go with your heart-Cheer someone up-Reconnect-Learn a new quote, a new word, a new poem-Discover a unique and novel talent-Practice it-Practice it again-Show it off-Brag a little-Have an ego-But don't let it blow up-Get excited-Feel wonder and awe for others-Believe in you-Believe in others-Believe in the unbelievable-Do the impossible-Stray from the path-Get lost-Find yourself-Place your feet forward-Don't look back-Stay optimistic-Candide.

"It's better than drinking alone"

He’s dressed in an orange button down shirt and he is wearing a blazer in order to cover a coffee stain, a stain that I notice only when he pulls back the bottom left part of his jacket. He is waiting by the clock—yes that clock—the one in the train station you see in all the movies where a boy meets a girl, yes that storyline, in that big city…that storyline, in that train station, in that big city, where they fall in love.

I can tell he has noticed me awkwardly staring off into space, alone against the wall, that is placed perfectly between tracks 16 and 17. I can tell this because he is awkwardly looking at me and then away as I catch his eye.

I’ve lost my train of thought as I watch the track numbers, the train lines, and the final destinations rotate on the board—the world moves while I sit still…still and alone.

“So who are you waiting for?”

A voice interrupts my already distracted state.

I probably could have thought of something witty to say to this stranger, this stranger who is wearing an old dirtied pair of converse, but I don’t, and instead, I look up and I realize it’s the man I was exchanging awkward glances with. I pull down my headphones.

“No one,” I say.

“Oh come on, a pretty girl in Grand Central, alone, surely you are waiting for SOMEONE.”

He takes a seat next to me.

I look at him, he’s got ruffled brown hair like the main character in Almost Famous. “Well we are all waiting for someone, aren’t we? But today, I am not expecting a familiar face. Let’s be honest—Justin Timberlake is on two billboards in my subway station—he’s the only familiar face I see anymore.”

He laughs. “Honestly, though?”

“Honestly. Today, I am just looking for a lot of unfamiliar faces that are experiencing a lot of familiar feelings as me.”

“Well aren’t you just chipper,” his green eyes are glowing.

“Okay, pretty boy—who are you waiting for so patiently here in the great Grand Central?”

“I’m not.”

“Oh…so you can be here all alone…but I can’t?”

“I’m not patiently waiting—I am impatiently waiting. I got stood up.”

I think to myself…great, stood up, now he thinks I am the rebound. Couldn’t I have just been waiting for a train? Couldn’t I have just lied and said I was waiting for my boyfriend? Couldn’t I have just not looked so damn lonely. I should have smiled more while I was sitting alone. I should have had a book out. I should have just not awkwardly stared at him—and then away.

“I hope you aren’t hoping that I was stood up too so that we could play this out like a silly movie.”

“No. I was thinking sitting was a better option than standing. My feet are killing me. I really need a new pair of shoes.”

He is right…He does need a new pair of shoes. I look around, all the stair cases are empty…and some walls are bare. “You had other options…”

“Well, if we are sharing this feeling called loneliness, we might as well not be drinking it alone.”

Mi Amore

Translated to English, this means my love. But most people probably know that. Love has this way of being a universal language. So when I say "love" or "amore" I know a lot of people are tuning in. I try to avoid writing about love--I often think I am too young to know what it really is, and that I am too far past my angsty years to write a post that stares it in the face and analyzes it.

.Love is a difficult thing. Even LIKE is a difficult thing.

A friend of mine and I recently tried to analyze our future by the first letters of names of boys we have dated. We laughed trying to figure out which letters would eventually form the U and I in our lives.

But what I am starting to see, learn, and understand about love is that it's not as predictable as the alphabet is--that it's not as easy as A-B-C-D. Love is not the D after C. It is not the Z after Y. It's the confusion of the "next time won't you play with me."

Love is like trying to figure out which way is north, south, east, and west, when you walk out into a dark night with no stars in sight.

Love is an expression--a feeling--a deeper part of us. It is what we say we feel for our family, our friends, and what we search for in a soul mate. It is what we believe the sole purpose of existence has come to be: "To find love--and to be loved in return," (Moulin Rouge). It's not in people, it's in passion. It's in all.

It doesn't have to be romantic, it just has to be sincere.

Sometimes we just need to believe that love is out there. Sometimes we just have to believe that love will find us--all the while we find it. We have to believe that love is out there--that it can be easy--and less difficult--that it can be worth all the waiting. Sometimes we just all need a little love.

And sometimes we will find love...in the crooks, crannies, and nooks of our city streets, boulevards, and subway trains. In the crevice of a booth at our favorite cafe, or in the bottom of a grocery cart we've chosen to use today. Sometimes we need to just have love find us.

I believe in love. With every part of my heart. Do you?

P.S. Check out www.moreloveletters.com if you are in the need for some serious love right now or want to send love to someone. It's kind of like Post Secret--only...Better.

"Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart"-Anne Frank

It's not every day that I lose faith in New York City, declare my hatred for people who have no respect for others, and get angry over feeling violated by a complete stranger. But for the second time since living in New York City, these feelings graced my heart--even if only momentarily.

When I left New York City nearly 8 months ago, I drove off with a bad taste in my mouth. My car was filled with only 3 quarters of what I had packed for my big move out--but only because 1.4 of my belongings had been stolen the night prior. I summarized that final night in NYC in my blog post: Just not a material girl in a material world .

Saturday night, as my best friends and I headed out for a night in Manhattan, we didn't make it very far. In fact, we made it up about three steps before my best friend's clutch was ripped from her hands, and the young kid, who could have been no older than 15 ran off with it.

As I turned around, I stumbled over the words "What the hell happened?" My friends were watching as the punk and his friends ran off. Too angry, or too lost for words, we all kind of looked at one another. "Damn."

My best friend is a lot like me when it comes to personal belongings. If they disappear, we can replace them. Really, it's the time that has been stolen from us. Like me, my best friend avoids materialism, mutters under her breath how it sucks--but how nothing can be done, but move on. It's probably why we make such great best friends. We will never care more about our belongings than the people we are with and the people we care about. If we had to live with nothing, but our family and our friends, on the side of a street...we'd be just fine. And I honestly mean that. I am not sure how many other people can say that.

Despite, wanting to just let it go, we were forced to ride around in cop cars to attempt to identify the boys who ran off with the stuff. With each cop we encountered, we felt like we were actually the ones being interrogated:

Well...Why are you up here? Why would you ever live in this area? What the hell are you doing up here?

One female cop went as far as to say "I have a gun and I wouldn't even walk down that street."

My best friend looked at them like they had ten heads. And finally said to the one,

"The Bronx is a great place."

It is because of my best friend that I was able to avoid materialism just eight months ago--it is because of my friend that the bitter taste in my mouth from the moment I saw the smashed window of my car, literally only lasted seconds...it is because of her faith and her belief in people and actions, that I am such a caring and forgiving person--that I see the good before I see the bad. That I state, "Maybe they needed the money more than I did," when trying to make up for feeling violated and insecure in a city that has done me right so many times.

_______________________

A couple days later the sweet, sugary, savory feeling of love for New York City has returned to my taste buds in full.

As my phone lit up from across the table, I could just read the name of who it was from. "Laura Cell."

"But her phone was stolen," I thought to myself.

"I got my stuff back! everything except money and metro card!"

And in that moment, I smiled. I smiled knowing that my best friend's attitude, that has rubbed off so wonderfully on me, was just one of the many reasons her stuff came back to her in a very unconventional way. And despite the fact that we may never know the person who ran off with her stuff to begin with--it doesn't matter. What matters is that no matter how much bad there is in this world--no matter how much crime, no matter what the statistics are--people are still good at heart...this world is still good.