I’m trying something new.

I’m trying to do daily blog posts- actually, that’s too specific. It’s more just daily posts.

Why? Well, I was writing applications for Andover (a private high school I want to go to for ninth grade), and I’ve been stuck on the personal essay for… two weeks now. It was really painful. I think I have twelve drafts in my Google Drive because I don’t know what to write about.

I’ve been overthinking all of it. That is what I realized last night when I wrote my twelfth and hopefully second to last draft of this 500 word essay that has given me hell in the palm of its metaphorical hand. I tried to write about big things, like my piano journey, or art (and what I think about it), or the houses I’ve moved through in my life. I tried to write about things that I found interesting instead of things that linked to how I was interesting.

I realized that those “interesting” things aren’t actually the big events or journeys. It’s always about the little things. You find so many more things in little details of life than the big paths through the storm of suffering that living brings.

And that sounds cliche, it also sounds overused- the saying “It’s the little things in life that matter most” is almost everywhere, and if you haven’t heard it before you’ve probably heard variations of it: “Perhaps the treasure was the friends we made along the way”, “A word is worth one coin and silence is worth two”, etcetera.

The thing about facts being repeated over and over is that we tend to stop listening to them. That’s a failure I think still plagues me. I don’t listen enough; I don’t sit in silence for the time needed to listen. It’s something I’m hoping to correct soon, because there are so many things I don’t know because I refuse to think through things until they’re applied to me in some way.

So I’ll listen to this one: which is that the important things in life are often the little ones.

Which is why I’m also trying to keep up this daily posting thing- because I want to remember all the little things I’ve done in a day.

Additionally, I’ve found through experience that doing things daily really helps with basically everything.

I have an Instagram account where I post the same picture every day, and even though it sounds a little pathetic, that account is sometimes the only reason why I get up out of my bed. My alarm is set for 6:30 in the morning, because I like waking early, but sometimes I just don’t want to wake up- I make the excuse to myself that class starts at 8:10, and that I don’t have to be up before then, so I just go back to sleep.

But now I wake up at 6:30, blink wearily, and sit up immediately. Then I grab my phone, post the same picture, and stand up to go brush my teeth; by the time I’ve scrubbed my face with cold water, it’s 6:45, and I’m wide awake.

So yes. That is one reason I’m gonna try and keep up this daily posting thing. I’ll have another reason to wake up, and I’ll have another way to get awake in the morning.

Anyways. So. What happened today?

You might notice that the title of this post is “Subway. Subway. Subway.”- which uh. Probably sounds really weird outta context, huh? You either interpreted it as me loving the trains in NYC a lot, or me being obsessed with the sandwich chain.

All the sandwich theorists would be correct, though: I’m talking about the sandwich chain right now. Why? Well.

I thought about what would happen if I left. And by using the word “left”, I mean… leave the city. It’s been a thought that’s popped into my head a bunch these days because quarantine just kinda does that to you, and I always circle back to that Subway.

I have a stupid amount of memories in a place I stop by for maybe a minute each visit. I know a cashier that worked there— Anosha is her name (she recently left, I don’t know where she went). I know the current cashier, who doesn’t wear a name tag, but talks to me every time I go.

I wonder if they’ll miss me— if they’ll notice my stop in orders.

I think if I ever do leave the city, I’ll give them a note first. A card. Maybe I’ll put money in it— after all, I think most adults working at a Subway that’s almost always empty (other than me) would need it. I’m just a child, with a parent that has a stable income, so I don’t think it would be too much of a stretch.

Someday I’ll say goodbye.

I don’t know when that’ll be.

I don’t know if I’m prepared.

God— I’m only thirteen. I’m talking like I’ve traveled the whole world, or like I’m planning to.