Lemonade
The synchronized gait. This is the first thing I notice. Bostonians have a distinct tune to their steps. Everyone seems to have a destination in mind, but no one is in a rush to get there. Maybe they’re simply accustomed to New England winters and the characteristic sludge of slippery snow aggregating on their sidewalks. Or maybe this city, home to one of the most diverse populations in the world, simply attracts only those who know how to live life with the pleasure that comes from a little leisure.
Or maybe I’m just feeling out of place and viewing everyone from a distorted lens. As a native New Yorker who prefers to take quicker strides than leisurely steps, I find it difficult to synchronize my steps to be in tune with that of my new Boston neighbors. I find that I am often the lone-wolf jay walking at crosswalks and sometimes catch myself walking past a dozen couples and groups before I realize that I’m accelerating and probably exceeding the acceptable pedestrian speed limit. It’s as if my platform boots are heavily caffeinated and everyone else’s L.L. bean boots are in decaffeinated synchronization.
But I can’t blame my hometown for my rushed rhythm. My whole upbringing, in fact, happened in somewhat of a haste. Long story short, my parents split when I was very young and my mother worked full-time, leaving me with the responsibility of raising myself and my sister. I had to grow up relatively quickly and learned to take on the role of self, older sister, and mother. By age 9, I was writing checks for Con Edison and Verizon, cooking ramen and tteokbokki (the only Korean dish my mother taught me to make well) for my sister, while studying the multiplication tables.
Life is funny that way. You find yourself in shoes too big for your feet, but you make it work because those are the only shoes you have. Or as the cliché-mongers say, “When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.” The overused maxim is true — sometimes life throws a bunch of acid your way and you learn to neutralize it with a base (I apologize for the unwarranted chemistry reference — I’m currently taking an organic chemistry class!).
But what they don’t tell you, and something that you’ll eventually figure out on your own, is that you must figure out your own lemonade recipe. No one tells you how to make the lemonade. You have to use the more often than not painful trial and error method, and discover the right lemonade flavor for yourself. Someone else’s 2 spoons of sugar may not add enough sweetness to your drink, or on the contrary, it could be a little too much sugar for your mild taste buds.
As a recent college graduate, I’m learning to draft the perfect lemonade recipe for this stage in my life. It’s only been 9 months since I’ve graduated, but I’ve learned quite a lot and none of it was easy. In fact, most of my lessons were learned through failure — failed experiments, failed applications, a failed relationship. Oh how I wish I had learned all these lessons without the piercing pain of each defeat.
But that’s the catch 22 of life — you can’t make the perfect lemonade until you’ve tasted all of the bland and overly sweet lemonades first. The silver lining in all of this, however, is that recipes can be rewritten. And you are the barista of your own lemonade stand.
So, what does your perfect lemonade taste like?
