And when I get most frustrated with my situation...the wonderful friends I do have show me just how great they are.
So last night was the birthday of two friends of mine, and we all went out for dessert and then....(cue "Scream" music) we had reserved a room to ourselves at a karaoke place in the city. Although I didn't feel comfortable participating with most of what was going on, I had a good enough time just sitting back and watching the my friends at the front of the room serenading the rest of us in less-than-perfect voices. After a while, however, I began to feel frustrated that my male friends were there; I enjoy dance parties and silliness as much as anyone else, and I was dying to be a part of the fun my girlfriends were having.
Noticing my glum face, my friend Jacob asked me what I was doing on the couch, and I reluctantly explained that I didn't feel comfortable singing and dancing in front of men.
To my amazement, he responded with, "You don't.....OH! Why didn't you tell me a long time ago?" at which point that he conveyed my worries to my other male friends. With virtually no hesitation and several understanding smiles, they evacuated the room.
Within seconds, I had a microphone in my hand and six girls surrounding me. Needless to say, much laughter ensued.

Eek.

This may not be the best time for me to post, but I definitely have the most time to do it right now.
So I've been back in New York for a week now. My classes are absolutely amazing; I'm such a dork, but I just love taking classes on fascinating subjects, and I'm glad to be feeling productive again.
And I can't tell you how good it feels to be back with my closest friends. I love having someone to lean on and mull things over with at the end of the day, someone who just gets what I'm trying to say, who understands me in the way that I think we all want to be understood. Thank G-d for them. I was actually kind of disappointed to be living in my own single when I first got back, just because we can't talk and talk until we're asleep. That's quickly changed, though; I love having my own personal space. It makes me feel like I've actually built my own life out here.
On that note, another thing I'm grateful for right now is the distance from the problems I was having with my family. Not that I'm ignoring what was going on in the relationship, but some healthy distance is definitely the best thing for me right now.
Alright, so I'm back and everything's great: why am I on my computer on a Sunday afternoon in the middle of Manhattan when there are endless things I could be doing?
The answer: I'm feeling down. Basically, I know that it all boils down to the fact that I'm feeling very insecure about what will become of me. Here's the thing, that may seem like a little thing, but to me its a big thing: I don't really have any close frum friends. Never have. Which certainly has a lot to do with the fact that I'm a baalas teshuvah and don't know anyone to help me break into those intimate circles, but also probably has something to do with the fact that here at school, my closest friends are certainly about as far from yiddishkeit as you can get. I'm not placing any blame for that. They're wonderful people, and I chose them.
But here's what really bugs me. The orthodox minyan at my university is notorious for being very "insider-only," unfriendly, and snooty. However, hoping that I could meet someone new at the first Friday night service of the year - assuming that there must at least be a few first-years who would be less established in the frum community than I am - I went. And it certainly lived up to my fears. Imagine: at least a hundred beautiful girls dressed for Shabbos, the men in suits, and as soon as the davening is over, they greet each other joyously, the women embrace and exchange summer stories, and welcome younger friends who are beginning their first year - and then there's you. Frozen and unsure, you realize that no one expected you; you have not a single person to approach and say "Hey, I'm Jessica, you know my cousin Yoni and blah blah blah..." You feel painfully obvious, like a phony. You weren't raised in families like theirs. You don't talk like they do. So what do you do? You quietly slip out the back door, the sounds of laughter and Shabbos lunch invitations ringing in your ears.
I plan on going to Israel for seminary next year: a very risky move on my part. This means deferring college and putting off my degree for a while (with the halfhearted agreement with my parents that I WILL come back and finish), and of course, leaving the life I've finally built here. I've never been to the Holy Land. I want to be immersed in my Jewish learning, to grow. But I'm terrified that it won't work out for me, as much as I'm terified of going alone. I mean, what Jewish girl has to deal with not knowing anyone in ISRAEL? At seminary? I fear that the entire experience will be like one, long, uncomfortable Friday night minyan, and my lack of social connections will leave me devoid of spirituality because I will be distraught and lonely. I know it might not work out like this. But these are my worries. I've already strained so many relationships with my being frum; I don't want to leave one community and never find my place in another.