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I come to you as I reenter New York via thee Amtrak Northeast Regional eeking through the Bronx. I spent my weekend abroad in England — New England, that is — returning to my roots. On Saturday, Meera and I took a train just like this one and a bus much smaller than it to New Hampshire so we could surprise our friend Cam for a very early birthday celebration. Yesterday we went to Boston for Ben’s graduation from Northeastern (so if you need a chemical engineer, I got you).

A disclaimer for this entry: this is, as pretty much always, a vapid entry. These experiences that I’m describing as world-endingly tragic are obviously not. Just have fun with me. I guess I’m feeling more inclined to say this after reading a subhead like this: No criminal records. Pursuing green cards. Under Trump, it doesn’t matter.

Edit: I’ve now arrived home and really don’t want to write! This will be much shorter.

Uncomfortably smooshed between Fenway Park’s constricting seats amongst either the foreign-est families in Boston or the WASPiest families in the world for Ben’s graduation, I heard enough platitudes to form a plateau.

With my mother falling asleep to my left and girlfriend nodding off to my right, we heard from an AI-obsessed rich person (school president), the guy married to Sofia Richie (who actually gave a great commencement speach), and three student speakers that would have you thinking that Northeastern is only for wannabe entrepreneurs. I heard Irish, British, and Scottish accents. One kid even made a dig at BU, which made him look super insecure and gave my alma mater yet another win over Ben’s. We laughed at and with all of it.

One piece of advice to students that has been repeated and bears repeating still: you can’t control everything, but you can control how you respond. I think that’s been my obsession lately as you might be able to tell from my writing is trying to bounce back better and sillier.

I have not been succeeding so far because I’m usually around others. I think I handle things better when I’m alone (maybe?), but when my follies affect anyone, from my family to strangers, I spin out of control. My molehills are mountain ranges lately.

I was going to talk about more instances of this, but I want to eat dinner. I’ll tell you about my lunch.

My mom and I woke up before Ben and Meera this morning, taking a stroll near our hotel along Boston’s most idyllic parks. The first time we did this was when I toured BU the summer after my sophomore year of high school, which was almost exactly 10 years ago! Since then, both Brown children attended and now graduated college here. This theoretically could be our last time in Boston as a family, a city we all have loved and has represented opportunity. I know this is hard to fathom for my big-city natives, but you must understand that Pittsburgh’s mayor attended our town’s first Shake Shack opening, which was almost exactly a year ago.

Sometimes I get so wound up when I’m with my family. I must be really insecure because I get quite territorial of my good things, wanting to keep them and keep them great. When we’re together I just want to have the best time possible, but that occasionally yields otherwordly overthinking. Or worse: forgetting to think about the stuff that matters.

One of the dumbest ways to get around is with a backpack and a purse. Just pick one. I didn’t because I was traveling in a real way but also wanted to look cute. I have a little Fendi bag hand-me-down from my mom that she, too, sported in her youth. She instilled in me being crazy about remembering things. Instead of the father, son, and holy ghost, I have phone-wallet-keys. We were in the midst of Olympian planning, figuring out how to spend the next few hours before Meera and I needed to get on the train, fitting in eating, working, and hopefully picking up Huley, Ben’s girlfriend. I could not stop frustrating myself over optimizing this plan, especially one that, if I really expanded it, ended after dark when we’d walk into our apartment. When it was time to check out of the hotel room, I forgot to check the closet. My bag was hanging there, wishing it was nestled in my backpack instead of locked away in a strange land.

We hop into Ben’s car (used to be mine) as he drops my mom off at the airport. We cracked it: Ben would scoop Huley, and we’d go to the Seaport Lolita location so Meera and I could easily get to the train station. Huley secured. Ben maneuvers us through the big dig, and we narrowly escape death. A car decided to merge two lanes way too late. Ben slammed on the breaks just in time, and thankfully no one was behind us. He could not have done anything better, and it was this idiot’s fault. Ben prevented everything from ruining, thankfully.

After we moaned about this guy, we got to the restaurant. I wanted to see if it was still good since New York has made me snobbier about food. This was my special occasion spot throughout college, and Ben had never been. Corporate lunch vibes aside, I strapped into what I thought would be a normal-ish lunch. Before we got our entrees, I opened my laptop for a meeting. In reaching for my laptop, I realized I was missing my bag.

I looked at Meera to tell her I left my bag at the hotel. It’s definitely in the closet. I just forgot to get it. I am freaking out. All of my Spongebobs are running around the fire in my mind. Meera said I delivered these lines smiling, which I can and can’t believe. I default smile and don’t even know it. I rise at some point, and I’m not sure why. I get the brand wrong and start droning about leaving my Prada purse. Who am I? My wallet is in there, and so is a pad. All of my worries about making sure everyone was having a good time, about realizing this was some sort of a goodbye to Boston, about the pent-up worry about seeing my dad at the ceremony (didn’t! Woo!)…I burst it out into this worried nothing. Ben was calm and annoyed, immediately jumping to go back to the hotel. I insisted on joining him because I felt crazy, but he insisted more that I stay. He was right.

I also had a meeting at this exact time. Our food was also being served. My boss had messaged me asking if I was going to join and I dramatically told Huley and Meera I can’t do anything and just apologizing to everyone over and over. I have been over-apologizing since middle school when a girl I went to summer camp with took a joke I made a wrong way I didn’t even think of. They just stare at me and console me. I am so dumb. I joined the meeting.

I join in a flurry and barely say anything after my intro, thankfully. I feel crazy the whole time and am tapping on random things. I know everything will be okay but cannot shake the crazy until the bag is back in my hand. How could I be so stupid? All I could think was how I ruined the lunch. The girlfriends left to talk to each other while Ben and I’s meals get cold.

This way of thinking and over-apologizing is what actually ruins things, over-emphasizing and self-flagellating. For someone so obsessed with accommodating people, I really drop the ball in personal crisis. It made me think of one of the last times I was in Boston and supposed to go to a museum with my friend Hannah, but someone started texting my new phone after my recently stolen phone made it to China, asking me to undo a certain setting. I freaked out, and we went to the T-Mobile store (useless) and Apple Store (helpful). Everything was fine and nothing mattered. This was a realer thing to be upset about, though. But this Lolita moment felt worse because I felt dumber.

I calmed down over the course of the call, and the girls were so nonchalant once I returned to our group. Ben returned as we got boxes and he scarfed his tacos down. We were just talking about stress before all of this happened, and I felt bad for adding more. But whatever, this is what family is supposed to be for. We hugged as Meera and I departed for South Station. At least the two of them had something else to laugh about.

The world obviously didn’t end, but one of them did: the one where I assumed I would never carelessly leave something valuable at a hotel. I am the queen of changing my expectations so I can never truly fail, so I wish I could apply this reign to smaller moments. All I can do is just…not do that again? Or be less of a freak the next time I do? Hopefully I can share the burden to someone else.

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