Where I'm At

The moon, a welcome watchlight to those returning home, looms warmly over the horizon as the radio softly plays a familiar melody. Despite the ethereally tranquil surroundings, I'm bothered by something.

I have reached the conclusion as of late that I allow the current state of relationships to color memories. Recalling some of the most beautiful moments I've had, some of them occured between people who I am still quite close to, others occured between people with whom I've had a falling out with since. This statement alone means little, as I'm surely not the first to experience. But I'm saddened by the fact that things that happened after the original event have cast negative shadows upon the original. Beautiful moments have been discolored and have molded.

And I'm bothered by the fact that, as I drive home alone, I genuinely wish that there was a someone for me to call when I reach my destination. I try so hard to be emboldened, independent, and the sort of person who will achieve her goals regardless of my relationship status, but I miss being "in" a relationship.

("In a relationship." That's such a funny phrase. It almost makes it sound as if it's that simple -- all you do is jump, as in jumping into a puddle, a pond, a lagoon, etc. A deceiving phrase, I think.)

Driving home, I guess I find myself sad that I'm still sad and letting it retroactively affect other things, and I'm sad that I'm not content at the moment.

I want more . . . of everything.
I want a more remarkable life than the one I'm leading right now.
I want to know my friends more deeply.
I want a long-lasting relationship.
I want a fantastic job.
I want to happy with where I'm going in the fall.
I want to know that I'll get where I'm aiming for.

As the clock approaches midnight, most find themselves asleep.
Conversely, I lie awake in my thoughts.

Something Fabulous

Facebook has this feature where a person can write little notes to other people anonymously through what they call an "Honesty Box."

Anyways, someone -- a guy, actually -- left me a note. A really sweet little note.

And I'm really, genuinely, completely flattered, but I have no idea who left it. (Well, I might have some idea . . . . )

Anywho -- it made my night.

If you wrote it, thanks so much and just ask me out for coffee or something, you dork. ;)

The Life I Want

I want to be a certain sort of person who lives a certain sort of life.

I want to the sort of person who is perpetually a dreamer because being realistic is overrated.
I want to be the sort of person who has true tales of adventures abroad.
I want to be the sort of person who has nothing but love for every person I encounter along this crazy path but life.
I want to be the most intense person you've ever met.
I want to be different, markedly different.
I want to be crazy about Jesus.

I want to live a life worthy of writing about.
I want to fall madly in love in a way the world has yet to know.
I want to feel alive every moment of the day, every day of my life.
I want to travel the world and call no single country my home, but I'd rather lead the life of a nomad, a student of cultures.
I want to do something that will make every person who's ever met me want to brag about it.

I want something so much greater than the mundanities of this life.
I want somethin bigger.

Somebody I Want to Call

There's somebody I want to call, but I'm hesitant, and I'm hesitant for all the wrong reasons.

There's a fellow I know who, at his grad party, I suggested that we get together at some point during the summer to discuss Atlas Shrugged, a book we're both reading, simply because I've gotten the impression from other people that it's the sort of book that is more fun to talk about than it is to read.

And now, I'm wimping out, even though he totally asked for my number.

Childhood's Over

A few weeks ago, my parents, after much "thinking," decided to put our lake cabin up for sale. We expected to receive very few substantial bids, and in our minds, August 1st or so would be the closing date.

Well, they were wrong. The first people to see the cabin decided they wanted to purchase it and placed a good bid. My parents countered, and the buyers countered back with a competitive bid with the contingency that my family would close within weeks.

We're closing Friday.

Anyways, this weekend was our last weekend at the place, and as I left this morning, I couldn't help but feel like my childhood has abruptly drawn to a close. I haven't felt like a "child" in any true sense for years, but within the past week, I've spoken at commencement, received my diploma, said good-bye for the summer to two close friends who took on positions as camp councellors, and just this weekend, I said good-bye to a boat, two jet skiis, and a house that have marked my summers.

We'd bought our boat used when I was in elementary school, we'd bought the cabin when I was in middle school, and we'd had the jet skiis for just two years, but these items have cumulatively been the backdrop for so many of my childhood memories.

It was behind that boat that I became the adept tuber I am today. I learned how to kneeboard and water ski with that boat. I've jumped off the back of it hundreds of times. I've read many books while laying aboard it.

And the cabin . . . when you're at the cabin, you both wash the dishes and run around all day in our swimsuit. I say that meaning that no one is fully an adult there because you're part of a cooperative effort to make sure the place doesn't fall apart, but you're also apart of a collaboration to see who can get the darkest tan, tube the wildest, swim the hardest, etc.

And the two jet skiis . . . they've been my retreat during the past few summers when I've been all-too-anxious to leave the immediate vicinity of my family during our isolated stays at the lake. I've felt alive on them as I exceeded speeds of 50 miles an hour traveling across the lake. In short . . . we've bonded. ;)

Anyways, these things have marked my life, and now they're gone.

Within one week, I have received both the written and unwritten proof that life is in fact moving on. Here I am, standing at a crossroads, and while the moment is one I've anticipated for years, it nonetheless feels abrupt.