I’ve been thinking about you a lot today. Like full-on day dreaming while I’m supposed to be at my professional job. So I guess that’s proof that I am, in fact, only 22, and the big bad world hasn’t swallowed me up quite yet.
After we talked last night a ton of really vivid memories came up and right now I feel like I could just write a novel about you.
That Emily Bronte quote has been swirling around in my head: “Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
I remember like three years ago now, when you brought a bottle of whiskey over to my apartment and we watched Rushmore till like three a.m. on my macbook. I wasn’t cool enough for that then, and now I’d think that is cliche, but I’d totally still do it with you and I’d only laugh at us a little bit.
Last night you said you sort of regret not hanging out more when we lived in the same state. I do, too, but at the same time I think we did it right. Toward the end there you and I appreciated each other for exactly who each other are. Do you know how rare it is for two 22-year-olds who are of the opposite sex to realize that and then preserve it?We didn’t ruin things by hooking up.
I loved those nights we’d meet downtown. And we’d always end up at my place, but not in the way that sounds like. We’d just get into bed eventually without having to speak about it and fall asleep talking not even touching.
And then the morning would come and we’d both be at that point where we were half awake and knew the other one was, too. I sleep on my side and face the wall but you’d come up behind me and put your arm over mine and I’d lace my fingers with yours. Once you kissed my hair and then I kissed your fingers. At 7 a.m. in my bed and we were never together and we never will be, but I guess that’s what Emily Bronte means when she says our souls are made of the same stuff.
Last night you said to me: “You’re really cute. It makes me ache sometimes.” And then once you said “I think we definitely would’ve been friends if we would’ve met as kids.” We talk to each other like characters do in books and movies during the really poignant moments. Do you know anyone else who does that?
You and I aren’t meant to be together, but at some point I would like to explore a city with you, cook a meal with you, go to a few more concerts with you, and yes, even watch another Wes Anderson movie in bed with you.
I miss you, but I’m so proud of you. I’ll be seeing those twinkling eyes of yours in Colorado soon.
Sometimes I imagine moments in marriage.
(Side note: I realize this is slightly unhealthy behavior. I am very single. It’s important for you to know that I am okay with it.)
It’s Sunday night and we’re watching football. Well, he is. I’m reading a book and glancing up at the crazy plays. I like football, it’s just that I’ve always preferred college games, teams, and conferences over the NFL.
I get to a really intense part of the book and I’m completely engrossed. I hear something like “Honey, are you okay?” with a tone of genuine concern. I snap out of the world I was submerged in like I’m coming up for air after being underwater for too long. I realize my brow was probably furrowed, and there are tears in my eyes.
But I laugh and wipe them away and say “Of course. This book is just really sad.” He’ll come over and kiss the top of my head and say “I don’t like that book. I don’t like things that make you sad.”
I’ve said it once and I’ll say it a thousand more times: Mid-Missouri is good for my soul.
People thought I was being dramatic when I told them I full-on cried as I drove my stuffed-to-the-brim Volkswagen out of Columbia during the golden hour that fateful night this summer. It was something about the way those hills around the Jeff City area looked and whatever country song was on that mixed together and made me absolutely lose it. I wasn’t sure when I’d be back, and it seemed too much to bear.
Everyone loves their college town, but those who know me well know that I have a bit of an obsession. I blogged about it two years ago, and looking back on that post my feelings are still exactly the same.
This weekend was 99% perfect (a big F YOU to South Carolina for somehow pulling that off).
The couple that so graciously offered me their basement while I looked for work got married this weekend. I oohed and ahhed at the leaves changing colors all the way to their country church. Their wedding was beautiful, and they said “We miss having you here. Come back.” And I tried not to cry.
My good friend Hannah and I had great conversations all weekend long about How did we get here? and What’s supposed to happen now? and How will we know when he’s the one?
I saw old friends and tried not to tear up as we said “Until next time.”
I saw my townie ex and it wasn’t weird and he seemed genuinely happy to see me and we didn’t hook up we just caught up and it made me happy and sad at the same time.
I’ve always said I would love to raise my family in Columbia, and I’ve tried to abandon those thoughts as much as possible lately. My job is in Dallas. My family is in Dallas. The rest of my family is also in Texas.
But the term “homecoming” has never held so much meaning.
All I want is to find some Mizzou gear (a print/poster, maybe?) to decorate my cube with that isn’t the tackiest thing I’ve ever seen. Is that too much to ask?
This morning at church the sermon was basically about how we are all called to serve with our time and give our money to the churches we call home.
Bent Tree Bible Fellowship is the church my parents became members of when I was a junior in high school. I was upset when they chose to leave the church I grew up in and spent the rest of my time at home continuing to attend our old church (The Ridge) and begrudgingly going with my parents to Bent Tree about once a month.
Over the years I’ve come to love Bent Tree despite its almost mega-church status, but because I didn’t grow up there, I’ve never really thought of it as my church home, and for a while I didn’t really feel like this morning’s sermon applied to me.
But then God showed up as he sometimes does and I got to thinking about how my college years were an incredibly selfish time. I spent so much time thinking about what I wanted to do, what steps I should take to get there and what kind of person I’m meant to be. I spent thousands of dollars of my parents’ money to study abroad for four months of “self-discovery.”
Of course those aren’t all bad things. I don’t regret studying abroad, and not everyone spent their college years as entitled as I did. One of my best friends from Mizzou gave up three of her spring breaks to go on service trips. Where was I on spring break? Padre, New Orleans, Belgium/Spain, Chicago. I can’t think of one instance where I volunteered my time or donated some money during my years at Mizzou, which is just sad.
It’s hard not to get caught up in yourself in college when everyone asks: What’s your major? What do you want to do with that? Do you like writing more or editing more? Where do you want to move after graduation? What would your dream job entail?
But still, I realized today that I allowed myself to get absolutely swallowed whole in endless thoughts of “What does the future hold for me?”
Well, the end-all-be-all of all that wondering is finally materializing tomorrow, as I am starting my first big girl job as an Assistant Editor for Private Clubs magazine in Dallas. I don’t really think it’s set in yet. There’s no more wondering what city I’ll end up in or how long my job search will last. I did it. I’m done.
And now that the main thought that has consumed my life for the past year is taken care of, maybe I can finally focus some time and energy on something or someone else, for a good cause.
Yes, the next few months will be spent building up a work wardrobe (holla) and apartment hunting, so the selfishness will probably continue to some extent, but today is as good a time as any to start saying “What can I do for someone else this week?”
Because if we aren’t serving one another, what are we even here for?
This is latest issue of Private Clubs I received about a month ago with a note from my future (present?!) boss telling me everyone is excited about my arrival (SO COOL).
Cheers to this new chapter and my legitimate use of the hashtag #postgradprobs.
I’m about to take the very real plunge into the forays of online dating by saying “yes” to the proposition of “a bite to eat” from a guy I’ve briefly gotten to know via OkCupid, and then Facebook. (Yup, we took it to that level the other day.)
I’m 22. Does this make me pathetic? Bored? Insane? Desperate?
The thought of scanning a restaurant for a face I’ve only seen on a screen is more than terrifying. I can just see myself turning red and slightly sweaty and fidgety as I try and navigate my way through dinner with a stranger.
DO PEOPLE DO THIS ALL THE TIME? HOW?
But I will say that on paper (to the untrained eye) he looks like everything I’ve ever wanted.