A Break

Thursday, February 15, 2018 / 1:12 AM

I want to tell you about 2007.

Graduating from high school is weird. If you asked me to walk you through the day, I couldn't, because I don't remember it really. I remember being anxious and nervous and excited, all at once. I remember my best friend at the time reaching over and grabbing me by the arm before it all began. "Dude," she said. "This is it."

It's odd the moments that stand out – the conversations that replay easily on a loop. And then there are some that I remember in the distance but couldn't tell you any details if you paid me.

Sometimes it's the most random things I remember, and I don't know why.

Like yesterday, I was thinking about one of the last open dances of the year that was inextricably "career" themed, but I showed up as a rock star because I was tired of people asking me what I wanted to do with my life.

"Isn't that what college is for?" I vented to my friends.

"This is literally just a silly costume for a dance," they said, annoyed.

I was always waiting for the future to reveal itself. I was so sure there would be signs. When I think about it now, I'm pretty sure if there were signs, I ignored them all. And maybe I'm still ignoring them or fighting them without realizing it. I keep thinking that eventually I'll come to a fork in the road and it'll all make sense, and 2007 me would say, "Ohhh. Of course." And then in 2027, I can look back and remember the late-night messages and the talks and the people who told me to go to bed instead of staying up until 12:51 a.m. writing loquacious blog posts that have no real purpose except to selfishly clear my own head.

But then again, perhaps, it's not that selfish.

I cannot breathe without writing first. I can't write without remembering to breathe. The two actions are linked, like two arms swaying back and forth on a walk down the street. It's why I started blogging weekly, even if I sometimes felt like I didn't have anything to say. It gave me an outlet for times when I felt small, times when I felt voiceless, times when I felt too tired for life.

But right now, I think I need a break. I've gotten all the words out of my brain that I think I can muster, and while I sort out what's in front of me, I need to also sort out what's been around me since 2007: the anxiety, the nerves, the fear. And as much as writing helps sometimes, I also think it's become a crutch I've leaned on too heavily at times because reflection can be easier than embracing what comes next. Nostalgia feels more comfortable than dipping your toes in new waters and exploring a future unknown.

The next time I write to you, I want to tell you about 2018.

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