For the first time in a very long time, I'm single. For those of you who know me, flying solo is not something that I've had to do since high school. Closing the door on my fourth semester of college, I'm writing this post from my bed, also known as the couch in my parent's living room. If circumstances had remained as they were just a year ago, I'd be inking this post from the bed of my first and greatest love. Six months ago? Most likely from the comfiest chair in Waltham, entangled in what I can only explain as the most complicated relationship I've ever been a part of.
As I literally shut the door on life as I knew it last week, I found myself searching for a way to anchor my feet back to the ground. My walk out the door was full of goodbyes. To Waltham, the place I call home, a goodbye until January when I return from studying abroad to make my nest in an off-campus house. To one of the most interesting friendships I've come across in my twenty years, a "see you later" loaded with much more than hasta luego usually entails. Tearstained and reluctant, my departure from my sophomore year felt more like a forced leap of faith. Jumping blindly into unfamiliar territory and staring loneliness straight in the eye, I said a few more goodbyes, packed up the truck, and made my way back to New Hampshire. As I sat in the passenger's seat, the eerie, paralleling feeling of my emotions taking the wheel emerged, causing memories and conversations to surface as if I was leaving a trail of breadcrumbs along I-95. Instead, each fleeting word and moment hung on, clanging against the recesses of my mind in the same ironic fashion as the "Just Married" soup cans dragging along some lucky couple's bumper.
If it isn't already evident, this post is much more personal than the culmination of all of my previous blogposts. By no means is this meant to be an exposé, rather, an attempt to smooth the feathers that have been ruffled in my typical late-night-overthinking fashion. Facing this New Hampshire summer and in a few months, Costa Rican semester alone has never been more promising and terrifying. Nights where I'm doubtful of my path, I know I have a fabulous group of women who will reassure each step in the right direction is indeed right, and for the really late nights, a blog that has held all of my words safely since 2010. Although I've been out of practice, being single is starting to feel less like perpetual loneliness and more like a chance to get to know the person that has been by my side throughout it all. Cheers to summer, me, and learning what it means to be.
live simply.
As I literally shut the door on life as I knew it last week, I found myself searching for a way to anchor my feet back to the ground. My walk out the door was full of goodbyes. To Waltham, the place I call home, a goodbye until January when I return from studying abroad to make my nest in an off-campus house. To one of the most interesting friendships I've come across in my twenty years, a "see you later" loaded with much more than hasta luego usually entails. Tearstained and reluctant, my departure from my sophomore year felt more like a forced leap of faith. Jumping blindly into unfamiliar territory and staring loneliness straight in the eye, I said a few more goodbyes, packed up the truck, and made my way back to New Hampshire. As I sat in the passenger's seat, the eerie, paralleling feeling of my emotions taking the wheel emerged, causing memories and conversations to surface as if I was leaving a trail of breadcrumbs along I-95. Instead, each fleeting word and moment hung on, clanging against the recesses of my mind in the same ironic fashion as the "Just Married" soup cans dragging along some lucky couple's bumper.
