I’ll see you soon…
For me everyday is a challenge. It’s been that way since I was around 13 or so. I was told that I have something.. something genetic that will probably play some role in my interactions with people everyday for the rest of my life. People with what I have usually don’t talk to complete strangers for a living. Sometimes it’s just hard for me not to wonder what my life would be like if I didn’t have this. It’s just hard not to get discouraged. Wonder if my life will ever be the same, if there will come a day when every word out of my mouth doesn’t provide me heart-stopping anxiety. People say “I never even know, I never would have known”, you should be in my head. My stomach in knots, my mind reeling, trying to recover. Everyday is a challenge, just to be normal and say how I feel. Maybe that’s why I write as much as I do. I’m eloquent in my writings in ways that I may never be able in person.
A couple weeks ago, I got a care package from my mom (cute I know) and in it was among other things, a copy of “Breaking Away” and it’s sat on my counter, in its original packaging. I can’t bring myself to watch it. Everything in my life happened so fast and I’m 700 miles away from my friends and family and I didn’t really give moving down here a second thought. I’m afraid that seeing the film and remembering the special place that Bloomington has in my heart will make me not only nostalgic but borderline homesick. Homesick for how insulated from the world that town made me feel. It’s an easy thing to take for granted. Plodding your way up the wet slushy steps of Ballantine. Sitting in my dorm room and watching big snow flakes silently fall to the ground. Waking up early on a Saturday morning and getting to Memorial Stadium early enough to get a seat behind the visitors’ bench, convinced that today would be our day. Ohio State isn’t that good, I thought, anything can happen on any given saturday. God it seems like just yesterday that I was moving all of my stuff into my room with The Rik, that smelly Kuwaiti. And here I am, a graduate, a journalist, a grown up. I’ll never forget waking through campus on cold winter nights and seeing that huge candle on the side of the union and feeling at home.
I think sometimes I’m braver than I give myself credit for. I think that what I did, moving down here, taking this job having never seen the white sand beaches of Destin or the murderous traffic on 98, accepting a life of my own far away from the life I’ve known, is brave. I’m not trying to applaud myself. I’m not trying to toot my own horn or anything. But merely recognize that I don’t always play it safe, something I criticize myself for. I’m braver than I think. Moving away from home without giving it a second thought, letting someone back into my life knowing full well that I could get hurt but willing to take a chance because… well it could be really great. And is any of it going to work out? I don’t know. I really have no idea. Do I think it’s blind chance? Not at all. But I do think that all I can do is my best, give my all to everything I do and everyone I care about and hope for the best. Hope that whatever I have to offer is enough to the people I’m giving it to.
I’ve never been good at playing games. Never been good at playing hard to get. It’s seriously hard for me to play it cool when a cute girl looks at me and half smiles, puts her hair behind ears and looks down. It melts me. It does. It seers me. I wish I could play it cool. Pretend like it’s just another day when someone you care about calls you and tells you they’ve missed you. Pretend like everything she says “aww” and means it, it makes you feel… well a little warmer.