change of seasons.

I don't know what to tell you, other than the fact that it is 12:09 at night and I thought, Hmm blogging sounds more appealing than finishing that chapter in oceanography. 

What a surreal month this has been. I up and left everything I know and love to start this crazy new chapter in my life, and here I sit, cross legged on my apartment floor, wondering if the sacrifices I made will even be worth it. 

I'd like to say that in this past year my self confidence increased by a whooping 300 percent. Gone was the bookish blonde with under-appreciated wit and a head full of doubt. In her place, a spunky, lively, flirtatious, and exceedingly sharp version of myself. A better me. Sure, that came with the crises every 20-year-old faces. When my grandfather passed away in February, I was suddenly faced with an abundance of new questions. Not overly sad or philosophical. Just thoughtful. Questions about death and purpose, all culminating after my falling out with organized religion. 

Let me interrupt myself actually, and state this forthright: it seems to be a pattern in my life that I don't love or believe what my friends and family love or believe. In loving Greek life, for example. I thought it a moral failing that I couldn't be passionate about something that all of my friends loved so much. Or in loving Furman. I just didn't love it the way you're supposed to love your school. 

I have a friend who was counting down days, hours, minutes, until he could pack up his car and return to his "real" home. Not the experience I had, not even once. I was apprehensive from the day I visited campus late senior year, mistaking exhaustion and familiarity with that "this is home, this is the place I'm going to spend all four years!" feeling. I like to believe that I operate on a gut-instinct system, but that is absolute fiction. Only twice has my gut actually spoken up. Most of my decisions are just my head and my heart making weird compromises. 

Anyway, all that to say that I learned something important this summer: Just because something is someone else's dream doesn't make it yours. I spent too much time this month dithering over a problem with a clear solution because I felt guilty about rejecting a friend's long time dream that fell into my lap. It made me feel ungrateful to flat out deny something for myself that others spent years pining after. But ultimately the situation wasn't any more appealing, even knowing that it was another person's dream 

Does any of this make sense? My brain is boggled at this point, and I'm quite sure that the neighbors upstairs are practicing marching routines with yetis. And maybe dropping anvils from the tops of their lofted beds-- It's loud, y'all, that's my point. Not my main point even, cause I detoured away from that a while ago. I'll revisit this mental walkabout sometime soon. 

I'm feeling low, but that's transitional living for ya.