How Strange

College talk has left me thinking about the future and all the things that it holds. There are people in the world right now, people who are no more than strangers that will one day be a part of my life. They are out there just reading or sleeping or watching The League like I am. One day we will cross paths unexpectedly and then ask how we have never met and how have I gone this long without knowing you and how could I ever have lived without you in my life. And I can't wait to meet these people. 

But then again, all this college talk has made me realize my amazing friends will all be going their separate ways, finding the strangers that will come to fill their lives with love and laughter and memories. But not yet. Right now we are still all living in the same small town, and we have a bit of time on our hands-a rarity-during Winter Break. And as years go by, we will come home from college and still have this bit of time to meet up again, catch up, maybe introduce strangers that have become friends to one another. This is our time. And I guess what I want to say is that I am going to appreciate it and the next eight months because not seeing some of my friends for ten days already feels like forever because I am a melodramatic teenager who isn't used to being patient and as crazy as it sounds I miss them! Sorry this is the most pathetic blog post ever but just appreciate the fabulous people in your life-one day we may become the strangers.

Wait up, guys!

I bark sometimes, okay? And yeah, I will admit once in a while I bare my teeth and growl too. Sorry about it all, but I am unfortunately not referring to the metaphorical this go around.

There is just something about a dog's life. Yeah yeah, they get their bellies scratched and they sleep all day and they live the good life, but there is something more to it than that--or maybe something less.

Dogs live through instinct. And their instincts are pretty good. They know exactly what they want and it's not a lot.

Eat.
Sleep.
Play Outside.

That's all I want too! I really don't think it should be that hard. When I was younger, I lived a dog's life. K-5, I followed my instincts too. But something happened. Someone told me that I needed to stay inside at a desk and hold a pencil in my hand and write things because then I could be happy. And the weird thing was I believed Someone. Don't worry, I still was allowed to eat and sleep. But playing outside turned into practices and meetings and studying and procrastinating from studying and remembering and forgetting until I forgot the world used to be a playground.

Luckily, I have two dogs. Their doopy smiles hold more wisdom than Someone ever had. I open the door when I get home from school and they rush out, out to run and chase and smell the roses (or, more accurately, the shit they scared out of the squirrels that dared to cross onto their side). Aside from the whole sniffing for poop aspect, I want to follow their tracks.

So yeah, sometimes I try to forget that I have opposable thumbs and that I can actually formulate words with a tongue that fits within my mouth. I forget because sometimes that helps me remember my instincts aren't so different from my dogs. They may not be different at all.

Puzzled

Maybe we know each other too well.

I was struck with this realization today. It's so fun to uncover pieces of people's lives, new facts and faces. I love listening to stories, but maybe now we know each other's all too well. Walking down the halls, I could point out who that person is and how many siblings they have and what they are good at and how well I really know them in the end. Maybe not that well. Maybe I don't really know them at all. But maybe the fact I have an idea is enough. Actually maybe it's more than enough; it's too much.

I have been showing around a new student for the last month. She moved, coming to a new high school her senior year. Being new is hard enough, but I feel like being new senior year of high school may be the worst of all. At the lunch table, she said she had the option to go back to her old school after winter break. Her situation is complicated and messy and it's not my place to expose it online. But even though she missed her friends and even though they missed her too, she doesn't think that she really wants to move back. 

At first, I couldn't really understand it. Not wanting to return to what was comfortable--normalcy. What's not to like? There are a lot of things not to like, I realized. Having to explain yourself is one thing, but she has already met so many new people. She has a boyfriend here already--after only being here for a month (good thing I can't say the same after four years)! She rotates lunch tables. She is whoever she wants to be. 

I forgot the excitement that lies in talking to someone unfamiliar, trying to put the pieces together until they begin to create a clear picture. Maybe breaking the comfort of normalcy is just what we need.

Unshoveled

Everything that felt wrong in the world yesterday seemed to make itself right today. Did something shift? Did someone clean up the mess when I wasn't looking? Did the loose ends repair themselves?

I couldn't tell you. All I know is that it was a great day, one that I was proud to be a part of. I am proud of my friends and of my parents and of my dogs and of myself. I am proud that hard work really yields results. What could be more deserving?

Today, the future seems a little more clear, and I know that the beauty of the future should be its mystery and the surprises it holds. But, to be honest, I am not one for surprises. I am the type to skip to the end of the book just to make sure my favorite character lives on in a work of fiction. Today, I feel firm in saying the future, though it is an unshoveled path, is as bright and pure and footprint-ready as new fallen snow.

Why it took today for me to realize this is beyond me.

Maybe, it was just time for things to come together.

Maybe, it really was fate.

Maybe is more than good enough for me.

Teach Me

I want to be more than sorry. I want to be more than just a listening mouth or an attentive ear, more than a hand on a shoulder or hug that supposed to say what words cannot. But how? That's all I keep asking myself--how can I be more, do more. It's just so hard to deal with the fact we are helpless. We are leaves blowing in the summer wind, shed in the fall. We are snow dancing to the earth in the winter, melted into spring puddles. We are shooting stars in a one-act play. We are here today. Who knows about tomorrow? But of all the things we cannot control, there is one thing we always can.

Tonight you taught me that. You smiled. You stood up there and smiled and laughed and filled the room with light, manufactured light. All the things you could have done, all the things I know I would have done, you disregarded and, instead, decided to smile. Watching you, I was the one with tear-filled eyes, not you.

Our lives are so filled with experiences and sights, but it is the people in our life who make us feel whole, feel full. Our greatest teachers are rarely the ones who fill our backpacks and quantify us. Our greatest teachers show us how to live a full life. Never will I forget today--the day one of my greatest teachers taught me how to manufacture light within the darkness.

An Unfamiliar Street

The sound of my boots on the sidewalk is unchanging. Click and a clack. Over and over until it seems my heart beats in time with each slap on the concrete. But the things around me are nowhere near as constant, as dependable as a beating heart and clicking boots. My path is new.

You see, the streets I used to know knew me too well. They knew how many clicks and clacks carried me from one intersection the the other. Walking down, I passed neighbors with their dogs--able to name them all. I passed trees that had already told me their stories. I watched some get ripped apart by wind and down by large yellow cranes. Friends rooted aside those familiar streets.

This is what I have been looking for. This is what I needed. Something unfamiliar. Something exciting. Someone told me to chase the horizon until it becomes something new. Something new.

The sun sinks in the sky. In my mind, I know it's the same one from home--we all come from the same sun. But that doesn't mean it looks anything like the one I left behind. This sun sinks not with the dependability of night but, rather, with the promise of a new morning. The sinking sun paints the path with a golden light.

Looking up at the sky, I don't notice him until he has already passed me. I turn my head back to watch him as he shrinks, moving further away. A bearded face and jacket to deflect the wind. His face, now hidden from view, was one I had never seen before. The first of many new faces.

The trees I see are only acquaintances. I look up at their branches and reassure them I will know their stories with time.

Here I walk with feet unrooted. I don't know exactly where to turn or how many stoplights lie in my path. But they won't really stop me--not for long, anyways. My feet carry me, with their constant patter, while walking down an unfamiliar street.