But I feel like I’m meant for something more…that I’m being pulled somewhere and I don’t know where it is or what it is or how to get there just that I’m supposed to be there.
I’m trying to go back and save old diary entries from various old blogs and such online (diaryland…livejournal…remember the good ol’ days?) Day by day I’m archiving what I posted on that day, each year I wrote. And its interesting…today is a day it seems pretty consistent (since 2002!) that I am restless.
There’s just something about fall, you know? Something about the possibility a new school year brought. One of my friends said something to the effect of that she missed how fall was a chance to reinvent yourself. Each school year, you could go in, you could be a new person…over the summer, anything could have happened. Hair dye, hair cut, glasses or contacts, ends of relationships, starts of new ones….the fall was possibility.
And there’s the quote above…a sort of…endless searching. I don’t know what it is I’m looking for. Its not faith, I feel pretty comfortable with knowing what I believe. Its not a relationship, I’m happily married and have many friends…
I’ve talked a lot about this…but I think…its an urge to be remembered. To do something memorable. To know that, after I’m gone that people will think back and say “You know what? She made a difference. She did something worth remembering.”
Its like the scene in Dead Poet’s Society where “Carpe Diem” is whispered over and over. Seize the day. Seize it because in the end, all you are is dust.
And I go back to each entry, back to 2002…and I think back to my favorite memories. I was talking to another friend about the memories that made us the happiest…and one of the happiest memories of my life was my first night, on campus at college.
I had a friend who said that the thing I should look forward to the most was The River Walk the first night of school. That she had best friends who were awesome, who were sweet, who would frolic after various wildlife. So I put on black capri pants, my favorite black flip flops with a silver butterfly on them, and a purple top that had buttons up the back and great ribbon around the hem. I wore a purple necklace I’d gotten specifically for wearing at the Ren Faire. And I waited.
And we left at 10:30 pm.
It was my first night on campus, my first night, really, away from home without my parents…and I was wandering the streets of the city with a roving band of college students.
Not before or since had there ever been a night with so much possibility. This was the life I had dreamed of. The friends I’d been promised I’d make if I could just suffer through a little bit longer in high school. This was why I had reinvented myself as someone who was confident enough to take a chance and explore the world…at night…when everything was dark, the air was heavy with summer humidity and the crickets tried to drown your conversation.
To this day, it is one of the best nights of my life. Everything was in front, the past was a dim and sad memory, the future, nothing but hope.
Those are the nights I want again. I want to walk out into a world that is nothing but possibility. I want to wake up and know that there is adventure, that today is the day everything is going to change and it will be the most amazing day I’ve ever had.
And there’s no reason it can’t be.
Hours of Sleep: 7.5 hours
Exercise: Went with my husband on a walk around the river. It was nice he could join me…
Breakfast: 1 paleo egg cup and an apple.
Cleaning or Packing?: Loaded the dishwasher, cleaned out another shelf in the fridge, wiped down the stove, folded some clothes, did some laundry, cleaned off the other part of the table.
Made my bed?: Done. Still don’t get it.
Spiritual Health: Does contemplating your own mortality count? I mean, this is a weekly thing but I feel like I do something with it every day.
Read 1 book a week: Finished The Girl With All The Gifts. Didn’t go where I thought it would…it was kind of depressing in a restless sad way. Started reading Lizzie Borden meets Cthulu (not the actual title, click link for book.)
Thinking about the times you were happiest has the oddest side effect of making you kind of sad. The poetry you wrote when you were 18 is angsty, mopey, and still somewhat heart rending. The river is still beautiful at night and I wish you were here. Yes you.