With the semester winding down and class registration just around the corner, I went to my professor's office for a simple advising session. Walk in, be told what classes to take, walk out. Maybe even get the reassuring chit chat about how "Yes, you will graduate. Yes, you are doing fine, and no, you probably won't drop out and end up homeless and on the streets." Instead, I came out of my meeting with an overwhelming, yet oddly refreshing, sense of uncertainty. I have gotten so comfortable with my routine (wake up, study, go to class, repeat) that two years of college have passed like the blink of an eye, and now it's time to start planning for my future! In my meeting, we talked about what career might suit my personality and interests. We discussed the importance of volunteer work, getting good grades and researching grad schools. I felt as though I had been walking along a street with my head down, looking at the pavement (which looks pretty much the same with every step) and then all of the sudden someone said, "Hey! Look where you're going!" I look up and suddenly realize there's a whole city, and now I have to decide which roads to take and where I want to end up. This sounds pretty stressful, and I guess it is, but at the same time pavement is pretty boring, and there are a lot of exciting possibilities hidden in a city.
I have a very love-hate relationship with my future. I love that there's a world of exciting opportunities awaiting me. I hate that I don't know what will happen. Life is a mystery... and I am not okay with that. I've always been one to grieve the loss of one life path when I take the other. I constantly second-guess myself, asking, "is this the option that will ensure my future happiness?" I wish life were like a Choose Your Own Adventure book, where you get to make all your choices... But then you can go back and make all different choices to see which ending tickles your fancy more. But it's not. I know that this anxiety about being happy is a pretty common one. Shoot, you could fill hundreds of libraries with all of the books written about happiness and how to attain it. "Just tidy your house, and you'll experience happiness and peace!" "Travel the world and quit your job, and happiness will be yours!" "Ditch the gluten in your life. Replace it with happiness!" While each book might have some helpful advice to offer, the truth is that if you spend your life chasing happiness, you'll never get to sit down and enjoy it. Instead of doing your best to push aside any unpleasant feeling and replace it with the ever-illusive and elusive happiness, maybe it's better to examine each emotion as it comes along and say "hello emotion, you are not making me very comfortable, but here you are!" and move on. In my experience, the harder I try to ignore my fears, anxieties, and insecurities, the more a part of my life they become. Likewise, the more I try to chase my idea of happiness, the more abstract it becomes. When your vision of happiness is something that is waiting just around the corner, you forget that it could be right there with you the whole time. Maybe happiness is waking up every morning to the smell of coffee, or knowing that no matter what decisions you make in your own little life, the sun will keep rising every morning and setting every night. Maybe happiness is looking up from the pavement and seeing the sparkling lights of your future. (Side note. I did just roll my eyes at how cheesy I am.)
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Recently, I had a conversation with Mom. I came away with that familiar feeling which most of you can probably relate to if you've ever had a long talk with my mom. It's that "Aha!" feeling of discovering a deeper aspect of yourself that you never knew existed. It's both very liberating, and also slightly confusing. Anyhow, she got me thinking about the meaning of happiness and all that groovy shit. I was telling her about how my relationship with the world totally changes depending on how thick my emotional cushion is. The happier I am, the thicker my cushion is. If I feel like I'm in a good and stable stage of life, I can easily handle the negativity around me, and I barely notice the small upsets that happen everyday. In contrast, when I'm in an uncertain or bad place in life, my cushion is worn thin. I get upset over things that would ordinarily never have caught my attention. The sound of someone chewing can get me so aggravated that I have to leave the room. In these moments, part of me (most of me) knows that I'm being completely irrational, and I need to take a step back and calm down, but I suppose that's easier said than done. Sometimes, when I get like this, I feel like I'm watching myself from the outside. I think, "Kerry what are you doing? Why are you mad at mom even though you're the one who broke her waffle iron? You're being irrational, Buddy." But still, the beast inside of me stomps around and revels in its irrational anger.
Most of the time, I know what would make me feel better. I have all the tools to get out of the pit of despair. Going on a run, eating healthy food, drawing, or making music. But in the moments when I need these things the most, I refuse to use them. In my current happy mindset, this confuses me. Why would I refuse to do something that I know will make me happier? Well, I think I've figured it out. When I'm down, I don't want to do the things that I love because I'm afraid that they won't make me feel better. Maybe some part of me thinks that I'll ruin the things I love by exposing them to my bad mood. Maybe I'm afraid that if I actually try to make myself feel better and I fail, I'll have to give up some sense of control. It's intimidating to feel like I don't have power over my own emotions, so embracing whatever emotion comes along allows me to feel like I'm still in control. Anyway, all of this may seem obvious, and the shifting relationship we have with the world around us may be a fairly universal experience. I know that I haven't discovered the wheel here, but I have discovered something about myself. It was an interesting thing to think about, so of course, I've got to write about it too. At the moment, I would say my cushion is thick, and I'm in a good place. In my current emotional state, I picture my relationship with the world like this: the little disappointments or annoyances are sticks and leaves; I am a rock, and life is a river. I'm planted securely in place, and life simply carries away the debris without any big impact on me. However, I am not always a rock, and my troubles are not always debris. In the past, I've resembled more of a sandcastle. I seem pretty stable, but as soon as a wave reaches me, I begin to melt away. Mom said something that reminded me to accept that I won't always feel like a rock, and I won't always feel like a sandcastle. Life may not change all that much, but I will definitely change over and over again. Mom loves the quote, "there will be a time after this." I guess it all comes down to that. No matter what happens in life, and whether you feel like a rock or a sandcastle, time will always pass. I'm writing to you from the hammock on our back porch. In this moment, I am trying to soak up everything I love about summer nights at home. I love the heavy smell of orange blossoms and jasmine, and the sound of the river lazily trickling its way across the yard. I love the web of twinkle lights that Mom and I hung over our homemade bar. I love listening to the frogs call to each other in the loudest and proudest voices they can muster. I love the way the air feels on my skin. It's a feeling that you only ever get on summer nights in California. Dry, only slightly cooler than your skin, a relief from the intense heat of the day. There's nothing like the first warm night when you get to leave your window open and sleep with the blankets pulled close while the summer breeze fills your room.
To me, all of these things come together in my mind and create an image of home. I don't know why summer nights stay so close to my heart. Maybe it's because of all those summer nights I spent playing in this very yard... making mud pies and running from dragons until long after the sun had been swallowed by the night and the moon was so close I could reach it. Back then (and even now) summer nights were like a dream to me. They are like a world of their own, totally disconnected from the events of the day. On summer nights I am able to simply "be" without any expectations. I am able to think the thoughts that I don't have time for in the busy rush of the day. On this summer night I am thinking about how grateful I am to be lying in this hammock, at this home, under these stars. Purpose. That's what I need. I don't want to go into detail (so please don't ask), but I believe that a series of events over the past couple of months have lead me to the point in life called "rock bottom" and it has caused me to lose my sense of purpose in life. You know how they say when you've hit rock bottom, the only way left to go is up? Not true. In my experience you can wander around at rock bottom for quite a while before finding your way "up". I know I'm only 19 and I have no real way of knowing if this is rock bottom, but the important thing is that if certainly feels like it in this moment. However, this is not a story about my emotional well being. This is a story about Doug. Being completely lost emotionally, I thought "what the hell? why not get physically lost too?" End destination? Katie's house. Departure time? Now. Plan? None. One wrong turn and 2 late buses later, I found myself at the train station. Doug's train station... apparently.
The platform was relatively clean. It was unsettlingly quiet and empty. Looking all around, I couldn't find a place to purchase my ticket. After a fellow traveler came along and explained to me that there was no way to buy tickets at platforms, I set about trying to buy my ticket on line. As I sat on the bench, balancing my phone, my credit card and my luggage, I heard a man yelling. "Excuse me! Excuse me! Where are you tryina' go sis?" A slightly heavy, short man, wearing black pants, and a Golden State Warriors baseball cap hurried in my direction. I considered the risk of telling this (seemingly homeless) man where I was traveling to. He must have seen the worry on my face because he assured me that he wasn't going to ask me for money or disrespect me. "I promise I'm a good guy. Ask anyone." I looked questioningly at the one other person at the station. "This guy?" said the man, "Yeah he's alright". Tired of making choices, I decided to go along with it. I told him where I was going and he informed me that my train would not come for an hour. He then proceeded to talk to me for that hour, only pausing to yell at people passing by. "My name is Doug, but everybody calls me the All Aboard Man". He explained that this train station was his, even though he didn't have an official amtrak shirt, everybody knew it. When a train pulled into the station, Doug yelled at the conductor to get off of his platform. The conductor laughed and fist bumped him. Doug returned to me and said, "See? if I was a bad guy they wouldn't let me keep doing this." Made sense to me... He spread his arms out as if to measure the length of the station. "See all this? All this is mine. I'm a rich man y'all. "There was something magical about the way Doug felt about the world. There he was, living at a train station, and he felt like the richest man on earth. "See all of these cars? Each one of em' represents a traveler. And those travelers are my travel family." Doug admitted that he knew he could do anything he wanted to. He could have gone to school, but sometimes "you just need a break. You need a break from school, from work, from sex, from drugs, from beer" (the list went on). It all made perfect sense to me. Here was Doug, taking a break from life. He was in a transitional period, making the train station a very appropriate place for him to spend his days. After all, there I was for the same reason, hoping that a train could come and take me away from my troubles. At 51 years old, Doug had no Mom, no Dad, and no kids. He mentioned a girlfriend, and sometimes he called her his wife. I wasn't sure how much of his story I could believe (there were several inconsistencies), but I decided that my job wasn't to judge him. Doug was telling me his life's story the way that he saw it. And I suppose that's what really matters. "Girl, you must be an ice skater." "Nope", I replied. "Than what DO you do?" he said pointing at my calves. "I'm a runner". "Cross country?" I nodded, "And track". "You a dancer too.." he said, watching my feet tap away at the station floor. "Nope" I said, "just a runner". "Believe it or not, I was a swimmer at Oakland High School. I broke records." He said. "I only got beat once... By a girl just like you in the 50 free. She became an olympic athlete."As our conversation progressed, I found that Doug seemed to have a fascination with olympic athletes. He claimed to have met all sorts of famous people at the station, especially athletes. At first I believed him, seeing as the station was located right next to the Oakland Coliseum. But after a he returned from speaking to another traveler wearing running shoes, I got an idea of what his idea of olympic athletes really was. "He ratted you out!" Doug said. "He told me you're an olympic runner!" I laughed, "I wish! No I just run in college." An expression of concern took over his face. "Hey, I'm being real with you, you can be real with me." He then turned to a girl on the next bench and said "Hey you! This girl is an olympic athlete!" It suddenly made sense that Doug could have met so many olympic athletes. Everyone who was an athlete was an olympian in his mind. "I once sat next to an olympic ice skater on the plane. I let her have the window seat..." he added thoughtfully. "She was beautiful, she broke her leg though." He looked at me. "You are a beautiful woman too. You've got to be careful when you travel. Someone gunna walk up to you like this." He walked away a few feet so that he could act out the scenario. He sauntered up to me and said in a raspy voice, "hey Ma, why don't you let me get you a drink?" Standing up straight, he went back to being Doug, "and you're going to say NO. Okay? Look at my eyes" he instructed. His dark eyes looked into mine, then flicked somewhere over my head. "See that? I'm looking at you, but I'm also aware of my surroundings." He pointed at the Amtrak train schedule screen. "Than computer tells you to be aware of your surroundings, but I'm a real live person telling you the same thing." He stared off into the distance for a minute or too. I noticed he does this a lot and I wonder what has caught his attention. Coming back to reality he explained "you have to be aware because you've gotta look out for your family. I've got your back, and I know you've got mine." He pointed at my hands "you've always gotta pay attention to the hands. See? You're hands are full so I know you can't do anything to me." The idea that he might be worried about someone like me attacking him seemed comical. But I appreciated that he considered it. "You just have to be aware" he said. "You're a beautiful woman and if I weren't such a good guy I would call down my helicopter and buy you crab cakes and a drink." I considered telling him that I didn't like crab and I wasn't old enough to drink but I decided it was irrelevant. "Nah, I'm just kidding with you. My wife would kill me." Just then, Doug's superhuman hearing alerted him to the sound of a man hurrying to the station. Even though the man was a good half mile away, Doug yelled at the top of his lungs. "Don't hurry!!!! The train is not here yet! Do not run!! Happy Friday!!" As the man rushed to the station anyway, Doug hurried off to reassure the traveler and introduce himself." The man had chartreuse glasses and sequin maroon shoes with studs. After explaining that this was his station, Doug offered to buy the man's shoes for $1,000... "just one of 'em. Are you gay?" Doug asked. "Yes I am" said the man cheerfully. Doug looked thoughtful for a moment. "Me?" he said, "I'm not really gay. I mean I like dicks... I just don't love 'em." I struggled to keep a straight face while I stared at the ground. "That reminds me.. Me and my girl? We went to the gas station to buy some food and the cashier saw I didn't have to kids. So he said 'you gay?' and I said, 'yeah I'm gay! I GAY you my money!'" Doug dissolved into laughter. Then he stared off into the distance. "That was a really great joke" he concluded "Me and my girl? We couldn't stop laughing." There were so many things to learn from Doug. To appreciate the small things in life. To let yourself laugh uncontrollably at your own dumb joke. To believe that you own the world, even if that world is just a dingy train station. Doug took responsibility for every person who wandered into his world. Although his actions weren't always helpful (confidently giving people the wrong time, or giving questionable advice to a couple with a flat tire) he inserted himself in the worlds of each of these people. I watched countless individuals look at him with judgment and distain, just as I had. But as Doug refused to let them pass through his life without marching himself into their worlds, I could see the judgement melt into understanding and respect. Doug was just like the rest of us. Just searching for his purpose and waiting for the right train. As I prepare for my return to the nest, I have found myself worrying that I will not experience the adventures of those who choose to fly away. However, I have decided that this little bird will not be adventureless. I have decided that, by not paying rent (thanks Mom), I will have the means to explore new places on my own. My sister suggested that I use my newfound train skills to travel far and wide. Because I’ll be lucky enough to have a solid home base (thanks again Mom), it will be much easier to decide to go out and have adventures. I have recently found that I really do enjoy exploring new places on my own. So instead of giving up this new part of myself when I come home, I will do my best to embrace it more fully.
On her most recent archeological dig through the family house, my cousin stumbled across a treasure: my grandma's scrapbook from college. As I flipped through the worn pages covered in her delicate writing, I saw a whole new side of my grandmother. Numerous pictures showed her sprawled across the laps of her friends, smoking pipes and smiling coyly and confidently at the camera. This elegant and striking woman sparked something inside of me. I began to wonder what made these pictures seem so rich with adventure. I came to the conclusion that what drew me to them was the authenticity which they seemed to hold. I have often felt that the type of pictures we take today have a certain superficiality to them. It seems as though people are constantly sharing pictures. I mean, there’s an entire app devoted to communication solely through pictures! I feel as the the casual nature of modern photography has detracted from the deeper meaning behind pictures. Instead of capturing an authentic moment, they are either used to document the every movement of one's cat, or carefully staged to inspire jealousy and admiration in one’s friends. Of course, this is a broad generalization and I know that this is not true for many people, and I’m not saying we should all just stop taking pictures altogether. I guess what I’m trying to say is I want to find a way to recapture the magic of photos. I want to get that same spark as I saw in the pictures of my grandma. As someone who loves being behind (and sometimes in front of) a camera, I desperately long to tell an authentic story with my pictures. I promise that this photography rant has a point. The point is that I have hereby decided that I am going to say yes to life’s adventures, and I am going to try to accurately capture the experiences that come out of these adventures with authentic pictures. Instead of taking pictures for other people, I will take them for myself. I will not succumb to the pressure to produce and share pictures which shows off my glamourous (haha) life. Instead, I will simply explore and document for myself. Because this blog is also purely for my own benefit (I am a selfish blogger) I will reflect on these future adventures right here. All in all, I would like to develop a story that my grandkids will be able to look at and know who I was as a young person. So let the adventures begin. Do you ever have those moments of inspiration where you have a realization and you don't really understand why it's so important or what made you think of it, but you know that it's a core part of who you are? I had one of those moments in the birthplace of all inspiration, the shower. I was thinking about my life and trying to identify the things that (among all of the chaos and change) have stayed consistent throughout these 19 years. The answer was obvious: community. Throughout my life I have always had a solid network of people who I can turn to. I realized that I value community above most things. I recently took a survey for extra credit and one of the questions was "how often do you feel totally alone?" In that moment I was able to fully appreciate how lucky I was to be able to check the box labeled "never". I suppose that since this inspiration hit me a week before a certain holiday, this post could be considered a nod to Thanksgiving.
Being homeschooled, many people assume that I lived the first 14 years of my life in total isolation. Obviously homeschooling is just another word for house arrest *sarcasm*. I remember a particularly strange conversation I had with one girl who had never met a homeschooler before. When I told her that I was one of those exotic homeschooled creatures, she looked at me with shock and asked in an quietly awed voice, "Really? What did you do?" I explained to her that not all homeschoolers have been banished from society because of their violent ways, some of us choose to do so because we want to take control over our own education. Anyhow, my point is that I can say from experience that being homeschooled does not limit your chances of having a community. I would argue that being homeschooled is the foundation that my community values rest on. I grew up with at least 7 mothers, 20 siblings and a few fathers thrown into the mix. The days that most children spent playing with their classmates, I spent camping with kids of all ages and parents who all took equal responsibility for my well being. When I left for college I had 3 mother figures texting me every night to make sure everything was okay and that I knew I was loved. I knew exactly what mother to turn to for specific needs. If I needed comfort and a hot chocolate with vanilla ice cream and a candy cane stirrer, there was one mom. If I needed a dose of reality and an honest opinion, there was another. My boyfriend and I have spent many hours talking about the importance of having a community. In his case, he is able to drive a block away and see an aunt, an uncle, or a grandparent. Because the members of my family are traitors (cough cough Erin, Patrick, and Katie Young), I do not have this option. I was talking to my sister recently about how we dream of a time when our nomadic siblings will settle down near each other so that we too can have this community. However in the mean time, my honorary family has done a splendid job of providing me with a community to rely on. To bring this (slightly scattered) post full circle, I will conclude by saying that as Thanksgiving approaches, I've been taking time to feel grateful for my particular blessings. I'm grateful for all those people who have helped to raise me, to show me what it means to be genuine, and who have stood beside me throughout the chaotic adventure of life. So... thank you :) I'm a big planner. I'm much better at planning than actually following through with things. I have stacks of notebooks devoted to lists. Even when I was little I was a list maker. I would make detailed lists about what I was going to do that day all the way down to brushing my teeth and putting on my shoes. The truth is, all this planning has worn me out. Now is the time to let go and let life happen. I've found that over-planning is the culprit of many disappointments in my life. I plan every detail so meticulously that when things don't work out exactly as I expected, I sometimes feel cheated. Generally I think of myself as a very "go with the flow" person, but I'm coming to see that part of me is obsessed with control over my future. The problem is that no one has total control over what is going to happen in their lives. Lately I've found myself faced with choices and choosing not to make any choice at all because if I don't choose any of them, then at least I know exactly how the situation will turn out. I never used to feel that way. I was pretty good at diving in and not looking back. But as the decisions I have to make get more serious, I become ever more cautious.
Lately I've been thinking a lot about the future. Making the decision to come back home and go to school locally took a lot of thinking. That choice was a pretty big step considering my recently developed phobia of making decisions, and I have to say, it felt pretty good. As soon as I realized that I was unhappy and that living at home was an option, a weight was lifted from my heart. But at the same time, it was undoubtably scary. All my life I had been planning to go away, to live in a dorm, to make great friends, and to be independent. I watched my siblings leave home as teenagers and come back as adults. I thought that going away to college was what made you grow up. A friend of mine recently reminded me that time is what makes you grow up, not where you live... Even though it seems obvious, that advice really stuck with me. I mean, it's true huh? It's the unexpected events that make you grow up, those accidents where you have to mature a little bit so that you can handle the situation. Life will happen no matter where you are. Anyway, all this is to say that my goal for this time around is to have fewer expectations. I want to live life and grow up without constantly assessing my situation. I want to be happy when I'm happy and sad when I'm sad. I don't want to continually overanalyze every emotion that crosses my path (because there are a lot). It'll be hard, but luckily I have my whole life to learn how to do it. Here's to new beginnings. So as it turns out, some of you really do enjoy reading my blog and were a bit concerned with the fact that I've been quiet for so long! Either that or y'all know me well enough to realize that if I'm not writing, I'm probably having some kind of mental break down :P Some of my loved ones have politely requested that I continue to work on this 'ol blog. So here I am! The truth is I haven't been writing my blog for a while because I'm going through a very uncertain time. I decided to not subject you to a different life plan outlined every week. If I had been writing the past couple of months by article titles would look something like "Kerry's life plan" "Kerry's new life plan" "Kerry's new life plan #2". Instead, I decided to wait until I had a solid path and then tell y'all about it.
Mills is a wonderful place. My classes are interesting, the people are nice, and the campus is beautiful. But it turns out that it just isn't for me. So next semester this girl will be back in town:) I could tell you all of the pros and cons that led me to this decision. I could make a detailed powerpoint justifying my return. But instead I'm just going to tell you this; I made the choice, and I'm happy about it. I think that the culture of kids choosing to live away for college was so ingrained in my head that I didn't consider the option of staying local. The truth is, I've got to do what's right for me. That seems so simple and so complicated at the same time. Simple because all I have to do is know what I want... But also complicated because I have to know what I want. Maybe I'll have to try a bunch of different things before I figure that out, but I have decided that that is just fine. You know what else I've decided? I hate the phrase "the best years of my life". Why do I hate it? Because how do you know? How do you know better years aren't coming? Before I left to go to Mills, the people told me that college would be the best years of my life. They talked about the life long friends that they made and the crazy adventures they went on. I felt so much pressure to have a good time that I spent all my time worrying about whether or not I was having a good time! I mean, to say that 4 years of my life were the best years that I will ever experience in my lifetime seems kind of depressing. What if on my 80th birthday I look up and realize that the past couple of years were way better than those 4 years in my 20s? I hate to think that we limit ourselves to 4 years of happiness. I am determined not to be that way. I hereby promise that I am not going to label any part of my life as best or worst. I have so many years left! There's no telling what will happen. I did it! I successfully completed my fist day of college. Although it was so hard to leave my home in the morning time, by the end of the day I felt as though I might be able to create another home here. It all happened so quickly, it's hard to remember what to tell you all about! I guess I'll just start from the beginning. In the morning, mom and I packed up the car and set off for the two hour drive to Oakland. In the car, I felt very aware of the fact that when Mom would make the trip back, I wouldn't be coming with her. Luckily, family gets to stay an extra day so I'll darn well cross that darn bridge when it darn well comes! I had already gotten most of my tears out the day before, so I wasn't a complete wreck (but there's still time for that today). When we got to Mills, we were welcomed by cheering girls and a friendly security guard. As we moved through all the orientation steps, I met new people, learned names I'm never going to remember and tried not to be too weird or embarrassing. Something about the stress of meeting new people tends to make me twice as awkward and cheesy. I think it's because I feel the need to laugh at all my own jokes in order to prompt them as to when to laugh. This usually ends in the potential friend giving me a slightly confused and terrified look as they slowly try to inch their way further from my demonic laughter. Anyhow, after calming down, I did manage to meet a lot of great new people. Better yet, they happen to live on my same hall! Later in the day, my honorary little sister and my honorary second mom came to help me move in. By the end, a room which started out looking like an empty box turned into a posh bay area loft. After dinner with some new friends there was a scavenger hunt (which I may have seemed a little too excited for). When I got back to my new room, I could feel my eyes already closing. Goodnights came flashing across my screen from all of my wonderful friends and family and with that, the first day was done...
Disclamer: As I am now an independent college freshman, my mother will no longer be feeding me, housing me and more to the point... proof reading my blog posts. Prepare yourself for some typos. Also, this is not any of y'all's chance to become my new editor :p I would rather my only comments not be comma corrections.. (except for you Mom, you can still correct me) Thanks for reading:) Kerry <3 Well, it's my last day at home. This little birdie is leaving the nest. Am I ready? Debatable... But I've been told that I'll never feel ready until I take the jump. I recently learned a new term which I felt described my current state of mind very well. Graduation goggles. It's used to describe that feeling of extreme nostalgia you get following High School Graduation (maybe other graduations as well, but I wouldn't know yet). During my last year of High School I wanted nothing more than to graduate and move on to a new chapter. Then graduation finally did come. A day when everyone looks their best, when you can finally feel proud of all those years of work, and when people who you never spoke to suddenly seem incredibly important in your life. Kids who I barely recognized told me they would miss me and in my heart I felt that I would miss them just as much. As summer passed, I began to look back on High School with more and more fondness. I found myself missing everything from my teachers and friends to the bathrooms that didn't lock and the mysterious pair of pink shorts that somehow came to live in the last stall. Luckily, just as my nostalgia began to get out of control, an article about leaving home crossed my path. The article seemed to describe my feelings exactly. My initial excitement for leaving, and my eventual dread. The author suggested that it might be helpful to take pictures of the worst parts of your hometown and look at them when you need a reminder of why you left. So if anyone comes across a picture of me drenched with sweat from the 103 degree weather here... now you know why;) Aside from the heat, there really isn't anything I'm escaping by leaving. I guess I'll have to focus on the good things that I'm going towards rather than the bad things that I'm leaving behind. I think the most important thing that this article offered me was perspective. That is where "graduation goggles" came in. I needed to take a step back and not let my fear of the future cause me to live in an enhanced version of the past. I will always cherish my memories from high school; but I also know that more memories are yet to be made. Wish me luck :)
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AuthorHey, it's Kerry:) I have 2 older sisters and they both started a blogs... so naturally (being the little sister) I joined the bandwagon. So here I am! I hope you enjoy, if not... well go find something else to do. :) Archives
June 2018
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