The Difference Between High School and College

Orientation ended back in late August and I was suddenly in the midst of that world that everyone talks about, the world that's the setting for many a film, the one I've heard will have the biggest impact on me than any other in my life. I don't know what I was expecting, but a few things have surprised me about it in the best way possible, and awakened me to the liberating reality that I do not miss high school one tiny bit. (Good thing I didn't get attached.)

-Staying up till 3 on a Tuesday night is a normality, but not because you're torturing yourself over homework. It'll be because your group spontaneously decided it was time for a Harry Potter marathon, or an impromptu trip for doughnuts and pizza before engaging in a high-stakes Nerf war in the dorm basement. Speaking of which...

-I have a group. I've never had a group before. I've had one or two friends in several different social spheres, but never a pack of my own. We have a group text to coordinate family dinners. What on earth?

-But that doesn't mean they're my only friends, either. I can't go anywhere without encountering at least 5 people that I have to say hi to and possibly hug, and how's their week going and that's a great sweater and we should hang soon and it was great to see you for the third time this week. By no means am I wildly popular, but I have more friends than I've ever had and it's kind of awesome.

-When you want to see someone, you can just... walk to their actual bedroom and start a conversation right where you left off the last one. I don't just go to school with these people. I live with them. They are intertwined into every aspect of my daily life, essentially making them my family. When I was home for Thanksgiving, I had the strange realization that outside of college, when you want to see a friend, you just have to... wait... until the next time you see each other.

-All those things that I cared about in high school? The completeness of every mundane homework assignment, whether or not so-and-so liked me or was mad at me or cared if I did anything, how impressive my transcript or extracurriculars looked? None. Of. It. Matters. No one talks about what scholarships they got, who was valedictorian or class president, or any of that. It's the best thing that could have happened, because I hated caring about that stuff to begin with.
Even to the most dedicated, high-stress college student, at the end of the day grades are just grades. 
Everyone understands that the things we remember about college won't be academic-related. For someone who's been an overachieving perfectionist their whole life, it's a freedom like no other.

-On a related note, all the prexisting requirements for "cool" are almost nonexistent. There is almost no fame attached to the members of student government, star athletes, people whose parents have a pool, the hot girls who have more friends than all the other girls. Being who you are is cool, and being different doesn't make you an outsider. It feels like a slap in the face to the people that "mattered" in high school for those other reasons, and for some sick reason I love it. I don't miss them.

-I don't even miss the kids I talked to every day, the ones I genuinely liked. Occasionally a faint memory of my few best friends comes to mind, and perhaps I wish they were with me, but that's it, because I don't want to leave where I am, even for them. Is that absolutely terrible? On the other hand, if I go a couple days without seeing my current friends, something feels horribly wrong. It's true what they say, about which friends you keep forever: it's the ones you meet in college.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When new people ask where I live, I don't say Virginia. I say Massachusetts. It's sort of unbelievable, but this is my home now. Which is problematic, since college is by definition an impermanent thing. But this will be the longest I've ever been in one place, and I think I'm okay with that. I'll stay a while.

The SuperBowl of Epiphanies

After binging on savory, gravy-based Thanksgiving dishes, cat cuddles, and a viewing of the third Hunger Games movie with my brother, I was nestled under the neck massager/heating pad watching the 49er's (unfortunately) turn over the ball to the Seahawks twice when I had an epiphany.

I've never been a sports fan. That much is certain. But I never realized exactly why until this moment. 

I've always been reasonably afraid that my lack of true vigor for sports will prevent my future husband from wanting to marry me, somehow. So it's understandable that I don't really talk about this. But in truth, I've never really been into watching sports (at least on TV) and probably never will. The problem isn't that I don't have a sport; it's that I don't have a team. And lamentably, this is irreversible. Here's why. 

For most people, watching sports starts with their favorite team. Any interest in watching other teams stems from their relationship to the "home" team or that team's rival. For diehard sports fans, this is because their loyalty to a certain team comes from their loyalty to a place. Philadelphia. San Francisco. Chicago. Boston. The greater DC area. You get it. For my parents, their teams are a symbol of where they grew up. Their family. Their livelihood. Of course they would care about that. They should. 

I don't have any real loyalty to a team because I don't have a hometown. The closest I have is a vague, exaggerated allegiance to my parents' teams, mostly my dad's because I was born near where he grew up. It's familial, but in reality, sports teams mean nothing to me. I didn't grow up going to games. It doesn't remind me of my hometown atmosphere. I have no connection to them, and because of the person that I am, somehow this means I can't honestly get behind them. 

Though this all seems like an arbitrary and completely useless revelation, you're going to have to take my word that it brought me incredible relief. Finally, I have a logical reason for why I get distracted during the SuperBowl. It's like I didn't realize I was waiting to forgive myself until now. 

So, in conclusion: Mr. Right, I will completely respect and support your right to scream at the TV and have friends over when your team goes to the SuperBowl, and I will even pretend to be fully engaged, but I will never be the girl that can put on a jersey, sit in the middle of the couch on the edge of my seat and banter with the guys about players, no matter how much I wish I was. I will, however, wear the jersey because I think it looks cool. 

Dear American Red Cross,

According to you, a pint of Liquid Me was unwelcome today in the science center during the blood drive. Why, you may ask? Well, apparently spending 5 or more years in Japan puts me at a slightly higher risk for a blood disease that they conveniently can't test for without an autopsy. So it looks like my dangerous foreign-exposed blood will not be saving any lives except my own.

And as I left the science center having gained a chapel credit but lost no blood, I was tempted to regret having told the truth about that small Asian island that held so much of my life in its salty hands. But then I stopped myself. 

Because you know what? 

That fifth year in Okinawa- the definitive year that prevented me from giving blood today- gave me the happiest and most fulfilling moments of my life. I spent it with the people who will be in my wedding- the people who saw more of my character grow and hold more of my heart than any other bunch on this measly continent. I jumped off a 30-foot tower into the ocean. I set a bonfire in my backyard. I latched onto the tail fin of a moving whale shark. I ate fried rice so incredible it made me cry just thinking about it a year later. I laughed and cried when things mattered, dreamed wildly and loved more than I knew I could. 

And I refuse to regret it. Because that year on that jewel of an island may have prevented me from saving anyone else's life today... but it sure saved mine. 

November Adventure Bucket List

Now that this giant gem of a fall show is over and my days just expanded by several hours, I want to use them with gusto. So without further ado, here are some excursions upon which I wish to embark, in no particular order.

• Find the nearest animal shelter/pet store with a room that lets you play with the puppies and kittens and just spend a solid hour letting furry animals soothe my soul.

• Go to a planetarium show. (Everything inside me longs for this more than I can express.)

• Spend several hours in Boston by myself, just walking around or maybe touring a museum.

• Visit the aquarium and giggle with glee at the fishes and turtles and jellyfish and such.

• Go to Chili's. I haven't eaten there in forever and there is a whole in my heart that only unlimited chips and salsa and Molten Chocolate Cake will satisfy.

• Find a new woodland trail and spend an afternoon taking pictures with friends there.

• Visit a pentecostal church and unabashedly praise with my whole body.

• Learn the Around the World swing dancing move so I can return to the Debauchery Swing club with something up my sleeve. Also, the Helicopter.

• Finish figuring out GarageBand and then go to Philips and whip out piano covers of Painting Roses, West, and a couple others. Then mix them and add harmonies and such and maybe post them on SoundCloud if they're good.

• Get better at riffing on the ukulele by watching Jake Shimbakuro tutorials on YouTube and crying a little.

• Bake cookies with the Quad Squad and then watch Inception. Or Lord of the Rings. Or anything, really.

• Write more letters. To relatives. To old friends. To new friends. To Santa. (Wait what?)

• Continue to attempt abstract watercolors and continue to turn out grade-school-level blobs of color that vaguely resemble a landscape. 

• Acquire more hats. (I don't really need more time for that, it's just something I want to do.)

My spontaneity level is either about to skyrocket or plummet. Fingers crossed. 

Research Hours

We can curl our knees
towards us, tightly fitting
ourselves between bookcases
like puzzle pieces with sore
backs for infinite
cups of hot chocolate

but the conversations I remember
best will always be
the ones I have later,
with myself, bouncing
off the parallel walls
in hallways
that offer no answers
as to why I can't
just be brave

because it's the aftermath
that brings the epiphany,
the crunching icy remnants
of what-ifs
shouting that fine line
between bravery
and spontaneity,
and how I can't admit
that I lack the
thing I want most
to be,

since that would require
less thinking
and more doing-
its easier to accept
that reality
and my imagination
will never
be friends

First Snow

Sweater-wrapped palms
suppress breathy giggles
that bubble
from that place
I forgot was still
inside me
the place that doesn't
care that class
won't be canceled

the rough patch
in the middle of my
tongue is permanently
scorched from all
the times
I sipped too soon,
dunked my nose
into whipped cream
and sank my shoulders
into booths with
blissful sighs

so I tie the belt
on my coat with the
satisfying tug
of a secret agent,
feel the wind
bite my nose
and make it blush,
complain
with the rest
that my toes are numb,
and bury my palms
in my damp
sweater sleeves.

Home Again, Finally

There was the moment I stood up in the Boston airport to board my flight, realizing I was actually going home. I thought about my mom and brother eating dinner or watching TV at that moment, with no clue I was on my way to them. I thought about all the people around me, and how I was probably one of many in the airport making that last leg of a journey to people they loved. This overwhelming adrenaline rush hit me like a wave, and I had to swallow the tears that welled up in my eyes so the airport guy I handed my boarding pass to didn't think I was scared of air travel.

There was the moment I finally made it off the plane, down the long hallway to exit 7, across the street and into my dad's waiting arms, suitcase skidding into us both, and clung to him for a lot longer than I expected, trying not to cry as I climbed into the passenger seat so we could excitedly discuss surprise logistics on the drive home.

There was the moment my mom sat bolt upright in bed and gasped when she saw me standing in her room, before I tackled her and we hugged about seven times because each time we realized it wasn't enough. Eventually we realized we were a level of excited that only a 1:00 a.m. bowl of cereal would satisfy.

There was the moment this morning when I scooped up my cat and brought him back to my bed, and he immediately curled up under my arm and started purring, as if to say, it's about time. 

There was the moment I entered the school via the chorus room back door and four or five of my friends lost their minds with shock, hugging me until their indignant teacher straight up told me to leave, so I scurried down the hallway, grinning from ear to ear because all the cool college kids in the world just don't have that effect.

There was the wordlessly perfect moment of surprising Timmy at school.
The office lady and I waited for 20 agonizing minutes with my phone camera poised, my entire insides buzzing. Finally he came casually striding down the hallway with his backpack, and nothing will ever take away the perfect moment when he saw me and came running forward, his cool mask falling away as we bear hugged around the hallway for a full minute.
I was expecting him to vocalize some exclamation of surprise, but all that came out were joyfully dumbfounded chuckles... because he was literally too happy to speak.
Once he'd signed himself out and I'd gotten my phone back from the office aide, we started walking towards the side doors, but we couldn't stop hugging each other, and finally we had to stop in the middle of the hallway for a good long one. When we came apart, we were both wiping away tears, and suddenly he said what we were both feeling: "I didn't realize how much I missed you until I saw you."

----------------------------------------

And then there was the moment at dinnertime. We all filled our plates with the last of the Coco's curry rice and sat down. We held out our hands to each other to pray- and just like that, the circle was whole again, all four of us. And suddenly my mom and I looked up at each other across the table, and our eyes filled with tears because we were both thinking the same thing.

The Package Dilemma

Somewhere between
my out-loud conversations
with myself
on the way to class
and kicking off my shoes
in the middle of the forest
to dance wildly
under the trees
I realized
I have a bit of hard time
fitting into boxes.

For instance
I love theater,
yet I cannot stand Shakespeare
and somehow this burns within me
like a secret sin

I detest math
but love science
and aren't those a package deal?
it's like the way
I relish stories
but yawn through history classes

I need
the same friends
and old haunts
and cookie recipes
but too much stability bores me
and I crave adventure
at the drop of a hat

Maybe that's why
when I watch action movies
I can never decide
whether I want to be
the hero
or the damsel
because both sound pretty awesome,
if you ask me

And try as I might,
I can't find a category
to contain me
but the real trouble is-
I keep waiting for someone
else
to get it, because
I don't want to be the one
writing all this
about myself.

Omelet Fridays

There's something serendipitous
about the way I walk to breakfast
alone each morning,
the way the route never changes
but the scenery always does

and I never know
if a year from now
someone will look over
and notice
and wonder why

or will it just be me
and my meaningless
beautiful
rituals?

Rejuvenation

My roommate and her mom brought me up to their sprawling, 100-year old beach house in Cape Cod for a few days, and it's so much better than an uninteresting, ordinary college homecoming weekend could ever be.

Had a nice hangout with Jesus this morning. 

 It was so much more soul-refreshing in person, but look! Just look. 

The library is a good one.

This pastry shop has the richest hot chocolate I've ever experienced.

She convinced me it was a good idea to jump off the pier into the freezing ocean, and she was right. 

----------------------------

Now I'm cuddled up in the cutest pink blanket of all time, with a belly full of spaghetti and some very melty chocolate chip cookies. We watched The Holiday, which was much more heartwarming than I expected, and now I have the urge to befriend complete strangers when I get back to Gordon. 

You know what, maybe I will. 

If you ever get the chance to spend 3 days in a remote location where you know no one and have nothing to think about, always take that chance. It's so, so good. 

The Latest in Musical Discoveries

It's been a while since I've posted my latest favorite songs, mostly because it's rarely ever one song. But in this case, it's an artist: Andrew Bird.

I was sitting in Chester's the other night, partaking in warm chai and invigorating conversation with a couple friends, and suddenly the room was flooded with this magical music that perfectly echoed the fullness of my heart at that moment. (We were talking about God's amazing provision, manifested in the coolness of astronomy and my getting a role in the play, among other things, and I was overwhelmed with how blessed I was in that moment). I leapt up from my seat, ran over to the counter and requested the name of the song and artist. To my delight, Andrew Bird is one of those rare artists whose every song (not just one or two) hits some part of my soul in a unique way.

Friends, partake in my delight:


(the song playing at Chester's that night)



(a lovely instrumental I've taken to listening to in the mornings)

College Mornings, Sans Cat

It's hard to wake up
without the warm, furry solidity
of my cat under my arm and comforter
reminding me that mornings
are meant for snuggling,
not busyness.

But college is nothing
if not rushed,
so I hurry up and out
through lectures
and cans of soup
and a Granny Smith apple

Until I can retire again
to my comforter
and the pale glow
of moonlight
through the vertical blinds

When morning reappears,
I tug my arms into a sweater
to find brown and white cat hairs,
preemptively shed back in June,
reminding me again-
the best moments are never rushed.

Weekend Hypocrisy

In the most joyous moment of college thus far, I got a lead in my first college show and cried in my dorm as the awesomeness just rolled over me. I feel like it's important that that's been acknowledged.

Other than that...

I have a roommate who likes Netflix marathons at 9:30pm. I have a cool girl named Elise that likes sleepovers when one of our roommates is gone and having weird crushes on people and will eat with me even if she has to say hi to six people before she makes it to my table. I have a squad of 4 guys who eat enough for 3 people at every meal and mainly sit around their room listening to rap music, but sometimes they let me sit in there with them. I have a group text full of my La Vida girls that will sometimes cause my phone to light up when one of them asks if I want to eat a meal with them. I have an adopted older brother that will get a late-night chocolate with me at least 3 times a week and talk about life. 

Those people are the ones that have kept me going. But on the weekends, when they're all either off-campus or hanging out with other people, I end up walking around campus aimlessly wishing I had more than 3 numbers in my phone, or going for a walk around the pond because "I really just wanted some alone time anyway."

The truth is, I'm lonely most of the time. And I'm tired of people telling me to find friends instead of actually being my friend. It forces me to follow impressive people around and wait for them to tell me I'm cool rather than just calling up someone and going to the mall at a moment's notice. 

Note to sophomore/junior self: Don't you dare be too cool to be friends with freshmen. Most of them don't have cars, and they desperately want someone to drag them off campus, and if you treat them like adults they won't act like kids. But having a superiority complex will only cement you inside your boring circle and make the people that deserve friendship feel like they're not worth the time. 

Because that's what keeps running through my head. I'm just not worth the time. 

This Morning's Daydreams

When I have a daughter, instead of dressing her during her little kid years, I'm going to ask her every day what she wants to wear. She wants to wear rain boots, a tutu, and overalls at the same time? Go for it. She wants to combine every orange item she owns? Awesome. Every morning will be its own fashion show.

I'll never tell her not to splash in mud puddles because she'll get her dress dirty. I'll help her learn anything she wants, whether it's embroidery or power tools or tap dancing or kung fu. I'll never tell her a chapter book is too far above her reading level.

When she's six and asking all the questions she's too young to understand the answers to yet, I'll give her the best, most magical answers I can come up with until she figures out the boring answers. Santa will answer all her letters, and always leave a present for the cat, but she'll know the real meaning of Christmas like she knows her own name. And speaking of her name, if she doesn't like it, she can make another one up until she does.

Storytime will be as important as dinnertime. Dinnertime will sometimes be ice cream, or brownies, or Captain Crunch. Rainy days will be play days, so she'll learn to never let the weather get her down. And when she's honest about her mistakes, she'll get a consequence... and a cookie. That way when she's seventeen and wrecks the car, the first person she'll call is me, and I'll be at the scene with a whole batch.

See you someday, little princess.

Hesitantly Brightening

Flower flower, don't you worry
flower flower, there's no hurry
flower flower, don't you cry
your day will come before you die

For the past week, I find myself singing this little tune to myself as I hop on my bike or walk down the hill or push through the same doors as everyone else and try not to bump into people. College so far is a series of opportunities that I feel either not qualified to take part in or not brave enough to attempt to take in the first place. But every time, I sing this song and sigh and let a breeze filter through my hair as my green bike whisks me away and somehow, it's not the end of the world.

Today I also realized I've gotten into this habit of walking into rooms unsure if I'm supposed to be there. I realized that certain sweaters or ways of arranging my hair create my feelings about myself on any given day instead of revealing them.

Everyone is just so put together here, and I have this urge to be effortlessly beautiful, because to me true beauty is that which doesn't realize it is beautiful. And as the air gets cooler and the leaves get ready to brighten, I can feel the world coming into its own beauty and I want nothing more than to do the same. But I don't know how.

Also, I can tell fall is going to give me unrealistically romantic expectations about life and love (for example, did you know that a hundred laptop keyboards clicking and typing sounds exactly like rain hitting tree leaves?), and I'd better decide what to do with those crazy chemicals.

That's about it for this week.

Stranger Travels

"So Abigail, where are you from?"

I am from the lesser-known
The habited colonies of the nooks and crannies
From the mermaid lagoon on the Rappahanock River
The coral crags on the East China Sea
And cluttered passports
filled to the brim with layovers
the unplanned 12 hours in Shanghai
and airport orange chicken

Home is not a main street
and the same 3 best friends

My roads are thumbtack trails
across paper maps
my neighborhoods are various
Terminal A's
or E's
or C's
and places that say more
than people ever could

I have no space
or time
for wall murals
or gardens
or scrapbooks in the traditional sense

To see the adventures
I merely trace the scar on my thumb
twist my sun-bleached hair between my fingers
pick the scraped skin from the soles of my feet
the places where my skin has ripped, torn
and sewn itself together again

I run my fingertips over the stitches
on my heart
opened too many times
from the ripping-out of
forgotten friends

But higher education doesn't believe in Band-Aids,
do they?
Just study groups
rectangular tables
and the occasional kind soul
over a cup of chai

Update

I'm eating a bag of pretzels in a comfy library chair, listening to Spotify next to a backpack of my (nearly) finished homework, feeling like the cool, casual, studious quintessential college kid that I undoubtably am.

I have a gorgeous, mint green bike with a basket. I have bags of tea and a hot water heater in my dorm. I have lots of sweatshirts. I have friendly and crazy intelligent professors. I have access to relatively delicious food. I have dozens of acquaintances. I have a gorgeous woodland path where I can retreat at any time.

I don't have envelopes in which to seal letters home. I don't have the willpower to go to the gym. I don't have the bravery to email the sophomore RA dude that yes, I am interested in all-hall worship. I can sing. I can kind of sing. I don't have the confidence to dress exactly the same every day and gaily bounce up to people I don't know. I don't have air conditioning in my room. I don't have a church (yet).

I don't have friends.

But I have a lovely roommate, a bed, clothes, woodland paths, and God. So those will tide me over. The rest remains to be seen.

Stay tuned.

Into The Light

A wise person once told me that the question is not who are you, but rather, who are you today? Over the past couple days, I've discovered that it's become something like- who am I this at this particular moment? Do I like them? More importantly, who else might?

For example, an hour ago my favorite song was Simple Song, yet as I walked back to Fulton a few minutes ago I couldn't think of any tune more lovely than Any Way. This morning, I was a girl without glasses with a perfectly placed side braid, but tonight I was an adorable, glasses-wearing free spirit who wore loose sweatshirts and untamed wavy locks.

But somewhere in between the worship jam sesh and tedious trek back up the hill, I discovered that maybe these miniature facets and personalities of Abigail Erdelatz are only hints at who she is truly becoming, and the final picture may include all or none of the rough drafts.

Because there are like-minded friends, and there are like-hearted friends. And the like-minded ones may love one of the rough drafts as if it's the final project, but it takes a like-hearted soul to see through the revision process to the masterpiece that is yet to be. These are the souls that will then help pull such a masterpiece into the light. The ones that lift the burden of the rough drafts. The ones I hope to find.

Have I found any such gems of human beings? It remains to be seen. But I have a slightly less foggy picture of what to look for, and that's something to rejoice over, isn't it?

Dis-Orientation Weekend

Well guys, I've arrived.

*looks around*

*twiddles thumbs*

....Yeah. 

College.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple things:

-My room is an oven.

-The air is brisk already.

-There are little to no opportunities to be alone.

-Icebreakers. Hate them. Forced friendship? No thanks.

-My triple room may yet become a double. More space!

-The paths are beautiful, though unexplored.

-I have this inexplicable urge to make pancakes.

-And play an instrument. All the time. 

I think that's all I can comprehend just yet.

Stay tuned. 

A Cryptically-Worded Ephiphany

It's amazing how clarity and perspective never comes when you're looking for it.

Like, there you are, scrambling around, frustrated for reasons and answers and solutions that won't come, and then suddenly you're sitting in a car or walking your dog or saying something for the hundredth time, and suddenly five epiphany-like thoughts come to you all at once, each one with enough genius packed into it to solve an entire season of a crime drama.

It's amazing and freeing to realize that you don't have to work so hard, and also incredibly humbling to realize that you were stressing over something you didn't have to stress over. They say the Lord works in mysterious ways, and it's a huge understatement. Just two days ago, a seemingly arbitrary line in a daily devo book spoke to me, but only to the extent that I thought, wow, that's cool, it reminds me of that thing that's so true that has nothing to do with me. But then today, it came back to me coupled with another line from the same page, and suddenly I got it, and I realized that it could not only apply to the thing I thought it applied to, but also to my internal state of confusion in an indirect, domino-effect kind of way. (It was another crime drama moment, complete with dramatic flashback.)

Then I went on a walk and thought through everything I'd realized in the form of a monologue, which is how I typically do things, and I found that I wasn't frustrated anymore. Suddenly, a state of calm which can only be described as the peace of the Holy Spirit filled my entire being and I was like, wow. I never knew it could feel so good to care just a little bit less.

I don't know what purpose this serves other than to solidify the fact that I've figured something out, but I think it's significant whenever a weight gets lifted, or anytime you feel the calm assurance of an inward choice.

So to wrap things up with a semi-coherent nugget of wisdom, things can only dominate your life if you let them. You always have a choice.

Why I Love To Cry

My favorite moments, coincidentally, are the saddest. The ones where my entire being was cleansed of the petty, inconsequential nuisances of this world and was filled with nothing but pure emotion, usually love. Love so raw and painful that it welled up inside me and escaped in the form of salt water and tightly clenched fingers.

My favorite day on this earth thus far was also one of the most bittersweet. It began with new music and seawall jumping, and ended with a 2:00am walk with an old friend, realizing that this was the point at which our lives would never be the same again. That friend and I have yet to cross paths since.

The saddest moments are also the most vivid.

I will never forget lying in bed two years ago, staring up at the ceiling, when the taste of apple tea and fried rice in my mind forced me to a sitting position as I silently wept at the ceiling because I knew I could never taste it again.

I can vividly recall the nights in which my AP US History readings and Math Analysis worksheets pushed me past the 12:30 brink of desperation, a place I'd never been before, and I would suddenly remember Mr. Coia's class discussions or Ms. Burger's freshman history class and wish I was anywhere but at a desk in Virginia, head on my textbook, exhausted from striving for the perfection I'd never reach.

I will forever cling to the infinite minutes I spent stretched over the center console of a Civic, arms clasped tightly in an embrace, sniffling back tears of fear and regret, but also drinking in every second because I'd never felt more deeply loved.

And my favorite of all these is the saddest. The one I can't even write. Because the truth is that some moments are more beautiful than a mere 26 letters can depict.

Dear God,

Is there a reason that my best Okinawa friend suddenly can't come for a week and my best Virginia friend had to move to Alabama and my best longtime friend has to have cooler, busier friends and my best neighborhood friend has to leave this Saturday and is there a reason that I have to be alone?

Because if there is, it better be a dang good one.

It's my last summer before college, homebro. This is it. I don't want to spend it cleaning out my closet and sitting in front of my computer watching sad reruns on YouTube and.... dorm shopping. That's not what this summer is supposed to be. It's supposed to be about adventure and trying those insane things you've always wanted to do and listening to great music with great people and making memories right up until the moment you leave.

Problem is, I don't have any great people. And all my music is rather outdated right now.

Is this my life? Please say no.

Souvenir Creativity

"It is more blessed to give than to receive." I've often praised the truthfulness of this age-old proverb, as I am a huge gift-giving person (it's kinda my love language) and take an unnecessary amount of joy in watching someone enjoy the Christmas present I got them. But the more brain power you take to really digest this nugget of wisdom, and the more effort you take putting it into practice, the more you realize: woah.
Getting something is but a small taste of the joy and fulfillment that comes when you give. When you put a bit of your heart, your joy, yourself into something... and that something enriches someone else's life... it's something way bigger.

I feel this way about gift-giving, but also about everything else. It's why I try hard at giving sincere compliments. In a way, I think being an avid reader actually helped this. I have a fairly well-developed vocabulary at this point, which equips me to say you don't just look nice... you look ravishing. You look elegant. You are more uniquely special than a generic, all-encompassing compliment. I love finding the right word for things at all times, and when I find the right one to make someone's day, it's even better.

Conversely, I enjoy thinking up cool compliments (rather than deconstructing others'), so I'm not as good at receiving compliments- something I've tried to work on lately. It sort of discounts a compliment when the person being complimented just brushes it off (like, if you "look awful," why'd I bother?). So I'd like to be as creative at saying thank you as I try to be in giving, so that even when someone gives me something- a gift, a compliment, advice, etc.- I can receive it in a way that blesses them just as much as it did me.

This is totally a Jesus thing. Anytime he was praised, or given a gift, or anything, he immediately used the opportunity to point the attention away from Himself- towards God. Often, He would also honor the gift-giver when the gift was genuine, such as the woman who wiped His feet with perfume. He was selfless at all times. It's something I long to embody as of late.

Don't get me wrong: I don't want to overdo anything, like be overly thoughtful in my gifts to the point of creepiness or say thanks a million times. I just think that being just a bit more creative than the bare minimum can make a huge difference at a tiny cost. In fact, I think that's a pretty good principle to live by.

So don't settle for gift cards, kids. If someone's important to you, find a gift or word that's equally unique.

(No pressure)

Top 6 Favorite Movies

Because I'm weird and I couldn't just pick 5.

1. The Parent Trap(1999)

No, I haven't seen the original. Does it bother me? Not really. I can quote every line, know which scene it is from a single note of the score, point out filming mistakes, and every time I go to anything close to a summer camp, I dress like Hallie in the first scene.

2. Flipped

If you haven't seen it, what are you doing with your life. It's the sweetest depiction of young teenagers in the 50's you've ever seen. Also, great soundtrack and score. There's a part about a sycamore tree that had me weeping because I also love to climb trees. The back and forth narration is perfect. Just see it.

3. Warm Bodies

I thought it would be lame when I went to the movie theater with Matt and Rachel on that fateful spring evening, but oh how wrong we were. The witty humor. The adorably awkward protagonist. The sweet and unique love story. The thought-provoking one-liners that hold monumental truths. The stunning film score (oops, listening to it right now). The incredible soundtrack (Bruce Springsteen! Delta Spirit! Bon Iver!). I watched it so many times that summer that now it signifies that period of my life.

Epic sidenote: I have her jacket. 

4. Rocky series/Jason Bourne series

I grew up on the Rocky movies and Jason Bourne. They always reminds me of my dad. He relishes practically every Rocky scene, and references Bourne if we ever need to do something efficiently and in a hurry. (The best opportunities are always in airports or subways.) When the Rocky movies come on, he just walks around the kitchen smiling and repeating all the great lines. We quote the "Yo Adrian!" line whenever one of us overcomes any sort of challenge. (Example: when I finished applying for college he made me a card with that as the opening line.) Rocky II is definitely my favorite of those, but who can pick the best Bourne movie? (The fourth one doesn't count, by the way.)

5. Stranger Than Fiction

It's my favorite role of Will Ferrell's, and that includes Buddy the Elf. He plays a character that's so unique, and the story is told in such a witty, funny, charming, intelligent way. Dustin Hoffman and Emma Thompson are sublime. Plus the fact that the soundtrack is basically just a the instrumental versions of a bunch of fantastic Spoon songs, yet somehow they fit perfectly. It has this great storytelling vibe that I just can't get over. I love the twists and turns, and how I can't put my finger on if it's a comedy or drama. I think it's both. And the ending is satisfying and tidy without being too cliche. It's so underrated.

I've decided instead of a picture you just need to see the opening scene.

6. The Fugitive

I can't really think of another one that I get as excited over when I see it on TV. I'm a sucker for good murder mysteries, and this one is so well done. Plus the fact that Harrison Ford and Tommy Lee Jones play so well together. My dad loves to quote this one a lot, too. All activity halts if this comes on TV.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And since I'm feeling generous: my Top 6 Film Scores.

1. Parent Trap




(What's playing in my head when I'm dashing anywhere in a hurry)

2. Warm Bodies



3. Saving Mr. Banks



4. The Lovely Bones



5. Flipped



(I think you have to have it on iTunes to hear it, sorry)

6. Finding Nemo

Flannels and Lattes and Humility

I just read an article called "Killing Christian Hipster" and am choosing to write about it pronto, because convictions are flying from my heart about it.

Basically, there's this trend going around in certain Christian circles known on Twitter as the "Evangelical Hipster," and to be honest, I'm totally becoming one. I have a solid black journal that I use to journal and doodle lyrics to Hillsong United in. My wardrobe consists of beanies and flannels. I've had some sick fellowship in coffeeshops and hiking trails. My bible is full of underlinings and margin annotations and whatnot. I have a playlist on Spotify entitled "Into the Wilderness." I'm currently obsessed with Oswald Chambers' insights. Gordon College is absolutely filled to the brim with Christian hipsters, and if we're being real with each other, that's kinda why I felt at home there when I visited.

*looks down at self*
Guys. I'm wearing glasses and TOMS. Right. Now.

It's happened. And try as I might, I can't change my style or simply stop liking certain songs... or lattes. But what hit me in the article was the idea that we make this quirky, Christian brand of cool our little safety bubble, rather than relying on Christ alone to be our foundation.

~~~~~~~
"What if Jesus called you to kill the cool? What if Jesus called you to minister in a place where you couldn’t post Instagram photos with cute kids? What if Jesus called you to a church home where the pastor’s sermons weren’t available as podcasts? What if the body of believers Christ surrounded you with were unschooled ordinary men and not a sanctified version of Mumford and Sons? What if being a follower of Jesus meant you had less or no Twitter followers?"
~~~~~~~

Something I've noticed (or rather, God's pointed out to me) about myself recently is I get way too wrapped up in the masses' approval of me. Or not even me, really- my image. I'll spend an hour taking a hundred selfies that look like I was just in the middle of doing something, selecting and editing one, and then posting it at a time when I think I'm most likely to get the most likes. I'm completely serious. It's tough for me to even admit that, but recently my opinion of myself has often hinged on the public's approval of my cute face or witty tweets. 

At the same time, my bible studies lately have often been geared towards killing selfish impulses or self-centered motivations in our spiritual lives. It's so amazing. The more I learn about denying all worldly pleasures for God's Will alone, the more my own selfish desires pop up all over the place and assert themselves. I'm not sure if it's the enemy trying to stall any growth or just the Lord pointing out flaws that have always been there. Either way, it's incredibly humbling. The article was just another reminder. 

~~~~~~~~
"Jesus doesn’t need your cool for His kingdom. He doesn’t need us to be famous to make Himself famous. Jesus works beautifully through our brokenness and completely through our surrender."
~~~~~~~~

I'm realizing more and more that what I need is hardly the perfect social media profile, or even coffee-making skills or hip prayer lingo or any of the things most of my spiritual role models display on the outside. I need something far greater than those peripheral impressions. 

I need the Lord. And that's it. 

So I can go to a thousand bible studies run out of someone's wood-furnished living room with acoustic, harmonized worship and flannel-wearing lumberjacks, but when I've sung Oceans for the 57th time and filled up a a hundred Moleskin journals and posted dozens of pictures of mission trip VBS on my Instagram, I'm still a sinner.

It's only when I've stripped everything about me to this single need... for Christ and His Will... that He can even begin to work. That's convicting as well. But guys. Jesus doesn't need our cool for His kingdom... so no pressure. If any of you have ever portaged a canoe (which I did two weeks ago... my poor shoulders), it's like the moment when you put it down and dunk your dripping-with-sweat face into the lake. Cool, beautiful relief. 

Seeing Simply

I'd rather be blind than deaf.

Yes, it'd be a tragic loss to miss out on sunrises and photography and the beauty of people and places and things. But more tragic than the loss of music and laughter and whispers and shouts and communication in general? I'm not sure.

Besides, I've heard that there's this kind of awareness that comes with not seeing. It's a combination of a  loss of body-consciousness (that in my opinion, would be vastly freeing) and an intuition of other's feelings by touch or the amount of tension in the air. When you can't see, you can't see what others physically look like. All superficial judgements disappear. But even better, you can't see what you look like. It doesn't matter if your hair isn't perfect or if you're making some goofy grin that puts your emotions all over your face. At least, it doesn't matter to you.

I think it'd be even easier to really see that way.

That's why I love being in the dark. Where you can't communicate with vague facial expressions or body gestures. You have to give voice to your thoughts in perfect clarity. Or, you don't have to say anything at all. You can speak and listen with the way your heart beats, the way you breathe, the way the thoughts trail through your head in all that empty blackness.

Ironically, as the days continue to be brighter and hotter, I have this small craving for pitch black spaces. The cool, silent, simple emptiness of perfect darkness, where movement can be scarce and words can be even scarcer.

Bald Eagles and Bugs

If anyone's wondering why I haven't posted in two weeks or so (or maybe no one reads this and actually I'm being silly...or whatever), it's because I've just spent the last 12 days fighting mosquitos and sore muscles in the Adirondack mountains with some of the most awesome girls I've yet to meet in an outdoor education program with my college called La Vida.

The experiences and spiritual epiphanies are far too meaningful to sum up in a blog post (which I knew even before I embarked), so I decided to write down one thing every day that summed up the day's challenges. I put them in the form of packing tips, so if any of you lovely readers (imaginary or otherwise) decide to try a survival expedition of your own, you'll be well-prepared.

Day 1: Invest in a small camping pillow!
(My neck became rather sore after resting on hard ground or a rolled up piece of clothing at night)

Day 2: Headlamps are invaluable. 
(vs. flashlights, which are not hands-free)

Day 3: Quick-drying clothes ONLY.
(When it pours for the first 48 hours and even the sleeping bag inside your tent is damp, you want your t-shirts and cargo pants to be dry after only 30 minutes on a line)

Day 4: Sneakers should be narrow with excellent tread.
(If you're rock-climbing, whether or not your toe can fit into that minuscule crack makes all the difference.)

Day 5: Bring thick, high-SPF sunscreen AND a face stick. Oh, and a sturdy 32 oz. water bottle. 
(Apparently the tips of your ears can, in fact, get burned when you're in a canoe.)

Day 6: Your bug spray should coat you well and have the potency to kill anything within 5 feet of you.
(Spray it on any exposed skin. Wipe it on your face. Spray it on the brim of your hat. Spray it on your thermal underwear, which they will bite through. It won't keep them from biting you, but it'll repel them... for a while. Also: sleep with a bug net over your head if you have to. *shudder*)

Day 7: Bring layers that cover your arms without heating you up too much (aka bug protection), and ones that zip are easier than pullovers. Also, the bug spray thing again. 
(Bonus: Mosquitos can't bite through a raincoat!)

Day 8: You need 3 pairs of shoes: hiking boots, water shoes, and easy slip-on ones that will ALWAYS be dry.
(If you're too lazy to lace up the boots all the time, you can wear socks around a campsite, but they will get filthy and you can still step on twigs.)

Day 9: Shorts should have liners, and bandanas work better than bobby pins.
(When you only have room for 4 pairs of underwear, you need ways to cheat. And a bandana tied like a headband is actually kind of cute- and the only accessory you'll probably do.)

Day 10: There is no such thing as too many pairs of socks.
(If you walk around the forest in them or a surprise thunderstorm shows up right as you put those great blue ones on, you'll be glad.)

Day 11: Your sleeping bag better be warm AND waterproof.
(Apparently, a tarp stretched across some trees is not foolproof protection when it decides to pour for two solid hours right before bed. Also: rain in the mountains is not refreshing, but freezing.)

Day 12: Never underestimate how cold it can get in the morning. Bring gloves AND a hat, even in the summer. Sleep in them if you have to.
(You think just because it's July 4th it won't be 45 degrees? Haha. Think again.)

Jokes aside, it was an amazing trip, regardless of uncomfortable weather/bug/clothing conditions. How can you focus on something silly like the sweaty smell of your dri-fit shirt when you're looking at this?

Doors, Literal and Otherwise

Right before I go to bed, I have this habit of cleaning my room. I don't break out dust rags and Febreeze or anything, but I usually put away any clothes laying around, arrange the various bottles of lotion and detangler into their designated corner of my dresser, and lastly, I make sure my closet door is closed. I can't sleep with the closet door open. It's just... a thing. (I know I'm not the only one.)

But the thing is, I always end up leaving the closet door open until the last possible second. Maybe I forgot to put away the last bit of laundry, or am picking out a shirt for the next day, or something. But shutting that door is always the last thing I end up doing.

I'm a "just in case" person. I like to keep doors open until the last possible second.

Thing is, I'm starting to feel that second approaching. As I plan my last bonfires and leave my last comments on the deserted pages of old friends I'm about to allow myself to let go of, it's like the nightly moment when I burrow under the gray/blue/white comforter and wonder if I've forgotten to do something important... because I know when I wake up, it'll be gone forever.

I keep feeling like I'm forgetting something. Which things should I let myself lose forever?

It's a tough one.

Dear Princess,

Remember when you hated me? You would tweet mean things about me every morning. 

Sometimes I wonder if you still do.

Other times I wonder if I am nothing more than a foot in the door. A secret weapon. 

Other times I wonder if I should feel guilty for even talking to you.

But mostly, I just want to have you over for a sleepover and see if you're real. 

Maybe I just want to be able to have genuine love for you. Then I wouldn't have to keep feeling like a penance for someone else's bitterness. 

Not-So-Distant Horizons

I'm still not sure if the whole "done with grade school forever" thing actually hit me, but I did feel this awesome adrenaline rush when I walked across the stage and looked out at all the people at graduation. And when they officially pronounced us graduates, I felt this huge, wild joy rising up inside me and I felt like screaming and throwing confetti and hugging everyone... so I did. It was amazing. It was over in a flash.

And you know something hilarious? Up until then, I felt so unprepared and terrified for the idea of leaving home for good and being in charge of my very own self. Choosing classes, managing free time, shopping for my own groceries... it all seemed so foreign and scary.

But yesterday morning, I woke up and went online to Gordon College's website. I completed the Pre-Orientation online class and was not overwhelmed by the boatload of information it provided. I picked my first semester classes and felt... excited.

Today, I'm going to put on my new Fighting Scots t-shirt from my school (so fun to say that), scan all the papers that include the packing lists for the La Vida trip (I leave in barely more than a week! 12 days, no showers, here I come), and write down the exact number of athletic shirts and track shorts I have to shop for. I will be excited and not intimidated about the fact that I'm going to Dick's Sporting Goods and REI to look for clothes and appropriate shoes for running 8 miles. (Okay, still terrified about the whole 8 miles part, but whatever.)

I don't know what it was, but guys. I'm ready.

Maybe graduation really did it. Maybe at that moment, I was simultaneously filled with happiness for all my high school friends and teachers and rapturous excitement for all the incredible possibilities ahead. Isn't that how it's supposed to be?

Eeeeeee!!!!!
Here we go.


You sure must be strong,
when you feel like an ocean made warmed by the sun...

Dear Freshman Abby,

Don't worry. You make it out alive.

Some things that will stay the same:

You will never stop desiring mermaid-like hair. (You crack and chop it off in the winter of 2010, but it grows back. Very, very slowly.)

You continue to attach cosmic significance to the moment in which any boy looks at you. However: Try and chill out a bit and maybe forget about the Boy Who Plays the Drums, Boy from Freshman P.E, Boy You’d Love To Hate, Boy in the Checkered Shirt, and Boy with Blue Eyes. None of them ever work out. (In fact, they’re actually solid people to have as friends. Try that sometime.)

Your makeup routine consists of: a swiping of powder, a puff of blush, and chapstick. (You give up on eyeliner rather quickly.)

The 49'ers t-shirt never stops being the most reliable article of clothing ever.

Pepper is a greater cuddle buddy than any boy. 

Grades are always important to you, whether you enjoy the class or not. 

Tree-climbing and thunderstorms are your versions of heaven. 

Some things that will shift dramatically: 

The number of people you call your "best friends." 

Your bangs. 

The extent to which certain movies (and moments) can make you cry.

Your taste in music. (Oh, how quickly you realize that there is more than Owl City and PureNRG! Soon you'll discover the joy that is Keane and Sleeping At Last and Jukebox the Ghost. Get excited.)

The number of leather-bound journals in the pink shoebox. 

Your level of competitiveness in team-oriented games. 

Your sunglasses collection grows beautifully! (Surprisingly, the Thailand/Cambodia border is a great place to look.)

Your comedic timing greatly improves. I think.

Some things you'll learn: 

Your fascination with using a camera lens to make the world look more like itself is just beginning. Soon, you’ll be discovering all the wonderful things a DSLR can do, moving to a house with a spectacular backyard view of the entire eastern Okinawa shoreline, and visiting places like Tokyo and New York city- places where photo-worthy moments will surround and overwhelm you.

Clothes should highlight you, not your body. And it's okay to surreptitiously copy those gorgeous hipsters. One day your style will be a blend of everyone you admire and somehow, it will be completely unique and yours. 

It's okay to be sad, even for a full year, but a genuine laugh or two during that time does not make you a traitor.

Diving with whale sharks is majestic, but throwing up over the side of the boat isn't. 

Wit is invaluable. 

Letting yourself sleep instead of crying at midnight over unfinished homework will not negatively impact the greater scale of your life.

Adventures come in all forms. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Enjoy the ride, kid. It flies by. 

Modest Is Almost Hottest, Maybe

As various seasons come rolling around, I always find myself remembering little things about how to properly navigate life during those seasons that I'd forgotten. For instance, with summer comes issues dealing with, among other things: finding a good waking-up time, awkward tanline navigation, social scheduling frustration, and by no means the least... bathing suit morality issues.

Being a girl who actually cares about modesty (physical or otherwise) has so many layers of difficulty. The phrase "modest is hottest" is much easier said than done. I firmly believe that just because it may be more "ladylike" to wear a short-sleeved shirt than a cropped spaghetti-strap tank, if it makes you feel less beautiful, it's not necessarily better. Not to say a girl should wear skimpy clothes and suits just because she "feels hotter," but what are you proving by wearing a bathing suit made for a 40-year-old?

My philosophy when it comes to bathing suits is: people should be looking at me, but not at my body. So even though I want to feel decently covered (and not stressed about flashing people when I do a dive), I want to feel like I could still walk past a group of people in slow motion because of how awesome I look.

So here's where the whole conundrum part comes in: I'm confident enough in my physical beauty to feel like I look good in a one-piece and a tiny bikini. Problem is, I own both. So standing in front of my mirror this morning, trying to decide which one to wear to the senior picnic, was the hardest thing ever.

*tries on bikini*
Wow, I look like a skank.
But gosh, my bod is rockin'. 
This will probably be the last chance to see some people worth impressing. 
No, no. Stop. You don't want that kind of attention. 
Wow, I look hot. 
You're not wearing this.
My tan isn't even enough, or else I might. 
We both know you're not going to.

*tries on one-piece*
This is cute. I kind of look like Audrey Hepburn.
It's so much less hot. 
Ugh, pleats, stop making my stomach do that.
Okay, this is fine. You still look good.
No, you don't. 
Yes, you do.
We both know you're wearing this one.

I wore the one-piece. And it looked good, I guess. But I kept seeing girls walk by in really cute-but-skimpy things- even girls that I knew were relatively modest- and wishing I'd worn the other suit. Wishing I could walk by the swim team and have them all stare at me. Because even as I sit here, hours later, realizing that in my heart of hearts I do not want guys eyeing me like a piece of meat, it's impossible to deny that attention feels good. [Confession: as a compromise, I wore shorts that made my legs look really good, and honestly, it made me feel better about myself.]

But you know what? At the end of the afternoon, I still had a great time. I did two spectacular dives off the diving board which I would have not been able to do wearing anything else, or I would have been showing way more than my dive form. I played ultimate frisbee and ate Cheetos and laughed with my friends and that's what people will remember. Me. Not my body.

It's hard. Ladies, don't let anyone tell you it isn't. But it's worth it.

I'm getting there. Right now, modest is... relatively attractive, but someday it will be hottest.