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.

Post-Senior Banquet Profundity

So... I didn't win the senior superlative for Most Likely To Be a Superhero. Frankly, I'm not entirely surprised, so of course I clapped and smiled for Maggie Butters and reminded myself that it's only a popularity contest anyway. I told myself to stop caring about whether people thought I was cool.

But since then I've had a revelation. I wasn't upset that people don't think I'm cool enough to win a superlative. I'm scared of being forgotten.

I want people to remember me. I'm not talking about my friends who shared memories with me and will keep in touch and all that. I know those people will remember me- duh. I want other people to remember me. Even if we only interacted a couple times, even if I never signed their yearbook, I want them to remember me. Because I remember everyone. Everyone that had some sort of profound instance of interaction with me, no matter how minute... I remember it. I always have.

It seems a great cosmic injustice to disregard the fact that someone added meaning to your life in some way, so I remember everything and everyone. And if I ever went out of my way to attempt to add some small amount of happiness to your life, I want you to remember that too. It makes me cringe to admit that I want people to wonder, but it's discouraging to think that they won't. It diminishes the fact that those moments happened.

So to all those whose yearbook I never signed, or even those that just wrote a few cliche lines: I will remember you, and think about you at the most arbitrary of moments. I am easily affected by people who catch my attention for no good reason at all. I fixate on the barest hints of connection even if it turns out to be nothing at all.

To those that gave me nothing, who never acknowledged my existence in the least: thank you for not giving me false reason to hope. It simplifies things. Adds a degree of certainty.

But to those who almost did - who glanced my way for even small moments, added your two cents, and then turned away without solidifying your significance- you have power without measure. You have made me wonder, and it kills me to wonder. You will forget the time I talked to you, and I won't, and even though that's completely inexplicable and means nothing, to me it's sad. Just a little.

So you, whose outfit I complimented or who offered me a ride or shared a joke or helped me review for a test. Never be afraid to leave people with a final remark, even if it seems stupid. Solidifying significance is never stupid. Without it, I wonder.

Dear Scatterbrained, Messy-haired, Ordinary Abby,

I found Put-Together Abby just as you described her... well, almost. She was cruising by in the passenger seat of a beige Toyota, medium-long curls dancing in the almost-summer breeze, singing loudly to Jukebox the Ghost, thinking not about the Almost-Perfect College, but her Wonderful Friend in the driver's seat and Action-Packed Week of Adventures ahead of her.

And I learned that maybe Put-Together Abby isn't as Put-Together as we originally thought.

So don't worry. Look up from the math homework you're hunched over on your bedroom floor and take a walk. It'll all be okay.

Sincerely,
The In-Between Abby

http://theerdelatzkid.blogspot.com/2014/01/dear-put-together-abby.html

Bracing

Update: There are two days of school left.

Two. Days. 

And then...I'm just...done.

It still hasn't hit me yet. It won't hit me during the week I don't have to get up at 6:00am (and then again at 6:50), nor during graduation rehearsal. I don't actually know when it will really, truly hit me. I kind of wish I knew.

Welp.

A couple good wrap-up poems should follow soon. Now that I'll have all this "free time."

Psh, who am I kidding.