Big Kid

I am convinced that family reunions are a mild form of torture. There is nothing more mind-numbing than sitting under a backyard tent in the middle of July sipping watered-down lemonade and eating burnt hamburgers with people who share your blood line but know very little about your real life. Family reunions are filled with unbearable small talk about the odd weather we’ve been having, the unpleasant details of Grandma’s knee surgery, the news on which cousin just moved out of the house for a third time, and how the Detroit Tigers just can’t seem to catch a break. And there is always that one aunt. You often find yourself questioning if she is even a member of the family or just stumbled into the yard when she saw the sagging balloons dangling from the mailbox. She wanders around the party, giving everyone a smelly bear hug, exclaiming, “Well, my land! Look how big you’ve gotten!” Although I’m never quite sure if she is referring to the few extra pounds I’ve gained in college or if she is alluding to my more mature hairstyle, I can’t deny the fact that time is rapidly passing. Every year I feel more like a “big kid”.

My freshman year of college was one of adjustment. I was on my own for the first time, making new friends and drinking plenty of coffee. Generally, the year was carefree and most of the time I felt like a kid at summer camp. My second year has been remarkably different yet distinctively special. So far, this semester has been one of growth and pain and worry and joy. It has been filled to the brim with both tears and laughter. As I dive deeper into my courses I am getting a clearer picture of who God has made me to be. I am discovering my passions. I am realizing my weaknesses. I am thinking about the future. And the reality is, the future is not so distant anymore. Sometimes its nearness keeps me awake at night, left alone with my anxious thoughts and the clunking air conditioner. Other times it makes me enthusiastic and expectant, ready to see where God will take me.

Upon entering college, I was set on my field of study and convinced that I knew what I wanted to do after graduation. Looking back, the word naïve comes to mind. I was determined not to be one of “those people” who changed their major, but God decided to humble me and show me that, in fact, I don’t have it all together. I thought I knew what I wanted, but I was wrong. And although it terrifies me to take a new direction, I am eager about the possibilities. Passion is stirring inside of me, and it’s waiting to be unleashed. Apparently, my eccentric aunt was right, I am getting bigger. So, no matter how much I want to deny it or how much it rattles my tidy plans, real life is looming on the horizon just waiting to be grasped.  

Good Old-fashioned Heartache

Chalk up another one. My list of failed relationships with the male species is expanding yet again. You know how most people “never make the same mistake twice”? Well, apparently I missed that memo and have become an expert double dipper. I feel like a miserable failure, I hate hurting other people. Although I continue to knock myself out in the dating arena, I have learned one incredibly effective maneuver. I have found the cure for good old-fashioned heartache.

This weekend I took a mini road trip with my three roommates, Noelle, Leah and Lindsey. We made the three and a half hour trek to Wheaton College to watch Lindsey’s brother start during his senior football season. We stood huddled together in our Mickey Mouse ponchos and flowered umbrellas as the typical mid-west weather graced us with its presence. Although I would not classify myself as a football fanatic, it was a great afternoon with the Carmichael family. After the game we trudged our way to a favorite Chicago pizza joint and let our soggy, rolled jeans escape from the rain. The rest of the weekend consisted of relaxing in the hot tub, late night television marathons in our pajamas, church together on Sunday morning and a visit to the local apple orchard. Our car ride was filled with heartfelt discussions about boys, family and how time seems to be speeding up now that we’re in college. In between our serious talks we wailed along with Noelle’s ipod selection of classic pop songs.

You see, there was nothing magical about the weekend, but there is something incredibly healing about spending time with a few of your closest friends. I truly believe that friendship is the cure to heartache. With each floundered relationship I am increasingly grateful for the friends that remain by my side through thick and thin. These girls have seen me in my prime moments and in my worst. They have seen the way my hair sticks up in the morning, they have listened to me whine about my frustrating professors and countless times they have patiently waited for me to apply my eyeliner, even though I am already running five minutes late. Through it all they still love me. They push me, hug me, and call me out on the carpet if needed.

So, you want relationship advice? Don’t ask me. You want friendship advice? I say the more the merrier. Surround yourself with people who know your heart, with people who see past your charade, because true friends bring joy to your life. True friends help you stitch up your heart.