This summer could be chalked up to one where I dropped the ball. I was whirling so fast from my first year at college that I was shocked into silence when the music stopped mid-twirl. I could (and have) look back on these months with regret for the days I didn't go outside, the tan I didn't get, and the runs I didn't go on. In April, I told Heavenly Father over the pulpit that I was going to have faith and trust in His plan.*
*As long as that plan fit into not living at home in Utah all summer.
Ok, I tried to have more faith than that, but I feel like I failed. I angrily shoved everything in my sister's car and left to go a measly 1.5 hours way. I look back at this summer and see a girl who tried so hard to stay a girl, but lost herself in the juxtaposition of moving home and tackling grown up situations. I lost contact with myself and contact with God, and sometimes I'm not sure where either one is hiding.
But I refuse to look back on this summer with regret because regretting time seems like a ship that would capsize my confidence. Instead, I want to remember it as the summer where I had my first job. I don't want to forget going on a vacation with Anne for the first time. I don't want to undermine flying to Pennsylvania by myself three separate times and staying in a hotel room alone. I don't want my first car accident, second concert, and first road trip swept under the rug in embarrassment. I want each breakdown recorded, and I don't want my act of rebellion by not going to Church activities to be forgotten or repeated. I don't want the dozen of hikes I went on with my parents to become obsolete.
This summer has been a brave, hard thing for me to live through for all of these reasons and more. And I am reaching the point where my head breaks the surface, bringing me to my knees and begging for clean air.
xo. Elise
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