i got this feeling on a summer day

i haven't written about pensacola.

i haven't written about pensacola because i never thought i would be missing it. i never thought i'd look back on that year and a half with nostalgia, that i'd miss familiar hangouts and stupid silly nights and days that seemed insignificant at the time. i knew i'd miss some people, but not with the sharp pangs that are usually reserved for things like notre dame and london.

i haven't written about pensacola, because in my head it somehow feels like we haven't really left. leaving college and leaving london were final because we all left at once; the places couldn't be the same, even if we went back. but pensacola goes on without us; our friends are still there, business as usual, and we were the ones who were airlifted out and dropped here in the wide expanse of texas. sometimes it's hard to watch life go on without you.

i haven't written about pensacola because i never thought i'd sit on my couch longing for a night out on the one main street, or an overpriced sugary drink at a beach bar, or wanting one more float down the river (well, okay, i did think of that one).

i haven't written about pensacola because part of pensacola was really hard. part of pensacola was crying myself to sleep and feeling insecure about making friends and missing everyone and everything. but part of pensacola was also pulling myself out of that rut, with the help of jeff and old friends and new friends and family and music that felt like it was made for me at just the right time.

i haven't written about pensacola because a part of me wants to keep it close to my heart, and i fear that if i let it out that'll mean that it's really over, that i've left it behind for good.

i haven't written about pensacola because i haven't been able to find the words to say that a place i thought we'd just be passing through ended up being just as important as the ones i hold most dear.

that magic that we got nobody can touch

there's just something about those times when you see your friends again and everything about it is perfect, right down to everyone's little imperfections. there's just something about smiles and hugs and telling stories too quickly because you're afraid your time will run out before you know it. there's just something about crying from happiness at a friend's wedding because their love and joy makes your heart overflow. there's just something about glancing at another friend at your table through your tears, and seeing that she's sobbing too.

there's just something about friends who refuse to give up, who won't let something like distance or work or the million things that keep us busy come between us, no matter how long its been since we've talked.

sometimes i worry that our group will splinter but it's weekends like this that remind me that we have something that lasts.

on sunday afternoon as we drove through middle of nowhere, ohio, we sat in companionable sleepy silence as we listened to music and watched the fields pass us by. over the years, we've gotten further and further removed from the people we were when we were cramming for tests and laying sprawled on our hallway floor. but that weekend, and in that moment in the car, it felt like the two versions of ourselves were finally reconciling with each other. we can be both. we can love both. we can move on, and change for the better, but there's a part of us that will always be the same.

fob @ verizon wireless amphitheatre | 9/28/13

i want so badly to write down everything i remember, but at the same time i want to hold it tight to my chest and never let it go. last night was joy. pure, unadulterated, incandescent joy. i could keep putting corny adjectives before the already somewhat corny word "joy," but i'll hold myself back. the point is, i thought that last night was going to be emotional and that i would probably cry and that it would be a cathartic experience due to the fact that lot of those songs got me through some of the more difficult parts of my life. but instead of reflecting those harder times, the concert reflected the fact that i had gotten through, and that i had made it to the other side. at the risk of sounding even cornier, the whole damn thing was a celebration of growing up and triumph and being different and not caring what other people think and loving yourself and loving everything. it was joyous and beautiful and just so, so much fun.

believers never die. thank you, thank you, thank you.

i couldn't stop smiling all night.

come together, come apart

change is coming. it feels like summer just started and suddenly, we're in september, and the months have become weeks have become days. my life is always a countdown to something and the next one's already started. i always get emotional in the face of change; a mixture of sadness at leaving and anticipation of something new. but the best thing about change is that there's always something to look forward to, even if they getting there is rough. we only have a few weeks left and we're stuffing that time full of everything it can handle. every day i wake up to sun, every day the clouds roll in. sometimes the gray lingers and sometimes the skies open up and the rain dumps down on us. sometimes the lightning cracks so loud it makes us jump. i'm always on a precipice, you see; i'm always looking for that edge, 'cause life is boring when you've got flat empty space for miles. i always need to feel something, whether it's that knife in the chest or that rollercoaster stomach-jump. i'm reaching out my hands to the future and grabbing hold of whatever i can pull toward me. here we go again. bring it.

progress report

warning: wallowing.

restless restless. i open and close tabs on my computer like i'm going to find something new. i pull old books off my shelves and cry over the endings. i listen to a three-song loop over and over while staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out if i can write anything other than bad poetry anymore.

rush rush. i feel like i never have a moment to breathe. i work, and then i go to work, and then i get home and have to work some more. weekenda are an escape but monday mornings come too quickly and i have to take as deep a breath as i can and plunge in again. stolen moments typing up a storm, sneaking a look at a page, watching a 30 second youtube video. i feel like i'm never gonna slow down.

reminisce. i'm not even gone yet but i'm already missing everything. always weigh what i got against what i left. i don't want to pack everything up again. i don't want to trade emerald waves for muddier waters. i know that everything is going to be fine, but i feel like i'm watching life pass by from the bottom of a well. just waiting for the kaleidoscope to turn.

more dreams and less life

i am feeling really restlessly nostalgic right now, for some reason. it's like my heart is fit to burst. but what's new?

today is my last day in costa rica, a trip i haven't made in four years. it's so strange to think of the place i was in when i came here last - i had just gotten back from london and i was utterly and completely lost. i remember sitting at the table where i'm sitting right now, playing bananagrams with one hand while i facebook-chatted my london friends with the other. i remember being caught between the person i was when i left, and the person i became when i went abroad.

that trip, we went to the beach, and this trip we did too. as i wandered among the rocks of playa escondida i recalled how i would wander last time, skipping stones and agonizing over the boy i was dating and the boy that i was in-over-my-head crazy for. i have never felt so grown up as i did this time around, standing on those rocks and remembering how i didn't have a clue what i was doing, and knowing now that everything turned out all right in the end.

i feel like costa rica is a place that has seen so many sides of me - from the times that i was too young to remember, to the times where i'd roller skate up and down siba's driveway, to y2k and my first taste of champagne, to high school summer breaks and weddings and christmases, to college and the heartbreak of distance and early-twenties angst.

this place has seen all of the good and the bad of my life, and it has managed to give me exactly what i need - whether it's a week at the beach, a stroll in the mall with my family, winding drives up and down the mountains of the countryside, breakfast at my favorite restaurant, or nights spent eating air-popped popcorn and playing board games. i may not have any blood connecting me to costa rica, but it is my second home - other places may come close, but it was always here all along.

come on get higher

that slow song just came on my itunes and reminded me of warm days with cool breezes in an indiana town three years ago. it's funny how feelings can catch up with you after all this time. if i close my eyes it's like i'm sitting in my room with the windows cracked open, pressing repeat over and over, smiling to myself for no reason. it always takes the dawn of spring to make me look back and realize how hard every winter really is. it always takes new leaves on trees to show me how lonely bare branches really look. i will always miss college but on days like these i miss it just a bit more, remembering and running across the quads on the last days of school and walks to starbucks for a passion tea lemonade and wearing shorts and flip flops to class and nights staying up late saying our goodbyes. it will always be beautiful, in that messy college kid way, and it will always be bittersweet.

but here, today, i can open my windows, i can throw some ice cubes into a glass and i can smile at jeff and remember that those days are the reasons that these days exist. they are different, and in some ways they are harder, but looking back, they will be beautiful too. these are the days we are building something and even though we don't really know what it is yet, one day we will remember who we were these days and thank god this existed.

kick drum beating in my chest again

i am 24 years old. this shouldn't mean that much to me, but it just does.

when i was 17, fall out boy got me through the toughest of times, the loudest of fights, the worst crying sessions and the hardest feelings of betrayal. through them, i got out my frustrations of my awful job in parkland and worked out my feelings about graduation before leaving for college. through them, i cried over my ex-boyfriend, cried over my ex-friends, and learned to love myself again. through them, i told my true friends how much i loved them and realized that landing on a runway in chicago is something never to be taken for granted. through them, i started to define who i was, and i walked the streets of london feeling like i had at least one thing figured out.

fall out boy's music--however you choose to define or judge it--shaped my life since i was an immature teenager. and beyond that, i loved the melodies, loved the words, loved those boys regardless of who said it was shitty music or a stupid band. the few times i got to see them live, i screamed my heart out because they just meant so much to me and it was the only way i could show it.

i am 24 years old. this past monday after four years, fall out boy announced that their break was over. and i will tell you without shame that i got up and did the most embarrassing victory dance and did not care one little bit.

and it's because this band shaped who i am. this band gave me words when i didn't have any. this band gave me joy and cleverly crafted phrases and hope. and they are back and i couldn't be happier. you imperfect boys with your perfect ploys. you're the best. thank you.

this world we live in

A Brief for the Defense
Jack Gilbert

Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies
are not starving someplace, they are starving
somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils.
But we enjoy our lives because that's what God wants.
Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not
be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not
be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women
at the fountain are laughing together between
the suffering they have known and the awfulness
in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody
in the village is very sick. There is laughter
every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta,
and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay.
If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,
we lessen the importance of their deprivation.
We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.
If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,
we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.
We must admit there will be music despite everything.
We stand at the prow again of a small ship
anchored late at night in the tiny port
looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront
is three shuttered cafés and one naked light burning.
To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat
comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth
all the years of sorrow that are to come.

you're already home where you feel love

we lost. we lost, badly. i cried. it was pathetic. i cried some more. i came home and hugged my mom. i watched the end of the game from the corner of my eye as i posted on facebook about my love for my school and how proud i am to be from that place.

and then it hit me, that i am the luckiest to have this.

on saturday night, at a pep rally, i was part of a roaring mass of people who flew and drove cross-country and took off work to come here, ticket or no ticket, to cheer on their team, because this school means so much them. on sunday night, i danced on the beach with my friends as i ran into so many kids i only see once a year if we're lucky. the streets of south beach closed down as the gold, blue and green swarmed it, and we laughed and we cheered each other on and we marveled how we were here, we made it, we were here.

on monday i donned my number ten jersey and my beads and my lei and we meandered through the stadium parking lot that seemingly was overrun with irish fans. we yelled "don't stop believing" in the middle of a mass of dancers in the backer re-created and hey, it's all true - we are crazy, and we never stop believing,

we were: giddy, nervous, entranced, joyous. we were: shocked, hurting, hurting, hurting. we always are: loyal, strong, true.

so yeah, i'm still hurting. we're all still hurting. but there's always next year, and next year, and next year. and more importantly - we'll always have each other, and we'll always have that place up in northern indiana, where even on the grayest of days you can look up at that glint of gold and know you're okay.

'cause there are stars up above, we can start moving forward.