the bravery

I don't think bravery is about being scared or not scared, or doing something or not doing something in a particular situation. I think its about what you think of yourself. That is where the bravery begins.

Bravery is the flailing of our heart when we realize we are no one. 

I've never thought very hard about whether I think I am brave or not. People have always told me that I am and I liked that, so I believed them. I am a brave girl. 

Now, I spend most of my time trying to find an apartment in Louisville and a job, so that when I move there in a month, I won't be so lost. There is a part of me that doesn't like the idea of going out to Louisville alone, but most of me is excited. 

What scares me the most right now is what will happen between me and the boy I am in love with. I am trying hard not to be a cliche. I am trying hard not let my life slow down or stop because of him. He is staying here, in Iowa, for the summer. And he will stay here in the fall too and finish out one last semester of school. And I will be gone. My whole life is opening, becoming loose like earth, uncovering itself with each new step forward.

I have always been excited about this day; the day I would feel truly free. In a couple weeks I will no longer have any true obligations. Even though I have always claimed that this is all I've ever wanted, a part of me is now clinging to the most important person in my life. 

I believe in things falling together and apart in ways that are meant and planned. Knowing that, it doesn't take as much bravery as one would think. It takes something closer to faith.

one month left.

the future's silence

There is a prevalent and profound sense of loneliness that runs under everything.

There does not seem to be anything I can rely on. The future betrays me with its  silence. The people in my life one by one prove their willingness to leave me without thinking. My own mind has no ideas or inspirations.  I have no plan and nothing figured out or even sort of figured out. There is an isolation here that smothers me.

It will only be a few more months until I am set adrift in some unknown vastness and I will be alone. My boyfriend doesn't want to commit to anything and has all but confirmed that he expects our relationship to end when school does. In short: I am not important enough to hang onto, I can be replaced, I don't matter all that much. He always says "I love you" like there is a "but..." following it. He told me last night that he couldn't see himself being married anytime soon. I think this was his way of trying to tell me not to expect much from our relationship, from our "love".

I don't need promises, but I don't need a punch to the gut either. I don't know for sure that he and I will be together in the end of everything (whatever that means), but I don't know for sure that we won't. That is as far as I've thought about things.

Yesterday my teacher told me of some pinpricks of her life after college. She was very sweet, young, blond hair, glasses, a quiet voice. I told her I had no idea what to do after college. I wanted her to tell me what my future held. I wanted her to point in which direction I should walk. I wanted her to give me a hug.

My boyfriend and I fucked this afternoon. We fell asleep afterward and when I woke up, he handed me my clothes and held the door open. This felt like a metaphor for our entire relationship.

All I really wanted was for him to give me a hug.

utterly small

Last weekend I was asked, once again, what I wanted to do with my English degree after college. I told them the same thing I tell everyone. I have no idea. And the scary part is, I'm in no way inclined to figure it out. 
Here's something I learned this weekend: I am utterly small and insignificant and there is no possible way to construct a life for myself that will make me matter any more than I do right now. 
Three days ago I ran the Chicago Marathon. I finished in 4 hours and 24 minutes. This was not my first time to run a marathon, but I realized anew, how small I am. I think this is a very good thing to realize. Life is shifted into perspective when I become a single bobbing head, struggling my way through a sea of people on the streets of Chicago. I was a speck and not even a very fast speck. This is true of life as well. 
What I am trying to say is this: Graduation is not far away and something that people keep calling "real life" is waiting for me and I don't think I'm ready. But it doesn't matter. It's about moving forward, shifting one's way through the rising crowds of life until some sort of finish line is reached. 

Last night, I wanted my boyfriend to ask me to marry him. He didn't and I spent a long time trying to figure out why I had wanted him to ask. The close graduation comes, the more I am made aware of the instability of his and I's relationship. I think we both feel a clock that is counting down to the moment we have to break it off. Somewhere in me, I am hoping that moment never comes. I have no reassurances. I can only wait.

Seven months left. 

the waiting gray

Becoming a writer wasn't a decision I ever made, it was a discovery. I was 12-years-old and still didn't brush my hair or wear shoes or care what boys thought of me. I did however, realize with absolute certainty that I would be a writer, whether I wanted to be or not. I knew that no matter what, no matter where, I would always be writing. Even without pen and paper, I would always be writing in my head.

That was nearly ten years ago. 

These are the last few months before I have to start making real decisions. "Real Life", as people keep calling it, will start when this school year ends.  All anybody seems to care about is what kind of job I want after I graduate. All my parents want to know is what kind of job I'm going to have. All I hear about is career fairs, internships, resumes, interviews. I am running from it all.
I have a boyfriend and I am in love with him. He keeps telling me he thinks fate will pull us apart after college. I don't believe fate has that power. I believe we have decisions and we make them and the results are ours. We don't want to think about those kinds of decisions now. We're both scared. We both have no idea what we're doing. 

I have a job. But its not a real job. I work at a fancy soup, salad and sandwich place. It's expensive and the only customers we have are rich sorority girls, grouchy old women and middle-aged business men. 
I am floating in an unreality. I am waiting to see what happens when it ends. It is easy to imagine that after college I will travel the world, runaway with my boyfriend to India or Paris or maybe just across the country to California. I can easily imagine running all over this crazy world, standing in sunlight in Rome or China or Australia. I can see myself taking photos and floundering in the beauty of everywhere that is new and different and poetry. I can imagine writing, writing, writing. I can see pages and pages of handwriting and I can see them sitting on a desk in a small, peeling apartment in Ireland. I see the blue paint that is fading from the walls and I can feel the thrift store sweater against my skin. And I can see him there, still laying in bed, the blankets twisted around him. I see all of this and I am afraid. These things that I see are not real. They are just imagined and hoped. 

I am wearing a cheap sweater and black leggings. My computer is falling apart and covered in stickers. I am sitting in the Journalism building on campus, waiting for my boyfriend to get out of his class. It is raining outside. It is raining hard. All the changing leaves are getting knocked to the ground. Tomorrow there will be a carpet of yellow and red. When my boyfriend gets done with his class, I will kiss him and we will go eat scrambled eggs and pancakes even though it is 10:00 at night. We will eat in a small diner with wood-paneled walls covered in framed newspaper clippings and articles of the restaurant's success. Then we will watch a horror movie at midnight. We will probably make-out in my car in the rain at some point. 

Tomorrow I will drink coffee, read something, go to work. I will be one day closer to the gray that waits for me. 

The one thing I hold tightly is this: no matter what happens, I will not regret the great adventure.