Fourth of July

[Lizzie Lavín]

I had a Brilliant Idea to write a blog post and then post it this evening at 17:76 but then I realized that there are only 60 minutes in an hour and that in order for it to work, I would need to post the blog entry at 18:16 and I... I don't want to do that.

It's 5 in the morning, 4 July, 2012. I woke up six hours ago after a five-hour nap, post-pupil-dilation. I made corn on the cob for my parents who had stayed awake to make sure I would be okay when I woke up. We watched a few episodes of the Gilmore Girls together and ate some Julian Pie my dad had picked out from a local produce mart. We watched episodes about Rory at Yale, Logan messing up, Lane having babies, and Luke being an amazing dad. There were tears and sighs from my mom and myself because we know that this summer is the end of something. 

This is my last summer when I won't be working or driving myself crazy for an internship. When fall starts, I'll move into Whittier College and live on my own in Los Angeles. I'll be meeting new people and trying new things. I'll be finding myself and stretching my wings. It won't be over until the operatic woman sings, and all that will be left are my class rings. 

I don't really know how my life is going to work in college. I don't know if I'll be brewing myself tea in the mornings like I want. I don't know who I will be living with or who my friends will be or if I'll fall in love. (No, I know I'll fall in love. I don't know if I'll fall in love with a book or a course or an idea or a person.) I don't know how I'll do on a meal plan when I can eat three meals a day during the week but only two on weekend days. I don't know if I'll make the class for Swim or if I'll like it or if my lungs will get stronger or if I'll be comfortable with my body to not hate that class by the final. I don't know where I will be in January. I don't know how I will get by without being in my own home every night. 

Some people have likened this time in their lives to standing on the edge of a cliff, crossing a river, or reaching a fork in the road. I need to tell you, friends, I see NO EDGE of a cliff, no river, and certainly no forks. In front of me is a foggy morning on the ocean. I have a map. I have a crew and a rutter and a fair wind and a compas and good sails. I am prepared to move forward, but I cannot see anything but the promise that there is something in the direction in which I am heading. There are people all around me who have promised to help, but they are alseep, which is fine because I really should do this myself. I just need to get moving and once I do that, the morning will rise and the fog may clear and I will be able to see where I am and thrive.