Seasons of Love

I get emotional at good-byes.  Ask anyone.

Anytime the seasons change, I get a little sentimental.  Autumn begins in a mere 10 hours, and while I’m more than excited I’m also a little sad.  Time is moving too quickly; before I can find my bearings and get my feet firmly underneath me it’s time to get moving again.

That’s life, I suppose.

Other seasons are changing, too.  Justin and I have spent numerous afternoons and evenings prowling through jewelry stores, trying on engagement rings and discussing their pros and cons.  We’re settling our lives together and seriously planning for a future.  I’m learning to live with someone again, and slowly figuring out how to be a partner and how to take care of a house.  There are road trips and airplane trips in the works, family to meet, new business ventures to attempt, and holiday plans to make.  I’ve spent years watching friends and acquaintances enter into this phase of life, and I’m beyond happy that it’s finally my turn.

I felt slightly bittersweet when leaving my apartment.  I was the first woman in my family to live by herself, and I learned so much about myself these past three years.  I remember standing alone in my apartment, my last day, the last load of stuff packed tightly into my car.  I looked around, memorized the way the sun came through the blinds and felt the soft carpet between my toes, and, turning to leave, I felt myself choking up.

But all I could think about were the wise words of CS Lewis, who always seems to sum up things so succinctly:

There are far better things ahead than any we leave behind.

Indeed.  See you there.


Ten Septembers

No, this isn’t a September 11th post.  There have been enough of those.

Ten years ago, I packed my bags and moved out of my house and onto campus at Oglethorpe University.  I was a young and naive, both scared and desperately excited at the same time.  It was the biggest thing that ever happened to me.

And it changed me.  I look back now, as a 30-year-old woman, and don’t recognize that little girl.  But that’s ok.  That’s life.  It’s how it’s supposed to be.

Coincidentally, 2006 also marked the release year for John Mayer’s Continuum.  Now, I have loved John Mayer since I was 16 and heard No Such Thing playing on the radio at the small antique shop where I worked.  His music continued to soundtrack my late teenage years, through crushes and graduation and first days of college.  I wanted more than anything to write songs that sounded like his, and I feel that, somehow, I got close.


We’ve both aged these past 10 years.  You can see the lines on our faces, the wear and tear, the questionable hairstyles (I’m finding more and more gray in mine as the days pass).  But it’s an honor to mark an anniversary with something that meant so much to you.  From the quiet Stop This Train that miraculously put my thoughts and emotions into words that I could never have combined to the haunting Slow Dancing in a Burning Room to my favorite, Gravity, the only John Mayer song to produce a line that I will one day tattoo on my body, Continuum was, to me, the epitome of John’s brilliance.

I’ll never find another you, Mr. Mayer.  Here’s to the next 10.