Tick-tock–not a bomb

Thanks to Facebook’s memories feature, today I saw that I started college 8 years ago today.  The pictures from that day are awful. My face is blotchy. I’m doing my best to smile for the camera and not burst into tears.

Want proof?

Ta-da!

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There I stand, in Old Heritage Halls just trying not to cry my eyes out just long enough for my parents to snap this picture.  You can even see the tissue in my hand for proof!

The next 8 years held good times and bad. I graduated from BYU four years later with a bachelor’s degree. Three years after that, I graduated again–this time from SJSU with a Master’s degree.

I’ve lived in 7 different houses. In 3 different cities.

I’ve seen 5 different therapists–and only graduated from therapy once.

I’ve traveled to 6 different states and four different countries.

I’ve had 6 different jobs–Ice cream scooper, Student manuscript processor, Greeting Card writer,  Office assistant, Preservation Technician, and Collection Care Technician.

I’ve kissed one boy and subsequently married him.

And I’ve made lots of friends. Lots of lifetime (I hope!) friends.

There’s been lots of growing and stretching and crying and laughing. Lots of jumping and dancing and cookie-baking. Some coloring books and riding roller coasters and taking selfies and running 5ks. Lots of late night talking when I should have been sleeping, and lots of sleeping when I should have been doing…well, realistically lots of other things.

Looking back on these past 8 years, makes me proud of myself. 8 years since I left high school. 8 years since I started college. 8 years since I officially declared myself an “adult” and had to start adulting.

The past 8 years have brought a lot of change. And I’d say the majority of it was really good for me.  There have been some terrible parts (including some bad roommates, some not eating, some crushed dreams and some broken-ish hearts.)  But all in all, I’m real proud of the person these 8 years have shaped me to be.  I’m not perfect–far from it, in fact–and neither is my life, but I’m finally starting to be comfortable with who I am.  And who I want to be.  And I like that.  A whole dang lot.

As I sit here and think about how far I’ve come since that real attractive picture of me (read: hideous) was taken on the day I began adulting, I’m happy to say that I turned out okay. Some days, I feel like I’m drowning. Other days I feel like I can jump off the diving board into the deep end. And don’t we all feel that way?  Isn’t in funny how life works like that?

And at the end of the day, all you can really do is sit back and say–“Well, today happened. I wonder what tomorrow is going to be like.” Sometimes I laugh when I say that. Other times I cry. Other times I crawl into bed, exhausted, before I have the chance to think about my day.

I don’t know where I was going with this, and I always feel like I should steer away from not silly posts, because I feel rambly and uncomfortable and wonder if it’s even worth posting.  I had no idea that looking at that sad, sad picture of little sad me was going to trigger so much introspection and remembering.  And I just wanted to document it somewhere.

 

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