Disappointment

The memory of my 14^th birthday party has been swimming in my head for the past couple of weeks.

My family doesn’t do big birthdays. Not that I can remember. Then again, the memory of my life at home breaks somewhere after early childhood at about five or six years old to this adolescent stage where I was anticipating my parent’s divorce and then dealing, as best I could, with the aftermath.

That year, though, I decided to plan my own party. I began telling my Mom exactly what I wanted a week—maybe two— in advance.

Even then, in the time when we are trying desperately to impress our peers, I had an appreciation for the simplicity of things.  I wanted a small get-together at my house with grilled hot dogs, my mom’s macaroni and cheese and my godmother’s famous baked-beans.

I invited three of my closest friends from school, my new best friend from church and her parents, my youth pastor, and my extended family. We sent little invitations that my Mom wrote up, and I was excited.

My birthday was on a Sunday. We went to church as usual and came back to my house afterward. The majority of those invited went to church with us and followed us back to the house, changed out of their Sundays’ best and settled in for the party.

Everyone was hungry, as people generally are, after spending the morning in church. My mom and godmother finished preparing the food in the kitchen and everyone lined up at the counter ready for the food that was assembled buffet style.

My Dad scolded me when I jumped to the front of the line and told me that guests eat first. (I will let my kids eat first on their birthdays, but it was a good lesson in hospitality.)

Embarrassed, I sat down at the table and waited for my friends from school to arrive.

And waited.

There was laughter and movement all around me when my world stopped.

I remember trying indiscreetly to get my moms attention. When I did, I whispered in her ear that my friends hadn’t shown up and no one had brought any gifts or cards (except my godmother). To the first she told me to call them and to the second she said something to the effect of so what, before she went back to being a good hostess.

I grabbed the phonebook before I sat back down at the table searching for phone numbers. I couldn’t reach anyone.

They never showed up.

***

I was popular growing up. People always knew my name, adults because I was the daughter of a teacher and administrator and kids because I was athletic and tried a bit of everything as a kid.

But, I’ve never had a lot of friends.

Quality over quantity became my motto somewhere along the way, when I started having to explain.

This isn’t always an issue though, until the three don’t show up.

***

I’ve been arguing back and forth with my Mom this past week over the phone and this weekend in person.

I’m one week away from graduation now and I’m anxious.

 Both about the actual graduation ceremony—I’m a little paranoid that they won’t call my name because this May ceremony, much bigger and more celebratory than the July ceremony isn’t really mine, since I have yet to complete my internship requirement—and my post graduation celebration.

When I got permission to walk in May, I told my mom that I wanted a small get-together after the graduation; just my family and close family friends together for an afternoon at park with hot dogs and hamburgers.

My mom got my grandma on board with the planning and addressing of the graduation announcements and invitations.

My grandma is a socialite and its spun out of control now.

While I have no idea who will actually show up, very few of the invitations have been sent to people that I actually know and feel close to.

Last night at dinner, complete with the divorced parents, my grandma and step-grandpa sister and niece and nephew, I lost it.

“I never wanted it to be something you guys would have to fuss over, I said.” Hot dogs and hamburgers at the park, I continued. That’s all I want.”

That’s all it is, my grandmother said. You can’t just do these things without any planning.

It’s not fun for me when I’m surrounded by strangers, I continued, this frustration that’s been building now overflowing.

Well, you haven’t told me any of the friends you want me to invite, my Mom said.

“I don’t have friends to invite, I keep telling you,” I snapped back.

***

The word friend is something pretty weighty to me, granted to only those that I know will show up.

I’m in another one of those weird transition phases with my friendships. My closest friends are in Florida, living their lives. Our communication is almost nonexistent now. Our lives are going on, moving further from the time when we were bonded so tightly.

And I’ve made a few connections here, people whose company I enjoy. But the timing, as it often is, is bad.

It’s the disappointment I’m worried about. Sitting at the table waiting while the party continues around me.

Those that do show up, however, will be greeted with a smile, warm hug, and genuine thank you.  Another lesson in hospitality I’ve learned along the way. 

Beyond (87/90)

There is but one week left of classes now, plus a few last obligations during finals week. There are only three days left of the 90 in 90 challenge (though I’m over an hour late on 87/90 now) and I’m looking ahead.

I hope to spend the summer interning in Indy though I haven’t been offered an internship yet. I’ve just decided, within the past month, that I’ll stay here this year instead of returning to Tampa as I had considered. I think it may be good for me to be still for a little while and try to establish myself as a real grown-up.

I’m too worn out to panic over how quickly these last days are passing. Instead, I’m reveling in each moment spent with the people I’ve grown to love and planning the summer and next few years ahead. 

Depending on how the internship prospects play out, I may get a part-time job at one the malls in Indy and try to save every penny that I can (which may turn out to be a problem if I get a job at a bookstore, like I’d hope to) in order to get my own place as quickly as possible.

Outside of the internship maybe part-time job, this summer will be all about the writing and the reading. As I said in the beginning, where the 90 in 90 ends, the real challenge begins.

It’s time to start developing the first real writing project (and handing the work over for critique).  I’m excited about incorporating stories from my social media project, but first I’ve got to really ramp it up on that spend a lot of time building that community and finding the stories that I want to tell.

I’m excited for the time I’ll have to read non-assigned books. I’ll start with the four books that have gone untouched on my nightstand since the middle of this semester and then tackle the reading list that I’ve begun to assemble with some classics that I’ve yet to experience and some more modern creative non-fiction.

To fuel this writing, reading, interning filled summer, I’m going to try to give up red meat come and stick to a core-foods diet plan. I’ve also got four new Jillian Michaels hard core workout DVD’s in addition to the several others that I added to my collection last year when I was obsessed with the weight loss. I want it all to feel less like a punishment this time though, so I’m trying to figure that out. And I’ve contemplated starting a weekly weight loss vlog for accountability’s sake. We’ll see.

I think I’m nearing the point where I’m ready to close this chapter and begin the next; life beyond college and writing beyond the blog. I’ve got no choice really, that point is nearing, whether I’m ready or not. 

Sticking Around For Goodbyes (79/90)

Today was another first of the lasts.

I've just settled back in after enjoying the Cardinal Communications end of the year picnic. Though a little chilly, we gathered outside at a picnic nook on campus to enjoy hot dogs and hamburgers, lots of sweet treats (my favorite was Kellie's fruit pizza) and each other's company.

We sat for a while chatting about internships, jobs and all of the projects and assignments we've got left to wrap up. And then we got awards. Most of which were pretty funny, but I'll have to say, mine is strikingly accurate.

"Unable to Function Without A Steady IV of Coffee and Twitter"

I mean, as was mentioned, I did put my friend in charge of my Twitter account while I drove to Chicago for our agency visits. Because four hours is too long to go without a Twitter update. And, it's true it's not often that I am seen without coffee, and there's a reason for that.

It was a fun afternoon and I found myself sticking around longer than I normally do. I even wanted to give everyone a hug as I left. But I didn't. I simply said my goodbyes in passing instead, assuring myself that we'd all see each other again. And we will, we've got two more weeks to spend in the office together, doing a little work while sharing stories, music and giggles.

But I'm bad with goodbyes that way. Most of the time I pretend they're not happening. That we'll see each other again soon, although I know that's often unlikely.

When I left Indiana for Florida, my youth group had a big party for me. Let me first back up and say that I never told anyone that I was leaving. Not one person. I didn't want to acknowledge it, so I didn't. But, it was a messy situation and world travelled fast anyway.

We sat in a big circle in the church annex and each of my friends said something nice about me. Some were funny, some were touching. But, through it all I sat there smily and emotionless. I made jokes as I walked out the door that last time, refusing to be flooded by the reality of the moment.

The same thing happened when I left Florida. I told only a few people and exited as quickly as possible. There was a big party at the gym complete with cake and presents. There were tears, but not mine. One my last day in the gym I laughed with the girls and gave them big obnoxious bearhugs.

It's always a see-ya later with me. I like to believe that soon enough we'll fall right back into step with each other.

But, my experience has proven that to be a rarity.

So over the next two weeks, I'll slow down and try to do a little better with my goodbyes.

What It's Supposed To Feel Like (73/90)

After too much thinking and flip-flopping on my decision, I received permission to walk in the May commencement ceremony this morning.

Which happens to be only 28 days from now on May 8.

This is what I wanted but thought I couldn't have because of my internship credit which I've still got to  complete in the summer.  But when I learned the option was still open to me on Friday night, I was filled with excitement and made the decision to give it a go.

Although there were, and still are, logistical issues to be worked out. First: permission from the associate dean.

Even before that though, I had to call my mom to ask if she'd still be in town for the week following her  Master's commencement  ceremony on May 1st. But she won't.  And she should have been frustrated me with me, considering she pushed me to make this decision weeks ago,  instead she was calm and supportive.

"You walk when you want," she said. "You know I won't miss it."

And so I went ahead and sent the necessary e-mail on Saturday while sitting with friends doing homework.

Instead of keeping my focus on the 12-page campaign critique I was writing I kept checking my email, distracted by the prospect lingering in cyberspace.

When the Gmail notification blinked on my phone this morning while I was sitting in church, I hesitated for a second; deciding whether to open it right then on the 3-inch screen or wait the two or so hours until I'd return home. The day of waiting was similar in angst to the waiting I'm doing about the internship interview I had on Wednesday.

But I opened it right then, after adjusting the brightness of my screen so as not to distract the other churchgoers.

And I got permission, in a simple 3-line e-mail signed "Congratulations".

My mom is just as excited as I am, maybe even more. When I called her tonight she bypassed the small talk and got right down to business asking me to send a list for graduation announcements and which park I want to hold "the reception" at, although I keep reminding her that it will be just a small get-together filled with only familiar faces.

She's already called my grandma to get on-board with the planning, which if I know my grandma has already called the entire brood.

And there are things that I'm worrying about on my own, like how I'll get all of the natural glory under that cap or if I'll twist or straighten it instead. And of course I've already begun online browsing for the shoes and the dress.


 I've only got 28 days to pull it all together.

But this is what it's supposed to feel like; dreaming excitedly of sitting out on the quad with my peers while only half-listening to the commencement address, celebrating the beginning of an education and life lessons.

Passing Through

In exactly 267 days, I will be a college graduate. Only after writing it does the number seem large to me.  

Time passes quickly though. Too quickly.  It feels like yesterday that I was graduating from high school and making the transition into college. That was hard for me. So much so that I delayed it for a year. 

Transition always seems to come at a time in my life  when I'm just settling in, getting comfortable.  

My freshman year of high school my parents were going through a divorce that was more painful for me than I knew how to express at the time. Just as I was finding my niche, I learned that I would be moving to Tampa, away from everyone and everything I knew and loved. 

I remember the day that we left, I used to know the date, but it escapes me now. Sometime in late July, weeks before my 15th birthday. I held up the flight by bolting to the bathroom right before takeoff. I told my Mom I couldn't hold it. "It" wasn't the "it" that she assumed though. "It" was the tears, the emotion, the pain. So I took a moment in that tiny airplane bathroom to cry, and try to get my bearings. 

 That flight not only transported me to my new home for the next seven years, but it changed me. In two hours I went from being confident, outgoing, and funny to insecure, shy and solemn. It wasn't until my senior year that I felt the person I knew returning. 

Too little, too late. The transition into college was upon me.  

The feelings I have now, are frighteningly similar to those I felt seven years ago.  

Just as I'm settling in, getting comfortable. I'm halfway through my second year at Ball State University. I'm just beginning to feel like I know the university. There is a camaraderie being built between my classmates and I. Possible friendships budding. That person I knew makes appearances in unexpected moments, and I get excited. Then I remember, just 267 days. 

Too little to late. The transition into adulthood is upon me. 

While it feels to soon, maybe it's right on time. Just before I settle. Get comfortable. Just before I relent to mediocrity. Just before I become complacent.

I know that the walk across the stage will transport me to another new home, and change me in ways I'm not aware of yet. 

My lingering hope, is that that the confident, outgoing, funny girl I knew doesn't get lost in the shuffle. That her timing will get better, and the next time she makes an appearance, she'll be able to stay a while.