Landslide

Every time that I listen to Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide," I feel a little tug on my heart. The summer before I went to college, I remember looking at my older sister, and telling her this was my song to her. And every time I've heard it since, I think of Rhea.

Stability is not really something I'm used to. Every semester, I've been at college, I've lived an entirely different life. First semester, I was testing the waters. Second semester, I did everything. Last semester, I had a harsh reality check. And this semester? Well, I guess I'm still trying to figure that out.

I don't date much, and I don't really know if I'm even ready for any sort of real relationship. The idea of being with someone for more than a few months baffles me. Not because I think I'm incapable or because I don't want to, but because I've been measuring my life in four month periods.

Four months ago, I had a different roommate, and I was just meeting three of the people I now consider some of my best friends. I never would have woken up at six am to run 2.5 miles. I never would have stayed home on the weekend to catch up on homework. The slightest mention of a relationship would have probably made me laugh...and run.

Four months from now, I'm (hopefully) going to be in Spain. I definitely won't be living with the same people. Everyone I come into contact with will be a stranger. Every date will be a first one, and every experience will be untainted.

I can't really relate to people like my Delta Gamma big sister who has dated the same guy for five years, who still lives with her parents, and who has been in the same town for years. I can't really relate to people like my best friend from India who has known what she's wanted to do her whole life, whose cultural background has given her the support structure she's needed to create a life plan...and to stick to it.

Not that there is anything wrong with these lifestyles. I’m actually quite envious of these people who are fortunate to see people have these support systems and ideals for most of their life.

But me? Not so much.

I crave stability though every choice in my life contradicts this. Rhea has been my constant for the past 19 years. She has seen me grow up. She was there when I cried because she got to wear glasses and I didn’t (don’t worry, I now have four eyes of my own) , when I got hurt by the first guy I really cared about, when I found Christ and lost most of my friends, when I found out I couldn’t afford my dream school. Throughout every phase of my life, she was holding my hand...until I decided to let go.

I almost drowned once. It was the last “family” vacation before we moved to Alabama when my mother needed a distraction from spending the summer away from my daddy. To continue her childhood tradition, we rented a beach house in South Haven, Michigan. (For all my southern friends, yes, Lake Michigan is considered the beach). Mom was busy with Patrick, who was just a toddler, so being 16 Rhea was left to “look after” me. For some odd reason, my mom trusted us to spend a day by ourselves while she went to shop in Saugatuck. We swam past the sandbar and danced against the waves. We were singing Ice Cube's "You Can Do It", and let's just say that I put my back into it a bit too much. I don't really remember what happened after that, but I’ll never forget when I was my sister holding me and crying. I remember her saying, "Don't you realize you almost died?"

I ask myself these questions daily--"Mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?"

The funny thing is though, that every time I think I can't-- I do. I persevere.

I still go to the beach from time to time, and I pass the sandbars every time. And I'm still alive.

I've had many changes of scenery and I'm still here. As I fall more in love with who I am, I realize that maybe, just maybe, we are meant to be our own stability. And that as long as people love you, it doesn't matter if they've been in your life for just two hours, two months, or 20 years. As long as you have someone to drag you through the changing ocean tides, you'll be okay.

Maybe one day, I'll fall in love, have a stable career, get married, and possibly understand the concept of forever. Maybe, I'll even have kids and a bloodhound as sweet as Darby.

But right now? I think I’ll appreciate my nomadic life--four months at a time.

More Than We Appear

When we're young, we're all dreamers. We all want to be astronauts, pop stars, and firemen. What happens when we grow up, though? When do we stop believing anything is possible?

It spurs somewhere around adolescence. We start hearing the whispers—“you’re too fat,” “you’re too skinny,” “you’re too stupid,” “you’re too weird,” “you’re too ugly,” “you’re too tall.” It doesn’t take long for us to start believing these whispers—each one shouting “you’re not good enough.”

Some of us become a little more secure as we age, but the whispers are still here. If there’s one thing you should know about me (besides the fact that I’m a Gemini and a bacon enthusiast) it's that I’m really into self-improvement. I don’t understand people who want their life to stay the same.

I’m always searching for the next way to make myself prettier, or smarter, or more well-rounded. Whether it’s a new book club or a new face scrub, I’m always hoping to be better.

The problem is that most of us are like this. We are all looking for the next best thing. We are seeking an easier, faster way to lose weight when all it really takes is a trip to the gym and healthy eating.

Slowly but surely, we begin to fall in love with ideas. We start fantasizing about who we could be. We want to be the kind of person who runs every morning—but in reality we hate running. We want careers that makes money—but are in subjects we are not only terrible at, but we despise.

UAB is known for its medical system. I’m not sure what the statistics are, but I would guess that 40% of first semester freshman are pre-med. After that first semester, literally, half of them change their concentrations. It’s not just that the classes are too challenging (though Bio and Chem humble many aspiring doctors), but when the reality sets in, our mindsets begin to change.

A year ago, I never would have thought that I’d change my major or question whether or not, I actually wanted to be a politician. Here I am, though, questioning if I actually want to go to law school, or if I just like the idea of it.

I find myself doing this with relationships as well. I wouldn’t say I have a “type” per se, but my friends have noticed that I have a thing for military guys, guitar players, and gingers. I want a guy who believes bacon should be eaten with every meal, Third Eye Blind was the second best band of the 20th century, and that cats are creepy.

But love doesn’t work that way. You don't fall in love with an idea; you fall in love with a person. When you allow yourself to fall in love with an idea, you could end up cherishing something that might not even be there. You may end up losing out on something wonderful because it doesn’t fit your idea of love…or your dream career.

I’m not saying that we should stop dreaming…not at all. We have to acknowledge, though, that just because our dreams are changing does not mean the world is going to end. It does not mean that we are settling. It simply means that we are mature enough to know that sometimes what we thought we wanted isn’t what we really want.