Seasons of (Self) Love

525,600 minutes. 

525,600 moments so dear. 

How do you measure a year? 

I log on to Facebook as I see my friends post tributes to their loved ones. I read the stories of the college freshmen who had their lives changed by their pledge class, girls who feel as though they have finally found their forever, and people who fought diseases or unemployment because they worked through it as a family.

As I reflect on this past year, I can't help but think of those who I shared these experiences with. I think of the precious little I added to my sorority family, and to the sorority sisters who went above and beyond to be there for me. I think of the time I spent cuddling with my sister after we cried happy tears because the cancer was finally gone. I think of the guy who had a bigger pride issue than myself but still helped me overcome my fear of feelings. 

Don't get me wrong--I had some great times with some great people this year, whether it was the National Lampoon-esque New Year's party, my first Mardi Gras, romantic nights that could have been the climax in a Nicholas Sparks's book, the countless weekends at the beach, the spontaneous trips that always seemed to lead to I65, and some nights that I'll never forget, but hope others don't remember.

 

But the times that really stuck with me? Getting up before sunrise to go running, working 12 hour shifts at minimum wage to save up money for my trip to Spain, hitting up last call (at Starbucks) and staying at the club (Sterne) until closing, and racing the clock to finish articles for my internship before my 8AM class. 

I think about the lonely nights and the quiet mornings. I think of all the time I've spent alone. I think about how much I've written and the dreams I've realized. I think of times I wasn't sure I could go on, but I persevered. I think of all the times I simply went through the motions because that was all I was left with. 

As I drove home from work today, I began to tear up. Why? Because I did it. I survived all the trials and tribulations that this year brought. I was the one who drug myself through the hard nights and worked hard to become the person I wanted to be. It's an ongoing process, but in 2013, I made the hardest choice--to take the first step.

Sometimes you need to remind yourself that you were the one who carried you through the heartache...You should be proud of that. Having the strength to take care of yourself is the strongest thing in the world. via tumblr

I think about how now I run miles for fun while before you couldn't get me to jog if a velociraptor was chasing me. I look at my itinerary for Spain and know that every hour at the God-forsaken Florence mall was worth it. Every time I said no to going to the Cheesecake Factory or a Sephora trip paid off. I see that my room is actually clean and not because my mom yelled at me or I knew I had a room inspection coming up or because I was expecting a male visitor. I think about how freeing it has been to not have a smart phone for the past seven months and even more freeing to have been completely phoneless this past week.

This year hasn't exactly been a piece of cake, but tonight I'm going to celebrate a successful year by having a slice of the decadent chocolate beauty that my mother purchased.

Tonight, I'm celebrating survival; I'm celebrating the sanctity and the fragility of life. Most of all, I'm celebrating me. 

I MADE IT!