I'll be honest about this part of life. It doesn't make any sense. Maybe for some people it does. But for me, each application feels like a rejection and each step forward seems to be followed by three stumbles back. I feel less in control of the plan, and I don't like that. Actually, I hate it. Those hazy shadows in the fog taunt me with their mystery. My concentrated stares to determine the identity of those shadows only ends in confusion and frustration. No answers. No answers yet. At least not while I'm standing far away, apprehending the unknown from a distance.
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They tell me that the body remembers, and I think mine has been having too much fun with deja vu. It's remembering where I was one year ago--after Rush, leadership, and responsibilities. It's remembering the cold weather, the mid-November stress, the overcast days, the wind slicing through the buttons of my flannel. Last year, cold weather felt scary and lonely and helpless. And my body is remembering.
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She was just like me at eighteen years old--passionate but timid, needing a friend to tell her she's legit and her dreams are legit. Needing permission to let her passions bust out of the trapdoor and surprise everyone. She needed her moment where someone believed in her.
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