the unknown.

I can tell you the most mundane details about my job. I can point to the exact place where the ladybug trim lives; I can fix jammed printer paper in five seconds flat. I can guide you to oil pastels, and when the mail comes in, I go through it like a pro. I pay this and charge that out, and I do it all effortlessky, more or less. The questions I ask are few and far between; I can stay there for weeks by myself because I know the ins and outs, every situation of that place.

Ask me about my school…well, my old school. I roamed those halls like I was the boss; I took people out of class whenever I pleased. I attended when I wanted. It wasn’t always like that, though. I didn’t always dare to walk in a classroom and demand to see someone in the hall. I didn’t strut down the halls without a pass, going over every single inch of them at least a hundred times. It took time, and confidence. It took a camera aorund my neck and a status as editor-in-chief that nobody ignored. But before that, I was a freshman, I shook with nerves at the thought that they wouldn’t like me. And now, when I drive by, I long for one more minute there. One more block, one more class, one more lunch. I wondered why I always wanted to skip. I want to sit on those couches one more time! I want to edit one more yearbook! It wasn’t enough!
But it will have to be.
My best friend. When I think of her, I can hear what she’s thinking. I know every cure of her face, every expression, and most of the thoughts that course through her head. When I send a text message, I usually already know the answer, or at least the tone in which she’ll respond. When we sleep in the same bed, she knows that my hand will rest against her back and I know she’ll steal my covers. She knows I hate peanut butter. I know not to serve her cole slaw. I could go on and on, listing the random knowledge I have acquired about this girl over the years of friendship. And one day I would look back and think, “I thought I knew you then.”
There’s a point to these ramblings. I drive these streets, and I know all the shortcuts. I know when Happy Hour at Sonic ends. I know the best parking spots, and the worst. I know cool spots to show out-of-towners. I know which shops are the least expensive. I know my town, these people, this life. And it’s all about to change.
This life is familar. I love this life. I love the nights with my best friend, the conversations we can have with choppy sentences and half-spoken thoughts that no one else would understand. I love the responsibility of that is my store, how my customers recognize me and comment on my hair cuts or new shirt. I loved my school; I loved everything about it. I wish I would have known that while I attended it. And now, here I am, speeding unhaltingly towards something that is totally new. And not just one something, a whole life of new somethings. My home, my school, my friends, my job. It is all being replaced, and while the thought gives me a thrill that sends chill bumps popping up all over my body, it also gives throws my stomach into a series of cartwheels everytime I consider it. What if they don’t like me?
Of course, everytime these fears bubble to the surface, everyone around me assures me that it will be “the time of my life.” But I got so lucky. I found this wonderful job, fit into this wonderful LIndsey-shaped hole at school, got matched up with these wonderful friends, and I am daring to test fate again? I am daring to believe it could happen twice? Who am I, to demand that of life?
I guess it comes back to this: the unknown scares the living mess out of me. It always has. My friends know that I won’t turn down a dare, but in real life, I run in the opposite direction. I cling to the familar and thrive in my routines. And I believed that I could change it all and survive!
More importantly, this overrides the above statement: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” So i will.
Advertisements

What do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s