Thanks, Universe.

I know I didn't complete Blog Every Day in August. But if August had been, Change All Of Your Plans, Move To A Brand New Place, And Start Something Entirely New Month, I definitely would have succeeded. And I think that is good enough for me.

I had a dream the other night. I dreamt I was moving into my room at Western, chatting with Cora and Jamie, walking around campus. Then I woke up in Rimview 117 in Billings, Montana. And all of a sudden I thought everything that has happened in the last 3 weeks was a dream. I thought real life wasn’t real, I thought Western was still happening, and I felt relieved. And then I realized I was wrong. That day started off with a sad Amelia.

It is interesting the way the Universe pushes people in certain directions. I had thought many times about how, at this point in my life, I can go anywhere, do anything. How I can adventure and meet new people and live in new places. How I am not tied down to anything or anyone. I am free. But I was set to go back to comfort, to friends, to Western. Then it was like the Universe told me, “Yo, Amelia. Your thoughts are right, but you are too much of a wimp to take the risk. You even created options for yourself, you gave yourself somewhere to explore. But you won’t do it on your own. So I’m just going to do it for you. Have fun, kid!”

For some things, I thank the Universe. Soccer, for example. I love it. I love playing every day. I loved playing 3 times a day. I love getting to wear a Rocky Soccer shirt, and carrying around a Rocky Soccer Backpack. I love being a part of the team. I love winning and I love losing. I was afraid I would never play college soccer, and that I would regret it. So thank you Universe, for saving me from a regret. And thank you Amelia, for setting yourself up with this option.

I thank the Universe, also, for freeing me up. Let me explain this. When you love your home, it is easy to stay. But if you stay, you will never experience other homes, other places. You will never know what you may be missing out on. Sometimes it is okay to stay. I think one of life’s searches is for a true home. Not necessarily a long lasting, permanent home, but a true home. One where things are right. A place where you just know that there is no better place for you right then. If you have found one of those, I certainly would not try to tempt you into looking for something else. But I did tempt myself. As absolutely wonderful as Western was, I don’t think my search is done. Or perhaps I am just not ready for it to be done. Maybe I found what I was searching for, but I didn’t want to stop searching. It is almost as though I was being tied down by something amazing. And the Universe untied me. Now I can continue my search. I can go wherever I want. Montana this year, maybe Europe next. I am free.

Maybe that is backward thinking. But sometimes I like the illogical.

I have already thanked the Universe a bit. Kind of in the way you thank your mom when she makes you do something you are afraid to do, because she knows it is good for you. I know at some point I will thank the Universe whole-heartedly and honestly. But I’m not quite there yet. I’m still a little bit stuck on Red Square, the VU, the Horseshoe Café. I’m stuck on the rain, stuck on Ethna, stuck on the idea of having a blender in our apartment to make margaritas. I’m stuck on Boulevard Park and the campfires. On Halloween plans and robotics. I’m stuck on How I Met Your Mother and climbing trees. I am still just a little bit stuck on all the plans I made.

Once I unbind myself from those plans, I will be able to thank the Universe a little bit more. Let go Amelia. Let go Amelia. Let go Amelia. Forget about Birnam Wood. Forget about engineering. Forget about working in Old Main. And forget about that goddamn blender! Forget, forget, forget. Only about the plans though. Don’t forget your roomie. Don’t forget the trees or the rain. Don’t forget crayons. Don’t forget smashing or Seattle. Don’t forget that trees hate shoes. Don’t forget the bunked desks or the curtain door. Don’t forget decorating Johnny or Silent day. Don’t forget being Ray Charles or camping. Don’t forget the troll or your ability to give directions to places you don’t know you are going. Don’t forget the splashy rocks. Don’t forget your friends, Amelia. And please, please, please do not forget how lucky you were to experience Western your freshman year. Don’t forget the memories you’ve made, but let go of the ones you planned on making. Please dear, it will make things much easier.

I know I need to let go. I won’t be able to thrive and experience here if I’m always wondering about somewhere else. So maybe that is what this blog is. Me reminiscing, me being sad, and then me letting go. Western was a wonderful experience. I couldn’t have asked for better. But now it is time to move on.

Goodbye Washington—I’m sure we’ll hang out again soon.

Hello Montana, hello new home. It is great to meet you, I’m sure we will be good friends.

A poem I wrote awhile ago.

Angel in Red

As she stands back and watches

her life go up in flames,

she remember the good times

long with the pain

of her romance, her heartbreak,

and the child she bore—

the child engulfed

in the thunderous roar.

Her tears hit the pavement

and quickly dry,

just like her life will

if her little boy dies.

She wants to protect him

like a mother should.

Protect his smile, his dimples,

his sweet childhood.

She can hear him crying

if she closes her eyes;

she looks up and screams

at the god of the skies.

Then a man goes in,

all dressed in red.

"I'll get your boy out,"

is all that he says.

She prays and she hopes

that they come out alive,

but when the flames grow

her hopes take a dive.

What if they don't make it?

She starts to cry:

I'd have no reason to live

if my little boy died.

She sits through the agony,

the pain, the unknown.

She imagines the worst—

her son dying alone.

She makes herself think

of what he last said,

"I love you," he told her,

before he laid down in bed.

Then out of the flames,

the red dressed angel appears.

With a limp body in his arms,

her only hopes turn to fears.

As a single tear falls,

"I'm sorry," he says.

The fireman hands her the body

of her little boy, dead.

I woke up at home today.

For over a year I wrote every single night. I would write where I woke up that morning, and whatever struck me as memorable from that day. I was really afraid that I would forget a day. Memorable things happen every day, but there is no way to remember them. And I was afraid that if I didn’t remember at least something from everyday, then that day was a waste. So I made myself remember by writing each day. It was never much. A few sentences at most. But man, it was fun to go back and look. To remember the little things about each day that I would have forgotten, no doubt.

Then a few knocks on the door and a police search pretty much flipped my world upside down. A whirlwind of secrets were exposed, and my life became a mess. And for some reason I stopped writing every day. I have tried to start a few times since then, and have gone a month or two at different times. But I was never able to make it last. I wish I would. I loved being able to think about each day and decide what was worth remembering and reminiscing. So, since it’s actually no longer August 5^th, I am going to pretend I wrote this an hour ago. And since I don’t really have anything to write about, I am going to reuse my old habits. Readers, all three of you, this will certainly not be of much interest to you, but someday I will reread this and remember august 5^th fondly.

Today I woke up at home, to a phone call from my momma, and a text from Heather, Travis, and Max. I had lunch with Travis at subway. We talked about his nephew who started doing meth. He wished he could help his nephew. I left and he got off work early so I went back. We had coffee with my dad at star bucks, I got a strawberries and crème frap. Then we smashed with max. It was wonderful J his car is so so broken though, which was so so sad. We took the back mountain roads, and it started to rain. It was so pretty though. Conversation about guard rails on uphills, and about T’s half brother in law’s death. Then we had dinner and a conversation about us, and what will happen when I leave, and about him wanting to weld. I will miss him, it was a really nice conversation. Then I came home, saw my financial aid from western, had a sad conversation with my roommate, talked to Jon and Toby, and watched TV. It was a really nice day with Travis, but a very sad day as well. Now I am sleepy.

I always handwrote my daily memories, and I never ever wrote as much as I just did. But typing is faster I suppose. I have to be up early. So goodnight blogworld.

I was wrong.

I’ve realized where I was wrong. You can only build a path as far as you have already walked. It won’t get longer until you proceed. I thought the path I built was a sure thing. That I could follow it as far as a wanted. But I guess that is the thing about life; you can plan, you can build yourself a nice safe trail that will lead right to your goal, but in the end, that path could collapse, the plan could tumble. Before you are ready to step off the path, it can throw you off. Decide it doesn’t want you anymore. Toss you into a fast flowing river prepared to push you around, shove your face on rocks, and spit you out onto shore wherever it sees fit.

I thought I could build myself a path, and that I was allowed to stay on it as long as I wanted. And that when I was ready, I’d create a new path, and the old trail would send me off with a few falling leaves and a nice sunset. Lucky for me I had stepped off the path for a bit. I was hanging out in an intersection, perhaps. I could go straight and continue on my path. I could turn left, and head for Montana. I could have even turned right, and stayed in the good ‘ol CO.

Then out of nowhere, while I was in this intersection, the path ahead of me crumbled. I could no longer afford to go straight, even if I wanted to.

It was strange. Just minutes before the path ahead collapsed, I had been toeing its line. About to put weight onto my foot. About to choose Western. Will I regret it, mom, if I go to Western? Would you be disappointed if I chose not to play soccer? Would I be disappointed? She answered them all with a NO. And then just before I planted my foot, the trail crumbled in front of me. Beautiful Bellingham sailed away, the perfect roommate waved goodbye. DANGER, DO NOT PASS replaced the This Way To Safety signs.

At least I wasn’t on the path when it crumbled. At least I have somewhere else to go. What if I hadn’t stepped off the path? Would I be tumbling through rapids right now, with nowhere to go? I would be a wreck. A lost, desperate, wreck, with nowhere to go. Fortunately, something told me to look away from the way I thought my life would go. Picking which path was stressful, hard, and exciting. But it looks like the universe picked for me. My mommy taught me to trust the universe, so I will. I sure hope it made a good choice.

Immaturity takes over Amelia's fingers.

You think blaming me is going to help. You think that if it is all my fault, then you will feel better about yourself. You won’t have to look at what you did. You won't have to think about the problems you created. You won't have to take yourself off of your pedestal and realize that maybe you were part of the problem. If you blame me you won’t have to take him off of his pedestal, either. You can keep thinking of him as the perfect little boyfriend. The one that loved you. The one that never did anything wrong. The one that actually enjoyed spending every night of every weekend crammed in a little dorm room with you, watching television.

Relationships are supposed to be put to the test. Strong relationships are supposed to tumble and fall and not break. Your relationship was full of cracks. Cracks just waiting to spread into complete destruction. Cracks that had nothing to do with me. And then your relationship fell. It tumbled down the hill, it flew off the cliff. And when it landed, it was as broken as your poor little heart. Is that really my fault? Perhaps I pushed your relationship down the hill, maybe I made it tumble and fall. But if it hadn’t been full of cracks, it would have survived the fall. It is not my responsibility that it broke. I was his friend. He pushed your relationship down the hill just as much as I did. I didn't ask him to break up with you. I didn’t talk bad about you. I didn’t tell him he could do better. I didn’t kiss him like you were afraid I would do. I was his friend. Blaming me keeps you from having to take any responsibility for the cracks in your relationship. Blaming me keeps you from admitting that maybe he wasn't as perfect as you thought he was. That maybe he did something wrong. You can pretend that if it hadn’t been for me there would have never been any problems. That he would have never broken up with you. That you two would have lived happilyevereverafter. But the truth is, there would have been other problems. There would have been another girl, or another issue, or another reason to fight. There were cracks. Cracks, cracks, cracks. Someone, something would have given your relationship a nice, firm shove. Your relationship was bound to tumble, fall, and break. Because it had cracks before I even came along. It had cracks that had nothing to do with me.

I wonder.

This is bound to be one of my less successful blogs. But since I am blogging every day in August (thanks to Heather), I’ll have lots of chances to make up for it.

I wonder what they talked about before drugs and alcohol.

I wonder what would have happened if I had picked the other guy.

I wonder where I will be sleeping in two weeks.

I wonder why my head hurts so bad.

I wonder I wonder I wonder.

I wonder why I am worried so much about their lives.

I wonder why I am so confident in my own.

I wonder what name I would choose for myself, if I had to pick a name.

I wonder I wonder I wonder.

I’m going to bed.

The Road Less Traveled.

Right now I stand in this limbo, this undefined territory. This place with no foreshadowing, because even I don’t know which path I’ll pick next. I can’t seem to stay away for long. I could pretend I don’t like this, but who am I kidding? I put myself here. Over and over and over and over. I am comfortable in the discomfort, content in the unknown.

When I hike, I don’t like to stay on the trail. I like to explore, to find nature that I wasn’t suppose to find, to climb trees that I wasn’t suppose to climb. Someone made a path that assures a safe trip. A wonderful, beautiful, physically taxing, and safe trip. But safety isn’t always best, is it? Safety lacks risks, it lacks guts, it lacks challenge. It lacks the opportunity to see things you didn’t know you were looking for, to experience things you didn’t know you were missing out on.

I once built myself a path. It led to a graduation in blue and silver, an honors diploma handed to me by George Mariz, and intermural soccer the whole way through. This path was marked with beautiful sights. A roommate anyone would dream of having, a job that would get me killer recommendations, a town full of opportunities and beauty, and a group of friends who said NO to nothing. This path seems pretty perfect, no? At one point, this path was only a few steps long. It included nothing more than a check mark next to I AM ATTENDING and a newly bought bed set. Somehow those few steps turned into a beautifully organized, brilliant home. But it had no forks, no smaller paths breaking off. And it was marked with signs: This way to Safety.

I don’t like to stay on the trail. I like to explore. And somewhere between the I can’t wait to go back and the I wouldn’t trade Western for anything, I glanced away from my destination, from the blue and silver graduation. And what I saw was alluring. I saw myself on a team, with a coach and a soccer bag, getting onto an airplane to fly to a game. I saw myself warming up, a college logo on my chest. I saw myself eating, breathing, sleeping soccer. I saw sprinting, lifting, panting. I felt my quads burning and my hands tingling. And so I started a new path. Right now, that one is only a few steps long. It isn’t marked with beautiful Bellingham, it doesn’t have the perfect roommate, and it doesn’t come with the dream job. But my last path, the one that would be so easy to hop back onto, was pretty barren when it was just a few steps long. There is nothing to say that a new path couldn’t become just as beautiful, as tantalizing, as amazing, as the old path. Is there?

I stand here, not knowing whether I will charge ahead at the unknown, or turn around and take the path I already created. I stand here, not knowing where I will sleep for the next nine months, and I am content. I am happy I have this choice to make, happy that I followed a passion to create these options for myself. And I am happy because I know that no matter which path I take, I will gain something wonderful in place of what I may lose. There is no bad option here. Taking the old path would be a relief. A wonderful, fun, exciting relief. I would not be unhappy if I hopped back on. I am positive of this. I think, though, that if I turned around, I would wonder where that small, desolate, dirt path would have taken me, what it may have turned into. I would question what sights I wasn’t seeing, what wonders I wasn’t experiencing. And who is to say that I can’t turn around if my new path totally sucks?