brush stokes to keystrokes

I consider myself to have two major character flaws, among others of course. First, I have a hard time letting go of the past, and, necessarily following, change is my number one enemy. As it turns out, that butterfly I had tattooed on my back to remind me that the result of change can be beautiful doesn’t always help. That’s $100 big ones down the tube.

I visited my alma mater today for the home opener football game. I’d say my fellow alumni and I make a trip there about once every three months or so, about the time we find ourselves craving a Mueller’s beer (I don’t care what anyone says, it tastes different – more delicious), the smell of campus (especially in the fall) and a quick drive by the house we lived in off campus our senior year. 

What gets my blood boiling is, on each drive up to Atchison, I find myself expecting everything to be the same as it was five years ago when we left, the setting in which I had the most fun of my entire life. Upon arrival my expectations are promptly and firmly stomped on. Every time. Nothing is the same. There’s a brand new building on practically every visit. There’s a new sidewalk here and there. The name of a dormatory has changed. There are strangers cars parked in our old driveway. We no longer know everyone in the bar. I leave disappointed and wishing with all my power that I could go back for just one week where everything is how I remember it, when it was mine, ours.

And then I get over it after a small amount of grieving, reminiscing.

And then the time comes to make another visit…I get excited, nostalgic, ready for my dose of the past and the vicious cycle begins yet again.

Why does that happen? I’m not unhappy with my life in the present. In fact, I’ll be brave to go on record saying that it’s near perfect these days. I find myself getting showered with blessings upon blessings. Where does this reoccuring need to go back in time come from?

Maybe I’m scared to grow old. Maybe I’m scared that my life up to this point has been generally easy, no real tragedies to deal with, so something bad is bound to fall right out of the sky and pound my head into the ground.

*looks up, terrified, towards the ceiling*

There’s that cliche, you know, “live and learn.” Not so much applicable here, huh?

Anyway, I go to bed tonight calm and with open arms for the change of tomorrow, the moving forward of life, that extra wrinkle that may or may not show up under my eyes in the morning. Because, you know what? Tomorrow will always come, will always be a gift from God, and that, my friends, can be nothing but goodness.

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