One of the scariest things about growing up is comparing where you are to where everyone around you thought that you would be, and where you thought you would be. It’s hard to judge yourself, and it’s even harder to have others judge you.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about complacency. About being too happy, or too fine with where everything is, and how that happiness can be kind of terrifying. if I am ok with where I am, does that mean I’m never going to get anywhere greater? If I feel good right now, does that mean I’m not going to keep striving? I hope not. I hope I can feel ok and still want to feel better and do better and BE better.

I owe so much of where I am to the people that have constantly supported me. I know all of us do. To the teachers who supported me in high school even though I was a terrible student or to the coaches or directors or whoever shaped us and molded us and let us grow, in our own weird ways. I feel like I owe these people a debt, and I have no idea how to repay it, I’m not even sure if I could repay it.

This seems to be a really confusing time for me, and for a lot of my friends. I suppose it’s the ever-present 20-something angst. I guess these unknowing that we are all facing is kind of exciting- it means we still have mysteries to figure out, and adventures to take, and things to discover.

So, for now, I'll take this summer as it comes. Skype dates with friends from school, movies with my family, spending way too much time on the Metro, and long long days spent in my home away from home. Easy does it, right?

I’m in kind of a strange place right now. A state of in between.  I’m past the ends and before the beginnings and stuck somewhere in the middle, uncertain and excited. I have a strange chunk of summer right now, where I’m back in Bowie. It’s after Hiram, but before camp. After leaving one school, but before starting another.  

And, in this state of in between, I don’t have much to do. I’ve seen a few friends, read a few books, watched an obscene amount of Friday Night Lights, spent way way too much time on the internet, and I’m reaching the point where I feel like I’ve been here too long.

Soon I’ll be at camp, and so busy that I won’t even be able to fathom a time where I didn’t have a million things on my plate. Soon I’ll be surrounded by trees and songs and hundreds of smiling faces and kids who want a hug. Soon I’ll be at a new school, meeting new people, and trying new things.

But for now, I wait. I sit in Bowie and watch Netflix. I annoy my little brother. I take the dog on walks that are too long for her, and we both come home panting and tired. I think about all of the things to come. 

This is part love letter, part scrapbook, part day in the life. It's about the people that fill up these days and the places that stand witness to these moments. This is me, saying thank you, in the only way I know how. With pictures and with words. With laughter and with smiles. This is me showing you Hiram through my eyes. Through rose colored glasses and blue tinted shades. From my 2nd floor window and my favorite table in the dining hall. From late nights, to early mornings, to days filled to the brim with everything I love. It's not always smiles, to be sure, but I am trying my hardest not to dwell on the bad. I don't want to leave here with a head full of unhappy memories.

I tend to romanticize places, no more than when I am about to leave them. Hiram has had a huge impact on my life, and leaving has only helped me realize how much I care about this place. And it’s not just the buildings, though there are some memories tied to those, it’s the people I've met here and how much they care—about the world, about each other, about me, about everything.

I’ve gotten comfortable here, in a way that I haven’t felt in a long time. I've found a place I feel safe and loved and cared for, and where I feel like I can do the things I want to do and be the person I want to be. I’ve found a sense of freedom and trust and community.  

At Hiram I've found some really great people. And I’m sad to leave them, but hopeful that the relationships I've found here will last. Through emails or letters, facebook chats or skype calls, visits or some cool future hologram phone that I am sure will eventually exist. I won’t forget the late night sing alongs and the meals where we spent hours and hours just talking and laughing until the dining hall kicked us out. I won’t forget the board games and the movie nights and yelling at bad movies and spending time at the playground instead of on homework. I’m trying not to forget all the little things that make up the bigger picture.

But I guess it’s time for a new adventure. Time to learn new things and meet new people and go new places. Find new nooks where I can sit and see the stars. Find new friends who want to do silly things. Watch more people react to hearing me laugh for the first time. I’m learning that ‘new’ is just another way of saying ‘more’. That new doesn't replace old—it just adds to it.

This isn't the first thing I've written about my time at Hiram, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. I tend to get nostalgic. But let me just say thanks. It’s been fun.