I never thought those numbers could ever mean so much to me. I have five weeks, twenty-five weekdays, and thirty-two days left of my senior year. I will be free once those are all zero.
I will officially be done with school. I will be a college girl. I still can’t believe I am almost done with the four years I dreaded the most my whole life. The four years I wanted to be done are almost that: done.
I am a very different person from who I imagined myself to be and I know I am not done growing and figuring myself out, but I love who I’ve become and don’t want to change anything. I almost wish I could pause these last few weeks and live in them for a little while longer.
I can’t wait to get away from here. To start my life with no boundaries. These weeks are something that can’t go by fast enough.
I wish these weeks would pass by in the blink of an eye, but I wish I could look back on them and remember everything I am feeling now.
For quite some time now, I’ve been trying to find God.
It’s not that I feel I’m lacking something without being a member of a religion, I just find it fascinating how people feel so empowered by so many different faiths.
In some ways I’m jealous of those people, the ones who know whole-heartedly that there is some higher power out there to guide them.
I know a lot of people who are skeptical of religion and, in some ways, I am too.
But, I’ve come to the conclusion that good people don’t use the Bible or anything else to justify hate or harm. The people who make excuses in the name of God are hypocrites in the truest sense and are ignorant by thinking that just by adhering to a faith will guarantee a better life or afterlife.
I think there is so much we can learn from religious texts. Even if you don’t interpret them in a spiritual sense, I think that anyone of any faith or background can gain something from the lessons in them.
From my perspective, the main purpose of a religion is to give people a sense of purpose or fulfillment and to help them live the best life possible.
So if this is true, then I’ve found my god.
I find my religion in the wilderness. I find god in the trees and in rivers and mountains and the sunshine.
My god makes up everything that is natural and wild. It teaches me to live the best, most fulfilled, and positive life that I can.
“Easter-worshipers.” What does that even mean? Yes, we were at church on Easter, but, no, that does not mean we are Easter-worshipers. It means we are the scary C-word.
We did not go to a service to worship Easter, we were there to worship the day Jesus Christ did the unthinkable, unimaginable, impossible, and rose from the dead.
I did not sit in those pews to talk about the Easter bunny and think about the Easter egg hunt I would be helping out with later. I sat in pews to talk about and worship my savior.
Those people whose lives were taken from them did not go to church that day planning to worship Easter. They went there to hear about Jesus Christ and how he died on the cross for our sins. They were there because they were the C-words or at least interested in learning about the C-word.
The C-word is not a bad word and I am tired of feeling like it is. True C-words are the most loving people. We are taught to love everyone and forgive everyone like God does. Yet these past few years I have started to feel as though being a C-word is wrong and I am a horrible person. And this past week, holy week, has made me scared about my future as a C-word with all the attacks on C-words. The media can’t even say the C-word.
We are Christians and proud, so don’t be afraid to call us what we are: Christians.
School was hard today; long homework assignments on top of essays on top of tests on top of projects and, to make my day more stressful, I spent hours anxious and worried about fears in my head. To top it off, I skipped lunch to try and end a relationship with a boy without hurting his feelings, but it made the situation worse. By my last class period, my brain was throbbing wanting to explode and my anxiety was through the roof.
I wanted to lay in bed and cry, but I thought of a semicolon and put on my running clothes.
This is where my day started to change.
I asked an amazing girl if she wanted to run with me, I knew she had to run today anyway because she is training for a half marathon, so I thought we could run together.
She said yes and we set off for a five mile run.
After about two hundred feet, a sharp pain in my calf that I get often when I run started to scream inside my leg. My negative mind set began to kick in. I’m going to slow her down… This run is going to suck. You’re not going to be able to do this. You’re such a slow runner. This is why your coach isn’t proud of you. This is why you won’t make it to CIF.
Luckily, I made an amazing decision: I took a deep breath, cast out the negative voices, and just kept running.
My running parter and I talked about school and life and running. We talked until we both fell silent as we slipped under the spell of running: our movements connected directly to our breath, the pain became a faint feeling instead of an all-encompassing sensation, our foot steps made a clip-clop clip-clop rhythm. Our breathing was all our mind focused on and we became encompassed in the aura of running.
Breath in, step step, breath out, step step, breath in, step step, breath out, step step…
My breathing was like a conductor and my footsteps were the orchestra.
I usually run alone and it’s crazy how much running with other people can change your running experience. Even when we weren’t talking, I felt like my running partner was there for me. If I fell, she would catch me. If I needed to slow down, she would stay with me. If I wanted to run ten more miles, she would run with me and I hope she knows that I would do the exact same for her. If you are reading this right now, I hope you know how grateful I am to run with you.
When you’re in the zen of running, you go with the flow, you are supportive of your peers, and you are supportive of yourself. This is how I was today.
My legs felt strong, my mind felt clear. I was next to an amazing girl, surrounded by beautiful scenery. I was happy.
Once we got to our destination, we bought drinks, smiled, laughed, talked, and stretched out our aching muscles.
Running is an unpredictable sport. Somedays you’ll run a mile and your legs will feel like lead. You’ll be miserable, in pain, and want to stop. Other days, you’ll run ten miles and feel amazing, like you could keep going forever.
On bad running days, your brain will say “stop running,” your body will say “stop running,” but you need to find it in your heart to say “keep running.”
Runs like today are the reason my heart says “keep running.”
After bad workouts, bad races, and times where I want to quit, I will think back to the run I did today and think: “Runs like that are why I love running.”
I’ve written so many drafts trying to talk about this, but no matter what I write nothing sounds right. This is not something I can write in one sitting. The words have to be perfect.
It seems like no matter how many times I write it, it still sounds horrible. I can’t even write this post where I don’t say what the other post says.
I can’t bring up what is in the other post because just bringing it up is not right to me. Everything about it has to be perfect.
It will probably be the last blog post I write because that is how long it will take to perfect. The thing I want to say is probably one of the hardest things I have ever written. I don’t know how to not sound naive when saying it.
I hope that I can actually put it into words and that it is enough for him.
The definition of a semicolon is a punctuation mark indicating a pause between two main clauses.
Semicolons are useful in writing and are taught in English class, but, to me, they are much more than a punctuation mark.
A semicolon is a moment where a writer could have stopped, but they decided to continue on.
I am the writer and life is the sentence. I write a semicolon because I could end, but I will choose to keep on going.
I have struggled in the past with self harm and this metaphor helped guide me through it and become the happy and healthy person I am today. Although I no longer struggle with the impulses to end my life, the semicolon metaphor still applies to me more than ever. The semicolon is most commonly equated to mental health, suicide, and depression. To me, this symbol can be applied to everything.
In life ,I strive to be the best I can. The best athlete I can be, the best student I can be, the best person I can be, the best friend I can be.
When I’m on a run and want to stop, I picture a semicolon. I have the power to stop, but I have the power to keep on going. I will keep on going.
When I see a person who is sad, I picture a semicolon. I could just keep walking, but I can help them. I will help them.
When debating between taking the easiest route or the route that is harder but strengthens you as a person, think of a semicolon and always remember:
You are the writer and life is your sentence. Embody the meanings of a semicolon and keep on striving forward.
They say you’re gonna die, but they won’t tell you how.. For most of us, it will be years. For some of us, it could be months, who knows. It could be weeks, days, minutes, seconds. Time doesn’t stop when your watch does. Scrape your knuckles. Flirt with mortality. Let the pink fade from your hair along with your insides too. Try to start liking super-hero movies. Let out your scummy feelings out on a man you meet in the street who asks you how your day was. Let it be known folk music is your favorite… FOLK MUSIC IS MY FAVORITE. Hum to guitar riffs. Screw over your coffee date, because you hate coffee. Pick petals off a flower… “Does he love me? He loves me not. Does he love me?” Sit on the fence when writing a persuasive speech. Be enthusiastic about history lessons. Learn the constitution. For gods sake, study religion and be an atheist. Oppose because it’s more interesting. Write illegibly. Run into a tree because you think it will slow you down. Tell your friends you love them, because you miss them. Cry because you can feel. Close your eyes to open them. Sit in absolute silence, but still hear screams.Act like an angel, yet dine with the devil. Do whatever the hell you want because, by now, you’re halfway to heaven.
I don’t know much about you, but I can infer some things.
I think you are someone who cares about your belongings.
Like your copy of Spoon River Anthology, for example.
Photo Credit: pinterest.com
I think you care about it because you stamped it twice – once inside the front cover and once inside the back.
Maybe you just didn’t want to lose it and for it to be returned to you if it ever did get lost. But, if that’s the case, how did it end up in a used bookstore in a town 3,000 miles away?
I would want to know which poems are your favorites, but it seems like you never read them. The pages are nearly perfect, despite being printed in 1962.
I wish I could ask you some questions.
How old were you when you bought it? How old are you now? Why didn’t you read it? How did it end up with me?
I don’t know who you are, but I want to say thank you. Your book that was originally sold for 95 cents is now my book that was sold to me for three dollars.
And now I have a story within a story, thanks to you.
I’m not sure if you still live in New York or if any of my assumptions about you were correct or if you’re even a person at all.
But just in case I was right, once I finish the book, I’ll send it back to you.
OVS Journalism Blog 
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