Today was going to be yet another day that I skipped over the blog. Or so I thought. I came home from the cold rain outside to a house full of Valentine wishes and chocolate; I came straight up to my room, adamant about not wanting to work out, and plopped myself in front of my TV. I forced myself to start my laundry after seeing the basket spill over onto my floor. After starting the first load, I pulled out a magazine (the February Self that I’ve been neglecting), cracked it open, and popped a few Kisses into my mouth. In between pages, I looked up to watch some TV, ABC Family to be exact. Two hours later, it occurred to me. In a flash of what I should call déjà vu, but won’t because déjà vu isn’t really what it means (thanks, Psychology classes), I remembered. I remembered one of the loneliest moments of my life. And really, I wasn’t miserable or anything, and I wasn’t really alone. It was my freshman year of college and I was sitting in my dorm room. This room, to be exact.
Well, that’s not quite as exact as I thought it may be, but lets just say, I really wish I had stayed in room 353 with my best friend (Jess, I know you’re reading this!). So this is that room. This is the spot that I was sitting in exactly three years ago. February 2011. I was sitting in my dorm room alone, which was not a rare event. I really enjoy my introversion, OK? I was sitting in my room enjoying a night alone during the week of Valentines day. My friends on the floor were scattered around; some out with friends, others with their families. The lucky few were with their significant others, in town and out. I, however, was trying to avoid a crappy ex, and was pampering myself with indulgent TV, chocolate, and some magazines. It was only a month after I decided to reapply to the University of Kentucky; a month after I decided that the life I had created – and absolutely loved – was not quite what I needed. I loved living right down the hall from my best friend more than anything, in fact, it was probably the reason why I made it a year. But by the time I had to return to Ohio after spending a month at home, I wanted nothing more than to come back.
That night, I turned on The Last Song. I watched the movie in between pages of a magazine (probably Cosmo) and loads of laundry. I plopped a few pieces of chocolate into my mouth and savored my life as it was. I was probably a little down; my best friend and her long-time love were spending the weekend together, my roommate was, well, a little crazy, and I didn’t have many friends in town. I missed my family, I missed my friends from home, and more than anything, my silly heart ached for someone to call my Valentine. One year later? I met my Valentine and had the most memorable Valentine’s weekend of my life. Two years later, I can’t even recall what I did (yes, I know, this was only last year, but I really don’t remember what Zach and I did). This year? I found myself here.
Watching The Last Song. Reading a magazine. Switching the lights over to the dryer. Popping another Kiss into my mouth.But I am so much happier. I found my Valentine (hopefully my last one, too!). My best friend is a phone call away, but currently enjoying a night in with her guy (still going strong 3 years later). I have my family downstairs and my friends scattered around town, but I am just happy. The smallest things can change in 3 years, even if you find yourself exactly where you were before. No matter the irony, no matter the similarity in the situations, you are not the same person you were then. We all change, we all grow, we find new people, and sometimes we lose the old. And that’s ok. That’s just life. And today? Life is pretty damn good.