Hi, Holly. It's Holly. You don't talk to yourself on a normal basis (though, I can recall that time when the lights went out and we had a nice conversation with ourselves to keep you from freaking out). So, you must know what time of the year this is. The box underneath the bed has a myriad of envelopes now. You almost ripped the very first one trying to get the box out earlier. Torn and worn, with a little clown in the bottom right hand corner and an elephant in the left hand corner with one of those spinning top hats on his head. We've upgraded since then, haven't we? We surpassed the circus envelopes, crossed the zoo animal envelope bridge, and even that year when you were obsessed with pink everything (really, what were you thinking?). Now you just have a regular envelope with your initials on the front in some fancy font you don't know of. While that's not really the point of this, I guess it's a good way to start off this year's letter. You survived your first year of college. You are no longer the girl with circus dreams in her eyes. Here we are, a year later to-the-date, and somehow you feel so much more different than you did every other year writing these letters about what has happened. A major goal this letter? Trying to keep yourself consistent between writing in first person and in third person. You know how you get on tangents and forget what the point of things are. So, let's start, shall we?
Last year's letter was almost solely devoted to your soon-to-be college experience. You were counting down the days before move-in and orientation, and there was at least one panic attack during the whole experience. Anxieties were high last August, stuck someplace between knowing who you were and still trying to figure everything out. You have your footing now, even though you're still trying to figure out which way to go. That's the fun thing about life being like one of those mazes that smell funky in a carnival. You have no idea where you're going, and you've given them your ticket so now you're stuck there until you find your way out. But when you do, and God knows you hope it's soon because it smells like old cheese, you feel satisfied and ready to go onto the next thing. You were so comfortable in your high school bubble. You had this group of friends that you loved and some that you just put up with. It was comfortable, but sometimes comfortable isn't always good. It's not comfortable anymore. It's chaotic and messy and sometimes you have no idea what on earth is going to happen next. Those girls...they keep you on your toes constantly. One minute you're laughing so hard you want to pee yourself and the next minute you want to cry because you've never had friends who would do what they do for you. There's stability and sometimes stability is all you need.
You're taking your first zoology course this semester. That's crazy, isn't it? In high school dreams were just dreams, they changed every week because you had no idea what you wanted to be. Now you actually take steps to get to where you want to be, and even though zoology isn't an option to major in at UNC, you're still getting your feet wet with the courses they offer. Look at you just becoming an adult, Holly. You knew it had to happen sometime and now that it's begun it doesn't seem like it's going to stop. College isn't the first adult-like step you've taken this year, either. You're in a relationship with a boy. A guy. A college relationship. And there are a few things The Notebook didn't exactly teach you about being in a relationship. It certainly didn't prepare you for losing your virginity, did it? Rachel McAdams totally threw you for a loop with that one. I can get how having sex with Ryan Gosling is completely orgasmic and everything, really, but couldn't she have winced or something at least once? You care about him a lot and it freaks you out. It leaves you in this place where there's no shelter. You're exposed and vulnerable and, after last time? That's petrifying. But things feel good and easy, almost comfortable but not in that monotonous kind of way that no one wants in a relationship. So, maybe it's worth feeling a little vulnerable.
More importantly, you have a little handle on control. A little less of a tight grip on it, right? No, I guess that's not entirely true. Control is still something to struggle with, something that you tug-of-war with almost constantly. It's the eighth deadliest sin. But, baby steps are good. You've reached that point with Connor. You can't seem to grasp it with your mom, though. I can't. Screw this third person stuff for a second, but I can't. This out of control feeling? This feeling like I can't stop anything from happening kills me. She just...the way she handles it. It makes me so angry with her. Like she's not scared at all. Or like she can't share an inch of her fear with any of us. That's how she is and how she's always been. She has to hold down the fort, she has to be the people-pleaser. I guess I'm like her in that way. I love her to the moon and back and it hurts me to see that she might be in pain or that her spirit which I adore so much might falter. But I believe in her and her strength more than anything. Hair or no hair, sick or not sick, she is a force to be reckoned with. If I turn out to be half the lady that she is someday, I'll be happy.
An hour and a Subway Club later, we're back to this letter and back to third person. There was a bit of a moment going on back there and that's not what this letter is about. This letter is about what has happened this year, but it's not a way for me to be all Negative Nancy or Sappy Sally. A lot of great things have happened this year. I'm closer to my mom than I've ever been. There's a tattoo behind your ear now, waving hello if you ever put your hair up to show it. You climbed your first tree! You went camping and this weekend you're going to see Something Corporate. Considering I thought I would be one of those kids who piles into their dorms and never comes out, I guess I did fairly well.
These envelopes in this box sitting next to you, that's a sure way to show just where you've been even though they can't tell you where you're going. You're not writing about your grade school teacher who didn't like you for whatever reason, about the time Mike smacked his head into a pole that started everything, about how if you didn't get a car you were just going to jump off a bridge and swim everywhere. You're at the cusp of adulthood, now. Who knew. Maybe next year will be just a plain, white envelope. Maybe it'll be something with flowers on it. You just don't know, you know? This is a choose your own adventure story. Right now I'm going to choose a nap before I go swimming.
