The summer isn’t starting out too great.
I spent the ending months of school anticipating summer vacation; I made plans, I made a list of all the things I was absolutely determined to accomplish. For the first time in a long time I was more excited than anxious about the future. I was planning, I was in charge. I wanted to conquer my phobia and finally learn how to swim. I wanted to read. I wanted to make new friends. I wanted to go hiking. Fishing. Climbing. Running. I wanted to experience what I never knew I was capable of doing– physically and mentally. I wanted to challenge myself. I want to make something of myself.
But so far, all these goals fall flat, and the early expansion of my hopes are diminishing. I worry that they will deflate and crumble away too soon. It isn’t so simple to just step out of the house, at least, that’s how I feel. I tell myself otherwise, but how can there be direction when there isn’t motivation? Or maybe I’m too dependent on routine. Walking outside white chalk lines is just too scary right now.
I miss you, Fiona. And I miss a lot more.
A lot more (people, places, and things).