Wishful Thinking

The last few days, I've been thinking. There've been probably thousands of times I've wished I wasn't me, or that I wrote like her or blogged like her. I've hidden my real self in hundreds of different sentences and outfits. I've struggled with multiple problems on the inside and only shown my happy-go-lucky, immature person in my writing style.
I can't even write a philosophical blog post without faking. Heck, I'm doing it now.

But reading them--it makes you want to write one. It makes you want to think.

Like the article I read recently: "Why Courtship is Fundamentally Flawed." Who thinks to write something like that? Who's brave enough to pen a topic so controversial among the homeschooling/Christian community these days?
 Or the beautiful woman who said, only after a lifetime of struggling with her body image, "I don't like thinking that I have to have a wooden board for a ribcage for people to find me beautiful."

I'm turning eighteen in forty days. Forty more days and, by America's standards, I will be an adult. I remember the days when I was still fifteen, when I gloried in that innocent, joyous age. I remember attending my church's family camp, going off alone to read Isaiah in the morning, returning to Goldendale early because of the threat of a fire, coming back and only nine days later halfheartedly celebrating my sixteenth birthday, devoid of its glamor because my dearest, oldest friend wasn't present.

I remember the enormous jump in age sixteen to seventeen seemed to be and the multiple experiences of that year--working hard to finish my first three college-level classes, completing a stressful driver's ed, getting my driver's license, flying to Indiana for the Momentum Youth Conference, and suddenly--or it seemed like it--I was a whole new me. I was going to school full-time and college full-time simultaneously, when previously I'd never done any academics out of my home. And then I'd graduated from high school . . .
. . . and the pumpkin cake, the hours of insane pressure, the dance practice, the discussion, the five-hour graphing calculator classes, the head-aching meteorology labs, the love-hate relationship I had with my history class, the two-thirty a.m. bedtimes, the twenty-five sources I used in my twelve-page history research paper, the day my math teacher told me my Math 111 final test score was the highest for both classes that quarter . . . none of it is anything more than a memory now.
And in thirty-eight days, my college-sophomore school year officially starts (are you kidding, I haven't even had a summer!), and I'll be making new memories again in biology lectures and labs. In coming home to race through my economics, web graphics and design, and music appreciation homework and stressing out about how to finish all my biology assignments before the next class meets. Going to Dutch Bros to get my free drink on my birthday. Laughing and having fun--and hardly stopping to think that time is flying faster than it ever has before.


  1. I was actually thinking the same thing about my life this week. Thinking about writing about it... but I'm afraid to because it makes it hurt again. I wish memories could be happy without being...over? Idk.

  2. You're awesome just the way you are, Hannah. :)

    1. Haha, thank you so much, Rissi :) That means a lot!


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