Free

Some nights, I want to put my favourite Billy Joel songs on repeat and curl up in bed. Admit defeat. Throw in the metaphorical towel. This is becoming a more frequent desire as the time between the end of the school and my parents arrival continues to stretch before me. The whole principle behind finishing school for the year is being homeward bound after a long semester/year. In the more realistic portrayal of this daydream, the lights come up on our female lead. She writes her last exam, goes to church one last time, takes part in a five hour meeting to talk about ACF's vision for next year, and then spends the following day packing up her dorm room. Her final night at school, she sits, exhausted, among her packed belongings, rolling into bed at the tame hour of ten. The reunion with her extended family in the following days is comforting, but it's not the same… 

One of the clearest memories from my many homecomings is the unique pitch my mother uses to greet her long lost children. It greeted me at an airport in Saudi Arabia in December. It also greeted me many Fridays as I finished yet another week at Camp Wildwood. I remember as weeks at camp became more taxing, the immense relief that settled on my soul as I ran into the arms of Mom or Dad. Call it childish, but to me, I can't lay my burdens down until I hear that special pitch and feel their arms around me. It doesn't feel like the year's really over. Not yet. Sure, I'm going through the motions. I got a job. I go where I need to go when I need to go there. I go about my life with minor enthusiasm. 

I think that living out of a suitcase takes a little bit of your soul's dignity. Or maybe I'm just dramatic. Either way, I'm tired of living out of a suitcase. I've taken two week-long trips in the last month and both times, I have failed to pack the right combination of clothing. Discouraging. Any person with poetic perspective likes to pick apart the minute occurrences to add significance to the bigger picture. So, to me, my inability to pack the right combination is just a symbol of the pieces my life is missing recently. 

Ultimately, I think there's great merit in a poetic lens on the world. Sure, it lends itself to over thinking. Still, it lends thoughtful significance to details that escape other eyes. Yes, it makes the way you understand the world somewhat subjective and selfish, but it also makes it beautiful. Because good poetry is beautiful. Poetry built out of experience and reflection and inspiration. So, even my moments of loneliness and longing are beautiful… They promise good things to come. Reunions. Hugs. Puppy kisses. Ice Cream. Beach days. Laughter. Cheesy grins on my part. 

People have pointedly observed that I talk about my parents a lot. I'm sure they think it's selfish, childish, perhaps a sign that I'm stuck in my past. The way I see it is that there are only a select group of individuals that make me really, truly happy. My parents in particular bring incredible joy and wisdom into my life. I celebrate that by wearing out the subject. And in the grand tradition of anyone who has 'haters', I say, Suck it up! Part of getting to know any human being is finding out what makes them tick, what makes them happy, what makes them feel alive. I can spend hours talking about calculus or Anne of Green Gables or even about a book/poem I just read that impacted me. Or, maybe I just talk too much… My rambles on this blog are proof enough of that. So, I'll wrap up with something my mom told me about freedom: "Just smile and understand that God really has set you free. Free to learn. Free to grow. Of course, along with that comes the potential for hurt - which you've also known. But you are free. Free to grapple with what it means to be a believer of integrity and intellect." 

So, here's to living in the knowledge of that freedom and here's to a summer spent in the freedom of God's love and the love of my parents and furry pals. 

"Once I thought I'd like to be a blossom growing on a tree; white and pink and lazy as can be; but I'd be king just in the spring; so now I think it over… Gee, I'm glad I'm no one else but me."