One of the most significant times I ever failed at something in a way that hurt was my senior year of undergrad.
I’d been running for months to train for the Colonial Half Marathon, a race held annually in my college town. All the most active people who weren’t otherwise playing a varsity sport ran the Colonial Half. Lots of girls I looked up to had run it in years past, and I desperately wanted to be one of them.
Anyone else get the sense that time is trudging ever-so-slowly when it gets cold out? Maybe it’s a psychological thing. My mood definitely drops when it gets chilly out and the sun isn’t as vibrant, so I’m really glad I was training for a half marathon this winter because exercise really keeps up my spirits.
I used to have 8234839234 million “friends.” And I put quotation marks around the word “friends” because I use that term so lightly.
College was a dream for me. While the school I went to wasn’t perfect, I was too enamored with it to notice it’s flaws while I was there, so I danced through those four years with a big fat smile on my face. Sure, I had plenty of tough times in college, namely some difficulty adjusting to the academic rigor of the school I went to and a couple of ugly relationships, but otherwise I was the girl who’d hijack the high school guests at your dinner party to convince them to think about applying to the place I loved so much.
But now you’re staring at your computer screen, blinking at phrases like “Travel to every country in the world” and “Find true love,” and you’re not sure where to start.
All these crazy aspirations you’ve thought up, the picture of this amazing life you’ve dreamt about since forever – all of this feels elusive. There are too many invisible steps from where you are now to where you want to go.
Okay, Amanda, I thought to myself. This is like, what? Your third night in a row in bed?
The workday was over and I’d shut myself away with a laptop, some comfort snacks, and a serious determination to finish Insecure on HBO. And I had no intention of getting up. Ever.
Which would have been fine, except that I realized this was becoming a pattern of the week. That bothered me.
I really would have loved to cast away all worries and anxieties about the week to the wind and binge-watched sad documentaries (now you know never to ask me for comforting movie recommendations) until it was way past my bedtime. But I also knew that I’d be really unhappy with myself if I did.
Because while one part of me wanted to spend my third evening of the week this way, there was another part of me that didn’t want to.