I've had my high school ID floating around my room all year. It's been in my box of paints and magazine clippings since I graduated and has travelled with me to Toronto (why?), and somehow ended up in the pile of papers on my bedside table. With all the spring cleaning I've been doing, that pile of paper has dispersed itself into the proper homes (or at least condensed itself and now is sitting elsewhere with other condensed piles-turned-one-pile), and my ID card finally got taped into the journal from my final year of high school. Naturally I took a flip through the old book, skimming through pages and pages of teenage angst, "I just don't know what to DO with my life, if only I could figure it out," and "I went out for lunch with Grandma Sharon today and she says I'm too smart to be a hairdresser for my whole life but what should I do,"; there are more pages yet of working myself through my first "breakup" [or more accurately "non-breakup" as we weren't officially dating but then there was the distinct point of being officially over], "I just don't feel like I care to love anyone else," "despite how you hurt me I'd go back to the beginning and do it all over again, even the tears," (woah, dramatic), and, written over and over again, "Love is Patient. Love is Patient." and "I have decided I will get past this" (phew). There are ticket stubs from old movies and the package from the tea I was drinking as I wrote and clippings from teen Vogue, Billabong ads and pictures of girls on surfboards. There are cards from my 17th birthday and notes passed during English class; there is the sorting of grad dates and limos, the tag from my grad dress; there beautifully bordered pages with poems from my English Lit class that made me fall in love with poetry and writing; there are song lyrics and pictures from going to all-ages concerts of local Langley bands. There are song lyrics of my own that are pretty horrible, but it was all brick work for the words and the writing now, which at times isn't horrible and at times isn't that cheesy and cliche.
I remember writing those pages and all the emotion and the struggle that I was feeling in that time, and a funny thing struck me - how all of a sudden it all gets easier and the things that used to feel so big and ominous all of a sudden aren't; How some questions get answered and some questions don't, and how some get easier because they get solved and some get easier because we realize they're not meant to be solved, rather explored and just left in mystery.
And I've listened to this song on repeat since reading through that journal since it's written out on every other page and I probably listened to it fifty times a day during that time.
And look at all those journals:
"Maybe it's enough to just want to spend a lot of time with people, and write down really beautiful things, and sing when I can and when it comes to me. I wonder if I could have a job where I do that, because I don't think I'd ever get tired or ever feel like I needed anything more."
-May 8th, 2007