I love beginnings. They motivate me to work and inspire me to be better. The beginnings of a relationship (platonic or romantic) have similar effects- you want to show your best version, and more importantly, you are constantly learning. You're learning about the other person- their cadence, word usage, laugh, voice, ideas, habits...and you're learning about yourself- your slight awkwardness, nervousness, openness, closeness, sensitivity.
Freshman year of college, everything is a beginning. I'm sleeping on a top bunk for the first time, living with roommates, meeting new people, developing new routines. It's been fresh, I've felt fresh, as if I could reinvent myself, start off new. After four weeks here, I've realized that it's impossible to "reinvent" yourself. You are not a whiteboard that can be erased then drawn on. Your life can't suddenly turn into a clean slate. There is no delete or rewind for those memories and experiences you'd rather do without. Instead, I like to think of myself as an etching. As one of those wood whittles. Everyday I'm whittling at myself to smooth out the edges, create new dimensions. Everyone's wood is different. Some are softer, others harder, some have been through snowstorms, others light sunny days. We have to work with our unique piece of wood. And we may never be satisfied with the result, but we should at least be content with the progress.
I have no idea how I just started making analogies with wood. It's too late for coherent thoughts. But you gotta admire the creativity of this exhausted brain. ;) I like to think of these posts as unfiltered diary entries...just to let you know what you're getting yourself into.
Anyway, I was inspired to write this post that has gone off tangent by...dun dun dun...a boy. Of course. How typically college girly of me. We all love boy talks, at least my roomies and I do. I was thinking about this boy of interest, and how horribly hot and cold our interactions can be, and wishing that we'd just skip past this early stage and get to that couple stage. I wish we could know each other like the back of our hands and actually connect on a deeper level than just talking about history homework. And then, I checked myself. Why can I not just enjoy the sweet beginnings of this "whatever it could be". Why can I not soak in the fast heartbeat, agonizing worries of "he likes me, he likes me not". It's mainly the fear of the unknown. The not knowing. Not knowing what he's thinking. Not knowing what he thinks about me. Not knowing what will become of "us". Will we become anything, or will we simply float our own ways as if nothing ever happened? (like most of my boy stories).
That's why beginnings are so terrifying. And exhilarating. And wonderful. It's lovely having a fresh piece of wood that could become anything you want it to be. So don't be scared of the outcome. Just go for it, and carve.