Cue the indie rock music playlist as I nostalgically reflect on the fact that it’s been a year since last spring.
Spring is not my favorite season, but I really like it for many of the reasons that others like it. The rebirth of plants, the ending of the school year, the more sunlight during the day, the birds, the general upbeat vibes that everyone seems to have during the spring. I like springtime, even though my motivation to actually get stuff done, like homework, decreases, and I look out the window during class more. I like springtime, even though it’s getting warmer and soon it’ll be insufferable in school. I like springtime for many of the reasons that others like it.
And a year ago I was writing so much during the spring. I wrote Basil in a few weeks last spring, during April. And I can’t believe it’s been a year. In that year I really haven’t done much writing that equals the expanse that the one piece contains. When summer comes around the bend, I don’t write as much as I do experience. And in fall I’m always busy, and in winter too tired. So spring seems to be the most productive. And I’m looking forward to write more, hopefully.
Last spring I was keeping a journal, and I was angry still with the world, and I was figuring stuff out. A year ago I was a girl with braces who took geometry class and was ostracized in gym and who spent more free time with friends. It’s actually funny to read back in my journal and think “if 15 year old Kylie even knew”. Last April I went on a school trip to Chicago and spent the majority of the time alone, watching people. Last year I sat with this kid I didn’t know every other day during lunch, and we wouldn’t talk to each other unless I was in a good enough mood to say hi. Here’s a quote from my journal. April 21st 2014: On another note, I don’t feel awful. It’s raining so I feel kind of down. Plus everything that is going on in the world, but I don’t want to completely separate myself. Not yet, at least. I guess not much has changed. I don’t want to separate myself completely from the world right now, but I’ve gotten close as 2014 dragged on. Later that April I wrote: A year ago it was very bad. I’m still discontent but I’m dealing with it. I guess life is full of that. So I guess reflecting on years past is a thing of spring.
I’m not sure why I’m writing all of this down. Maybe this is sort of a journal, this blog. Seldom I can be transparent, however, because anyone can see this. So perhaps this transparency, this clear glimpse in the fog of my life, is special. Consider yourself lucky.
I wish I’ve been keeping a journal this year, because it is so much more to actually read your own thoughts than to remember bits and pieces of what your life was like years ago. A year. It’s been a year since last spring, when I read Catcher in the Rye and when I went I started my phase (which hasn’t really ended) of just not caring. Last spring I was constantly arguing with my best friend and shaking ground so much with every relationship I had that everything was on verge of collapsing. I could have separated myself from the entire world. But I didn’t.
It’s funny to think of all the things I didn’t know back then. It’s funny to think of the things I was angry about last year that have no matter anymore. And the things I felt that actually still have relevance.
I’m not sure what this post serves to prove or show. Maybe it’s just for me.
Anyway, this is dragging on, and I should probably end with whatever moral there is to my story. I guess it’s important for spring to happen each year, even if it means with the end of winter, other things end as well. I’m a different person in some respects, but I feel like no one ever really changes. You can grow up, but you can’t really change into something totally different, especially in only a year.
A lot has happened since last spring, and it wouldn’t be coherent to write it all down here, but it’s still pertinent in my heart. Oh, how sentimental I am.
Hopefully this spring has it’s own surprises and awesomeness and I can look back on it next year with happy nostalgia and slight embarrassment. And hopefully your spring is just as ace.
Until next year, or next time, rather,