Breaking up with College: A Letter

Dear College,

I want you to know how great you are. I want you to know all of the wonderful things you've done for me--like showing me how to be a feminist, how to actually do math, and how to tell if my professor is really reading my essays.
I want to thank you for that little spot you had waiting for me, on the very first day of school. The one with the concrete bench and the freshly mowed grass with trees all around me. Your campus is beautiful.

But... you've also been really stressful for me. In fact, I can't remember a time where I wasn't biting my nails, shedding tears, or staying up until 4 in the morning to finish homework. And lately, I haven't been my happy, hyper, weird self. And I miss myself. The girl that would walk to the library once a week to get a new book, the girl that marched up and down the art supplies isle until she thought of something fun to paint, the girl who actually laughed at jokes instead of yawned or cried or hyperventilated.

This week, I've realized that I only have one life. Only one. I will only be 21 once. I will only be engaged once. I will only get married once. I will only have so many summers to sit outside reading, to sleep in my boat, to be with the ones that I love.

And I just don't think my summer should include those hyperventilating, sleepless, anxious nights anymore.

So I think we need to go on a break until Spring.
I'm sorry.
It's you, not me.

I love you.

she will find what is lost.

This morning I looked through my notes on my phone and found a phrase that said,

"She will find what is lost."

Not remembering what I was talking about, I searched the phrase and this picture popped up.

Finding this art piece, by Brian Kershisnik, turned out to be the biggest blessing today.

Sometimes life is really hard and I feel like I am alone.

But of course God is full of love and is going to gently remind me that I'm not.

As of late.

Sometimes it takes a lot of tears, constant anxiety, and sleep deprivation to finally grasp

the concept of prioritizing. 

And not prioritizing for school or work, but for happiness.

So, instead of studying, I ate ice cream with my fiance, cried to my parents, and dropped a class.

Life is almost always contradictory, sometimes ironic, and if you're lucky,

it can also be simple.

June 13th.

I always feel like it's a little victory when I finally accept a

not-so-great trait of mine and am able to laugh at it.

I am a little anxious, and slightly weird and maybe gossipy,

and impossibly nerdy.

But I'm also pretty smart and I can be nice and somewhat funny.

And all of these traits are what make my family,

my fiance,

and my friends 

love me.

And today I loved myself a whole lot which is always a reason to celebrate.

Metaphorically, speaking

Dear you,
or me.

Today, something great happened. As you were slicing your Kraft cheese, you glanced at the expiration date. And I know, why do we always start these letters so strangely? Because I'm me. or you. or whatever. The date just so happened to be October 16th. The day you and Dean so lovingly picked out together after finding you had to wait another eight months to be married.
Four months and two weeks, exactly.

And as a Heavenly Father devotee, you instantly felt it was a gift from God. I know, I know. An expiration date is a gift from God? Now everyone just sounds pathetically insane. But you never look at the expiration dates (unless they are in yours and Dean's fridge--and then who knows how long that cheese has been in there.)

BUT ANYWAY. That just made your day so fantastic--to finally have something expire in your wedding month. And then, your dad just plants a giant, fantastic, surprising, metaphorical gift right in your metaphorical lap that you have the option to open now, or wait to open.
And you've decided to open this beautifully metaphoric gift from God.

And now you and Dean will be able to grow together closer to God nightly, weekly, monthly--or whenever you please.

And that is enough to make these next four months and two weeks a piece of cake.

love always//talor

rediscovery.

Dear You,
or me.
Or whomever.

Has anyone ever told you that you have anxiety? Because you do.
You do, and guess what? It's okay.

Sometimes you sit in fear that you'll never know what you want to do with your life.
From not knowing what to major in and what classes to sign up for, to what hairstyle you want for your wedding, and will those colors really match with the fall leaves?

But guess what else?
You rediscovered something this week.
A piece of paper that tells you about your life, about your marriage, about your family, about your talents and responsiblities.

And then you breathe, because you realize that God knew what He was doing when He decided to make you the college-going, stress-ridden, quirky little feminist that you are.

And until you figure out what you want to be "when you grow up", nature wouldn't be a bad place to spend your time.

 

love always//talor

You are a palace.

Dear You,

Or me.

A few days ago I talked to a dear friend. A friend who I swear has all of the wisdom in the world flowing through her finger tips and out of her mouth. She compared herself to a house—how sometimes you need to paint and learn to love the color tan, even though it’s hard to change, even if you love your blue paint. And I’m sure you’re reading this thinking, weird? I promise I’m going somewhere with this.

C.S. Lewis once said that we are all houses.

“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of—throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running towers, making courtyards.

You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come live in it Himself.”

But to be honest, sometimes I feel more like a trailer. Sometimes I feel trampled on by others. Sometimes I feel trampled on by myself. Sometimes I feel like God just needs to tear me all down and build me back up again. And lately I’ve had a hard time loving my paint chips, my withered creaks.

But CS Lewis also said that if we knew of our potential, we would understand that we are all possible gods and goddesses. And one day I want to walk into my house, or look at who I am, and gasp at all that I am. I think Heaven will be like that. I think our Father will grab our hands and say, “My dear Talor! Look at you.” And we will all fall to our knees when we see what we are really capable of, how majestic and beautiful we really are. We will see the beauty of those paint chips and withered floors. Because those are the things that make us who we are.

I am a daughter of a King. A King. A Father that loves the pieces out of my quirks, my flaws, and my chipped blue paint.

I will get there one day.

I will love myself as much as He loves me.

I think I owe that to Him.

Love always//talor.