Conclusions

Today, I emailed Cody at Hillsdale College's admissions office to formally withdraw myself from the incoming freshman class. It was strangely difficult: strange because I did not expect such a sense of resistance to the act, difficult because, after two years of directing all of my hopes and plans toward a life at that school, I have firmly shut a door of my future. Until now, I have never been the one to terminate such a large prospect, and I admit that I wanted to wimp out. Part of me (the "F" in my ISFJ) felt guilty for showing such ingratitude after they helped me so much and offered me such an attractive initial offer of financial aid, but part of me felt relieved when I hit the "send" button. One possible future eliminated. Now I can focus on writing my CIU admissions essay and pursuing that possible future. Strange, how I came into IMPACT with such a firmly fixed conception of my destiny, and as I near the school year's end, I feel lost, a ship loosed from its moorings in a stormy sea. I'm planning my future tentatively, but some part of me would rather just not face those far distant environs of my life, would rather pretend like I will be here forever. My prayer is like Miss Renee's, that His would be the voice saying, "This is the way, walk in it."

Having Nothing to Do with Brazil or Modesty

Life happens. Hopes are disappointed. Joy alights unexpectedly on the shadows of our days. And time ebbs and flows, days in and days out. A month and more has passed since the last update I posted, but so much happened in that brief space of time that I hardly feel equipped to comment on it. And Plootz, who is my only faithful reader, will hear about those days in her own time, I suppose, so I really feel no need to say more.

I wish that I could pull my heart out of my chest and freeze it. At least then it would take an incredibly hard knock to hurt me. And the blow that hurt would be the blow that killed, for a frozen thing does not bruise or tear: it shatters irreparably. Sure, I wouldn't be able to feel much else, but wouldn't it be a worthwhile sacrifice? Or is it that the things that elevate us to the loftiest heights of ecstasy are also the things that have the potential to trample us down into the lowest ebbs? Those are the things to which we have given weight, to which, as Aquinas puts it, we attach our pleasure. If we had no hope of the blessing of the kiss, would we ever risk the punch?