My First Summer Back

“See you next year!”

“I’m going to miss you guys!” 

“Dude, can’t wait for next semester!”

Do any of these people actually mean what they say? My friend Rachel came up to me, hugged me, and through a blur of tears spat out an “I love you-I hope-summer-great,” to which I felt inclined to respond in like fashion, pretending to be choked up and hug her back. I will not miss her over the summer; she’s a great friend at school, and she will stay a great friend, at school.

Next, my friend Tristan practically attacked me from behind, saying: “Dude! Can’t wait to room next year, man! So excited!”

I, of course, being the good bro, turn around and yell with him about how great it’s going to be. In reality, I cannot wait to be within four walls, completely alone.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate it here - God clearly had His hand in putting me here, and I know that this was the right call - I just don’t like it here anymore.

It was all because of my freaking Media Studies professor. He ruined me. 

“Do you guys actually feel anything, anymore? Do you feel real happiness? Is your TikTok, your YouTube, you’re whatever-the-hell ADHD-creating digital nipple that you feed from, does that really make life worth living?”

“Why the hell are you guys even here? Are you here because it’s ‘the next step’? Are you here because you ‘can’t wait to chase your dreams’? Are you here just for a job? Well, let me tell you, right now: those reasons suck and you’re gonna either drop out or become a cynic if you keep those reasons. You need something greater…”

Damn it, that was the day. Me, broken, forever. After he finished his rant about technology and the not-so-real American Dream, my eyes were ripped open (very much without my consent) to the world I live in - fake, synthetic, plastic. 

It then continued on with my religion, philosophy, and science classes. I came in a good little devout Baptist, and now, I don’t know where the hell I stand on anything. Everything I felt like I’ve ever known is completely, just, to the wind. I do have to break here, and say that one of the way God showed that He was still involved with me was by giving me the church He did. I freaking love it, I’ve been able to vent, cry, and laugh with the men and women I’ve met here. But even then, the what I think to be ‘realness’ of my experiences there makes me hate my day-to-day. I’ve gotten to the point where I’m only happy on Sundays, and even then, it’s bittersweet because I know that I have a week of academic and social purgatory waiting for me.

Furthermore, I just feel like an absolute failure all the way around. My parents are a little-too-excited whenever I call them (because I never do), my poor little sister probably forgot that I’m a contact in her phone, and my school friends kept pointing out how as the year went on, they didn’t see me as much as they did. On top of that, I’m not making as many sales as my friends at my work, and also, my grades s-u-c-k. 

On that, actually: Zero clue about what I want to do at the end of my years here. Like, no clear path whatsoever. “You’re just a freshman,” I hear, “Why are you even thinking about that right now?”

Well, I feel like I’m wasting my time, my money, and my energy if I don’t have a clear goal to work for, that’s why. Why the hell did I sign my life off for four years, on top of taking a quarter-million dollar bottom line, if I don’t know what I’m going to do?

I left for the airport, checked in, and sat on my flight chair. I can’t wait to get home. I mean, I’ll probably be just as dead inside there as I am right now, but hey… it’s home.

“Passengers, make sure to buckle your seatbelt like so…” 

“An infant life vest will be distributed to you if needed…”

“Now, enjoy your flight…”

That was the most mediocre six hours of my life. The air-conditioned, stale air of the airplane combined with the guy next to me who was coughing like he was on death’s door, as well as the twenty-something white chick to my right who never took out her earbuds once and scowled at me whenever I had to get up to use the bathroom made my flying experience a whopping five stars. I totally want to do this again in three months, I can’t freaking wait.

“Ah, there’s a college man!”

“Hey tiger! We missed ya!”

I raise my eyebrows and force a laugh, and embrace both of my now-sobbing parents outside the security boundary of the airport. “The family’s back together!” Yeah, physically. My soul’s not really here though - it’s not at college, either. I feel like after my feet touched the ground of my university, my soul went on a journey, trying to find a home, and… failing to.

On the ride back from the airport, after an hour-long interrogation about how my roommate was, how my finals were, what next year looks like, what do I miss from there, etc., we finally reached the house. I grabbed my stuff, dropped it by the door inside my room, and laid on my bed. 

I can’t cry. I simply can’t. I so very much want to cry, I want to be able to release this emotion, but… it’s not happening. I sighed, and tried closing my eyes for a bit. Still nothing, I can’t even sleep. I pull out my phone to see if any of my friends are in town - if I have something that feels real, it’s them - and I get told possibly the worst news I could hear right now:

“…He what?”

“Yeah man. Josiah moved outta state already. He left the 5th.”

“What the f- I thought he was supposed to leave the 15th!”

“Yeah, we all did. Apparently his new job needed him out there asap.”

Here come the tears. 

“I… I’ll uh… I’ll call you back.”

I hang up the phone, my face starts to contort and feel hot, and I full-on ugly cry. 

Damn it! Damn! It! God, why can’t You just let me be happy?! I just want this one thing! Why do I feel so dead inside in so many different ways!?

After my rant, I crashed out for the night.

The next morning, I walked out into the kitchen, and my mom knew that something was up.

“You doin’ alright?”

“Uhm… Josiah moved already. No one saw it coming.”

The sad lip curl and the misty, sympathetic eyes gazed into my soul. 

“I’m so sorry, babe.”

“Yeah, it sucks. It’s okay though. I’m uh, I’m just gonna go on a drive, if that’s okay.”

She enthusiastically nodded as she wiped her eyes, and I grabbed my keys went into my crappy 2002 Ford Explorer, thanked God that it started (it’s habit at this point), and started to drive towards the mountains; perks of living in a valley, I suppose.

I’m a windows-down kinda guy for a few reasons. First, my poor, decrepit, hanging-on-by-a-prayer car just can’t do A/C anymore. Second, the wind actually feels really good, especially at sixty five miles an hour. Third, I feel like a person in a music video, and my ego needs that.

Today though, the air hit different. It was a very nice eighty degrees in my little valley town, and the wind felt perfect. A late rain had also recently fell, and so the mountains were actually a gorgeous green color, and on top of that, the sky was crystal clear, and it was the color blue that makes you think “wow, that’s really… blue. Like, I’ve never seen blue before in my life before today, blue.”

I eventually reached my destination: an old hiking path that me and the boys would take on weekends, special events, and post-exams celebrations. I was expecting it to hurt, but it was strangely comforting. Good memories had been had here, and the nostalgia was rather sweet. Despite my anger with Him, God has been good to me here.

I put on my old bandana, grab my water bottle and drawstring backpack, and head on up the trail. As I walked, that pristine breeze felt like it was caressing me as my beat-up shoes hit the all-too-familiar earth, and my mood mysteriously starts to be less bad. Eventually, a small smile creeps its way up to my face. 

Now, before I tell you the next part of this story, you should probably know this about me: I’m very much a people person. I love talking with people, more specifically, I kind of love it when people trauma/bad-day dump on me; I know how weird that sounds, but it feels almost euphoric to me when people tell me their crap, because it shows me that they see me, at the bare minimum, as kind, caring, and trustworthy enough to share their pains with. But that’s just me.

As I was starting to reach the halfway mark, I see this girl who is clearly not having a good time. With some caution, I approach her and say,

“Are you… doing okay?”

She was caught off guard, but told me anyway her situation.

“Yeah, I’m just really pissed off with my family right now. They’re being so selfish and toxic, and I just got back from school, and I’m so not ready to deal with them.”

I nodded. “Yeah, family can piss you off like no one else can.”

“Yeah,” she said. With a pause, she started just going to town:

“Like, what the hell? You can’t just blame me for everything going wrong when you’re unstable, and like, you can’t expect me to just be at your beck and call and your nanny; you made it months without me, I don’t need to babysit for my siblings all of the sudden… I’m sorry, you didn’t want to hear any of this, you’re probably just trying to enjoy your walk.”

I smiled, and assured her that it was no worries. She ended up telling me a lot more, sometimes getting choked up, sometimes shaking, sometimes rolling her eyes, but towards the end of the talk, she legit asked me for a hug. I was almost beaming, and I of course obliged.

“Thank you so much, you really made my day.”

“No, thank you. I needed this just as much as you did, I actually really enjoy it when people share stuff like you did with me.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re so sweet, have a good day!”

And off she went, down the mountain. I stood there for a moment, and sat down on a nearby rock, thinking through that conversation. I heard in a church service one time that we should be hospitable to everyone, since God might send an angel in disguise to test us, and I was starting to wonder whether or not my “angel of testing” came in the form of a twenty-something distraught college girl.

One thing I was sure of: On this mountain, with the very real breeze, and green landscape, the crystal clear sky, and the very raw interaction I just had, I said for the first time in months, 

“I feel alive. Holy crap, I feel freaking alive. Thank you God!” 

“Why the hell are you even here?!”

Well, professor, I’m here to help others with their problems.

“Do you guys actually feel anything, anymore? Do you feel real happiness?”

Right now, yeah I do. I think I actually feel the kindness of Christ, weirdly enough.

“You need something greater…”

You’re right. I did. What I was missing during my first year at college was purpose - God had put me at that school for a reason, and I wasn’t “in the know” of why. But now, I felt like I’d found it. I was put here to help others, and to hear their problems.