Every year, Thanksgiving seems to get more bittersweet then ever. Every year it seems that numbers dwindle at our family gatherings, and the family time just seems less... existent. I love my family so much and we will always be close, but this thing we call "growing up" seemed to happen quicker than I thought. The little ones are in high school, the young ones are in college and the rest are married with children. Such is life, I suppose, but adjusting to the seasons of life will always be a challenge for me.
Maybe it's because I'm in more of an in-between season, whereas most everyone else in my family has already reached a new stage. My stage is more of a... purgatory, of sorts.
I've been spending a lot of time with my sister this week as I'm home for Thanksgiving break, and it's been awesome. It hit me today, however, that this holiday season will be the last holiday that I can just have alone time with my sister. When I come home for Spring Break in March, my sister's baby will be born. I am so incredibly thrilled for this boy to enter the world (and I couldn't be more ready to love this child to bits), but I am also realizing what this will entail. Life will change. My sister is part of a new family now, which is hard to grasp.
One thing that's difficult about this purgatorial season is that while my sister and the majority of my cousins have a new family, I'm still part of the old family. Every single one of my cousins, minus two (and I have a lot, so this is not a large amount) and the ones younger than me, are engaged or married. The family has all moved on, but I'm still here.
I know, I know. "It's all part of the cycle of life."
And I know. I'm only 20 (hence the limbo-land of change in my life).
It's a wonder that no one really seems to struggle with progressing through this cycle, but I can assure you that I do.
If Anne Shirley were not a fictional character, I would feel extremely comforted by her similar perspectives. "Why do people have to grow up and marry, change?" To which of course Gilbert Blythe responds obnoxiously, "Oh, you'd change. If someone ever admitted that they were head over heels for you, you'd be swept off your feet in a moment." Sorry Gilbert, but at this moment in my life, I'd have to side with Anne on this one: "I would not, and I defy anyone who would make me change."
Yeah, ok. So maybe they end up together in the end, and they both move on and grow up, too, but until then, I'm going to go with the "Why do we have to grow up and marry and change," sentiment.
Well, since it's Thanksgiving, I should probably throw into this cynicism a little bit of thankfulness.
I'm thankful that I have had a childhood worth missing.
I'm thankful that I have a family worth being sad to grow up from.
I'm thankful that I've been blessed enough that change is painful because the stage I'm in is so wonderful.
I'm thankful that this hurts, because it means that it's love.
As the wise Jon Foreman once said, "If it doesn't break your heart, it isn't love," and I couldn't agree more.
This pain in change, this hurt in necessary development? It's love. It's growth. It's beauty.
If it doesn't break your heart, it isn't love.
So, that's my nostalgic Thanksgiving post.
Sorry for the sappiness of it all, but I'm writer and if a writer can't be sappy and slightly melancholy sometimes, then the world has gone askew.
Maybe it's because I'm in more of an in-between season, whereas most everyone else in my family has already reached a new stage. My stage is more of a... purgatory, of sorts.
I've been spending a lot of time with my sister this week as I'm home for Thanksgiving break, and it's been awesome. It hit me today, however, that this holiday season will be the last holiday that I can just have alone time with my sister. When I come home for Spring Break in March, my sister's baby will be born. I am so incredibly thrilled for this boy to enter the world (and I couldn't be more ready to love this child to bits), but I am also realizing what this will entail. Life will change. My sister is part of a new family now, which is hard to grasp.
One thing that's difficult about this purgatorial season is that while my sister and the majority of my cousins have a new family, I'm still part of the old family. Every single one of my cousins, minus two (and I have a lot, so this is not a large amount) and the ones younger than me, are engaged or married. The family has all moved on, but I'm still here.
I know, I know. "It's all part of the cycle of life."
And I know. I'm only 20 (hence the limbo-land of change in my life).
It's a wonder that no one really seems to struggle with progressing through this cycle, but I can assure you that I do.
If Anne Shirley were not a fictional character, I would feel extremely comforted by her similar perspectives. "Why do people have to grow up and marry, change?" To which of course Gilbert Blythe responds obnoxiously, "Oh, you'd change. If someone ever admitted that they were head over heels for you, you'd be swept off your feet in a moment." Sorry Gilbert, but at this moment in my life, I'd have to side with Anne on this one: "I would not, and I defy anyone who would make me change."
Yeah, ok. So maybe they end up together in the end, and they both move on and grow up, too, but until then, I'm going to go with the "Why do we have to grow up and marry and change," sentiment.
Well, since it's Thanksgiving, I should probably throw into this cynicism a little bit of thankfulness.
I'm thankful that I have had a childhood worth missing.
I'm thankful that I have a family worth being sad to grow up from.
I'm thankful that I've been blessed enough that change is painful because the stage I'm in is so wonderful.
I'm thankful that this hurts, because it means that it's love.
As the wise Jon Foreman once said, "If it doesn't break your heart, it isn't love," and I couldn't agree more.
This pain in change, this hurt in necessary development? It's love. It's growth. It's beauty.
If it doesn't break your heart, it isn't love.
So, that's my nostalgic Thanksgiving post.
Sorry for the sappiness of it all, but I'm writer and if a writer can't be sappy and slightly melancholy sometimes, then the world has gone askew.
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