Te Falto

The words "I miss you" are highly insufficient. Like many things, it's better in Spanish - Te falto means, literally, "You are lacking to me" or "You are absent from me." There's something about the tangible absence when someone's presence is missing. I've found myself saying "I miss you" a lot lately and feeling like people don't really know what I mean. This is a problem with all of those things people say so often just to be polite but only sometimes truly mean, like "Hope all is well" or "We should get coffee soon" or even "I love you."

I'm trying to stop saying things I don't mean, to stop exaggerating so much. Words can be powerful if we really say what we mean. I don't know if it's my generation or this modern society, or if it's always been this way, but I feel like people are so wasteful, not least of all with their words. I think it's more prevalent now that we have so many ways of throwing words around indirectly.

And then there's the fact that I've felt people's absence a lot lately. Even when I've been surrounded by people, in the last month I have felt very lonely. Most of my amazing, intelligent, talented friends seem to have their lives together. They're graduating or making plans for the summer or both, getting apartments, going away for the summer, knowing what they want to do post-school. I don't know what I want to do after school. I don't even know what I'm doing for the summer. I feel more uncertain about my life than almost ever before. I feel uninspired and unmotivated. And I know I'm smart and I know I have talent, but I feel so far behind my friends right now, and that's weird. I'm not sure why it's been such a solitary semester, but it has been, somehow.

This past weekend a childhood friend of mine that I hadn't really seen in a couple years came to visit. It was really odd and wonderful to have someone around who's known me almost my whole life and actually really truly understands that I've been obsessed with Harry Potter since I was eight and in love with Daniel Radcliffe since I was ten, and she knows because she was there. I don't have many friends like that left anymore. I really appreciated her being here this weekend.

I think God is trying to teach me to be okay with being uncomfortable. Which, of course, is not easy. But I'm trying, and fidgeting, and crying, and breathing, and it's going to be okay, eventually, somehow.