{& then} you look back

This time last year I was sleeping in a moldy house, getting ready to be a backup bridesmaid in Intercourse, Pennsylvania. From the story-like, Gilmore Girls-esque town that I arrived to by train, to the large amish population (who had special reserved buggy parking at the grocery store!), to the fact that I travelled to said story town from my all too temporary home in the city that never sleeps --

life could not be any different now that it was exactly 365 days ago.

[DISCLAIMERS: we stayed in the moldy house for free thanks to some very sweet hosts so thank you; I'm probably going to get in trouble at some point for this, but what is the fun of writing if you don't take some risks and tell the actual story; okay fine the actual wedding may not have been in Intercourse, PA, but that's the only town name in the area that stuck (duh) so I'm going with it; the Big Apple reference was honest; and I'm not sure if this is a leap year or not so I could be off on the exact number of days that have passed)

One person who has remained consistent in some form or fashion since then is a loving and loyal friend who has seen me at my worst/best/obnoxious in-betweens. We seem to end up at each other's side in almost all of the most important moments - I just can't get rid of her, geez. Real talk though - we've grown in different directions at varying speeds, but she will always be my geek-out, heat of the moment, I may snap at you real crazy like but we're fine, hey are you awake do you want to braid my bangs friend.

Speaking of geek-outs:

after taking pictures of each other all around story town (the train station, that cool old-timey mailbox, this tree, omg these old houses are gorgeous) with said friend, we happened upon an absolutely adorable shop/diner. We arrived smack-dab in the middle of the morning rush which consisted of the shop owner, Carol, a couple of old guys, some youngins who were clearly just visiting the old guys, and a trickle of regulars who assumed their normal routines around us obvious passers-by. 

After concluding that most of the old men were there because the women that used to cook breakfast for them everyday were no longer in this world, we tried to stop eavesdropping but failed because it's too fun. Carol happily greeted customers by name and predictably knew their orders by heart.

I told you - adorable. 

We ended up chatting with Carol about her shop and how she ended up in middle-of-nowhere Cutesville. She shared her story of spending years in a corporate setting - accounting, I think - and the chain of events that led to her being able to purchase the shop and pursue a lifelong dream she never knew she had. Carol was making the jump and taking a risk to pursue what she knew was right for her at that time in her life. 

I thought I was, too. And depending how you look at it, I may have been. But here I am a year later about to take another jump. This one seems a bit more legit (just kidding a LOT), and there seems to be just the right amount of definites to balance out the I-don't-knows. For these reasons, I, along with those closest to me, feel significantly more secure in the idea of this leap. 

Despite the looming nervousness and waves of anxiety that arrive when I remember how unsure I am of what life will look like roughly 365 days from now, I'm ready. It'll be hard and scary and blah blah blah, but without the leaps what would I have to look back on and write about at all hours of the night? Maybe it's not the best logic, but the amish-town-moldy-house story remains not only a great conversation piece, but clearly a convenient launchpad for reflection. 

Here's to many more.