I bought some plane tickets to go home for Thanksgiving. I thought before that moment that I didn't miss home ... I mean, I missed my family, but I didn't miss being at home.
As soon as I bought my tickets, that changed. I started to crave something, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I also started to terribly miss my family and friends. I missed my Scholar Bowl crew and my Poli Sci classmates and my lunch buddies and the even the Crooks. Tonight, my roommates and I pushed our couches together, bought a two liter of Doctor Pepper (scandalous), and watched chick flicks and just talked.
I realized randomly, while switching from Confessions of a Shopaholic to Thirteen Going on Thirty, exactly what I was missing from home. I miss having history with people. I miss looking at my friends that I've known since kindergarten and knowing exactly what they are thinking. I miss climbing into my little white truck with my friends and talking about everything and nothing. I miss my brothers and sisters and my mom and dad and my Nandy.
It kind of hit me like a wave ... and in such a way that I couldn't describe it to my roommates. It was comforting to figure it out though. The wonderful thing is, the potential for history is HERE. Here in Rexburg, I already have so many friends and acquaintances. I went to the temple this morning and every person that walked in was someone that I knew. Mara and I are starting to become more and more close. I have several different people that I can talk to and hang out with. The potential for history is terribly frightening and exciting all at once.
So, it's 2:38 and I'm full of Dr. Pepper, pizza, and thoughts provoked by cheesy chick flicks. And that's okay. I'm making memories and I'm creating history. And I'm definitely loving life.