Cry Now, Laugh Later.

That’s what I tell myself when I am upset. I know that most of the things that I get upset about will be funny in the long-run. For example, I am going to make up this completely hypothetical scenario that isn’t the least bit true to a real life situation occurring at this very moment.

Say you have these super awesome NYE plans with your two best friends in Richmond, Kentucky. The ultimate hot spot for New Years Eve. There is a hotel involved. Sparkly dresses. And dare I mention the hotel pool that is probably filled with numerous viruses, including the infamous Covid-19. How dazzling does that sound? Well, to my 23-year-old-self, this sounds like an opportunity to have an incredibly sarcastic and content-filled evening with my two best friends. Remember, this is all hypothetical. I know nothing of such plans. Just to add in a fun twist, let’s say that these plans suddenly get cancelled. Now what? NYE in Findlay, Ohio? Instant, hot, burning tears would probably stream down my cheeks if I had to make a guess.

Okay, so if you haven’t caught on yet, I am going to spoil this whole story for you. This is real life. Yes, a real life tragedy taking place in my life at this very moment. You may now take a moment of silence. But to be fair, it’s not so much the actual termination of my plans that has made me upset. It is the fact that I had to PLAN for this event. I am no longer a resident of my beloved Richmond, Kentucky anymore. For the past few weeks, as I packed up my apartment and said my goodbyes, I was struggling with an internal conflict. It didn’t seem real that I was actually leaving. Even as we loaded my full-sized mattress onto the top of my parent’s 2005 Toyota Sienna, I remember thinking, “When is it going to hit me?” I wanted some hardcore sadness to come out and slap me across the face. I wanted it to hit me as hard as I envisioned that mattress flying off the top of our van and hitting the windshield of my car on the way home. I would say it never really did, until now. Three days later. As my NYE plans came crashing down around me.

I got what I wanted. Curb-stomped to the ground by a gut-wrenching realization that if there is not a reason for me to go back to Richmond, Kentucky (like a fancy Hampton-Inn style New Years Eve escapade), then...there is simply no reason for me to go back. I don’t have a place there anymore. ** cue the instant, hot, burning tears **

Of course, on the other side of this whole situation is the level-headed, wise, 23-year-old (almost 24-year-old) mature, young woman that has to remind herself, it’s NOT the end of the world. It’s actually very far from it. Do you know how many lame NYE’s I have ahead of me?? Literally so many. Sometimes, in my worst nightmares, I think about the dreaded middle-aged adult stage of life. You know exactly what I am talking about. The one where your kids are going to underage drink with their friends in someone else’s basement on NYE while you and your significant other watch TV until you both agree that 10:30pm is late enough and shuffle along to sleep in separate bedrooms. A shiver just went down my spine. I hope that is never me, but who is to say. Actually, I AM to say. Although, I hope that is not actually what is in store for my future, I will use this moment in time as a reminder of how dramatic this all feels.

That’s pretty much how life works. You cry over something that you will probably laugh at later. Like remember the time I threw a tantrum before going to gymnastics practice when I was 12-years-old because I wanted a Speedy Freeze? Hilarious! This is basically the same idea.