The Middle of Things

They say beginning is the best part,

they'll say nothing is so exciting as

the risky texts, brushing hands and legs

then the inevitable waiting, counting, and sweating

But I don't want that beginning bit

I'm tired of beginning and beginning again

place me in the middle, yes, the sticky thickness 

- the middle

I want the silent car rides, because I already know:

you love this song

you love that restaurant

you hate waiting at this light, and the next, and the next

I want the routine, because you already know:

how I love to stay home

how I love to be kissed on the head

how I hate small talk, since it's such a damn waste of time

Let's go there, now

to the middle of me and you

I know I go too fast at first, I know how silly that is

but I can wait here in the middle if you like

While you start at the beginning

and if you don't quit, if you stick around

you'll find me, here:

in the middle.

On growing up:

To the Class of 2013:

On Sunday I thought a lot about getting older. I thought about what that means when it comes to friends. I had a few close friends in high school, but in a way, everyone was a sort-of friend with everyone – at games when we all cheered together – we were all friends then. Sometimes I would pretend not to know somebody’s name when I met him or her formally for the first time, but I knew it, first and last name and who they dated and what sport they played. Almost everyone knew everyone and knows everyone still, and where they’ve gone on a mission and if they’re already engaged and what college they’re at. We aren’t all close and we might have even made some soft enemies but we are still on the same team. We’re still at a game cheering for each other. We’re still dressing up in church and smiling at each other at the grocery store and kissing and talking, we never stopped talking; we’ll never stop talking. Whoever has to marry me is going to hear all about the games and the boyfriends and the dances and every single “that one time” I saved. We’re all going to tell our kids about each other, isn’t that amazing? Even if we never spoke outside of school, I’ll talk about you. I’ll talk about you because you made me. We all made each other and now we’re all 18 or 19 but some day we’ll be 50 or 51 and it’s possible I’ll live next to one or two of you someday but I’m going to carry every one of you with me because I would not be what I am without every one of you. We’re growing up and moving out and moving on; we’re scattered and separate and so far gone – but we’re partly still at a game, cheering.