YOLO, bro.

Beyond the Admissions brochure-worthy grandeur of lush campus lawns and sporting events, college is really just one big reminder of how much you don’t know.

There are the classrooms you can’t find, a library full of books you’ll never read and hundreds of faces passing by belonging to strangers you’ll never meet. And in a cruel twist of fate, there are multiple-choice tests that remind you that even when the answer is right in front of you, it’s possible to still be clueless.

The fact of the matter is that people don’t really expect the 18-year-old you to know anything. For the majority of four years, you are treated as a toddler roaming the streets of the adult world and provided with a nannie affectionately known as a resident assistant and an ID card that helps people return you to your owner should you get lost.  

Much of the highly-touted orientation week on a college campus is spent re-explaining things that were second nature in elementary school.

“If you hear a fire alarm, exit the building.”

“Don’t go anywhere without a buddy.”

“If you misbehave, we WILL call your parents!”

To most professors and community residents, college students are human receptacles for alcohol and drugs who sometimes successfully regurgitate study guide material in between cheers for the home team and catcalls. And yet, when you’re unleashed upon adult society at the end of four (or five…or six…) years, you’re expected to have something to contribute. Something that goes beyond a piece of paper with your degree stamped on it and an incredible tolerance for hard liquor.

The college experience is advertised as four years of somewhat contained mistake-making that happens to end with a graduation ceremony. It’s almost universally accepted that college is a time for fun. A time when we’re allowed to be sheeple travelling in packs to the dining hall, the stadium, the bars. Best case scenario, you walk away with some killer stories for your future progeny and a few semi-respectable experiences to list on your resume.

But you have to wonder what college would be like if we, the young adults of the world, were expected to know things. If unabashedly adult information like the consequences of credit card debt and what it takes to raise a puppy, let alone a child, was common knowledge, instead of part of the disclaimer on your diploma.

College is an incredible phenomenon that 20-somethings across the country wish would never end. But it does end. And the question “what are you doing Friday night?” becomes “what are you doing for the rest of your life?”

It’d be nice if more of us had the answer.

A bro in a bra.

Long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away my Facebook feed was full of prom pictures instead of graduation posts. And among those many glamor shots was one that often flashes through my mind even four years down the road.
It's me. And I'm leaning against the wall in my patterned prom dress with my chuck taylors and air cast (soccer game gone wrong) among the men of our prom party in a moment of conversation that the photographer caught from the other end of the hallway.
The comment below from my ever-sassy friend Britta reads, "I just wish I was a chill girl...like you Kelsey Dallas."
And there it is my friends, the mission of my life: to be a chill girl.
I think it can all be traced back to my big brother. It was all fun and games when we were small enough to have no social life beyond making mud pies together in the back yard. But grade school really upped the ante. I had to compete for his attention with homework assignments! And bike rides! And, most importantly, bros.
Yep, you read that right.
Bros.
And so it began.
My need to throw a perfect spiral with a football. To have a general knowledge of pokemon cards. To briefly run a Yahtzee-based gambling ring. (I know, I know. What a rebel, right?!)
And it continued!
By the time high school rolled around I had it down to a science. I could sing every lyric to the songs John played in the car. Rocked my own imitation Raybans. And was known to every guy in school as "Johnny D's little sister."
After John's graduation, I had the opportunity to strike out on my own in the high school halls. My copilot status with my big brother was permanently cemented so I could move on to the next great man challenge.
And so began my first bromance.
Though traditionally reserved for man-on-man friendships, I like to place my best male friendships in this category as well.
Why? Well that's easy. It's because they much more often involve me bro-ing it up than they do a guy getting girly.
I stand in cigarette smoke. I sip on Bud Lights. I reference baseball, football, hockey, basketball scores (you name the season, I'll have a general knowledge of standings).
And most importantly, I disguise that little tinge of crazy common in most of the fairer sex.
No, I am not a traitor to my kind. I just acknowledge that the things most often in the way of guy-girl friendships is the girl's inability to let go of over-analysis.
And so for the last decade or so I've been deadset on becoming the kind of cool that allows me to be one of the bros.
Looking back on it all, I'll admit that my strategy has its flaws. For one, I'm pretty sure my woefully short list of meaningful romantic relationships is at least in part due to my habit of friend zoning myself long before introductions are even over.
Because while I may be a self-described "cool girl", it is in much more of a wear-sweatpants-and-eat-disgusting-amounts-of-potato-chips-in-a-guys-presence kind of way than it is an oh-my-god-that-girl-is-so-cool-and-SEXY-that-i-must-make-her-mine talent.
It's really about balance.
I don't know where I'd be without the men in my life. I have some of the best female friends a girl could ask for, but my guys bring out a side of me that needs to be expressed.
I love that I know how to apply liquid liner AND could do a decent write-up about a baseball game.
I love that I could provide you with a detailed description of why guys love yoga pants so much AND have a working knowledge of what to eat when you want to lose weight.
Most importantly, I love the feeling that comes when a guy values me for more than just my boobs and my butt.
So the next time you see me choking back a Whiskey Sour, just recognize that there's a method behind my madness. And several great guy friends behind my smile.

Love, a bro in a bra.

Friends Forever?

I have 580 Facebook friends.

77 followers orbiting around me in the Twitterverse.

And even 31 dedicated readers on this here blog.

But if asked to name my closest friends, I could count them all on my ten slightly-pudgy fingers.

And my absolute best friends in the world? Well that's only a select few.

One of whom is Rebecca Kasa, who has far too much blackmail material to ever be cut loose. And we can't forget Kevin Deluca, who I would frankly be afraid to leave to his own devices. ;-)

The point is that between Facebook, Twitter and the other numerous social media sites that clog up my free time, more than a few people have access to details of my life that I'd never share with them in a casual conversation.

It's become so easy in this day and age to be on autopilot accepting friend requests. To not think for a minute about the larger implications of opening up your photos, your statuses, your friend-to-friend contacts to the prying eyes of almost strangers.

And that includes those who were friends in the not-too-distant past.

There is an obvious taboo associated with de-friending. But why? Probably because there's a lot less drama in simply hiding someone from your newsfeed than completely evicting them from your Facebook world.

But I'm writing today in support of home foreclosure. 

No, I haven't recently engaged in a friend feed purge.

But tomorrow does mark the one-month anniversary of my college graduation, and darn it, I'd like to show I've learned something.

So here it is.

Friendships don't have to last forever.

Did you hear that?

That was the actual physical shudder I experienced typing out that sentence. 

Because it's a scary thought!

Who's going to keep me company in my old age if I start burning bridges at age 22? At 22 I can't even predict who drinks enough milk to be strong enough to support me in my old age!

But I think even at 22, or 27, or 19, or any age for that matter, I know in my heart what is healthiest for me as a human being. And as I'm growing up, I need to continue to understand that not every person that comes into my life is meant to be in it forever. 

My very good friend Monica shared a thought with me recently as I puzzled over this blog topic. 

It read:

"People come into your life for a reason, as season or a lifetime.

When you figure out which one it is, you will know what to do for each person."

I write this post not trying to make us all into back-stabbing, ungrateful little friend ditchers, but to, instead, help us all out on our search for self-identity. 

I recently learned that as heartbreaking as it is at the time, sometimes creating distance between yourself and an old friend is exactly what you need to do to move forward.

We need space to grow, to flex our personality muscles and stretch ourselves across old boundaries.

And so, tonight, I leave you with the thought that you can't let Mark Zuckerberg forever rule your life with his blasted friend count.

Do what you need to do for you. And trust yourself.

It will all be okay in the end. And if it's not okay, it's not the end.

From growing up to grown-up.

Growing up, a day home sick from school meant a day lying on the couch next to my dad’s home office, listening in on his numerous conference calls, taking comfort in the ringing phone and faraway voices. Now many years older and generally wiser, it’s amazing how much my concept of adulthood still relies on the idea that to sit at a desk and talk on the phone is to be an adult. And so, over the past year, as tomorrow’s graduation ceremony crept ever-closer, I found myself growing more and more anxious about the phone call of my future that failed to come.

You see, no matter how many stories I heard about the wonderful adventures Iowa students went on to have after their own Commencement ceremony, I could never shake the sense that the only adventure I was supposed to have was to find the cubicle that contained the answers to the rest of my life. To answer that telephone call from the future that would change “growing up” to “grown-up” as I became a fully formed adult.

And yet, as I agonized over the continuous dial tone of confusion that haunted me throughout my post-graduation planning, I realized that if adulthood really were to call, my “hello” would more likely be answered by a superficially soothing computer voice listing menu options. Press 1 for grad school, 2 to join the corporate ladder, 3 to backpack through Europe, 4 to beg my parents for a spot on the couch. Graduation, at its very core, seems to be a question, not a statement, as we all decide for ourselves where the next few years will take us.

Faced with an endless amount of questions and not a single answer, my anxieties surrounding the end of my senior year did eventually begin to diminish. It seems even uncertainty can become calmingly monotonous if taken in large enough doses. And as my self-effacing jokes about my futureless self became more and more common, something incredible happened. I finally realized that no one- not even my friends who already had jobs awaiting them at amazing companies or my dad with his phone that continues to ring- has it all figured out. And that “figuring it all out” isn’t something that can be checked off a to-do list or completed on a final degree audit.

I finally began to understand that becoming an adult is something that happens far away from a desk. That, if done right, growing up is a process that should never end.

In reality, there may actually be some truth to my smaller self’s version of adulthood. This next chapter of our lives probably will be filled with numerous telephone calls. But my wish for all of us is that they be more often to friends and family than to business associates- phone calls filled with the details of recent adventures, of job promotions, of upcoming weddings and visits with college friends. Graduation, for many of us, may mark the end of essays, professors and all-nighters, but it certainly does not mark the end of growing up.

And what a relief it is to know that growing older and growing wiser does not stop today. 

Dallas does...racism and other gut-wrenching topics.

The topic of my senior seminar class this afternoon was supposed to be environmental racism, or the act of locating less-than-desirable factories and power plants on lands owned by or adjacent to peoples who have little voice in the political system. As I would imagine it does to most of you, this topic evokes in me a general concern with corporate corruption followed, quite frankly, with a few yawns. These yawns are obviously a point of contention when I take time to imagine what type of person I am in the scheme of solving the multitude of problems that face our modern world. These yawns are a viable concern as I begin a journey next fall toward a career that will allow me to speak out against a number of concerns that have haunted me since beginning to take Religious Studies classes in the spring of last year.

But, as is the case in many of Professor Diana Cates' classes, the conversation in this afternoon's seminar was far from yawn-worthy. Much removed from the glazed-over look I expected my eyes to have after the first hour of discussion passed, I found myself viewing the room with eyes pinched by discomfort, straining against an unwelcome realization that my yawns are just as dangerous as the corrupt corporate decision-makers depositing waste where it doesn't belong.

Today's blog post is about the kind of topics that leave us feeling beat-up by harsh truths and stunning social problems. It's about the collective amnesia that I continuously allow myself to fall victim to in order to avoid that extra trip to the recycling center or save the time it takes to call in a complaint to your senator.

I know I'm not alone when I say that over the past few weeks my Facebook feed has been clogged with college students trying to make a difference in the world by harnessing the power of social media. Whether it's a YouTube video announcing KONY 2012 or a Facebook event used to organize the Trayvon Martin rally, people understand that to get to the youth of our nation, you need to get on their friend feed.

I, like many millions of other American youths, watched the videos and responded to the event invitations, but thought little about what actual commitment I could make to see a change in the ever-depressing cycle of wrongs that exists in our world. More often than not, I see a social ill, think very seriously about what I can do to help, and then get distracted by who has broken up whom and the text message light blinking on my cell phone.

It isn't until I sit through a class like I had today with Professor Cates that I'm forced to consciously decide whether I'm going to be a person who continues to avert my gaze from the continuous stream of moral wrongs that are presented to us as mere negative externalities on the pursuit of progress. And the fact is, NO, I don't want to continue down this path of apathy, but I'm also very nervous about opening myself up to a continual reoccurrence of this punched-in-the-gut feeling that I get whenever I think about the world's inequalities.

Because, in the face of Trayvon Martin's untimely death, I have to confront the idea that as a white female, there are very few times in which I would be considered "suspicious" walking around with a hoodie on. And that as a middle-class American college student, it is nearly impossible for me to understand what it is like to be ripped from your bed in the middle of the night and forced into a rebel army. The fact of the matter is that when I take a step toward righting social wrongs, I must continuously confront the idea that even if I took zero steps toward improving my livelihood, I'd still live a life more privileged than millions of people around the world, simply because of the community and social system that I was born into.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that on this 27th day of March in the year 2012, I want to commit myself to being a person who genuinely cares about the way my actions impact the lives of the people around me. I want to be more like my friends who take the time to attend rallies in the Ped Mall for causes they believe in and stay up-to-date on world news even though the latest episode of Jersey Shore is on. I want to be more like my professors who have shown me over the past four years that there is true value in having tough conversations, whether you have the tools to make a real change or not.

One of my favorite young adult books, The Secret Life of Bees, features a character who feels so emotionally connected to the people of the world that she becomes hysterical when she hears of any tragedy, no matter how distant from her own sphere of loved ones. She writes down her prayers for the affected people and sticks the little slips of paper into her own personal wailing wall, constantly conscious and pained by global wrongdoings.

I've always seen myself in this character. That is not to say I'm noble enough to spend hours each day wailing for the heartaches of others. I see myself in her own personal heartbreak over issues that are very much out of her control.

Part of the commitment I'm making today is to grow-up and grow out of my fear of the big-bad monster of the global media sphere and the horrifying news it's always dumping on my doorstep. Because, frankly, if I can't even take the time to check out daily headlines, I don't deserve to call myself a student concerned with the course our world is taking.

Now obviously this post reeks of the idealism that plagues so much of my life, but I hope that you were able to find a grain of cold, hard truth in it that will help you navigate this difficult age in which we find ourselves. There's nothing to be gained from burying our head under the distracting rocks that so conveniently fill our American landscape and so much to be valued in a decision to become a more well-informed participant in the global community.

Peace, love and politics,

Kels.

"The time is always right to do what is right." -Martin Luther King, Jr.

Dallas does...can it, cupid.

As I sit surrounded by the sweet sounds of Hootie and his Blowfish brethren, maxed out on the two Java House drinks I have had in as many hours, I can't help but smile about the impact a few weeks of a new outlook can have on the soul.

Just over a month ago I promised to rid myself of the expectations that have for so long ruled my life. I wanted to dive into my last semester at the University of Iowa with the understanding that every day is a day I'll never get to live again, so I shouldn't waste my time playing mental guessing games. And while these one and a half months haven't been without their share of downs to accompany the ups, I have to say that I'm healthier and happier than I was on January 1.

And before I type another word, let me acknowledge that, yes, this is not only a blogged life update; it's also a written acknowledgement of today's particularly Valentinistic qualities. Motivation to write tonight comes not only from a sense that I have something I'd like to say, but also from the knowledge that this time last year I had it all wrong.

If you look at my blog's history, you'll see that on February 14, 2011, I created a lover's manifesto, detailing exactly how'd I'd lead my romantic life over the next year. And though I haven't put together a "Year in Review" for my heart, I can tell you that the end goal of that list certainly was not achieved.

You see, no matter how self-assured these blogs generally appear to be, I'll admit that 90% of the time I'm buying directly into the game plan that if I just play my cards right, I'll reach that ecstatic point of singlehood where a fantastically gorgeous man can't help but ask to be on the guest list for this Kelsey party. Because isn't that how it always goes? You want to be just happy enough to earn a partner in crime.

But I'm DONE with that game, amigos. I'm so sick of angst-ridden if-I-just-keep-smiling-and-dressing-fashionably-then-my-life-has-to-start-following-the-romantic-comedy-plot-of-my-choice mentality that has been ruling my life for the past year.

This Valentine's Day, screw manifestos. I'm declaring lover's anarchy.

Let's face it: since when did anything work out the way we wanted it to?

If you're me? Never. Never in almost 22 years have I provided my heart with a win-win situation. It's comical really. Me, a love doctor? Someone file a malpractice suit.

I am so terrible at relationships that this Valentine's Day my heart couldn't even bring itself to leave the black hole it's crawled into.

And the real kicker is that every single time I'm heartbroken, I have the audacity to explain all the pain away with a reassuring "But think of all the lessons you've learned!"

People, you've got to stop encouraging me. Let's all agree that I know nothing.

But, you know what, when the right guy comes along, I'm pretty sure there won't be a quiz portion of the meet-and-greet. So why am I wasting all this time trying to figure it all out?

I guess it's because we all want to believe that there's something we can do on our own to speed up our happy ending's arrival.

But this year, I'm letting go of that unending urge for that perfect so-romantic-it-makes-your-heart-hurt portion of my life to begin.

Because, gosh dangit, my life is pretty awesome as it is.

In six months, I'll be leaving Iowa City and the Midwest for all the adventures of the East coast. And I couldn't be more excited. I couldn't be more proud of the fact that somewhere in the midst of this never-ending train wreck of a romantic life, I became the type of student that earns a place in the Ivy League.

And if I wasn't so busy despairing over my pathetic singleness, maybe I'd have time to be thankful for all of the blessings my life as solitary Kelsey has brought to me.

All I'm asking is for you, dear reader, to attempt along with me, to let go of that feeling that something is missing, and realize, that maybe, for right now, this is all you need.

A Netflix account.

A stack of books.

And (if you're lucky) a really cute puppy.

This Valentine's Day, I cancelled my annual pity party in favor of a Shut-Up and Smile Java House date.

And it may just be the best February 14 I've ever had.

Peace, love and peppermint tea,

Kels.

"The reason we struggle with insecurity is because we compare our behind-the-scenes with everyone else's highlight reel."

Dallas does...reality versus expectation.

10 days ago an email delivered a message that changed my entire life. Though a 16-year veteran of an academic system that was built for dedicated students just like me, even a 4.0 gpa and shining recommendations felt like they'd fall short of the demands of the Ivy League.

But there it was. The email from the admissions committee of Yale University detailing how, in their eyes, I was special. Special enough to be notified early and offered a position for the Fall of 2012.

And though, as mentioned, 10 days have passed, I still sit in a perpetual state of confusion, as my expectations try desperately to play nice with the reality that arrived in my Hawkmail account.

And with this confusion has come a kind of disgust with the way I often mistrust unexpected blessings. Frustration with the idea that it feels impossible to just believe that this is the way things were meant to happen, no matter how surreal it continues to feel.

I know I'm not the only one who walks around with a general understanding of the way their life will play out. Though disappointments may come in the form of rejection by the junior high crush you were sure was your soulmate or heartache that the only men courting you during your senior year sit on admissions committees at graduate schools, most people, in knowing themselves, know where their life path will most likely lead, at least for the next few years.

I, for one, saw myself spending the next few years walking up and down city streets in confidence-inspiring heels as I make my bosses love me with my witty remarks and flawless press releases.

I have always been a people-pleaser. Meant to get a salaried job and put a downpayment on a house by age 30. Other people are the free spirits, born to roam and positive that, at least their twenties, will be spent without a forwarding address.

But then there was my summer in Colorado, and the way that just a taste of a brand-new place seeped into my understanding of myself. My expected life plan tried to make room for this mountain love, changing that imaging of high heels on Chicago pavement to fall boots in a Boulder coffee shop writing a first draft of an article.

But then came this email. And the realization that this is the kind of joyful surprise that even my spotless report cards from grades 1 through 16 didn't see coming. Because who I am I to say what two years in New Haven, Connecticut could do for my future? Suddenly the timeline of my twenties has gone blank beyond age 23, as I am forced to consider all of the opportunities that I can't even begin to imagine that this degree can bring me.

Is this the last summer I'll spend near my family? Will magazine articles win my love away from my Facebook news feed once and for all? Will my favorite sunsets still sink down behind Colorado mountains?

At a moment in life where I should wear nothing but a smile on my face, I often find it, instead, marred by a scrunched forehead and tight frown, as I try to rearrange and replace the expectations that led me to this confusion in the first place.

And somewhere in this midst of all this self-absorption, I stumbled upon a life lesson that has changed the way I understand the people I come across in my daily life.

You see, whether freshly accepted to graduate school or not, we all live lives filled with the kinds of decisions that slowly but surely chip away at the expectations we hold most dear, amounting to a relocation in reality that will always be able to catch us off-guard.

No matter how frustrating the decisions that define our friends' lives may be to us, we must remember that they are fighting their own battle with the monster of expectation. They are fighting to follow the path that they have laid out for themselves, before reality comes to reassert itself and leave them dazed and confused.

Sure, from your standpoint you may find it easy to believe that I will be at Yale next semester or impossible not to hate that your roommate sees nothing wrong in going after his best friend's girl, but you must always remember that it is only the individual's perception that comes to matter.

Give it time. Soon, I will be signing my first grad school tuition check and it will hit me how very real my acceptance was. Or that roommate will finally grasp just how wrong it is to risk friendship for a crush.

But we all need a while to understand the reality that has arrived on our doorstep.

So let's all take a deep breath. And look at the plan we have for our lives. And realize that there isn't a small enough number in the world to signify the chance that your expected path will actually match reality. But it gets awful hard to admit just how wrong we are.

Take it easy on each other.

Obviously the realty of my Yale acceptance is an easy pill to swallow. But that roommate convinced he's found love with his friend's gal? Not as easy to grasp that pursuing her is not acceptable under some sort of fairytale love exception to the bro code. Because the expectation of love is that hardest to let go of.

Again, take it easy on each other.

It will all make sense in the end.

Peace, love and a peaceful night's sleep,

Kels.

"Day by day, nothing seems to change, but pretty soon everything's different."

Dallas does...the expectation game.

Sticks and stones don't really break my bones, but expectations always hurt me.

Before you ask, no, I have not recently been the target of any nature-based hate crimes, but the quaint little rhyme seemed a fitting way to ease into a discussion that began long before the clock counted us down into 2012.

Expectations.

You can't live with 'em; but I can't live without 'em.

Blessed with a large head that seems to house more than its fair share of complicated thoughts, my overactive imagination has been raising my hopes and subsequently thinking me through their shattered remains after reality takes over for about 21 and a half years now.

I'm just not equipped to pair patience with an open mind.

But maybe 2012 is exactly the year I've been waiting for.

To my December mind, 2012 was the bully lurking in the shadows waiting to destroy any ounce of confidence I had about my future self.

2012. The year of grad school applications...and potential rejection. Job interviews...and potential rejection. College graduation...well, I guess I'm pretty much in the clear with that one.

But anyway, the point is that 2012 was a year I wanted nothing to do with, until, that is, I realized that perhaps 2011 was a year I should be glad to leave behind.

No need to dive any deeper than to say: It simply failed to meet my expectations.

It was a heartbreaking, gut-wrenching kind of year the likes of which I thought I outgrew when I left Lincoln Junior High School.

It was twelve months of complication that left me introspective and confused as I counted down the days until January's fresh start.

And here I am on the other side, and I've got to say, in my starry-eyed way that you've come to know and love, I do feel fresher. And relieved. At the starting line doing energetic jumping jacks instead of laboriously breathing with the finish line off in the distance.

Maybe because in some sort of twisted self-deluding state I've convinced myself that I will remain centered in reality, as expectations ain't no friend of mine no more.

I know, I know, I know, I just said that I can't live without them. And obviously they'll come creeping in from time to time. But just think about it. Think about how much more exciting that happy ending will be when it sneaks up on you while you're busy finding other ways to make yourself smile.

I'm through with that formulaic mindset that says if A and B happen then C has to be the result. Because as 2011 has taught me, C offers no guarantee.

Stupid C.

But I digress.

The idea is to stop being Joseph Gordon-Levitt in (500) Days of Summer as he watches his expectation of a romantic evening with Zooey unravel in one of favorite movie sequences of all time.

Because we've all been there. And we all know how sucky it is to feel like you've broken your own heart counting your eggs before they hatched.

And not to get caught-up in too many old-fashioned sayings, but, I guess all of this is really centering on the idea of the watched pot that never boils.

Forget the pot. It's 2012. Who wants to be trapped in a kitchen when you can be off chasing your dreams?

You could stand their expecting the pot to boil any minute, or you could just trust that it eventually will when it's good and ready and head off on other adventures in the meantime.

But this is just January 1 talking.

And we all know the dangers of January 1 optimism.

But, as you have many, many times before, I ask that you leave me to my naive trust in positivity.

And I'll leave you to your resolutions.

One day at a time, my friends.

Peace, love and powerful new beginnings,

Kels.

"I think we like to complicate things when it really is quite simple; find what it is that makes you happy and who it is that makes you happy and you're set. Promise."

Dallas does...Comedy Central on Campus

Somewhere in the midst of midterms and essays, student org meetings and reading assignments, Friday nights stand as the symbol of everything that is right about college.

You don't get graded on Friday nights. You don't have to make presentations on Friday nights. Heck, you don't even have to brush your teeth on Friday nights (though I strongly encourage it).

Friday nights mean freedom. They mean crazy nights downtown or just sitting on the couch in sweatpants with your best friends watching movies. They mean Amaretto Sours and Chinese food. They wait for you at the end of each busy week as a reward for five more days of hard work.

And this week, the Campus Activities Board is asking you to spend your Friday night with us.

The problem with Friday nights is that even they can get stuck in a rut. So before you pull out that sparkly dress for yet another trip to Brothers, consider mixing it up with some jeans and a dose of Comedy Central-quality comedy.

Yes, comedy. Because everyone loves a laugh. And because, if your midterms have been anything like mine, you desperately need one.

Okay, okay, okay, I'll admit that Iowa didn't earn its #4 party school ranking by spending Friday nights in the Main Lounge of the IMU. But we did earn it by proving that we know how to have fun.

And I solemnly swear that a night spent with comedians Nick Thune, Rory Scovel and Jermaine Fowler will be one of the best opportunities for fun that this semester has offered.

These three young guys have starred in movies, appeared on every variety of late-night television show, worked with College Humor, recorded award-winning comedy albums and been the face of many of our favorite products for commercial campaigns.

Their names may not be jumping off the page, but their resumes do.

And so, on behalf of CAB, I'm asking you to give them a chance this Friday night. Because I think we sometimes let the siren song of the downtown scene lure us too easily away from on-campus entertainment options.

This is going to be a great show and I want to see you there!

Buy your ticket today at the IMU Box Office. Only $5 for three great acts.

Get yourself out of that rut and invest this Friday night in Comedy Central on Campus. You, and your funny bone, deserve it.

Dallas does...secrets, secrets are no fun.

Allow me to call my own bluff on something.

I'm pretty sure that every single time I've posted a Facebook status that's along the lines of "Life is short. Never miss an opportunity to tell somebody how you feel about them," I've been secretly hoping that my phone will light-up instantly with a proclamation of love from the man of my dreams.

Because I am (and maybe we all are) by nature, extremely impatient.

Because it's hard to understand how we can afford to keep things bottled-up inside when our whole lives can end so suddenly.

But let's be honest here. How often do I come out and tell someone how I'm feeling right there in the moment I'm feeling it?

I'm more of a let-me-imply-my-feelings-over-a-several-month-text-message-exchange type of girl. Which, frankly, sucks.

Because it means I'm not allowed to complain about such frustrations as the anxiety of being unable to know what's on everyone else's mind when I'm not sharing what's on mine.

I am, however, allowed to read into every single piece of communication to create an elaborate picture of the mindscape of others- a picture that inevitably turns out to be miles from the truth.

From the picture I've painted of myself over the last year of blogging, I'm sure you're all confident that you know what I'm referring to: that the world needs to invoke a "must fess-up policy" for crushes.

But what I'm actually talking about is something more than that. Something that encompasses the entire spectrum of emotions.

Because it's not just love that we forget to share. It's anger, too. And it's laughter and it's tears and it's ticklishness.

I like to refer to myself as "non-confrontational," and to me, that has always meant that I will avoid conflict at any cost.

But I think I'm beginning to realize that what I really am is an emotion-avoider. I'll spill out my feelings all over a blog post or to my mom on the phone (which hardly counts as a normal interaction because she literally can't be surprised at this point), but I run like crazy away from situations that require face-to-face, nitty-gritty, heart-to-heart talk.

Because I get scared.

Always considered a perceptive person, I'm scared that I will have entirely misread a situation. I don't want to know that my friend always secretly hated the way I never made her a trophy when she successfully crossed the monkey bars. Or that my dad is getting more and more worried about my grad school plans.

I just want to be proven right when I think that you've missed me just as much as I've missed you.

But somewhere inside, we all know that a situation is never quite how it appears.

And that's why we may never be able to actually say just what's on our mind at any given moment.

So if you stuck with me through this frantic post, let me just ask you one thing: how will we ever break this cycle of confusion?

Okay, okay, maybe I don't need to ask you. Because I've already found the solution, at least for myself.

Stop pretending to have the world figured out.

Sure, I am very good at reading the nonverbal cues of how the people around me are reacting to a particular interaction. But that does not mean I am some kind of licensed master of future affairs. The fact of the matter is that we will never be able to fully understand people who are not ourselves, so we need to stop trying.

So allow me to offer you a revised quote. One that I promise to be offering with a clear conscious:

Life is short. Don't ever miss an opportunity to let people surprise you.

Peace, love and perpetual confusion,

Kels.

Dallas does...Silence Survivor.

It's been a week since the vow. Am I a changed person?

I've certainly still been facebooking like a fiend, texting like a twerp, and gabbing like a true gossip, but was there a lesson learned from those quiet hours?

I like to think so...but then again, I've always given myself the benefit of the doubt.

Because there's definitely doubt. I had moments of clarity within that day and a half (and with thousands of minutes to work with, that was definitely expected). But overall, I can't claim to have walked away with a lasting appreciation of the peace that silence brings.

I'd like to say that my lesson has been learned and that deactivating my Facebook and turning off my phone will be a common occurrence in my life.

But I can't.

Because that's not the real challenge.

Sure, when you separate yourself from your electronic communication outlets, you separate yourself from the power that others have to make you feel ignored or forgotten.

But then again, doesn't the real growth come from being able to leave yourself 'plugged-in' and learn to let go of that part of yourself that finds self-worth in notifications and new texts?

The real lesson I need to learn isn't one of silent stamina; it's one of communication confidence.

Smart phones and social media have opened up a whole new world of opportunities for telling the world about what matters to us. About fears and failures, successes and smiles. Painting a picture of our daily lives by the hour, or maybe even by the minute.

There's value in being unplugged, but maybe even more value in being plugged-in without losing the concrete, real-life aspects of who you are.

So here I am.

One week after the silence ended. Completely free to update my status far too many times in one day (Hey! I have important thoughts to share!) and text extensively about issues that could be much more easily solved in person.

And I'm already back to driving myself crazy waiting for contact from a particularly uncommunicative boy.

But a piece of me wants to believe that I am learning.

Slowly, but surely.

Somewhat struggling, but no longer silent.

Peace, love and party favors,

Kels.

Dallas does...Hours 18-28

Forgive the pun, but I'm speechless about how hard it is to remain speechless.

I meant to provide a much more detailed update, but the hour is late and I've had a pounding headache since my brush with total starvation earlier. A brush that happened to be very in-line with the activities of an ascetic- while practicing the austerity of silence they rarely ate more than what would minimally sustain them. The vow is meant to be accompanied by a dedication to giving your body nothing in excess of what is required for basic survival.

My major accomplishment of the afternoon was remaining entirely quiet during the entire 75 minutes of my discussion-based literature class. That is a landmark achievement in my entire college career. The worst part was that I got a good grade on the quiz from last week and couldn't even text my mom to celebrate.

It's the little things like that text that I came to miss the most. It killed me that I couldn't even say a casual "thanks" to the guy who held the door open for me this morning.

Of course, there were also more extensive speech acts that I wanted to participate in and I definitely crossed the line once or twice with my hyperactive hand-signaling.

When 6:30 rolled around it was time for the CAB administrative meeting, an event that I had given myself a "hall pass" for because of the issues that needed to be discussed. I was very careful to try to allow only CAB-related words out of my mouth, but it was nearly impossible to stop the flow once I let just a few words out.

Uggh. Yep, I admit it. It hasn't been 28 hours of total silence. But it's been a good faith effort and I'm glad that the final 8 will be mostly spent in bed. I spoke only when the conversation could not possibly wait until tomorrow, and even then it was sparingly.

All I can think about is how it feels to go home to a quiet room after a night of endless gabbing with my best friends. How it feels to exhaust your talkin' bone.

I long for that feeling again, though let me assure you, silence is surprisingly exhausting.

This morning I fought the desire to tell irresistibly funny stories, but now all I want is to say something. To say ANYTHING. Even if it's to comment on the weather or the room decisions of the winner of this season's Design Star. I want to be able to be the commentator of my own life again.

I knew I had it bad when I stared at the characters on SVU and was genuinely jealous of how freely they got to speak to each other.

Let's just say that tomorrow morning can't come too soon.

Peace, love and silent surrender,

Kels.

Dallas does...Hours 13-17

I am being haunted by the letter S.

Silence.

Starvation.

Sleepiness.

My silence is making it impossible for me to go order food at the campus cafeteria...and I'm too stubborn to walk home and make an omelette because I know that would lead to me taking a nap instead of doing the hours of homework that should be accomplished today.

So here I am writing an update to try to kick my mind out if its early-afternoon hibernation.

The worst part by far of this vow (at least, the worst part in the first 17 hours) was the walk to campus with my roommate. Everyone should walk alongside someone for a good 15 minutes in total silence to know just how agonizing it can be.

Okay, maybe I'm being overdramatic. But that's because I've always hated silence. I'm that person who starts telling pointless stories just to fill minuscule gaps in conversations. And this my friends, is why I'm plagued by poor performance on both telephone interviews and first dates.

Beyond forcing myself into a much-needed hiatus from social media, I undertook this vow of silence as a way to try to make peace with crickets chirping, if you will. I think it's an important skill to have to be able to be in the same room with other people without the need to continuously shoot the breeze.

But boy do I want to shoot the breeze right now.

I'm sitting on the top floor of our Union, attempting to be productive, but mostly just dozing off while reading Donne poetry and listening enviously as the person behind me receives constant Facebook chat 'new message' notifications.

It's been an interesting morning overall. I find myself shuffling along looking at cracks in the sidewalk, as I have become convinced that even a slight second of eye contact will allow someone walking past to draw me into conversation.

I completed my social outcast vibe by sitting in the very back of the lecture hall for my morning class, which, as it turns out, is home to people who carry on conversations as if they are eating lunch at Panera instead of sitting in the glow of a professor's Powerpoint presentation.

I continue to find value in shrinking my communication universe to one, but am beyond thrilled that this project only lasts 36 hours. It's mesmerizing to me that a true ascetic can sentence themselves to an austerity of silence that lasts 12 years. 12 years!! And here I am complaining about all the life-changing events that I could be missing in just a day and a half...

I doubt any single Facebook notification or text message deserves to be missed as much as I miss it right now.

And that's the real problem. Little red numbers in the top left of our profile and vibrations from our phone have come to be the building blocks of communication instead of sentences spoken aloud. I still don't think that these things will be the ruination of my generation...but they definitely do distract us from the life that's passing us by outside of computer screens and lcd monitors.

And so my goal for the second half of my silence is to stop missing what I've left behind and embrace this opportunity to explore the aspects of this vow that I won't ever relive. I gave up talking, not listening.

Peace, love and personal growth,

Kels.

*Best story that I can't yet share....

In lecture, my friend was eating some dry cereal while the professor began his lecture. It wasn't anything too crunchy like carrots, but it was definitely creating an audible chewing sound. And that, coupled with the crinkling of the cereal box's bag, was enough to drive the boy in front of us crazy. What I wouldn't have given to poke her and share what I saw him type on his computer screen which was, in all caps, ARE YOU DONE EATING. You just gotta love passive aggressives.

Dallas does...Hours 4-12

If a word is uttered in a forest with no one around to hear it, does it still count as speaking?

Forgive me for my early morning philosophy, I'm just getting a kick out of the fact that I can't stop muttering things to myself, or, in the case of my shower this morning, singing "Que Sera, Sera" until I realized that I was ruining the silence.

To be fair, most of these last 8 hours were spent sleeping, so they were easily the most relaxing part of the vow so far. The only frustration I have is that I was unable to drag my lazy body out of bed for some morning reflection, and therefore only had time for my regular routine, as well as some last minute homework edits.

I'm not particularly nervous about the day ahead, though I realize that a small sign reading: "Caution- Remain Quiet" is probably necessary, because who knows who I'll run into and what stories they will wish to share.

My goal is just to keep a low profile and be the type of student I was never very good at being: a quiet one. My arm is going to get a break from its regular workout of raising repeatedly to answer questions.

Oh my! I almost forgot the most comical event of my silence so far. I actually had a nightmare about cheating. I had created some kind of excuse for my dream self to require a visit to Facebook and started responding to wall posts before I realized that all of my responses would be coming from within the time period of my silence and therefore marking me as a cheater! This dream does not stray far from my common thread of dream in which I carry on textual conversations with people and am disappointed to find, upon waking, that it was all in my head.

So, there you have it. I'm a third of the way through my vow and my only complaint is that it's infiltrating my REM sleep and giving me a sudden affinity for Broadway tunes.

But now it's time to take this show on the road...well, the sidewalk to campus.

Peace, love and sleepy silence,

Kels.

Dallas does...Hours 1-3

The silence is upon us, ladies and gentlemen.

Alright, it's mostly just upon me, since I'm the crazy kid who decided to take on the challenge of my Living Religions of the East professor and observe the austerity of silence for the next 36 hours.

The jury's still out on whether or not blogging is a form of cheating, but I don't consider this a complete act of communication until I post a link to Facebook...so I'll just go on putting my thoughts down while I'm having them and worry about the fine print later.

I didn't decide until Tuesday night that I was going to for sure give this project a go. I never thought it was impossible, but the logistics of the thing freaked me out. Would I sound like a brat if I said that on many days of the year I truly can't avoid talking?

It's true! My generation is built around communication. Even the failure to have an unlimited texting plan for your cell phone can make you akin to a social hermit.

Facebook, email, text messages- they're the way we stay in touch with each other (or, to be more blunt, the way we stalk each other). And the thought of going without all these things was enough to put me in quite a panic in the hours leading up to 8:00 p.m. this evening.

I'm the type of person who couldn't even stand to stay home from school for a day because I would miss too much of the hot gossip. I live in fear of being on the outskirts of an important news update (even if it's just that one of my best friends got a haircut) and I guess that's why so many people tell me that I'd make a great journalist. Consequently, it's also why I rarely miss an update to my Facebook newsfeed. It's almost pathetic how well-informed I am about other people's lives.

And I'm pretty sure it was this potential patheticism that inspired me to welcome this silence into my life. I spend so many hours of the day reading and talking about other people's lives that I forget to put valuable time into examining what's happening to me...unless it's to shape it into a clever status that will garner plenty of "likes" from my friends.

It was this very same problem that plagued me with guilt this summer. Even in the midst of the most amazing experience of my young life, I still spent more hours of my life engaged in social media than I dare admit. Where was the me time? Where was the peace that I promised myself when I was reading and rereading text messages trying to determine what the person on the other end of the cell tower could possibly have meant?

The goal of a vow of silence for "world-renouncers" in the Hindu tradition is to build up inner power, or heat. Austerities build up heat that can release you from the cycle of rebirth and into the higher level of being.

And as far from my Presbyterian upbringing as that sounds, it actually makes a lot of sense to me. Silence is inward. It forces you to remain within your own mind. To be fully in tune with yourself. (Comically, the only slip-ups I have had so far were to comment on things out loud to myself.)

The forms of communication I have left behind pull me outward. They stretch out my consciousness to include discussions of the bachelorhood of a poet that hit on Rebecca's friend or the likelihood that Nadal will be able to take down Djokovic in tomorrow's final.

"Kelsey" ceases to be one person living one life. She becomes a negotiator of many lives, advising Brittany about her long-distance love while simultaneously watching a movie with her mom. Making weekend plans with Andrew while catching-up with Beth. The energy she has to put into her own thoughts is splayed out over a thousand different conversations as she copies and pastes the advice of others into her own decision-making.

Silence is about being forced to live within yourself. To come to terms with only your own advice. To get to know what is truly best for you.

I find nothing essentially wrong with the over-communication of my generation...it's just dangerous. And these 36 hours are about collecting the pieces of my consciousness that I've been spreading throughout the tri-state area.

It's going well so far. Even though I feel somewhat like stories are fighting to get out of me like air always did during holding-your-breath contests at the Kasa's pool, I'm generally calm. I've dominated an essay for Virginia Woolf class and a Vocabulary practice test for the GRE. I'm getting to bed early so that I can wake-up for a run and some me-time.

I feel the pieces of myself finding their way back...and I almost want to scream out in joy. But that, of course, would be cheating. ;)

Peace, love and perfect silence,

Kels.

Dallas does...This is the Year

Hello bloggernation, I've come crawling back to you again on my knees, asking for forgiveness.

More unforgivable than my habit of wearing leggings as pants is the complete lack of blogging I did about my summer experiences while they were happening.

Sometimes it feels like it was all too much. Too much to process while I was in it. Too much to even understand now as I sink into the routine of Iowa City.

Too much and yet not enough.

I don't know if I have enough memories to last me through a semester that is more stressful than I ever imagined a Senior year could be. Enough faith in everything I learned to stop me from taking the easy way out. Enough trust in the new understanding I have of myself to keep from making decisions that lead me down the same dusty, not-right-for-me roads.

I do know this: I'm a different person now. I carry myself differently. I find beauty in different pieces of my life.

And yet there's so many things I wish I'd more successfully left behind.

My anxiety about the future. My nagging perfectionism. My obsessive over-analyzing.

And my habit of leaving so many of my important thoughts trapped in my mind while I jabber day in and day out about the never-ending dramas of being a single, college-aged female.

For over a year I have loved this blog.

I have loved that it was my perfect medium for sharing my thoughts with the world, and letting people share in my lessons of love.

But I think maybe that love chapter needs to be put aside for now. Love is a subject of which I'm a perpetual student, but maybe writing about it and talking about it need to stop being my go-to methods of dealing with it.

How about living it?

Living it and leaving these pages for other lessons. Lessons of beauty and lessons of friendship. Lessons of self-worth and lessons of faith.

I can't begin to put into words what Colorado has done for me. But I think I owe it to myself to try to write about it. To move forward with more important discoveries than what bold move will be the final step in wooing the boy I like.

Love is something I've driven myself crazy trying to figure out. And all my countless conversations about it have just turned me into the sappy, confused mess I am today.

What I need to figure out is how to maintain that endless happiness I left Colorado with. And how to continue in my belief that life is beautiful no matter how imperfect it can get in day-to-day living.

So, from now on, the love doctor is out.

And these pages are for all of me. A discussion of my life as Kelsey Dallas, a senior at the University of Iowa, navigating the ridiculous world of a triple major, maintaining a semblance of a social life accompanied by mounds of homework.

So, here I am again, promising to use my words for good and not for evil. To move forward and not to stall on love's precepts that will all be changed by the right person, anyway.

I hope you enjoy this change of pace alongside me. And realize that a new outlook can be just the ticket to happily ever after.

Love, Kelsey

"Make Yourself Proud"

Dallas does...tank top weather

Introducing...an amazing song written by the beautiful Haylie Schroeder based on a concept we discussed! I'm freaking out! It's soooo good.

Mmm, summer, come.

The warm air pushes through the trees
Oh, how they rustle, like my hand in the pocket of my jeans
I can't stand still knowing how you look at me
Knowing just the way you've got me feeling sixteen

But years have passed, and I like to think
Oh, I'm not this naive, won't let myself get caught up in these childish dreams
But sometimes growing old ain't quite the same as growing up
And at twenty-one, I'm just beginning to learn when to stay and when to run

So maybe I'm young and a little bit over my head over heels
But the sun is getting closer, and we're getting older
And the heat of the moment has tangled me up
But I mean it this time; enough is enough
I'd wear my heart on my sleeve
But darling, it's tank top weather

I've walked this path a thousand times
Oh, watching love grow out of control, causing helpless hearts to die
Weeds overtake the gardens, while the willows weep at lovers parting
I'm guilty of the charges, showing off my heart, unguarded

So, maybe I'm young and a little bit over my head over heels
But the sun is getting closer, and we're getting older
And the heat of the moment has tangled me up
But I mean it this time; enough is enough
I'd wear my heart on my sleeve
But darling, it's tank top weather

Summer come, and help me to fight, help me to hide
Summer come, and keep me alive, keep me alive
Summer, remind me to show my heart to no one
Summer, come. Summer, come

So, maybe I'm young and a little bit over my head over heels
But the sun is getting closer, and we're getting older
And the heat of the moment has tangled me up
But I mean it this time; enough is enough
I'd wear my heart on my sleeve

O, but darling, I'm young, and a little bit over my head over heels
But the sun is getting closer, and we're getting older
And the heat of the moment has tangled me up
But I mean it this time; enough is enough
I'd wear my heart on my sleeve
But darling, it's tank top weather

Dallas does...moronism.

A very famous television doctor once said, "Pick me. Choose me. Love me," as she stared pleadingly into the eyes of her gorgeous, but taken, Dr. McDreamy.
In just six words (granted, they formed 3 sentences) Meredith Grey was able to say exactly what we're all thinking the minute we realize we like someone enough for them to hurt us: Please don't break my heart.
If we're all looking for love, then why does one person always end up doing the pleading?
Moms across the world would say that it's because we all mature at different rates. The person you're meant to end up with is the person who will finally be on the same page as you.
Many of the world's women would scowl and proclaim that hearts get broken because of the proclivity of douchebaggery in the men of planet Earth.
And insulted men could counter with an idea I've heard more times than I wish to count: Women are just plain crazy.
So what's the answer? How does love become so one-sided?
Well my friends, I'll tell you my own best guess at the answer: It's because love makes us morons.
Morons who stop being able to rationalize in the realm of reality because we've caught the 6 o'clock train to LoveLand (pun intended). Morons who can't hear the same advice they've given to friends dozens of times because their ears are clogged with cotton candy and rainbows and those absurdly cartoonish cupids shooting heart arrows.
And as my favorite author J.D. Salinger says, "All morons hate it when you call them a moron."
We let ourselves be morons because we've already used the plot of every romantic comedy we've ever seen to plot a course where this runaway train of a relationship is going to get back on course in time for the happy ending.
And I my friends, am one hopeless case of moronism.
My guy friend likes to call my heart the "best and worst" part of who I am.
It's the best because I'll love you forever with a fervor usually lost with baby teeth.
And the worst because I'll love you forever with a fervor usually lost with baby teeth...even when anyone in their right mind would have given up hope.
Hope that you'll be wooed into being the version of you that my imagination has dreamed up.
I trick myself into the loving the version of people I know they could be if I just waited a little longer, wiped away a few more tears, crafted a few more perfect phrases.
And so I drive myself crazy with the wait, positive that this time, I'm actually going to be right.
Now, I have been right sometimes. Enough times to prove that maybe my own special kind of heart disease isn't so bad.
But I still wish that, for once, I could watch that episode of Grey's Anatomy and see myself in Derek Shepherd's shoes. See myself as the one making the decision, instead of the one doing the pleading.
Lucky for me, when God gave me my extra special enlarged heart, he also threw in a heaping spoonful of optimism.
You see, I don't picture myself successfully overcoming my moronic ways anytime soon, but I do believe that there comes a time when all of us will find a person that will match us side for side.
And it's that belief that helps me smile when I read the phrase, "Hearts are made to be broken."
Because, in the end, I have enough heart to go around. And enough optimism to put together the pieces when it does get broken.
And so my gentle readers, tonight I wish for you a life filled with the perfect moronism that leads to a whoppingly huge broken heart. And the faith that you'll need to pull yourself together to try again.

Love, Kels

Dallas does...catch me if you can.

The thing about birthdays is...they mark the perfect time to think about life. Where it's taken you and where you're headed.

Yes, even on this 21st birthday, with many more (liquid) things on my mind than life goals, I found myself returning again and again to the idea that over two decades of my life have already flown by, and I'm really just getting started.

My friends like to tease me about my need to overthink everything, saying that it's ridiculous to worry because, "In the end, you're Kelsey Dallas, and everything will be okay."

Everything will be okay.

This mantra's gotten quite the workout this year, guiding me through the deaths of two grandparents, tough situations amongst family and friends and continuous fears about what my rapidly approaching "adult life" has in store for me.

And maybe, just maybe, I'm finally starting to be convinced of its truth.

When I was 17 years old, I began the difficult task of choosing a college. Luckily for me, the University of Iowa plopped itself in my lap with a hefty scholarship offer, and the answer was too obvious to ignore.

And even that decision came with some heart-wrenching side effects, as I spent several of those 3-hour drives from Lincoln to Iowa City my freshman year drowning in homesickness.

But never once did I stop believing that I had done the right thing for me. Because somewhere in the mess that I like to call a "lovable personality," lies what I consider my strongest asset: vision.

I see myself doing something, becoming someone, succeeding somewhere, and I make it happen. I may sob with fear the night before I start each new adventure, but I never let myself think that I've done something wrong by choosing to take on a challenge.

That was true during the horrifying moment that my parents left me by the curb at my freshman dorm and still true as I lie here with tears in my eyes preparing to leave for my wild summer job.

Voicing how panicked I am about my upcoming summer, several people have reached out to me to let me know how positive they are that this job is right for me. That there's something amazing in the potential this summer holds to change my life.

And I have to agree with them. Staring down all of my fears, I am confident that there's many beautiful things on the horizon, no matter how uncertain it all seems right now.

Uncertainty: the evil twin sister of my beloved vision.

I make myself sick thinking of all that can go wrong between Point A and Point B.

But somehow, on this third day of my 21st year of life, I've discovered a little voice in my heart that's telling me that everything really is going to be okay.

...Though I'm not sure how I can trust the voice that's probably also responsible for my ridiculous (and unrelenting) belief in true romance.

Nevertheless, today I'm making a commitment to keep following that vision.

We can call it my birthday present to myself. In what will become the most pivotal year of my young life, I promise to keep being that person who doesn't settle for what's safe, and chases after the dreams that keep me awake at night.

Like everyone, all I really want is to be happy. And I think I've finally realized that what makes me happy is never holding still while all the best parts of life come to find me. I want to throw myself at them screaming "Pick me!"

And so hear I sit. Still teary-eyed and (thankfully) still at the very beginning of my 21st year.

I've already written so much about who I want to become this next year. Someone who has fun without having a list of consequences cycling threw her mind, someone who can fall in love with reckless abandon just because it feels so much better than trying to control every little detail.

But I guess all I really want to be is true to myself. True to the Kelsey who has gotten me this far. True to that little voice that's tugging me away from my comfort zone into lands unknown.

I don't want to...and I can't...let myself stand still.

Peace, love and growing pains,

Kels.

"And I'm not the girl that I intend to be. But I dare you darlin' just you wait and see. But this time not for you, but just for me."

Dallas does...the camp counselor crush.

"Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road.
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go.
So make the best of this test and don't ask why.
It's not a question but a lesson learned in time."

Before you go assuming that I've employed this epic Green Day song as a lead-in to the inevitable birthday blog that will come this week, let me assure you that I'm using it to convey a very different sort of message.
You see, this Green Day song, besides being an amazing throwback to the days of music before the Ke$has and Gagas, holds a very, very special place in my heart due to a certain camp counselor named Sean.
Sean was the resident dreamboat during one of my weeks as an East Bay camper almost a decade ago and remains in my mind a perfect specimen of a crush that every young girl must have: the summer camp crush. He sat center stage on talent show night and belted this song, creating an image that remains burned in my brain to this day.
Blonde, tanned and tone, Sean was exactly the man my 12-year-old self wanted to spend the rest of her life with, but, alas, these things never do seem to work out, do they? Pesky counselor-camper regulations...just kidding. ;)
What makes me laugh every time I hear this song is that never once did my young self question the fact that with Sean I would find absolute happiness. It seemed so clear. He had a guitar, a great voice, and I would be the envy of every other girl in the cabin. What more was there to ask for?
Well, quite a bit, actually, but that younger version of myself couldn't concern herself with the little details. For her, it was enough to see his big blue eyes glance toward the general vicinity of my fifth row bench seat.
The 12-year-old me had little business deciding anything more than what I would wear each day (and even that's debatable). But decide she did and these choices stick with me even to this day, as evidenced by the slight blush that reddens my cheeks whenever this tune comes on a radio station.
So the real question is, do these decisions really become "lessons learned in time"? Will I ever stop asking myself "Why, oh why, did you do that?"
The answer to this great debate remains impossibly negative, as I continue to be someone who shrugs off the same advice she happily doles out to others.
If life lessons were graded on a 4.0-scale, my gpa would be woefully lower than the one next to my name on my University of Iowa report card.
I talk a big game in these blog posts, but the fact is, I've never really left behind that little girl on a wooden bench who believed that just thinking about something makes it true.
A friend told me this week that I treat love like a monkey treats a Rubik's cube- examining it from every angle, determined to understand it.
Aside from the slight disturbance that comes from any simile linking me and an ape, I winced at the idea that just like anyone simply holding a Rubik's cube is missing the point of spinning the different pieces, I'm missing the entire point of love by just sitting on a couch discussing it.
I'm perfectly happy counseling friends through their romantic dramas (and for some, it should be a paying gig) but when it comes to me, I'm painfully afraid of making the leap from initial thoughts of "Oh, gee, Sean sure is cute" to "Hey Sean, wanna share my bug spray at the lake this afternoon?"
If I'm spending all this time crafting the perfect answers, why do I never force myself to take the tests?
So for my class of one, my assignment this summer is to stop staying in with my books and movies, and get out for some field experience.
Because I think we're all getting a little sick of my rom-com references.
Maybe Green Day was really on to something when they said,
"It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right.
I hope you had the time of your life."
Love isn't something you chart on graph paper, it's something you live and learn from.
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to unpredictability.
It's time I had the time of my life.

Peace, love and pocket watches,
Kels.

"It's a risk to love. What if it doesn't work out. Ah, but what if it does?"