I left Alabama Friday morning to embark upon a journey with a dozen other young adults to Snowshoe, West Virgina for a weekend of skiing, snowball fights, and other miscellaneous winter revelry.
But that was Friday.
Now its Sunday morning, and what was meant for a weekend to get away, escape, relax, and come back home refreshed.
Instead, I’m cold, wet, frustrated, and indifferent.
My first (and only) morning on the slopes has become somewhat symbolic of this trip for me.
Great movement, then a sudden crash.
Followed by a significant amount of frustrations, and the inability to get up on my own.
Leading up to this trip was kind of a mixed bag for me.
Part of me really, really wanted to come.
Part of me really, really didn’t.
And now the morning of our late evening departure, that still holds true.
Part of me has had a really, really great time.
And part of me really, really hasn’t.
Interestingly, true to form, the better times have been one on one conversations.
The simple things.
I’m still awkward in the grander scheme of the group scenario.
Or, at least thats how I perceive it.
Sometimes I wonder if I really fit.
Sometimes I wonder if I ever will.
Definitely planning on spending most of today on my own.
I need the space.
Peace and love.