And it continues...

It's been a long couple of weeks. I've moved. I've helped others move. I've dejunked, sorted, cleaned, and performed more manual labor than I have in a really long time. Tonight, I mopped a floor by hand. I didn't have my lap top with me which is generally my source of noise (movies, TV, music, etc), so it was kind of a quiet night. I had A LOT of think time. Not too long ago I went on a camping trip with some of my best friends. The conversation on the way home turned to our childhood and we spent a few hours deciding whether the young versions of ourselves would have been as good friends as we are now. In the midst of my floor cleaning experience, the conversation with my brain (Yes. I do talk to myself. There is a very good reason that I don't live alone.) turned to 12-year-old Shandy. I tried to decide whether 12-year-old Shandy and 30-year-old Shandy would be friends. The sad part is, I'm not so sure that they would. At the end of my senior year of high school, Mrs Forsgren (my AP English teacher) made us promise that we wouldn't get married until we were 21 because apparently our characters were going to change a lot between 18 and 21. Hind sight has never between clearer for me. My character has changed. I have changed. 12-year-old Shandy probably wouldn't have been camping with her friends. I'm pretty sure she wouldn't mow the lawn voluntarily (yeah, that might have happened tonight too). She most definitely would not run (ask her 12-year-old soccer team). Next stop in my labor-induced nostalgia was missionary Shandy. So many times returned missionaries say it was the "best 2 years" of their lives. I won't say it was the best 18 months of my life. It was good. It was really good, but not the best. I would say that Missionary Shandy was probably closest to perfect that Shandy has ever been, but it was easy to be good like that when the gospel of Jesus Christ was the main focus in life. I decided tonight that missionary Shandy needs to be more of a presence in my life. She needs to be set up as a standard in my life to compare future Shandys to. I don't know if this makes sense to anyone besides me. It may be one of those things that only makes sense in my brain. Not going to lie...exhaustion, delirium, and nostalgia may have set in. I really need to go to bed. Sweet dreams...