I remember graduating from Longwood University like it was yesterday. Those last papers, senior week, and packing up that college apartment that had truly become my home. It was a whirlwind of meaningful moments and books with dog-eared pages. Underneath my cap and gown, I wore a dress borrowed from my best friend Emma; and my parents brought me a bouquet of flowers.

It doesn't feel like four years have passed, but then again, sometimes it does. Two offices and a coffee shop. One master's degree. Three cities, two states. Three apartments, fifteen months at my parents' house, and a year of long distance with one boyfriend who turned into a fiancé and is now my husband. Ten months of self-employment.

Four years later, I am finding roots and settling down a bit more every day. But in 2010, I thought I already had it figured out. I didn't know who I was or what I was going to do, but I had an idea of who I wanted to be; what I wanted to do. I moved into an apartment in Roanoke and bought dishes and a bed and a couch and felt very sure of myself. I didn't like living alone, but the place was beautiful and my parents were nearby, and my friend Andy would sometimes come over and sleep on my couch.

Rob still had a year of undergrad to complete, and I had started working at a job I didn't love before very quickly applying to graduate school at Hollins University. I never really knew what one might do with a master's in Children's Literature, but I loved it and I wasn't ready to be done with school, so I started a two-year journey toward my M.A. I kept working full-time and going to class, and life felt very transitional for the next few years.

When I was almost done with my thesis, I panicked. I visited Longwood and sat in one of my favorite professor's office with a cup of coffee and told him I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do anymore. I was working for a software company and had this blog but I didn't feel like I was doing anything with my degree. He told me not to worry, to just keep going. He said one day I would wake up and some random thing would happen and it would make sense, maybe even suddenly and all at once.

I kept doing what I was doing and in August of 2013, I found myself setting out to join Rob in Minneapolis and blog "full-time." Living halfway across the country from everyone I knew and loved was never a thing I thought I would want to do, but it seemed worth a try. A few months later, once again in a panic, I frantically began applying for jobs. I worked a few little part-time gigs for a temp agency in between blogging and wedding planning and traveling, and then last week, I got a call asking if I was interested in working at a children's book publishing company for a few weeks. It felt a whole lot like the moment I had been waiting for.

As amazing as it is to go in and finally see what happens in an office where everyone has shelves upon shelves of children's books above their desks, I started to realize that entering data into an Excel spreadsheet is the same no matter where you work. At first I felt disappointed, but I recalled my college professor's words that comforted me so much two years ago. I am learning a bit more, every day, to be grateful for my experiences, and to trust what's next.

Some things just take time. And sometimes--most times--you're doing the right thing. Keep going. We all have to start somewhere. Where did you start out?

Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there.

Disclosure: Compensation was provided by State Farm via Mode Media. The opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are not indicative of the opinions or positions of State Farm.

Nobody ever told me how hard it would be to make friends after college. Maybe you're working a weird job and have nothing in common with your colleagues. Maybe you went to grad school and took half of your courses online; or maybe, shortly after, you met a handful of wonderful people at your office but then moved to Minnesota a year later.

I have always been blessed with great friends. When I get married in a few months, I'll have seven amazing women standing right behind me, and I feel like much of my life has been that way. Emma is the sister I never had, Tina is the one I can always count on, Shawna has the most amazing spirit and can make me laugh like no one else, and Elena and I have been separated by oceans at times, but always manage to find our way back to each other. These women have been in my life since we were girls, but the list goes on (and isn't limited only to my wedding party). I think about all the people who will be seated there as Rob and I stand in front of them, and I just can't believe it. It's overwhelming in the very best way.

This is all wonderful, but these people live really far away, which is why I've found myself meeting up with wonderful strangers in coffee shops and restaurants lately. I've been dating a lot of girls over the past few months.

The internet has been sort of amazing in bringing us all together. Someone who once read my blog when I was writing my master's thesis in Charlottesville is now the person I refer to as "my best friend in Minneapolis." An Instagram connection and I are going to start our own little writing group. Food bloggers and photographers who I never knew until October, or yesterday, are now people with whom I make plans. Blogging has really made this big world (or country, or state, really) a lot smaller, and for that I'm thankful.

--

I wrote this a while ago:

I remember leaving for college.

I stood in my driveway with Emma's arms wrapped around my neck and thought, "Never." I would never find another friend like her, and I would never be the same because of it. It was August and despite the early hour, the hot Virginia morning already fell, muggy on our bare shoulders. Thick brown ringlets and freckles merged as our embrace tightened. 

My dad put the final box of my stuff into the back of our black Suburban. "I'll visit you every weekend," she sobbed into my ear. I let go of her and got in the car. I remember feeling like I'd never have another friend like Emma again.

And then, seven years later, she was hugging me goodbye once more as I packed my stuff to move to Minnesota. So much has changed, but a lot has stayed the same. You can't replace your best friends, but you don't have to be alone.

--

Photo: Me, Shawna, and Emma in Charlottesville, Virginia.

Blurry, but one of my very favorites.

It was this year that I finally stopped measuring my life by semester.

Do grown people still do that? For so long, my year began in the fall, took a break around Christmas, and began again in January before ending in the spring. It was Freshman Year and The Summer Of, over and over again, I guess until recently, when I started running out of things to call them. I finished graduate school in October of 2012, and then it was 2013.

Recently, I've been thinking about the years that passed by not so long ago, the ones I always refer to by name--those years that made me into who I am today. I look back and am often slightly embarrassed by the girl who was there at the time, living out the scenarios that are now my memories. Those last years of high school seemed so crucial, and yet today I look back and say "how stupid," even though I needed them.

Junior Year of High School is when I started dating the boy who, five or six whole months later would be the first guy to break my heart. He taught me how to get over something and be stronger for it at the end of the day. I was really into my running and my school and my friends and my religion and I never anticipated a day when things would be different. I applied to colleges and went on visits and tried to picture a day where things might change, but I just couldn't see it yet.

Senior Year of High School was dramatic and life-changing in the way that high school is. New boyfriend, new heartbreak, except that this one taught me how not to get over something, and all the ways you could be regretful at the end of the day. I graduated and went to college, convinced that I would never change, that I would keep all the friends I had left back home, that this must be what growing up felt like.

Freshman and Sophomore Years of College were full of new people and self-discovery; a psychology major and a Spanish major and a whole lot of intro classes before I finally declared an English major. I learned that just because someone is handsome and nice doesn't mean he is sent to you from heaven above or something, and that notion was challenged at the beginning of Junior Year when the boy I believed to be my soul mate sat down on my bed and broke up with me. He was everything I thought I ever wanted, and for a year I had ignored how hard I needed to try to be everything he thought he ever wanted. Real love is work sometimes, but it isn't hard, and I hadn't learned that yet. He taught me to love myself and be happier for it at the end of the day.

The rest of Junior Year and the following Senior Year was what I suspect college is really supposed to be--I spent time making awesome memories with my friends. I was deeply engrossed in my courses, and read hundreds of pages a day in between classes. I started feeling like William Shakespeare and I knew each other well. I stayed out too late, often drank too much, and wore ridiculous outfits to theme parties with my roommates. We got in stupid fights and never really learned how to communicate until much later, but they were my best friends and we loved each other. We ate chips and queso dip almost every afternoon in our living room. I got a tattoo, wrote every day, could barely picture a life where I wasn't a student, and met the man that, five and a half years later, I'm about to marry.

My life has been so blessed. As I grow older I am learning to be so thankful for everyone whose path has crossed mine; for everything that has gotten me to where I am today. When I was in Virginia for Thanksgiving, my old roommates and I got together for a weekend and we picked up right where we left off and had a great time, but we still all seemed so much different--the better, adult versions of ourselves. Life happens and you lose track of time. Earlier this week, Rob and I were driving to dinner together, bundled up in our coats and scarves and I almost laughed looking out the snowy window thinking about winter in Minnesota--this random possibility that has become a reality for us. We live here now--we're done with school and we're working and this is our home now. I love it. I wouldn't change a thing.

Maybe as we grow older, we encounter fewer defining moments and feel less inclined to identify years in a special way. But maybe that's not true, either, because in 2013 I got engaged to the love of my life and moved to a new part of the country. I started blogging full time and challenged myself to write more and cook more and let go of the things that scare me. I'll never forget this year--it has been one of the best. Losing my dog has made it bittersweet, missing him so much and knowing that none of us will live forever, but hoping that we'll all be reunited in some way in the future.

And with 2014 looking at us from the last page of our calendars, I know that this new year will also be life-changing as I walk down the aisle and get a new last name and will probably move again (this time with my husband) and try to find more ways to push myself and get better and feel even more thankful for this life we're living.

All of these years are special, no matter how we refer to them when we look back.

Wishing you all love and peace and happiness, every day of every year.

Photo credit: Winona Grey Photography