Its so hard to believe that summer is already here and that high school is actually done. Its funny how you anticipate something so much so that when it arrives, your not sure what to do. And in a way, the sense of accomplishment that you thought you would feel is fairly different from the feeling in reality. When you think about it, you spend every day since your born working up to graduation...and now its already come and gone. I guess the saying goes; time doesn't stop for anyone. I think back about high school and to say the least, its been pretty amazing. That's not to say that there hasn't been any rough patches or things that I wouldn't like to go back and do over again - because believe me there is. But I think that if your able to come out of something and still be able to look back and smile about it, then the good does out way the bad. 
One of most significant things I've learned is that "its better to say to much than never to say what you need to say." (thank you John Mayor - I love how songs can put into words the thoughts that your unable to articulate yourself). Often I wonder how different my memories would have been at this point if I had of done exactly that. I've just come to realize how tragic it really is to live a life but hold so many important secrets inside. Is it really true that some of the most important things go unsaid? I just can't imagine how different things would really be if everyone wasn't afraid to confess whats on their heart. The thing is though, I think that since our heart is so vulnerable and sacred, its probably the only part of us that everyone is afraid to give and more afraid to keep to themselves. Because, would it be more tragic to die after unrequited love or to die alone? Wouldn't it be better to know that you did all you could or tried to love someone with all you had, even though they may never love you back - as opposed to keeping such an overwhelming urgency to love someone inside-safe from the possibility of rejection? I really do hope its true. I think in the end though, we're all scared, scared of something and it manifests itself in different ways. Everyone finds this way to either mask or display their deepest or even unconcisous fear. Yesterday, I started working at a seniors home. I was helping feed lunch to a little lady named Hazel, probably in her early 90's. She never spoke one work the whole time I was feeding her, despite serveral attempts to ask her questions - which was completely understandable. I wanted so badly to know what was going on inside her mind because her little blue eyes would gaze around the room and then she would get this look that would come across her face like she was about to cry or was breaking terribly on the inside. I put my hand on her back, rubbing her shoulders in an attempt to console her - knowing that sometimes touch conveys love and consolence more than words ever could. Whenever I'd take my hand away to help feed Betty, her friend to my right, she would reach out her little frail hand and rest it on my leg. And it honestly broke my heart because I thought, after a lifetime of experiencing anything and everything that we make possible for ourselves, is that all that we want - to sit and have someone still show us love. I can't help but wonder; what was her husband like, how did they meet, how did he make her feel? Sitting in her wheelchair, rocking back and forth, was she missing him, or thinking about her children or things she wished she'd done - what kind of pain was it? Maybe I'll never know, but I think thats there's so much you can learn from people by just watching them. Maybe Hazels fear was to be alone, but her mask was silence and the slightest human touch reminded her that for that half hour that we were together, she could remember the youth of love. 
Love though, is probably something that there never comes a point in our lives where we no longer yearn for it. Isn't it funny to remark that how a baby is nurtured, loved and cared for has the greatest significance on how s/he will be in his youth. Even though, when he has grown into a boy he won't remember exactly how it was that his mother cared for him in his infancy. The way and the amount that his mother touched and tended to him begins to define for him what it is like to love and care for another human being. Maybe his mother never took the time to put a band aid on his knee or hold him tight at night when he was scared of the thunder pounding outside his window. Maybe this little boy will grow into a young man who fears letting a woman have his heart because the image of love that he has before him has been construed. And then, after having grown into old age, with the possibility of having loved and lost more then one believes they can bere, the little man wants someone to sit with him and hold his hand, having someone to shares his stories with. Peter, a Dutch man in his eighties, still fairly sharp and as funny as anything, showed me just that. Every time I walk by him he calls out to me in his heavy accent, "Hello Sweetheart! Come here for a minute." I walk over and he takes me by the hand, pulls me down towards his wheelchair and plants a kiss on my cheek. "Your a sweetheart, your a sweetheart," he repeats and you give him a big smile (how could you not) and then he lets out a little chuckle with a twinkle in his eyes. You can't tell me that people are that warm and loving all too often anymore. It seems that we've all built up this defense, this wall that any sign of showing love or showing that you care for/about someone is a weakness. It appears that a cold heart and a sharp mind has become the epitome of what it takes combat fear - which too is known as a weakness. We've developed this system of masquerading fear behind secrets, that silence and misinterpretation prevails truth. 
I know that when I grow old, I want to wear age without shame - grey hair, wrinkles and all - but sit beside a man who - grey hair, wrinkles and all, I can still look in his eyes and know that the greatest thing I ever did was to walk through my fear and love him anyways.