Live Like You Were Dying

Let’s be honest: waiting to leave on a mission is like having a terminal cancer. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not depressed about my pending death, uh, I mean, departure. I am actually ecstatic. Counting the days. The hours. But, I can’t help at feel that on August 31, at approximately 1:30 pm, Jesslyn Ann will depart from this world. And unlike cancer patients, I don’t get to shave my head. Some people have all the luck.

Suddenly though, I keep thinking about all my regrets. Not that I have many. I actually think I have been creating regrets to agonize over. I think about all the great people in my life that I haven’t spent nearly enough time getting to know. I’ve always been a little bit too sentimental and attached for my own good. I hate goodbyes. HATE THEM. I still miss and think about friends that I had in kindergarten. Add 15 years of friends and acquaintances to that and I can barely stand to think about leaving them all. Even though I don’t see most of them as it is. And the ones I do see would probably be leaving Provo soon, anyway.

And, I feel the need to tell people I love them. ALL the time. I am tempted to write long, gushy letters to just about everyone I have ever met and tell them how much I appreciate and admire them. I want to tell people I have spoken to less than three times that I will miss them and that they should write me letters.

I cry over the silliest things (“This could be the last time I will go grocery shopping at Macey’s for the next 20 months!”). Sometimes over nothing at all. Why? I don’t know. But if I am this much of a mess here, I don’t want to see what I will be like in the MTC.

The thing is, though, I’m not that homesick of a person. I know that once I leave, I’ll be fine. I won’t miss all these things I think I will miss. I’ll be much to busy to think of them at all. But the anticipation is killing me. If I don’t leave soon, I think I will probably kill an entire forest with all the sappy letters I will write.

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