the proximity effect.

Last October, I rediscovered Nada Surf. I owned "High/Low" in high school and decided it'd be the album I listened to while trekking across the state on my 22nd birthday because I had to go say a final goodbye to a friend. I enjoyed it so much I stopped at the record store and got other Nada Surf disks for the drive back. That is when I heard the following lines:

"Maybe this weight was a gift ... like I had to see what I could lift."

It resonated quite loudly during the 270 or so mile trip. It hit me so much that at one point I pulled over along the Interstate and just screamed to the cars in what looked like the melodramatic performance of the year to passersby. Months later, I remember the whipping of the November wind on my face as I just LET GO (another one of their album titles) of everything that was breaking my heart at the moment -- Mark dying, Rachael's situation, learning that if I were to keep my heart invested in Josh that I would always care more, my aunt's bad news, the failure of a fall semester and the looming "what comes next" worries.

The weight, right then along I-80 near Lock Haven, made perfect sense. I was simply learning how much I could endure. I started truly seeing setbacks as lessons and obstacles as motivators.

I reminded myself that love is ultimately all I ever want in life, and if I die loving, then I can say I almost don't care about all the inbetweens. The number of phone calls I was receiving that day made it evident I had more than enough of it to sustain me.

So what does this have to do with proximity or Nada Surf now? I listened to "Lucky," the band's latest album tonight. I left work and after a mediocre Bog experience considered just driving out to Western Pa. because my heart was aching. While completely spontaneous, it would've been irrational because my car definitely would've broken down along the no-service stretch. So I took the expressway out, drove Northeast and told myself to stop running away from the two people that probably love me more than anyone else could ever have the ability to: mom and dad. After all, at the end of the day, it is for them and their overwhelming, unconditional love that I am most thankful.

Plus, I'm convinced that all this "weight" that's been had the last year or so will make everything so much lighter tomorrow.