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There are worse addictions than reality TV, chocolate and coffee.

Sarah Dessen

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Sarah Dessen
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: June 6
Novelist
Writer
Evanston
Illinois
Reality
Addictions
Chocolate
Addiction
Coffee
Worse

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Growing up means :propelling yourself forward into whatever lies ahead, one turn of the wheel at a time.
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But something, somehow, had made all these paths converge. You couldn't find it on a checklist, or work it into the equation. It just happened.
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No one could tell you: you just had to go through it on your own. If you were lucky, you came out on the other side and understood. If you didn't, you kept getting thrust back, retracing those steps, until you finally got it right.
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Who would have thought that grieving an old relationship and enjoying a new one could happen simultaneously, in parallel? Yet another thing you only find out once it's happening to you.
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I was born in 1970 in Illinois, but all the life I remember I've spent in Chapel Hill, N.C.
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Home wasn't a set house, or a single town on a map. It was wherever the people who loved you were, whenever you were together.
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You couldn't just pick and choose at will when someone depended on you, or loved you. It wasn't like a light switch, easy to turn on or off. If you were in, you were in. Out, you were out.
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Times like this it did seem real I was leaving, and even more that my family, and this life, would go on without me. And again I felt that emptiness rise up, but pushed it away. Still, I lingered there, in the doorway, memorizing the noise. The moment. Tucking it away out of sight, to be remembered when I needed it most.
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Quiet and incredible. I really envy that.
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He's very nice. He's something I replied. She considered this zipping her purse shut. Then she said Well everyone is. Everyone is Something. For some reason that stuck with me simple and yet not every since she'd said it. It was like a puzzle as well two vague words with one clear one between them.
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Morris was not the type to offer a hug or even hold your hand. But there was something in his quiet indignation at the universe then--and Luke, now--that was just the kind of comfort I needed. I'm such a mess, I said. We're almost off the island and I didn't even ask you where you were going. He shrugged. No place. Wherever you are.
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I am not breaking my rules,' I snapped, hating that I'd ended up on the advice-recieving end of things, jumping from Dear Remy to Confused in Cincinnati all in one summer.
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It wasn't about being happy or unhappy. I just didn't want to be me anymore.
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Life isn't fair, Owen told her. Get used to it.
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And for one second, it was like I could feel the timing clicking together, finally pieces falling into place.
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Sometimes. It was a good escape. Until, you know, it wasn‟t.
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He'd always had that fearless optimism that made cynics like me squirm. I wondered if it was enough for both of us. I would never know from here, though. And time was passing. Crucial minutes and seconds, each one capable of changing everything.
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It was so easy to disown what you couldn't recognize, to keep yourself apart from things that were foreign and unsettling. The only person you can be sure to control, always, is yourself. Which is a lot to be sure of, but at the same time, not enough.
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I'd been through so much, falling short again and again, and only recently had found a place where who I was, right now, was enough.
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I am coming to terms with the fact that loving someone requires a leap of faith, and that a soft landing is never guaranteed.
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