Yearbook

There's something about looking through an old yearbook that makes me go misty-eyed. Reading those little HAGS and all the little messages people write. It reminds me how much I love my friends and the people I'm around all the time.

But this year it's worse. In 7th and 8th grades I would see them all again next year.This year I won't. This year some people will be at Layton. True I have rationalized it, saying that the majority of my friends who will be at Layton are in my Stake, but how often do I get to see the people in my stake? Not very often.

But reading those notes from people really do mist me up. It's so sad to think that I won't be seeing some of them as regularly next year. But I didn't get on this blog to make you all be depressed. No I was thinking about many of the fun, exciting things a year book can do with a person.

I was thumbing through and well, these numbers started popping out at me. Trust me, I do not like to call people on the phone. I hate getting wrong numbers, I just hate it. But I looked at those numbers a bit longer and knew I would call at least one. Ironically, it wasn't one in my ninth grade yearbook that I called. Nope, it was one in my eighth grade yearbook, but that wasn't the end of it. I tried calling another person. But my courage failed, and I hung up when I heard the first ring . . . twice.

I've always wondered if there's something wrong with me, not wanting to here that voice on the other end saying "Sorry, I think you've got the wrong number" but I don't think there is. I think we've all got a little bit of that inside of us. A little bit of a feeling of not wanting to be wrong, and not wanting to be told that we're wrong. I dislike that part of me. It's stopped me a lot of times from doing something I really want to do. Like calling a friend. Stupid but true. It bugs me.

I guess it's just one of those fears I'll have to over come, Something that will have to change eventually. But for now. I'm glad I have those yearbooks to look through, a reminder of my fear. (I'm not totally sure this is a good thing . . .)