Nationals.

(This photo isn't even from Nationals. But yeah.)

I soaked up this past week thoroughly. It was Nationals week, and there were so many things at this tournament that I will always hold onto. Some days, it was hard. Most days, it was still worth it. It seems like this trip was just enough time to deepen existing relationships, without being so long that you start to hate all your friends.

This year has not been a great year regarding people. I gave up on humanity this year. Most days, I retreated into my calm existence of thinking, writing, coffee, books, music, and solitude. No people. People are too inconsistent, intruding, and confusing. I could shut them out and retreat to a better spot. Most days, I still go there. I went there a lot at Nationals, even. Introversion is nice sometimes. Yet this tournament slightly revitalized my view of the human race in general.

What I'm trying to say is that I met people who gave me hope.

Not that I didn't already have hope. This year has been the most difficult year of my life, but for the first time ever, I am happy. I've never had a deep, lasting happiness. But now I do. I think it's because I always grasped at hope. There is a lot to be said for just muddling through. Making it until you find hope. That sort of thing. I refused to let go of the idea of hope – ever. And yet, this week, I met people who embodied hope. I've always had hope. I've always believed in it. I've always waited for it, and it has found me. But now I've met people – real flawed people – who embody the hope I have always held. Seeing hope embodied almost gives me more hope.

Nationals week was a lot of things. It was hard. It was trying. It was so overwhelming at times. It was frustrating, at times ridiculous, and at times not super fun.

But this week, two beautiful things happened.

1. I saw hope in other human beings.
2. I proved myself, to myself.

By saying that I proved myself, I'm not referring to my performance at all. I only broke in one out of my four speeches, and I didn't even make it past Quarters. I didn't meet my goals in that regard. But I still made myself so proud. I stepped out of my shell a little bit and poured myself into people, in completely new ways. I turned pages this week. I let go of old friends, and I invested in new ones. I got over being afraid of failure when it comes to new friendships.

Actually, I didn't get over being afraid. But I got over the fear hindering me.

I learned to let go. I learned to say goodbye. I learned to hold people and then release them. And then I also learned to say hello. I learned to savor the sound of new laughter, the expression new thoughts, and the warmth of new hugs. I learned the art of quietly turning the page, folding it up, and tucking it away. And then I also learned the art of saying hello, when you've been dying to say it for so long.

(I don't know if I should call them “arts” yet; I'm still pretty messy at this.)

Never has a medal, a trophy, a certificate, or a scholarship made me this proud of myself, and never have those things given me hope. Winning extends beyond having Mrs. Hudson call your name from a stage, facing 3,000 people. Winning is often a battle with yourself, and/or the world. Victory is sweet, and I have won. Saying goodbye and letting go of people is hard, because people sometimes become a part of you. Letting them go is like letting pieces of yourself slip through your fingers. But saying hello is also hard, because you make yourself vulnerable for a new person to become a part of you. And you might have to say goodbye to them someday, too. But I did both this week. Sometimes I made jokes about it. But I never would have guessed how deeply this impacted me.

Nationals 2014: one official medal. Countless unofficial ones, called friendships.

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