The summer after my freshman year of college messed up my life. I had it all planned out. My first year of college had been amazing. I’d made a ton of new friends whom I loved spending time with and I had started dating a girl early in the year.
To the parents of my students, Hi. My name is Brittany. We’ve never met before, but I spend a lot of time with your college student. Actually, I probably spend more time with them than you do during the school year.
Do you secretly want to have sex with a bunch of your Facebook friends? Too cowardly to have a real relationship, to actually know and be known? Can’t be bothered to commit to love and care for someone? Trying to blow off the relationship (or marriage) you’re in?
It feels like eons ago (13 years) that I was dating, and honestly, I don’t look back fondly on that time—the tribulations of crushes and attempting to read men’s minds, the wasted conversational hours obsessing over who likes whom.
Back when I was applying to college I was a naïve pastor’s kid who decided to forgo Christian colleges for a place where it would be something of a “challenge” to be a Christian. Instead, I’d head to the secularized and faithless University of Illinois.