It was this year that I finally stopped measuring my life by semester.

Do grown people still do that? For so long, my year began in the fall, took a break around Christmas, and began again in January before ending in the spring. It was Freshman Year and The Summer Of, over and over again, I guess until recently, when I started running out of things to call them. I finished graduate school in October of 2012, and then it was 2013.

Recently, I've been thinking about the years that passed by not so long ago, the ones I always refer to by name--those years that made me into who I am today. I look back and am often slightly embarrassed by the girl who was there at the time, living out the scenarios that are now my memories. Those last years of high school seemed so crucial, and yet today I look back and say "how stupid," even though I needed them.

Junior Year of High School is when I started dating the boy who, five or six whole months later would be the first guy to break my heart. He taught me how to get over something and be stronger for it at the end of the day. I was really into my running and my school and my friends and my religion and I never anticipated a day when things would be different. I applied to colleges and went on visits and tried to picture a day where things might change, but I just couldn't see it yet.

Senior Year of High School was dramatic and life-changing in the way that high school is. New boyfriend, new heartbreak, except that this one taught me how not to get over something, and all the ways you could be regretful at the end of the day. I graduated and went to college, convinced that I would never change, that I would keep all the friends I had left back home, that this must be what growing up felt like.

Freshman and Sophomore Years of College were full of new people and self-discovery; a psychology major and a Spanish major and a whole lot of intro classes before I finally declared an English major. I learned that just because someone is handsome and nice doesn't mean he is sent to you from heaven above or something, and that notion was challenged at the beginning of Junior Year when the boy I believed to be my soul mate sat down on my bed and broke up with me. He was everything I thought I ever wanted, and for a year I had ignored how hard I needed to try to be everything he thought he ever wanted. Real love is work sometimes, but it isn't hard, and I hadn't learned that yet. He taught me to love myself and be happier for it at the end of the day.

The rest of Junior Year and the following Senior Year was what I suspect college is really supposed to be--I spent time making awesome memories with my friends. I was deeply engrossed in my courses, and read hundreds of pages a day in between classes. I started feeling like William Shakespeare and I knew each other well. I stayed out too late, often drank too much, and wore ridiculous outfits to theme parties with my roommates. We got in stupid fights and never really learned how to communicate until much later, but they were my best friends and we loved each other. We ate chips and queso dip almost every afternoon in our living room. I got a tattoo, wrote every day, could barely picture a life where I wasn't a student, and met the man that, five and a half years later, I'm about to marry.

My life has been so blessed. As I grow older I am learning to be so thankful for everyone whose path has crossed mine; for everything that has gotten me to where I am today. When I was in Virginia for Thanksgiving, my old roommates and I got together for a weekend and we picked up right where we left off and had a great time, but we still all seemed so much different--the better, adult versions of ourselves. Life happens and you lose track of time. Earlier this week, Rob and I were driving to dinner together, bundled up in our coats and scarves and I almost laughed looking out the snowy window thinking about winter in Minnesota--this random possibility that has become a reality for us. We live here now--we're done with school and we're working and this is our home now. I love it. I wouldn't change a thing.

Maybe as we grow older, we encounter fewer defining moments and feel less inclined to identify years in a special way. But maybe that's not true, either, because in 2013 I got engaged to the love of my life and moved to a new part of the country. I started blogging full time and challenged myself to write more and cook more and let go of the things that scare me. I'll never forget this year--it has been one of the best. Losing my dog has made it bittersweet, missing him so much and knowing that none of us will live forever, but hoping that we'll all be reunited in some way in the future.

And with 2014 looking at us from the last page of our calendars, I know that this new year will also be life-changing as I walk down the aisle and get a new last name and will probably move again (this time with my husband) and try to find more ways to push myself and get better and feel even more thankful for this life we're living.

All of these years are special, no matter how we refer to them when we look back.

After shooting in that field at pretty much the perfect time of day, we ventured over to Hampden-Sydney to finish up our engagement session with Ashley of V.A. Photography. It's hard to believe that five years ago at the end of October, I would walk into a Halloween party with my roommates and meet Rob. Time has really flown by.

Hampden-Sydney is so many things to us--the place where Rob studied and made life-long friends, my running destination (I'd run the six miles down Back Hampden-Sydney Road and stop at Rob's dorm, where he'd give me a Gatorade and we'd talk before driving me back), our weekend hang-out and our long-distance relationship training wheels.

Midnight breakfasts, tailgating parties with more chicken wings and oysters than you could ever eat, and cheap beer popping out of every cooler. There were stomach-aches and hangovers and country music, and there were great times with friends and big Sunday brunches in the dining hall at a huge table where we'd all laugh and eat omelets and drink fresh-squeezed juice from that juicer that you had to throw oranges into like a basketball. We stayed up too late and ate too much pizza and it was relatively un-glamorous, but we fell in love and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

It's that time of year when I wake up with a shiver, giddy over the chill in the air and that smell of autumn that may or may not exist outside of my own imagination. I put on a scarf or a sweater, make coffee, and proceed to ignore the afternoon as it warms up, because it's still summer, but I'm ready for it to be fall.

I was running this morning and it was a damp and comfortable 60 degrees, but the sun was shining on parts of the sidewalk and I thought about how amazing it is that I could be running in Virginia (in Farmville or Roanoke or Charlottesville), or I could be running in Minneapolis, and although I am not the same person I was seven years ago, I can feel almost exactly the same at this moment that I did at that moment.

I made a turn on a new loop and was surprised by the smell of coffee coming from a shop on the corner. The coffee shop is right by our apartment building, but looking at it from a different angle; coming at it from a different street, startled me. It looked different, and I felt disoriented. I'm still getting to know my new neighborhood.

It reminded me of the time my old roommate Caroline, our friend Maggie, and I sat on the steps of a building on Longwood's campus before classes started our freshman year. I remember the cold roughness of the cement steps and the sort of horizontal platforms that jutted out on either side, and how later, one afternoon, I walked past that building on my way to something like I always did and realized that it was the same place we had sat that late summers night, weeks before.

I have moved almost every year since starting college in 2006, and each time, it has been at the end of a summer. August awakens a nostalgia in me, and I want to start over in some way every time autumn nears.

The promise of unfamiliar corners becoming ordinary fixtures is something I like. Settling in feels good.

Three years ago at this time, my roommate, Caroline, and I sat at a bar drinking dirty Shirleys after our last exams of college. She would go on to nursing school after graduation, and I would apply to and quickly begin a graduate program, but at that moment, sitting on those bar stools with cheap cocktails before us, the life that we had gotten so used to, and so good at, was ending.

There was a week and a day between the last exam and graduation--a time called Senior Week--where everyone who was graduating stuck around and did some considerable drinking. Every moment of Senior Week was planned by the university for the more obnoxious students, the ones with more class spirit than they knew what to do with, but I was never exactly one of those students. Caroline and I made our way through a couple of sponsored barbecues and the cocktail party with the President, but the majority of our Senior Week was spent together, in our apartment, out to lunch, getting manicures, or running through those legendary fountains in the middle of the night.

There were no papers to be written, no exams or presentations for which we had to prepare; nothing to do but pack up boxes of our belongings and reminisce about the past four years. It was sweet and sometimes boring, and we'd laugh about having nothing to do. I would wake up without an alarm clock and wander into Caroline's room, get in her bed, and we'd watch a movie, first thing in the morning. And then it was 11:30 AM, so we'd go out to lunch, the only ones under 60 in the whole restaurant.

I look back on that week as bizarre and a little scary, but so fun. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, about to jump off and fly away as soon as I boxed up the last of my books.

My brother is graduating on Saturday. This is his Senior Week. And as I looked back to remember what it felt like then, I could feel it, not from reminiscing, but because even three years later it's still there. That feeling of potential, and blindness, and a little bit of fear, and a lot of excitement, all wrapped into one.

My parents and I decided to visit Sean at school on Saturday, so we packed a little picnic lunch, loaded Rocky into the car, and drove to Farmville to walk part of the High Bridge Trail together. Walking across the bridge is really awesome--it feels like you're on a boardwalk at the beach, but you're high above the treetops the entire time.

My sweet friend Emily got married this weekend in Richmond, and I felt overwhelmed with gratitude that she invited me and Rob to be there to see it. Emily and I were both English majors at Longwood, and didn't really get to know one another until after I graduated and she was a senior. We had already been Facebook friends, but really only connected later through blogging. We started meeting for coffee whenever I was in town, and we'd talk and laugh and get teary-eyed as the hours passed and our lattes got cold and we got really serious about life and marriage and God and Harry Potter and politics.

And then one morning, I was in Farmville for the weekend, getting up early to see her present her senior seminar paper on The Bell Jar, and as she spoke with passion and excitement and answered questions about her topic in front of the room, I realized that she and I were actually real friends, and again I felt overwhelmed. How sweet it is to find yourself in such a random, special friendship.

I started this weekend early, on Friday morning, and I drove to Longwood to visit my brother and talk to a handful of my favorite professors from undergrad. I didn't realize it until I was driving away from campus just how perfect it was for me to stop by Longwood on my way to Richmond to see Emily. Farmville, Virginia is where so many good things begin--my education, my relationship with Rob, my friendship with Emily, and her relationship with her now husband, Robbie (another Economics-studying Robert, just by the way).

I dropped my Rob off at the airport on Sunday afternoon and drove home through the rain. It was warm and grey outside, and when the rain stopped the sun came out, and I rolled down the windows of my car. I've been having a really rough time lately. I've been sad and overwhelmed and negative a lot of the time. But seeing Emily this weekend reminded me that I can be positively intentional about a lot of my life. So as I drove, in the middle of my musings about spring; and my fond memories of college; and the thought of our bright, prosperous futures with the people we love the most; I took a deep breath from the cool, wet air outside and smiled.