If I were to give a chapel shoutout at some point in my Asbury career, it would probably sound a bit like this:
“My name is Lily Kesten, and I’m a senior here at Asbury. I’m from Midway, KY, I’m a double English and Media Communications major and a proud resident of Thacker C. You can usually find me in the Hiccup or at the Wilmore Thrift Store. Shoutout to my staff on The Asbury Review, the cast and crew of Friday Night Live, and most importantly, the Peenpaw’s Pals.”
It’s simple, straight to the point, yet funny and vague enough to establish that I am involved in campus life and have friends that I share inside jokes with. It gives the audience enough about me that they can maybe strike up a conversation with me about my interests and involvements, but not enough that I feel like I’ve overshared.
What you don’t see outside of that short and sweet chapel shoutout is what I like to call “my mosaic.”
My close friends and family are the ones that see this multi-faceted, three dimensional side of me. While oftentimes I like to portray myself as this easily read woman, to describe me more accurately would be to say that I’m a patchwork quilt of other people stitched together.
As a senior, it’s getting harder and harder to make even surface-level friends. Last May, I watched from the audience as most of my friend group graduated, and I wondered how I was going to make it by myself.
When I arrived back in August, I remember feeling the loneliest I had ever been. Most of the people that had been with me since I was a senior in high school were gone. I cried with those friends. Belly laughed with them. Took everything from Sociology to Shakespeare to Singlecam with them. Watched some of them get engaged (and then married). Survived COVID-19 with them. Did shows with them. Those people had seen the worst and best sides of me, and I felt the loss heavily.
The truth is that this happens all the time.
People fluctuate in and out of my life with the changing seasons. Some losses are felt deeply, and others are simply due to changing chapel seats or different classes. But their presence lingers with me even years after their departure. I am made by the people that have been in my life.
You see, we are reflections of the people that surround us.
I got my love of contemporary poetry from a boy I was in love with in high school. I learned how to make ramen from my favorite YouTuber. My best friend from seventh grade sparked my interest in Taylor Swift. One of my exes got me hooked on Arrested Development; my eleventh grade English teacher was the first person to tell me that I was a poet; my freshman year roommate was the one who introduced me to Lizzo.
I got my love of sports from my father, my love of the outdoors from my mother. My best friend Rebecca gave me my Bob’s Burgers and Derry Girls obsession. I still think of my ex-best friend when I eat potstickers. A boy that I matched with on Hinge a year and a half ago showed me a song that will most likely end up on my Spotify Wrapped once again this year.
I cry a little bit when I taste chai for the first time every fall because it reminds me of Matthew, who would “surprise” me with a chai latte every Thursday in high school. It’s been two years and I’ve still haven’t deleted our text thread when he asked me to catch up over Thanksgiving break when we were sophomores in college. I forgot to respond to him, and now I’ll never get the chance to. Matthew taught me to love your people well and stay in touch because life is heartbreakingly short.
All of this is not to say that we are not still individuals who find our own passions and discover our own interests. But I think the beauty of humanity is that we were created to crave relationships with others.
With relationship comes impact, and whether that impact is monumental and changes our whole worldview or simply introduces us to our new favorite food, that impact is felt long after that person leaves our life. Little fragments remain in each other, like stained glass welded together to create a picture more beautiful than the part.
I’m thankful for my mosaic, and in turn, I am thankful for the passage of time—even though it feels cruel as senior year flies by so fast I can barely enjoy it in the moment. Although I miss my people that have gone before me, I know they’re still with me even as I write this. I’m wrapped in a blanket that my dance partner in high school theater gave me and I’m listening to my friend Annie’s playlist that she made me over lunch.
Life is good and so full of color—thanks to the people who have invested in mine.
