This year for Christmas, I got a new phone. It's one of those fancy touch screen things, along with unlimited internet, texting, and calling, and I'm ridiculously excited about it. However, getting a new phone means leaving an old one behind--my beloved pink RAZR.

I got my RAZR on my 18th birthday, October 4, 2007. The very first picture I took on it, one of my car, which had been decorated by my friends for my birthday, that night after band practice, is still on it. Looking back to then, I realize how far that phone has taken me. It's something I usually take for granted, a way to communicate with friends and family. But it has been there for EVERYTHING in the past two years. My senior year of high school. Senior prom. Graduation. My first year in college. My first job. My first apartment. Best friends. Break ups. My phone knows me better than anyone on Earth, and for some reason, getting a new one feels like I'm not only upgrading service, but moving on with my life. I'm literally starting a new chapter of my life, along with a new decade.

A by-product of getting new phones (and new service) is that my dad will be getting rid of our home phone number--the same number we've had for 16 years. It has taken me through my entire life in Gainesville, which is all the life I can remember. It's funny how something as simple as a telephone--or a telephone number-- can be so attached to an identity. Giving up our home phone number means my parents are already pulling up roots, getting ready to move on with their lives and out of the house that I will forever know as my home. That thought is possibly one of the most saddening thoughts to contemplate, because I absolutely hate change. It scares the hell out of me. Will I ever find a new home? Or will I come back 20 years from now, when some other family with some other little girl is living in my house, and feel like something is horribly wrong with the world because my key no longer works there?

So why should I get so emotional over something as simple as a cell phone? It feels like I'm leaving behind a piece of myself and entering a frightening new world when I really want to run back home. Am I excited to have the internet at my fingertips at all times? Of course. But my little pink phone is a small part of the happiness I felt in high school that I always carried with me. It saw many late night calls to Miranda, my best friend, who would talk with me for hours about nothing at all. To my mother, either as just an update on my day, good news about grades, or sobbing and needing to hear Mom's comforting words. To Dad, just to see how he was doing. To Nana, as a "happy day" call, so she wouldn't feel lonely.

Now, I'm not saying I'm not happy now. I love the college life. Sure, I miss my parents like crazy when I'm there, but I have lots of friends and a new boyfriend to keep me company. What I mean is that life was a lot more simple two years ago. I saw my 5 best friends every day. After school, we would hang out in the parking lot, at McDonald's, in the band room, or wherever two or three of us happened to congregate. I miss having a support system that strong, one that was built on years and years of friendship. And that is a kind of carefree attitude that I don't think I can ever find again. I watched a video of our halftime show from junior year and got incredibly nostalgic for those days and fun I had in them.

One thing that I'm determined to take with me, on my new phone, is this text message, saved for over a year and sent by my very best friend: "I love you too, man. And I'm not only glad you're in my life, but grateful as hell." Like my phone, she's been there just as often--although fortunately, I'm not leaving her behind anywhere.