It is my 22nd birthday today, which has the expected magic and stillness to it.
I’m at a point in life that asks for looking back, having recently departed from the university world to commence a life (a temporary break?) “away” from academia, in the world surrounding. It’s boggling to think about the fact that 100% of my sentient years have been spent worshiping the established schedule of semesters, summer and winter breaks, and studying. I’m not alone in this, of course, which makes the fact all the more astounding.
Life beyond has a chaotic feel to it, and a finality to “learning” that doesn’t feel final at all, but more like an unending question. What will you do? How will you do it? When? How hard will you work? Where will you drive your life?
I think, given the rushed feeling of semesters and general academic life, that I for some reason fear that there’s not enough time. In truth, there isn’t enough time, but in the same moment, it’s so easy to forget the bubbling truth and meaning in seconds. Both, true; both, driving.
So in my ~2 months of living in Colorado, after 10 or so years spent wondering what a life here may be like, I have been working to seize this time and ask it to stretch. I’ve bent the days to dedicated feeling, working, and time for stillness. In the next week, I will begin to report on my travels since arriving. There have been many; they have grown me.
My memories of college and the associated life arrangement are asking for my review. I have reflected in pieces, but have not yet let myself fully decompress. Do we ever? Should we? Because if decompressing means unraveling the learning and formation involved in those moments, I don’t want to dwell in them. I like the vernal coil of them. I like how the edges are not yet ruffled by continuous review. But at the same time, I know that I should sift through their pages and make sure that I haven’t missed something about myself and about living this life that is worth retrieving. I also like the thought of returning to the feeling of evenings and tea and warm wall colors at S’s, or the many mornings I ran through the green tunnel of the Huck trail, or the feeling of familiarity and exploration embedded in the very walls of Cheatham.
I will go back to them. But I will not return. There’s much asking for me ahead.
Aurora Stories 