in which I wax nostalgic

Thursday, April 10, 2014

I was just reading through old blogs, as one is wont to do. Sort of like, to know yourself and where you've been and what you were thinking about a week ago, and a month ago, and a year ago. To remind yourself who you are. 

Anyways, I came upon this post, which was written over a year ago. Over a year ago! I can't even fathom. I remember that day still and how walking down the path past the wood studio and past the fibers studio and through the little field, and how the path smelled like dry rocks. 

In that post I talk about how I will miss school, that place, that rock path. The truth is, (at least right now in this very moment. I can't speak for future moments.) I don't miss the place. What I miss is what I felt like when I was there. I miss feeling certain of myself, feeling certain of the future. I miss the beauty that surrounded me. The pace at which I hurried to classes and slowly walked out of them. I miss the community, being surrounded by people who knew me and valued me. 

Life on the other side of school is a lot of things. I've moved forward. (At least a little.) There are pockets of sweetness in my life. But reading that post I as hit with one of those waves of nostalgia. Made more pressing by the fact that it was over a year ago! That's what hit me. So much so that I had to just put it in italics with an exclamation point again. That scares me because here on the other side of school.... what am I? I'm more adult? I know a little bit more about responsibility and fear and being a human. But I'm also tinged a little more with sadness and tiredness. (Maybe this isn't graduation's fault. Maybe this is just my fault.) And it scared me to think that I was getting farther away from that little world I used to exist in. That I'll never be there again. (As I won't. I won't be there again.)

I know those feelings that I'd like to bottle and drink, again and again. I could taste them if they were there, in my mouth. But I don't know where to get them, how to bottle them. Is that life? Learning how to recreate the moments we felt the most certain, grounded? Knowing how to bottle the most intoxicating drug--the drug of knowing who we are. Of being the center of our own tiny universe. 

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