There's No Place Like Home
The cut below leads to a draft that LJ saved which must date back to some late night last summer. I don't really remember writing it but I don't really want to lose it either, so I'm lumping it in with this post, and it's actually fairly relevant, so it works out kind of nicely.
I have a talent, which I'm guessing isn't unique to myself but shared by most people, in putting future events out of my mind and leaving them "for later." One of these, however, has become increasingly difficult to put off any longer: college.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but what they forget is that each of those words is worth a rather lot in their own right, and college is no different. It means so many things to so many people: opportunity, independence, reinvention, and "partay citay" to name a just a few. But it's really nothing more than another milestone, another rite of passage as we leave the nest and head out in search of the next step. So why does it have to be so difficult?
As I leave the town where I was born and raised (and yes, the school yard was where I spent most of my days, mostly chillin' out and laxin') it's hard not to get a little choked up. In eighteen short years, this town has become my home in so many ways. When it comes to Niskayuna and my childhood, the two are inextricably entwined to the point where one is meaningless without the other. Every street holds the memory of my footsteps and bike wheels; every tree the whisper of my name. I don't mean to wax poetic, or maybe I do, but what I'm really trying to say is that this is my home, and I can't imagine anything else.
Maybe that's why it's so difficult to move on. Maybe I'm scared that it will be too difficult or I won't make any friends, or maybe I'm just sad to be leaving the friends that I have come to love.
Last night, lying in bed, I realized with something like a shock that I could no longer remember what my bedroom looked like. Of course I could describe it with ease, and picture all of its components when I considered them in turn, but there was no big picture, only lamps and posters and chairs and a mirror and shelves and walls and a carpet and a bed. After several minutes of increasingly panicked attempts to piece them together, I decided to tackle the problem from a different direction. Instead of trying to will the scene into my mind, I conjured up memories of specific instances that took place there. In that way, I was able to see my room again in full splendor after several more minutes of intense recollection.
Worried that I had lost the rest of my house as well, I spent the better part of the next half hour "walking" around, seeing it both as it once was, full of furniture and accumulated trinkets, family relics, photographs and clutter, and as it was the week before we moved out, empty and cold as bones. I smelled the familiar dampness of the garage, felt the old warmth of the kitchen, heard the basement stairs creak, protesting under the weight of my step, each as unique and welcoming as the last time I heard them. I walked through the family room, seeing the great stone fireplace stand testament to the memories we'd built there, and jumped headlong into the cool, heavy sheets of my parents bed. It took some effort, but I was able to see and experience it all, almost as if I were really there.
Needless to say, it was difficult. Though it's now been over six months since I moved out of my home (and I choose the word purposefully) it still tears me apart to know that I will never again walk through the front door and yell "I'm home!" It may seem silly to most, but it was the place where I spent the first eighteen years of my life, and it scares me to think, as I did last night, that I am losing that part of me.
I am enjoying my time at college. Sure, I miss my friends and even my family), and there are times when it is difficult and I wish I could just be back in High School where it didn't matter as much if you fucked up a little. But I AM enjoying myself; I love the independence, experiencing new things, meeting new people, and being able to test myself in new ways. Still, when friends or parents ask that telltale question "So, how's college going?" I can't help but feel a twinge of sadness. Because college isn't just about new beginnings. It's also about leaving something behind. And I can't help but grieve a little bit for that. Because it seems completely inappropriate given the tone of this post, I think I'll end with a Blink 182 line: I guess this is growing up.
I have a talent, which I'm guessing isn't unique to myself but shared by most people, in putting future events out of my mind and leaving them "for later." One of these, however, has become increasingly difficult to put off any longer: college.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but what they forget is that each of those words is worth a rather lot in their own right, and college is no different. It means so many things to so many people: opportunity, independence, reinvention, and "partay citay" to name a just a few. But it's really nothing more than another milestone, another rite of passage as we leave the nest and head out in search of the next step. So why does it have to be so difficult?
As I leave the town where I was born and raised (and yes, the school yard was where I spent most of my days, mostly chillin' out and laxin') it's hard not to get a little choked up. In eighteen short years, this town has become my home in so many ways. When it comes to Niskayuna and my childhood, the two are inextricably entwined to the point where one is meaningless without the other. Every street holds the memory of my footsteps and bike wheels; every tree the whisper of my name. I don't mean to wax poetic, or maybe I do, but what I'm really trying to say is that this is my home, and I can't imagine anything else.
Maybe that's why it's so difficult to move on. Maybe I'm scared that it will be too difficult or I won't make any friends, or maybe I'm just sad to be leaving the friends that I have come to love.
Last night, lying in bed, I realized with something like a shock that I could no longer remember what my bedroom looked like. Of course I could describe it with ease, and picture all of its components when I considered them in turn, but there was no big picture, only lamps and posters and chairs and a mirror and shelves and walls and a carpet and a bed. After several minutes of increasingly panicked attempts to piece them together, I decided to tackle the problem from a different direction. Instead of trying to will the scene into my mind, I conjured up memories of specific instances that took place there. In that way, I was able to see my room again in full splendor after several more minutes of intense recollection.
Worried that I had lost the rest of my house as well, I spent the better part of the next half hour "walking" around, seeing it both as it once was, full of furniture and accumulated trinkets, family relics, photographs and clutter, and as it was the week before we moved out, empty and cold as bones. I smelled the familiar dampness of the garage, felt the old warmth of the kitchen, heard the basement stairs creak, protesting under the weight of my step, each as unique and welcoming as the last time I heard them. I walked through the family room, seeing the great stone fireplace stand testament to the memories we'd built there, and jumped headlong into the cool, heavy sheets of my parents bed. It took some effort, but I was able to see and experience it all, almost as if I were really there.
Needless to say, it was difficult. Though it's now been over six months since I moved out of my home (and I choose the word purposefully) it still tears me apart to know that I will never again walk through the front door and yell "I'm home!" It may seem silly to most, but it was the place where I spent the first eighteen years of my life, and it scares me to think, as I did last night, that I am losing that part of me.
I am enjoying my time at college. Sure, I miss my friends and even my family), and there are times when it is difficult and I wish I could just be back in High School where it didn't matter as much if you fucked up a little. But I AM enjoying myself; I love the independence, experiencing new things, meeting new people, and being able to test myself in new ways. Still, when friends or parents ask that telltale question "So, how's college going?" I can't help but feel a twinge of sadness. Because college isn't just about new beginnings. It's also about leaving something behind. And I can't help but grieve a little bit for that. Because it seems completely inappropriate given the tone of this post, I think I'll end with a Blink 182 line: I guess this is growing up.