"Next Stop: Life"
I can't get over how anti-climactic everything has been lately.
Four years of happiness. Of pain. Of love. Of late nights, too much caffeine and certain events I want to relive, either for better or for worse.
And where am I now? In a freezing cold hotel room, drinking a Michelob Ultra, somewhere in Erlanger, Kentucky. My diploma is in my backpack.
There's no one else in this room with me. I look out the window, and I see a barage of cars and trucks whizzing by on the highway. I'm just one person--one speck of life in this new and daunting world that has recently been opened to me. "Go get 'em?" I don't know. It might be harder than I think, especially when other people are whizzing by me.
Considering I just went through the most amazing and trying experience of my young life, now I'm experiencing everything the outside world will most definitely present before me. Normalcy. Loneliness.
My father loves the drive from Chicago to Winston-Salem, and it's not because of the scenery, or the fine dining establishments that mark our journey. It's because, for those 13 hours, he tells me about life. About the REAL world, and why success--and failure--are just two parts of the whole.
"You've just completed something incredible, Joy. Your future is wide open! Next stop: Life."
But wait: Isn't my life back in Evanston? Aren't we speeding away from that "life" I once had? Every mile we traveled reminded me of a time when I sped away from Winston-Salem. Back then, I *didn't* look in the rear-view mirror.
I can't count the number of times I did that today. I watched as the Sears Tower faded into nothing. All of a sudden, I was in the middle of I-65, looking at farmland. Then, I lost the signal to 97.1 The Drive.
Just like that.
When I was 18, my brother said to me that college will be the fastest four years in your life. I didn't believe him. Similarly, a friend of Elaine's mom mentioned that, when raising kids (another huge milestone), the days go slowly but the years go fast.
I never really understood until now. I think back to all those times I sat in my room and watched as the world went by me. It was fine, though. I knew I didn't have to keep up with it. I was safe in the cocoon of school, friends and activities.
What's my cocoon now? I don't know. Maybe it's my job in Hartford. It might be Joe or my family members that will be within driving distance.
Or maybe, it will be completely up to me. My grandfather, who died when I began my Northwestern journey, always used to urge his kids and grandkids to "make their own party." I only hope I can muster up the strength to take his advice.
My beer is now lukewarm; there's condensation on the bottle, and the back label is peeling off. The room isn't as cold. And the highway is not as busy as it once was.
I guess that's something else I have to get used to. As much as I loved the fast-paced life I had back in Evanston, everything, whether it be good or bad, eventually....stops.
Four years of happiness. Of pain. Of love. Of late nights, too much caffeine and certain events I want to relive, either for better or for worse.
And where am I now? In a freezing cold hotel room, drinking a Michelob Ultra, somewhere in Erlanger, Kentucky. My diploma is in my backpack.
There's no one else in this room with me. I look out the window, and I see a barage of cars and trucks whizzing by on the highway. I'm just one person--one speck of life in this new and daunting world that has recently been opened to me. "Go get 'em?" I don't know. It might be harder than I think, especially when other people are whizzing by me.
Considering I just went through the most amazing and trying experience of my young life, now I'm experiencing everything the outside world will most definitely present before me. Normalcy. Loneliness.
My father loves the drive from Chicago to Winston-Salem, and it's not because of the scenery, or the fine dining establishments that mark our journey. It's because, for those 13 hours, he tells me about life. About the REAL world, and why success--and failure--are just two parts of the whole.
"You've just completed something incredible, Joy. Your future is wide open! Next stop: Life."
But wait: Isn't my life back in Evanston? Aren't we speeding away from that "life" I once had? Every mile we traveled reminded me of a time when I sped away from Winston-Salem. Back then, I *didn't* look in the rear-view mirror.
I can't count the number of times I did that today. I watched as the Sears Tower faded into nothing. All of a sudden, I was in the middle of I-65, looking at farmland. Then, I lost the signal to 97.1 The Drive.
Just like that.
When I was 18, my brother said to me that college will be the fastest four years in your life. I didn't believe him. Similarly, a friend of Elaine's mom mentioned that, when raising kids (another huge milestone), the days go slowly but the years go fast.
I never really understood until now. I think back to all those times I sat in my room and watched as the world went by me. It was fine, though. I knew I didn't have to keep up with it. I was safe in the cocoon of school, friends and activities.
What's my cocoon now? I don't know. Maybe it's my job in Hartford. It might be Joe or my family members that will be within driving distance.
Or maybe, it will be completely up to me. My grandfather, who died when I began my Northwestern journey, always used to urge his kids and grandkids to "make their own party." I only hope I can muster up the strength to take his advice.
My beer is now lukewarm; there's condensation on the bottle, and the back label is peeling off. The room isn't as cold. And the highway is not as busy as it once was.
I guess that's something else I have to get used to. As much as I loved the fast-paced life I had back in Evanston, everything, whether it be good or bad, eventually....stops.