Very Superstitious.
I had somewhat of a strange experience today. It was overwhelming in many ways. After my biology lab let out this morning I walked over to the DCP to buy some cigarettes. (I got two packs for four dollars. What the damn that's awesome!) Normally I walk back from bio lab through the Longstreet Annex. Normal stuff. Today, since I was coming back from the DCP, I walked between the towers and that graduate research center. This is the same way I walked every day to and from class and to get food all throughout my freshman year. In reality this walk only lasted about two minutes, but it felt incredibly long.
It was immediate. As soon as I walked up those stairs from the sidewalk on Main St. to the half-covered walkway by the towers (the place Ryan and I referred to as the "wind tunnel") I was transformed. Suddenly I was a freshman again. Suddenly I was a pre-med psychology/theater double major who was ready to take on the world, sure as anything that there could be no amount of work too difficult for him. No amount of stress and confusion that could not be conquered. Suddenly I was that 18 year old teenager who smiled back on his yet-to-graduate high school comrades with a sort of prideful look, not yet corrupted, and still glad to be an "adult." It was a strangely nostalgic feeling that I'd never really felt before. I mean, I've felt nostalgic before, but never in this way. I hadn't walked over there since my freshman year, and it was just very strange. I felt that new feeling of adventure again. I saw the other freshman walking in and out of their dorms, and I remembered that hurried feeling that I had when I was there. It was like life was just so "busy" in this not-busy way. I felt that energy again. I think most of you know what I mean. It was that energy of naivity. That energy that tells you that the whole world is in front of you waiting to be learned about at college. That energy that lied to you and told you that you could learn all the tools you needed here that would make you the greatest.
That energy that gave you the ability to always smile and forget.
I walked closer to that area behind the annex on the way to the Russel House and suddenly I was that young mind who still thought that being a theater major was a good idea, still dillusioned by the idea that the stage was the greatest place in the world, skipping to my acting class and thinking oh-so-creative thoughts about my next design project. I was happy again.
But maybe that is far too dramatic. Maybe I am happy now. No, I am happy now. There is no "maybe" about it. It's just different. I walked past the annex and past the reflecting pool and into Preston. It started to come back to me then. I was a senior again. I was about to graduate in May. I was simply a psychology major handling the incredible amount of work that is required in trying to get a research degree. I was stressed again, but stressed about the things that I love. I wasn't a pre-med or a theater major anymore. I was back in that frame of mind that told me, and rightly so, that the only reason I loved theater so much is because I was caught up in the moment, and that the reality is that I can't stand theater people (with a few exceptions, of course) and a theater degree will just have me end up teaching other starry-eyed kids how to act in the future. I was out of that hurried mode. I was in that sort of meandering mode that always feels like you're in a hurry, but really you're just very sick of everything. I was back to envying my high school comrades for their easy life, and feeling lucky that I didn't have to deal with the bullshit of high school anymore.
It might sound like a depressing mood, but I'm more happy now then I ever was then.
It was immediate. As soon as I walked up those stairs from the sidewalk on Main St. to the half-covered walkway by the towers (the place Ryan and I referred to as the "wind tunnel") I was transformed. Suddenly I was a freshman again. Suddenly I was a pre-med psychology/theater double major who was ready to take on the world, sure as anything that there could be no amount of work too difficult for him. No amount of stress and confusion that could not be conquered. Suddenly I was that 18 year old teenager who smiled back on his yet-to-graduate high school comrades with a sort of prideful look, not yet corrupted, and still glad to be an "adult." It was a strangely nostalgic feeling that I'd never really felt before. I mean, I've felt nostalgic before, but never in this way. I hadn't walked over there since my freshman year, and it was just very strange. I felt that new feeling of adventure again. I saw the other freshman walking in and out of their dorms, and I remembered that hurried feeling that I had when I was there. It was like life was just so "busy" in this not-busy way. I felt that energy again. I think most of you know what I mean. It was that energy of naivity. That energy that tells you that the whole world is in front of you waiting to be learned about at college. That energy that lied to you and told you that you could learn all the tools you needed here that would make you the greatest.
That energy that gave you the ability to always smile and forget.
I walked closer to that area behind the annex on the way to the Russel House and suddenly I was that young mind who still thought that being a theater major was a good idea, still dillusioned by the idea that the stage was the greatest place in the world, skipping to my acting class and thinking oh-so-creative thoughts about my next design project. I was happy again.
But maybe that is far too dramatic. Maybe I am happy now. No, I am happy now. There is no "maybe" about it. It's just different. I walked past the annex and past the reflecting pool and into Preston. It started to come back to me then. I was a senior again. I was about to graduate in May. I was simply a psychology major handling the incredible amount of work that is required in trying to get a research degree. I was stressed again, but stressed about the things that I love. I wasn't a pre-med or a theater major anymore. I was back in that frame of mind that told me, and rightly so, that the only reason I loved theater so much is because I was caught up in the moment, and that the reality is that I can't stand theater people (with a few exceptions, of course) and a theater degree will just have me end up teaching other starry-eyed kids how to act in the future. I was out of that hurried mode. I was in that sort of meandering mode that always feels like you're in a hurry, but really you're just very sick of everything. I was back to envying my high school comrades for their easy life, and feeling lucky that I didn't have to deal with the bullshit of high school anymore.
It might sound like a depressing mood, but I'm more happy now then I ever was then.