On The Eve..

Today, I'm jittery. I have that I-can't-sit-in-this-house kind of feeling that only comes on the eve of a drastic change. 

Tomorrow morning, I leave for graduate school in Vermont. 

Am I anxious? Most definitely. I have little idea of what to expect. I know (roughly) of my living arrangements, and I know that there is a Dunkin Donuts two minutes away. Other than that, things are a little foggy. I will not know my class schedule for another week or so. Right now, I feel like I'm winging it.

And that's the difference. The difference is, I'm a little more okay with it. 

Rewind to September 2009. I honestly think I spent half of that summer in tears. Going away to college is, I think for everyone, that first terrifying milestone. Back then, "change," (or at least monumental changes, as opposed to the day-to-day), was an exception.

These days, change is the norm. 

In the last four years, I've lost a parent. I've lived in two different countries. I've undergone transformations that can only come with being catapulted into the unknown and surviving the experience. 

I am still a nervous person, and I'm not sure I can change that. But now, in 2013, I sweat a little less. My mom may not cry as heavily over our parting tomorrow. (Although I still expect her to be teary. After all, I am her only daughter and firstborn.) I guess she has grown, too. 

Looking back, I smile when I remember that this whole blog started as a journal of my time abroad. How funny that a series of classes I began the year before I left for Perugia would so drastically alter my planned trajectory. And how interesting that this altered course would bring me to this moment. 

A Poem

This poem was written by a man on the verge of losing his memory. I found it in a book, and it really struck a chord with me. 

Lost and Found

by David Hollies

The first few times
Being lost was frightening
Stark, pregnant
With the drama of change
Then, I didn’t know
That everywhere is nowhere
Like the feeling when a ocean wave
Boils you in the sand
But as time goes by
Each occurrence of lostness is quieter
Falling from notice
Like the sound of trains
When you live near the tracks
Until one day
When a friend asks
"How often do you get lost?"
And I strain to recall a single instance
It was then that I realized
Being lost only has meaning
When contrasted with
Knowing where you are
A presumption that slipped out of my life
As quietly as smoke up a chimney
For now I live in a less anchored place
Where being lost is irrelevant
For now, only when there is a need
Do I discover where I am
No alarm, no fear
Just an unconscious check-in
Like glancing in the rear-view mirror.

Deep Cuts

It was late afternoon, and I was bleeding.

Not many people can declare that they've been sliced on a horseshoe crab, but I can. I sighed as I reached into the first aid kit to pull out a Band-Aid - the first thing we all do when we have a cut.

My first grade campers just love Band-Aids. Although only about one in ten "injuries" at camp actually warrants one, the kids frequently point to a freckle or a bug bite before eyeing the green medical bag hopefully. Most children just like the way they look. But is this desire for a bandage based on a deeper need?

Young children are not the only ones obsessed with Band-Aids.

Bandages offer protection. Even if you don't actually need it, it's nice to just stick one on your arm or leg and go on your merry way. Of course, Band-Aids can prevent infections. Other times, however, we just don't want salt in the wounds...

But isn't a little salt water good for cuts?

Why do we try to "fix" everything? I will be the first to state that, because of my mothering personality, I feel no deeper hurt than the pain that comes with staring into someone's helpless eyes and acknowledging that I cannot help. I've looked into my own heart on occasion and had the same devastating realization. There was nothing left to do.

In the end, I had to let myself bleed out.

After all, blood involves the heart.



....And what happens when a Band-Aid isn't enough?