There
were twenty-six days left until graduation.
That was my primary concern on this date two years ago. My calendar marks events that I meant to
attend and didn’t, due dates for class assignments, rehearsals for final
performances and ceremonies honoring my accomplishments, and every single day
had a little pencil mark counting down the days left.
I don’t like to think of myself
wishing those days away. My last days at
my beloved alma mater, the last days living with my wonderfully mouthy college
roommate and my nerdy neighbor, those last few tranquil classes (I scheduled my
senior year very carefully)—they were
precious times. But living in those
moments, you really can’t help yourself.
The coming change, the leap from college to “adulthood”, whatever that
is, was all-consuming. I thought I was
ready, and I wanted it. As it turns out,
I wasn’t quite, but it only took a summer sleeping on the couch and a gentle
kick in the pants to make me so.
But that’s a topic for another throwback.
Those days—the days when my homework
was dwindling and I was easy while my classmates panicked, the days I spent
finishing my thesis and dreaming about my own apartment and total freedom—were dreamy,
peaceful times. I may not have left
college with a bang, but that wasn’t my style anyway. I sauntered through my days, counting off
each one, and looking ahead. I don’t
think that’s a terrible way to live life.
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