Growing up is a funny thing. Most of you remember the feeling that encompassed your senior year of high school, right? That overwhelming feeling that this was your last football game, your last dance, your last hurrah; coupled with an underwhelming sensation that finally you were going somewhere you'd never been before. It was scary and uncomfortable, but you handled it okay because you knew that if it all came down to it, everyone you cared about within those high school walls would be back in your hometown come Christmas Break and summer vacation.
You get to your college dorm or your first college class and the newness of it all is awe-inspiring. You stay out way too late, talk to a dozen new people, and revel in the glory of this newfound freedom.
And as these college years go on, things start to change...you start to change.
At least I did.
Three years later, and everything is different and I never thought I'd be nostalgic for change.
Those first five roommates of mine are all married, have served missions, or are graduating with me in the spring.
The boy I wasted school nights with and promised two years to and I don't make eye contact anymore.
The new-ness of Logan has worn off and been replaced with a feeling of pure adoration; everywhere from the TSC fountains to the English building have some kind of memory tied to them.
And even as this year has started, I've watched the people who made my world go round take a back seat and I've ached for the way things were a few months ago--even while recognizing how healthy change is.
Nostalgia is a weird feeling, especially when you're missing something that hasn't left yet and aching for something you haven't even found. It's the panic that fills your head when you're eating breakfast and you start thinking about how on earth you'll stay in contact with your best friend even though she's sitting right next to you. It's the chaos that envelops you while filling out applications for an internship in New York while the boy who will always have a piece of your heart rambles on about Texas. It's all these turmoil driven things, but it's also the calm that comes as you pull into your parents driveway or let yourself forget about what's coming as you listen to yet another piece of spoken-word poetry at 3 am.
I know graduation is eight months out, but I'm already feeling nostalgic for this place and the people in it.
Eight months from now, we're moving on to bigger and better things; and unlike high school graduation, "going home" means more than making the drive through Sardine Canyon, it means cross-country flights, real jobs, and saying goodbyes that last more than just a weekend.
It's a scary thought. And in answer to your questions: no, I have no idea what I'm doing after graduation yet. Honestly, I don't even know how next semester is going to go! But I do know that lately, I'm both grateful for and dreading change--and I'm diving a little deeper into everything I do. Council meetings won't kill me, I do have time for ice cream with [insert name here], my class readings are actually teaching me something, and [despite everything my sleep-deprived college brain is telling me] I am not too old for another football game or dance party.
"You get a strange feeling when you're about to leave a place. Like you'll not only miss the people you love but you'll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you'll never be this way ever again"
Here's to you, senior year.