May can bring whatever it wants, and I will be eternally grateful. So far, April is a metaphorical downpour of tedious school work. This has not been the norm for my semester, which has been full of American Idol, office hours, and friends. When asked what it’s like to be back, I smile, look to the side, slowly nod, and say, “Um…it good, it’s just different.” Just different.
I feel comfortable with change. 22 home addresses, 4 high schools, the joy of professionally and er…unprofessionally colored hair. If practice makes perfect, I’m becoming a gypsy. Two years, and I’m ready to move. Ready for a different environment. Ready to meet new people. There have been two times, though, that I have wanted to throw my intuition to the wind, cement myself to the ground, and have the opportunity to invest myself in something other than the “transition” process.
The first time was high school graduation. Overcome by the bittersweetness of it all, sentimental Anna cried, hugged, journalled, and then cried some more. I wanted nothing more than to freeze that sense of belonging. The same Anna had both actively searched for colleges and taken the ACT and SAT as a sophomore. I wanted to be everywhere other than where I was. Until I had to leave.
I had a similar experience at the end of college. I wanted to freeze the spring semester of my senior year and just bask in it. For the first time, I went to bar on week nights (Did you know they have Wi-Fi there?), went with friends on aimless walks in the middle of the afternoon, and never said no to, “Do you want to go to dinner?” Had I wanted to transfer as a junior? Sure. Most days, actually. But forcing myself to engage in the good, bad, and ugly of being in one place for four years generated an irreplaceable bond with this university, this town, and these people. But apparently, you’re supposed to graduate and leave.
So I did. I moved to Houston, worked at Komen, did some research, and then…moved home? Right. Moved to Fairhope to teach for a two month transition before I moved…to Auburn? Right again. Not only was I not going new places, I wasn’t even standing still. I was going backward. And that’s what October-present have felt like. Backward. I’m overwhelmed with gratitude for my fellowship. Every day, I wake up and can’t believe that it was handed to me. It’s the reason I’m here. But I’m not spiraling forward. I took a step forward and then back and then one diagonally, and now I’m calmly waiting to see if all of that stepping will form a shape.
Truth be told, spiraling is more of my speed. Waiting has never been strongest suit. May, I can’t wait to see you.
