6:59 am
Even though I’ve been at college for a few months I’ll forget that I’m in my second year and not my first.
My first year, I got stuck in dorm-room-quarantine with a less than stable roommate for 4 months. Once the semester was over, I moved back home while my roommate was gone one weekend in late November of 2020. The morning I moved out, I was up by 3am only to find the elevator in my building broken, and I spent the next two hours making frantic trips up and down the stairwell as I emptied the contents of my 4th story dorm room into my compact SUV. I called my best friend who was living in Glasgow, the 8 hour time difference meant it was around noon there and I knew she’d be able to talk me out of my panic. I cried and stressed and vented to her as I tossed odd socks and loose clothing hangers into my laundry basket, the vehicle I was using to carry everything to my car, and I finished packing just as the sky began to brighten with the promise of sunrise. I let myself into the deserted lobby of my dorm building and the motion sensor lights clicked on in my wake as I left my key on the front desk with a note listing my name and room number. It was a quiet, lonely moment that was incongruous with the weight of the feeling that finally, with this action, everything the last few nightmarish months held was over. As I drove away from my Arizona college town and through the desert towards California and home and familiar haunts and high school friends I fought hard to feel like I wasn’t moving backwards.
The second half of my freshman year at home was a blur of online class video chats, plummeting grades, cereal for dinner, and 7 hour shifts at a bagel shop. I was able to see friends more, but I still felt no passion or joy in my day-to-day. I spent a lot of time wondering if I’d be happier if I took a year off school to travel and try to “figure stuff out” for a while, ignoring the fact that I didn’t have a way to fund said travels. Maybe then I could focus on creating art that makes me feel like a real person and finish the projects that I always convinced myself I never had enough time to do. When I wasn’t working and when all my friends were busy, I found myself searching Instagram and Pinterest and Tumblr and TikTok to prepare for… someday? I scouted outfits I would wear once I was at a school I actually had a social life at, and my must see destinations for cities I’d travel to one day, and ideas for art I’d make once I’d finally found the right inspiration or learned the right techniques. Sometimes I would end up daydreaming of a lifestyle full of spin classes and 16 dollar smoothies, beach days and farmers markets, the brunches and bubble baths of the influencers that would feed my social media scrolling binges.
I know, eventually, I’ll manage to rip my daydreams out of my head and place them into reality. I’ll travel where I want, I’ll have love and friendship all over the world, I’ll find a way to study what I want and create what I want and support myself doing what I want. Maybe this paragraph is me trying to manifest all that because the truth is we don’t ever know what’s going to happen.
For now, I’m back in that Arizona college town for sophomore year. Mornings are spent trying to sleep in for just another half hour, cursing the blind on the window above my bed for not closing fully and for throwing sunlight into my eyes on the two days a week I get to sleep in. Some mornings are spent arching my back against the wind; this time of year it’s not more than 45 degrees and my fingers are numb as I fumble to print my parking ticket just to spend 20 minutes downtown. Other mornings are spent debating whether my outfit is warm enough or whether I should put on another sweater, and staring at the menu board in a coffee shop just to order the same drink for the millionth time. I’m not someone who’s comforted by monotony or routine, but there’s something homey in the rhythm of being a student. Day after day after day of wondering whether I could handle walking around campus in my platform boots, and then deciding just to wear my worn-out high tops yet again. Long, tired blinks as I sip my coffee in my 8 am typography class. Dragging my friends to rooftops or flower fields for weekly photography class assignments. Alternating going to bed at 9 pm and 2 am.
For now, I’m working on trying to feel more content in the present. According to my 2022 planner’s daily affirmation: I am prioritizing the actions that will help me reach my goals.
