All good things must come to an end. It’s an old song and where it
comes from I don’t know; I remember it from the last episode of “The
Next Generation.” So thoughts of ending, or even more dramatically, the
end, have been reverberating in my consciousness. Which makes it
interesting to reflect on because the end, an end of sorts, is not
quite here yet. What triggered this was when I saw the new school
schedule for spring term. In hindsight, I can dramatically add all
sorts of details to support my “end” thesis… the year is more than
halfway over, I only have one more to class to take for my major, this
might be my last term forever… forever… forever…
Forever is such a relative term. I’ve been here forever, which is to
say this is my fourth year. I sometimes forget that this is just
college, that there are other worlds of experience beyond it. But right
now, this is my world, and I don’t want to diminish it or think it less
real than any other. I’ve grown attached to it. Most of the people I
love exist within this small little realm. And to go outside of it,
prematurely, would be a scary thing. Because it might possibly mean
growing up, and giving up on certain relationships and relations to
people and things. “That isn’t appealing,” a voice says. “I’m grown up
enough. I don’t want to grow up any more.”
This doesn’t mean I don’t want to learn any more. It means that
right
now, right now, right now is where it’s at. Where it’s at is where I
want to stay.
Or is it? Everything I’ve mentioned screams “comfort.” I’m
comfortable. Sure, there are stresses and difficulties and obstacles
to overcome, but I’m more or less comfortable and settled in. And
perhaps this is the very best reason to call it quits while I’m ahead,
because comfort eventually equals apathy, lack of creativity, and
laziness. But this comfort… maybe it’s just begun.
Oh neurotic thought teeter tottering on the brink of blabbering
blather and I’m not writing this to come to conclusions. So… why?
Writing things down helps figure things out. Except when it doesn’t.
I’ll close with a story…
I wear a hat. I used to have many hats. I never bought any of them,
they just sort of landed in my possession through either gift or
fortune. I had so many hats that I couldn’t keep track. Then I started
losing them. One by one, the one with the floppy ears, the kind that
seems to be all the rage across campus today; the one that I bought
from my friend, that his grandma made. My Mom gave me one floppy ear
hat that didn’t fit me at first, and I had to make it fit my head. And
that was my favorite for awhile. And so on. Eventually, I had just one
hat, one left that where I knew if I lost it, I wouldn’t have any more
at all. I miss so many of the hats I lost and sometimes I wonder if I
wouldn’t trade this one, for that one, that one for one that’s
different, one from the past. And it’s so tempting.
I still wear lots of hats. Too many. They’re just not the kind that
are visible. Some of these I need to start losing, before I have to.
Before I’m forced to, by circumstance.