Countdown

There’s a countdown on my whiteboard marking eleven more days.  Is it a countdown of excitement, or one of dread?  Ask me now, ask me later, who knows y if I’ll answer the same way twice.  I’m sitting on a soft, queen-sized bed in a huge room painted the colors I chose.  To my right, all my beloved books are displayed on a ceiling high bookshelf with various accoutrements I’ve acquired over time.  My dorm room will be small, bare, cramped, filled with the essentials and shared with another.  I spent this afternoon floating in neck-deep sea water, eyes closed against the sun, warm waves lapping gently across my face.  I somersaulted in the ocean and brushed against the smooth sand.  I sang at the top of my lungs with a smile on my face, and danced in the waves in a bikini, unashamed in the knowledge that I was alone and unobserved.  My face is red and my body brown.  I showered in a private bathroom redone not six months ago.  I have my family around me, my brothers, my mother, my dad will be home soon.  Pretty much perfect.

But however perfect it might seem, the truth is that it doesn’t feel right anymore.  After eighteen years, the natural instinct to leave the nest, that age-old urge to leave home and strike out on one’s own is now fully developed and finally attainable.  I have a life sprawling ahead of me, a path at my feet that will carry me away from my family toward a future of my own.  As much as I love Florida summer, I find myself almost wistful for Michigan winter, because it already feels like my life.  That’s me, the pale college student in fluffy pants, rather than the bronze high schooler in shorts.

I want to start my classes.  I want to wake up early, stay up late, work on homework.  I want to meet my professors and get to know my classmates.  I want to go out to eat and I want to skip meals.  I’m ready to move on to the next great adventure before me.

Of course, I’ve got a lot of room cleaning before that can happen.  That’s what this week is for!