Now that I'm firmly in the eight-to-five office machine, far away from many of my close friends and the sheltered, challenging bubble of academia, I have a hard time accepting many of my memories from Wellesley. Most of the time, it seems simpler to view the last four years as a vacuum, an impossibly good dream. To dismiss that time would be, after all, easier and less painful than to acknowledge of the discrepancies between then and now.
When this happens, I have to remind myself to take off the rose-colored glasses. Though my time in college was good, it was also often terrible: I worked four (beloved yet time-consuming) jobs. I barely slept. I felt inadequate and self-conscious among my peers. I never had enough solitude. I felt perpetually lonely and uprooted. There was never enough time for anything or anyone. Remembering these realities alleviates the sense of loss I feel for that chapter of my life, and the friendships that are now stretched across miles.
Regardless of where I am, or what I'm doing, or who I'm spending time with, there are some feelings that will always linger. The fatigue, anxiety, and loneliness are perhaps the most difficult, but I find a perverted solace in these emotions as well: everyone feels this way, I imagine, and my capability to express those feelings may eventually provide a sense of solidarity to someone else. That motivation is, for me, one of the most compelling reasons to care about my writing.
And while I could use my fancy educational background to strengthen the structure of this post, or to pare down my language and rearrange my arguments, tonight I'll let these words simply sit, just as they are.
Thank you for reading this.
- "Sweet Thing" by Van Morrison, from Astral Weeks (1968)
On point.
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