Something strange happened to me about three weeks ago as I was making my way into a crowded cafe during a typical lunch hour in Manhattan. I'm no stranger to New York City and yet my feet felt out of step walking up and down 56th Street. I was scared. I wasn't exactly sure what frightened me but as I sat down alone at the bar to eat my oversized sandwich I felt kind of sad. Almost like I was going to cry. But I couldn't. And I didn't want to either.
I was on my way to an interview for a job that I wanted. But I felt a ticking inside of me. It certainly wasn't my biological clock, although to be extremely honest, I have heard that too once or twice while holding my beautiful cousin Georgia. It was the kind of ticking that occurs when clocks are reset to meet one universal time. Mine was being reset on a new time, a new axis. It took me awhile to figure when was the last time I had felt so weird. And then I looked at the date on my watch. Almost four years ago to the day. Funny the weather was almost the same too. It was four years ago that I stepped foot onto the Dartmouth Green with my family.
It was four years ago that I was finally accepted into Dartmouth. It was an ugly day -- gray winds chaffing our hands, and I stood close to my parents in my one "Dartmouth outfit," the silk green sweater and old cashmere blazer taken from my father's closet, his jacket recently enhanced with new buttons, my brother standing beside us, pretending that he was the new Dartmouth student proudly wearing his '98 button. That day in Hanover, I quietly kept to myself as my parents talked and pushed me forward to meet people. It wasn't that I was being unfriendly. I was just scared. Frightened to make that transition from high school student to college woman. Fearful of leaving my parents. Nervous about everything. And anxious about anxiety. I wasn't ready to let go.
I liked Dartmouth, and I wanted to attend the College in the fall, but I was not ready to be a student just yet. I desperately wanted to stop time and make the next six months never come to an end. But with some ends come new beginnings. This I had to learn. Of course college would not be my first time away from home, for I had spent seven summers at sleep-away camp and done numerous other summer programs. But this time was different. I didn't know if I would come back as myself. I would face enormous change during my four years at Dartmouth. I wondered immensely about my first day at college. Would I cry when my parents left me in front of the dorm? I did.
Looking back I realize the normalcy of my emotions, but I also recognized the cyclical nature of them as well. While visiting Dartmouth, someone asked me why I was so tense. They begged me to relax and smile. This gentle woman couldn't bare to look at the wrinkles developing across my forehead. "You're in," she yelled. No more worries. Enjoy Yourself. Relax. How she never knew the butterflies developing in my stomach.
Sitting in the NYC cafe with my elbows perched on a table, I felt so similar: young, immature, sheltered. I could not explain to myself why in a city that shouts my name from the tops of its buildings I could be so unsteady. The feelings were almost identical to that day in Hanover when I knew I was not ready to let go. I felt like I was revisiting my past. I kept reminding myself that I still had a few weeks left at school and a whole summer, and, well, a lifetime I suppose, to continue to blossom. But I still felt confused: I wanted my independence, and yet I needed my mother.
Lately I have been caught thinking of the past, and I have been dreaming of my future. The dreams change often; sometimes I see myself in one role, carefully defined with the details of my life as carefully configured as the constellations of the stars, and other times I see a figure pointing me on a journey. There is a sign, and I decide to follow this path, hoping it will be much like a yellow brick road. For I know that I must dream. And I must let my dreams have dreams. With each new dream I beg myself for an opportunity. I implore myself to let go of my fear and anxieties. At the same time I long to make peace with the parties that make up my confused self. I challenge myself to enjoy life: to smile, to cry, to laugh, to feel anger, to touch, to read, to run, to jump, to sing, to eat ice cream, to write, to create, to help others, to swing, to travel, to mother, to speak new languages, to polish my toes, to love. I push myself to live a life that I have been given as a gift. For this life must commence its journey, and (to borrow from Frost) I have many miles to go before I sleep.