Transitions

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately.  Mostly, these thoughts are fleeting worries, like passing ships in the night.  But these thoughts have a theme; transitions.

I’ve gone through several major transitions in life, and I find my thoughts going back to the earliest of transitions for some reason lately.  Perhaps it’s sentiment.  Nostalgia.  I have been listening to a lot of 80’s music.  However, I do feel that it was triggered by the writing of my acknowledgements for my thesis.  I did a lot of thinking about the people in my life and the people who have left a mark on my life at some point. Perhaps they encouraged me.  Or, on a more sinister note, maybe they were a deep rooted and fundamental reason as to why I chose this research topic.

My thoughts find me back to this first transition.  I can feel the crunch of leaves underfoot and there is a scent of Aussie Sprunch spray in the air.  With these reminders, I’m back wandering the halls, head down. It’s like that nightmare that I have when I’ve forgotten my locker combination or my gym clothes. I’ve been out of school for over 20 years and I still have these dreams.  It’s a hard time for me, so alone.  Still, I have the music I enjoy and my treasured favourite old books, and the one person who I could talk to.  This, in turn, drags emotions long repressed and avoided bubbling to the surface and I feel like I’m drowning.  (One would think I’d have moved past this, but I can’t let things go. There was no closure, so. . . ) 

Deep breaths and I’ve moved on to the next transition.  It’s hot and sunny and I’m sitting on the green at Clark University. I tip my head back to look up at the blue sky and I smile broadly.  I’ve done it.  I’m in college on my own.  The absolute joy that I feel at that moment is joined by a twinge of homesickness. I push it off and try to look forward.  I haven’t really met anyone yet, so that excitement is still there.  I have no idea what’s going to happen: those moments before I meet my roommate and my hallmates, long before J. coined the phrase about how I analyse everything like I live in a fishbowl (see my blog tagline), before I met people who changed my life.

I allow myself a few more moments on Clark’s green before I’m in Glasgow, 6 years ago.  It’s sunny and mild and I’m wearing my Ortiz t-shirt (Boston represent!). I have absolutely no idea where I am (grad school has not improved my ability to read a map) and I can’t be bothered to care.  It’s a gorgeous day and the leaves are just starting to change colour and the few that have fallen crunch underfoot. I find myself in Kelvingrove Park and everything seems bright and larger than life.  I treasure this moment, it’s precious. It’s before. . .  .

Now, I’m in the after.  Approaching the end of another chapter of my life and I’m not quite sure how to close the book on it.  There is a lot of anxiety and uncertainty in this transition.  And if there’s one thing I don’t like, it’s not knowing what’s going to happen.  Right now, I feel like I’m about to jump into the void, feet first, and it’s terrifying.

For now, I’m just trying to breathe.

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