Today marks the end of June. The first month of summer has officially come and gone, though I have struggled to figure out where it went. It feels as though the last time I checked, the months had somehow skipped from February to May and I was walking across a graduation stage. And time sped ahead again as I went from living in an apartment on the north side of Chicago to the Sunday I spent unpacking my things after moving back home to Indiana. It's amazing how small the idea of time passing can make you feel if you allow it to linger for too long. A year ago, I spent my days interning in downtown Chicago and training for the Chicago Half Marathon along the Lake Shore path. Last summer, I spent nearly every weekend lounging at the end of pier 738, soaking up sun and dangling my toes in the water. Now here I am, one year later. I've begun reflecting about time and years and summers, and how after a while, they somehow seem to all mesh together. For as long as I can remember, my life has been defined in terms of summers... but how can something be that significant when, out of every other season, summer only seems to serve as a mere transition from spring to fall?
That's the strange thing about measuring life in terms of summers. An entire year has passed since I was last crossing the days of June off of the pages of my calendar. And still, it is the same. But somewhere over the course of the last 365 days, I no longer am. It really put my life into perspective once I started thinking about the brevity of it all. Four summers ago, I was gearing up for life on the west coast and daring to imagine what it would mean to be 2,000 miles away from anything I knew. And then the following summer I found myself back in Indiana, struggling to find my footing and myself after transferring schools for the first time. I can remember sitting by the lake trying to figure out how my life had changed course so suddenly and what it meant for me in the months ahead. And then it was summer... Again. I was one year older and chomping at the bit to get out of Ohio and see what else the world had to offer. That year took me all over Italy and across Europe, down to the islands scattered in eastern Caribbean Sea and then all the way back up to Chicago for yet another new start. And then it was summer number three and I was finally starting to enjoy a life that had previously failed to be independent from so many of the strings of the past. I was going to be a senior, living with refreshingly fantastic friends and exploring a city whose corners left endless possibilities for me to discover.
Four summers. Four beginnings. And after everything, I find myself back again and on the brink of the indefinite, exhilarating and often anxiety-inducing reality called adulthood. It's humbling to think about all that happened in just four summers; to try to recognize the bits and pieces of you that manage to stay the same along the way. There is no denying that I'm different now, but also I think I'm still a lot of the same. Which is pretty incredible when you actually think about it.
That's the strange thing about measuring life in terms of summers. An entire year has passed since I was last crossing the days of June off of the pages of my calendar. And still, it is the same. But somewhere over the course of the last 365 days, I no longer am. It really put my life into perspective once I started thinking about the brevity of it all. Four summers ago, I was gearing up for life on the west coast and daring to imagine what it would mean to be 2,000 miles away from anything I knew. And then the following summer I found myself back in Indiana, struggling to find my footing and myself after transferring schools for the first time. I can remember sitting by the lake trying to figure out how my life had changed course so suddenly and what it meant for me in the months ahead. And then it was summer... Again. I was one year older and chomping at the bit to get out of Ohio and see what else the world had to offer. That year took me all over Italy and across Europe, down to the islands scattered in eastern Caribbean Sea and then all the way back up to Chicago for yet another new start. And then it was summer number three and I was finally starting to enjoy a life that had previously failed to be independent from so many of the strings of the past. I was going to be a senior, living with refreshingly fantastic friends and exploring a city whose corners left endless possibilities for me to discover.
Four summers. Four beginnings. And after everything, I find myself back again and on the brink of the indefinite, exhilarating and often anxiety-inducing reality called adulthood. It's humbling to think about all that happened in just four summers; to try to recognize the bits and pieces of you that manage to stay the same along the way. There is no denying that I'm different now, but also I think I'm still a lot of the same. Which is pretty incredible when you actually think about it.
Comments
Post a Comment