Always Look Forward

“Always look forward 

And may all your love be returned”

I have cried every year, without fail, on the night before the first day of school. 

I’ve never been good with the passage of time. I was born with the moon in a trine aspect with Neptune, making me particularly sensitive to my environment and home life. I’ve always craved the stability of home, whether that be physically, mentally, or through relationships.

The most glaring changes in my life have been the beginnings of new school years. However excited I felt, I resented time for moving so quickly. I resented myself for willing the time to move so quickly. And so, I have never freely let go of the things I know, even if they’re bad for me. As my high school friend group fell apart, I tried to keep it together, longing for that peace we had years ago, but knowing it would never return.

It got worse when I got to college. That summer, my family moved from Maryland to Colorado with me. That, for the most part, softened the transition, but in some ways, it made it harder. No longer was it just me moving out, but all of us. I would never be in that home again. 

The road trip to Colorado took about three days. My mom and I listened to music and podcasts as we drove, admired the landscape, and stopped at random fast-food restaurants. And it was okay. I was okay. The despair I had felt before leaving had dissipated, replaced with excitement about a new chapter in my life. 

That first night after moving into my dorm, I—like many other freshmen—broke down. I didn’t have my parents or my dogs. I had few friends. No amount of posters on my walls could make my dorm feel like home. Eventually, it was okay. I began to adjust, just enough to be able to sleep a week in my dorm. But I still went home almost every weekend, if only to seek that comfort of a home-cooked meal, a movie with my parents, and my dog next to me as I slept.

This year, I moved into my apartment. In the weeks leading up to it, I had felt so excited to have my own place with my best friends. However, when the day finally came, it wasn’t what I thought it would be. It was different than moving into my dorm, more permanent. I’d never be at home in my parents’ house again; I would always be a guest. This transition was embarrassingly hard for me. Each night brought with it a new fragility I could avoid during the day. Alone in my room, I cried, mourning the loss of my old life, of my old self. One night, a few weeks after we had moved in, I asked my roommates if they had adjusted well. I expected them to share my feelings: “No, not at all. I feel disconnected and like everything is moving too fast, and I’m not ready to move with it.” 

But they didn’t say that. They were happy to be there. It’s not that they didn’t have an adjustment period—everyone does—it was just that mine seemed to be lasting so much longer than theirs. What was wrong with me, then, that I couldn’t appreciate my beautiful apartment with my beautiful friends? That during the day I was happy, but every night I cried in my room, longing for a life without change?

The truth is that it is not life without change. In trying to make it so, I have hindered my own growth, my own ability to adapt and learn and thrive. By hanging onto the old parts of my life, I was also hanging onto the barriers I’d built to block out the change. Through this, I was making it impossible to accept anything new or good. I had trapped myself in a changeless room, a cycle of self-destruction in which I sat motionless, wondering why things weren’t getting better.

“Hold on tight

I think I might have wasted all my time

On fear”

In the aforementioned conversation, my roommate told me something her friend told her: “Nothing will ever be the same: the sad ending, the hard ending, the true ending, the good ending.” I haven’t stopped thinking about this. Change will occur no matter how hard you try to stop it. Only as you work through it, as you accept the vulnerability of the passage of time, will you also accept the good change. The high school friend group I tried so hard to salvage has moved on, and so have I. And we’re all better for it. My freshman year of college, which I tried so hard to push out of my mind until I had to face it, brought me my best friends. I’m not completely familiar with my new apartment yet. But with every new decoration my roommates and I hang up, every grocery run, every movie night, it feels a little more like that home I’ve been searching for. 

I can’t go back to how I used to be, and it’s hard. However, I’ve slowly realized that it’s not a curse to feel such deep connections to each phase of my life. The more I grow, the more I realize that I don’t want to go back to how I used to be. While it feels easier, and while it feels like the pain of change is unbearable now, I know that I will get through it because I have so many times before. 

I’m learning to hold these past times of my life with neither resentment nor glorification, with neither dismissal nor blind devotion. I love who I used to be, and I’m learning to love who I am now. My old life has never truly left me. I have and will always carry it forward. That is what I can trust to always remain the same. 

“You let it kill, let it learn, let it lie

Let it fall out of the corner of your eye”

• Mt. Joy, “Bug Eyes”

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