I don’t understand why I’m feeling nostalgic. Why am I nostalgic for warm nights flooded with foliage, embraced by light, dotted with prospects of new adventures, and steeped with the faint tune of music luring me through campus? Why am I nostalgic for naivete?
Well, as of now (March 1st 2016), I’ve got 80 days left of being a first-year, and why is feels like a burden and a relief I can’t understand. In this song of change, I guess dissonance is the concept I’m trying to get at. I’ve got 80 days left to use the “I’m a first-year” excuse, 80 days left to walk to the freshman quad anxious to get back to my own little box of a room, and 80 days left to enjoy this movement in my song of change.
What a curious arrangement this piece has been. If first semester began on a high note, it quickly slid into a minor key, and adjusting to school work wasn’t even the hard part. Seasoned by a handful of AP courses and a general Type-A work ethic, intro courses were an easy transition into college. Most everyone was friendly. I had a week to explore the campus. There were no rules, no curfews, no responsibilites. Yes, rose colored glasses were in fashion, and I was quick to follow the trend.
No, the music was trembling in the background; a definitive stylistic change was coming. The bass rattled those glasses off during the first party of the semester. Did I really have to figure out who I was again? Why must I always compare myself to the next girl I see? I waffled around campus feeling worn down and insecure. It didn’t help that I was plagued by a deadly duo- homesickness and sickness. The song took two whole steps down. For a while, I was in a lull performing school, going out, and having an average week.
In retrospect, this “Confusion in E minor” was simply a right of passage, because I was working through it with most every first-year. We had to wedge ourselves in somewhere or suffer from being an untethered floater in the social space and in social space with no gravity pulling us down. So, when we latched onto a constellation, the clamboring minor key ringing in our space suits reached a resolve, or something like it.
Maybe my constellation was a class. Maybe yours is a job. Maybe you’re still searching. Maybe that minor tune hasn’t quite resolved. Embrace the quasi-disaccord. Change is fluid. Like a song, it moves and doesn’t lend itself immediately to a deep exhale, rather a suspended breath. Listen and look for whatever may be guiding you.
To those graduating seniors, to those students transferring, to those professors toiling over research, to anyone experiencing change, walk to the beat. Don’t be afraid to trip by getting ahead or from falling behind. If you fall to the ground, pause and look at the stars you’ve tethered yourself to. You might be surprised who and what can pick you up. However, know that the melody is always moving. The meter could be manic, the beat could drag on. Be ready to adapt. Hopefully, after some time, all nights will be warm nights flooded with foliage, embraced by light, dotted with prospects of new adventures, and steeped with the faint tune of music luring us through life.
Image Credit: XDA Developers, Mirror Service