Speaking of other deja vus, this is not the first time I have found myself contemplating a goodbye that seems too rapidly approaching. A short three weeks ago I exited an airplane’s umbilical at Bradley International Airport. I was picked up in the personal vehicle of one of the counselors here who I have come to know well. I was well aware as I slid over her hiking supplies and decorated flower pots to make room in the trunk for my carry-on that I would have four weeks to absorb everything Connecticut had to offer. I knew that I would have four weeks to prove to myself that I am equipped to fend for myself and navigate a new environment with my parents and friends nowhere near. Yet still, the program’s conclusion has caught me by surprise. The end of week three creeped up on me. Feeling as though I have been here for closer to three months, I must acknowledge that this experience is coming to a close.
Today is the first of the month, but not the first time you have seen one of the images posted with today’s entry. I’ll let that marinate.
Time for me has never behaved regularly. Always it has lagged behind, questioning the clock’s hands that assure me and the rest of the world that existence cannot have paused. Moments feel like minutes and minutes like hours. By the same token, hours can dissipate in the heat as I walk to get lunch but find myself lounging in the grass beside the lake or inside the campus bookstore leafing through a French to English dictionary.
So yet again I am left scratching my head and wondering where the time has gone. Just yesterday I bid adeau the robotics campers I had grown to love, but somehow I have been here at the University of Connecticut for a quarter of a year as well. And it is to these people that have offered me so much that I must say goodbye.
A little town with no major shopping center taught me that you can have fun without going to see a movie or see a magic act in the busiest part of town. You can stargaze instead or hike along a path with grass that rises to the height of your shoulders on either side. You can play volleyball on a sand court to take advantage of a particularly cool day. You can walk out to the nearest barn and let a cow lick your hand in order to learn that its tongue feels like a Brillo pad, especially scruffy.
So yet again I am left scratching my head and wondering where the time has gone. Just yesterday I bid adeau the robotics campers I had grown to love, but somehow I have been here at the University of Connecticut for a quarter of a year as well. And it is to these people that have offered me so much that I must say goodbye.
A little town with no major shopping center taught me that you can have fun without going to see a movie or see a magic act in the busiest part of town. You can stargaze instead or hike along a path with grass that rises to the height of your shoulders on either side. You can play volleyball on a sand court to take advantage of a particularly cool day. You can walk out to the nearest barn and let a cow lick your hand in order to learn that its tongue feels like a Brillo pad, especially scruffy.
You can do all that and realize that there still is so much more you haven’t seen, too much perhaps for you to fit into a week of exploration. But I have come to learn that if I fail to try I fail myself. So, in the morning I will rise at 4 along with a couple pals to watch the sun rise. After all Charlie’s Angels never sleep. We always are on call, should adventure be in need of help or a boundary seek to be pushed.
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