If you are the type of person who likes to go through the posts of individual bloggers and search from recurring themes in their lives, then you might have noticed that I have a Thing about growing older and also the subjective nature of time. Therefore, it must be no surprise to you that I am once again writing a blog post about growing older and the subjective nature of time.
It’s probably the beginning of the year getting to me. I’m a junior, you know, which means all sorts of things such as the beginning of the end of “I’m an adult but I’m not a real adult” portion of my life. Which is terrifying to think about, let alone experience.
I know that one day I’m going to have the benefit of hindsight and I’ll be able to see that I was freaking out over nothing. Everything turned out fine and my best years were ahead of me.
But this isn’t hindsight yet. This is just plain old sight and I don’t like what I’m seeing. At least I can be comforted by the fact that I’m not the only one going through this at the moment. Every time I try bring this up to my friends they tell me to shut up. Instead of hurting my poor, delicate feelings, this comforts me. It’s one thing to freak out about the future, it’s a whole other thing to freak out about the future alone.
Besides the beginning of the year, I have another thing to blame for this acute sense of impending doom. I was cleaning my room the other day because the mess had finally become unbearable and I couldn’t walk through my room without stepping on something that may have been important once before it had met the bottom of my foot. While I was finding yet another missing sock, I had spotted my high school yearbook underneath a layer of dust.
First of all, I didn’t realize that high school was so long ago it had time to accumulate dust. I also didn’t realize that three years is long enough to forget half of the people in your graduating class existed.
I remember,though, very clearly the teacher who had run the yearbook going on this whole spiel about how important the yearbook was and I sort of half-listened while she was doing it, but I guess enough time has passed for me to get what she was trying to say. It was kind of like holding a little bit of my history in my hands and I hadn’t realized enough time had passed for it to become history.
High school didn’t feel all that long ago, but it was. Neither did my first year of college, but enough time has passed for me to change and stay the same. How is it that the first two weeks of school can feel like they lasted three years, but three years can feel like they happened two seconds ago?
I don’t know.
But it doesn’t matter how time feels, because time will pass whether you feel like it should or not.
And now I walk forward into the great unknown (this feels like I’m referencing something, but if I am, I have no idea what it is) and I know I spent the majority of this post sounding terrified, and I am, but I’m also kind of excited. I wonder how that can be too.