I've spent the past few hours going through my room and packing. I've tossed old notebooks filled with coursework that at one point consumed my life. I've come across old pictures of old friends. I've found letters and notes and things that have made me feel strange and sad and nostalgic. I feel the urge to call my mom and tell her about all this. I feel the need to hear her say that everything will be fine and my co-workers will like me and my move will go smoothly and this weird time of transition won't last forever. But I can't. She is out of the country without phone service. Perhaps it is better that way. Perhaps it is necessary. But as I sit in this room, surrounded bits of life packed into boxes, I feel a familiar feeling-a mixture of loneliness, anxiety, and excitement. I've felt this before and I know something is happening. I think they call it growing up.
running glacier peak
9 months ago