Uprooted Again--and Bloom in Three...Two...One...

Sun come up, then goes away 

so does graduation day 

You did your walk of fame and that was it

--Dropline, "Fly Away From Here" 

Lately I realize I haven't been living up to my blog's title. Rather than making the most of the last few weeks to bloom at the College of Idaho I dug in my fingers, buried myself in homework, and wished for more time. Now I find myself uprooted again--back in my hometown without a job, without an idea of where we're going to live, and with my whole life ahead of me. It's time to start putting out leaves again and seeing where the days take me. And with an entire future to figure out, it's not really a question anymore of whether or not I'll bloom. It's when.

What's the opposite of dysphoria? Euphoria? Yeah, I think euphoria fits. If graduation weekend was anything, it was euphoric. The goodbyes that I had dreaded, the transition between college and that dim horizon still undiscovered--it was painless. Amazing even, to be surrounded by so much love and to finally feel the knot of dread untangle and slither off to bother someone else instead. It was an incredible relief to not see the fears of my last post realized, and to finally feel beyond the uncertainty and anxiety that has been the dominating emotion for well over a month now. 

I am ready to move forward now, with all that that entails.

After the ceremony I took my family on a tour of campus, revisiting favorite buildings and undertaking the impossible hope that by doing so, they might just catch a glimpse of the wild beauty that has been my home for the last four years. Then Tim and I had a few final reunions: families that had become an extension of me through my service with the Food Bank Club, friends and coworkers (those words are simultaneous) that I'd made over the years, professors who had changed me, and individuals near and far who had left permanent impressions on my heart. Everywhere we drove, there were familiar faces. Even the Taco Bell we stopped at before beginning the long drive back to Idaho Falls, where an old neighbor from last year was now employed, left us with the warm feeling of shared experiences. There will never be another place on this green Earth where I can walk from my room to my work and be greeted by a dozen friends along the way. And I'm not sure that there needs to be. At least this way, I will always have the desire to return and visit. 

I am so grateful for the friends and family who made this last week so special. Who attended graduation, if not physically than in spirit, and who made it known that I was someone worth celebrating. I don't know that I've ever felt this much love in my life, and deserved or no, it has been an amazing experience and has given me the confidence boost I desperately needed. I may not know the answer to the most frequently asked question lately: "What's next for you?" But I know that I've got the support and the tools to find out and bloom again.

And I

I believe that everyone can fly

Fly away from here

--Dropline

Let the Dam Break

Graduation is looming--and what am I doing about it? Crying. A lot.

It started with photography. I was doing my nightly routine in the communal bathroom I share with all the girls on my floor, staring at one of the signs taped to the bathroom wall which reads: "Stop! It's flushin' time!" The note, printed midway through the year after the fourth or fifth clogged toilet had forced my RA to address bathroom etiquette, was humorous in its delivery and had been memorized by each of us visit after visit to the restroom. This time, however, I was seized with a strange sense of urgency. I had to take a picture of the sign. I didn't want to forget this.

The urgency became madness as we headed into "Dead Week," the last week of classes before final exams. My trigger-happy hand shot picture after picture of the quirkiest things--the small and remote details that I decided I couldn't live without. A campaign poster from one of the student government elections which declared the candidate: "the Pope of Dope." A baby squirrel on the balcony outside my window. The passing train that shakes the foundations of our dorm building and rattles my desk each day in passing. A flower. A stained glass window. My favorite seminar book. A wasp on the stairwell. The way the light comes down from the skylight in KAIC.

Then it was writing--I had to write everything. Poems about the wind, the process of filing stacks of data in the psychology lab, and the bobbing heads of classmates napping during lecture found their way into my bioethics notes. Quotes from my peers and professors were scrawled onto my senior thesis drafts next to short reflections about what I'd learned and who I had become in the last four years: "Learning self-control, self-reliance, and a dozen other things that start with the word 'self.' Then learning that life is not about the 'self' at all." "I like the word 'phthalate' cuz you can spit on people when you say it." "College = Love." "You're not in it for the money, you're in it because you can't live your life without words."

It wasn't until last week that I realized this inexplicable urge to document, to tie a mental string around all of my moments at the college and pull them in tight, was a coping device for May 18th. Before that, when people talked about graduation I just pretended not to hear, building a subconscious bubble around myself to guard against the idea that Life After College was more than a rumor. That I would ever have to stop being an undergrad, or leave the people and places that had become so much a part of my identity. But all good things must come to an end, and now I was experiencing it. "Empty Nest Syndrome" in reverse. Sooner than I ever thought possible, the end of my time at the College of Idaho has arrived; and I'm not ready to let go. Not yet.

When the dam broke, it broke violently. A Dove soap commercial about beauty sent me sobbing. An episode of The Office had me in hysterics. Sometimes I would feel tears on my face and not even know why they were there, like when I climbed into the seat of one of the campus vans for the final time to make my rounds, or when I (embarrassingly) broke down in the middle of my journalism seminar as we discussed our final projects. It was ridiculous. I was out of control.

Concerned, my journalism professor took me aside after class to ask me what was going on. I shrugged. How could I explain it? But he understood without me saying. Graduation is a scary time, he told me. When I was an undergraduate I had breakdowns too. I once drove for hours just to see a barn--to escape the city and clear my head a little. Trust me, you're going to be ok.

He's right, of course. And I know I will be. I have so many exciting changes coming up: being with my husband full-time (no more long distance!!!!!), finding a place of our own, getting a job that could be the beginnings of a lifetime career, preparing for grad school...At last, the fruits of my labor will start paying off, and in a year or two, all of this anxiety will just be a faint memory.

But for now...For now I'm going to let the dam break. There are more emotions associated with this place than I thought was possible to feel, and I am determined to experience them all before I leave. College of Idaho, you have made me who I am today. And while saying goodbye to you feels like I'm breaking up with half of myself, I will do so with gratitude for the impact you've made on my life and with the skills you gave me to be successful in graduation, Life After College, and Beyond.