One Thing at a Time.

Sometimes when I sit down and look objectively at the pieces of my life, I have no idea who I am. Who is this girl, with this wild agenda? How does she know that I live here, and how to get in; how does she do what I’m supposed to be doing? How does she pull it off?

I’m usually a really, really organized traveler. It’s kind of obsessive. I write comprehensive packing lists, and I lay everything out; I make notebooks of itineraries and printed maps. I call to confirm things.

I don’t even know what happened this weekend, but that somehow all went out the window. I packed by opening a suitcase at 2am Saturday and chucking in clothes that seemed cute, seemed appropriate; a nightcap to a very long day at work (and an even longer night out with friends). See the non-coherence of the last post for an idea of how well that went.

I left my apartment at 7.15am. The flight was at 9. “Eh, I’m leaving from National,” I said. “Who needs two full hours?” This, this is VERY unlike me.  I don’t even know what happened, but I threw my Charlie Card in my pocket on the way out.

The sound of ten thousand seatbelts unbuckling welcomed me to Boston. I called my dad on the way to the T; I had no idea where I was going or where I was meant to meet them. This didn’t seem to bother the girl who was pretending to be me at all. I studied the wall map for a few minutes, put on my ipod, and hopped onto the train all local-style.

I made it, and it was fine. It was actually kind of fun.

It was a magical weekend away. Graduations are like that: there’s so much anticipation, so much promise. It’s really a poignant picture of life, captured up there on that stage; a meeting of everything where the best of days bleed into the unknown, and the fear of what’s next. The high and the low, the here and the there. Friendships and lessons as steps ascended, but still part of our histories. You maybe can’t go back down that flight, but you’d be nowhere near where you are without each stone that brought you there. This is how it always is; it’s just strange to see it so concretely.

It’s kind of a bizarre role, that of the graduate. You want it to end, but you don’t; you’re excited for what’s next, but you kind of want to hold on to what’s known. I’m so proud of my sister, but I don’t really envy her these days of transition. Not really at all.

I would, however, like to have the summer off. I’d like to float on the high of accomplishment, grab a friend and a probably-getting-engaged-soon boyfriend, and roadtrip across the country. And if I did that, I’d hope to have a sister in Virginia to stay with, a sister I could call at work on a random Friday and say, oh hi, we want to stay with you right after graduation, on Tuesday night, you’re our first stop! She’d be cool and super flexible, that sister. Even though she has a hideous schedule of meetings and essays, shots and mean bosses who have lost all touch with how much can and cannot be done in a measly 8 hours, she’ll say of course, come on down, the wine will be waiting. She’ll handle it, and she’ll more than likely have a lot of fun. She’s taking it one thing at a time, see, and she’s learning that schedules and control over everysingle detail aren’t always critical. Not always critical at all.