My blog posting has been pretty MIA this March. The feelings of procrastination have been particularly intense this month. I had chalked it up to just general end-of-year fatigue, the weary-limbed and tired-eyed signs that a student is ready for summer break.
The weather on campus has been getting consistently warmer–with only the occasional Iowa wintery temper tantrum–so I celebrated this balmy blessing by taking a long walk. I let my thoughts overshadow my steps, my route decided on autopilot. I ended up on the west side of the river, passing the old-fashioned Dairy Queen stand that was closed for the season. Except I could hear the gentle sound of ‘50s blues music, and I could see people seated around tables with cones in hand.
The seasonal reopening of the Riverside Drive Dairy Queen was what made me realize–not just acknowledge as a fact, but truly realize–that my first year of college will be over pretty soon. Yes, the Dairy Queen. Not the constant emails from university housing telling me when to move out. Not the warm breeze, or the sunbathing students on the Capitol lawn, or the clusters of friends throwing footballs. Not even the birthday gift I received for an event happening after I return to Virginia.
It’s now spring, and soon enough, I will have one less year of college. I had this same bittersweet regret last year, around the time of my high school graduation. There are many experiences I’ve had these past two semesters that are precious to me. There are also moments I didn’t enjoy as much, and I can’t wait until they’re drowned out by new memories. But it’s the experiences I didn’t have that are lingering in my mind: it’s a general sense of “I didn’t do enough.” And the experiences I did have? Well, I didn’t savor those as much as I should have.
Maybe my philosophy Gen Ed is just starting to get to me, but I’m questioning why I seem to get this recurring notion every semester’s end. Especially when it has a seemingly impossible goal. I could savor the details of buying my first Dairy Queen drink of the new season. I could lock those details into words here: the heat of the cloudless sky, the itchy redness of an emerging sunburn, the beep as I scanned my card, the icy chill in my palm as I carried the cup, the blue raspberry freeze on my tongue. I can make it as thorough as I want.
But inevitably, if I ever look back at this post in the future, way after the actual moment has been regulated to just a memory–I still would long to do what I never can: to steal an experience back from time.
To a bittersweet spring (only 6 and a half weeks left this semester!)
