“Let’s get out of this country!” -Camera ObscuraAmsterdam, Fall 2009
“All I know, April, is… I want to feel things. Really feel them,” Frank expressed with a vague longing in his eyes before looking back at April, who was lounging on the bed. I sighed and grabbed my water bottle once again, still keenly observing Frank and April Wheeler of Revolutionary Road slowly and completely fall apart before my very eyes.
I wish I could feel things, too, I mused wistfully to myself as I tucked my knees under my chin.
Like all ruts, my current state of mediocrity is a result of both major and (seemingly) inconsequential decisions and non-decisions. For my sophomore year, I transferred from my lively and lovely women’s college nestled in the mountains of Virginia to a more serious and conventional liberal arts college a mere two and a half hours away from home. Now I can claim the dubious honor of going through a third fall navigating yet another unfamiliar college campus, the third time adjusting to a different social and academic environment, and the third experience exploring a different area of the world.
Maybe this new adventure will be no different. Maybe this is not the place where I’ll muster the courage and strength to really try and finally feel things. Maybe my suspicions are correct and I really am just difficult to please a restless soul.
I suppose there is no point in mulling over such matters at the present moment, being as I still find myself in my room in Chicagoland. While I await my departure a week from today, I’ll be very busy eating orange pie in my steadfast attempt to ignore my pre-departure To-Do list, poring over guidebooks for ideas to write into my Moleskine City Notebook (to my fellow and future travelers: if your destination has a notebook, I would at least consider it), and attempting to stifle my burgeoning panic over what to pack. (How I’ve managed to accumulate around two dozen pairs of shoes, I’ll never know.
… Oh fine, I guess I have a vague idea.)
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