It's really hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that this is actually happening.
Tomorrow. 1:00 PM. Drive to North Platte, NE. Stay the night in a hotel.
Saturday. 8:00 AM. Drive to Cedar Rapids, IA.
Sunday. 1:00 PM. Move in to college.
Just like that, I'm here, and I'm gone. The journey can now be summed up into just three lines.
I remember thinking about this day when I was little. My sister Amanda, being 8 years older than I, moved to college when I was a 4th-grader. I cried and cried at the thought of her leaving. To me, things would never really be the same. She would never complain about Mom waking her up on a Saturday morning again. She would never be home when I got an A+ on my math test. (Although, this is math we're talking about. A- seems more likely.) ;) Sure, she would be home for Christmas and summers, but she would never really be home again. Within a few years, I knew she would probably get married and have kids. (Sure enough, I now have a fantastic brother-in-law and an adorable nephew.)
I have a wonderful relationship with my sister, but it's not the same relationship I had when she lived at home. It's not any worse - just different. She's an adult now. She has responsibilities. She no longer fights with me over who gets the "captain's chair" in the van. She calls me to hurriedly catch up while grocery shopping or driving to work.
Now, I am in Amanda's position on that day, and I see both perspectives. The truth be told, if there is an emotional saturation scale, I've reached the peak. I go from sheer excitement to tears in about 20 seconds flat. I have no idea what to expect. I have no idea what people will think of me, if I'm really capable of college-level work, or if I can handle the five-flights-of-stairs trek to my dorm room every day. What if my roommate gets annoyed at the fact that I snooze my alarm too much? What if I can't kick the senioritis that I seemed to have let invade me last year? What if I lose my toothbrush and no one will drive me to Target? The questions plague me.
At the same time is this overwhelming feeling of adventure. I'm finally about to be on my own. I get to make my own decisions. I get to decide my own curfew. I get to pick my schedule. If I don't want to wake up until 10 AM, I don't have to! (Now, watch me get stuck in an 8 AM class.) From here on out, I set my own standards. Rolling down the car window, feeling the wind along my face, playing my favorite song because I'm the only passenger now. Freedom.
If there was a little 4th grade Angela watching me, she would consider how my relationships will never be the same. I will always be Cañon City born, raised, and proud, but I will probably never live here again. (Not totally excluding the possibility, just considering the likelihood.) My mom will never wake me up for school when I oversleep. I'll never attend a tiger football game as a student. I'm an adult now. I have responsibilities. I'll probably have a husband and kids in a few years (as in, at least 4. I'm in no hurry for that one). I'll be the one calling Amanda to catch up while grocery shopping or driving to work.
This whole experience is a lot like finishing a good book. You wait so anxiously for that last page when everything finally comes together. All that hard work in high school, all those stupid college entrance essays, all the money you spent on Princeton Review ACT and AP books. But when the last page finally comes, it's a little bittersweet. You liked that book so much, and you'll never be able to read it for the first time again. You'll never be able to be drop your jaw in shock or giggle with happiness at its plot line. You just know that reading that book was a great experience, and now, you can start on the next one.
Tomorrow. 1:00 PM. The next - and the best - novel begins. Time to close this 0-18 years old book, and open that first page of college and adulthood.
Wish me luck.
