Thoughts Before Leaving for College

I have found few things in this world that remind me distinctly of our grand system of government, federalism. In fact, there is little chance that the average person, strolling down the street would remark upon just any idea or scene that one should pass. One could go so far as to say that federalism is so elusive, so intangible, that it would, incidentally, only be found if one truly searched for it, with magnifying glass and all. However, while driving north on interstate 81, I had a moment that I must say will probably never recur in my life. As I passed over the New York state line, the color of the interstate road signs changed. The bright, bold green I was used to in my native Virginia was now a subtly darker, less imposing shade. This is of no real significance for most people, but for me, it was true enlightenment. Enlightenment, it seems, is hard to come by these days. Sometimes you think you have it, but in truth you are far from what you were searching for. There have been days sitting on the beach just wishing, with all my might, that something would just click. In that setting, sometimes, it just appears as if there is something to be had, some evanescent idea that is waiting to be caught from the air, like snow on the tongue, on the perfect winter’s day. For you, my reader, I wish only the truest and boldest sense of enlightenment you may find while pondering over these thoughts. For at this point in our lives we are at a moment from which many years of regret may follow, or just many instances of waking up in the middle of the night, not knowing how you got to where you are and just thinking to yourself why. It is not an improbable proposition, and I proffer it with only the slightest sense of hesitation. Yes, we are leaving. College looms only days away, and while most of the summer seemed as though graduation was nothing more than a footnote, the coming days will point out to everyone that in fact it was something significant, perhaps not in the way of goodbyes, tears, and joy, but moreover just a realistic point in time, in that we really are leaving. Before we take this jump into the darkness, plunging into the unknown (O woe to such ignorance!), let us take one more chance to examine that which we were.

Oh, but where to start? There is so much that I could express, yet no place to start from. So many streams of consciousness that have no place to go, and are left with two choices: in or out. The former would seem, to most, the better of the two, for who wishes to spread what one truly feels in the soul? Why would one desire to share ideas and thoughts that have been kept in the brain merely for the sake of one’s own sanity? Most would go this route, but, for me, I must strongly urge the latter. I believe, in all honesty, that in fact my own sanity can only be found by sharing these thoughts. Ah, but what is sanity, really? The sane man on his own terms can easily become the insane by another’s. I am probably one of the few men in the world who is completely sane, yet constantly questions whether or not this is the case. There are mornings when I wake up only to find myself wondering whether or not friends truly exist, or if I conjured them from the bowels of my cortex. The self-doubt extends beyond acquaintances as well. I was once sitting on my back deck late one night, just enjoying the evening. Oh, but let me back up a moment. You do not actually know where I was sitting because you have probably never been there. You see, when I was seventeen years old, my parents decided to move. I have never been able to get a straight answer when I question exactly why we moved, but mainly it was the location, the size of the yard, and, most importantly, the financial advantage we would gain. They figured that as one son was already in college, and the other would leave in a year, it would be a good time to settle into what was hopefully a retirement location. Oh, and the location was gorgeous. When I say the size of the yard, I meant it in the way of my dad having much less of a yard to keep. Instead of the hours of grass cutting it took at the former home, the operation could be completed in a matter of minutes at the new one. This was due largely to the back yard being non-existent, which in turn was due to the presence of a golf course. The house was situated on the second green of a eighteen hole regulation course, and we belonged to the country club. The deck on the back was spacious, to put in terms of a litotes. It had space for several Adirondack chairs, two plastic chairs with matching table, two lounge chairs that reclined fully, a gas grill, a round table with four chairs to go with it, and an outdoor fireplace, which was kind of like a potbellied, mushroom shaped object with a chimney on it. This was on top of the screened in porch at one end, which also had its table and chairs, as well as a rocking chair, and rocking couch, to describe it in a certain way. During the summer months, the deck was lined with tiki torches and scattered with citronella candles for the mosquitoes. Late one summer night, I found myself sitting out in a chair with a glass of ice tea, my usual cigar missing from my hand, torches and candles lit, just enjoying night air and sky, when all of the sudden I feel a sharp pain in my neck. It was the unmistakable sting of a bee, which nested right about where I was seated. Now, looking back, without a doubt in my mind I was stung by a bee. Yet, immediately afterwards I found myself questioning whether or not that was the case. In fact, I was questioning whether or not anything stung me at all. I began to think to myself that perhaps this pain that I am experiencing is nothing more than a figment of my imagination. I am not sure what scared me more, the fact that I began to question the existence of this evasive bee, or the fact that I began to believe my doubts.

Wait until the Dolorian goes through the time continuum, then you will become aware. I can remember being very small, probably no older than five or six, lying in bed one night, and realizing that I was afraid to die. For a five-year old, these were pretty serious thoughts to have at the time, but I still to this day do not know what the impetus was behind this revelation. But, a revelation it truly was. I realized that no matter how hard I tried, I could not imagine what it would be like to just not think. I had come to accept my consciousness for the first time, and really listen to what my head was saying, and as soon as that happened, I became sentient of my inevitable end. Very distinctly I can remember thinking that I wish I could just have some way of knowing what it was like, so I could prepare for it. When it became completely evident to me that this would never happen in the way I hoped for, I was distraught. So much so that I came to tears, lying there on my back, in bed, when I was only five. What will it be like when it comes time to meet that terminus? I hate to depress, but I have often wondered. Death defines us just as much as life does, almost more so. Oh, and I have encountered the untimely end. But that is another story entirely. What will be my story when I am gone? Will I be loved? Missed? Will it matter? How can I be defined…while I strive for my Yorick? I suppose that true self-definition should start at the beginning, birth, childhood, and etcetera. For me, however, these details are mundane and pointless for our purposes here. Yes, I was born in 1987 in Richmond, Virginia, where I have lived my entire life. But that is all that needs to be said. Perhaps this is because my true beginnings as a person, as an entity that is unique and individual came when I went to high school, at a regional school for the “gifted”. This label has been at times a hindrance, at other times a bragging right, and at other times superfluous. Recently, it has not really mattered, but at the time when I started high school, it was something to flaunt. But even details from the actual school have no place in this narrative, for they add nothing to it. It was not the classes I took or achievements made while there, but instead the people I met. Ah, the friends. The friends will be missed.

Oh, but cut to the beach now. I have just made a discovery. I am here, alone, on the beach, at dusk, and it occurs to me that this is senseless. I am going about this for no reason, it seems to me now. I want to say so many different things, tell you about death and life and love and hope, but I just cannot. There comes a line in Candide when a character asks “Qu’importe?” What does it matter? In truth, I am defined by my thoughts and reactions to the world, and no more. Yet, what has happened will happen again. That is why I cannot go on. For the hardship and pain that I am so eager to share will mean nothing when the next line of blows hits. Ah, it seems that is the way of things, we are made to beat on, as Fitzgerald described it, against the current. What will I do to commemorate this new stage in life? I will go. That is all I could do. The sun has set. The waves are crashing harmoniously, as if a hundred symphonies are playing at once. Still, their whimsical rhythms never cease, hitting the sand, taking some back, bringing some in, and the cycle goes on, and on. The stars are out now, and I have never seen so many. Shining so perfectly, they cast down light that has traveled hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years to now glimmer for that transient moment before my eyes, and then it is gone forever as it continues it’s journey through infinity. Enlightenment? Oh yes, here it is, before your own eyes. Take it, for that is all life has to offer.