o fig, fist of flowers, o ostiole entered
as a wasp might enter it, pollinate it knows
not
...
[+]
The opportunity to drop out is ever-present. Nobody could truly stop me at the end of the day. I could do it whenever I see fit.
Or I could transfer. I've had the transfer application open for weeks. Maybe I'll actually start it for a change.
No, no, wait, maybe I'll drop out and join the Peace Corps. Probably won't. But then again, I could.
It's crazy to think about all the other things I could be doing right now. Yet, here I am, sitting at a desk in my university's library, reading an endless stack of journals and articles that are interesting, sure, but probably won't stand a chance of staying in the domain of my long-term memory.
Why am I not traveling right now? Well, money, sure, that's one thing. But I could just pack up my backpack, walk out of the library, and hit the road to Vegas. I hate Vegas. But I could go if I wanted to. And that's what matters in the end.
Ever seen one of those movies where someone will spontaneously put a pause on their mundane, corporate life to go find a serendipitous moment to savor and drool over for the rest of their lives? Yeah. That could be me.
There are so many things I could do. Could is such a sad word. There's room for opportunity. It practically invites you – tests you, really – to see if you're strong enough to do whatever you're contemplating. Otherwise, you're stuck living in a realm of chance.
And that's where I'm at. That's where I reside. Chance. Uncertainty.
I always think about how unrealistic it is for someone to just get up and leave. Who's covering their shift at work? What if they have a pet waiting for them at home? Are they going to be wearing the same clothes for the next few days? All valid questions, but honestly? I could do it right now.
There's that magical word again.
Could (verb): Dancing on the borderline of possibility.
And for some reason, at this moment, more than ever before in my 19 years of living, that debilitating feeling that bubbles up inside me when an emotion gets too much hits a breaking point.
Screw it.
I will do it right now. I'm going to Vegas. Ew, wait, no, not Vegas. San Francisco. I'm going to San Francisco.
I shove the texts that I was passively reading into my backpack and walk down the stairs of the library so fast I'm practically running – flying, even.
As soon as the library doors open for me, I am sprinting. I'm sprinting towards my car before I have the chance to think about what I'm doing. The goal here is not to think. If I think about it, it's over. I'm not going anywhere, I'm not doing anything, no adventure for me.
I reach my car and am suddenly very grateful that I got my gas tank refilled this morning. Maybe I was meant to do this. If I were to ask a Magic 8 Ball, "Should I go on this adventure right now?", I feel as though that little blue triangle would look me in the eyes and say, "Signs point to yes".
I click shuffle on my playlist that contains an ungodly amount of songs and put directions in for San Francisco. Nowhere specific, just San Francisco. The whole city. I want to consume the whole city. Breathe the crisp air coming up from off the shore. Walk every endless hill that tightens my calves. See every touristy spot, no matter how many times I've seen them before. Stare at the crimson bridge, lurking above the city for hours on end. All of it. I just want to do something.
There's something satisfying about the process of getting to a destination. Nonstop bustling until you've gotten to where you want to be. Exchanging glances with hundreds of others along the way.
On my drive up, I pass hundreds of people. Are they also going on their own adventure? Or are they going home? Maybe a work trip?
There's a sort of continual symbiosis between me and those I exchange a brief moment of proximity with. All these living organisms and I occupy a space, breathe the same air, see the same things, and so on. And yet, we aren't perceiving everything the same. The driver in the car next to me may be seeing the same road as I, but maybe they noticed a crack in the road that I missed. Maybe they're listening to delicate orchestral pieces while I'm listening to the repetitive, hypnotizing beats of a techno trance track.
We're on the same road but not the same path. At some point along the way, the person in the car next to me weaves their way towards an exit and leaves the road until they're out of my sight and out of my life completely. This happens countless times. I share the road with many families, couples, people getting off work, people heading to work, and so on. I wonder if there's anyone on the road like me. Someone who got up and decided to bring some action into their life. Someone who decided they're done with thinking about what they could be doing.
After a few hours of driving, I see my exit that will take me into the core of the city. It's about two o'clock in the morning now, and yet, exhaustion is the last thing on my mind.
I feel a cold sensation down the middle of my cheeks and realize that I'm crying, which isn't out of the norm as of late, but this time it's different. I see the city that was once a distant skyline grow into the foreground of my sight and begin to feel overwhelmed with an emotion I can't name at this moment. I feel a lump in my throat, and the tears start to flow more regularly now.
I open the sunroof to let the crisp, somewhat damp, night air in.
It's strange to be crying simply because I completed a spur-of-the-moment drive. But I realize now that it's more than that; it's deeper than just a drive. This was the first time in my life that I won the psychological war in my head between what I could and can do.
This drive has always been an option. The road has always been there. I've had the ability to do this for years. I could've done this for years. What was stopping me in the first place? Society? Maybe. Myself? More probable.
I've been living out the life that I was programmed to fulfill.
I was born 19 years ago. I went to pre-kindergarten, primary, elementary, middle, and high school. Applied, got into, and am currently attending college. This whole time, I've consistently gotten up early in the morning, eaten breakfast, left for school, paid attention in classes, gone home, done my homework, eaten dinner, gone to bed, and done the whole thing almost identically the next day.
Well.... What exactly is supposed to be next? If life after college is the same agenda but plugging in work where school used to be, then I don't want it. I don't want to be living out a life full of monotonous repetition. I don't want to work in a grey cubicle flooded with fluorescent lighting.
I never dared to break the mold before. Society didn't want me to. I didn't want to. That would've meant being in a situation I had never been in before. That would've meant being uncomfortable.
But that is what life's about. If I'm not entering new and different situations, how else will I stray from the path of homogeneity? I shouldn't want to live a life full of being comfortable. What would be the point?
That's why I'm crying. I'm crying because I realize how dull my life has been so far. I'm crying because I consider myself lucky that I've realized this at 19 and not any later down the road. I'm crying because I realize that I don't know how my life will turn out, and for once, I'm okay with that.