In the past week or so, stores have begun to advertise Back-to-School sales. As I peruse the newspaper ads for discounted Jelly Roll pens and Trapper Keepers, I feel an acute emptiness. Suddenly, I reach a startling realization: This fall, for the first time in 17 years, I will not be going back to school.
I've been looking forward to this state of being for quite some time, but I must admit the situation strikes me as a bit odd. I'm not entirely sure what to do with myself. Of course, there isn't anything I should be doing with myself. I have entered the Real World. I've been there for a couple months by now. Why am I so surprised?
Three weeks ago, I found myself and three friends walking the campus of Taylor University, our Alma Mater. As we reminisced about the past four years spent in the midst of corn, we couldn't avoid admitting to the specialness of that place. "Oh no," one of us exclaimed. "We've become Taylor Alums!"
Being back on campus was a strange experience in itself. Everything was so familiar, yet at the same time entirely foreign. I can never go back to being a Taylor student. Nor would I want to; I quite enjoy the freedom graduation entails. Yet something within me aches for that familiarity. Perhaps it's the fear of the unknown.
Recently, I disclosed to a coworker my awkward feelings concerning Back-to-School sales. He affirmed my emotions, but reassured me.
"It's ok. You can still buy new shoes."
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