Young

As a 21 year-old and senior in college I get to feel old--mature even--a lot of the time.

I have college figured out. I certainly don't feel "Shipped Off" anymore. Ithaca is my home. I have family and friends here as much as I do back in Maryland. I may still dress inappropriately for the weather ("WHERE IS YOUR COAT?" concerned northern roommates query), but at least I've finally accepted wool socks as a permanent staple in my life.

I classes I am comfortable to contribute. I am confident in my work. I don't have to figure out in advance where my classes are. Some younger members of the team ask me for advice, though they probably shouldn't because crew is just finally clicking for me. I am taking classes that are challenging but enjoyable. I get my work done.

I enjoyed this feeling of completeness and assuredness all throughout break. Then, miraculously, my future post-May began to fall into place. As I begin to grapple with even the concept of days of 9 to 5 and salaries and taxes and 401Ks, I have never, ever felt so incredibly young. I am lucky. I really am, to have a plan. But for some strange reason, after the dancing around and excitement, I feel like I'm holding my breath.

Maybe it's because the future is so radically different from now. That it's really the beginning of my story, of something I could call a career, the climb onto the bottom rung of the grisly ladder of politics. Maybe it's the realization that I've learned so much about the world and its structure, mechanisms, and eccentricities over these past four years and but I still know very little about it.

I don't know. For now I will remind myself to breathe and to enjoy the cocoon of dining halls and 6am practice and erg tests and research papers. That's okay, right?