It was swelteringly hot the day we moved her in to her freshman dorm. The welcome week staff helped us get all her belongings into her triple-occupancy room, where we would soon meet her roommates.
But it must have been longer than a few weeks ago or a few months, because she spent three and a half years there. And I finished high school and went through an entire year of college (minus finals week, which is coming tomorrow). And we’re different now, all of us. The time went quickly but made its mark. She’s got a real, big-girl job now and a fiancé and wedding plans. And I’ve got a new city and friends and dreams. And my parents had an empty nest for a semester until Brooke came back home to live there for a bit.
I’m still getting used to the way life works: circumstances change before you’re ready for them to change. You picture the future, and in this dreamy future, you’re a different person with better habits and fewer rough edges. Then you get to that point in your life and are shocked to find that you haven’t come as far as you thought you would have by this point.
I suppose we expect to be a finished product a little bit too soon. But we really sell ourselves short of how much we could grow if we say we must be done growing by adulthood. We’ll miss out on the changing process if we have to cram it all in eighteen years.
Today, what it means to be nineteen is that time flies by, and I’m not who I expected I’d be, but I’m a work in progress, with an emphasis on the in progress part.