Circumstance brings us to unusual places, and thus, I’m writing this from the library of my alma mater. I’m not a student. Just a visitor—or loiterer, I guess.
It’s strange. The last time I walked this campus, I was a different person. I suppose this is an arbitrary statement—Hell, I was a different person last month. But the difference between college student and fully-grown human being is particularly vast, and thus, I’m experiencing a sort of cognitive dissonance in which I instinctively know which way to walk, but I’m marveling at the place as though I’m seeing it for the first time.
You know how places that used to look huge to us as children are dwarfed when we see them again as adults? I used to think that this had something to do with our physical size. As a kid, we were smaller. Of course Grandma’s little shoebox apartment looked massive.
Seeing this campus again, I realize this change in perspective has nothing to do with the size of our bodies. It’s the size of our experience.
At twenty years old, this college was the biggest thing I’d ever seen. I don’t mean this literally, of course. I grew up a subway ride away from Manhattan. I’d seen much larger things than a lawn and some buildings. But I’d never been a part of something so big.
I was timid. Everyone around me seemed somewhat threatening. So, I made a routine that I rarely deviated from. I hung out in the same three buildings. I ate at the same on-campus cafe. Even now, after having spent four years coming to this place four to five times a week, there are probably more places on these grounds that I haven’t seen than ones that I have.
In life, we do most of our learning without realizing it. The whole place feels more manageable to me now. I could map it out if I tried. This wasn’t a transformation I felt. It just happened.
Strangely, though, the thing that’s stuck out to me the most this time around is the vending machines. I’m slightly hungry and slightly thirsty. I have ever-so-slightly more money than I had while attending this school. Thus, I find myself gawking at every single one seeing what snacks I can justify purchasing.
For nostalgia’s sake, I bought the same brand of plantain chips that I used to eat all the time back then. They were just as good. However, here’s the kicker—in the five years since I attended this school, I’ve started drinking copious amounts of seltzer. A college campus full of vending machines is a treasure trove.
Flavored seltzer lines the hallways of this place. The most magical thing about it was right in front of me the whole time, and I never knew! And here’s the best part. Are you ready? The flavors vary from machine to machine.
The first seltzer I bought was a refreshing lemon-lime. At the second machine I approached, the only flavor was black cherry. One of my favorites!
Isn’t it fantastic? If the same options are always available, I choose a favorite and buy the same thing every time. This would keep me on my toes! If I had the pleasure of reliving my youth, this would be enough to lift my spirits indefinitely.
I’m kidding—sort of. I did notice it (and I did immediately afterwards have the urge to roam the buildings in search of novel seltzer flavors). But it got me thinking. Sometimes, the things that make us happy in life are small. And sometimes, we may have to venture out of our comfort zone a tiny bit to find them. Also, sometimes, hindsight may be the only thing we need to appreciate them.
My black cherry seltzer is finished now, and I’m getting sick of sitting here, so I’m going to end with a corny question:
If you could travel five years into the future and come back to see your current life, what would you appreciate?
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Everything we see and seem, everything we do and dream, is fleeting.
Great question Melissa. The good Family and Friends! Not the others.