Ohio. So far, this is a land of football (not, unfortunately, the European type), rain, heat, humidity, underfunded libraries, good music, and people, people everywhere. But I’m getting ahead of myself...
Our move on the last weekend of July was stressful work. Thankfully, the moving crew really knew their job and completed it in plenty of time on Friday. We, on the other hand, were up all Thursday night packing. It was a
long night. I would get a box finished, almost fall asleep sitting up, then someone would wake me, I’d drink a glass of water, eat a couple grapes, and try to keep packing. Repeat ad nauseum.
Not surprisingly, tempers were near the breaking point by Saturday and I, in my sleep-deprived state, was definitely not helping things. Finally, I “ran away from home” and took some time to cool down while watching the clouds go sailing over the airport and listening to U2 on my iPod. That time later became a poem (
End of July), but most importantly, I felt a lot better afterwards.
We stayed at a hotel in town Saturday night, because all our things were in the moving truck. That was mostly uneventful—except for the fact that my brother, Pip, is great about security. He, being cautious, locked and dead-bolted the boys’ hotel room door behind my father, who went out that night to take care of some last-minute paper work. When my dad got back to the hotel at somewhere around 1AM, he was locked out and the boys sleep like the dead. It took about five minutes of phone calling their room from the front desk before Dad could get in! :P
On Sunday, we went to church for the last time at our congregation. A friend of our family was there, which was an unexpected surprise, as we hadn’t thought we’d be able to say goodbye to her. She’s about to head off to Afghanistan to teach.
When the farewells were over, we returned to the hotel to gather our things; then hit the road for Ohio. The drive was rather boring. I like to have “road music” on long trips, but no one else in the car was up for it. Besides that, I didn’t have anything to read and the scenery was pretty familiar. Our few stops for food were highlights of the trip.
We spent Sunday night in a hotel a short way from our new city. The Football Hall of Fame was having their big enshrinement celebrations, so there were lights and noise surrounding us. However, our hotel rooms were pretty quiet and I got more sleep than I’d expected.
Next morning, Mom and Dad set off for the house to decide where they wanted things to go and supervise the movers. Pip and I took the younger two down to breakfast and tidied up. Then the parents returned and we all went over to the new house.
I’d known it would be smaller than our old home, but the shock of actually seeing it in person for the first time was too much. It’s shaming to admit, but my response was to be a whinging teenager the whole day we moved in. I knew I shouldn’t complain because I’m far better off than most people in the world, but that afternoon, I wasn’t thinking about people living in cardboard boxes on less than $1 a day. I was thinking about sharing a room with my sister, which meant a loss of almost all my accustomed privacy. That, more than the loss of space, was very hard to accept.
The first couple weeks of living in our new house reminded me of Cinderella’s ambitious stepsisters cutting their toes and heels off so they could squeeze their feet into the glass slipper. Everything was too close, too high, too low, too damp, too warm. It was akin to camping indoors. Boxes were (and still are) everywhere. Worse still, for me,
people were everywhere.
Some days, I couldn’t take it any longer, so I began hoping on my bike and setting off alone through the city. God’s hand of protection was definitely on me, because I got lost once and I found a mission where a woman kindly directed me home. After that, I started being more reasonable about my bike rides. I also started reading my Bible more regularly and found comfort in several Psalms.
Just about the time I felt I’d begun to adjust to living here, it was time to get ready for college. I took three days to “study” for the ACT and took it on Monday the 17th. The test room was empty of anyone but myself, so it was wonderfully quiet and I could even whisper a few things out loud to decide whether they sounded right. I was rather nervous, because there was more math in the science section than there’d been in the GED, but I felt that the English and Reading sections went well.
That afternoon, I finally got the results from my GED back... Not only had I passed, I passed with
honours. It was a complete shock. I’m still struggling to understand it. The one thing that makes sense is that I was strong enough on Reading/Essay, Social Studies, and Science, that it made up for my low math score.
The next day (Tuesday), I had a meeting with my admissions counselor. He gave me the results of my ACT... I’d passed it with honours as well! Apparently, the same thing happened with it that happened on my GED—my reading skills outweighed my lack of math skills.
Once the short meeting was over, I and my parents went on a tour of campus. It was mildly interesting but pretty artificial. I’ll truly know the place only once I’m a student there.
Since that meeting, I’ve spent my time working out which classes I’m taking during the first semester. Today, I have a meeting with the woman in charge of the university’s honours program, to discuss it with her. I’m still not certain whether I should take part in it or not, so hopefully this will help me decide. That will have to happen quickly as I have orientation this week and classes begin on the 31st.
Everything feels like it’s moving at the speed of light, right now. Part of me is ready to “face the footlights” and enter the world of university. The other part of me wants to cover my eyes like a scared kid and run in the opposite direction.
I think that if I knew where I’m going this would all be much easier. People like Bono who knew from young adulthood that they would be doing what they’re still doing seem to have it so easy. But then, I’m not them, so I can’t say for sure.
All I know is that I’m caught in a contradiction as usual. I’m a child and an adult, an idealist and a pragmatist, a dreamer and a doer, drawn by the world of great art and afraid of what it could do to me, certain of what I want and completely unsure of how to get there. The land of in-between can be very frustrating, but I suppose I’d rather have it than nothing at all.
“How is one to live a moral and compassionate existence when one is fully aware of the blood, the horror inherent in life, when one finds darkness not only in one's culture but within oneself? If there is a stage at which an individual life becomes truly adult, it must be when one grasps the irony in its unfolding and accepts responsibility for a life lived in the midst of such paradox. One must live in the middle of contradiction, because if all contradiction were eliminated at once life would collapse. There are simply no answers to some of the great pressing questions. You continue to live them out, making your life a worthy expression of leaning into the light.”—Barry Lopez
Current mood:
Nervous.
Current musica:
Another Time, Another Place, by U2
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