Every new beginning

"It's so strange being back in college," I told my parents. "I'm sitting on this man-made island. I'm on a bench underneath these trees looking at this path that all these college-y people are running on in their running outfits. Or biking. Even the old guy biking toward me right now is college-y! I can't believe I'm here for so long. It's still surreal."

But classes are starting tomorrow; it's time for me to start blogging again. Maybe this space will help me understand my new reality.

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It's not that I don't see the appeal of keeping one continuous journal over the years. But I like noting chapter breaks. When I want to know what I was thinking, I know which journal to look in. The one my grandmother gave me in middle school. The camp one. The one I bought on sale at the shop in part because I wanted to have something that smelled of that time and place.

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I was on the phone last night with my former roommate. She's got my students this year and is having trouble planning for one class. I don't have high school math textbooks in my living room. And for just a moment, I felt lost.