I’ve started to count down the days. I downloaded one of those countdown apps and everything, even though there are way too many ads and it keeps badgering me to buy the full version, which I have no intention of doing.
But I’ve started to count down the days: 74.
I’m supposed to be sad right? I’m supposed to be sad that in just a short number of days everything I’ve known for a very long time will be different and that part of my life will be over. Of course there will be the reminiscing and the keeping in touch and the cringing and giggling when thinking back. But, I’m supposed to be sad about the end of it of it all. I’m supposed to be sitting here hoping that it all doesn’t end so quickly.
But I’m counting down the days: 73.
Because I’m not sad. I’m jaded and tired and exhausted and worn out and run down. I’ve become the cliche that I never thought I would be. 72.
Maybe it’s because the idea of all of this ending is so intangible. I know that I can’t really make an assumption about how I’m actually going to feel when it all comes to a close, when I walked up those steps, and sit on those risers, but as of right now, I’m ready. 71.
I’ve outgrown it all. It’s like a favorite t-shirt that I’ve loved for a long time. It is soft and comfortable and I put it on to feel safe and secure. But it also has stains and holes. 13 years worth. 70, 69, 68. And I know it doesn’t fit right anymore. It hasn’t for a while now. 67, 66, 65.
I know that it has seen better days and I know that the best thing to do is chuck it into the “let it go” pile with the rest of clutter that has started to overwhelm me. 64, 63, 62, 61. That doesn’t mean I didn’t love how it felt, or I didn’t appreciate all of the good memories I had wearing it. We had a good run. 60, 59, 58, 57.
There is no denying that these were some of the best days. There is no denying that these were some of the worst. Maybe it’s the frustrations and the heartaches that make me want the days to go by faster. Maybe it’s because the milestones didn’t feel important enough, or the emotions weren’t big enough or the nostalgia was more irritating than heartwarming. 56, 55, 54, 53.
Maybe it’s because I thought I would be more scared. And sure I’m scared. I’m terrified. But I’m not afraid of being afraid. I know it comes with the territory and that things don’t stay the same forever and that they are not supposed to. 52, 51, 50.
So maybe it’s an acceptance of my fate that has led to me counting down the days. Because now I get to be excited about what comes after I get to 1.
49, 48, 47, 46, 45, 44, 43, 42, 41, 40.
I’ve still got 40 or so left. I’ve still got time and days to fill. No matter how ready I feel to move on and leave all of this behind, I might as well make those 40 count while I keep counting down.
– Meredith Rupp, The Agnes Irwin School, Class of 2015