Springtime is bittersweet. Whereas Autumn is filled with the fluttering of beginnings, spring usually means the end of something. In my case this spring would have been the time I graduated from Stanford. One of my tutees (who is in elementary school) recently asked me if I cried once I went on leave because of my knee. Cried for what I asked? He wondered if I cried because I missed school and my friends.
I told him I hadn't but that's a supreme lie. Sure I cried. Hell I still cry sometimes and let the tears fall on Pilgrim's fur, crimping it in the area that becomes wet. Mostly I cry for what I remember and what I feel like I'm missing. Lost time and lost experiences, lost years I guess are what I cry for.
I can see the path that would have led me to graduation this year, a senior. I guess I would have already had to decide whether or not I wanted to pursue a Master's or PhD degree. Would I want to teach or would I have been as set on writing?
Then I think that I would've almost been stuck in time without ever really growing or evolving. I would have been set in my ways, in a box. Stuck with the same old friends and close-mindedness. I wouldn't change or trade the person I am today for the naive one I was.
I hadn't written for a while. Tomorrow I am seeing my surgeon to find out if the cartilage transplant was semi-successful. I am back on the two crutches and feel like throwing them into the fire. I want to be able to walk Pilgrim finally and to return to college in the fall.
The summer is an open book. What lies ahead I don't know but I feel some excitement in the air.