I drive to work in the cold 50 degree shiver of the morning. I’ve started wearing sweatshirts outside of my house and turning on the heat in my car. Leaves are beginning to scatter on the ground, forming a collage of oranges and reds that mixes in with the few green leaves that are left.
It’s September in every sense –– it’s written on my mom’s whiteboard in the hall, highlighted on my phone lockscreen, whispered in the crisp breeze. But, this September is different from all my Septembers before.
Every fall used to be so exciting. At the first trace of summer’s end, my mom would take my siblings and I to Target to pick out school supplies when we were kids. We would bring lists from our school that required us to have items like glue sticks, pencils and loose-leaf paper. I picked out binders and composition notebooks with colorful patterns along with a fresh JanSport backpack. We all browsed the aisles for new clothes to match our fluorescent Converse, bows and clips to pin our hair back with, and socks that would eventually all get lost.
Even though summer was ending, fall always felt exciting. It was something new –– a new grade level, a new school, a new season of sports. Things felt different in the fall. It felt like the second season of a TV show. The cameras were rolling again, featuring new and old cast members each year. It was a clean slate –– a new chance to learn and make friends and figure out who I wanted to be.
And then college came and the fall was even more exciting than before. There was dorm room shopping and apartment shopping and buying kitchenware that had no business being in a college apartment. There were football games to look forward to and parties and bar crawls. After long summers of working and saving money, the fall felt like it was all worth it. I was back with my friends, in this new place that became home.
Every fall also had a new stack of classes. Each year of college, I found myself loving my classes more and more. I took poetry classes, french classes and even a class on alcohol my senior year. Yes, some were hard and had strict professors who assigned long papers that I struggled to hit the word count for. But, I never hated that part. I knew that the boring homework would eventually be over, and a new semester would begin.
This fall, and September, is obviously different. I’m working as a bartender, trying to find a journalism job and avoiding “back-to-school” TikToks as much as I can. I keep falling victim to Penn State football videos or “two years ago” photos on Snapchat that remind me of my former college life. I should be there, I think to myself. I should be doing homework. I should be tailgating at 9 a.m. I should be in school.
But I’m not. I graduated. I finished my very last year of school and have no plans for grad school. It’s weird to think about my kindergarten self getting lost in my elementary school, and how I thought school would last forever.
I’ve always thought about the day school would be over –– no more homework or tests or papers. I dreamed of it sometimes. I prayed for it to come during my high school AP exams. And now, I’m here and it’s hard to know what to do with myself. My body is not used to not being in school. I have this sudden drive to do something, to learn something, to write my name and date at the top of a page, but for what? My muscle memory is all confused and wondering why I don’t have pencil-dents on my fingers.
What do I do with all that academic validation now? I guess I will have to start leaving grades on my blog posts instead.
How do you feel about school being over? Let me know by emailing me: gingerlyons23@gmail.com:)
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