Fall, Fourth Year
Allison Huffman
As a senior, I haven’t stopped thinking about the future since I moved back to Oxford for the last time.
There’s an air of nerves and expectation, hope and fear in every conversation. The seniors I talk to are full of conflicting emotions, and everyone asks the same questions: What are you doing after graduation? Have you found a job yet? Is that really what you want to do with the rest of your life?
A few weeks ago, the not-knowing got to be too much for me. I couldn’t write another word of my application because my fingers were frozen. My mind spiraled, spinning with uncertainty about where I might be this time next year or the year after that.
I scrolled through LinkedIn and Instagram until my eyes strained, until I decided it was too late for me; I should just move to another state where no one knows my name and start over again.
While walking to class, I felt a crushing temporality and an anxiety to keep moving. My legs couldn’t carry me fast enough. I was floating above myself in the present moment, waiting to reach some future point where I’ll no longer have to wonder.
To ground myself, I took a long drive. Driving on the country roads around Oxford, I opened both windows to the crisp half-summer, half-fall air and breathed in the smell of dying leaves.
I watched dried corn stalks and hills burnished with amber and gold blur past. I turned on my favorite oldies radio station until the music was too loud, and I started to remember what being me felt like.
When waves of apprehension close in on me, I light a candle and place it on my desk while I work. The tiny, unsteady flame and the scent of cinnamon bring me back to the space in between my breaths.
On morning walks to class, when my mind starts to cycle through the worst scenarios, I focus on the slants of light through the trees and the illuminated dew on the grass.
While washing the dishes, I try to look outside at the train rolling by, shaking everything in its path. I pause for the far-off bells marking the hours. I listen to my best friend laughing through my phone speaker.
The future is important, and I’m working on it. I want my dream job and my dream life, but it’s these little things that keep me going until then. No matter where I am, what’s undecided or unsure, I will still have these moments that require no success or status to hold.
