This morning in one of my classes, we read a story about a hermit crab. One day in January, the hermit crab realizes that he is too big for his shell- and he needs to move on. Although he is afraid of the big fish that are outside of his shell, he steps outside and finds a new one. Over the course of a year he finds new friends to decorate his shell and navigate the ocean with him - once he is satisfied with his new home in December, he realizes that he has outgrown that one, also.
After we read the story, my class of seniors sat in silence. For the past semester, we had thought that we were in different places. Some graduating in December (in a few weeks) and some in May (still light years away... right?) Some going to grad school, some finding jobs, some taking time off, and some not having a clue what they wanted to do. We sat stone still as we realized that we had one thing in common - the outgrowing of a place we've called home - which was downright terrifying. As we left class, I heard someone say behind me "Wow, shit just got real" and another person "Yeah, I was not ready for that today" and I realized that my future is approaching at a much more rapid pace than I would like... sort of.
I currently sit through classes that I no longer have interest in. I walk around a campus that is sometimes too familiar, and participate in clubs where I have heard the guest speakers, done the activities, and, essentially, am outgrowing it. I am ready to move on and start a career in the health field, and if I can't do that for a few more years, then at least go to a new school, make new friends, and find new challenges. I've always said that Manhattan, Kansas is way too small for me and I currently feel like I'm busting at the seams. We talked in class today about how one of our biggest fears about moving on is "what if I don't find this anywhere else?" We concluded that as different as we all are, we managed to find ourselves at K-State, however we got there, and we were afraid that the next part of the journey would only leave us lost.
But then, I reflect back to the person that I was freshman year. I remember the night that I moved to K-State. I worked my last day at my favorite job in the whole world, said goodbye to almost 40 kids as each parent came for pickup, and then toted home with me the memory book, blanket, and signatures from my daycare parents that I was sure I would keep forever. I cried the whole way to Manhattan, riding with my friend Natalie who came because we were going to separate schools, hers without cell phone service, and I wouldn't see her again until Thanksgiving. My transition to K-State, mostly smooth, was interrupted by the death of a friend seven weeks in, and dealing with the loss of Brenna just before moving in the first place, by October, I felt like I was hanging on by the skin of my teeth.
I think about the dorm room that I lived in freshman year - filled with pictures of friends, memories, and daycare kids that I promised myself I would never let me less important to me. I kept every picture of Brenna that I had on the wall, terrified of forgetting. I made some awesome friends, many of which I still see, and one of whom I live with now, three years later.
In the last three and a half years, I have attended football games, house parties, and played intramural sports. I have sat through classes where I felt like I could have been doing a thousand other things and classes where I felt like I just found the answer to life. I have had more than one great friendship begin and end. I've been overseas twice, watched my sister transition to college, and thought over and over about how freshman me would never have thought that senior me would be this happy with the way life is going.
I read a quote once in high school that said "bloom where you are planted." and it has stuck with me over the last several years. In high school, that was the kids I did laundry for, put down for nap everyday, fed snack to, and cleaned up after. But eventually, I could feel myself growing out of that, too. In college, it was with people - in my major, minor, residence halls, and with Christian Challenge. But I can feel myself being a bit 'uprooted' and beginning to be moved somewhere else - a somewhere else that I don't know yet. And when I think about the way K-State changed me and helped me learn who I am, I find myself terrified about what's to come.
A few weeks ago, I lost my car keys. Much to my dismay, I never found them and had to pay a good sum of money for a new car key and house key. When I got both new keys, I decided to go back to using a lanyard because my key ring didn't (obviously) do a good job of helping me keep track of them. I figured it would be temporary, but I've been carrying them that way for almost a month.
When I was at home the weekend after I lost them, I dug into the box under my bed that contains the few keepsakes I have left of Brenna. I am always proud of myself when I am able to get rid of things that were hers that hold no other meaning, trusting myself that she cannot and should not be contained to materialistic things, and one by one, they've gone over the last three years. One of the things I've hung onto, however, is the lanyard that was made right after she died - mostly for the lifeguards to use in her honor that summer, but also for her friends. I honestly don't know that I ever used it, but I put my key ring on it and it hasn't come off yet. I love carrying her around with me and knowing that my 'roots' will always stay the same. I will be rooted in a community who values the idea that 'it takes a village to raise a child.' I will always be rooted in a graduating class who knows pain and the value of family more than any 17 year old ever should. I will always be rooted the knowledge that I was raised in a family of people privileged enough to have the Phelps protest a funeral of someone I loved.
As I can see the bright yellow lanyard with the black initials swing back and forth in the cup holder of my backpack, I think about the person that I was when I moved to K-State, the person I will be when I move to graduate school, and hopefully, an even better person when I finish with another degree in three more years. I am learning to understand and appreciate the beauty of outgrowing things - understanding that all the growth and giving that can be done here is done, and it's time to move on. I never thought that moving on could be a positive thing, especially since I felt like I left Topeka in such a tough place. But over the last few months, I have realized that I, like many of my friends, am outgrowing my 'shell' of K-State - and am more than ready to see what else is out there - even if it might be some really big fish.
