Stairway to Preschool
The full-circle life may be literarily interesting but in practice has its ups and downs. As short as my life has been so far I feel vaguely hubristic writing about such lofty and enduring themes but Chicago for me offers many things that fit the bill, and tonight it's what comes to mind. I went to campus again today (back in the library for homework, a nap in McCormick lounge, chatting with a Broadview resident, a quick trip to office hours, throwing in front of Eckhart and of course unix boggle) and spent a good day not far distant from a couple years ago. This is a small full-circle for me, a larger one would be if I end up back in Illinois for grad school and spend another 4 years (or longer) writing papers and trying to be intelligent about things that have no certainties. Another pretentious exercise, but at least one that I find fascinating. Another full-circle option is if I end up at the Field again this summer housing and/or moving and wrestling with Filemaker and lost objects which is actually what I'm hoping for, although this circle would take a turn for the worse, into the third quadrant, for example, if by necessity that position becomes permanent and year-round again.
The problem is that these things are small, really, in the sense that they only encompass my life post-high school. But there is one small and strange moment of revelation that I feel every time I step onto campus and venture into the Eckhart basement - for a moment I return to pre-school. It's in the smell of the exterior stairwell. I can't quite explain what the smell is - dingy, humid concrete - something oddly like pee and apple juice - a mustiness that never passes. The first time I went into the stairwell by the archway in the RC it hit me and I was shocked into surprise. I knew the smell, but it took me a few moments to place it. I have never forgotten after that and think of my preschool every time I descend. It is a strange feeling, especially so when I was in my first quarter of college. It's hard to forget the morning I spent running around with She-Ra and Lincoln Logs, the day I stapled my thumb or smashed a little boy's finger in a bathroom stall. I still feel guilty about that. We are so close to our childhoods if we bother to keep in touch with them. I had lunch with a friend today and we talked about people who let their work persona overtake their personal life. I hope this is never the case for me. I don't want to lose my love of skipping or snow-angels, my excitement about Disneyland and Girl Scout Cookies, my preference for hot chocolate over coffee and fresh squeezed lemonade over margaritas. I can't imagine "becoming a suit" as they say, and although I have no intention of putting myself into that specific field of employment, it's still all too easy to bring the trials and attitudes of the day home. I'd rather do the opposite - bring hopscotch and popsicles to work with me and maintain a childlike wonder about the tasks we do every day. At the very least, I hope I can still go back to Eckhart every once in a while to breathe in deep.
The problem is that these things are small, really, in the sense that they only encompass my life post-high school. But there is one small and strange moment of revelation that I feel every time I step onto campus and venture into the Eckhart basement - for a moment I return to pre-school. It's in the smell of the exterior stairwell. I can't quite explain what the smell is - dingy, humid concrete - something oddly like pee and apple juice - a mustiness that never passes. The first time I went into the stairwell by the archway in the RC it hit me and I was shocked into surprise. I knew the smell, but it took me a few moments to place it. I have never forgotten after that and think of my preschool every time I descend. It is a strange feeling, especially so when I was in my first quarter of college. It's hard to forget the morning I spent running around with She-Ra and Lincoln Logs, the day I stapled my thumb or smashed a little boy's finger in a bathroom stall. I still feel guilty about that. We are so close to our childhoods if we bother to keep in touch with them. I had lunch with a friend today and we talked about people who let their work persona overtake their personal life. I hope this is never the case for me. I don't want to lose my love of skipping or snow-angels, my excitement about Disneyland and Girl Scout Cookies, my preference for hot chocolate over coffee and fresh squeezed lemonade over margaritas. I can't imagine "becoming a suit" as they say, and although I have no intention of putting myself into that specific field of employment, it's still all too easy to bring the trials and attitudes of the day home. I'd rather do the opposite - bring hopscotch and popsicles to work with me and maintain a childlike wonder about the tasks we do every day. At the very least, I hope I can still go back to Eckhart every once in a while to breathe in deep.
posted by trophywife at 9:15 PM
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