Looks Like Tomorrow Is Coming On Fast

I sat in this same building half-a-decade ago (that sounds so much statelier than five years, don’t you think?), a rather unwilling violist in the Alabama All-State Orchestra.  I’d put much less thought in the ensemble than my outfit: tight bell-bottoms and a perfectly worn Dylan tee. I wiggled, squirmed, made eyes at the curly haired bassist behind me—who later serenaded me with Desolation Row—and thought mainly about my chances of scoring the much-coveted Oreos on our next break

1,825 days (and a few boys) later, and I’m still fidgeting, wiggling, and making eyes via emoticon at my main squeeze while learning about Ghanaian drumming. It’s a different boy now, still curly headed.  A different kind of love, too: still puppy-eyed and gooey, but better then I could have dreamt when I was a very angst-y sixteen (I blame it on Bob).  My application for graduation was accepted today: the day has come despite many last minute scrambles which often made me doubt its probability (or for that matter, possibility).

Time has moved a bit too unwaveringly for my taste.  I’ve since collected many more Dylan shirts from many more shows, backpacked through Europe, lived in five different apartments with eleven different roommates, and survived a semester studying solo in France.  Often, my to-do list grows so daunting that I forget to look at what I’ve done; however, as graduation looms and avoiding it is becoming increasingly impossible (no matter how deep I stick my fingers in my ears and how piercingly I scream) I find myself becoming increasingly nostalgic.

I want a comforting platitude to cling to as I jump off the cliff into The Real World.  The thing is, no quote by Dr. Seuss and the Dalai Lama quite cuts the cold sweat that breaks out over my entire body at the mere mention of The Future. If I’ve learned anything though, it’s that I’ll “stake my future on a hell of a past/ [cause it] looks like tomorrow is comin’ on fast.”