While it’s not an actual disease, it sure seems to dig its claws into you like one.

My first bought of senioritis back in high school (man I feel old), had the typical symptoms: laziness, desire to be anywhere but here, and an overabundance of daydreams in place of studying. I had a friend tell me in high school that she wanted to skip straight from senior year to being elderly. At the time I thought that was ludicrous, but now I see that it wasn’t youth and productive years she wanted to skip, it was the stresses of figuring out who you are as a person, and what you’re going to contribute to this world.

This time around the disease has mutated a bit. It has given me a serious itch.

By itch I don’t mean a physical sensation to scratch my body; I mean it more in the sense of how it’s used in the novel Bellwether, which I read for my online Religion in Science Fiction class. It’s used to describe a feeling of discontent, confusion, and just an indescribable displacement. I tried explaining it to my roommate, and it just came out as, “sort of….itch?” So thank you Bellwether for giving me a word to describe it.

It’s not that I don’t also have a strong desire to daydream rather than study, but I also have this looming question that seems to hover over a lot of people in my station of life: Who am I and what do I stand for? Where is my life going to lead?

I find that wandering around at night, just taking in the stars and remembering that first and foremost I am a human, settles me. It’s easy to forget that fundamental thing. Before I’m a photojournalist, a student, or even a woman, I am a human being. And taking time to appreciate that and the world itself is the best therapy available. I can speak to the trees and the ground and the sky without having to physically form words.

Although talking to friends and family also helps. But it’s the world’s listening ears and my slightly labored breathing as I hike over hills that put me right again. I’ll probably be visiting the great outdoors a lot this year. We each have our own medicine.

Rock Bridge State Park-Winter 2012.

Rock Bridge State Park-Winter 2012.


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