Today was my second day of my senior year at Colorado College, and I still feel euphoria about this silly kinda crazy place.

Technically though, it’s only my second “first day” of a fall semester at Colorado College. January marks my two year transfer anniversary. I graduate this spring.

Four years ago I had no intentions of going to college. Or, I guess that’s incorrect, because going back to school was my dream. It just felt so incredibly unattainable. Especially CC. I didn’t finish high school. My GPA was mediocre. I never took the SAT or ACT. I had no school involvement, and embarrassingly no community engagement.


But I wanted it. And CC enabled me. The dream of it. The hope. I didn’t care if the chances were slim, I was at least going to try. So I did. I pushed through community college courses in Humboldt County and Orange County. I took summer blocks here as a visiting student (which only deepened my enthusiasm). I interviewed twice, then showed up in the Admission Office a third time two weeks after I submitted my application. I spent months rewriting, reworking, revising my essays. And I said, hey, you know, if I don’t get in, at least I’ve come this far, at least I now have my feet in the college waters. I was just giddy with the idea. With the opportunity. I was stupid with determination to attempt to go for my personal gold.

And I was accepted as transfer student in Winter 2012. I sobbed hysterically when the Fed Ex truck pulled up in front of my house. I (happily) sobbed when I moved into my dorm (which was a shock after living in condos and apartments and houses on my own since I was seventeen). And now I work in the Admission Office, and I still sometimes sob, because sometimes it feels too much.

I keep waiting to wake up and still be eighteen, nineteen, still in the application process. But now I only have two semesters left. I’m a senior. That’s odd. That’s very odd.

And it’s so syrupy sappy sweet, it’s so over dramatic of me, but I still get light headed from the thrill when I walk on campus at the beginning of a block. I still have moments of shock that I’m here. That they let me in. Three years ago I couldn’t handle taking more than one community college class at a time, couldn’t have a job if I was enrolled, couldn’t write if I wasn’t only writing. Yet somehow, CC has given me the gift of balance, or maybe, really, given me the confidence to push my limits.

STILL STILL STILL. Still is the word of today’s blog. I always have an abused word. Apologies to those who are bothered. I know who you are.


I should be writing a paper on Faulkner. I should be packing for my new home. I should be reading The Sound and the Fury. But I needed to pause, needed to take a time out, because it’s only the second day and already I’m feeling weighed down. My “summer” was only three weeks long, three weeks that in truth weren’t all that relaxing, and my mind is spinning from the turn around. And I want to hold onto this feeling, the feeling that’s stronger in the early morning when I crossing the quad, the feeling that surfaces when I’m talking about CC to an eager prospective student, or when I remember being eighteen. Eighteen and living up the street (and I’ll actually be living up the same street again after this weekend), working full time at a natural food store, lying on the grass, not even knowing I was lying on CC grass, but thinking this feels right. This feels so right.

It’s a good way to feel. This is a good place to be.