When I first went away to college, I had a miserable time of it. I wasn’t emotionally ready to go away to school. I was terminally shy and didn’t know how to provide for myself. To make myself feel better, I would drive the two hours back to my old high school and hang around with some of my friends from the theater department. I was able to play the conquering alum, basking in the glory of Being Away at College, pretending that I was having a great time. But even in the state I was in, I eventually realized that what I was doing was unhealthy, bordering on pathetic, and ever since I’ve had a severe reaction against going back to the places that I came from.
I bring this up because today I’m filling in at a library that’s right next to my old place of work. I used to come in to this library during breaks to escape and write on my old livejournal site. Despite some of my bad memories, I still know good people there, and I’m wondering if I should go back, pop my head in, and say hi.
I think I’m going to. There’s no good reason why I shouldn’t. And I certainly don’t want that place to have a hold on me. Somebody on a documentary I was watching recently said that whenever his body told him not to do something, he knew right then that it was something he needed to do, to face your fears and insecurities and to make sure they don’t conquer you.
Good rule of thumb, really. Except if you’re a mountain climber.