“History will be kind to me for I intend to write it.” – Winston Churchill
So I’m going off to college in the fall. That happened. The school of choice is Wheaton College in the suburbs of Chicago, known for its birthing of Billy Graham and for its world-class dining commons.
Needless to say, I’ve had to shake myself by the shoulders a bit recently and tell myself, “hark, self. Adulthood hath creeped up on you.” Sure, I still play with my Legos and take goofy pictures of myself in bow ties, but there’s that plot point on our life stories that we all pass at some point where we have to stand back to take stock in where we’ve come from and where we’re going. It’s the “oh crap. I just grew up” plot point. A lot of times this is forced on young people by their circumstances, but other times it comes slowly and naturally, popping up at strange times like it did for me in the parking lot of a local Meijer.
As a kid, I looked up to people my age now as bastions put-togetherness, savoir faire, and awesomeness. I feel bad for that little me’s gross misunderstanding of the human condition at this stage of life. The fact of the matter, though, is we’re all—every one of us humans—floundering our way through our lives. Time is a cruel master, and we only get one shot at making it work. We’re all interludes in some grander performance, sandwiched between the verses of past and future, ever anticipating the next notes on our score.
The world is a big place.
And, oh look. It’s raining.