Twenty eight


This morning my assignment was to take a few photos of the first day of school. While driving to the paper to get the camera and then to the school, I was reminiscing about first days. My most recent first day memory was my senior year of college, (FIVE YEARS AGO!), and I smiled about the chaotic beauty of that year, spending my nights either at The Collegian office or somewhere along downtown Brookings.

In college, especially the last couple of years, the first days was a plea to hold on to this special time of life, where the world is within grasp and invincible is the only way to be. In high school, the first day brought hope that there was life beyond this small town. I don’t remember middle school much, but aren’t those the years you are supposed to forget? And, in elementary, the first day was fun, exciting.

As I was touring my memory hall of first days, I realized that in January I will have another first day — this time, a teacher. On another continent, in what will feel like another world, I’ll go back to school to educate. That’s a scary and intimidating thought. But, when that first day comes, I will hold on to the precious moment, knowing it won’t last. It will be full of hope, for the school year and my time in Lesotho. And, most of all, excitement will outshine.

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