I'm leaving my home in Colorado for what might be the last time in my life. Oh sure, I'll most likely return see my family for small jaunts here or there, but in all likelihood, when I set my feet outside this morning, I will never again return for any hint of an extended stay.
This is, of course, a melancholy of my own doing. I am the one who chose to live in Seattle this summer, I am the one who decided that school so far away from Colorado was necessary, and it's entirely my own fault that I happened to keep aging long enough to actually reach adulthood.
There is more going on here than meets the eye. For example, that adulthood is a construction my parents built which requires A) that I leave the house and do not return to live with them, B) obtain a job which by which I can gain independence, and C) obtain the necessary life skills to pass on this way of living to my children, should I have any.
I sound like a whiny brat who can't seem to grasp the maturity to grow up. Touche, dear life! Call me a whiny brat then. In my defense, my buzzing rests simultaneously on my immaturity, and more and more on a growing skepticism of this strong individualism that we promote.
The argument goes like this, in a single question: Why should I learn to be a rugged and mature individual when the best life is found in community?
But so much for my intellectualism, eh? So much for my believing that my excuses for wanting to return home were ones based solely on my skepticism toward the pressure to be an individual. It is that, but also more prominently my immaturity at the whole process of growing old.
Bah! Enough rambling and self effacing. I have packing to do.
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