In May, I graduated from college. But I didn't leave. I worked at the Brown library, the Rock, where I had held a student job since the summer after my freshman year. So I continued to walk to work every day from my apartment, a week after graduation, although all my friends had gone home, and I continued to work at the University. And once my lease was up, I drove in to work half an hour each morning from my parents' house, continuing to haunt that campus like a ghost, feeling both insider and outsider, ready to move on and nostalgic like no other. Finally, I left for Guatemala (albeit to work on a Brown-funded archaeological project under the supervision of Brown grad students and a Brown professor). Once I came back, I attempted to avoid Providence altogether. I was living in northern RI with my parents; the weeks following my return to the States were very centered on that town, especially because of my sisters' wedding, and my quick process of readaptation to State-side living.
And then I found myself with this job, located in the heart of the East Side (but, I should emphasize, an East Side that I had never really explored, an East Side that was not Brown campus-oriented). So I do drive through Brown campus everyday still; I hold my breath as I careen down Waterman past Thayer and Brook until, not a moment too soon, I reach Hope, and it's all behind me. And that's the defining feature---that's the point. It's all behind me. It needs to be. And that's what letting go is about.
So when September 25th came and went, and I didn't transfer my four years of thousands of emails (academic correspondence, letters over breaks with friends, letters to and from boyfriends and friends and family while I was abroad during the summers), I was forced to confront this truth. The emotional pack-rat that I am, it made no sense that I wouldn't put aside the time to transfer my digital library of years of correspondence. I have been busy, certainly, but this is a priority, isn't it? Why didn't it matter enough to me to make sure I did it?
I don't know.
All of this remind me of a line from one of my favorite books, Janet Finch's White Oleander , in which the protagonist Astrid, when discussing the nature of her incredibly strong, demanding Viking of a mother, cites this example:
"My mother used to love fire season. She made me decide what I'd take if we had to go. She said if I were brave, I wouldn't take anything."
I like to think that's what this is about, that I'm launching bravely into a new phase of life while letting go of certain unproductive components of a general, overarching nostalgia that defines the way I tend to view my past. I remember all of the ‘crucial’ information—the professional contacts, and even particular lines of advice or information from certain mentors, professors, advisors. I have a few emails saved in various places (the ten most important ones, certainly). And I love my friends dearly, but know that going through old correspondence will likely depress me, while photographs, stories told over cups of tea or bottles of beer, or a couple of minutes of recollection will serve better.
But when I tried to log in today to my Brown email, finally having a few minutes to spare, I was almost surprised when my username and password were denied. I felt no panic, no flow and ebb of regret. Just an, “Okay.” And I took the link out of my bookmark bar. And it was done.
I let time make the decision for me, didn’t I? I just let the 25th pass without intervention--just let my opportunity to digitally pack my stuff and move out pass me by. And that reminds me of a line from a book I’m reading now by David Ebershoff:
“Isn’t that how it works sometimes – the big decisions, I mean. You don’t actually make them, you just roll into them once they’ve become inevitable.”
Letting go was inevitable. And I’m waiting for the real waves of loss to wash over me, to be destroyed by it, to spend a day in bed on account of it, to call my mother or [friends] to be consoled. Another timeless question—is it better to be wrecked about it, or to feel nothing?
I don’t know.
i'm hoping that we'll all get to a point where we feel comfortable being at brown or away from brown as part of the extended brown community, but also have found new spaces and communities that feel equally nourishing and fulfilling, though of course different. i'm sorry you didn't get your emails, glad you're ok with it, though. i hope we can hold on to the good of brown without letting the bad of those times or the loss of it get us too down.
miss you, hope things are going well! this new phase is certainly exciting, too. hugs.
Posted by: anne | 09/28/2008 at 05:42 PM