20/30

20
I remember when I was 20,
I think.
Yeah, I do. I was living on McElroy Street in Stillwater.
"MACK-el-roy" was the correct pronunciation according to my roomie, the English major. But most people in town said "Mick-EL-roy." I said both depending on who I was talking to. (...I just took a short moment to reflect on what that might mean in regards to my personal interactions...)

Our house was old, wood frame and white. A cute front porch and a decent sized backyard that was covered in poison ivy and honeysuckle. Bittersweet. A garage filled with things that were not ours, except for storage of our bikes.
I was working on my Bachelor of Science in Psychology and running 60-70 miles/week on the cross-country/track team. I allowed myself afternoon naps and began to realize my need for organization when it came to my living space.

20 was a launching point. The beginning of the decade where everything changed, and changed again, and again. I felt as though I was standing in a door frame, with a wildly rushing river beneath, and I was getting ready to jump in, and I nearly felt it physically when I did. My seams were bulging and ripping. College, rent houses, roommates, cross country trips, life changes, graduation, tuition repayment, marriage, big kid jobs, bill-paying, travel, first drunken nights, stagnancy then movement, tearing down and rebuilding, promising myself the world.
I feel another doorway, another river with a passionate undertow. I recognize the current and effect of the seasons. Sweet, scary motion.