I wrote in my journal not too long ago, “I went home to find everyone struggling to realize… I wrote in my journal not too long ago, “I went home to find everyone struggling to realize that I wasn’t like them anymore, and in a way, never was.”

Of course, I have friends back home. A certain familiar comfort is brought from just sleeping in my own bed. And a trip back is undoubtedly good for at least a few nights. But the thought of anything more leaves me with a strange emptiness; a feeling that I’ve taken all this town has to offer and then some.

Life moves in phases. High school seemed like it took forever and now it’s forever ago. And I imagine, soon, college will be the same way.

I used to periodically write out all the problems in my life on a particular day, short and long term. Then I’d put the paper away for a few weeks. It’s not a bad practice; you should try it. When I came back to the paper it was always the same – 90 percent of my worries ceased to exist, let alone have relevance.

So I wrote again in my journal, “Those days have passed and life has gone on.” But the life that comes out the other side of 30, 100 or 365 days is often extremely different from that which went in. My day-to-day life is nothing like it was this time last year. I imagine yours isn’t either.

That’s just the way things work I suppose. The food at a favorite restaurant loses its taste. The words of a favorite author become mundane. The idiosyncrasies of a lover grow annoying. The advice of a closest friend becomes cliched. Classes become internships. Scenery changes and life goes on abroad for a year but upon return, it all seems like a distant dream.

I’m not trying to depress you. Although, something does seem to be lost when all the worries and habits in one’s life are realized to be fleeting and temporary. Maybe Milan Kundera was right. Maybe we are all just stumbling through life blindfolded. Because we only live once, we have no way of learning or knowing that any decision we make was in fact the better choice.

I guess that could be depressing. But I like stumbling; it’s like a constant freshness; a feeling that life can become anything if you stumble around long enough. It’s a choice to push away all the lamenting about the joys of home that no longer bring fulfillment and to look to all the new ways waiting in the future.

True, not all people stumble. Some are led through life by their parents, a select few will follow their present passions to the grave and some will marry and settle down at 22. They know what will become of them, even if it coincides with want they want in 10 years.

The point is this: Don’t pretend your wants or worries of today will have any relevance in a few years. Don’t look back if you don’t want to or pretend you know where you’re going. And since you never know where you’ll end up, all you can really control is how much fun you have getting there. Just make sure that the fun is actually part of getting somewhere, not just trying to give variety to stagnation.

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