Historically (or at least as historically as my 24 years can be) August has always been my most favorite month of the summer. Living in NoVA with 90 degree weather and almost 100% humidity, I can see that changing in the near future, but for now, there is enough nostalgia to hold me over.
Growing up, August meant anticipation. It meant newness and expectation. I was one of those kids who loved going back to school. I loved back to school shopping, and racing over to the library or the elementary school to see which friends were in my classes. I loved going into the school to meet my teacher before school actually started. It felt more magical then; like I was treading on sacred ground.
In high school, I would be at school for most of August, either at volleyball practice or band camp; living in the gym or the parking lot in the sweltering August heat. And even then, it felt odd. The same halls that I had walked for years and that would fill my schedule for the following months seemed more mysterious; the pending school year seemed full of possibilities.
My home town starts school today. I can picture the kids getting dropped off, riding their bikes, waiting for buses. And I hope that they have that same sense of anticipation. The same sense of awe about the possibilities that could lie ahead.
Here in the land of the grown-ups, there is not the same sense of excitement. Summer is ending, but there is no force pulling me forward into the next thing. Life continues, rather as it did before. So perhaps this fall, I must make my own excitement, construct my own sense of awe and anticipation for an equally unknown future, full of possibility.