When we begin to see the things we once saw as exciting in our lives now as mundane, we must remind ourselves of the motives for our previous happiness of the object or task at hand.
I remember when I first moved into my college apartment, everything was exciting, and I mean everything. From hanging up homemade wall decor to even sweeping my kitchen floor, every assignment felt like a new beginning.
I was out of the four walls of my childhood room under my parents' roof, and into a dingy little apartment that wasn't much to the eye, but it was mine, and it meant freedom.
It was strange how excited I was to take out the trash and scrub the dishes, but looking back, it's because of the newness it all brought. Even the worst tasks were a portrayal that my mom wouldn't be over my shoulder doing the dishes with me or my dad taking the trash out – what used to by my parents' jobs, rather, the adults' jobs, now became my own. It was almost like my very own initiation into the terrifying, yet exciting, world of adulthood.
At 18 years old, I thrived in doing absolutely everything, and now at 21, I barely can make it out of bed to hang up my jeans, let alone even put a dirty glass in the sink. Everything feels like a chore, and as exhausted as I am with having three jobs, I can't manage to muster up any type of energy to even do the silliest things, like putting my shoes in my closet.
Today was the first day in a long time that I felt excited to actually run errands. Maybe it's because all I've known for the past couple weeks is job shifts from all hours and not having a moment of downtime without feeling utterly exhausted and on the verge of sleeping. Or maybe it's because I'm realizing that I am reaching the end of my college career.
I know it's cliché, but I genuinely feel like I came to college just a few months ago. I remember the feeling of absolute terror but complete excitement when I first came to the school, and I loved it with my entire heart. It was a new chapter in my life that has now become embedded in my storybook of life. Though I know I still have one year left here, because I have been able to look back on everything and smile, I know that I need to spend my last 12 months here with complete dedication and intention.
Tying back, everything I did when I was 18 was with intention. I knew I was hitting major landmarks as a young adult and I was accomplishing them proudly and with a smile on my face. I know I keep saying this word, but I was truly excited to conquer it all, and I want to channel that energy once again.
Those days were the clearest in my life and moments today become a series of blurred messes.
Although there is no definite reason, I know it stems from those tasks becoming constant and now instead of resting, I know I still have a million more things I need to check off my to-do list.
But senior year brings a newness itself – it's the first time of being the last time I will enter a school semester that I have planned. Beyond the horizon of graduation of Spring 2019, there are no definite plans for me to take. Obviously, a job will be a necessity, but ever since I first entered kindergarten, life has always been planned.
After elementary school comes middle school, and after middle school comes high school. In high school, you know you need to prepare for college and take the proper classes. This also comes with a stream of monumental moments, like having a first kiss, going to prom, and graduating. Then for most of us, it was time for college, and ever since then, it truly is preparing for the unknown.
It's a scary and exhilarating time, and as I reach the end of it, I plan on finishing out the rest of my time at UCF with grace and intention.
Through it all, although we begin to see the things we once saw as exciting in our lives now as mundane, we must archive that energy and newness, and live it all again.