Pulling out of the cracked, too steep for grandma driveway, a discreet wave surges through my being and emulates through a wiggle of my fingertips.

A twist suddenly wrenches within my chest, a feeling felt through every goodbye, as home in Minnesota quickly becomes a place far far away in just two days time.

Rising into junior year I can only feel trembles of excitement roll through me.

The common rejoice sends a cooling relief through my jitters as I breathe out and thank the heavens above its not yet my senior year.

Cramped in the jump seat of my dad's new F150, my limbs begin to go numb in anticipation--and claustrophobia--as the hours between me and my beloved gem of a college town start to narrow in.

The drive from Minnesota to Ohio is one that takes the utmost endurance... for my parents. I, as you can imagine, only endure part of their epic journey, as I'm being dropped off one way on their 26 hour round trip.

With mom behind the wheel and dad taking a snooze in the farthest reclined setting in the passenger seat, me and myself are left to journey in the back with my pet cacti and a few bags of white cheddar popcorn.

It's not like it's a very scenic route, our journey "cross-country". A whole lot of corn, wheat and vacant farmland whispered with unwelcome smells of sweet manure occupy the leather bound seats within our beast of a vehicle.

Unable to be trusted behind the wheel, I'm left with fuzzy memories of old car trips. Ones that my parents--bless their souls-- decided to take when my siblings and I were still toddlers.

They were trips filled with "Tarzan," "Lion King" and a plethora of other Disney soundtracks. Trips filled with "RubberNeckers," "I Spy" and "Harry Potter" books on tape. Trips where I traveled like royalty in my tan, velvety car seat towering above my elder siblings with admittedly a smug smile plastered upon my face.

Now as we drive a splattering of comments are made about some billboard here, or a herd of cows over there. Do we simply grow out of the need to be entertained at all times? Or does our spark for silliness dim with every year we add to our ticking time clock?

Either way, I miss Tarzan. I miss Baloo from the Jungle book and feeling the ultimate oblivious joy as I pretend to know all the words to the songs I've demanded my parents keep on repeat until I say otherwise.

I miss pretending my imaginary boy band would back me up as I sang my heart out in my karaoke kit with nothin' but a hand as a make-do microphone.

I suppose as I enter my junior year I'm going in to seek out the light. Seek out the things I suppress when stressors of life cloud my vision of the spark within us we dim so frequently.

So here's to the next 13 hours of driving and the 26 for my parents - and here's to not being done yet.