Dear midnight,

We have not met in a long time. Rather, we used to be best friends, inseparable, I didn't know how to function without you; but now we are acquaintances, friends, but a far cry from what we once were. Being a working woman, commuter cyclist and camp song apprentice means that midnight doesn't make as much sense as it used to. It may never have made sense, but the schedule of college students has very little to do with sense.

When the Fourth of July falls on a Wednesday, it makes it basically impossible to schedule any kind of programming for youth because all of their parents take them off to a cabin or a lake to celebrate. And I shall do the same! That means that I have a whole week free of walkie talkies, repeat after me songs and endless photocopying. This may make it sound like my current work is painful, but I think it's close to what I needed; it's a long, full day, connected to the worlds of theater and young people and I'm learning the rhythms and etiquettes of office life. So I'm on a midnight bus headed home to do the Fourth with my family. (I didn't want to waste any of my vacation time so the overnight bus was the only option, plus I've maybe grown to like it. Except for the inevitable old man loudly talking in a foreign language to someone who doesn't know where this guy is headed. "Chicago…Chicago.).

Since the last time I was on the bus I have said goodbye to my dearest roommate family, moved out of our dear house and into a duplex with a student who is just what I was looking for after leaving that home. Last time I was on the bus, I spent a decent amount of the ride gritting my teeth and trying not to cry. That was no small part of the last six weeks, but I'm beginning to think I'm leaving that phase of post-grad life. I can tell stories without fear of tears and talk to people without feeling like I might need to excuse myself and take some deep breaths in the bathroom. When I got on the bus last time my parents made me agree to speak with them everyday because most of the last six weeks I've been living alone. (I get the appeal, but that is so not what I need right now.). We talked everyday for several weeks and now we talk almost everyday. It might be a bit overkill, but it's been working for me.

Things feel different, if only slightly, always with the understanding that things will change for real in September. Right now it definitely feels like I am going back to class in the fall. There might be another weepy phase when I get to September. In the mean time, I am grateful to be busy, to be less sad and to be connected in so many ways. I wish I would write more, cook more and adventure more, but there's time for that. Until September I just want to enjoy midnight when I can and try not to get a serious farmer's tan

Midnight, I miss you. Stay in touch.


love,
hannah

Dear Songs about Jane,

File Under Things That Make Me Feel Old:

Maroon 5's first big album, Songs About Jane, is about to be re-released in a special tenth anniversary package. 

When that album first came out, I was finishing seventh grade.  I really remember the album because one of my counselors during my only summer at sleep-away camp said they were her favorite band.  Other memorable moments from my one summer away: I borke my glasses in a pillow fight, pretty sure I only showered twice, wrote home once much to my parents' distress, and had my first kiss.  Ten years later and now I'm running a summer camp. 

But what will the album be this summer?


love,
hannah

Dear giant TARDIS,

In January, one of my roommates and I used the supplies provided by the school to student organizations to create a giant TARDIS.  Using the giant rolls of blue paper we crafted a six-foot tall TARDIS.  It was made for a party that was wild animal/Doctor Who themed, and served as a backdrop for photos, but then it hung in our dining room for the rest of our tenure in that house.  Every event involved some photos in front of the TARDIS.  Since I'm the only roommate staying in the area I inherited the TARDIS (for which I am incredibly grateful) and I have hung it in my room in my new place.  The TARDIS came to be more than Doctor Who dress up and it began to be our house, so it makes me happy to move it. 

Tonight, the TARDIS has served me well again.  I met my newest roommates and neighbors.  They knocked on my bedroom door and I finally got a chance to meet them.  We were making friendly chatter until they saw my TARDIS.  "You have a TARDIS on your wall.  She has a TARDIS on her wall! We're going to be friends.  Can we move the TARDIS to the main room?" I have made (great) friends before through connections through TV, and I'm excited for it to happen again. 


love,
hannah

Dear senior walkout,

On Friday I witnessed a fantastic ritual.  I've been volunteering in a local high school for the last year (and will be working there next year!) and Friday was the last day of class for the seniors.  I've been an intern in an incredible theater class and the last day for seniors is, by tradition, a potluck and a chance for everyone to share their thoughts and reflections about the seniors.  It was great because I think it was maybe the only chance, outside of yearbooks, for high school seniors to be acknowledged individually for how they have made their mark or grown during their four years.  (When it comes to college, I think there was actually a lot of time for that which has everything to do with size and majors and departments and everything.)  Jan, the teacher, says, "Remember this space, you won't ever be in a space like this ever again... Hug everyone on the way out."  Some students had shed some tears during the reflections, but once the students were actually upon the moment of saying goodbye, many of them turned to tears.  That classroom was an incredible place, unlike anything else they experience in the rest of the school. 

And then quarter to two, Jan is making her final remarks and we start to hear rumbling above us (the classroom is in the basement).  In the weeks leading up to this day, I heard vague mentions of this tradition called the walkout.  Finally I asked, what is this walkout thing? Jan explained, the walkout takes place when the last bell rings on the last day of classes for the seniors; they all pour out of the building and parents and friends are waiting for them at the bottom.  It's urban America, it is a great achievement to graduate high school and there are many of them for whom this will be the last graduation and indeed their last day of school.  The aforementioned rumbling was seniors preparing to bust out the doors for the last time.

I hurried outside with a few other interns to get ready for the seniors' arrival.  The front of the school has a huge staircase, probably thirty feet tall.  There is a DJ at the bottom, some parents have balloons and everyone has a camera.  Soon we can hear chanting from the doors above, "One two, one two!" The anticipation was so exciting and I had no idea what to expect when the clock hit two.  The bell rings, the music starts, and the first dozen students burst out of the building, throwing a pile of papers up into the air so it's raining someone's trigonometry notes.  It felt like a scene from a high school movie.  So I just stand there as the entire senior class parades out of the building and when they reach the bottom there are hugs and handshakes and lots of squealing.  It was a beautiful thing to see.  Everyone left the building together and with some semblance of dignity.  Most of all Not at all like my last day of high school because I don't think I can remember much about that day.  And not at all like my goodbyes in college.  They're ready, and it's not that all of them know what comes next, but there's a hope that comes with this graduation and a rooting in home that doesn't exist in the same way with college.  Particularly because I went out of state for school.  I graduated three weeks ago and I feel uprooted in almost every way. 

It was just a beautiful tradition and great to see kids be proud of their last moments in high school rather than resentful or disappointed.  (I think that's a lot of what I remember about my last days of high school.  A lot of "thank god we don't have to do this anymore" from the people around me.)

In my own life I've taken a pretty direct turn from ritual, which was definitely a huge part of the previous month or so, and I'm headed into routine.  I must simultaneously break old routines and establish new ones.  I haven't established my new routine yet, but I'm learning new places and times and how they fit into the space I already know.  (For instance, I've been unpacking and organizing my new apartment, but I've had Sports Night on in the background.  Sports Night is the perfect background packing entertainment for me because I've seen it enough that I don't really have to pay attention, but when we get to a part I really enjoy it's satisfying.  It is also the packing background I used when unpacking at the last place.)  Working a full day is hard.  And so different from the student schedule I've maintained for the last four years.   My bike path is only partially altered.  I am continually reminded about how little I know about the cities I frequent.  I try and push my radius and familiarity with the area a little bit every day.

I don't know how it's going.  I (like to) think that the weepy phase of post-graduation has passed.  If I ever need to get back into that mindset, all I need to do is listen to the Head and the Heart's "Rivers and Roads," it hits the right spot every time.  I (maybe) have entered into the disappointment phase where I try and balance how much things have changed with how much they haven't.  I got all geared up for this? But this isn't really all that different... What do I want to be the same? What do I want to be different?


love,
hannah