The other day I lost my metro card. It wasn’t just any metro card though; it was really special to me, and I am way more upset about it than I thought I’d be. I actually hate the metro. Ironically, I actually lost my metro card while I was riding the metro, but I digress (and dare myself to say metro one more time).
This particular metro card was a special edition metro card distributed for cherry blossom season here in DC which occurs every year in the spring. I bought this one in April of my junior year of college at the very station that I live near now. Not only was it beautiful, but it became a prized possession of mine in some sense. I planned to keep it forever as a souvenir of my time living in DC if someday down the line I decide to move out of the District. Maybe even show my children someday. I don’t even have a picture of it. Yes, I admit that that’s a large weight to be put on a silly metro card, but I hope it is obvious by now that I have always found such beauty in little things like that.
In a deeper sense, that card has seen me at my best and at my worst. It has taken me out into DC, Maryland, and Virginia. It’s taken me to the World Series, my first date, my first job interview (for the very position I am in now!), to visit family, to multiple performing arts events and shows, to Union Station every single time I returned to Long Island. Most importantly, it brought me home. Even after all those months in lockdown stuck away on Long Island, it still managed to bring me back home to the District. I held onto it as sacred because I knew I had to return someday. It kept me in touch with the reality I once knew. Perhaps, however, that is what I was really holding onto…
Even when I moved back to DC, I liked to show off my pretty metro card and announce that I always to guarded it with my life. And then one innocent metro ride on the way to my friend’s apartment for a chill night in, I lost it. The good news is that I believe the DC Metro sells cherry blossom cards every year for the Cherry Blossom Festival. And in the meantime, I will buy a card with a regular one to use. And then when the time comes, I will be on the lookout for a new cherry blossom card this coming April.
Maybe this was a sign that it’s time to move on. A sign that I have reached an overdue ending and have approached a new beginning. A fresh start. A blank page. I have already written about the frustration and struggle of finding identity after college graduation in the midst of a global pandemic. All these months of lockdown trying to hold on so damn tight to my past and to what-should-have-been has been nothing short of exhausting. That’s honestly the biggest reason I moved back to DC — to finish what I started, to take charge of my own accomplishments and hold on desperately to the perfection of the past.
But my life in college was far from perfect. I was so naïve. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I made so many goddamn mistakes. Sure, there were an overwhelming number of good and fun memories from college. However, as much as I’d like to continue pretending my life was perfect, it would be wrong. It wouldn’t be fair — not only to myself currently, but mostly to my past self. I refuse to live in the present based on a lie from my past. And I certainly won’t plan my future in the same foolish way.
Life is different now. I’ve been working full-time for just over two months now, and it has been far from easy. Learning how to navigate an entirely new job and a whole industry from my living room has been extremely challenging. Sorting out job benefits and insurance? Paying back student loans? The least fun things ever! I don’t have the time nor the energy to worry about the past anymore. Believe me, I’ve tried. All of my energy must be placed into my future from now on.
And so, here’s to the road that lies ahead. Here’s to letting go of the past — all of it, the good, bad, and everything in between. I’m not that girl anymore. As much as it pains me to admit it, I’ve grown up. I remember telling myself freshman year of college that I could never and would never make a home out of anywhere other than Long Island. But then I opened myself up to new friends and exciting opportunities and embraced the life I was living in the moment. I did find a home at Catholic University, and a part of me will forever be at home there. Then, here I was doing the exact same thing I did when I was eighteen years old, just less than five years later — forcing myself into a mold I’ve created for myself, trying to be someone I’m not anymore. But it is time to find a new adventure and make a life for myself now — not for the girl wishing that college would never end, but for the young lady who can’t wait to keep doing life.
This is going to be scary, but I know it will be worth it. Just as the cherry blossoms bloom every spring, there is new beauty waiting to be found in this new chapter of my life. There are new memories waiting to be made. There are new places to explore and more metro routes to follow. There are new cherry blossom metro cards to be had. This time, at the very same machine, there will be a young professional in place of that college student buying a metro card — equally determined to continue along her journey. And as I finish writing this piece, I can hear the echo of the DC Metro from my window, “Stand back, doors closing.”
Then, here I was doing the exact same thing I did when I was eighteen years old, just less than five years later — forcing myself into a mold I’ve created for myself, trying to be someone I’m not anymore. But it is time to find a new adventure and make a life for myself now — not for the girl wishing that college would never end, but for the young lady who can’t wait to keep doing life.
stand back, doors closing
Not Really A Writer 