On Sunday night, I went to a dinner at Lighthouse, and it was one of those off-nights where rice just didn’t taste good. I wanted mashed potatoes.
I love it when my friends cook for me. I love confusing mushrooms with eggplant and having them describe all the new flavors and textures to me. But Sunday night, I was tired and I just wanted to know what I was eating.
Spain and a year to look back on the explosions of sophomore year have given me some kind of perspective. I’ve never been so consciously aware of my ability to just get up and leave. While living in Spain, I hopped a plane to Africa, scrubbed a last minute trip to Ireland, and wandered around Paris at 1:00am.
Now, I’m not talking about running away, not even in the slightest. Rather, I am describing the get-up, get-gone, go-and-run-to-it part of life. I do that, a lot. I think that’s how I ended up at Wesleyan, and if it is not, it is certainly why I am still here.
But lately, I’ve found myself thinking a lot more about mashed potatoes.
This summer, I’ll be back in Indiana, where potatoes outnumber cups of rice 3:1, minor league baseball is a summer highlight, and lawn signs are more common than pacifist bumper stickers. I’ll be home.
Home’s a vibrant place, a place I return to intentionally, and with great desire, but its not the same– which is all I’m hoping for. I want to prove the real value of my liberal arts education, by using it in context. I want to learn, experience, and network. See home as a city, not just the place I went to high school. Finally learn the downtown restaurants. Use the libraries. Thesis research. Hang out with my mom. Meet people. Make friends. Read books.
I need this summer to be good.
…But you know, as soon as I get there, I’ll totally be making pad thai.