I wish you could see me right now. I’m sitting on a borrowed beanbag, cuddled in a blanket and an oversized purple sweatshirt, with the hood up. It has been up for hour, and I like it that way.

I don’t look like it, but I did two new things this week. The first one was that I wrote a poem. I love to write, but this was exactly the second time in my life I have voluntarily written poetry. I liked it, too, so I sent it in to The Quad. We shall  see. The other new thing I did was that I applied for a job at Campus Safety. I have great doubts that they will hire me, primarily because the man I to whom gave the application wasn’t even sure they had any openings, but can’t you just see me on patrol, 10-2 Saturday nights? Yeah, man. That would be an experience to relish.

I secretly find it a little exhilarating to do little new things like these. I will have to think of more new things. Maybe, when my roommate’s out, I’ll turn on some music and dance. Maybe I’ll study in the library for once and giggle loudly over my textbooks. Maybe I’ll make a pact to audibly say “Hello!” to seven strangers. Maybe I’ll read a novel. Maybe I’ll play Bach’s Prelude, and focus on smiling through the whole thing. See? I told you, very small things. I am not afraid of the big things, of my past or of my future. It is the little bits of here and now, the little sand grains of the present which make me cower. It is much easier to hold my head up and walk away than it is to hold my head up and walk in, and stop, and stand, and do.

So here’s to climbing trees, getting in the dang panini queue, and cinching in your hood so tight that all the world can see is a purple blob with a smile. “Happiness is finding out you’re not so dumb after all.”