By Allegra Borghese
I appreciate the change in seasons. As the temperature and colors shift, I am forced to change up my routine, feel things differently, and assess my choices. Mid September is a world away from mid July. I observe the subtleties in how I am thinking and seeing; I am different. My hair can no longer lazily air dry. My tan disappears without a trace. Foods carry another salt now. One wardrobe is exchanged for another. And most noticeably, the raging free child of summer finds herself in a sober melancholy. I don’t remember feeling this shift so profoundly before.
Having been gone for the summer, I was eager to return to my journey in Santa Fe, the journey I started a year ago with Southwestern College. I did a lot of work last year of which I am very proud. However I notice a resistance to being here in Santa Fe. Yoga suddenly sucks. My commute suddenly sucks. The mountains apparently aren’t gorgeous anymore. I find myself resisting the food, culture, landscape, people, and even my own interests. Yikes. What’s up?
The loud rush of my summer undoubtedly has left a void. The drama of my jobs, blunt friends, the water, the entertainment of dating, and the nurturing of my family all gave me a sense of self that is no longer supported. In coming back to Santa Fe I notice what I am moody about: for the first time I did not want to leave home. Having been running away from home since I was twelve, I am beyond shocked to realize that I am homesick. This unease is exacerbated by being confronted with my past self here. At school I am reflected my experiences last year: the raw breakdowns, shame attacks, and lonely fumbling towards a sustainable and open selfhood. I kind of don’t want to feel those things again (I prefer the feeling of confidence I now have) and kind of know it’s probably not up to me and going to happen anyway.
Regardless, I am aware that I am not the same person I was who came to Santa Fe last year. It is like the difference between a bud and a flower: there is something that remains unchanging – the genetic makeup – but the growth of the plant irreversibly brings something new. There is no going back, which is a good thing, but in the meantime I must adapt to the differences I now face. Forgive my period of transition: I love you Santa Fe, and after bringing these thoughts to light, your sun already feels brighter.