It's that season: campus tours season. They pile onto the shuttle, confused and nervous about where they are going and getting to the right stop. They ask the shuttle driver questions and then disembark and ask others questions about how to get where they need to go, even with maps in hand. When at last they finish they are back on the shuttle, waiting to see the number of the parking lot they started in. They look content; sometimes the kids look more nervous, and sometimes the parent. There is an expectation of that exciting fresh start which is to be that teenager's college career, right around the corner. They look around at everyone and everything they see, interested in all aspects and weighing their decisions heavily.
I must have been equally as bright eyed and fresh at that age, but it's hard to believe I ever was. It's hard to remember the me that had hopes and a huge future unknown to fill those hopes and dreams with. I didn't have plans. Now, I plan. Then I just thought and wished and believed. Most days I am thankful for my hardened cynicism that keeps me immune from that kind of naivety. But today I just looked across the shuttle and felt a little envy for being on that precipice with your whole life, wonderful and horrible, in the mists ahead of you only waiting for you to take the challenge.