Pink + White

I open my eyes and it’s 10 o’clock in the morning.

And as I look around my room — still struggling to wake up from the previous night of goofing around with my friends until some ungodly hour — I take note of two things that hit me particularly hard.

One, it’s empty. 

And two: I’ll likely never wake up here again.

Actually, I won’t live here ever again. I’m moving back to New Orleans. As I walk downstairs, I don't really have time to say a proper goodbye to the home I know and love.

Living in my grandparents’ house for the past year while we “figured out” where to go next has been a good time in my life, but I’m struck now with the same feeling I had seven years prior. This overwhelming feeling of uncertainty.

And before I realize it, I’m in the car travelling down I-10

* * *

The feeling sticks with me, and as I get settled in to the ride, I start to reach for my old iPod in my suitcase, the one that I haven’t used for years.

As I’m doing so, I get nipped by the zipper. It draws some blood and my finger pulses. I find my old playlist I haven’t listened to for almost half a decade and press play.

...and in that moment, I’m seven years old again. And this time, I’m not bound for New Orleans, but Madison, New Jersey. As I listen to the music that made my childhood, I reflect on how much my interests have changed. I was less cynical of the world around me. I thought that people were fundamentally good. I liked to hang out with my friends and pretend like we were older.

When I had the shelter of Madison, the world was like a playground. I would spend almost six hours a day running around outside and being a kid. Most of all, I thought I had all the time in the world.

But I’m not that person any more, and I feel an intense sadness for what I once had. I didn’t really have any worries, did I? Got to experience hours with my friends, now it’s hours of stress by myself. Will I ever feel that way again?

My conclusion: probably not. The world is a nightmare. Deep in thought, I watch the dense forest streak by my window. Almost poetically, as the sound of the car’s tires hitting the asphalt shifts, my train of thought follows. 

Deep in thought, I drift off to sleep. 

* * *

An hour later, I’ve woken up, my playlist has ended and the blood has dried. I see that I have one missed FaceTime call. It’s from my friend Matthew. I call back and we talk for around fifteen minutes about New Orleans culture, what I think of the city, the basic questions when someone moves. And then, almost twenty minutes in, he asks, “What are your plans for the future?”

“Well…” I stop to think. How much promise in my life do I have right now, really? I have goals. I have dreams. It doesn’t seem like it, but this is probably the most exciting period of my life thus far. I want to go places, I want to do things. I can reach these places. If we’ve evolved this much between seven and fourteen, Matthew, how much will we grow between now and the time we’re twenty-one? Like the burst of a dam, I release all of my hopes, dreams, and ideas in a flood. I talk about Oxford, my dream career, where I want to end up, everything you can think of. And best of all, he listens. We end the conversation ten minutes later, though it feels like ten seconds. 

I am alone with my thoughts again. But this time, I feel invigorated, ready to face the future. I don’t know what it holds. It’s not fixed. I know nothing is certain, and it’s my responsibility to accomplish my goals and be the best person I can be.

I smile and put on my current playlist. The shuffle lands on “Pink + White”  by Frank Ocean. I look outside and it’s a beautiful day, the sun so soft and bright it’s practically smiling at me. As I sink into the music, closing my eyes once more, I drift back asleep and dream of the future to come.