Reflection

re-flect \ri-flekt\ vb

1 : to bend or cast back (as light, heat, or sound)  2 : to give back a likeness or image of as a mirror does  3 : to bring as a result  4 : to cast reproach or blame  5 : to ponder or meditate

Reflection is one of the most interesting concepts that we experience as human beings. It pushes our curiosity and exercises our minds. As infants, we become shocked with amazed bewilderment upon seeing our reflection for the first time. We perceive the image as another human being, and interract with it accordingly, making one of the very first social connections of our lives. As we get older and make our own choices-- both good and bad-- it sometimes becomes more difficult to "look at ourselves in the mirror" and we find ourselves reflecting our own faults and misgivings onto those around us, to make it easier to live with ourselves and our mistakes. If we are fortunate, as we make it further down the road, we have learned from our experiences-- both good and bad-- and begin to reflect on what we have learned, and what we still intend to channel or what we want to do differently in the future.

Reflections come at milestones, as epiphanies. They come during points of transition, as closure. Sometimes, they come as both. Tonight, I am lucky enough to experience both. As I close the door on yet another summer, I feel suspended. Not "suspended" as if I am floating from happiness (although I am quite excited about the new school year), but rather as if the usually-busy world around me is "on pause", and I am moving and turning, looking for that sign that will point me towards the road down which I am supposed to go. It's there. I know it is. That is why I feel suspended-- not frozen. It's there, and I will find it-- this much I know-- sometime between this moment and 8:30 tomorrow morning.

I sit here in bed, cross-legged, with a computer in my lap, and a bowl of incredibly tart, freshly-sliced peaches to my left, Puccini blaring from the speakers to my right, and for once, I am not sad that summer is over. That is not to say that it has not been a brilliant eleven weeks-- it has been. The last 80 days have held some of the most unexpected and enjoyable experiences that I have had in some time. New faces. New places. Late nights. Early mornings. The big. The small. Laughter. Tears. More laughter. And the list goes on. I am one lucky girl.

But I have grown bored. One could say that this comes from having eleven weeks "off", and that getting back on the horse will be the cure for what ails me, but this boredom feels different, somehow. It is not as if I "need something to do". Heaven knows that is never the case. No, tonight, in my pondering of the past eleven weeks, something has shifted. My focus. My hopes. My priorities. My tolerance. Something feels as though it is about to change, or maybe I am just willing it to, because I have no desire to continue down my current path. It has grown stale. So, here I am, sort of comically imagining myself standing in the middle of Boston Avenue, while everything in the city around me is frozen in time, just waiting for me to push "play".

It is, or at least it feels like, an epiphany and closure all at once. This chapter is closing-- the summer plotline, as well as others. They have served their purpose. I have learned what I needed to learn, and now I just feel like I am repeating myself. I am tired of the training wheels. So, whether it be while I sleep tonight, when I wake in the morning, or when I actually see the sun kissing the skyline of my once imaginarily-suspended city as I drive to work, I will spot a flickering neon arrow with my name on it, push "play", and like always, never look back. It's time.