But for now, I sit.

I have been home for three days.

My luggage is scattered across my room, the contents bursting from every possible opening.

My body is tired, but my mind is restless.

I keep waiting for an overwhelming rush of emotion, but it hasn’t come yet. I cried last Thursday evening—my last night in California—while I was saying goodbye to two of my closest friends. But I haven’t cried since then.

You see, the rest of that night was kind of perfect. And while I sat alone at the airport the next morning, I was too exhausted to think through much of anything.

I am still trying to process the last nine months of my life. In a few days, it will be exactly a year since I graduated high school. Things have only been a whirlwind since then.

I want to go to the woods or the lake and be alone, but a few things are preventing me from doing so. One reason is that Minnesota is currently experiencing a balmy 48 degrees. That’s not exactly my favorite outdoor weather when I want to sit and read and write.

The other reason is that I would feel selfish leaving the house alone. I have been away from my family for quite some time—now is no time to be selfish. So for now, I sit. I sit in a room that no longer feels like my room. And I simply breathe.

I want to unpack for the sake of regaining some control, but that is incredibly overwhelming. I want to make a list of everything I hope to accomplish this summer in order to give myself some direction, but I don’t even know where to start. I want to write about the last month of my life, but I am in no position to do so. Soon enough I will get around to all of those things. But for now, I sit.

It’s funny how the little things change when you come home. I see the friends that I desperately missed while in California, yet suddenly our conversations are different. Perhaps it was simply the setting; we both recognized the time constraint we were under and didn’t want to go too deep. Whatever the cause, the conversations felt shallow—almost fake.

At school, I tend to be one of the louder ones among my friends. At home, I am the quiet one in the family. I’m not sure if it is simply assumed by everyone else or I naturally take to it, but whatever the case, I find myself slipping into that role when I’m home.

I’m in this funny state where I don’t know if I want to be with people or alone. Part of me wants to be with someone and just talk for hours. I’m not sure with whom, and I don’t know about what. Somehow, I feel like it would help me sort out all the confusion in my mind. But for now, I sit.