It is 8:26 on a Monday night, November 28th to be exact. I got back to my dorm from Thanksgiving break last night; it was cold when I turned the lock and opened my door. Since then, the heat has kicked on. I unpacked, put Christmas decorations up, and put in pine scented wax melts. Now I am sitting atop my reindeer blanket freshly showered with painted red polish, a cup of tea, one air pod in, and my readings for my publishing class up on my laptop screen. Everything about this picture is perfect, except I couldn't focus enough to read. The same thing happened this morning when I sat down at my library front desk job to write this blog post, although I couldn't write. This is all very November to me. I have never liked the month, too cold and gray to possess an actual joy, but this year I found something special within November. In between bone-chilling gusts, I found something to be grateful for, something sacred.
November crept up on me and gave me a chance to breathe for the first time in months. Since late August, every single day has been go, go, go. The new excitement of college has started to wear off as my routines are set and friends have been made. I thought that when the gloss started to rub off that the gold would tarnish too, but I still love it all the same as I did a year ago when I first stepped onto this campus during similar November weather on my first visit. I fell in love with the way the fall leaves matched the orange and maroon mums and the new t-shirt I had gotten in the bookstore, but now I am taking pictures of those same mums on my walk to my Monday morning shift at the library and wearing that same t-shirt to sports games. November has given me time to reflect and the only conclusion I have come to is that I am exactly where I have always been meant to be.
The week before break I had an author reading to attend in the evening. It was the last of the semester and these events always evoke big feelings inside me that only a notebook and red pen can decipher. That night, it started to snow, but it didn't stop until well into the eve. It was magical. I wanted to cry right then and there as the snow piled up around me. I wanted to be buried in the feeling, the peace. Something fell upon me that night along with the first snow. This month I have started spending more time doing simple things: writing poetry, staying in on the weekends, prioritizing the people who I feel best around, reading entire books in just a few sittings, and listening to music like The 1975 in the background during all of this. I feel like I am retreating back into myself while simultaneously showing up as the person I have always wanted to be. There is something magical about the growth that happens when you choose to slow down; you realize that you are in control. It's hard to step away from all of the distractions and bright lights, but I missed the part of me that thrived in solitude, confined to the limitations of her imagination. I haven't seen her in so long. I have been on auto-pilot: putting myself out there, making friends, making memories, and it is all so great, but it doesn't amount to anything without balance.
Now the month is coming to and end, but I know I am coming out of it much different, more collected, than I entered. I write everything in red pen now, Loopy cursive y's and heart-shaped dotted i's are much more fun in red pen, and I have been writing a lot. I now can say that I have two short stories and two flash fiction pieces under my belt, so I think that means I can now say I am a writer without the imposter syndrome tugging at me. If you feel so inclined to read them, I have been posting some pieces under the Creative Writing section, but I warn, it's only my first time being taught how to write creatively so I am letting them sit indefinitely in a period of revision.
I have learned a lot about myself in the first three months of college and I think my character is finally growing to fit that knowledge. Entering December, I see snow, solitude, and sleep, but I'm hoping to continue carrying my red pen everywhere and seeing where that takes me. Maybe it'll take me to my hometown park parking lot where so many poems were written or maybe it'll open new doors entirely. It has been delightful living this November and I cannot wait to be back in a month to see where I end up anyway.
Thank you for reading.
-Emma Claire