I’ve been hiding in the corners of the bookstore while the weather changes a few degrees in either direction from day to day, as indecisive as I am about my “future.” When people ask, I assume I haven’t quite figured it out, and I can’t be the only one, so I admit that playing it by ear is kind of nice when I can get over the fear of uncertainty.

Up in the air, I read someone’s confession of a fear of half inflated balloons, hanging mid-air, hovering, not sure whether to rise or fall, whether rising or falling is more possible, plausible, accomplishable. There’s a lot for us to accomplish these last 40 something days until summer, until graduation, to what’s next for any of us – internships, jobs or home to regroup, travel, something breaking free of the grind.

For some of us the grind isn’t so bad. The grind is familiar and a little or a lot more comfortable than the forging of a clichéd path less traveled, leaving trails, terrifying and exciting all at once. I love roller coasters. I am the one with my hands in the air, yelling “yee haw,” climbing the steep rise to an adventure apex, potential energy building. I’m not science-minded. I didn’t take physics; I don’t know. But there is nonetheless a moment of disappearing courage when a jerk to the left or to the right is something unexpected and stomach-dropping.

We can do it, I think. We cheer each other on, and so does the sun of Spring. It is a source of perseverance, even when Emory Unplugged is dysfunctional and the mid-class fire drills or Dooley interruptions free us. They at the very least distract us, I suppose, and dancing during Dooley’s Week frees us from the grind at last and, for a short time, tides us over until the freedom of what’s next. What’s coming. Potential energy, or something like that. I didn’t take physics, I don’t know.

By Chloe Olewitz